#i thought i was good at finding things but this one just keeps not being available

[fastandcarlos]

End Of The World : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: you were fine that morning, so when lando suddenly gets a phone call that changes his things upside down, it feels as if his world has come crashing down

His heart sunk as Lando tried to get his head around what he was told on the phone. It was a blur of words to him as Lando tried to piece it altogether, tears falling freely down his cheeks. His knees buckled from underneath him as Lando dropped down into a chair, his breath shaky, heart racing as the call came to an end. 

He couldn’t quite believe it, your smile the last thing he saw that morning. Yet after being hit on your way to work, Lando’s world suddenly felt as if it was crashing down, hearing that your unconscious body had been transported to the nearest hospital. 

“I-I need to go,” Lando stuttered as he stood up from the meeting, rushing out of the building before anyone could reply. Panicked eyes watched Lando, but he was long gone, sprinting as fast as he could out of the building to where his car was parked. The journey was a blur as Lando blinked through his tears, hurrying into the hospital, shouting out your name. 

He was stopped by a doctor holding onto his shoulders, noticing how distressed he was. 

“Right this way,” the doctor told him, leading him down the corridor to where Lando could find you. “There is one thing that I must tell you first, your girlfriend is not in a good way. There’s extensive damage, most of it physical, which you need to prepare for.” 

“I don’t care,” Lando whispered, “I just want to be with her, please.” 

As the door to your room opened, a sharp intake of breath came from him. Lando couldn’t believe his eyes as he noticed the cuts and grazes all over your body, the machines around your bedside with cables attached to your body to keep you alive. 

“Oh, love,” Lando hummed, rushing to sit down beside you, placing his hand delicately over yours. You were cold, fragile, nothing like the warmth he usually received from you. “I’m here now,” Lando told you, brushing the pad of his thumb over the back of your hand. “She’s going to be alright, isn’t she?” 

“She’s stable,” the doctor informed him, standing in the doorway to your room. “The injuries are quite severe; we’re going to have to be closely monitoring your partner for a little while longer before we can make any decisions.” 

“Is there going to be any lasting damage? Permanently?” 

“Most of her injuries will heal with time,” the doctor tried his best to assure Lando, offering him a weak smile. “It sounds like the driver lost control of their car when they hit your partner’s, she overturned into the road,” he added, watching Lando flinch as he pictured the scene of the crash.  

All he could see was your car, with you terrified inside of it. Lando hated thinking about how you felt, how scared you must have been when that impact came, all alone in your car. He could imagine you calling out for him to help you, only he was nowhere to be found. 

His free hand continued to wipe under his eyes as Lando continued to study you. He’d lost count of how many marks he found, bruises, scrapes, cuts, not to mention the dry blood that was in your hairline. He wished he could do something, anything, to take the pain away. 

The doctor left the room, leaving Lando all by himself with you, giving him the time that he needed. His mind was racing with his own thoughts as his eyes stayed staring down at you, struggling to believe how his life had managed to turn upside down in only a blink of an eye. 

“I’m not leaving your side,” Lando whispered as he squeezed your hand, “I promise that you’re going to be alright.” 

The lack of response from you sent a shiver down Lando’s spine. Usually you’d laugh, or smile, give him some sort of reaction, but instead Lando was left with nothing from you. 

“I hate that you went through this all alone,” Lando added, moving one of his hands to brush over the top of your head through your hair. “I love you, however long you need to I’m going to be there for you. I know I joke about telling you to shut up all the time, but now I really could do with hearing your voice sweetheart.” 

The only sound in the room was the beep of the machines, letting Lando know that you were still there. It was a steady beat, which the doctor assured him was a good sign, but the only sign that Lando would take was the one when your eyes opened up. 

The hours he spent at the hospital soon became days, turning into a couple of weeks. Lando could hardly remember what the outside looked like as he spent every possible second with you, making sure that you knew that he was right there with you. 

When they could, his family and friends would stay with him for a while, even some of the other drivers had stopped by too. Mostly they were there to check on Lando, knowing that he’d no doubt neglect himself as he tried to focus all his energy on you instead. 

“There you are,” one of the nurses smiled as Lando walked through the hospital doors again, rushing down the corridor to get to him. “We were wondering if we were going to see you again.” 

Lando looked suspiciously across at her, following behind as she walked down to where your room was. “Has something happened?” 

“Don’t worry,” she smiled, saying nothing more as they got to the door to your room. “I’ll come and see how she’s getting on in a bit.” 

Lando nodded as he opened up the door, placing his phone into his pocket that he held. The regular beeping greeted him, although as Lando’s eyes looked up, his heart stopped as he saw a familiar pair of eyes staring back across at him. 

Lando rushed in, taking his usual seat beside you. 

“You’re awake,” he whispered, leaning across and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?” Lando fretted, eyes studying you closely. 

Your head faintly shook, the amount of pain you were in evident from the expression that was on your face. “I’m fine,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. 

A sigh came from Lando as he heard just how weak you were for the very first time. “You’ve got no idea how scared I was, I thought I was going to lose you, like the end of the world or something.” 

There was a look of disbelief on Lando’s face as he held onto your hand, struggling to believe that you were there with him. It would still be a long recovery for you, but it was the start that he had been hoping for. 

“You’ve got no idea how many people have stopped by to visit you,” Lando told you, “I always knew that everyone adored you, but I had no idea just how much, they’re all going to be so happy to hear you’re awake.” 

Your smile slowly turned up as Lando spoke, your mind was foggy as you tried to figure how much you had missed, still so uncertain as to what had happened. 

“You’re going to be alright,” Lando smiled, squeezing against your hand once again. “I’m going to be with you every single second, I promise.” 

“W-what happened?” You stuttered, voice faltering as you looked to Lando to try and make sense of everything and fit the missing jigsaw pieces together. 

Lando frowned, “your car was overturned, some guy lost control and went crashing into you, but you don’t need to worry about that, everything is getting sorted.” 

Your head nodded as Lando pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I love you,” you whispered as his ear brushed your lips. 

“I love you too, I’m so glad that you’re okay.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[strangersteddierthings]

Made With Love

It takes one bite for Eddie to suspect he's done something wrong. A second bite confirms it. He's fucked up somehow and cannot for the life of him remember what it was.

Did he miss an important date of some sort? It couldn't have been their anniversary because that's August 13th (Eddie's new favorite day of the year, for obvious reasons). He absolutely didn't miss Steve's birthday. Not with how long he and Robin had spent planning the damn thing. (Eddie is never throwing another surprise party in his life; the stress of secret keeping was too much to bear.)

... Did he miss Robin's birthday?

No. That can't be. Steve would never let him miss that.

It could be one of the Party's birthdays, but Eddie doesn't think that's a transgression that would warrant this.

This, of course, being his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"What, your peanut butter's gone bad?"

Eddie lifts his eyes from the proof of Steve's anger at him to his coworker, Charlie, sitting across the table from him in the closet that Thatcher claims is the break room. "No. It's much worse than that, I'm afraid."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," Charlie deadpans.

"This sandwich wasn't made with love," Eddie whines, looking back at the sandwich with as much sorrow as he can muster. He sets the sandwich down on the baggy he had pulled it out of so that he can frown down at it without having to touch the offending creation.

"Ah shit," Charlie says, voice filled with empathy. This is why he's Eddie's favorite coworker. He gets it. Possibly because he's the only person who's tasted the difference for himself, back when Eddie'd just started at Thatcher Tires. "What'd'ya do?"

"I don't know!" Eddie wails. "Everything was fine when I left this morning, or I thought it was anyway."

"Ain't your misses pretty good at lettin' you know you done fucked up?" Charlie, like the best coworker that he is, looks surprised that Eddie doesn't know what he's done. He's right, too. Steve is the goddamn king of petty, and Eddie has never struggled to know when Steve's mad at him. The struggle usually comes from Eddie refusing to be in the wrong.

(That's not to say that Eddie is always in the wrong. He's not. Sure, a good percent of their arguments Eddie is the one at fault and he's mature enough to admit so once the argument is over, but it's not always his fault.)

Anyway, the point is, regardless of who's at fault, Steve is angry at him about something and for the first time in months Eddie doesn't know what for. They'd promised each other, after their first very big fight that almost ended in a breakup and was over a misunderstanding, that they would tell each other why they're mad or upset or feeling some type of way. So for Eddie to not know...

He thinks he might have fucked up big time.

"I know!" Eddie cries, shoving the sandwich away from him to make room to drop his forehead onto the table, then turns to smoosh his cheek against the table so he can look at Charlie. "Charlie. Charlie what do I do?"

Charlie blows out a long breath, thinking, before he gives a decisive nod and says, "you gotta beg forgiveness."

Eddie knows Charlie's right. He doesn't know what he did but he's going to beg forgiveness anyway.

Which is how he now finds himself in the small floral section of the grocery store looking over the sad, wilted bouquets after work. His arms are already full with Steve's favorite ice cream, candies, an over-priced little blue teddy bear that's holding an 'It's A Boy!' card that Eddie plans to rip off, and a blank card with a painting of sunflowers on it that he plans to wax poetry about Steve inside.

The final part of his groveling is, of course, the flowers. It's the wrong season for sunflowers, so Eddie was going to settle for roses. It's just that these roses are all sad looking. They don't really scream 'I Love You More Than Anything Else In The World, Please Forgive Me For What I've Done' though.

Let it never be said that Eddie doesn't know how to beg forgiveness.

He ends up picking the least wilted looking bouquet, one with white and yellow flowers he can't name.

The cashier is an older lady who takes quick catalogue of his items and asks, "is it your anniversary, darling? Or, oh!" She picks up the blue bear and Eddie feels his ear heating with embarrassment as she coos, "are you expecting? How exciting!"

"Err, no, not, uh, no. It's just blue is hi-her favorite color, so I was planning to just cut off the little card," Eddie stutters out the lie. Blue isn't Steve's favorite color but Eddie's used to making up many little lies when talking to strangers. Being hate-crimed is not a passion of Eddie's. "I, uh, messed up. And I don't know what I did, but I'm going to make it right."

The lady smiles at him and gives him a firm nod as she scans the items. "Smart boy. I'm sure she'll forgive you."

Eddie gives her a smile he hopes isn't as tight-lipped as it feels on his face.

Back in the safety of his van, Eddie roots around until he finds a pen and gets to writing all the things he loves about Steve in the card and all the things he hopes they'll get to have in the future. Nothing they haven't spoken about before, but it still makes Eddie a little emotional writing it all down.

Once he's done writing, he pulls his pocket knife out and cuts off the 'It's A Boy' card from the bear, crumpling it up and tossing it in the back of the van to be forgotten. He shoves the sunflower card in it's place. His card is a bit wider than the previous one here so it stays in place, albeit precariously. He'll be careful handing it over to Steve.

He knows that Steve is at home already. Steve's always home first because he's off work at four compared to Eddie getting off work around five.

Well. Closer to five-thirty today with his stop at the grocery store. He really hopes that whatever has Steve mad at him isn't time related. Being late home without calling might earn him no favors if it's a time-based blunder.

Steve is in the kitchen, back to the door since he's facing the stove, as Eddie expected he might be. Which means that Eddie doesn't get to lay out all his Items of Forgiveness across the counter like he had hoped but that's okay. If the love of his life has chosen to forgive him, he knows Steve will be just as overjoyed to rifling through a bag of goodies as he would to pick them off the counter.

"Hi sweetheart," Eddie says, words oozing with adoration and sweetness.

"Hi baby," Steve's tone matches Eddie's, like an instinct to match Eddie's energy has written itself into Steve's DNA. And it might have. Eddie knows the reverse is true.

Steve turns from the stove, then, and his face lights up with delight and surprise. "What's all this?"

"Your favorite things, because I love you," Eddie says, raising his arms a bit. The grocery bag is looped over his wrist with flowers in one hand and the bear in the other.

Steve looks positively smitten.

Eddie is nailing this apology that isn't an apology. And let it be known; he cannot say he's sorry. It'll ruin everything. Because Steve, his wonderful, beautiful, kind and loving Stevie, will cock one perfect little caterpillar eyebrow and ask if Eddie knows what he's apologizing for, and Eddie will have to say he doesn't know and that isn't something he's willing to do. Especially not when it's looking like whatever Steve was mad about has completely slipped Steve's mind, too.

"I got your favorite ice cream, too, so we might want to get that into the freezer," Eddie says, passing the bear and card to Steve and shimmying around him to get to the freezer.

He lays the flowers on the counter and sets to emptying the bag. Ice cream in the freezer and goodies on the counter, while Steve reads the card silently behind him.

He knows he's successfully made up for whatever it was he had done, because Steve crowds him against the fridge shortly after setting the card down and turning the stove burner off, kissing him breathless.

Eddie even gets desert before dinner, with Steve all but dragging him to their bedroom.

-

The reddit post that inspired this -

[thetadispatcher]

Peter frowned a bit at Willow's remark, but he decided not to ask for an explanation of what she thought was so easy just in case it wasn't directed at him specifically.

"Deviants have the same issue, if they get too stressed they'll self destruct... Not like explode, but bash their own brains in on whatever they can find. So far Vincent is the only one I've seen hit one hundred percent stress and not self destruct, we theorize his fear of loud noises overrides the self destruct protocol." He still had yet to find what the cause of self destructing was, as it was hard to find out what goes on during the event when the android effectively destroys the one thing that would hold the answer. And he didn't want to trigger it in a monitored android, it was too risky as he had no way to stop it once it began.

"But I understand the importance of keeping this from getting out, so don't worry about that." He knew it wouldn't lead to anything good if other found out about the existence of human brains in a digital format, and he didn't want to be asked about it as he wouldn't be able to provide any kind of suitable answer.

"And I don't really care to know why you have digital copies of human brains, something tells me the reason isn't something I would like to know." If someone had felt the need to do such a thing, and if the people the scans belonged to were no longer around, he had a feeling something terrible had happened. And he really didn't want to know what that something was, as Strasky's appearance made it clear just how terrible whatever had happened had been, and he didn't want to randomly start thinking about it.

Nines turned to look at them again when he heard his model mentioned, he had been listening as Brent hardly ever spoke well he was working so there wasn't much for him to do well he waited. "It is not the first time I've heard a threat on Kamski's life, nor will it likely be the last. Gavin makes them regularly, and I have heard androids say such things as well." He commented, hearing the creator of Cyberlife be issued death threats wasn't new to him, in fact he felt it was just a common thing to hear at that point in time.

"But if you must, try to not make it obvious it was you. I am a detective unit, so it would likely fall on me or my predecessor to solve it." Nines knew he shouldn't say such a thing, but after hearing stories from humans and androids alike of their experiences with the man he could care less what happened to him.

Peter looked away from Nines once he realized he was being spoken to again, answering with a small shrug. "He just kinda showed up and made himself at home. He hasn't done anything worth kicking him out for, and he seems to be friends with Vincent even if he refuses to admit it." Sure the android was rather odd and strange, but so were quite a few who also lived in the house, so it wasn't anything too surprising for Peter. And it was nice to see Vincent socializing with anyone that he wasn't initially forced to acclimate to, which felt like a good step in the right direction for the AP700 and he didn't want to risk compromising that. "Sure, he makes demands of me, but I promised never to make another android like Dan." And that wasn't a promise he planned to ever break as he trusted Dan to never hurt someone just because he had the ability to do so, and Dan would get upset if he broke it which he really didn't want.

Dan glanced at Peter before some movement out in the hall caught his attention, the movement being Sixty and a Jerry messing around with something he knew they shouldn't be. He carefully removed Peter from him before getting up and approaching the two, who quickly noticed him and took off. Dan gave chase as he saw they were still holding something they likely shouldn't have.

Nines watched the scene looking mildly amused to witness the PL600 have to chase down androids behaving like children. Peter seemed indifferent as it was a very normal occurrence to him, he was already looking at the pictures Strasky was showing to him on the Omnitool well listening to him explain the role of each person so he'd know how to build the custom units.

"That would be the RK800 that was mentioned earlier and a EM400, a hivemind android. EM400 are naturally child-like as they are used at amusement parks, and now some are finding other ways to entertain themselves like what was just seen." Nines explained as Peter was busy jotting down notes and getting the photos he needed from Strasky to explain the function of an EM400, and why one would be following around Sixty. "They call themselves Jerry, and as of right now there are only two present on the property. The other is likely with Ralph, a damaged WR600, to keep him from getting into any danger."

Whatever joke Rook had planned to make was set aside as she eyed the two. She obviously saw nothing wrong with hanging out with alternative versions of herself. It was kind of like meeting a distant cousin, expect they were unlikely to disappoint like most relatives do. Even Bishop had little to complain about his. They both acted the way one would expect from the likes of him.

Really, it was his fault for being an asshole. She glanced at the agent, then turned to Nines. It didn't seem like a smart idea to make android cops, but that world didn't exactly shine for its bright ideas.

"Oh, you have it so easy around here." Willow scoffed, rolling her eyes, "Those engrams have a tendency to destabilize. I'd prefer to resolve any compatibility issues myself. Whatever funding you may need, consider it covered. Again, feel free not to question the source. Not every corner of the world is as content with the existence of digital beings, it'd save me some extra work."

"You should consider moving here." Bishop suggested, a faint grin on his face. He found the concept of adopting androids amusing. Some people truly went through great lengths to find humanity in everything.

Not that he cared to understand it when he hardly contemplated showing basic decency towards the aliens he had captured.

"Having to share the planet with Kamski is miserable enough. I have no intention of moving any closer."

"What about your plans to murder him?"

"Please, do not quote me in the presence of the RK900."

"Oh, he really wants a katana up his ass." Rook mused, before turning to Peter, "I think it's cool that you've got brothers. What I don't get is why you're keeping the Bishop shaped one around."

[xinganhao]

✏️ data science major!jeonghan x reader.

if there's one thing you've never been able to decode, it'd be your ex-boyfriend jeonghan ✶ part of my svt university milestone event

⤿ college exes, jeonghan is a menace™, suggestive coding pickup lines, [slight] angst, terrible pseudo-html for the hc (shoutout to w3schools). more content under the cut. ♡⸝⸝ prompt from @choco-scoups & anon!

<!doctype html> <html> <head> <title> decoding the breakup </title> <subtitle> yoon jeonghan (est. 2024) </subtitle> </head> </body> <script>

if (you still love them) {   // remind yourself of why you broke up in the first place   // date other people who don't even come close to them   // bury yourself in schoolwork or literally anything else that will make you forget } else {   // accept that you still have feelings }

if (you want them back) {   // be annoying enough that you're always on their mind   // reverse psychology them into thinking that they want you back   // reference your relationship so they might want it back, too   // hit them with the world's worst pickup lines so you can catch their attention } else {   // keep on trying until you succeed }

<p> confession time: running into you at what's supposed to be our spot was completely unintentional. that wasn't part of the bigger plan, of the grand scheme of things. that was just me trying to find some comfort in something familiar. in the quiet places where you once loved me. i'm a fool who likes to pretend, here and there, that our little corner of campus still remembers what it was like for us to be together. </p>

if (they still hate you) {   // accept it  // settle for what you're given } else {   // live for the hope of it all }

<p> confession time, part two: i still love you. of course i do. why the hell would i be doing all this if i didn't? <a href="https://www.svtuni.com/jun">jun</a> says love isn't a once-in-a-lifetime thing, but i beg to differ. at the risk of sounding like a bigger fool, i truly believe that i don't think i'll ever love anyone as much as i've loved you. </p>

<p> even <a href="https://www.svtuni.com/mingyu">mingyu</a> has gotten his sequel. and he's asked me, time and time again, if that's something i want with you. some second chance romance, one that won't end with me being 'Maybe: Jeonghan' in your phone. </p>

<p> <a href="https://www.svtuni.com/vernon">vernon</a> will be the first to tell us both that the body doesn't lie. some bullshit about the heart knowing what it wants, about it not being good for us to deny our most basic instincts of what it truly wants. our friends don't know how to keep their opinions to themselves, unfortunately. </p>

<p> <h1> anyway. what matters are my thoughts, right? </h1> </p>

<p> and my only thought is that i love you. i loved you when we were together, and i love you even now. i loved you, and i was bad at it, and i will live the rest of my life wondering what i could have done differently. as it is, i'm worried that i'm still not good enough for you. that i'll make the same mistakes that i did back then. </p>

<p> i'm happy to just love you, if you'll let me. i'm happy to be petty, to make up all these terrible pick up lines. to make you smile and scoff and roll your eyes. i want to love you and to want nothing in return. not until i deserve it. not until i can finally, finally say i'm worth your time. </p>

<p> <small> please. </small> </p>

</script> </body> </html>

[7ndipity]

Limbo

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You and Yoongi have been friends for over a year, but when Yoongi realizes that his feelings for you might be something more, he pulls away, fearing the pains of the past will repeat themselves. You just want to give him the love he deserves; can he accept it, or will he hide away from you?

Word Count: 3.5k(whoops lol)

Warnings: 18+ mdni, angst, mutual pining, mentions of drinking, swearing, mentions of bad/toxic past relationships, eventual smut at the end, handjob, subby Yoongi bc I said so, not proofread

A/N: I got several requests while I was gone wanting some angst to fluff/smut with Yoongi, so I kinda combined them all into this mess hehe. It def got away from me, but I hope you'll all enjoy it!

Masterlist

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It’s strange how little things that seem almost insignificant at first glance, take on so much more meaning to us than we ever expect them to. Songs on the radio, a specific perfume or food, random little trinkets that can be found in almost any gift shop. Like the keychain that Yoongi fiddled with absentmindedly as he rode the elevator up to his friend Hee-jun’s apartment.

The tiny bear figure was nothing particularly remarkable on its own, but it had come to hold a certain sense of peace for Yoongi whenever he held onto it, like his own little good luck charm, something to help keep him centered when he was feeling overwhelmed, much like now as he stepped into his friends crowded apartment.

He quickly found his usual place, tucked safely into the corner of the sofa, steering clear of the noise and chaos of the main group as they talked and drank.

His friend was always encouraging him to come over for his weekend hangouts, insisting to Yoongi that all the energy and music would help clear his head and give him inspiration for work. Yoongi wasn’t particularly in the mood for this much noise and stimuli though. He’d spent the better part of the past week holed up in his studio working several new songs, though his results had been underwhelming by his standards. He was tired and had half a mind to just slip back out the door and go home without saying anything.

His mood however perked up instantly as he caught sight of a familiar figure slipping through the front door, his eyes following you as you grabbed a drink and glanced about the room, your face breaking into a huge grin as you spotted him watching you.

“I thought you said you weren’t coming this week?” You asked, taking the empty seat next to him. “What happened to “I’m too busy being a musical genius” or whatever?”

“I was persuaded otherwise.” He replied dryly, ignoring your growing amused grin.

“I’m glad.” You said.

“Didn’t say it was you, I’m just here to get back the whiskey that Hee-Jun owes me, one glass at a time.” He responded, tipping back the last of his drink as he spoke, making you laugh.

“Whatever you say, bro.” You relented.

“Yah! I’ve told you not to call me bro.” He complained.

The two of you fell into your usual routine of conversation and bickering, much the same as every other night you had spent together since you’d first met over a year ago, when Hee-jun had invited you to a group dinner and introduced you to everyone.

Yoongi had found himself instantly charmed by you, your friendly but sarcastic attitude matching his perfectly. He had spent the majority of that first night talking eagerly with you, much to the surprise of the others, not used to seeing this side of Yoongi.

Your friendship had quickly grown after that. He had found himself completely drawn in by you, finding it remarkably easy to talk with you and wanting to learn every little thing about you. Yoongi’s friends loved to tease him about his being whipped for you, pointing out things like how he always claimed that he was too busy to hang out with them, but he somehow always managed to make time for you, but he didn’t pay them much mind. He was happy around you, really truly happy. He felt safe and comfortable with you, which was something that didn’t come very easy for Yoongi.

There were times though, usually on late nights when you were still hanging out long after one of you should’ve gone home, when he would wonder if there was some truth to his friend’s jokes, feeling a faint but insistent twinge in his chest, as if something were struggling for freedom, but he quelled it down, passing it off as just a passing thought, a flicker of something that didn’t really mean anything… Right?

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of drinks and talking to you and his friends over the too loud music until late. He was in the middle of a discussion with one of the members when he felt a sudden weight against his shoulder.

Glancing down, he was met with your sleeping figure, your face nuzzled against the material of his jacket, 

All at once, that twisting feeling in his chest had returned, far more pronounced and forceful than usual, his heart stuttering like the moments before the drop on a rollercoaster. His mind went blank as he stared down at you, a familiar warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the alcohol in his system.

Fuck, he loved you.

He loved you, with your dumb jokes and peach flavored lip balm, your terrible playlists and your quiet little hums when you're nervous, and the way you hid behind your hands when you laughed. He loved every little thing about you and he suddenly can’t breathe as he stared down at your sleeping form, taking in how perfectly you fit against his side. He stayed there for a while, not quite sure what to do now.

“Y/n?” He whispered.

“Mhm.” You stirred, shifting closer, but not fully surfacing from sleep.

He was quiet for a second, mind whirring as he tried to decide what action he should take.

He could just tell you, nudge you again gently till you woke properly, blinking up at him all drowsy and confused and utterly adorable.

“I think… I love you.” The words were simple enough in theory, mumbled out as his dark eyes bore into your own, begging for this to not be a mistake.

For a moment you didn’t move, staring as if unsure of what you’d heard, before suddenly pushing yourself up, seeking out his lips.

He wrapped his arms around you, savoring the taste of you as he pulled you closer, letting out a soft groan as your hands found their way into his hair, nails scratching over his scalp and raising goosebumps over his whole body-

The sound of glass breaking in the kitchen behind the two of you shattered the moment, ripping Yoongi roughly from his daydream.

“Yah, you see?! This is why I don’t let you help!” Jin scolded loudly.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Joon snapped back, equally loud.

“How was that not-?!”

The chaos from the kitchen had pulled you from sleep, sitting up quickly and blinking around in confusion and concern.

“What happened?” You asked groggily, shaking off the last hints of sleep.

“It’s just the guys being dumb-asses, don’t worry.” He assured you, but he shifted away subtly, a strange sense of relief flooding his system.

Mumbling out a faint excuse, he ducked down the hall to the bathroom, catching sight of his expression in the mirror as he splashed some water on his face in an attempt to clear his head. 

His cheeks were flushed a deep rosy hue, his eyes slightly too big, pupils blown wide.

What the fuck was wrong with him?! He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t say those things to you. He’d fallen down that hole before, letting his feelings get the better of him confessing, only to be viciously rejected. Or worse yet, having his feelings falsely returned, and ending up with his heart twisted into something he didn’t even recognize for the other person's benefit and pleasure, leaving him to pick up the warped pieces when they had used him up.

He couldn’t let that happen with you, he couldn’t risk ruining one of the best friendships he’s had in years over some stupid infatuation.

Taking care not to be noticed, he silently slipped out the door and made his way home, sending a half-assed text to you and his other friends about not feeling well before turning his phone off and flopping onto his bed.

He would fix this, he promised to himself, he just needed to give his little crush some time to run its course and get out of his system, like a cold or the flu. In the meantime, he decided it would be best to put some space between the two of you, try and wean himself off the dependency that he had developed with you. It wasn’t good for him to ‘need’ someone as much as he did you, it would only lead to regret if he wasn’t careful.

He could do this, he tried to convince himself. He could correct these feelings and go back to how your friendship was before.

He had to.

For the next few weeks, he did his best to avoid you without being too obvious, claiming things like busy schedules as why he was suddenly never around.

He tried to convince himself that this was necessary and the better of two options, but the full truth was that he was miserable.

He hadn’t realized just how much you had been seeped into his day to day life until he tried to go without you. There were no silly texts convos to keep his spirits up during the day, his evenings dull and quiet, no warm laughter or teasing jokes to pull a smile out of him, no encouraging touches on his hand when he was feeling frustrated or random little backhugs that brought more peace and comfort than he ever thought was possible.

He knew he could easily remedy the situation and just face his feelings and talk to you, but the ghosts of his past kept creeping up on him, whispering in his ear that he would ruin everything if he dared open himself like that again. 

His heart argued however with him constantly in your defence. This time it could be different, you were so different from all those people in his past, so kind and warm and patient.

He knew deep down that you would never do anything to intentionally hurt him, but his fear left him in a constant state of limbo, frustrated with himself and confused about how to move forward.

He decided to take Holly on a long walk to try and help clear his head, fidgeting with the tiny bear charm on his keyring in his pocket as he often did when he was frustrated.

Even this made his thoughts circle back to you. You’d given it to him not long after you’d become friends, having taken him out for dinner one evening when he had been having a tough week. You’d wandered around the city without any real plans, eating snacks from street vendors, talking and goofing around till he felt his chest finally begin to lighten. You’d won the keychain charm in a random gatcha capsule machine and had insisted that it resembled him, dropping it in his hand and saying that he should keep it as a good luck charm.

He’d humored you somewhat reluctantly at first, but he’d found himself toying with the charm whenever he was anxious or uneasy, a sense of comfort and certainty creeping through him whenever he held onto it, your words echoing through his mind.

Apparently the universe was as fed up with Yoongi’s bullshit as he was, deciding that since he wouldn’t make a decision on his own, it would give him a push in the form of you on his doorstep as he returned home with Holly from their walk.

The tiny dog rushed to greet you, having missed your presence almost as much as his owner had the past few weeks, excitedly bouncing around your feet as you tried to pet him.

Hi buddy.” You giggled before glancing up to meet Yoongi’s eye. “Hey Yoongs.”

“H-hey.” He swallowed nervously. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d say hi.” You said, still playing with Holly.

He watched the two of you, a tiny smile making its way across his face as he took in the way your expression lit up as you cooed over the little poodle, your smile warming him more than the lingering hints of summer in the air, instantly weaving your way back into his heart.

“You wanna come in?” The words had a slight wobble as they left his mouth, as if he was asking himself more than you.

You nodded. “I’d like that.”

He let the three of you into the house, debating awkwardly on what he should do before settling next you on the sofa.

It was quiet for a moment, neither of you quite knowing where to start.

“So, how’s the new album going?” You offered.

The two of you talked for a while, quickly falling back into your usual routine, talking about everything from work to friends to the new project you’d been working on, but there was clearly an unspoken ‘something’ hanging in the air between you, Yoongi gradually losing himself in just listening and watching you, the way your eyes flashed as you spoke, the way you talked through your hands. 

It was several minutes before you noticed the way he was staring at you, his eyes distant, an almost dreamy glaze over them.

“What?” You asked.

He shrugged.

“You just look happy.” He replied.

“I am happy.” You confirmed, lightly shoving his shoulder. “I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

Your words sent a quiet thrill through him, warm and hopeful, but your next words also triggered a twinge of guilt.

“I’ve missed this, you, the past few weeks.” You admitted, playing with your hands on your lap. “I was honestly starting to think you were avoiding me.” You laughed nervously, trying to lighten the weight behind your words.

He was silent for a moment, the decision that he’d been avoiding hanging in the air again.

“Actually… I kinda was.” He admitted. “No, I know I was.” 

Your expression fell. “Why? Did I do something-?”

“No no, it wasn’t anything you did.” He quickly assured you. “It was-, it was a ‘me thing’ I needed to figure out.”

“What kind of thing?” You asked.

He hesitated.

Fuck it.

“The fact that I haven’t been honest with myself, or you, about a lot of things, like the fact that I like you… as more than a friend.”

Your mouth fell open at his admission, but Yoongi pressed on, fearing that if he stopped now, he might never get it out.

He laid everything out, his feelings for you and his fears and scars from the past and why he pulled away from you, his gaze never straying from the ground in front of him as he spoke.

“Through all of this, I realized a couple things.” He said. 

You waited for him to continue.

 “I could live without you, but I would fucking hate it.” He finally glanced up at you, his eyes unusually vulnerable. 

“I hated not seeing you, hated not hearing your laugh, not smelling your perfume of your stupid coffee order in my car after driving you to work. I hated it, but it was all my own fault, because I was too much of a coward to admit that I liked you more than I thought was possible, more than I should. “

“Yoongi-” You tried. but he kept going.

“And you can tell me to fuck off and that you don’t feel the same, and I’ll gladly leave you alone, or go back to being just friends, but I just wanted-”

“Yoongi, shut up.” You said, not harshly, but firmly enough to snap his mouth closed instantly. 

His heart pounded loudly in his chest, the silence stretching between you deafening as he waited for you to speak

“You really think you’re the only one who’s been feeling like this? Who’s been afraid?” You asked quietly, your voice trembling with emotion. “You think I haven’t thought about if we?... If I told you…” You took an unsteady breath, Yoongi staring at you in disbelief. “Why did you say something before-?

“I was afraid,” He admitted, feeling tears beginning to prick at his eyes. “Afraid that you wouldn’t want this. Or worse, that you would.”

Your eyes saddened as you reached out, fingers brushing against his cheek. “Why would that be worse?”

“Because I don’t wanna break this, I don’t wanna lose you” He whispered, his voice cracking. “Not when you mean so much to me.”

Suddenly, the distance between you felt unbearable, the space filled with the weight of thousands of unspoken feelings.

Before he could think, you closed the gap, leaning so close you could feel each other's shaky breaths, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

“Say it,” You whispered, the words barely audible. “I won’t hurt you… just say it.”

For a moment, you thought he might retreat, that he might hide behind the walls he’d built around himself again. But then his gaze softened, a quiet resolve settling into his chest.

“I love you,” He breathed, the words falling from his lips easily, soft and unguarded. “I love you so fucking much.”

He leaned in, letting his forehead rest against yours, his hand coming up to caress your cheek. His touch was gentle, reverent, as if you might disappear if he held on too tightly. 

But you weren’t going anywhere. Not when you’d just been offered the world in his hands.

You couldn’t find your words. Instead, you closed the distance between you, your lips crashing against his in a way that felt both brand new and familiar all at once, like finally coming home.

The world around you melted away, his arms wrapped around you tightly, shielding you from everything that could ever dare try to distract from this moment, pulling you close, feeling how perfectly you pressed against him.

His lips were soft and warm on yours, his touch achingly tender, every brush of his fingers against your skin like a spark of electricity.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, his eyes stayed scrunched closed, as if trying to savor every ounce of this feeling.

His fingers traced gentle paths up and down your arms to your shoulders, his breath warm against your skin.

“I don’t know-,” He whispered, his voice laced with vulnerability and need, drawing away slightly. “Fuck, I want so much, but I don’t know if we should-”

“Don’t hide away from me again, please.” You begged, following him to keep close, your lips brushing against his as you spoke, sending shivers rippling through him. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but don’t be don’t hide. Show me what you need. Please.”

At your words, Yoongi felt the last remnants of his fear crumble away, replaced only by a deep craving and need for you. 

Crushing his lips to yours again, he gave himself over to the kiss fully, gripping your waist and pulling you to straddle him properly.

His lips trailed down down your jaw to your neck, sucking marks on the sensitive skin as he went and causing you to writhe and squirm in his hold, grinding down against the growing bulge in his pants.

He let out a pained groan. 

“Touch me, god please, touch me.” He begged into your neck, bucking up into you desperately.

There was a blur of fumbling with buttons and zippers, your shirt thrown away somewhere behind the sofa, leaving your heaving chest bare for him to paw amd suck at hungrily.

You snaked a hand between you to stroke his aching length through his boxers, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as he bucked up into your touch, moaning into your skin.

“Please.” He begged, for what he didn’t even fully know.

You shifted back just enough to free him from the confines of his underwear, his cock springing up against his abdomen, the tip red and leaking, desperate for any sort of relief.

As he watched through glazed-over eyes, you let your spit drip down onto his cock for lubrication, wrapping your hand around him and stroking him slowly to spread it over him, reveling in the way he twitched and whined under your touch.

“Fuck, Y/n, m-more please.” He moaned, his hips bucking up to chase your hand.

You sped up your movements, twisting your wrist just right as he clung to you, your foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's air. The whole thing almost felt more intimate than if he were actually inside you.

”I-, fuck, I’m gonna-” He panted, pulsing in your grip.

“Let go baby, I got you.” 

He came with a shuddering groan, curling into you as he painted your hand with streaks of white that dribbled back down onto his twitching length, making him shiver with oversensitivity.

“Fuck, Y/n, that was, I-” He struggled to catch his breath, leaning against you heavily.

“Yoongi?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you too.” You kissed his lips lightly, moving to detangle yourself from him so you could clean the two of you up, when he caught you by the waist, pulling you back down on the sofa, pinning you under him, his eyes dark as they stared into yours.

“Where do you think you’re going, darling? We’re just getting started.”

“Now it’s your turn.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @universal-travel-er @k4ngelz

[balioc]

Looking at the world from a manager's perspective, you can productively model the pool of workers as being divided into a few basic groups, which are defined and characterized by their driving motivations.

Insert all the usual disclaimers for this sort of thing - this is the roughest type of rough typology. I pulled these categories out of my raw intuition, and possibly a few more would crop up with some additional thought. In reality, the boundaries of these categories are incredibly fuzzy, and almost every individual is actually going to be motivated by a complicated mix of all the relevant motivations; we're talking REALLY SIMPLE HEURISTICS here. Etc.

There have been other well-known worker typologies that share a lot in common with my thoughts here; this is mostly not novel, it's mostly meant to refine a few ideas for particular purposes.

Hustlers are motivated by concrete personal advantage. Most commonly, and most straightforwardly, they want money - as much of it as they can get. They may also be interested in fame, idiosyncratic perks, etc. They do whatever they have to do in order to get what they want.

No surprise: you see huge preponderances of these guys in fields that provide outsize concrete rewards, e.g. finance, the upper echelons of management, etc. But not every natural-born Hustler is in a position to enter a glitzy high-paying field, and in fact you find Hustlers all throughout society and all throughout the economy, finding or making hustles wherever they go.

Having Hustlers working for you is mostly pretty great. They get shit done. They can be induced to work incredibly hard - probably harder than anyone else, under most circumstances - and they'll shank their own mothers if the price is right. If you need anything really important from them, anything at all, it's just a matter of bribing them enough.

...they will also, of course, cheerfully shank you if the price is right. Hustlers aren't the only wellsprings of institutional politics and infighting, but they're the most dangerous ones; they're always potential rivals to everyone around them. Also, you need to keep the tangible rewards flowing in a steady stream in order to get anything out of them, or else they'll put most of their effort into jumping ship (one way or another).

Craftsmen are motivated by the desire to do good work in their chosen fields, for its own sake and for the sake of their treasured self-image as people who do good work.

As you'd expect, for the most part, they're excellent workers and should be prized. But they're not perfect workers. Common weaknesses and downsides include:

They tend to have their own ideas about How Things Should Get Done; they're often resistant to externally-imposed product/service requirements or process changes (and bad at implementing those things) (no matter how important or well-conceived they are), and they're very resistant to "just get it out the door, right now done is better than good."

Being driven chiefly by internal motivation is great, but sometimes it's useful to be able to push things along with external motivators, and Craftsmen are pretty resistant to those. They don't like working more or harder than they're naturally inclined to work, they mostly sneer at carrots, and sticks make them sad and unproductive.

It's important to note that, while noteworthy skill within a field correlates with having a Craftsman temperament and motivation suite - for obvious reasons - those things are not identical at all. Plenty of Craftsmen are bad at their jobs, or just average, and plenty of the best workers are most motivated by things other than the Excellence of the Work Itself.

Fanatics are a relatively rare and specialized group, whom you find mostly within a few specific sorts of culturally-valorized fields. They're motivated by a desire to be part of something Important and Good in a Broader Sense: to Save the World, or some smaller-bore version of that.

They make amazing front-line soldiers, in the sorts of institutions that have "front-line soldiers." They work super hard, and you don't even need to bribe them, you just need to keep them hopped up on inspiration.

The big problem with them is that they're mostly motivated by a feeling - the feeling of Being Righteous - and it's not easy to control where they get that feeling, in any kind of precise way. They're just as resistant to external motivators as Craftsmen are, or even more so, but they're also not being guided by an ideal of effective quality. (No, not even if their chosen cause is theoretically all about an ideal of effective quality, hem hem.) They will happily waste vast amounts of time and money doing useless things, or even counterproductive things, so long as they're engaged in tasks that hit the right psychological buttons for them. There's also a constant risk that a Fanatic will decide that his employer is unrighteous, or that one of his coworkers is unrighteous, and start an internal conflict; the risk scales in a more-than-linear fashion with the number of Fanatics you keep around.

The biggest group, unsurprisingly, is the Normies. In most fields, it is much the biggest group. Normies are motivated by the desire to be members in good standing of their communities, to have positive relationships with the people around them, and to live up to basic norms and expectations.

Managerial skills, in the traditional sense, are incredibly important with Normies. If you want them to do good work for you - and you should want that, as a manager, you've almost certainly got a whole bunch of them - not only do you have to keep them pointed in the right direction, you have to make sure that they're supporting each other. With Hustlers, you just have to throw money at them (and avoid their power plays); with Craftsmen, you just have to let them do their thing, and occasionally badger them into giving you what you need; with Fanatics, you just have to be inspirational; but with Normies, you have to lead, and construct a productive community. You have to set reasonable, achievable norms and expectations that will get you what you need.

This wouldn't be complete if I didn't talk about the Defectors. The Defectors are motivated by not working. They don't want to be there, they resent having to do their jobs, and their primary goal is to shirk as much as possible. They will, by default, put much more effort into shirking than into their assigned tasks.

Obviously, managers don't want to have to deal with them, for good reason. But they're out there, in large numbers - not always in the places and fields where you'd expect to find them - and learning to manage them is sometimes more viable than trying to get rid of them. ("Moving Heaven and Earth to find them jobs that will change their attitude" is often a good plan, although of course it's not always possible and not always worth it.)

Crucially, Defectors are not Normies. If you start with the assumption that the average baseline worker is lazy and sour, you will make some incredibly stupid decisions. There are some fields where, for structural reasons, you can expect that a very large number of your workers will be Defectors; this is a huge and complicated challenge, well beyond the scope of this post, and good luck to you if you have to handle it, but it's not the default.

----------------------

Once you have those categories in your head, and can play with them, a number of obvious-seeming ideas present themselves. Just a couple, for now:

Most high-level executives are Hustlers, or have strong Hustler tendencies, for obvious reasons. Most of the people around them are Hustlers, or have strong Hustler tendencies. This means that they tend to overweight the Hustler outlook, by a lot, when they try to model what their workers are like. More specifically, I'd wager that a lot of them intuitively divide the world into "good workers" ( = Hustlers) and "bad workers" ( = Defectors). This will lead to a heavy overreliance on tangible rewards, a systematic shortchanging of community-building, etc. Which is in fact just what we see.

In particular - crucially - Hustlers and Defectors are the only worker types who ever become more productive under heavy stress. Hustlers actually benefit from it, because it raises the stakes of the game that they're already playing. (If you succeed, you'll be king of the world! If you fail, you'll be shark food! Go go go!) Defectors suffer terribly from stress, of course, but they can sometimes be spooked into doing their jobs as opposed to doing nothing, and sometimes that's the best/easiest way to get something out of them. But stress is terrible for everyone else. Craftsmen lose their focus. Fanatics lose their hope. It's worst of all for Normies, because they take all their cues from the vibes around them; they're productive when they learn to associate work with comfort and happiness, and when you fill their working world with frantic desperation, you just put them in a permanent cringe state.

stop trying to pit your Normies against each other in competitions for status and rewards dear God what are you stupid

To some extent, you can control your institution by controlling what types of workers you have. But only to some extent. There are only so many Hustlers and Craftsmen to go around, and if you want them, you will have to (a) be able to identify them reliably on little information [HINT: you are probably very bad at this], and (b) provide them with what they want [tangible rewards / comfortable security and interesting work]. "We are going to employ only the good special people" is feasible if you're an outfit of four workers; at a dozen, it's already become a stretch; at a few hundred, uh, pfffffffft. If you want to operate at scale, you need to be able to make Normies do good work, there is no substitute for it.

[m00nl1ghts1vt]

Scavenger Hunts & Cinnamon Rolls - Chris Sturniolo

Babydaddy Chris - Positive - Mama - Changed Woman Pairings - Babydaddy!Chris x Fem!Reader Summary - You and Chris put a last minute scavenger hunt together for the boys as a way to reveal your pregnancy. Warnings - Strong language, pregnancy announcement, lil fluffy, Word Count - 2419 Authors Note - Looking for a new label for the reader!! 🤔 give me suggestions! At first I had Changed Woman and Scavenger Hunts & Cinnamon Rolls as once big ass post but I broke them up lol. I hope everyone like it! I had a lot of fun putting the little notes together. Masterlist Current Series - City of Love Check out my dividers!

“They’re pulling up,” Chris beams from the living room, rushing to the kitchen island where you were sitting. He had been running around like a jittery school kid all day. Finally deciding it was time to tell Nick and Matt, you two pulled together a last-minute scavenger hunt in hopes it’d make the news a little less intense. Chris had no clue how they’d react, telling them they’re going to uncles for the first time was going to be shocking news, but he knew it had to be done. Both of you were tired of making up excuses when Matt would complain about you in the bathroom almost all day, every day. Or when Nick asked why you were wearing Chris's wardrobe and taking a hiatus on drinking.

Everything was prepared. All the envelopes were placed in their designated spots around the house, sealed with a piece of scotch tape, and marked with either your neat handwriting or your boyfriends sloppy handwriting, each one leading to the next. Chris sent his brothers on a few errands after breakfast which made sense because they had a few errands of their own. The three being so close, they took notice of Chris moping around the house, attempting to get it out of him but he suppressed his true feelings every time, refusing to confess the secret he had been holding in the last few weeks. Needless to say, when Chris asked them to pick up a few things for him, they didn’t object. He made sure to give them a long list, keeping them out for a few hours so the two of you could get everything ready. Chris taped the first envelope on the front door just minutes before they arrived, your neat handwriting scribbled across it - “let the games begin. The first clue is where you store your shoes. Good luck twin!” 

A mixture of anticipation and nervousness boiled deep down in your gut. At least that's what you thought it was since the feeling was quite different from your constant state of nausea you had been in the last few weeks. You hear the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut, “is this for a video?” Nick asks, poking his head around the corner, “I need to change first if it is.”

“No. No video,” Chris stutters, breaking eye contact to look at you. His face said he was second guessing it all, so you put on your best reassuring smile and nodded him on, trying to give him as much encouragement as you could without physically saying it. Matt takes notice pretty quickly, “what’s wrong with you, kid? You look sick,” his voice laced with concern and his eyebrows scrunched together. Chris swallows the lump in his throat, shaking his head, “got a big surprise for you guys. C’mon, find the next clue,” he eggs them on while wrapping an arm around you, desperately trying to wipe the ghost-like expression off of his face. 

You and Chris walk into the living room, watching as his brothers absolutely destroy the organized shoe rack. It was nearly impossible to find the next note, you had stuffed it in a pair of Nick's shoes that he barely ever wore. Matt jumps in excitement as he pulls the crunched up sticky note out of a pair of old, dusty sneakers. You laugh as he thrusts it in the air and shouts, “got it!” 

He brings the note back down to eye level, clearing his throat, “‘now that you found the second clue, go to the fridge and crack open a Mountain Dew,’” he reads off the words you pieced together. You weren’t much of a rhymer, Chris told you what to say on most of them because he knew it would’ve taken you all night. The scavenger hunt being a spontaneous whim of his, you didn’t argue when he sprung the idea on you, you were just happy he was ready to tell them. “Who drinks Mountain Dew?” Nick snorts, knowing it was only in the fridge for company that came over. 

“It rhymed,” you retorted back to him, shrugging your shoulders, “and we have Mountain Dew in the fridge.” Nick and Matt were too excited over the silly scavenger hunt, and they were really letting their competitive sides show. They resembled little kids running around the playground at recess as they raced each other to the fridge, earning laughs from you and Chris as they pushed one another out of the way. Nick gets there first, swinging the fridge door open, “my hand is literally on the door!” You let out a laugh as he argues with Matt, making him pout and cross his arms over his chest, “it’s okay, buddy. You’ll get the next one,” Chris tells him in a playful tone before rubbing a hand down his back. Matt quickly shrugs it off as Nick begins to read the third clue aloud, “clue three will keep you on your toes, check where Matt keeps his clothes.” 

Before you or Chris can say anything, Matt turns on his heels and foots it to his bedroom, “this one's mine!” You erupt in laughter, Chris following quickly behind as you watch Nick chase after Matt. It was funny how competitive they were, not even knowing the prize would be finding out they were becoming uncles. Just as you’re about to walk up the steps you hear Matt yell at Nick, “back door! It says ‘wanting more? Check by the back door,’ hurry up!”

Before you have the chance to get out of the way, Nick is barrelling towards you, jumping down the last few steps to get a head start. Chris snakes a hand around your waist, swiftly yanking you out of his way, “watch the fuck out! It’s not that serious!” he calls after his brother who dismisses his words by waving a hand over his shoulder. Chris looks at you, “you okay?” You force a smile, nodding to him, “I’m fine. Let them be excited.” 

Matt stomps down the stairs, calling out to Nick, “did you get it?!” Nick shouts from the back of the house, “‘no bitchin’, take that ass to the kitchen!”

Matt picks up his pace, quickly making his way to the kitchen. You and Chris follow behind him silently, refusing to give out any hints. The boys had one more clue until they revealed the big secret. So many thoughts run through your head as Matt inspects the kitchen - what were their reactions going to be? Were they going to hate you? - you felt like you were telling Chris all over again, like you were telling your overprotective older brothers, and that felt even worse. Matt puts his feet in action, moving across the kitchen in long strides. You watch as he picks up the white envelope you had taped to the cookie jar. Before he tears into it, you open your mouth to stop him, “read that last one together, Matt.” 

He looks up at you, nodding as he clenches the note to his chest as if he didn’t trust himself. A few moments later, Nick appears around the corner, giving Matt all the initiative he needed to tear open the envelope. He holds it out, “‘hopefully this isn’t too heartbreaking, check the oven to see what’s baking,’” he reads loud enough for the room to hear. His face crunching in confusion, “heartbreaking?” 

You had a feeling Nick could care less about what the notes said, it was obvious his competitive side had taken over. He rushes to the oven and swings it open, revealing a leftover cinnamon roll from breakfast. Chris put it in there hours ago after he realized buns were the only thing you didn’t have. You watch as Nick doubles over to pick the rock hard cinnamon roll up, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, “a cinnamon roll? Why would a cinnamon roll be heartbreaking?” He looks between you and Chris, “they were pretty good at breakfast, probably stale now.” 

“Well,” Chris chokes out in a nervous manner, “we didn’t have any buns.” You let your eyes bounce around the room - Chris scratching the back of his neck like the nervous mess he truly was. Matt rereads the last note over and over again, trying to put two and two together while Nick was looking at the stale dessert dumbfounded. As much as you wanted to scream out your confession, you decided to let Chris do all the talking. Besides, telling his family was something you wanted to leave to him, after all it was his family. Telling your own family was something you were dreading.  

“What the fuck?!” Matt spits out, making you and Chris look at him. The color flushes out of his face like he’s the one who just found out he was about to be a father. Nick was still staring at the cinnamon roll, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, “I don’t get it.” 

“Y/n’s pregnant, dumbfuck!” he chews out. You couldn’t tell if he was pissed or just taken back, and by the look on Chris’s face, he wasn’t sure either. Nick drops the roll, letting it bounce off the tiled floor before he slaps a hand over his mouth, “what?!” 

A strong silence casts upon the kitchen. The familiar feeling of anticipation is no longer in your gut as the four of you eyeball each other, struck for words. You didn’t know what to say or do, but the need to break the tension was weighing down on you like a thousand bricks placed on your back. Deciding to break the awkward silence, you force a toothless smile, letting your small voice croak out, “surprise!”

“You’re fucking joking! Where’s the cameras?” Nick pushes out a shocked laugh, looking around the room to see if he could spot any hidden cameras. Chris clears his throat, “we’re not joking,” running a hand through his hair. His serious demeanor made his brothers come to a realization; this silly scavenger hunt wasn’t a prank, and you were for sure pregnant. He was the most unserious out of the three, his goofy personality is what attracted you to him the most. He was a major goofball and if you were being truthful, this did seem like a prank he’d put together for the hell of it. Except, it wasn’t a prank at all - it was the real deal. 

You let your worries get the best of you. Feeling hot tears brim the waterline of your eyes, you quickly blink them away before looking down at your hidden bump. Chris’s hoodies did a fantastic job at hiding your baby bump these last couple weeks. You panicked when you started showing, even though your bump was barely noticeable, you didn’t want anyone to catch on before your announcement. The only indication you were pregnant was the constant puking in the hall bathroom Matt and Chris shared and you wanted to keep it that way until you were ready to confess. All eyes were on you as you smooth a hand over your bump, making the hoodie hug at your waist, showing your small. You could easily say you were bloated and get away with it. Nick and Matt gasp in harmony as you lift the hoodie up to expose your growing bump. It wasn’t much, but it was still proof of your baby's existence, proof that your baby was growing. Nick peels his hand from his mouth to speak, “you’re already showing?!” He makes his way to your belly, holding out a hand like he’s asking if he can touch. You nod him on, “yup, it’s real,” he says out loud, making you snort. Nick was really trying to convince himself this was reality. The last few weeks, you felt the same, so you couldn’t blame him. 

“How far along are you? Why didn’t you guys tell us?!” Matt shoots out questions like a disappointed father. He wasn’t upset that you and Chris were expecting, he was upset that Chris would keep such a big secret from him when they told each other everything. Some things they didn’t even tell Nick or you. “We’re telling you now bud. She’ll be eleven weeks this friday,” Chris jokes until he realizes Matt’s hard expression isn’t budging, “I don’t know. I was scared, didn’t want you guys to be mad at me.” You can hear the sadness in his voice, almost like a kid who was apologizing to his parents for bad grades. “I’m not mad you’re having a baby. I’m upset ‘cause you didn't tell me sooner. We all could’ve been figuring this shit out together Chris,” he lectures him like the true big brother he is. Matt moves his feet to walk towards you, “how long have you known?” 

“We found out at 7 weeks,” you manage to get out before he places a hand on your belly without warning, “yea that’s real,” he confirms, shooting looks between his brothers and back down at you. “I want to know about the next one as soon as it happens,” he grumbles, keeping his hand on your stomach. Nick snorts, “please,” taking a hand off your belly so Matt could get better access, “you were probably in the next room as they conceived it.” 

“Don’t call my baby an ‘it’. He’s a boy,” Chris argues, a grinning spreading from ear to ear. His comment makes both Matt and Nick look at him. Already knowing what the next question would be, you decide to chime in, “we don’t know yet. He’s just been manifesting the whole time.”

"Hold on," Chris nearly shouts, rushing out of the kitchen, and quickly returning with two extra copies of your first ultrasound you had gotten a few weeks prior. The same bright smile stretched across his face as he hands over a copy to each of his brothers, "doesn't he look like a boy?"

"Chris, it looks like an alien," Nick snickers, earning a playfully gasp from Chris. Matt studies the black and white printed picture, "yup,” he pops, "looks just like you, Chris."

"Funny 'cause you look just like me," Chris shoots back quickly. He still felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, you were bringing a new life into existence in just a few short months. He wasn't ready for it at all, but he was glad his brothers were there to help him, and you, through it.

🏷️ - @lvrsturniolo @ribread03 @unknvhx @m11rx @emely9274 @loveparqdise @sweetshuga @frickin-bats @katie-tibo @leila-marie4

© All Rights Reserved to m00nl1ghts1vt. Please do not copy my work.

[beanarie]

i never wanted water once part 3

tommy is also breakup baking, prompted by my dear @sanguinarysanguinity

tw: mention of parent death, mention of child abuse

part 1

part 2

~

Gutierrez eyes him on his way out of the locker room. "Feel like no one ever sees you anymore. You coming back to the pickup game or what?"

"Oh." Tommy gives his damp hair one last rub from the towel. "I wasn't planning on it, to be honest. Too awkward."

Gutierrez frowns. "Why?"

"You know," Tommy says, wishing he didn't have to, "Eddie Diaz. I broke up with his best friend."

"Diaz hasn't shown in weeks. Probably got injured. You know how that crew is."

And that. Well. He and Eddie were friends. They became tight very quickly in a way Tommy hasn't experienced with many people. He shouldn't have thrown a connection like that away without at least trying to salvage it.

He sends a text, a polite, generic one asking about his welfare. Worst thing that can happen is Eddie tells him to fuck off and he's back where he started. He fully expects to be left on read.

He does not expect Eddie to tell him he's moving back to Texas because he's given up on his son deciding to come home. Eddie invites him to a pre-going away dinner at a bar and grill before he goes down South for a few days to scout out homes. And, no, absolutely not. But Tommy proposes getting a drink, just the two of them. Eddie very validly explains that he can't spare the time, since he's already started packing up his life and he's working overtime to save up for a down payment. Tommy gets it. He does.

The day after the dinner, Eddie calls him. "Hey, man. I know we're like two ships passing in the night, but I didn't want to leave without a proper goodbye. I still got some more shifts before I move for good, but the time will go by quick. We'll just stay on the line, okay? Keep me company while I go through my kitchen cabinets."

"It's good to hear from you," Tommy says honestly.

"So yeah." Eddie hums. "Why'd you do it?"

"Text you?" Tommy says. "I heard that-"

"Kinard," Eddie says, unamused.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"You just didn't seem the type to flee."

None of you know me as well as you thought you did, Tommy doesn't say. That's not fair to any of them. "I wasn't, in the past. Well, I tried not being that. A couple times. It didn't work out."

"Oh," Eddie says. "There it is."

"There what is?"

"You've got shit."

"Haven't we all?"

"Hey, I am not denying that." Eddie chuckles. "Do you plan on dealing with it, or letting it blow up every good thing you find until you die?"

"Jesus, Eddie."

"What's the point in mincing words? You did something dumb and destructive. What kinda friend would I be if I let that go without saying anything?"

"So what's the weather even like in El Paso? Does it ever get below 100?"

After a groan, Eddie lets Tommy talk about his shit, about Texas, parenthood, and chess clubs, for the rest of the call. Tommy can't say that he'll miss him. He missed him already and now he gets to continue doing so. All of this sucks.

Tommy tries his hand at gnocchi made with ricotta, lemon, and pepper that subsequently almost causes a fistfight during B shift.

Demetra favors him with a warm smile, taking in the large box in his hands. "Tom, right? Welcome! What's all this?"

"Tommy," he says easily, impressed she remembered his name at all. He hasn't been to this slightly dusty community center in five or six years. "Uh, this is garlic knots and mini calzones."

"Well, hey. You're even more welcome than before. Come take a seat."

December is a stupid time to rejoin group, many of the participants close to the edge from a cocktail of seasonal depression, missing dead loved ones, and generalized loneliness. Tommy knew it would be like this going in. He counted on it. Everyone will have so much to say that there likely won't be any time for him to open his mouth. He's not ready to spill. It will help to just soak in the atmosphere of unashamed honesty for a while.

At his third meeting, Cal, a slender guy in his mid twenties with a curly mohawk, keeps bringing up his mother. "She never wanted me to enlist," he says, "and now that I'm back home and struggling, she can't stop being all 'I told you so' morning, noon, and night. She never says it, but she is thinking it."

"Is she?" Tommy finds himself asking. "Or are you putting something on her that isn't there?"

"Maybe so." Cal pops one of Tommy's fried ravioli in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. "I don't know, I should probably give her a chance, think first about what she's actually saying before I react. But it's hard in the moment, you know?"

"Tommy?" Demetra says a minute later, making him feel like a kid being called on by the teacher. "How's your relationship with your mom?"

"Nonexistent. She died when I was fifteen." He crosses his ankles. "Fell asleep in the car on our way back from an away game and we couldn't wake her up. Heart attack."

Demetra frowns sympathetically. "That must've been hard for a kid to witness."

"I've seen so much worse since then. People shot in the head by machine guns, people covered in burns over most of their bodies..."

Demetra shakes her head slightly. "They weren't your mom."

He ducks his head, pressing his lips together. "True. It's just- That's not- It's not trauma. I don't fear falling asleep and not waking up."

"What do you fear?" Cal asks.

Being left, being hurt, being validated in his belief that no one will ever see him for all he is and choose to stick around. "Standard stuff, really. Clowns, taxes, drivers on the freeway."

He gets a pity laugh, a groan or two, and one outright glare. "Okay, okay." He exhales loudly. "Ending up alone by someone else's choice rather than mine."

"So you're cool with being on your own, as long as you're the one keeping everyone away," Cal says.

God, that sounds idiotic. "Yes?"

"You prefer it like this?" asks a woman about his own age wearing a green bomber jacket.

He shrugs. "It's not ideal, but as far as worst case scenarios go, it's okay. It's fine."

"It's spineless," says a gray-haired man with a Desert Storm hat.

Tommy doesn't flinch. "Yeah, that's kind of an inherent character trait. I keep thinking I got it licked, then it shows up wearing another face. Scared of my dad, so I joined the army and became someone he couldn't hurt anymore. Scared of people knowing I was gay, so I waited to come out until I was surrounded by brand new people. Scared of my boyfriend leaving, so." He pushes at the skin above his knees, kneading it. "So I left him first."

"You fall back," says Bomber Jacket. Her name is Annie or Angie. She has conflicted feelings about dating a man with kids. "It's easy to stop being scared when the thing that scared you is far away."

He hears Eddie. You just didn't seem the type to flee.

Demetra holds up a hand. Tommy's face must be doing something concerning. "No one here faults you for what you did to survive. Is it still serving you, is the question, or is that just what you're used to?"

He doesn't bake when he gets home. He drinks half the beers in his fridge and does a shockingly efficient job of cleaning his house, while drafting and deleting twenty-seven different texts. He then wakes up the next day, and goes to the pickup game.

Gutierrez scores four rebounds on him and doesn't shut up about it for the rest of their next shift. Tommy grumbles, and talks shit, and promises he won't have much to brag about next time.

[noxiatoxia]

I don't know if this is common knowledge, but Komaeda's talent in Japanese is not "Ultimate Lucky Student". It is "Ultimate Good Fortune" (or good luck).

I know the word "lucky" has connotations with being good luck, but "luck" itself seems neutral to me at least.

I think the fact Komaeda is praised for, and has his talent be centered on, his good fortune is a very important nuance. People only see the good that happens to him. People keep telling him what happens to him is "good luck". His parents dying and getting kidnapped end up being called "good luck" in the end. I think this reinforces his pattern of thought more than people just saying he has extraordinary luck (good and bad). It's a minor difference, but it adds a lot. I have been thinking about this for a little bit now.

Because of the fact it is good luck specifically, I wanted to find parts where Komaeda specifically talks about bad luck. Lines such as "my awful luck/dreadful luck..." doesn't make much sense in the context of his Japanese talent. It made me wonder if those English lines even existed or if it was a "Luke, I am your father" situation. I don't have either the English or Japanese script memorized.

I checked the Freetime Events because of this, and found an interesting thing. There's a number of mistranslations, or simply translation choices I don't really agree with.

The freetime events heavily misrepresent how often Komaeda uses the word "luck". He uses both 不幸 and 不運 an equal amount I'd say. Maybe the former more. The former means "misery" "sorrow" or "misfortune". The latter means "bad luck" or "ill-fortune".

Likewise, 幸運 means good luck, but it also means good fortune. It's the word used in his talent as I described above.

Now, that's not to say I think Komaeda's "talent" should not be referred to as luck, nor am I saying he should never use the word luck. I think good and bad luck is a perfectly apt English word to describe his experiences. I just think the English translation overuses it. It wouldn't have killed them to make him say "isn't that just awful" or "what a tragedy, right?" instead of "isn't that such bad luck?" every conceivable moment. Maybe I'm just nit picky.

Now, onto the free time events. I want to talk about them.

I'll be talking about them in order as they appear. Also, I am only going to talk about the 3rd event onward, after Komaeda's chapter 1 reveal.

Freetime event 3

A minor nitpick, but "friends" is not the word I'd use here. It's true you can translate it that way, but considering everything else about Komaeda, at this point in the game, he wouldn't readily call Hinata his friend. Especially considering the connotations that holds for him.

That's precisely likely why he, in fact, doesn't say "friend" in the Japanese text. He uses 仲間 which like I said, while can and does translate as friend when used in that way, it just means people of a common thread. Like, a group, I guess.

My TL:

Because we both share the common goal of seeking out hope!

Freetime event 4

This is a really bad translation IMO. Hope is never said once in the original dialogue. I don't know why they put it there.

My TL:

Hinata: It's pretty ironic that you got wrapped up in this shitshow considering your "Ultimate Good Luck". Komaeda: It's not ironic at all! This is no doubt just the beginning of the good things to come my way! Komaeda: Um, let's just say the "good luck" I was born with is a little less straightforward [than the name would suggest]... Komaeda: once this is all over, I'll be rewarded with good fortune of the highest caliber.

And though this next one isn't much of a "mistranslation", I want to offer an alternative translation that highlights my criticism of "overusing the words good/bad luck".

My TL:

Komaeda: The greater the misfortune I experience before hand...the greater the good that comes my way afterwards! It completely cancels out everything before it!

Freetime event 5

I sadly cannot find in-game pictures of this since it's one of the wrong dialogue choices, so here's the script file text for it instead (sorry)

I remembered this line in English specifically because I always thought it sounded weird for Komaeda to say - "It's rare to hear you give such a half-assed answer".

While not a mistranslation totally, I think the tone is a bit off.

I would write it more as, "Ah ha ha! That's quite the answer, Hinata-kun!"

It literally translates as "for Hinata-kun, that is a very suitable answer!" but it's clearly supposed to be teasing/sarcastic. So he means to say "oh, wow, Hinata-kun, you're answering with that?" but in a lighthearted tone.

Freetime event 6

Almost didn't include this because it's the mistranslation we all know and hate, but it's worth mentioning in case people don't know.

My TL:

Please, just one last thing...don't ever forget...that from the bottom of my heart, I love y...I love your hope that sleep dormant inside you.

Though he does just say "please, don't forget", he uses どうか which is a pretty polite turn of phrase for Komaeda. It also is a way to emphasize a request, as in please do this to the benefit of me.

He backtracks pretty heavily. The verb comes at the end in Japanese sentences, so giving an exact one-to-one would be hard, but I'll try to explain it.

ボクはキミを... キミの中に眠る希望を心から愛していると。

Boku wa Kimi wo... Kimi no naka ni nemuru kibou wo koko kara aishiteiru to.

の/no = possessive. Such as, "Lucy's cat" "David's car".

を/wo = verb particle. There's no real English equivalent but you use it to signify some verb is being done onto something. Such as, "I kicked the ball" ("ball wo kick") or "I pet the cat" ("cat wo pet").

は/wa = topic particle. Commonly translates as "is/am" but that is NOT what it means. It just signifies everything that comes after it relates back to what comes before it. It's most accurate to think it as "as for the topic of..." Such as, "my damaged car wa had to go into the repair shop." After wa, "had to go into the repair shop", you ask, "what had to go into the repair shop?" you can find the answer in the topic, which is before wa: my damaged car. (or... me no damaged car.)

So, with this knowledge, let's break down the sentence.

Boku = I/me.

Kimi = you.

So this would make Boku wa Kimi wo in it's most literal form: as for the topic of me (aka, speaking for me), I, onto you...

Then he trails off. wo becomes no.

I, onto your hope sleeping inside of you...

and then we return to wo:

from the bottom of (one's) heart, love [the hope sleeping inside of you].

One could easily see it as Komaeda quickly changing the wo to no to add extra steps to not make the confession so head-on. Because if we remove everything after no and just continue where the wo leaves off, we get:

Boku wa Kimi wo koko kara aishiteiru to.

As for me, I, from the bottom of my heart, love you.

Now...one could also read it as him not backtracking, but adding. Saying I love you and the hope that lies dormant within you. Both are equally plausible. Listening to the audio it can go either way, but the way he quickly and softly drops off when he gets to the first wo makes me feel like it's a backtrack. Or maybe the background music is just too loud haha.

Well, that's all I got for now.

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

Ateez being vulnerable with a partner

Requested? Yes! Request: ‘ateez members being vulnerable with their partner’

Hongjoong Ah, the burden of being a leader. I’m sure he feels like he has to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders sometimes. Members or management might ask how he’s doing, and he’ll probably always say, “I’m good!” But if you ask after a long day, he might finally let his overwhelm show. Be gentle, because he really just needs to vent sometimes. When he’s done venting, he’ll just want to lay in bed and let you hold him.

Seonghwa As the oldest, he’s used to taking care of everyone else’s needs. I feel he’d probably not easily accept others taking care of him though. So he might be a little resistant when you do things to make his life easier, insisting that he’s thankful but you really don’t need to do anything for him. But if you catch him on a particularly bad day, he might just fold and let you take care of something for him. Like if he comes home from a brutal practice and you put a warm meal in front of him, he might become a little emotional. Please keep insisting on doing these things so he’ll get used to it.

Yunho He’s a mood maker of the group, which is great! Except that he always has to be in a good mood or everyone suffers. So, I can picture that he might become frustrated with something and have to stifle that reaction to keep the peace. He’ll probably stifle that reaction around you as well out of habit. But when he crawls into bed late at night and you ask how his day was sweetly, he might explode. You should let him, gently rubbing his back while he lets it all out. Even if you don’t have any advice for him, the fact that you listen makes him feel lighter.

Yeosang This one might be a little unique, but I think there’s something particularly vulnerable about letting someone know that you’re upset with them. It could be something small, but those little things accumulate over time and become overwhelming. You notice that he might not be happy with little things you do - he reorganizes the dishwasher after you’ve loaded it, or he refolds his clothes that you just folding. Small stuff that he bites his tongue about to keep the peace. When you ask him to tell you about those little things so you can fix them, he hesitates. But he’ll eventually come to you and say, “Can you please do it this way next time?” He might need some reassurance that you aren’t mad that he asked, but progress is progress.

San I have a hunch that he’s probably pretty vulnerable with a partner to begin with. Where I think an issue might come in is when he feels like him being vulnerable with you all the time is a burden. He doesn’t like to come home and unload all of his stresses onto you, especially when you might have also had a hard day. You’ll have to be pretty direct that it’s okay to be vulnerable with you because he also creates a safe space for you to be vulnerable.

Mingi Sometimes, certain things are hard to say. So he often doesn’t say them. You’ll find a page or two of notebook paper with some of those little vulnerable thoughts written down. At first, you thought he left it out accidentally and you apologized for reading his private thoughts. He insisted he left it out for you, and it’s a regular habit now. It lets you know when he needs a little bit of extra love, even if he’s uncomfortable directly asking for it.

Wooyoung This man is so confident 99.9% of the time. But in those .1% times, he might turn to you and ask some crazy vulnerable questions. ‘Am I attractive?’ ‘Is this hair color bad?’ ‘Do you love me?’ ‘Why do you stay with me?’ It just might break your heart to hear it, but answer kindly. May also need some physical comfort when he’s feeling like this, so baby him for a bit until he’s back to his usual confident self.

Jongho He strikes me as someone who is not as physically affectionate as others. Not that he hates it, it’s just that he likes to show his love in other ways. But you’ll know something is up when he comes home and all but collapses on top of you. It’s so unlike him that you’ll ask if he’s okay. Will not admit that he needs the physical affection to soothe whatever he’s dealing with, but you rubbing his back and running a hand through his hair will make him forget whatever he was feeling bad about.

[v6quewrlds]

❝ kiss me, m. mount. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: being friends with mason mount means being there with takeout and open ears after his breakups. with his latest locker room bet, he has a lot of time to think about why he's so bad at relationships. and the reason might be you.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: loved writing this, so so cute <3 day eleven of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, friends to lovers.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: mason mount x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.6k.

You sat cross-legged on Mason's couch. The room smelled faintly of your favorite takeout, a mix of jerk chicken and rice and peas that filled your stomachs and warmed the air. Despite the comfort of your shared laughter, you could feel the tension coiled in Mason's demeanor, the result of a tough match and an even tougher breakup.

“So, what happened?” you asked, your voice gentle and curious.

Mason sighed, running a hand through his buzzed hair. “It was like pulling teeth. She didn't get why I had to end it. Kept saying we could work through it.”

“But you've both been miserable for weeks,” you said, your eyebrows furrowing in concern. “I thought she'd be relieved.”

Mason's eyes darted around the room before landing on his phone. “I don't know, she just... didn't take it well.”

You leaned over and plucked the phone from his hand. “Come on, spill it. What did she say?”

Mason's cheeks flushed as he recounted the teary conversation. “She said I'd never find someone who loves me like she does. It was all a bit dramatic, really.”

You rolled your eyes. “Classic breakup line.”

Mason snorted, a half-hearted smile playing on his lips. “I know, right? But it still stings a bit 'cause I know I'm the problem, not her.”

You put down your takeout container, leaning closer to him. “Mase, what do you mean?”

Mason rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I guess I'm not ready to be in a real relationship, you know? Just something I've gotta work on.”

You studied him, your brown eyes searching his. “You're not giving yourself enough credit. You're a catch, Mason. A bit of a knobhead at times,” she teased, “but you've got a heart of gold.”

Mason chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Cheers, love. Breakup came at a good time though, 'cause I've got this bet with the United lads.”

“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow. “What bet?”

Mason's grin grew shy. “No Nut November. You know, the challenge where you don't... you know.”

Your eyes narrowed in disbelief, then you burst into laughter. “You're actually doing that?”

Mason nodded, his cheeks darkening. “Yeah, for a bit of a laugh, you know? See how long we can last without... indulging.”

You couldn't help but smirk. “So, what, you're all just walking around like a bunch of pent-up teenagers?”

“Pretty much,” Mason admitted, his smile turning into a grimace. “It's a good thing, really. Keeps my head in the game.”

You nodded, your amusement clear. “And your hands out of your pants,” you quipped.

Mason playfully slapped your arm. “You're one to talk, Miss ‘I've been single since forever’.”

Zara laughed, shrugging. “At least I'm not making bets about it!”

Mason rolled his eyes. “By the end of the month, I'll be the most zen person you know,” he said, puffing his chest at the thought, a boyish grin pulling at his lips.

“Mm-hmm,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “And what do you get if you win this challenge?”

Mason shrugged. “Bragging rights, I guess. Works for me.”

The rest of November rolled by with you keeping a close eye on Mason's mood swings. His frustration grew palpable as the days ticked away, his jokes about the challenge turned from light-hearted to desperate. Every time you saw him, you made sure to ask about his progress, enjoying the way his face contorted in an attempt to hide his growing irritation.

“How's the zen life treating you?” you teased, your eyes gleaming with amusement.

Mason groaned dramatically. “Don't even start, Zee.”

You couldn't hold back your laughter. “Seriously, though, you've got to be close to breaking point by now?”

Mason's brown eyes narrowed playfully. “Why're you so eager to see me fail? You're supposed to be supportive.”

You leaned back, your hand on your chest. “Me? I'm just an innocent bystander, observing the madness that is No Nut November.”

Mason threw a pillow at you, which you deftly caught. “You're a sadist, you know that?”

“Just keeping it real, Mase,” you said, tossing the pillow back.

The last week of November was the hardest for Mason. You noticed he'd become quieter, his laughter less frequent. It was as if he was deep in thought whenever he was off the pitch. The banter between the two of you took on an edge of tension, his jokes a little less playful, his responses a little more curt. Worried, you sent a text to Declan, who had only told you that Mason had reached an “epiphany” during their most recent chat a few nights back.

On the final day of the month, you were at your flat, expecting a typical evening of binge-watching reality TV shows and scrolling through social media. But when your doorbell rang, you were surprised to find Mason standing there, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“Mason?” you asked, taking in his slightly nervous expression.

He held out the flowers, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “I know it's random, but I had to tell you something, and I figured flowers might help ease the blow if you decide to laugh in my face.”

You took the bouquet, feeling the weight of the moment. You stepped aside, inviting him in with a tilt of your head. “Alright, come in, I guess. What's going on?”

Mason shuffled his feet, his gaze darting around the room before settling on you. “I had a chat with Declan and Lauren, about, you know, relationships and stuff. And they got me thinking about what I really want.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you played it cool. “Oh?”

Mason nodded, his eyes searching yours. “Yeah, and I realized something. Every time I'm with someone, I can't help but picture you there instead. It's like you're this standard in my head, and no one ever measures up to what I think it would be like to be with you.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest, your grip tightening on the flowers. You didn't know what to say, your mind racing with a mix of excitement and disbelief. Before you could respond, Mason took a step closer.

“I know it's weird,” he continued, his voice low and earnest. “And I know you probably think I'm out of my mind. But I can't stop thinking about it. I've never felt this way about anyone else, not even close.”

Your throat went dry as you stared at him, the words you wanted to hear for so long finally hanging in the air between you. You parted your lips to respond, but left unable to answer, you simply closed the gap and kissed him instead.

The kiss was gentle, a soft press of your lips that grew more urgent with every passing second. Mason's arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as your hand found its way to the back of his neck. The flowers fell to the floor, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Mason's breath was warm against your skin as you broke apart, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or rejection. But all he saw was the same longing that mirrored his own.

“Was that okay?” he whispered, his voice ragged with emotion.

You nodded, your heart hammering in your chest. “More than okay.” You stepped closer to him, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I don't think I realized how much I've been waiting for this either,” you admitted.

Mason's eyes widened, and then he was kissing you again, more urgently this time. You stumbled backward, your bodies colliding with the wall of your hallway, your hands exploring each other with a newfound hunger. The tension of the past few weeks dissolved into pure passion, the air between the two of you crackling with the electricity of a year's worth of unspoken desires.

You didn't speak as you made your way to the bedroom, your kisses speaking volumes. The room was dimly lit by the flickering of the TV, casting shadows across your faces as you shed your clothes. Mason paused, his eyes raking over your body, his gaze lingering on the curves he had only ever seen hidden beneath baggy sweatshirts and jeans, except for the occasional glimpse at the pool or beach.

You felt a shy warmth up your neck, but you held his gaze, your own desire matching his. You fell onto the bed, your kisses becoming more heated as your bodies entwined. Mason's touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he explored you with his hands, his thumbs brushing over your hips and ribs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Your breath hitched as Mason's lips found your neck, kissing a path down to your collarbone. His hands were firm but tender as he unclipped your bra, and you felt the coolness of the room against your bare skin. You reached out to trace the tattoos scattered along his arms and the one at the nape of his neck, the one you had been surprised he got in the first place. His muscles tensed under your touch, and he let out a soft groan.

Your kisses grew more urgent as you moved together on the bed, the mattress squeaking gently beneath you. You felt your heart racing, your body responding to every touch, every caress. Mason's fingers danced over your skin, igniting a fire you had long ago convinced yourself you didn't feel. But here it was, burning bright and uncontrollable.

“Sensitive?” you teased, the words spoken softly against Mason's mouth as your fingers traced the ink on his ribs.

Mason chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. “Only for you, love.”

Your laughter melded into a passionate kiss as you rolled over, you now on top of him. You felt powerful and alive, every inch of your skin tingling with the anticipation of what was to come. Mason's hands slid up your back, his fingertips tracing the contours of your body as you moved against him.

You felt a sudden jolt of nerves. This was it, the moment you didn't know you longed for so much. You had always been the quiet, reserved one, content to watch from the sidelines. But here you were, the star of the show, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest.

Mason must have noticed, because he gently cupped your face with his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “We can stop if you want to. I just had to tell you how I feel.”

But you were beyond the point of no return. You leaned down, your eyes searching his, and whispered, “Don't you dare stop, Mason. I want this. More than you know.”

Mason's eyes lit up, the nervousness dissipating as he rolled you two over, taking control with a gentle force. His kisses grew more demanding, his hands more insistent, and you found yourself lost in the sensation. The months of friendship had built a bond between you, and now, as you finally gave in to your desires, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Your movements grew more frantic, your breaths mingling as you raced towards something you hadn't dared hope for. You could feel the tension in Mason's body, the same tension that had been building in him all month, and you reveled in the power you had over him.

As you reached your climax, it was as if a dam had broken, releasing a flood of emotions and years of unspoken feelings. The two of you clung to each other, your bodies slick with sweat, your hearts beating in sync.

Afterwards, you lay tangled in the mess of your passion, hands still roaming, hearts still racing. The silence was comfortable, filled with the quiet whispers of your breathing and the occasional giggle when a limb got tangled. You felt a warmth spread through you that was unlike anything you had ever felt before, a sense of belonging that you hadn't realized you had been missing. His chest, firm and warm, made a perfect pillow for your cheek, and you listened to the steady thump of his heart as it slowly returned to normal.

Mason finally broke the silence, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. “So, I guess I failed No Nut November, huh?”

You looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with warmth. “Epic fail, Mount. But totally worth it, if you ask me.”

Mason chuckled, his arms tightening around you. “I guess that's one way to look at it. I'm just relieved it's over, to be honest. Made my head all fuzzy sometimes.”

You traced your finger along the line of his jaw, feeling the neatly groomed hair against your fingertip. “Well, you've got thirty days of freedom coming your way. What are you going to do with it?”

Mason's smile was soft, his eyes still on yours. “I'm thinking of spending it with you, if that's alright?”

You giggled softly and nodded, your heart racing. “Yeah, I think I could manage that,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “What was that chat with Declan and Lauren about, though?”

Mason leaned in, his breath tickling your ear. “Remember when I said I needed to sort myself out before I could be in a good relationship? They just pointed out the obvious. That there was something holding me back, something I hadn't faced. Like I was holding on to some... I don't know, hope maybe?”

You felt his words resonate deep within you. You had often wondered if Mason had felt the same way you did but had been too scared to admit it. You took a deep breath, your heart racing. “And what did you tell them?”

Mason's eyes searched yours, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze. “That I always hoped that I'd eventually end up with you. That every girl I've been with, it was like I was just filling the time until you and I were ready for more.”

Your breath hitched at his words, your heart swelling in your chest. You had felt the same way but had never had the courage to voice it. The two of you lay there, your hearts beating in time, basking in the reality of your confessions. Years' worth of tension had led you to this moment, a culmination of unspoken feelings and hidden glances.

“You know,” you began, your voice shaky as you suppressed a giggle, “I wondered if we'd ever just give up on dating and just be together. We've both been horrid partners.”

Mason chuckled, his eyes shimmering with affection. “Yeah, but I think we've found our match in each other. Besides, I've had enough drama for a lifetime with the other ones. You're the one who's always been there for me, no matter what.”

You leaned your head on his chest again, listening to the steady thump of his heart. “And I always will be,” you murmured.

Mason's hand found yours, lacing your fingers together. “My mum always said that when you know, you know. And I think I've known for a while now. I just didn't know how to tell you without messing up our friendship.”

You squeezed his hand. “I don't think much will change between us, honestly. We'll just be a bit more... affectionate in public, I guess?”

Mason nodded, his smile growing. “And I get to kiss you wherever I want,” he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, “whenever I want,” he kissed your nose, “without worrying if it's too soon or if it'll ruin the friendship.” His lips found yours again.

You sighed contentedly against his mouth. “You're a really good kisser, you know that?”

Mason grinned. “Years of practice.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed your amusement. “Gross, you've been kissing a bunch of other girls to get good at kissing me?”

Mason's expression turned playfully offended. “Hey, I've been preparing for this moment my whole life. I promise it's all been worth it, though. You're officially the best kiss I've ever had.”

You giggled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I'll take it I guess.”

[muffinsin]

I just had a thought, how would the Dimitrescu sisters react to being pulled by the choker during fun time 🤭

Haha this is a fun one!👀 Some HCs and a snippet coming your way!👀 slowly tryina work through my writer’s block and write on anything else but my story haha

Let’s get into it🙌

Masterlists

Bela

In all her time, she’s just rarely been in a situation where she was even remotely manhandled in bed

No hair pulling, no pulling her, no pushing, not even as guiding touches

Now, to be fair, she isn’t the most sexual person outside of a relationship anyway, though, being far too busy with her work

You can’t help but think of it, though

She wears her collar, always, and often even adorns it with a second necklace

You find yourself wondering about moving her by it, occasionally

Hooking your finger underneath it, tugging it forwards

You wonder, would she follow?

Would her beautiful, golden eyes go wide?

Would she gasp in surprise?

Would she snarl, protecting this particular choker fiercely?

Would she do nothing at all?

Be entirely unfazed by it?

Still, you’re curious

And when you kiss her and cup the back of her head or neck, and when you guide her along with you…

You can’t help but wonder about moving your fingers to her choker, instead

Then, one day, you decide to dare try it

You moan as you feel her lips move against yours, so full, so soft, so perfect. Her body’s by yours, though not as flush against you as you’d like it to be. You find, this is the perfect opportunity to have some fun.

She merely hums as she feels your hand slide up her body, from her slim hips past her breasts, at first. The faint touch has her shiver, her back arching just slightly, as though it’s her very body wanting to get closer to yours.

Then, you reach her shoulders, feminine and soft, but strong in their own way. You trace them for a moment, then gently raise your hands to her neck.

She only keeps on moaning, humming, the sound a soft vibration against your lips.

You decide, now’s as good a time as any.

“Ha-Ah!”, she squeaks when you suddenly tug her forwards by her collar, a single finger hooked under, enough to move her in this state. Your eyes are wide, just as hers are, and you can’t help but giggle when you see the fierce blush that so quickly overtakes her normally so pale cheeks. She’s a little closer to you now and- it seems- rendered completely speechless.

Her lips part multiple times, but no words seem to form. When you tug at her choker again, pulling her completely flush against you, you hear it at last; a breathy, loud moan that comes with even more shade to her already warm cheeks.

You raise your eyebrow, but cut her off with your lips just when she’s about to speak, likely hoping to come up with some excuse.

You notice another thing, though; her cute, short breaths against your lips, her little moans and gasps. Her eyes are closed again, but her body language has changed.

You confirm this so very easily when you push your tongue in her mouth, drawing more moans from her. Unlike before, her tongue now no longer battles for dominance, but slides against yours eagerly, whereas she parts her lips a little more, too.

You hum, curious; it seems, tugging her by her choker is enough to coax your headstrong, beautiful girlfriend in a more submissive state.

You can work with that…

Cassandra

It’s no surprise that Cassandra has never been touched overly much

As a predator in just about every way, none would dare get too close

And even you, her trusting and loving partner, know for a fact it isn't the best idea to reach towards her choker

Or more specifically, her throat

A sensitive, vulnerable part of her body. One any predator, including her, would see to protecting

And still, you can't help but fantasise at times

Wondering what her reaction would be if you just looped a finger or two by her choker, if you gave it a bit of a tug

The most you've tugged her is when you guided her by her hips, so far

But her choker...you can't help but admire how it clings to her smooth, sensitive throat

You can't rid yourself of the dirty fantasies, of tugging her by it while she's on her hands and knees, crawling to you

Both of you...naked...on the bed

You squirm whenever you think of it for a little too long

You know, it's foolish to think of this, too

That she does not take kindly to you even touching her throat for too long, having to actively go against her instinct to shrug you away

Even as she squirms and moans so breathily and beautifully when you suck at her throat...

And still, you cannot stop giving into the thought over and over again, when you lay in bed below her, your arms wrapped around her, your eyes finding the choker easily. She always wears it, after all

You decide, you must try it

Of course, you are no fool. Despite how you want your actions today to be a surprise, you did warn her and ask for her permission to move your hands to her throat. You know, doing so out of nowhere with no warning would likely cause her to swarm away automatically in the best case, or swipe at your hands with sharp, claw-like nails in a worse scenario.

You hum as you watch her undress, her body, smooth and strong and pale, slowly revealed to you. Her dark hair, so beautiful as it falls from her shoulders and to her upper arms.

You lick your lips at the sight, feel a familiar light sensation at your stomach. She's beautiful, seducing. You're happy to be seduced.

Then, your eyes find the choker again. You've never quite approached topics that have her be in extreme submissive situations, never even mentioned a possibility in which she might wear things like chokers and collars and leashes, another way for you to tug her to you.

You can certainly make do with the choker, if only to sate your curiosity regarding her reaction. You're sure, it varies depending on her mood, and wonder whether she feels dominant, or more submissive today, which is rather rare.

Licking your lips, you move closer towards her, your hand raising to her cheek first. She doesn't flinch from your touch as she used to in the beginning, so adorably unused to human touch, and leans into it almost greedily.

You hiss when she parts her lips and her sharp, fang-like tooth slices against your hand, but find yourself moaning soon when her lips wrap over the cut, her tongue dragging against it, eager for blood.

She usually tastes you at least once, her eyes wide, the dark gold a beautiful sight. You know, only you get to see her like this, and it is only you who gets to touch her, too.

Only you, who she trusts.

And it is this touch that has her stay still even when your free hand moves towards her neck. Of course, she's aware of it, even as she acts like she doesn't notice the movement.

Ah, but you see it.

You see how her dark golden eyes flicker towards your hand for a moment, feel and watch her tense up momentarily, then relax, as though urging her to ignore her natural instinct to keep areas like her throat, back and stomach safe.

She knows, you won't hurt her.

And as such, even when your finger hooks under her choker necklace, she does not move, trusts you to be careful.

And you are, even as you tug her forwards.

And momentarily, you feel your own cheeks heating up when the cutest squeak comes from her.

In all your time with her you've rarely been able to really surprise her, if ever. This certainly did, and the squeak it earned you is enough to make you laugh loudly, giggling to yourself while she grumbles, her flies buzzing in irritation as she finds herself flush against you.

Alas, her frustration does not last, not when you tug her close again, her lips and nose brushing right against your throat, now.

An invitation.

Daniela

Unlike her sisters, Daniela is no stranger to being collared, nor leashed occasionally

She’s experimental, really

And you found; on certain days, she quite enjoys it, even

She’ll be content, humming and moaning below you, her lips lazily moving against yours, the collar snug around her throat

And still, none of the collars she wears are quite like her choker necklace

She wears it always, save for the times she has a proper collar on

And you can’t help but wonder what her reaction would be to be tugged by that

Daniela is, generally speaking, very open to being challenged

She’s playful, and trusting

Perhaps a little too trusting, seeing as there is far, far too many maidens at the castle and hunters outside with malicious intent, willing to harm or even kill her

Even between the two of you, she’s trusting

She’s open to trying new things

And she’s especially eager to try new things in bed

As such, you’re not discouraged, per say, to indulge in your curiosity…

Daniela’s cooing and giggling below you, her hands greedily sliding from your hips to your back, warm beneath your shirt. Her own dress is tight, tight enough that it clings to her figure perfectly. And still, you practically smell her arousal, and see it in the flicker in her beautiful, golden eyes.

She hums as she leans up to kiss you, her body soft against the sheets, her dress halfway tugged off, leaving her chest and thighs exposed while it pools by her hips. She didn’t have time to take it off, and you didn’t want to take the time, far too eager to have your hands on your sweet, seductive girlfriend at last after the day you’ve had.

You know; it isn’t her fault she catches so many maidens’ eyes. She is, despite also being the source of some of their fear, stunningly beautiful, naturally flirty, and quite seductive even without trying to be.

Fortunately, she also doesn’t mind when this causes times like now, when you’re a little rougher, holding her a little tighter, like a dragon clutching their treasure to them.

She merely moans below you, melting in your arms, basking in the warmth of your attention and affections.

You’re sucking at her soft jawline and throat when your chin brushes against the choker necklace and just briefly you remember what you’ve been yearning to do for a little time already now.

Daniela only hums when your hand snakes away from hers, even whines a little at the loss of your warm fingers, but stays otherwise quiet.

Her eyes are closed, even when your hand gently caressed her neck, full of love marks already.

She wouldn’t have it any other way, even pouts when they heal far, far too fast and demands you place new ones.

As you lean down to kiss her again, she eagerly parts her lips for you, moaning and giggling in delight occasionally. When you hook a finger under her choker, she doesn’t react, though when you tug it forwards, pulling her a little off the mattress and closer to you, she does squeak in surprise.

“Hey! Stop that!”, she complains, but there’s hardly any heat behind her words.

You giggle when she swats away your hand, then, soon, find yourself humming against her lips, and other body parts.

[covenofagatha]

your stories are so good! Can’t wait for the next part of sugar spice and everything nice! If you’re still taking requests could you do one where reader is Agatha’s wife who’s found out she’s pregnant and accidentally tells her when they’re in the middle fucking and it makes Agatha even hornier? Thank you again!!

I had fun with this one so hopefully you all enjoy it too!

Knocked up and turned on

You find out you're pregnant and you aren't sure how to tell your wife, Agatha

Word count: 1600+

Warnings: pregnancy, pregnancy sex, girl penis Agatha, cum, creampie, slight breeding kink, sex, mommy kink

Looking back now, it all makes sense. 

Your breasts were tender. You were craving cheese and pickles a lot. You had thrown up twice this week. 

And your period was over a week late. 

Okay, yes, you probably should’ve figured it out sooner. 

But looking at the two bold lines on the pregnancy test, you figured there was no time like the present. 

While you weren’t exactly sure how it had happened as you were on birth control, you are overjoyed at first. A little you running around, a baby to spoil that would grow into an adorable toddler and then soon enough you’re driving them to their first sports match or dance recital or whatever they wanted. 

You even found yourself drifting to baby names. 

Then your thoughts turned to your wife. You knew Agatha had a rough childhood sponsored by her mother and she had always shied away from the topic of children. How are you going to tell her?

You could bake her something nice? Maybe buy little baby booties and box them up for her to open? You could always sit her down by the fireplace and pour a glass of wine – only for her, of course – and tell her the news. 

Nothing seemed right though, and you were worried as to how Agatha would react. 

Who says you have to tell her though?

Deep down you know it’s wrong, but you want to keep holding onto the secret for a little bit longer and just let it be you and your baby. You know it’s selfish and you know Agatha deserves to know, but you’ll tell her eventually. Once you figure out the timing. 

Or…you bring her along to a doctor’s routine check up so the two of you can “find out” together. 

You like that plan. 

You’re on the website trying to make an appointment when Agatha gets home. 

“Hey, hon,” she says, dropping her keys and coming to kiss your forehead. “Everything okay?” You glance up at her to find her looking at the computer screen. 

“Oh, yeah, just thought I’d go do one of the routine things, you know. You should probably do one too, when’s the last time you went to the doctor?” You ramble when you’re nervous. The words are on the tip of your tongue and you have to keep talking so you don’t accidentally blurt it out. “Maybe we can go together!”

She snorts, not choosing to indulge in whatever you’re being weird about, and walks away. You turn to call after her to ask what she wants for dinner because you’re already starving but your breath catches in your throat. 

There’s something about the way her hips are swaying that has you getting wet. You suddenly feel more aware of everything. 

“Agatha,” you croak. She stops in the doorway of your bedroom and turns to face you, putting a hand up on the wall. A very veiny hand. Your mouth goes dry and all you can think about is those fingers around your throat. 

And then you take in the rest of her outfit. A purple sweater rolled up to her forearms and the black pants that hug her ass so nicely. Her messy bun with strands of hair framing her beautiful face. 

She must see the look on your face because she smirks and starts slowly walking toward you. 

“Again, baby? You’ve been so horny lately,” she remarks and your face flushes more than it should. That should’ve been another clue. Your wife isn’t wrong; four out of the five last days you practically begged her to fuck you. You couldn’t get enough of her fingers, mouth, and cock and you had so much more stamina. 

“Is that a bad thing?” You counter and she chuckles, getting close enough so she can pull you in for a kiss. Her tongue slides into your mouth and you think you might be dripping already. 

Her fingers dip to your waistband but you stop her hand. 

“Just want your cock please, baby,” you beg. You suddenly feel so empty and you just need her to fill you up. 

“I need to make sure you’re ready then,” she says, hand moving into your sweatpants and cupping you over your underwear. You can tell the moment she realizes just how wet you are because you watch her jaw slacken and lust cloud in her eyes. “Fuck, doll, what have you been thinking about all day?” 

“You, mommy,” you breathe and kiss her again. Not technically a lie but you’re not sure if it’s such a good idea to tell her that the reason you’re so horny at the drop of a hat is because you’re pregnant. You don’t stop kissing her as you walk her backwards until she hits the couch. 

You push her down and immediately straddle her, grinding on her rapidly hardening length through her pants. 

“Fuck baby, you’re so hot,” Agatha moans, hands finding their spot on your waist and helping you. “You’re so desperate.” 

“Desperate for you,” you agree breathlessly, reaching down to undo her pants and pull her length out. You have to get out of her lap for a second to wriggle out of your pants but you don’t even bother with your underwear before getting back on top of her. 

Agatha reaches down to move your underwear to the side and line her tip at your entrance, and you do the rest. 

Your mouth drops open in a silent moan and Agatha’s eyes roll back in her head as you begin to move down on her. She feels so fucking good inside you, filling you just how you need. You don’t move for a bit once you completely bottom out, just feeling her throb in you. 

“God, you’re so perfect, mommy,” you groan, slowly starting to roll your hips, just grinding on her. Agatha’s breathing has increased and grown heavier, not able to hide the effect you’re having on her either. 

You begin to lift up and then back down, her tip hitting your spot with every thrust. It’s embarrassing how close you are already. 

Your wife’s thumb comes down to circle your clit and it slides easily with your wetness. You moan and start riding her faster. 

“God, baby, you feel so good around me,” Agatha pants, watching your pussy stretched out around her. “Taking mommy so well, wanna fill you up.” Her fingernails dig into your hips and use it to pound up into you. 

And for some reason, the words just spill out of your mouth. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

Agatha freezes mid-thrust and you can’t help but clench around her, needing the lost stimulation. 

“What?” She says. “Did you just say that you’re pregnant?” 

You take a deep breath and nod. Obviously not the ideal way to have this conversation with her cock still buried to the hilt inside of you, but this is how it’s happening. “I found out today.” 

Agatha’s breath stutters and you’re worried about what she’s going to say until you feel her pulse inside you. 

“Fuck,” Agatha says, a flush spreading across her neck and up to her cheeks. She grabs your hair and yanks you in for a filthy kiss. Before you can ask if everything’s okay, she flips you on your back on the couch and starts fucking you with renowned vigor. 

“Agatha,” you cry, hips raising to meet every thrust. Small sounds are falling out of both of your mouths and you see her smiling above you. 

“I got you pregnant,” she says like she can’t believe it. “That’s so fucking hot, doll, I filled you up so well that we’re going to have a baby.” 

“Mommy, gonna cum,” you choke out, rubbing your clit and feeling her rhythm stutter as you clench deliciously around her. 

“Me too, baby, I’m going to cum inside you,” she groans, sloppily kissing you. 

“Maybe you can knock me up again,” you say and it’s mostly a joke but you don’t miss the way her hips jerk in a particularly rough thrust. It feels so good. “You like that, mommy? Want to breed me some more?” There’s no denying the effect those words have on your wife and you make a mental note to file that away for later.

“Fuck, yes, baby, I’m cumming,” Agatha moans and the feeling of her cock pulsing and then the thick warmth spreading inside you triggers your own orgasm. 

You both ride it out together and once you come down from your highs, Agatha sags down on top of you, just holding you close. You stroke her sweaty hair and she presses light kisses to your cheek. 

You can feel her cock slowly softening in you and when it finally slips out, so does a gush of her cum. Your hips shift at the feeling and Agatha gets off you to shove your legs open to observe the mess. 

With a wicked grin, she runs her fingers up your slit, collecting the cum, and fucks it back into you with two fingers. Your head lolls back against the couch and she quickly gets you to another orgasm with her hand and the knowledge that she’s pushing her seed back in. 

After, she gets a warm towel and cleans you up and then pulls you into a hug. 

“I can’t believe we’re going to have a baby,” she whispers into your ear. “I can’t wait.” 

“Me neither, Aggie. God, I love you so much.” You kiss her softly. 

“I love you too, baby. You’re going to be such a great mom.” 

You smile and run a hand through her hair. “You are too.” And then a thought crosses your mind and you can’t help but giggle. “Soon I won’t be the only one around here calling you mommy.” 

Agatha rolls her eyes fondly and kisses you again to shut you up. 

[star2fishmeg]

im gonna need you to elaborate on inexperienced!sub!Luke x inexperienced!reader PLEASE bc u don’t get it u created a new need

I love the idea of just reader and Luke being each other's firsts and figuring shit out together, like they're all nervous and giggly about it, finally getting to confess their desires. They're not fussed if it's not perfect, they're trying things and seeing how it feels, reassuring each other with no pressure at all. One of them wants to try a kink? Sure. New position? Cool. Switch roles? New location? They'll take it slow and build confidence. Practice makes perfect, right?

Elaborate? It's sweet, sexy teamwork! You and Luke being each other's first times, figuring sex out together comfortably at your own pace, with love. You've fooled around before, sure, foreplay, prep, making out, all that but neither have, as they say, lost your virginities. He knows he likes when you pull his hair or suck him off, you know you like his fingers plunging deep inside your cunt and when he devours you out. But you and Luke don't know how good sex can feel when it's laced with passion and love.

You're both kind of shy about it, nervous. You're both embarrassed at how old you both are and still haven't fucked. Yet it's supposed to be fun, so neither of you pay much mind to the social constructs around it, you're just smiling and showering each other in compliments and reassurances the more the clothes that land on the floor.

You both having a basic understanding of sex but neither practising until now. Luke's sat against the headboard with you straddling his lap, like you've done many times before where you've gone no further than dry humping, but this time you're both stark naked, taking the beauty of each other in and he can feel your arousal seeping onto his skin, his dick rubbing against yours and it takes everything in you to keep your hips still, hands tracing over the ridges of his abs and v-line.

You're both figuring it out together, piecing together things you've watched and read and finding your feet. He's shy at first, confessing how the thought of you riding him turns him on so fast, his cheeks flushing instantly as his large hands caress your thighs in downwards motions, just to glide back up again and knead into the flesh. You're slightly smirking, ego shooting through the roof knowing he wants you to be the boss, as if he knows you fantasise about calling him your good boy just to have him melt in the palm of your hands.

"Are you sure you don't wanna try missionary first? I mean, what if I ruin it? You know I've never done this before..." you mumble, his hands gliding from your thighs to gently hold yours.

"You're not gonna ruin it, angel," he leans over to press his lips to yours, "I want you to follow your instincts, and you're gonna know if I like something, believe me. Just want you to tell me what you want."

And you do because once you both get started and find your rhythm, he's sinking down into the mattress, throwing his head back into the pillows with his hands grabbing your ass. He's whining pathetically about how good your pussy feels, gummy walls squeezing his pulsing cock tight, and his heads dizzy, heart pounding and reverberating in his ears. His stomach's tossing and turning, oddly tight but he's in heaven, and the fact you're moaning his name so airily, telling him how he's such a good boy for you doing as he's told just makes your rocking so much more arousing. You feel like your're floating, thighs aching and burning but Luke's hips are snapping up into you at a brutal pace, one that makes your tits bounce and has raw gasps slip from your lips, nails digging into his chest and you're so close. After all, he loves when you boss him around, whatever his baby wants, his baby gets.

"Lu, faster, fucking need your cock," you breathe out, his eyes opening, and you notice how blown out his pupils are, "M'gonna cum. Be good 'n make me cum."

"Yes ma'am," his groan's raw from his chest, like he's holding back his release for you, "M'gonna make you cum, gonna cum with you, fuck-"

"Cum, pretty boy, cum for me, show me how I make you feel. Wanna make a mess on your cock,"

And while you both may not have lasted long; you were together and that was the main thing. Together, comfortably and fell asleep cradled in each other's embrace with soft giggles.

[allthemeniveloved]

Too Sweet - Sequel to Cradle

Summary: Arthur wears his daughter’s flower crown into town, showing his love and care without hesitation.

wc: 1,415

ao3 link, part 1

a/n: Inspired by @scarletlove2's comment!

The soft coos of your baby girl filled the cabin as dawn broke over the horizon, golden light filtering through the curtains. Arthur was already awake, sitting by the hearth with her cradled in his arms. His eyes were tired, shadows darkening the space beneath them, but his expression was peaceful. Content.

You watched them from the bed, a quiet smile playing on your lips as Arthur rocked her gently. His large, calloused hand dwarfed her tiny body, but his movements were impossibly delicate. He hummed an old tune, one you recognized from the gang’s nights around the fire, and though his voice was rough, it carried a soothing rhythm that made you want to drift back to sleep.

“You’re up early,” you said softly, sitting up and wrapping a shawl around your shoulders.

Arthur glanced at you, his lips curving into a small smile. “She woke up hungry,” he said, nodding toward the empty bottle on the small table beside him. “Didn’t wanna wake you. Figured you deserved some rest.”

You stood and crossed the room, leaning down to press a kiss to his scruffy cheek. “You deserve some rest, too, Arthur. You’ve been running yourself ragged.”

He shook his head, his gaze dropping back to the baby in his arms. “I’m alright. Can’t seem to sleep much anyhow. Every time I close my eyes, I think about… things.” He hesitated, his voice growing quieter. “What kinda world she’s gonna grow up in. What I’ve gotta do to make sure it’s good enough for her.”

Your heart ached at the weight in his words, the unspoken fears that lingered behind them. You knelt beside him, resting your hand on his arm. “You’re already doing it, Arthur. Just by being here. By loving her.”

He didn’t answer right away, his thumb brushing over your daughter’s tiny hand as she squirmed against his chest. “She deserves better than this life. Better than runnin’ and hidin’. She deserves a home.”

You nodded, your own thoughts echoing his. Life with the gang wasn’t what you wanted for her—or for yourselves. The danger, the uncertainty, the endless cycle of violence and survival—it wasn’t a life you could bear to raise her in.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” you admitted quietly. “About leaving.”

Arthur’s head snapped up, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “Leavin’? You mean… for good?”

“Yes.” You held his gaze, your voice steady. “I know it’s dangerous, and I know Dutch would never let us go easy, but… we can’t keep doing this, Arthur. Not with her. She needs stability. She needs to grow up somewhere she can be safe.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his brows furrowed in thought. You could see the conflict in his eyes—the pull of loyalty to the gang warring with the deep, unshakable love he had for his daughter. For you.

“You’re right,” he said finally, his voice heavy but resolute. “I’ve been thinkin’ the same. Just didn’t know how to say it.”

Relief flooded through you, and you leaned your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Arthur sighed, his free arm wrapping around you to pull you closer. For a moment, the three of you were wrapped in a quiet bubble of warmth, the weight of the world outside held at bay.

“I’ll talk to Charles,” Arthur said after a while, his voice thoughtful. “He’s good at coverin’ tracks, and he’ll keep quiet. We’ll need supplies, horses… somewhere to go.”

You nodded. “We’ll find a place. Somewhere far from here.”

Arthur looked down at the baby, her tiny hand clutching his finger in her sleep. His jaw tightened, and you could see the determination harden in his expression.

“I ain’t lettin’ anything happen to her,” he said firmly. “Or to you. We’re gettin’ outta this, and we’re gonna give her the life she deserves.”

You believed him. Arthur had always been a man of action, and now that he had a purpose that went beyond survival, you knew he wouldn’t stop until he’d seen it through.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, bathing the cabin in warm light. Your daughter stirred, her little eyes fluttering open as she let out a soft cry. Arthur stood, handing her carefully to you.

“Guess she’s hungry again,” he said with a small chuckle.

You smiled, holding her close. “You go rest, Arthur. I’ve got her.”

He hesitated, his protective instincts warring with his exhaustion, but finally he nodded. “Alright. Wake me if you need me.”

As he climbed into the cot and closed his eyes, you sat by the fire with your daughter, the weight of the coming changes heavy but hopeful in the air. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but with Arthur by your side, you knew you could face it.

-

The morning sun spilled golden light over the wildflower-dotted meadow just beyond the small homestead you and Arthur had built. Your six-year-old daughter, Sarah, was kneeling in the grass, her little hands busy weaving a crown from the flowers she’d been gathering all morning. Arthur sat nearby, his long legs stretched out and his back propped against a tree, watching her with a smile that softened his rugged features.

“You about done there, little miss?” Arthur teased, tipping his hat back to get a better look at her handiwork.

“Not yet, Papa!” Sarah said, her small tongue peeking out in concentration as she tied a daisy stem into place. “You gotta be patient.”

Arthur chuckled, leaning his head back against the tree. “Patience, huh? You sure you didn’t learn that from your ma?”

You smiled from the porch, where you were sitting with a cup of coffee, watching the scene unfold. Sarah had Arthur wrapped around her little finger, and you both knew it.

Finally, Sarah stood, holding the flower crown aloft like it was a treasure. She marched over to Arthur with a triumphant grin. “Okay, Papa! All done!”

Arthur sat up straight, his grin widening as she climbed into his lap and carefully placed the crown on his head. It sat crooked, teetering on his messy hair, but she clapped her hands in delight.

“There!” she declared. “Now you’re a king!”

Arthur laughed, the sound deep and genuine. “A king, huh? Well, I reckon I couldn’t ask for a better crown.”

“You have to wear it into town!” Sarah said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “So everyone knows you’re a flower king.”

Arthur raised a brow but didn’t hesitate. “Alright, if that’s what my princess wants.”

You nearly choked on your coffee. “Arthur, you’re really gonna wear that into town?”

He shrugged, his expression as relaxed as ever. “Why not? Ain’t nobody’s business what I wear.”

Sarah beamed, throwing her arms around his neck. “You’re the best, Papa!”

Later that afternoon, the three of you made the trip into town, Sarah skipping happily beside Arthur while he strode confidently through the dusty streets, flower crown still perched on his head. People turned to stare, some with bemused smiles, others with outright laughter. Arthur, however, didn’t so much as flinch.

“Mr. Morgan,” an elderly woman called from her rocking chair on a porch. “That’s quite the look you’re sportin’ today.”

Arthur tipped his hat—well, the flower crown—at her with a grin. “Why, thank you kindly, ma’am. My little girl made it for me. Ain’t it somethin’?”

The woman chuckled, waving him off. “You’re a good father, Arthur.”

Sarah giggled, tugging at his hand. “See, Papa? Everyone loves it!”

You walked a step behind them, your heart full as you watched the easy way Arthur carried himself, unbothered by the stares or whispers. For all his gruffness and rough edges, he’d become the kind of father you’d always dreamed he’d be: patient, loving, and willing to wear a flower crown in public if it made his daughter smile.

When the errands were done, and the three of you made your way back home, Sarah sat on the wagon seat between you and Arthur, her little hands busy weaving another crown. She looked up at him, her eyes full of admiration.

“You’re the best king ever, Papa,” she said.

Arthur looked down at her, his blue eyes soft. “And you’re the best little princess a man could ask for, I reckon.”

As the wagon rolled on, laughter and love filled the air, and the flower crown stayed on Arthur’s head until the sun dipped below the horizon.

꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰

a/n: I'm not very good at writing children's dialogue, my apologies! Hope you still enjoyed!

[sosa2imagines]

Let us be there for you...

Warning- Angst, insecurity, introvert, self doubts, fluff. Disclaimer- @mrvl-addict finally got all four parts ready for you fic idea.

You’ve been a part of the Avengers for a few weeks now, and on the outside, you’re everything you’re expected to be confident, outgoing, always ready with a joke, never shy to dive into conversation. You make people laugh, you keep things light, you engage in every mission and meeting with the kind of energy that makes you look like you belong.

On the inside, however, you’re terrified. Terrified of being found out. Terrified of not being good enough. On the inside, you’re the opposite of everything you try to portray.  What the Avengers see, it’s all just a disguise. You put on a mask, a persona to cover up the real you.

You’ve spent your whole life like this. Putting on this persona in order to feel accepted, to feel wanted. To feel like you belong somewhere. You don’t actually know how to truly be yourself. Being yourself got you bullied, being yourself got you hurt. So you’ve learned to rely on masks.

Every moment spent around people leaves you drained. The constant performance of being the ‘fun one’, the ‘social butterfly’, is exhausting. You’d much rather find a quiet corner to recharge, but you don’t want to be seen as weak, or worse, lonely. So, you push through, hoping no one will notice that you’re barely keeping it together.

Except Steve and Bucky do notice.

It’s a typical afternoon in the Tower. Everyone’s just wrapped up training, lounging around in the common area to catch their breath.

Tony’s in the middle of telling some absurd story about his latest tech malfunction on a mission, his voice animated as usual. You’re on the couch, laughing along, making jokes, throwing in a few quips of your own. After all, you don’t want to be left out.

But as you laugh, you feel a familiar weight at the back of your mind. Steve and Bucky are both watching you from the corner of the room. You glance over, and for a moment, it feels like they’re seeing right through you.

Steve turns to Bucky, his voice low, but not low enough that you can’t hear. “She’s been acting like this a lot lately. It’s like she’s trying too hard to stay in the center of things.”

Bucky doesn’t respond immediately, but his eyes narrow slightly, like he’s weighing his words. “Yeah. I don’t know… she’s doing it, but I don’t think she’s really there.”

You can feel your heart rate quicken, and you’re not sure why it stings. You’re just trying to keep up the persona, to keep everyone happy, make it look easy. And yet, somehow, they see right through it. Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, trying to brush off their observation with a grin, moving towards them, “What? What are you both talking about? I’m having a blast, really!”

There’s a brief pause. Steve’s expression softens, and it’s almost too much, the way he looks at you, like he’s reading your every thought. He smiles gently, but there’s an undercurrent of concern. “Of course you are,” he says, his voice warm. “But you don’t have to always be on for us, you know? You don’t have to prove anything.”

You blink, taken aback. For a split second, you feel a wave of embarrassment. It’s like they’ve peeled back the layers, and you’re exposed. You try to laugh it off, but your voice is a little quieter. “No, really, I’m fine. I’m just… just trying to keep things light, you know?”

Bucky, sitting across the room, looks at you with a careful expression. “You don’t have to do that with us, doll…” he says, his tone calm and surprisingly gentle. “We’re not gonna judge you for not being on all the time. If you need a break, or if you just want to…  we’re okay with that.”

His words hit you in a way you didn’t expect. It’s not the typical ‘you’re part of the team’ pep talk. It’s something different, something that feels like permission to be yourself, no masks. You feel a rush of gratitude, but also an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. You force a smile, but it’s a little shaky this time.

“I… didn’t mean to put on an act or anything,” you say quickly, suddenly feeling the need to clarify. “I just don’t want to be a drag, you know? I guess I’ve just gotten used to being the one who keeps the mood up.”

Steve’s eyes meet yours, and there’s no judgment there, just understanding. He leans forward slightly, his voice quiet but sincere. “We all have our moments. You don’t always have to be the one holding it together. It’s okay to lean on us.”

Bucky’s nod is almost imperceptible, but you catch it. He doesn’t say anything more, but the look on his face is one of quiet reassurance. He doesn’t expect anything from you, not the way you’ve been expecting from yourself.

You sit back on the couch, feeling a little out of place. For a moment, there’s silence. Then Tony, oblivious to the shift in the room, starts talking again, and you’re grateful for the distraction.

Later that evening, after everyone has gone to bed, you find yourself standing in front of one of the massive windows in the Tower, looking out at the city. The lights are peaceful, calming, and for once, you don’t feel the need to pretend. You’re just… you.

Footsteps sound behind you, and before you can react, Steve’s voice cuts through the quiet. “Hey, you okay?”

You don’t turn around right away, but the warmth in his voice makes your chest tighten. You inhale slowly, then speak softly, your words almost a whisper. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

There’s a pause, and then Steve steps closer. “You don’t have to pretend with us, you know. We’re not gonna expect you to be this... bubbly, confident person all the time.”

You swallow, feeling a flush creep up your neck. It’s embarrassing, this sudden exposure of everything you’ve tried so hard to keep hidden. You turn to face him, and the words catch in your throat for a moment. “I guess… I guess I just don’t know how to be anything else sometimes.”

Steve’s expression softens, his eyes kind. “You don’t have to be anything else. Just be yourself. That’s more than enough for us.”

Bucky’s voice comes from the doorway, quiet but steady. “You’re part of the team. That means we’re here for the quiet moments, too. You don’t have to go through everything on your own.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. There’s a weight in your chest that’s easing, bit by bit. It’s strange to feel like you don’t have to keep up the act anymore. Like, for once, it’s okay to just be.

“Let us be there for you…doll.”

“Thanks,” you say, and this time, you mean it. “I’ll try to remember that.”

There’s a long moment of quiet, and for the first time since joining, you don’t feel like you have to be anyone other than yourself. It’s a small thing, but it feels like a step toward something better.

Part 2-

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