#WELCOME TO HELL!! WELCOME TO HELL!! WELCOME TO HELL!!

[morganbritton132]

Hopper comes back from Russia and immediately and unwillingly gets adopted into whatever the hell Steve and Robin have going on because - “Well, you were tortured by Russians, right? Welcome to the club.”

“Why is there a club?” Hopper asks, saddled with two morons that won’t leave him alone. “What do you mean by torture? What happened to you?”

[petalbcrnes]

؛ ଓ _ _ 𓏴𓏴 THE FRIENDS TO LOVERS TROPE WITH _ _ j. todd .ᐟ ‿◞ˇ

.... 🌷 ... . ! just my thoughts on why the friends to lovers trope would be best for jason todd, i mentioned this in my “as a boyfriend” post for jason, wanted to touch up on it even more here. do not mind the moodboards — they do not dictate the physical description of the reader in my works.

𐔌 ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙.꩜‹　𝓹airing𓈒　j. todd　friend ! reader𓈒 　　†

؛ ଓ ✶ friends to lovers trope with jay　 𝜗 ། 　fluff﹐1.4k wc　 𝜗 ། 　𝓵inks𓈒　　mlist　　rules𓈒

Jason is a man that loves quietly. Love— as a feeling— slowly creeps up to him. He doesn’t even notice it at first. All of it it began such a long time ago and he gets so used to the warm feeling that he doesn’t even want to let go. He’ll never let go of it. Why would he want to lose you? His only friend. His only confidant and now— his only love.

Meeting him would be so strangely normal. He’s used to always being paranoid of his surroundings. The anxiety in his blood has become almost mundane in his every-day-to-day life. He doesn’t even question it. He walks into every building— cafe, bookstore, library, market— as if they’re ticking bombs and he needs to have an exit strategy as if his life depends on it.

It all changes at the register of the shop just near his apartment.

Jason is on high alert, just like always. His fingers dig into the leather of his wallet as he pays up, just like always. His eyes dart around the building searching for something, just like always. It’s a familiar dance.

Suddenly, he realizes he’s short on change. That breaks through the so called dance— a routine he’s built up.

“Shit, sorry. Give me a second.” He curses, muttering apologies to the cashier.

The person behind the register couldn’t care less. They’re eyes just drift off somewhere else. It’s probably nothing. They’re giving him time, but Jason somehow overthinks the entire situation.

I’m taking too long. Why does every minor inconvenience happen to me? Where is my god damn change?

He’s digging through his pockets when he hears a voice behind him. Not too soft, but not too loud to alert him either.

“Here.”

You’re there, moving around him— keeping a healthy distance to, as if not to touch him— giving the cashier the change.

He stares blankly at you— a deer caught in headlights. His sea-green eyes have a confused glint in them. He shuffles away from the register as you approach it, setting your groceries on the surface.

“Thanks.” He mumbles only that simple word, even though he’d like to say more.

Jason is trying to be more sociable. Alfred says it’s a step. A step in the right direction. Unfortunately Jason’s compass is all over the place, so he can’t really tell what the right direction truly is.

“You’re welcome.” You smile at him. Though it isn’t strained, nor forced. You just smiled at him, as if he did something good. “I like that brand.”

He hears you again. His eyes dart from your face to the bag of chips he’s bought. It’s a decent brand. He likes it. Turns out you do as well.

“It’s not too artificial.” He says, his voice somewhat higher than he’s used to. “The taste is—”

“Normal? Not ‘too much’ because for some reason other brands add so many condiments you wanna barf every time you take a bite? Yea, I know.”

“Yea. Normal.”

“Tell me about it.” You chuckle while putting all of your groceries in your bag.

Jason helps you out with it. You smile at him again.

“I just moved to this part of town. I don’t have many friends. Especially not ones I can talk shit with about even shittier chip brands.”

He thinks he looks ridiculous. He understands you’re trying to be-friend him— the man in the grocery store that seems to big and confused about where he fits in. His hand instinctively scratches at his neck. For the first time, he smiles back. Hell— he even laughs. It isn’t forced. It’s real. Just like the easy smile you’re giving him.

Giving you his name came easy after that. It felt like a reward hearing your name in return. You two would run into each other around Crime Alley’s most famous spots— even more groceries stores, in which you two would pick out products together; the run-down book store, in which you two might have had a small argument about Tolstoy’s and Dostoevsky’s books.

It felt good. Normal even. He made a friend. Now your number is in his contracts. Your number in his phone— he can’t believe it. Other than his family and Roy, there aren’t many in his list of numbers he keeps. Now he has someone to call when he wants to hang out, when he just needs a moment to feel normal again.

The feelings bloom from there— like a bouquet that was being formed with every time you two decided to spend together.

Jason slowly opened up to you, and you— to him. Suddenly, visiting each other became the norm. Lazy week-days spent in each other’s apartment was almost instinct to the two of you.

Movie nights when you’d tease him for liking the 2004 adaptation of “Pride and Prejudice” - “Bride and Prejudice” instead of the 2005 adaptation with Keira Knightley suddenly was something familiar— something that made him feel good.

“Seriously? You like the adaptation with the songs and dancing instead of the one with brooding feelings?”

You’re perched on the couch right next to him. Almost touching. He tries to ignore the proximity and how it’s making his heartbeat speed up and voice higher.

“It’s a good movie, what can I say? I like how lively it is, plus—” He raises a brow while the corners of his lips curl up. He likes explaining it all— his thought process to you.

You listen.

He turns your way, eyes leaving the screen playing the movie. He notices you’ve been looking at him— not the movie.

“What is it?” He asks, voice now quiet and soft.

Your eyes widen a bit, realizing you’ve been caught staring. He sees how your hands grip the arm of the couch— knuckles a bit white. There’s a slight pink hue on your cheeks.

Why does he feel like there’s the same type of tinge on his cheeks too? Is he truly something to like looking at? And more importantly, do you like looking at him?

“Just—” You smile too. Jason has come to like your smile even more after these few months of friendship. “—keep talking about why you like it. You might convert me to your ideals, who knows?”

“I’ll have you know the songs are actually amazing in that movie.”

“Sure, Jay.”

“Are you doubting me?”

“I’d never!”

“That’s it, get up! You’re dancing to one of the songs right now.”

“Only if you dance with me, Todd.”

Jason falls first but denies it aggressively— he’ll argue with Dick about how “it’s not like that” while texting you at 2am.

He immediately goes into denial mode, starts pulling away and being extra harsh during patrol like he can punch the feelings out of himself.

Dick notices Jason’s weird behavior and makes some throwaway comment about you, and Jason’s defensive reaction is so over-the-top that even Tim raises an eyebrow.

Jason starts overthinking every interaction— was that smile different? Why did you let your hand linger when passing him coffee? He’s a detective but suddenly can’t read you at all.

He lies awake analyzing conversations from three weeks ago, wondering if you were flirting or just being friendly when you said his hoodie looked good on him.

Your realization is more gradual— it starts when you notice you’ve been unconsciously planning your day around when Jason might text or show up.

The moment that breaks you is probably when you see him being unexpectedly gentle— reading to kids at the library for community service, or carefully moving a stray cat out of harm’s way.

You catch yourself staring at his hands while he’s just going about his day, thinking about how those same fingers are always so careful when they touch you.

You start having dreams about him that you can’t shake, and suddenly every romance novel feels like it’s written about this stupid, complicated man who eats your leftovers and leaves poetry books on your nightstand.

Like I said, the love between the two of you blooms slowly. But it is all-consuming— being wrapped in a blanket of the warmest feeling ever. You both can’t get enough. Falling for each other was truly easy.

You can’t think of anyone else who makes you feel this way. And he can’t imagine a life without you.

... ! .. 🌱 .. a/n: trying go get back into writing bigger works. this just came to me a few hours ago and i wrote it at 3am. i’m a sucker for this trope— especially with our best boy jay. he deserves some quiet and the process of having a crush in his life +++ all the fluffy feelings that come alongside it. i love the 2004 adaptation of pride and prejudice btw. it’s so good. the songs r even better. i can imagine reader and jason dancing to those songs !!! ++ this was only proof read once so ☹️☹️

﹒   ♪   ┊ INBOX OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

˖ `· . 𓏵 © 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐂𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒 don’t use my work without my consent. ... ⏤ㅤ Ⳋ ⊹

[trinity15]

oscar (if i’m remembering correctly he’s mango on your list!); SMAU (if you do them) with a dallas cowboys cheerleader reader (maybe they like met at COTA since the dcc perform there)!

CUPID PIASTRI

Oscar Piastri x Dallas Cowboys cheerleader!reader Summary: Hattie's fanatism leads to Oscar meeting the love of his life. Request!, fem! reader, SMAU! , face clain: Reece Weaver. Tried to make the story with them meeting at COTA but i saw in reece's insta that she went to the miami gp so i tought: "this is perfect, lets change it" im sorry tho. I love Hattie so I needed to use her for this, she's me and I'm her. It's my first ever smau so I tried my best, i think it's a bit short 🫠

masterlist

hattiepiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri and more

caption: last week of april done, americas sweethears is the only thing keeping me entertained right now...

user1 idkw but hattie watching the documentary about the Dallas cowboys' cheerleaders makes so much sense

user2 hattie i love you please say hi ❤️

user3 will you be going to the next gp??

oscarpiastri stop watching netflix you ipad kid

hattiepiastri NEVER

ynusername

liked by hattiepiastri and more

caption:

user4 hattie in the likes she must really like the netflix show

hattiepiastri she could step on my face and i wouldn't complain

user5 someone has a crush hattiepiastri oh im not the one with the crush

user6 yn is so goddamm beautiful she doesnt look real at all

user7 she's so talented and so beautiful i want to be her

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, mclaren and more

caption: Tidy few days. Ready for Miami!

mclaren what a race

user8 the man you are oscar

user9 this years world champion! 🏆

hattiepiastri promise to bring me to the next race 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

oscarpiastri no??? hattiepiastri the hell you mean no

ynusername

liked by hattiepiastri, oscarpiastri and more

caption: Pit stops and palm trees🌴🏁🩵

hattiepiastri finally met yn but my stupid brother got in the way

user10 so oscar did take you to the gp user11 wdym got in the way?

user12 OSCAR IN THE LIKES

user13 god forbid a man who's just being polite with the girl he just met user14 no girl, that is not just being polite he likes her user15 but he is not following her so everything is fine user16 tf???

user17 queen is at miami

marissaphillips_ you are trully the cutest! liked by author

oscarpiastri

liked by mclaren, ynusername and more

caption: Good vibes in the 305

ynusername congrats!! liked by author

user17 GUYS THIS IS NOT A SIMULATION THE INTERACTION IS HAPPENING

user18 he dedicated the win to hattie 🥺

hattiepiastri you did decent, not enough to impress someone 🫤

user19 does that someone have a name? user20 love their sibling interactions

user21 the papaya boys winning in miami for two consecutive years 🧡🧡🧡

hattiepiastri

liked by oscarpiastri and more

caption: they call me cupid

oscarpiastri no one calls you that

hattiepiastri YOU should user22 guys what is happening user23 hattie im waiting for a storytime tiktok user24 is this about oscar and yn??

two months after

five months after

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, hattiepiastri and more

caption: what a week

user25 guys GUYS THAT. IS. OSCAR.

user26 no he isn't user27 girl u blind?? user28 they don't even follow each other

user29 i have no idea of football but i could watch the cheerleaders' performances over and over again without getting bored

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, hattiepiastry and more

oscarpiastri has tagged ynusername

caption: sorry, forgot about the follow button

ynusername ily osc 💞 liked by author

user30 oh, to be loved by oscar piastri user31 to be loved by yn wdym

hattiepiastri you're welcome

user32 idk if i want to be her or i want to be with her

user33 its giving pr relationship

user34 stfu 🤗

user34 this man loves his woman

user35 may this love attack me.

user36 the hardlaunch????

[sparrows4bats]

Do you think it ever hits Jon that he is dating an actual, literal prince?

I like to imagine that ever since Damian started to mend his relationship with Talia, he has been slowly dressing and donning the mannerisms he had in the League.

Not the insecure anger of a terrified child but the dignified air of a royal.

Damian starts wearing the elegant silks he grew up with. His mother gifts him gold and jewels that now permanently adorn his skin.

Talia finds out how much allowance Bruce gives him and freaks out. She gives Damian a literal crown and gifts him an unlimited credit card, a penthouse with the best security and a castle in France.

No son of hers will ever be lacking anything.

So Damian moves from rich kid chic and a Bruce clone to looking more like his mother. Elegant, refined, and undeniably royal.

Damian Al Ghul Wayne is not arrogant but confident. He is proud but not pompous. He is kind but dignified.

Everyone around him at med school and high society looks at him with awe.

Jon Kent looks at Damian in his more traditional clothing and kohl and acknowledges his best friend is out of his league.

Jon might be a hero, but he is also a farmboy and he has no chance when Damian could have the world at his feet if he only asked.

Too bad Damian doesn't agree.

Damian falls in love with the boy who argues back, that never just follows Damians lead blindly yet never judges him for his past. The man who grew up to be kind and joyful despite the hell he has been put through.

The boy that makes him feel like something precious. Like someone worthy of being protected.

And Damian intends to keep Jon as long as he is allowed.

He brings Jon to dinner and buys him gifts and food. Jon looks especially lovely in the suits Damian has made for him for the Galas he attends by Damians side.

He brings it up as they watch the sunset together at Kent Farm.

He grabs Jons hand, and when Jon turns to look at him with wide eyes he kisses his best friend softly.

Jon gasps, but when Damian moves back, he is lifted on Jons lap so he can be kissed properly.

When they finally stop for air, Damian laughs at the shocked look on Jons face.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Because I'm happy."

Jon smiles, and Damian wants to poke at his dimples

"I'm happy too."

The moment is perfect until Damian interrupts and says, "Mother wants to meet you properly."

"Why?" Jon asks hesitantly.

"So she can welcome you to the family."

"We're not married."

"According to League Traditions, you have completed almost all of the courting process, actually."

"What?!"

Damian smiles, "You saved my life, beat me in combat, pledged your loyalty, and defeated my enemies."

Jon looks at him with dawning realisation. "What else is there?"

"First, you get Mothers approval, then we say our vows"

Damian waits for a negative reaction for Jon to panic, but the Super just holds him tighter.

"I can do that."

"Do you want to?" Damian asks seriously.

"God yes!" Jon is already planning how to impress the current queen of Assassins.

[chunibyo-x-sorcerer]

"Even so..." Nanami frowns, "Using someone's face they cared about can always throw people off." He informs Yukio gravelly. Ino Takuma frowns at this. "Damn...who knew someone can use a technique like that?!"

-----

"I always love the look on people's faces when I do this!" 'Yukio' smiles so deviously as he pulls back. Igarashi can't help but smirk a little, but he almost feels bad for his opponents. Too bad. Welcome to hell, you two.' Igarashi thought.

"It gives me the shivers!" Yukio said with a gleeful smile.

"Okumura, get up!" Ryuji yells at him. That damn freaking bastard uses Yukio's face like that. Fuck! He almost looks identical and threw Rin off his game. Yukio shifts to Kris now with his hands high. "This is why I love this job!" He said.

Daichi did not like this. Not at all.

"And now I get it." Daichi blinked when he heard Rioto say that, "He let Rin hit him on purpose." Rioto frowns, seeing this. Miwa blinks, "Wait...he did?"

"Rin…why? Why? I thought…" Yukio appears to be in pain as he gets closer to him.

"What the hell is going on?! I thought you were with the teachers!" He didn't know and wonders where Kris was! Did he run away and switched!?

"Yeah, s..something is wrong. That's-"

"That's not him like Kamo said....." Miko agrees with him while Hana blinks.

"Eh?!? It's not!?" she was confused.

"Yukio, I'm sorry, I didn't know! I was-"

"RIN! GET AWAY FROM HIM!" Taz shouted.

"!?" As he was about to see if he was alright, he got sucker punched hard in the face wincing. He was really confused now. "What the-"

"Ohh sorry brother..did that hurt!?" Kris laughed hugging his stomach.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"....It seems like he does. He must have the power to shapeshift into whoever he wishes or who the other wishes for....darn it Rin, I figure he would know that. He knows me!" Yukio saw Rin get hit again wincing from the stomach hit this time.

"Ooooooo that's pretty sneaky on his part." Gojo mutters watching this.

[elisabethlauda]

The Start

@User567 No, because what do you mean Fred is leaving?! He is such an Icon!

@user440 Fred 😭 you will be missed greatly

@user421 rumours say that because of his weak immune system, travelling can be dangerous

@user2 replied to @user421 well it is good then that he decided to focus on his health

@user859 he was such an amazing tp

@user5 my heart can't take this! Poor Charles and Lewis

@user69 as sad as it is to see Fred leave, let's not forget that Ferrari still hasn't improved....

@user03 I wonder who will be the new TP

@user13 heard someone say Binotto is gonna be back again ☠️

@user925 Fred, you will always be remembered 🥰😇🙂‍↕️

@user63 OMG WHAT?!

@user2 this was not on my 2025 bingo list

@user90 FINALLY a female team principal

@user100 a Lauda as tp can only be a good thing

@user666 hell no, what do you mean a stupid woman will be the new boss? She probably only likes the sport because she thinks the drivers are hot

@user375 no way, she is so pretty

@user196 such a good decision

@user07 news say she graduated engineering and physics at the University of Vienna

@user53026 Niki would be so happy to see his granddaughter changing the F1 world

@charlesleclerc so happy to be working with such an amazing person! Forza Ferrari!

@lewishamilton this woman will create a path for many young women in Formula 1. So proud to be working with her #blessed

@danielricciardo we all know she is gonna change the paddock to a better place

@landonorris looks like Ferrari will start to be a real competition

@oscarpiastri finally a good decision. Congratulations to Lizzy for her new position 👏

@georgerussell I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we are very happy to have Lizzy among us and we will welcome her with open arms

@carmenmundt yes girl🥰 my wife is gonna be the hottest of them all

@kikagomes she's an icon. Ellie, can you please marry me ❤️💍😇

@carlossainz congratulations Senorita Lauda 🪅🥳

@maxverstappen simple lovely 👍

@kimiantonelli ahh, so happy! Please adopt me!!!

@oliverbearman mother? Sorry. Mother?

@rebeccadonaldson the most breathtaking person on earth has blessed us 💙 💖

@elisabethlauda my girls 🩷🩷🩷

@elisabethlauda so excited to be part of the Scuderria Ferrari. Changes are definitely coming our way...

Welcome to my first series. I hope you'll enjoy my stories. Some chapters will be related while others will be unrelated (the majorit). But all of them will play in the same universe. If you have any questions, you can always send me a message or write some requests

[juicykvnture]

HOMEWRECKER

Jason Todd x fem!reader

tags: AFAB reader, mean!Jason, cheating, dubcon, manhandling, slapping, degradation, edging, dumbification, slut shaming, hate fucking

a/n: uhhhhhhhhhhh..?!

wc: 3.1k | masterlist

“So,” Jason’s words cut through the silence, causing you to almost choke on your coffee “how long you been screwing my old man for?”

“..what?” you stare at him, nothing short of bewildered from across the kitchen island.

“Don’t you fucking what me, I asked you a question.”

Six months, you’ve been with Bruce for six months. But Jason doesn’t really need you to tell him that, does he?

For six months, your boyfriend’s son has taken it upon himself to make every second you spend at the manor nothing short of a living hell.

Your lack of an answer makes Jason roll his eyes, exasperated as he slumps back against the counter.

“Let me rephrase, is going after middle aged men a kink of yours or does nobody our age want a vapid little bitch like you?”

You bristle, nails biting into your palms so hard they could bleed.

“Who the fuck are you talking to?” you’re trying to sound tough - your voice shakes, you’re bad at it.

You don’t have a foot to stand on in Wayne Manor when Bruce isn’t around and you know it.

Jason’s jaw ticks, tilting his head to the side.

“No, who the fuck are you talking to? Walking around my fucking house with your ass out like you own the place.”

Shrugging, he takes a step forward, leaning his head down slightly - closer to you to leave nothing up to interpretation, his arms resting on either side of you on the counter.

“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

“It’s not your place to say that.” your only response is a weak, half-assed mumble.

You’re trying your best to be subtle about how you’re not meeting Jason’s eyes, attempting to catch a glimpse of the doorway he’s obscuring.

“Bruce ain’t coming down here for another while.” Jason rolls his eyes, dragging that last word out like he’s amused that you’re trying to dig yourself out of this.

The words catch in your throat - you’re not sure what to say to him.

You know if you yell at him, it won’t end well. He’s always got some kind of verbal jab he’s ready to pull at any given moment.

Storming off is no use either. You’re a joke as it is, and not being able to look Jason in the eye would make this all worse.

“Jason?”

The sound of footsteps in the foyer has the two of you turning your heads towards the doorway, the tension between the two of you dissipating for a moment.

“I may.. or may not have lost your bike keys!” Dick calls out, the fake sing-song tone in his voice trying to cover up the fact he knows damn well his brother is about to wring his neck.

“The fuck do you mean you lost my bike keys? I never let you have them!” Jason calls out, his hands falling by his sides.

Now that he isn’t caging you in, it’s like you can finally breathe again - taking a quiet sip of your coffee.

Jason curses under his breath, ready to storm out of the kitchen and strangle his brother - but not without bumping into you first.

No, not brushing past as he walks.

No, he fully shoulders you on the way out, to him - you falling to the floor or whacking your head against the counter would serve you right.

And just when you think it’s the last of your peril, he lingers in the doorway for a moment, glancing back at you in disgust, his voice lowered.

“I know what you are.”

It’s been hours since breakfast, yours consisting of burnt coffee and an earful from Jason.

Hours, and his words replay in your mind - over and over like a broken record, one specially crafted with the intent of tearing you down.

And to your dismay, there’s a slight chance it might be working.

You’re trying to distract yourself, rooting around in your lipstick drawer - who knows, maybe you’ll find peace and quiet at the bottom of it if you search hard enough.

From the very beginning, you were well aware that a man like Bruce Wayne would come with some baggage. That’s alright, you were ready and willing to accept these things and move on.

After all, everyone has been dealt a different card in life.

You just didn’t expect that baggage to include a son like him.

You didn’t flinch when he sat you down and explained that he isn’t going to be around a lot.

You nodded along with every single word Bruce said, determined.

It’s obvious he tries to spend time with you, as much as he can. He meticulously plans dates down to the last, most minute little detail.

Despite the fact that you live at the manor, you don’t see him nearly as often as you’d like. He’s always working long hours and his nights are a whole other story.

But, he tries.

Every Friday, 9 on the dot. The same table in the same restaurant.

You always sit in the corner, right beside the window.

He takes the chair, you take the booth, there’s always one single red rose neatly tucked into the vase.

He likes to pick your dresses for you, too.

He takes your ever-changing mood into consideration, always laying out multiple options, always having the driver pick you up at a time that would leave time to spare if you changed your mind halfway through the journey.

It’s 8:30, you should’ve gotten a confirmation text from Bruce by now.

You haven’t.

You close your lipstick with a soft click and glance out the window, your lips immediately curling into a soft pout as you stare at the empty, winding driveway.

The car isn’t outside either.

You’re quiet, arms crossed over your chest as you pace around your and Bruce’s shared bedroom, your glittery heels gently clicking against the hardwood floor.

8:40 rolls around, still no car - still no word from Bruce.

Sighing, you decide to make your way down the stairs. It’s mostly been quiet so you figure no one’s home.

After this morning, you can only hope so.

Jason’s opinion of you is dire as it is, you’d rather avoid the rest of them before they find a reason to hate you too.

You linger in the winding hallway for a moment, staring up at the long stretches of ceiling, adorned with chandeliers, the family photos displayed across the walls momentarily catching your attention.

Walking through the living room, you don’t lift your gaze from the floor, your eyes following each line of the parquet flooring.

“Look what the bat dragged in.” Jason’s lazy drawl snaps you out of your thoughts, his mere presence enough to dampen your mood, as if tonight’s date being up in the air wasn’t bad enough.

“Christ, don’t scare me like that.” you clear your throat, your hands awkwardly moving to smooth over the fabric of your dress.

Jason rolls his eyes, his judgmental gaze scanning over every inch of you as you stand there awkwardly, clutching your pearls.

“Sit, those heels will make your legs hurt.” he offers after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, shifting slightly on the creaky leather.

Oh how gracious of him, you want to stand up and confront him about this whole vendetta against you, but you’ll save that for another night. Your mood is soured enough.

As if he cares about your legs.

You should be on your date now, sipping on some nice wine. Not here.

You’re hesitant, but you eventually make your way over, perching yourself on the far side of the couch.

“I’m not gonna bite you. You’re being dramatic.” Jason sighs, watching you in his peripheral.

It’s kinda funny to him how you’re trying to sit as far away from him as you can. Do you seriously think you can avoid him forever?

“I doubt that,” you mumble, staring down at the block with a silent prayer that Bruce will be here soon to put you out of your misery.

Jason just rolls his eyes, locking his blank gaze back on the TV - stretching his legs out a little.

He’s a chronic manspreader by nature but you’re nearly certain that he’s doing this with the sole intention of pissing you off.

“You shouldn’t rely on Bruce to be on time, yknow? He’s got a habit of disappointing those around him,” he remarks dryly, amused by your internal panic about your date not going to plan.

“He’ll be here,” you mumble, almost like you’re trying to convince yourself.

“Oh I’m sure, then he’ll buy you some Jimmy Choos for your troubles, eh?”

You frown at the way he’s mocking both you and your boyfriend. You never expect Jason to like you, but come on.

“What? It’s not like you’re with him for his charming personality, is it? You’re just here to try and drain his bank account like the rest of them.”

“It’s not like that.” your rebuttal is weak, your stomach sinking at how he’s able to see through your real motives like that, uneasiness starting to cloud your thoughts.

“Oh c’mon, don’t pout.”

His voice cuts you out for a moment, his legs spreading wider.

“Your pretty face is all you’ve got going for you, don’t mess it up like that.”

Your shoulders tense again, brows furrowed.

“Do you have some kind of problem with me?”

“I’d think of it as more of a distaste for money-hungry skanks.” Jason shrugs, knee deliberately bumping against yours to watch your brows furrow even harder.

You swallow, brows arched.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?”

Jason shrugs, leaning his face a little closer to yours with a condescending grin, his finger running over the charm of your necklace before giving it a tug, pulling your face closer.

“A money-hungry little skank.”

You’ve never been so disrespected in your whole life, you’re fucking pissed - you’d rip that smug grin right off of his big dumb face if you could.

A bastard like him would probably enjoy that, though.

But then comes the dread, creeping in like an unwelcome houseguest.

He’s figured you out, he knows you’re just in it to get your ass driven around in a fancy car with a cartier around your wrist.

“You know nothing about me.”

“No?” Jason arches a brow, resting his hand on your knee like it’s nothing.

“I know people like you thrive off of two things - money and attention.” his hand pushes up your leg a little higher, lightly running his knuckles over your skin.

It’s like he’s testing you again, you know better than to trust a word out of his mouth.

“Jason-“ You start to speak again, only for him to literally shush you like you’re some kind of idiot.

“You can roll your eyes at me all you like but you know I’m right,” he sighs, lifting your leg a little bit to inspect your over-priced strappy heels, shaking his head.

“See, you’re managing to pull money out of Bruce no problem, it’s almost impressive.”

It’s like the room has gotten smaller, and so has the space between the two of you. He’s yapping away like it’s nothing, pulling your legs to drape over his lap as the dread grows into a sinking feeling in your chest.

“But you’re trying to get attention out of a man like Bruce Wayne?” He’s almost cooing now, reaching out to turn your head towards him.

“You’re dumber than you look.”

Your frown deepens, reaching a hand up to fiddle with your necklace.

“You don’t know what you’re saying, we’re going on a date.. tonight.” you feel the need to put emphasis on that last part, as if your rebuttal isn’t weak anyway.

“He got caught up at work.”

“Bet he did.” Jason nods, not seeming surprised in the slightest.

Caught up at work has to be the lamest excuse Jason’s ever heard. He figures Bruce hasn’t taken the time to tell you who he really is.

That amuses him, greatly - the thought of both you and Bruce lying through your teeth.

You glance out the window and then at the floor, shifting slightly on the couch.

“Right, great talk but I’m sure Bruce is gonna be here any moment.” you make a move to stand up, only to feel Jason’s hand grasp your leg, pushing his thumb into the back of your knee.

“He’ll be a while.” Jason insists, pulling you down against him.

“Besides, you’ve been avoiding me so much, I think we should catch up, no?” He arches a brow, running a hand up your thigh.

He scoffs a little when you visibly tense, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh come on, don’t act like you love him.” Jason murmurs, reaching a hand out to run his fingers along one of many sparkly bracelets adorning your wrists - a pretty penny went towards all those, no doubt.

“Jason-“

“I know your type,” he cuts you off again, his fingers gently running over where your dress meets your skin.

“..and I know you think that just cause you’re Bruce’s flavour of the month that you mean something around here,”

He’s silent for a moment before his hand slides up your inner thigh, delivering a firm smack that has you writhing against him.

“You don’t.” He murmurs, chin now resting on your shoulders - an arm around your waist keeps you there.

“I mean come on, you waste your time on him - it’s embarrassing.” Jason sighs, now gently running his palm over where he just smacked, shaking his head.

“It’s not your problem.” you swallow, brows furrowing as you keep your eyes locked on the ground.

Jason arches a brow, his hand moving to tilt your head to the side so you look at him.

He doesn’t say anything for a beat, rubbing his thumb across your lips while his other hand slides up your dress once more.

He pauses again, his hand lingering at the edge of your underwear.

“If you really do love him, I’ll stop.”

Your silence tells him everything he needs to know.

The guilt that’s been gnawing at you for so long seems to fade with every rough pant against your collarbone - all thoughts of the date you’re supposed to be on pushed to the side, much like your panties.

“That’s why you’ve been pissing me off, huh? You like the attention he won’t give you?” Jason huffs under his breath, blunt nails biting into the skin of your hips.

The way your back arches only makes him go harder, slamming you down on his cock like you’re nothing to him but some kind of rag doll.

“You think just cause he won’t fuck you back into your place means I won’t?”

“..hate you,” you manage to grit out, only to be met with a sharp smack to the side of your ass.

“Of course you do.” Jason rolls his eyes, the grin across his face mocking as he yanks your face closer to his - gripping your neck harder than he probably should,

“but you’re still letting me fuck you like a slut, huh?”

“M’not a slut,” you sniffle under your breath, hands shaking as you grip his shoulders.

“No?” he breathes out, dragging his thumb over your bottom lip with that condescending tone that makes your skin crawl and your cunt throb.

“You’re not a slut?” he slams his hips up into you so hard it knocks the air out of your lungs, like he’s trying to fuck that stupid little idea out of your head.

"Not - a - slut, huh?" he’s punctuating each word with a slam of his hips, your thighs trembling.

He keeps going fucking into you again.. and again and again - no signs of stopping, why would he?

He’s managed to fuck the attitude out of you already, but your ego? The fact you’re still the stuck up little slut he hates?

That’s more of a challenge.

“You’re gonna look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not easy, huh?” his hips are snapping up into yours now, slamming his cock inside you like it's punishing you - it is.

He just lives for that look you’re fixing him - the lipstick smeared across your face, mascara running down your cheeks and you’re still insisting that you’re more than just a slut for him to use?

He’s not having that.

Another hard thrust, his hand wraps around your throat.

Then he stops.

“Huh?” you pant, hips desperately stuttering against Jason’s as you stare at him.

“W-what the fuck?”

“What?” Jason shrugs, the loss of contact making you wince when he lets your hips go, resting his arms on the back of the couch.

“You won’t admit you’re a slut, why should I fuck you like one?”

He wishes he had a camera on him right now.

Fuck, that look on your face.

Somewhere between angry, desperate - betrayed? Offended that he’s not fucking you like a whore?

It's priceless.

He smirks, you clench around him - chest heaving as your mascara pools under your eyes.

“Go fuck yourself.” Jason shrugs, tilting his head back against the couch.

“..what?” you manage to mumble between desperate mewls, trying to get him to slam his cock up into you.

He huffs, gripping your neck a little tighter to pull your face down to his - the smugness on his face unwavering.

He makes sure to speak slowly, slow enough that even your fucked out brain can understand.

“Go - fuck - your - self.”

Somehow your expression manages to get even more desperate than it was before.

You’re panting, shaking - desperately clawing at his shoulders as you try to find a rhythm yourself.

Only to be mocked with a little hum every time your hips stutter.

“What? Can’t even fuck yourself on my cock?” he hums, making no move to help you whatsoever.

“Too dumb to ride me or what, slut?”

He grows bored of your fumbling, eventually.

Are you really worth getting blue balls over?

He doesn’t seem to think so, eventually giving up with a scoff, hands finding your hips again to slam you down like you’ve been begging - letting out a snicker at every dumb little sound you make.

You’re a mess in every way possible, your makeup running down your face, his cum dribbling down your thighs as you lift your head - eyes widening when you see car headlights outside the window.

Bruce remembered your date after all, then?

“Jason-“ you panic, your cunt throbbing around him despite the shame coming back, the impending doom.

He scoffs a little, now is when you decide to use your brain, seriously?

Jason lets out a noncommittal hum, sliding himself out of your cum-soaked panties with a shrug as you tremble against him.

“Awh, your date decided to show up.” He murmurs, lazily raising a hand to thumb away that smeared lipstick.

“..slut.”

a/n: DO NOT ask what came over me cause idk.

thank u sm for like 350 followers and for reading!!!!

[mrsvante]

Terms of Surrender

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: idol au, established relationship, pfp (kinda)

summary: he always left a piece of himself behind when he went away. now he’s trying to remember where he put it. a slow burning love letter to quiet homes, messy reunions, half eaten cake, and the way someone’s touch can make a tired soul feel whole again.

warnings: military discharge, emotional vulnerability, fingering, oral f!receiving, light edging, praise kink, yoongi calls you a good girl 🫠, swearing, teeth rottingly tender intimacy, clingy yoongi, post service identity crisis, minor angst with comfort, domestic fluff, one deeply judgmental dog named holly

word count: 4,907

a word from our sponsors 💁🏽‍♀️: i know these drabbles have been pretty much pfp but i got a little emotional with yoongi because we made it!! they’re all finally home & whole. how could i not get emotional?! ughhhh it feels so surreal to know ot7 is back 🥹 anyway, enough of me blabbering..hope you enjoy!

Yoongi slouched deeper into the backseat of the cab, his head tipped against the cool glass of the window as the late June sun painted long shadows over the city. Seoul hadn’t changed much. Same humming traffic. Same old buildings with half lit signs.

But somehow it all felt a little different today, like the world had edged forward a few paces without him and now he was just catching up.

The driver didn’t say much, which he appreciated. He wasn’t in the mood to talk.

His shoulder ached, an old reminder stitched into the muscle. He rolled it slowly, grateful it hadn’t flared up during the last few months. He’d been careful, pacing himself. Desk work had its own kind of strain, though. Different from physical labor. More like being filed down from the inside out, every second smoothed into the next until time itself lost its sharpness.

Twenty one months. It was a long time to be out of the rhythm of everything.

But he was going home now.

The cab pulled into the underground lot beneath his apartment complex. Yoongi paid, murmured a soft thank you, and stepped out, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. His fingers tapped over the security pad and the door buzzed open, welcoming him into silence.

The elevator ride was short.

He input the house code into the door, and the smell hit him first.

Takeout. Sweet and salty. Something you knew he liked.

Then your voice.

“~Congratulations, our beloved Yoongi~”

You sang in an absurdly high pitched voice, standing in the middle of the dining room in fuzzy socks, his old sweatshirt, and some too tiny shorts that clung to your ass like a second skin. A small cake sat on the table beside a bottle of Glenfiddich and a cluster of takeout boxes.

Yoongi blinked.

You ran over to him, grabbing his hand before he could even take off his shoes, dragging him into the middle of the room.

“Dance with me,” you demanded, swaying your hips in exaggerated circles, clearly trying to make him laugh.

“I literally just got discharged—”

“Exactly. So you don’t have any excuses.”

He rolled his eyes but let you spin him around once. Then twice. You clapped like it was the best performance of his career and leaned in to kiss his cheek with a loud, theatrical mwah.

Yoongi’s mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile.

You cut the cake and plated a slice. Soft, homemade lilac frosting smudged along the edge. You were beaming as you scooped up a bite for him with your fork.

“Open.”

“I’m not a dog, aegi.”

You tilted your head and arched a brow. “Wanna bet?”

Still, he opened his mouth and let you feed him. The cake was good. Moist and sweet, but not too sweet.

He was tired. Fucking exhausted, actually.

But his heart, his heart had never felt this full.

You nudged his side gently. “You look more dead now than you did on your last day of basic.”

Yoongi groaned, head tipping back. “Because basic was body hell. This was soul death. There’s a difference.”

You giggled. “So… filing paperwork was harder than running ten kilometers with a loaded pack?”

“Absolutely. You ever been stuck with a malfunctioning printer and an angry office ajumma on your ass for six straight hours?”

You leaned into him, resting your head on his chest. “Guess I’ll just have to nurse you back to health.”

“You’re already doing a pretty good job,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair.

Later that night, the cake was half eaten, the whiskey two fingers lower, and the takeout boxes stacked haphazardly on the counter. The lights were dimmed, the room washed in the soft glow of the TV as the drama played on the screen.

You sat curled against Yoongi on the couch, legs tangled with his, one of your hands absently tracing the inside seam of his sweatpants. Holly was nestled comfortably by Yoongi’s feet, occasionally twitching in his sleep as if chasing something.

Yoongi’s arm rested around your shoulders, fingers playing with the end of your sleeve.

The silence had long settled into something easy. He hadn’t said much since dinner, but you didn’t mind. That was just him. He was always more of a slow pour—thoughts aged like wine, shared only when ready.

The main couple on screen kissed under a lamppost. The music swelled dramatically and you snorted.

“They’ve known each other for like four episodes.”

Yoongi gave a soft, amused breath through his nose. “That’s two more than some people get.”

A comfortable beat passed. Then he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I missed this.”

You turned your head slightly against his chest, your ear catching the soft thump of his heart beneath his shirt.

“Missed what?”

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers stilled against your sleeve.

“This,” he repeated, gaze fixed somewhere past the TV. “Normal things. You. Even Holly’s stubborn little attitude.”

You smiled, glancing down at the tiny dog in question. “He’s been moodier than usual with you being so regimented lately.”

“Yeah, well,” Yoongi exhaled slowly, “I’ve been moodier than usual without you.”

You lifted your head to look at him fully, but his eyes were still on the screen, though it was obvious he wasn’t really seeing it. There was a distant kind of sheen in his expression. Like he was still partially somewhere else.

He finally glanced at you, the corners of his mouth tugging faintly. “I think I forgot how to sit still for a while. Everything about that place… the rhythm, the silence, it’s different. Not bad, just…” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Sterile. Like life paused and I was watching it through a window. The days bled together. Same halls. Same faces. Same tired conversations.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers along the edge of his jaw. He leaned into it a little.

“But now it’s over,” you said gently.

“Almost,” he replied. “Still doesn’t feel real. I’ve been fantasizing about laying on this couch for months without forcing myself to stick to a bedtime. About your cheesy dramas. About Holly hogging all the foot space.” He nudged the dog lightly with his toe. “But the moment I stepped through the door, it felt like no time had passed and also like a lifetime had gone by.”

He paused. His voice dropped just slightly.

“I’m nervous.”

That surprised you a little. You sat up straighter.

“About?”

“Coming back.” He didn’t mean the apartment. “About being with the guys again. Being BTS again. It’s stupid—I’ve done this my whole adult life. But it’s like… what if the music feels different? What if I feel different?”

You softened, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “You are different. That doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.”

“I know.” His eyes flicked down. “I just—there’s pressure. Expectations. We’re all gonna be different now. Older. We’ve lived outside of that world for so long, it’s not going to be the same. And I’m scared I won’t love it the way I used to. Or that I’ll want it too much and burn out again.”

Your thumb softly traced beneath his eye.

“You don’t have to have all the answers yet,” you murmured. “Just take the next step. One at a time.”

Yoongi let out a breath. Not quite relief, but close.

“You always know what to say.”

“No,” you said with a small smile. “I just know you.”

He looked at you again, really looked this time, and that quiet, aching fondness was back in full force. The kind that never demanded attention but still managed to take up all the space in the room.

“I want you there,” he said, voice soft and sure. “When it all starts again. Not hidden. Not on the sidelines. Just… with me.”

You nodded, brushing your nose against his before whispering, “Always.”

Yoongi didn’t kiss you right away.

He held your face like it was the last fragile thing in a world made of sharp edges, and then, he kissed you.

You didn’t know who started it, but the kiss deepened before either of you thought to stop it. A soft press of lips became something hungrier, something hot and slow and aching with everything unsaid.

Yoongi’s hand cradled the back of your head, his thumb brushing just behind your ear. The other slid to your hip, pulling you closer until you were practically on top of him. You shifted, straddling his lap fully, thighs settling on either side of his, and the sound he made sent a sharp pulse straight through the apex of your thighs.

His tongue traced the seam of your mouth, and you opened for him. The taste of whiskey lingered faintly on his breath, but more than that, it was him.

Warm and addicting.

You rocked forward just slightly, enough to feel the stiff press of him beneath you.

Yoongi tensed, groaning into your mouth as your hips moved again. The pressure, the friction, had you squirming before you could stop yourself. His hands gripped your hips harder, guiding the movement just a little, just enough.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice ragged against your lips. “You trying to kill me?”

You smiled against his mouth, breath catching. “Maybe.”

Another roll of your hips and he swore again, this time dragging his mouth to your jaw, then your neck, where he pressed a kiss just below your ear.

And then, a wet snort.

You both froze.

Then came a soft shuffle and another sneeze like exhale. Yoongi turned his head just enough to see Holly sprawled on his side by the couch, staring up at you both like he had just woken up to a live drama finale he definitely shouldn’t be watching.

You burst out laughing.

Yoongi let his head fall back against the couch with a dramatic groan. “This fucking dog…”

“I think he’s judging us.”

“I know he’s judging us.”

Still laughing, you moved to slide off his lap, but Yoongi caught you before you could. In one smooth motion, he stood, lifting you with him. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders automatically, heart thudding.

“Yoongi—”

“We’re taking this somewhere Holly can’t emotionally imprint on the trauma.”

You laughed even harder, your nose bumping against his cheek as he carried you toward the bedroom, his grip firm and certain.

“And what exactly do you plan to do to me in there?”

Yoongi glanced down at you, eyes dark and glittering with intent, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmured, “things you definitely shouldn’t do in front of your children.”

You shrieked and hit his chest, breathless from laughter, head tipping back as he kicked open the bedroom door with his foot.

Behind you, Holly let out one last disgruntled little puff of air and curled back into a loaf.

Yoongi didn’t rush.

He was finally done with his service. There was no need to. And true to himself, Yoongi planned to take his time with you.

Even with weeks of want pressed into the heat between you, even with the taste of your mouth still lingering on his tongue and the shape of your thighs burned into his palms, he didn’t rush.

He laid you down gently, your back sinking into the mattress, the light from the hallway casting warm shadows across your skin. His eyes took you in like he was starving, like he’d been starving for months.

He peeled you out of his sweatshirt with a few gentle tugs. No shirt underneath, no bra.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “You are trying to kill me.”

You smiled, breathless and hazy, but it faltered when he leaned down and dragged his mouth over your breasts. His tongue was slow, tracing lazy circles around a nipple until it hardened beneath the drag of his lips. Then he sucked, just enough to make your fingers curl in his hair.

Your breath hitched. Yoongi hummed, tongue flicking once more before trailing lower, over your side, your stomach, your hips.

He whispered things as he went, words too quiet to make out. You only caught pieces. So good… missed this… fuck, you’re soft… Like a prayer, or a lullaby meant only for his own ears. There was admiration in every press of his lips. Admiration and hunger and something even more dangerous.

By the time he slipped your shorts down your legs, your thighs were already trembling.

His palm dragged up the inside of your knee, thumb brushing softly over sensitive skin. “Open for me, sweetheart,” he said, low and hoarse, like it cost him to keep still.

You did, thighs falling apart with no hesitation.

The air kissed the wet heat of you, and Yoongi’s gaze sharpened, but still, he didn’t dive in. No frantic desperation. No rush.

Just his lips brushing along the crease of your thigh.

Then again.

Then the other side.

Over and over.

Getting closer.

And then pulling away.

You squirmed. Your hips lifted instinctively toward him, only for his hand to pin you down gently, thumb stroking circles just beneath your hip bone.

“Yoongi…” you whimpered, voice threadbare with need.

He looked up at you, chin tucked between your thighs, hair messy, lips slightly parted—but his eyes glittered all dark and mischievous.

“I’ve been waiting twenty one months to take my time with you,” he said, all soft spoken sin. “Don’t think I’m gonna rush it now.”

Then finally, he licked one long deliberate stripe up your folds.

You gasped, back arching clean off the mattress, but Yoongi only hummed like he was tasting something divine. He didn’t stop there. His tongue moved with devastating precision, every flick calculated, every slow swirl around your clit designed to bring you just close enough.

And then retreat.

And then build again.

He latched his mouth around you, sucking just enough to make your breath stutter, hips rising for more. His grip tightened.

But then, he stopped.

You let out a strangled sound, hips jerking in confusion, in desperate disbelief.

He looked up again, mouth slick, eyes too wide and too innocent to be sincere. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Your chest rose and fell in sharp bursts. “You—you stopped.”

He tilted his head, mock concern twisting his features into a mask of gentle confusion. “I did?”

“Yoongi—”

“Shh,” he whispered, as two fingers slid deep into you before you could protest.

Your body seized, a cry breaking from your lips as he curled them just right, his thumb pressing lightly to your clit.

“You sound so fucking pretty like this,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours.

He found that spot inside you again, massaging it with slow, steady strokes until you felt it build. All hot, overwhelming, and dizzying.

And then, he pulled away.

Again.

You choked on a sob, hands flying up to clutch at his arms. Your eyes were glossy now, cheeks damp, your whole body trembling from the tension he’d so artfully crafted.

“Yoongi—please,” you whispered, voice broken, barely holding together. “Please, I can’t—”

He kissed the inside of your thigh, lips soft against your skin.

“Yes, you can. You can for me, right?”

His voice was sweet, gentle. But it wasn’t kindness. It was torture.

Another round. Another climb. This time he used everything—his tongue, his fingers, his mouth—driving you to the edge until your body couldn’t tell if it wanted to cum or cry. You were gasping, breath breaking with every stroke, every flick of his tongue, thighs clamped tight around his head in desperation.

Tears slipped from the corners of your eyes, your body pulsing on the edge of release, so close it hurt.

And Yoongi, he looked up at you with that same soft smile, that same faux innocence, like he wasn’t the one breaking you down piece by piece with every touch.

Like this wasn’t exactly what he wanted.

And just when you thought you’d reached your limit, thought you were about to break, he gave in.

Yoongi sat back on his heels for a moment, the soft light casting shadows across his jawline. His lips were still slick from you and swollen, a flush faintly blooming on his cheeks.

Then, without a word, he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Exposing the lean muscle and sharp lines of his body inch by inch. He tossed it to the side, not breaking eye contact. His hands moved to the waistband of his sweats next, dragging them down with a roll of his hips.

You propped yourself up slightly, breath catching as he stood to push them all the way off.

“Are you putting on a show for me, Min?” you teased, your voice soft but playful, cheeks still flushed from the cruel bliss of everything he’d just done to you.

He smirked, his cock heavy and flushed, bobbing slightly as he stepped back between your legs. “Don’t act like you’re not the one begging for an encore.”

You laughed, but it slipped into a gasp when he leaned over you, bracing one hand beside your head while the other lined himself up. The blunt head of his cock nudging at your entrance, hot, hard and achingly thick.

His eyes met yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, the words barely audible over your pounding heart.

Then he slid inside.

Your cry was half sob, half surrender as he pushed inside slowly in a long, unhurried thrust. Inch by inch, filling you until his hips were flush against yours and you felt impossibly full, stretched wide and warm around him.

Yoongi dropped his head to your shoulder, breath shuddering against your skin. “Fuck,” he groaned, voice cracking on your name like he’d been starving for this moment. Like this was his first breath of air in months.

He didn’t move.

Just stayed there, pressed so deep it felt like he could feel the beat of your heart from the inside. You clung to him, dazed and overwhelmed, trying to process the way he filled you so completely it almost hurt.

And then, he moved.

Slowly.

So slow.

Each roll of his hips deep and devastating. He fucked you like he had all the time in the world, like he was making up for every lost second. His lips trailed kisses across your cheek, your temple, the corner of your mouth. His hands gripped your thighs and then your hips, grounding you as your body molded to his.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him deeper, your nails scraping down his back as the pressure built again.

“Yoongi,” you whispered, voice trembling.

He kissed you softly. “I know.”

Your moans grew louder, breathier, every thrust coaxing more from you, unraveling you thread by thread. The steady rhythm turned hungrier, hips snapping a little harder, a little sharper, but never losing that deliberate care, that tether of control wrapped tightly around both of you.

You broke with a sob, your body clenching tight around him, your back arching as the pleasure finally tore through you. It rolled in waves, raw and overwhelming, your fingers clawing at his shoulders as if you could anchor yourself to him.

He didn’t stop.

“Good girl,” Yoongi rasped, the words gritted out through clenched teeth. “That’s it. Let me feel you.”

He thrust through it, riding the high, until your body began to tremble under his and your cries gave way to quiet, broken whimpers. He kissed your throat, your chest, lips suckling and biting your nipples as he fucked you. His hands soothed over your hips as if to apologize for the ruin he was leaving in his wake.

Then he finally let go.

He thrust deep one last time, a full bodied groan tearing from his lips as he came. His whole body shuddered against yours, mouth finding the hollow of your throat as he moaned your name into your skin, like it was the only thing he wanted to say.

When it was over, he didn’t pull away.

Yoongi cradled you against his chest, his heartbeat still pounding as your legs slowly slid down from around his waist. He kissed your temple, the corner of your eye where a tear still clung, then ran his fingers gently through your hair.

Your body still twitched in the aftermath. His touch was slow, soothing, grounding you as if he couldn’t bear to let you drift even an inch.

“I’m home,” he whispered.

And this time, it wasn’t a metaphor.

It was a vow.

No drills. No deadlines. No long hours and coming home too mentally exhausted to do anything.

Just this—his skin on yours, your name on his lips, and the silence finally filled by the sound of peace.

You lay tangled together in the low, amber warmth of the bedroom, skin to skin, legs lazily woven through his. The room had gone quiet again, save for the hum of the city beyond the window and the low, steady sound of your breath returning to normal.

Your skin was cooling but still slick with sweat in places. Every inhale brought the scent of sex and warmth and him. Something earthy, grounding, and entirely Yoongi.

Your head rested on his chest, ear pressed to the steady drum of his heart. The beat was slower now, steady again, but the weight of it beneath your cheek made you feel safe in a way that nothing else ever had.

Yoongi’s fingers drifted along your spine, light and slow and without direction, like his body needed the constant contact to believe you were still there. Every now and then his thumb would pause at your lower back, or brush along your side.

He wasn’t ready to sleep.

Not yet.

Neither were you.

You lifted your head after a while, your cheek creasing against his chest as you shifted just enough to look at him. His eyes were open, soft and dark in the low light, already watching you.

There was something in his expression that made your chest ache.

Something unspoken passed between you. That quiet pulse that always beat strongest when there was nothing left to perform, no ego, no masks. Just you. Just him. Just the knowing.

Then you shifted and climbed over him.

Yoongi’s hands found your hips instinctively, his breath catching slightly as you reached down and guided his still hardening cock inside you again. He was still sensitive, and so were you, but the stretch felt like being wrapped in silk.

You sank down slowly, breath trembling as your body molded to his. No urgency now, or easing. Just the soft, burning ache of connection that ran deeper than anything physical.

He stared up at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. Hair tousled. Skin flushed. Lips parted as he exhaled a shaky breath that ghosted over your throat.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he whispered, voice hoarse and low.

You smiled, leaning down to kiss him.

And then you moved.

You rolled your hips in gentle circles, every glide and shift dragging him deeper, tighter, making both of you gasp. Your hands framed his face, thumbs brushing over the curve of his cheekbones. His eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the intimacy, by the heat, by the way your body gripped him like it knew him.

His hands gripped your waist, fingers digging in just slightly, anchoring himself.

“You feel so fucking good,” he whispered. “Every time, but—fuck—like this…”

You could feel him trembling beneath you, trying to hold still, trying not to lose himself too fast.

“You’re perfect.”

You kissed him again. Softer now. Like a promise.

“I love you,” he said, the words so quiet they nearly disappeared into your skin.

You paused, not from doubt, but from the weight of it. From how much it meant to hear it like that. Bare. Honest. Unprovoked.

He tucked your hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing over your temple.

“I do. I love you. And I’m so fucking happy you gave me a chance.”

“Yoongi—”

“I was scared,” he confessed, voice breaking a little. “Not of you—never of you. Just… of being seen. Of being known like this. You looked at me and didn’t flinch. You didn’t run. You stayed.”

You rolled your hips down again and his breath caught hard in his throat. His head tipped back, jaw slack with pleasure.

“You stayed.”

You kissed him again, this time slow and deep, like you were pouring every ounce of yourself into the space between you. Your hips moved with aching tenderness, each motion drawing you closer to the edge again.

“I think about the sounds you make,” he murmured against your throat. “When you cum. When you break. They’re so fucking beautiful, baby.”

Your breath hitched. The tension building again, coiling low and tight as his hands guided you in that same slow rhythm.

“I’m gonna record them one day,” he whispered, brushing his lips against your ear. “Sneak them into a track. Hide them in the layers so only I know they’re there.”

Your heart thudded hard.

“The breath you take right before you fall apart. That little gasp. The way you cry out my name. I’ll keep it buried in the beat like a secret.”

You clenched around him involuntarily, the pleasure building so high, so fast, your whole body quaked. Your hands gripped his shoulders, face tucked into the crook of his neck.

“Let go,” he whispered. “Let me hear it, sweetheart.”

And you did.

You came with a soft sob, your entire body locking down around him, thighs shaking, chest pressed to his. You shook with it, clung to him like you’d fall apart if you let go.

Yoongi followed soon after, holding you tightly as he spilled inside you, voice catching in your ear as he whispered your name like it was the only word that still mattered.

The practice room was just how you remembered it.

Long wall of mirrors. Scuffed floors. The faint scent of sweat and long hours spent rehearsing lingering in the corners. And yet today, it didn’t feel like a space for work. Not really. It felt like something awakened. A quiet celebration carved out between return and rebirth.

You stood near the back wall, tucked between two Hybe staffers holding sparklers that wouldn’t light, watching as Yoongi was gently bullied into the center of the room.

He stood awkwardly, barefoot on the polished floor, sweatpants slung low on his hips, a bouquet of white peonies and hydrangeas cradled in one arm and a cake in the other. His ears were red, and he was already muttering protests.

And then they started to sing.

Namjoon sang the loudest. Jin the most off key. Hoseok was filming the whole thing on his phone while simultaneously trying to shove a party hat onto Yoongi’s head. Jungkook laughed so hard he dropped his sparkler, and Taehyung had thrown confetti prematurely and was now trying to brush it out of Yoongi’s hair with no real success.

Yoongi stood in the eye of the storm with Jimin’s arms wrapped tightly around him, expression caught somewhere between exasperated and shy amusement. His fingers curled tighter around the cake as he tried to will down the smile pulling at his lips.

He wasn’t successful in the slightest.

After the last line of the song was shouted more than sung, the room burst into laughter and clapping. Staff members cheered. One of the managers brought out a cooler of drinks. Jin wrapped his arm around Yoongi’s shoulder and gave him a firm shake.

“Welcome back, hyung. You’re officially free.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, but the look he gave Jin was full of something warm and deep. “Don’t remind me.”

The others gathered around him, pulling him into a loose huddle. There were back pats, too tight hugs, soft words exchanged that only they could hear.

They had all made it back.

Every last one.

For the first time in over two years, BTS stood whole again. Not just in title, but in body and soul. Hair a little shorter. Faces a little sharper. But hearts still tethered together by something that hadn’t faded with time.

“We did it,” Namjoon said, voice thick, gaze sweeping over them all. “All of us.”

Yoongi smiled faintly. “Now we make music.”

They stood there for a long moment. Just the seven of them, the silence stretching wide and comfortable. Like standing at the edge of something new, but not uncertain, familiar.

Yoongi’s eyes drifted across the room.

They found you instantly.

You weren’t even trying to hide, just leaning against the mirror with arms crossed lightly over your chest, watching him like you always did. With that quiet kind of pride that didn’t shout. The kind that just saw him.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

He smiled, just for you. Just a flicker. A promise.

Then Jungkook shouted his name and Yoongi was pulled back into the huddle, laughter erupting again as someone tried to smear frosting on his face.

You stayed where you were.

Watching as he laughed. Watching as he stood surrounded by his brothers. Whole and healed and home.

And when he looked back at you one last time over someone’s shoulder, you nodded.

Go on.

This was always where he was meant to be.

masterlist

dividers courtesy of @uzmacchiato

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

They tried to do this crap during the BLM riots too. They tried to say that all of the riots were right-wing agitators rather than a bunch of arrogant opportunists, many of whom probably leaned left, decided they were going to burn down primarily black neighborhoods. And every single person on the left literally created slogans saying "silence is violence".

As well as, "Riots are the language of the unheard". Also all the leftist politicians that told people to "confront them in public and let them know they aren't welcome". Hell I've seen enough people justifying October 7th on the left to know good well they aren't just fine with violence. They ARE violent. The sounds a lot more like an announcement that they plan to be extremely violent, and then blame the right.

Projection level:

[blueberry-starsss]

how do we feel about gay people chat? haven’t drawn nearly enough Sockathan so let me just do that now-

Jonathan gives me cuteness aggression :D

[lebeach847]

also made this

[hiraethwrote]

PUT YOU FIRST

pairing : tobio kageyama x f!reader summary : you're the only thing beside volleyball tobio has been wholeheartedly devoted to. there is nothing he wouldn't do for you, no matter how painful it might be cw : angst, no comfort, exes/breakup, pining, crying, miscommunication, post timeskip, ali roma!tobio, no use of y/n word count : 2.2k

ex!tobio who breaks your heart when he haphazardly agrees, almost without a second thought.

neither of you can recall how the idea found a footing in the first place, but the word ‘breakup’ is brought up, and suddenly it’s a reality.

“if that is what you think is best, then okay.”

ex!tobio who packs up his stuff and leaves as soon as he can, not wanting to cause you any discomfort by overstaying his welcome.

he’s quiet as a mouse as he carefully moves around the apartment to collect it all, listening to your sobs and cries that never seem to stop.

is this what he wants? absolutely not. you’re his entire world. there is absolutely no limit to the lengths he would go to for you — anything, without question.

even if that is breaking up.

ex!tobio who you now believe to be agreeable to a fault.

it is a fact people are baffled about once you tell them. everyone just believe him to be as ruthless and angry as he is on the court — but you can easily go on for hours about how once you get him on your own, there are no signs of the hard edge to him that everyone else see.

with you he is soft. kind. patient.

and up until now, you have considered it to be one of his many admirable qualities.

however, it is not something you appreciate when it regards the fate of your relationship.

ex!tobio who is, in reality, exactly the person everyone believes him to be.

he has heard it from an early age; “why do you always have to be so mean, kageyama?”, “you really are selfish, kageyama,” “let’s see how far that attitude gets you, kageyama.”

people have refused to see him as anything more than his stubbornness, therefore he sees no reason to make them believe otherwise. they have already made up their mind.

you are the first person to try and give him the benefit of the doubt.

“are you okay, tobio?,” “let me know if there’s something i can do for you, tobio,”, “i believe in you, tobio.”

ex!tobio who might be agreeable to a fault, but it is only with you.

meeting someone who takes the time to see past his outburst is something he knows he wants to cherish — he is not going to scare you away.

no fight, no argument, no disagreement is that important that it is worth the risk of losing you.

so he puts his pride aside — he will always put you first, even if it means he is miserable.

ex!tobio who therefore agrees to a breakup under the belief that he thinks it’s what you want — what’s best for you.

your world shatters as he closes the door behind him.

suddenly you feel like the entire relationship was as a scam, too good to be true.

why was it so easy for him to walk away? how was he able to hear how your broken heart drew unruly sob after sob from your lips as he folded his clothes into his suitcase? why couldn’t he fight for you?

you’re left with the impression of simply being a convenience to him, someone he could use for comfort when he needed it. and once that lost its value, he had no trouble tossing you aside.

and maybe he is exactly that person everyone has told you he was.

ex!tobio who feels a new sense of agitated restlessness take residence in his body once you’re not part of his life anymore.

it’s only when you’re gone that he realises how much you have softened him. his mind had somehow found peace it never knew existed before you came around, and suddenly it’s just gone.

he becomes angry again. short tempered as he snaps at the first inconvenience he faces.

his teammates, who has only ever known him while he was devoted to you, are left stunned at his outburst in the locker room before the season’s first match.

“what the hell has gotten into you, kageyama?”

ex!tobio who hopes your watching, even though he has no right to your attention anymore.

and of course you are. once upon a time you had promised him you would be there for all of his moments — one way or another.

under different circumstances, you would have been in the stands. the loudest person in the crowd as you watch him perform his art — instead a blaring alarm wakes you up a quarter to four in the middle of the night.

grumpily you force yourself out of bed. you curse yourself, even though you know very well this is something you’re doing of your own free will. you have no obligation to him anymore, and it’s not like he will know if you’re watching or not. you could very easily turn off the alarm, pull the covers over your head and go back to sleep, drift back into dreamland where you are still together.

but instead you bring your duvet with you into the dark living room, wrap it around yourself and switch the tv on, the sports channel that’s airing his match already on. with a yawn, you make yourself comfortable, laying down on your side and tucking your hand under your cheek.

the match is about to start, and the camera pans to tobio, showering him with praise as the talented setter he is — it doesn’t take long before you feel a quiet tear roll down your cheek. and as the game goes on, the stream continues steadily and silent.

oh, how you miss him.

ex!tobio who is a different type of nervous during the match, because it feels wrong to not have you in the audience.

on instinct, he keeps shooting glances to where you would have been sitting if you were to attend, hoping to meet your eyes. without fail, you would always look at him with such pride whenever he played.

it gave him an extra little push, having such a desire to impress you — and he looked forward to the little post-match ritual the two of you had developed.

the buzzer would end the match, declaring his victory — and while he thanked the opposing team for the game, you would hurry down from the stands.

in the halls of the stadium, you find him before they reach their wardrobe. the blush quickly blossoms across his cheeks when his teammates start teasing him.

“here she comes, champ,” one of them snickers, shoving his shoulder lightly before they all head on — but he remains.

without another second to waste, you launch at him, limbs latching on around his neck while his arms secure you in his grip, lifting you off the ground. his stance is steady — safe — as he spins you around before putting you down gently again.

the second your toes touches the floor, your hands cup his face to guide him closer. as your lips graze his, you say the same phrase you always do, “didn’t i say i believed in you?” before sealing the kiss.

but he know that won’t meet him this time. instead he’ll be alone, joining his team straight for the wardrobe.

ex!tobio who for the first time considers being selfish with you.

and he hates himself for it.

that was the one thing he was determined not to be with you — and here he is considering it, phone in hand with your number dialled.

his life is turned upside down, nothing resembling what he has grown so accustomed to. and on every aspect, he feels himself going through what he believes have to be withrdrawls.

ex!tobio is back in japan.

your mouth runs dry when you walk by the newspaper kiosk, his familiar face printed on the front page of a sports magazine. one of japan’s star athletes is returning to his home country for a tournament.

at first you’re hit with a small pang of anger — why hasn’t he told you?

and realisation hits you all over again, and yet another evening is spent alone in your apartment with wet cheeks.

however, it’s worse than it has been in a long time. somehow your body knows that he is in the same city as you for the first time in months, and it causes your heart to ache.

you don’t sleep at all that night. instead you toss and turn with the image of your past love printed behind your eyelids.

no matter how long it’s been since you’ve seen him, every detail is still intact in your memory. the exact shade of blue his irises are. the way the blush is easily brought to his face, starting across his nose before spreading across his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. how he always tilts his head a little to the right when he is confused. the way his shoulders rise and fists clench when he is building up courage.

you remember it all.

ex!tobio who knows it’s naive to think you’ll show.

but it doesn’t stop him from letting his investigative stare roam the audience. one would think it is hopeless to even begin to look, but he knows he’ll spot you if you are in fact there.

he will always find you.

the game runs its course, and despite his best efforts, he never spots you in the crowd.

it doesn’t really matter that he wins the first match he plays for ali roma in his home country — because you’re not there to celebrate with him.

ex!tobio who freezes in his tracks as he is about to enter the men’s wardrobe when he hears you call his name.

“tobio?”

you voice is meek, like you’re scared. and truth be told, you are. he can clearly tell — the constant shifting of weight between each leg and the nervous fidgeting of your fingers clear indicators of so.

it’s a new feeling to take you hostage when in tobio’s presence.

for a second there’s utter silence before he hears the faint whispers of his teammates behind him, before they eventually shuffle on to leave you two alone.

he remains completely still in his spot. “hey,” he breaths, and you both immediately pick up on the fact that you’re not the only one who is nervous. he continues to stumble over his words, hoping your natural warm presence will eventually melt him out of his stance. “it’s good to see you.”

you pull your lips into an awkward smile. you too — the two words sit restlessly on the tip of your tongue, but for some reason you’re unable to speak them into existence.

“great match! you played really well!”

he knows you’re smearing on thick, serving him a little white lie. because despite winning, he didn’t performed nearly as well as he could have. maybe being back home, knowing you were easily a car ride away, had messed with his head.

“thanks,” he says even though he can’t help but quirk a suspect eyebrow. “i didn’t see you. in the audience.”

“i watched from the hallway entrance. you know, the one in the top to the left?” it makes sense why he hadn’t seen you. tobio wouldn’t have been able to see anyone up there in that lighting. “and i also came late.”

“oh. okay.”

oh. okay.

he feels stupid as the sorry excuse for a response leaves his lips, but the unexpected reunion has caused his brain you temporarily short circuit.

“i wasn’t even sure if i should come,” you avert your gaze, tilting it to look at your own fingers.

“glad you did,” he says, wishing he could have mustered a steadier speech than he did.

there’s a whirlwind of turmoil causing havoc inside him, as he debates whether or not he should seize this moment that the universe has served him and finally let himself be selfish with you.

it’s so tempting. especially when you’re nearly within reach. he only needs to take five steps forward and he can pull you into him and have you rest your cheek against his chest like you always used to.

ex!tobio who dares take three steps closer at first.

when you look up at him again, he is scared you’ll step away once you see he is standing closer. but if anything, it looks as if you relax, lips parting with a soft sigh as you look at him with such awe in your eyes.

“how are you?” you ask innocently, knowing the answer you’ll get is not the answer you want.

he shrugs nonchalantly. “not too bad,” he lies, and he hopes you’ll call him out for it. “been busy.”

“so i’ve seen,” you try to smile, but you’re almost certain your sadness swallows it.

“you have?” there is a hint of pleasant surprise in his tone.

“of course,” you nod. “promised i would, didn’t i?”

and for the first time during your conversation, he smiles genuinely. it’s faint, almost unnoticeable, but it’s there and it’s so typical tobio.

ex!tobio who finally decides he cannot fight his desires anymore. your gentle affirmation, a reminder of your devotion to each other, wis the last drop that madke the glass run over.

he says your name, and you tilt your head at him.

“yeah?”

“i still love you.”

author's note : just need to remind you all i still love him... even tho this might not be the fic that proves it hehe

tags (open — link to taglist form) : @nishislcve . @ichore . @megapteraurelia . @loveyislost . @momoewn . @poopooindamouf tobio nation : @hiraethwa . @shouyuus . @silkloom . @sodaneko . @mcdonaldsnumberone

©hiraethwrote 2025 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[guardianlegends64]

Vaggie: Hm Doesn’t surprise me if a demon messes with you or your lovers then I would’ve done the same thing though you two are humans which is quite unbelievable to me

Alastor: So you two are humans who accidentally got to hell… What a surprise… Well welcome to the Hazbin Hotel and it is a very special opportunity to meet you two

Angel: Well you look tough as fuck can you two fight? Use Weapons all that sort of stuff?

Unchained Rider Riley: Well I always fight Hand to hand and also disarm or disassemble weapons I’m more of a Close Combat or Distance Fighter

[Closed RP] Hazbin Hotel X Helluva Boss Alternative Love Life in “Double the Badass Double the Hellish Pleasure”

[Note: This RP is an Alternative Love Life which is a Crossover of Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss which includes: Romance, Nsfw, Vulgar language, Gore, and Music! Only those who are 21 or Over can Read/View This RP!]

In The Darkest Pits, The Bloody Walls, Tormenting Fires, and the Tortured …The Sinned…And The Damned souls surrounded all Called Hell and there was the biggest City of all Hell called ZiroCity and that city is as big and long as Hell itself and its inhabitants were Demons, Mutated Creatures, and even Feral Beasts and Even Demonic Kings that rule ZiroCity

There were Two Female demon Adults Who were just strolling down the streets of ZiroCity they both saw the Hazbin Hotel where demons can have the opportunity to Rehabilitate and be sent to heaven and then they saw the I.M.P Headquarters and then there’s the biggest Hellish Beach all around the City !

Those Female adult demons were Loona who is a Hellhound and who is [45] years old and Sylvia who is a Hellhound and Wolf Hybrid which was also [45] years old and as they were talking about their Day in work and how they want to go somewhere more different for the Summer season…

Loona who is wearing a Black Leather Jacket with a Hellhound Skull symbol on the back and Black Pants as for Sylvia who was wearing a White leather Jacket with a Black Hellhound/Wolf Skull symbol on the back and Black pants with a chain link the two adult demons were at the same height and same age but very unique personalities…

As the two continue to walk Loona noticed that the two should do something newer together on the surface And that doesn’t care what Blitz has to say about going to the surface to do something different as her Best Friend which was Sylvia nodded in agreement and then…

The next Day Loona “Burrowed” the Grimoire a Book owned by Stolas Goetia to Open up a portal to the human world as Sylvia asked her on how She got the book from stolas as Loona replied that she borrowed it when she and Blitz went to Visit Stolas about an Opportunity and also Stella and Octavia was there in the living room

As Blitz was having a conversation with Stolas as Loona secretly asked Octavia for a favor to burrow the Grimoire Book for a little Trip to the human world with a Close Friend as Octavia gave the book to her secretly with no hesitation as stolas was very busy taking care of his Plant while talking with Blitz about the Huge opportunity as Stella was Drinking her Usual Tea Listening but also was starting to have some suspicions about Loona and Octavia The way they spoke so Softly and Quietly as she walked towards the two and asked them on what they’re doing as Loona was Ignoring her because she was busy on her phone as Octavia said to her mother that she was just talking with Loona about that last job that she participated with Blitz as Stella kept an very close and secretive eye on them both as Loona Explained to Sylvia but Loona didn’t really give a shit and Summoned the Portal…

As the two entered through the portal to a random location which the location that they were in is City of Chicago it was Night and it was the start of summer which means it’s June…

But they didn’t realize where they were going and then Sylvia asked about using their human forms in the Hunan World as Loona Replied to her that she doesn’t really give a fuck and that they can do whatever the fuck they want as Sylvia smiled and giggled as she followed Loona in search of a nearby Bar where they can get drinks and do something newly out of this world or some chaotic situations until they encountered two Adult Men That caught their hellhound eyes…

One of the men’s Name was Riley who has a Messy Black two block hairstyle, Emerald Green Eye color, a 10 pack and is Tall [9”9 ft] and who is wearing casual clothes as he was speaking with his Long time Best Friend about the Adventurous world Exploration that the two have been doing together but was asking a question about if they will ever meet someone that catches their eyes…Until the two men then encountered the two same female anthropomorphic Hellhounds that caught their eyes too…

As Riley was surprised by the fact that he sees Two anthropomorphic Hellhounds and was utterly speechless at their Appearance of which their bodies were strong and also some parts were Magnificently substantial as the second Friend spoke first and said…

[xoxolaw]

aaaa first time sending an ask but a random thought came to me after rewatching whc..

maybe something like reader ends up in the hospital and that's where she meets suho in a coma so she ends up visiting him everyday to talk to him even though they've never met thinking he couldn't hear her, but it turns out that he could hear her the whole time he was in a coma hehahwhwh

love the way you write!!! all your works are so well-written ><

+ 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗟𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗚

in which she starts talking to a coma patient just to feel less lonely - and doesn't realise he heard every word

+ 𝗔𝗛𝗡 𝗦𝗨𝗛𝗢 𝗫 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

fluff

The first time she stepped into Room 201, it wasn’t on purpose.

She was supposed to be getting her discharge papers. A sprained wrist and a mild concussion — not bad, considering the crash. But the halls were quiet, and the vending machine had eaten her last coin. She wandered down the wrong corridor looking for a nurse and paused at the open door.

There he was.

Still. Silent. A boy maybe her age, maybe older. Maybe younger. Skin pale beneath tangled hair. Tubes trailed from his arms like spiderwebs, and machines blinked softly around him.

She wasn’t sure why she stepped in.

Maybe it was the way his room felt too quiet. Or maybe it was the nameplate on the wall: Ahn Suho.

Someone who had a name shouldn’t be so alone.

“Hey,” she said quietly, voice unsure. “Um. I’m not supposed to be here.”

He didn’t move, of course. But that was the thing about talking to someone who couldn’t answer — it didn’t matter.

“So,” she said, pulling the chair closer. “I guess I’ll sit here until I get my discharge, if that’s cool.”

She looked at the heart monitor. Steady.

“You don’t mind, right?”

✮⋆˙

Visit #2

“Okay, hear me out,” she whispered, tugging her hoodie over her hospital bracelet. “Today’s theory: hospital food is a government plot.”

She set a wrapped chocolate bar beside his untouched apple juice. “I stole this from the nurse’s station. You’re welcome.”

She leaned back in the chair and glanced over. “I should probably introduce myself. I’m Y/N. I was in a crash. Umm. That's it.”

Silence.

Except for the hum of machines.

“I used to think comas were like… complete darkness. Like being unplugged,” she continued. “But then someone told me that maybe people can hear things. Even when they can’t respond.”

She looked at him. “I’m gonna pretend you can. Just in case.”

✮⋆˙

Visit #5

She came in mid-rant, sneakers squeaking against the floor.

“I bombed my stats midterm,” she huffed, throwing herself into the chair. “I studied for weeks. Literal weeks. And for what? A 53. A tragedy.”

She turned her head and eyed him.

“Honestly? You’re probably lucky. No classes. No midterms. No group projects from hell. Just… naps. That’s the dream.”

She tilted her head. “...Too dark?”

The corners of her mouth twitched. “You’d tell me if I was annoying, right?”

Stillness.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

✮⋆˙

Visit #9

“Do you believe in soulmates?” she asked one day, legs folded under her in the chair.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. But she stared at him anyway.

“Like, not in a romantic way, even. Just… someone whose energy feels like home.”

She leaned her head back against the chair, eyes closing.

“My grandma used to say the people meant for you find you. Even if it’s by accident.”

A pause.

“I don’t know why I keep coming back here. But I think it’s helping.”

✮⋆˙

Visit #14

She brought a juice box and a book of crossword puzzles. Not for him — for her. But she left both unopened.

Instead, she spoke softer that day. Slower.

“I had a nightmare last night. The kind that makes you wake up choking on your own breath.”

Her fingers twisted in her sleeve.

“I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t swerved at the last second. I keep seeing the headlights. I keep hearing the metal twist.”

She exhaled.

“I know you’re the one in a coma, but sometimes I feel like I haven’t really woken up either.”

She looked at him then, eyes wet but steady.

“You know what’s weird? I feel safer here. Sitting with you. I don’t even know you.”

She smiled, a little broken.

“But I talk to you like I do.”

✮⋆˙

Visit #17

She came in late this time — hoodie damp from rain, socks mismatched.

“I brought gummy bears,” she announced, holding up the bag like it was treasure. “But I already ate most of them. So now I’m just here to confess my crimes.”

She plopped into the chair and leaned forward, unwrapping the plastic around his IV line just a little so it wouldn’t tug against his skin.

“I think if we were friends, you’d be the kind who judges my snack habits silently,” she mused. “Like, you’d sit there with your stupid perfect posture and side-eye me every time I pulled out something processed.”

She smiled faintly. “But I bet you’d still take one. Even if you pretended you didn’t want to.”

She was quiet for a long while after that.

Then—

“I don’t know why I keep talking like you’ll wake up.”

A breath.

“I think I just… hope you do.”

✮⋆˙

Visit #20

She pushed the door open with one elbow, a juice pouch hanging from her teeth and a hoodie several sizes too big draped over her shoulders. It was the third time that week she’d come by unannounced. The nurses stopped asking questions.

“You wouldn’t believe the kind of day I had,” she said around the straw, dropping her bag onto the chair. “There was this guy on the train, right? Full-on tried to hit on me while I was literally in the middle of chewing a protein bar.”

She took the straw out of her mouth and pointed it at him like an accusation.

“Who flirts with someone mid-bite?”

Silence answered her. Of course.

“I told him I was seeing someone,” she continued, shrugging off the hoodie. “And he asked if it was serious. And I didn’t know what to say.”

She froze for a second, then laughed softly.

“I mean. How do you explain… this?”

Her eyes flicked over to him. Peaceful. Still. Like always.

“‘Yeah, I’m in a one-sided talking situation with a boy in a coma.’ That wouldn’t go over well.”

She sat down and leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

“I didn’t say anything. Just told him I wasn’t interested.”

There was something heavy in the way she said it. Like she meant more than she let on.

She stared at him.

“You know what’s funny?” she murmured. “I don’t even know where you go to school. I don’t know your favorite color. Or what kind of music you like. I don’t know if you snore, or if you’re the kind of person who organizes their apps by color.”

Her voice cracked just a little.

“But I keep coming back.”

She looked down at her hands. Fidgeted.

“Is it weird that I feel like I know you better than people I’ve known for years?”

She glanced back up. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Is it crazy that I… miss you? Even though you’re right here?”

The heart monitor beeped steady. Soothing.

She reached out and touched his hand, just barely.

“You don’t know me. But if you ever wake up… I’d really like to change that.”

And for a moment — just a moment — she imagined him smiling back.

✮⋆˙

Visit #23

She was quieter this time. Sleepy.

She curled her knees into the chair and whispered like it was a secret.

“I used to talk to the moon when I was little. Thought maybe someone out there was listening.”

She reached out and gently brushed his bangs back from his forehead.

“I talk to you like that now.”

She hesitated.

“Is that selfish?”

No answer, but her gaze lingered.

“If I were you, I’d be annoyed by now. Some girl spilling her whole life in your room every day. No warning.”

But her voice cracked a little.

“Still… it makes the world feel less heavy. Talking to you. Like… there’s a version of me that only exists in this room.”

Her thumb brushed the back of his hand.

“I like you."

✮⋆˙

Visit #27

She was crying before she even sat down.

“I failed a class,” she whispered, words trembling. “I worked so hard and I still failed. And my mom said it’s because I get distracted. That I’m wasting time.”

She sniffled, voice breaking.

“I think she meant you.”

Silence wrapped around her.

“I wanted to scream at her. But I didn’t. I just walked out and came here.”

She curled her fingers around his.

“Tell me I’m not wasting time.”

And for a second — just for a second — she thought his hand squeezed back.

She gasped and looked up.

But nothing had changed.

✮⋆˙

Visit #33

She showed up late. She almost didn’t come.

But she walked in, shut the door softly, and slid her fingers between his.

“I think I’m falling for you,” she whispered. “And that’s probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever said out loud.”

She looked at him like he could hear her heart beating.

“But if there’s even a 1% chance that you remember any of this — I just want you to know.”

She pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Just once.

Then stood.

And left.

✮⋆˙

She didn't plan to come today. Finals were around the corner. Her mom was breathing down her neck. And honestly? She was tired.

Tired of hoping. Tired of talking to someone who’d never talk back. Tired of Room 201 and its terrible fluoresce nt lights and the smell of antiseptic and the sound of a steady heart monitor that somehow felt louder when everything else was silent.

But she came anyway.

Because habits are hard to break. And so are hearts.

She stepped into the room like she always did.

Only this time.

It was empty.

She stopped cold in the doorway.

Room 201 was still Room 201 — white walls, faded curtain, the too-bright glare of sterile ceiling lights. But the bed was stripped clean. The machines were gone.

And he wasn’t there.

The chair she always sat in was tucked neatly under the window. Like she’d never been there at all.

“No,” she whispered, heart stuttering. “No, no, no—”

She backed into the hallway, scanning for someone—anyone. Her throat was tight, like every breath scraped against the inside of her ribs.

Where was he?

She grabbed the nearest nurse she could find.

“Where is he?” she asked, not bothering to mask the panic in her voice. “Room 201. Suho. Ahn Suho. He—he was here yesterday.”

The nurse blinked, caught off guard.

“Oh—uh—” She glanced at her tablet. “Ahn Suho was moved this morning. He regained consciousness late last night.”

Y/N froze.

“What?”

“He’s stable,” the nurse added quickly. “They moved him to Recovery Ward B. Down the south wing, third door to the right.”

Y/N stood there like she hadn’t heard anything after ‘he regained consciousness.’

Because her brain had simply stopped there.

He was awake.

He was awake.

She turned and ran.

✮⋆˙

She found the room by sheer instinct.

The door was cracked open, and sunlight poured through the windows, warm and golden in a way Room 201 never was.

She stepped inside.

And there he was.

A little thinner. Propped up against pillows. Eyes half-lidded but open. Really open.

Ahn Suho.

He looked… human. Fragile, even.

But real. Alive.

She didn’t know what she expected — some cinematic moment where he saw her and smiled like he’d been waiting. But he didn’t. He just looked up slowly, tiredly, like his whole body was still relearning how to exist.

Their eyes met.

Her breath caught.

And for a second — just a second — she forgot how to speak.

Then:

“You’re awake,” she said softly.

He blinked. Then nodded. Barely.

She stepped forward. One hesitant step. Then another.

“You probably don’t—remember me,” she said. “I just… I used to visit.”

His lips parted. It took effort. But he spoke.

“…Y/N.”

She stopped.

“You remember?”

He gave the faintest, smallest smile.

“Gummy bears,” he rasped.

She laughed. Sharp and sudden, wet with tears she didn’t know she was holding back.

“You idiot,” she whispered. “You remember the gummy bears.”

“You… talk a lot,” he said, like it was a compliment. “I didn’t want to miss anything.”

She let out a broken sound. Somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

She stepped closer until she was at his side. Until their hands were inches apart.

“I thought you forgot. I thought—”

She shook her head, smile shaking.

“I never forgot,” he said. “Not a single thing.”

Their hands brushed.

His fingers curled weakly around hers.

“You stayed,” he murmured.

She nodded, eyes shining.

“And now,” she whispered, “so will you.”

✮⋆˙

She sat by his side that evening, telling him about everything he missed. The vending machine conspiracy. The guy on the train. Her failed stats midterm. Her nightmares. Her heart.

And this time—he listened.

Really listened.

He smiled.

He asked questions, slow and soft, voice still gravel.

And when she leaned in to press her forehead to his?

This time, he tilted his to meet hers halfway.

And everything — every visit, every word, every aching silence — had led here.

+ 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 + 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

Hope you enjoyed this <3

+ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

@l5byrinth @m3sty @inom17 @dna-black-and-blue @mizxuqii @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @mwsrphm @maxinehufflepuffprincess @intoanothermind @cayrelyra @coolasiangal123 @mariii-0001 @susuheartsyou @ineed-myspace @ruhaniii @ohtobelovedbyanartist @choihyunwookie @itzcandy

[belli5]

⌗ . ᵎᵎ ⸝⸝Nr.1 Fan .ᐟ ೀMC⁷¹

╰ Synopsis Macklin may be a star on the ice, but in the stands, he's just her biggest fan.

Tags/contains Macklin Celebrini x fem!reader, Fluff, nothing that I’m aware of—not proofread..

➺ from Sera, to you📨. Decided to change up a little bit my intro, would like to hear if yall fw this more, bc I know I do..

masterlist ᥫ᭡ please reblog this fic if you enjoyed it! Please do NOT rewrite/repost my work anywhere else without permission!

There’s something magical about early mornings—the way dew clings to grass, the chill that lingers just long enough to make you grateful for the heat of someone’s hand in yours.

For Macklin, the magic had nothing to do with the sunrise and everything to do with you.

He leaned forward in his seat at the training ground, baseball cap pulled low, hoodie zipped up halfway.

He wasn’t exactly trying to be lowkey, but he wasn’t here to be noticed either. He was here for you.

You were halfway across the pitch, cleats digging into damp turf as you chased down a loose ball. It was a closed training session, but your coach didn’t mind when Mack showed up on his days off—if anything, he’d welcomed the energy he brought, even quietly, just by being there.

Your eyes flicked toward him between drills, and a tiny grin tugged at your lips. Mack raised a hand, giving you a two finger salute that made you roll your eyes.

Not in a bad way, but because that gesture always made you laugh.

You’d both worked too damn hard to get where you were—him, in the nhl, wearing teal and black under blinding arena lights; you, in the nwsl, your jersey grass-stained and sweat-soaked but your pride always intact.

And through all of it, you’d promised: if we can’t always be there, we’ll show up when we can. You meant it.

When your practice wrapped up, Macklin was waiting near the sideline with a drink he’d gotten for you and a soft “You killed it out there,” even though you were sweaty and sore and had yelled at yourself for a missed shot not ten minutes ago.

“Think so?” you murmured, nudging him with your elbow as you took the drink.

“I know so,” he replied, his voice lower now, just for you. “You make it look easy.”

You laughed, leaning into him, your head resting briefly against his chest. “Come on, you’re just saying that because I make time to watch you skate circles around people.”

He grinned. “Not true. I say it because I’m your biggest fan. Even if you yell at yourself more than your coach does.”

That got a smile out of you. You tugged on the drawstring of his hoodie. “You staying for lunch?”

He tilted his head. “Only if you want me to.” Of course you did.

It wasn’t always easy to balance two demanding schedules, but you made it work—Macklin flying across the country for road games, you doing the same, both of you juggling time zones and flights and soreness and facetimes that froze every time someone else’s hotel wifi acted up.

But either way you both wouldn’t admit whose wifi it was, just kept blaming each other.

But somehow, the sacrifices made the moments together sweeter.

Like when you drove straight from an away game, cleats still muddy in your bag, just to make it to his home opener. Or when Macklin missed a team dinner to show up at your first match back from injury, loud as hell in the stands with his—your—jersey and your number painted on the back, the one you got him in his size

You didn’t just show up—you celebrated each other. And today was no different.

Your next game was at home, a late Saturday afternoon match that would draw a crowd and hopefully three points in the standings. Macklin had the day off—he didn’t hesitate.

You spotted him even before warm-ups started. He’d gotten there early, cap turned backward now. He was chatting with a couple kids near the railing, signing something for one of them, but his eyes were on you the moment yours found his.

You walked up to him the time you could before the game. “You better cheer today.”

“Oh, I will,” Mack said.

He was on his feet for every big play, clapping loud, whistling between his fingers when you slid for a tackle that saved a goal, and calling out your name when you made a clean pass that led to the game winner.

Your teammates teased you on the bench, nudging your shoulder and whispering, your boy’s got lungs, and if I had a man yelling my name like that, I’d score every game.

You rolled your eyes but smiled like an idiot. Because yeah—he was yelling your name. And yeah, you were playing better when you knew he was watching.

After the game, he was waiting again—this time behind the tunnel, a backwards hat and sunglasses combo that didn’t fool anyone.

You walked straight into his arms. “Good game, superstar,” he murmured into your hair.

You wrapped your arms tighter around him, body still pulsing from the rush. “You were loud today.”

“Had to make sure you heard me.”

“I did.”