#IF YOU ASKED ME FOR A PERMISSION I WOULD GIVE IT TO YOU

[rawme-price]

listen LISTEN ghost self-sabotaging relationship bc of his dark fantasies?? yeah, we need more of that 💳💥💳💥💥

Ghost who is terrified of his desires.

He wakes up with the vision of his hands around your throat still sticking slick to his mind. Hands shaking. He sits up, avoids looking at your sleeping form on the bed. His face feels hot with shame when he feels his hard cock shift in his sleep shorts.

Ghost dips into the bathroom, fills the tub with ice-cold water. Flashes of his dream come to him. You gasping for breath. Your blood in his mouth. You hands scratching at his arms. He scrubs a calloused hand over his face, hot tears welling in his eyes.

He sinks into the freezing water, considers breathing it in. Maybe it will freeze whatever sick thing is inside of him. What kind of a person does that? What kind of a person likes that? Hes disgusted and embarrassed.

When he looks in the mirror, he sees his dad. Simon sleeps on the couch that night.

That's how it starts. Ghost pulling away from you. He refuses to sleep in the same bed, then refuses to sit at the same table. Eventually he refuses to even touch you. Its agony. You feel burned all over by his distance, scalding in shame. Were you dirty? Did he not want you?

You break when he refuses to look at you. Outright sobbing and crawling into his lap. Let him refuse you, let him push you away. But you wont make it easy. "Si'- si' please look at me-" your breath hitches on ever inhale "what did I do? Im sorry. Im sorry- please love me. I'm sorry-"

Ghost hands rest over your shoulder for the first time in weeks. His eyes are red and puffy when you look at him. "Baby i-" he pauses, closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath "I do love you. There's not a world out there where I dont love you. But..."

He trails off. Simon has that distant look in his eyes. The one youve only seen twice, on dark nights talking about childhoods. You dont push, you know he bites when he feels cornered. "...but ive been having the fantasies. These urges"

His lips press into a line, tongue pressing against his soft palate to avoid being sick. Admitting this to you...he knows there's no going back. "Violent urges. I've been...ive been dreaming about hurting you. Killing you."

Hes baring himself to you. Showing his soft underbelly, unsure if hed prefer mercy or the touch of a killing knife. You nod, a small smile as you gently cup his face.

Mercy.

"Okay. Do it then" you speak so softly, grab the pocket knife from your jeans, as if you aren't offering your life to simon. "I give you full permission. Do it."

Simon flinches when you press the blade into his hand. "Honey- no- you dont know what-"

"I know what im asking for." You lean in, press a kiss to his forehead. The touch has him shuddering like a weak flame. "I also know you wont do it. You'd never do it, right?"

"Look at me, si'" he does, fat tears roll over the creases of his scars. "You aren't your dreams. You aren't your fantasies or desires. Im not disgusted by you. You love me, you would never hurt me, okay? I trust you."

Simon lets out a sob, presses his face against your neck and pulls you close. "Im sorry- Im sorry that you- that you have to love this I wish I was better."

"Loving you is a choice I make, simon. I choose to love you, nothing could force me to, okay?" He nods into ur skin. You know he doesnt believe you. You know there's a long way to go.

"Cmon. Why dont you come lay down? The beds been feeling empty without you in it."

[vitoriadior]

Wanna a good girl who does bad things

Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

(Synopsis) Where you guys are just a freaks in bed.

(yes. Smut. First time) Masterlist. OPEN REQUESTS

"Come on, baby— I know you can take it." Clark reaches for your hand between the sheets as you let out a moan at how big he is. It had to be physically impossible. "I'm made for you baby— you can take it"

It's not like you're a virgin, or that it was much less your first time under Superman's huge body, no— it's just that he's always, always so big that your body can't get used to him.

"Like that, just like that," he lets out a low growl as he feels your walls wrap around him. Clark reaches for one of your breasts with his free hand, massaging it. He kisses your entire spine, your neck, that weak spot of yours that he knows will make you squirm.

"You're so good at this," he begins to move slowly while his voice is a whisper. You close your eyes and let out another moan that's like music to Clark. "You're quite a tease, you know that? Looking so pretty all day, it makes me want to—" Clark starts picking up the pace and you have to hold on to the sheet.

Clark Kent doesn't have sex with you—Clark Kent makes love to you. He puts your legs on his shoulders while telling you how beautiful you look. He lets you sit on his face because you really don't weigh anything to him. Oh, and seeing you on your knees?

"You like it like this?" You have his cock in your hands and from one second to the next you put it between your tits to rub it. He likes it every way you do it, the way he has his hand tangled in your hair and directs your head to go deeper into your throat tells you so.

This man is loud. Like, really loud. No matter how hard I tried to put my hand over his mouth, he always ended up moaning, grunting. "Don't do that please, don't— don't do that to me." It's almost a plea, eyes yearning as you're just rubbing his crotch against your ass.

And just as he's loud, he's also a mad hungry man when it comes to eating you out. He licks your entrance, his tongue penetrates you, and his hair between your legs brushing against your lower abdomen—it's all a mix of the perfect orgasm. A perfect orgasm that comes when he sucks your clitoris, and by suck I mean really suck.

Fantasies? Well, maybe he wouldn't call it a fantasy, but he really enjoyed this time you did it at his parents' house. In that tiny single bed, the whole room filled with your moans while his parents had gone out to do heaven-knows-what. And well, they didn't just do it in his room that time. Let's just say the floor of a barn full of hay left side effects on your skin.

Lingerie? Maybe—but if you want something that works right away, there's a Supergirl jumpsuit that's especially short and sexy for the occasion. You know, you can be Superman and he can be a such a bad guy.

I don't think you'd rule out public spaces. You know, the office bathroom, anyone could see his shoes and heels from below. The office elevator—yes please! In a pool, underwater, where it's just you and him

Clark also likes it when you tell him he's doing it. he's practically an attention whore who swells with pride when you gasp and say "Yeah, Clark. Just— Clark!." or you say you are sheaped for him.

But the best part is when you both reach orgasm. You're a mess, your spine arches, and your heart rate goes into overdrive. Clark needs to let out an "gonna— gonna cum, baby" which is a way of asking your permission to do it inside, outside, on your stomach, on your back, butt—wherever you ask him! But personally: your stomach is his favorite. Because afterward, he can clean you up himself while giving you kisses in your abdomen and telling you how much he loves you.

Aftercare is a whole other deal. Because he's the kind of man who keeps saying "Thank you" after he comes.

Tried something new! Hope u like it. It would be lovely if you left some angst request guys, I want to try more new things

Taglist: @starincarnated @angelicp0etry @yeonalie @lator-gators @starssfall @moomumu @chamorunsmiles @urlittleangelbaby @americanboz0 @mysticdinosaurpirate @spiidergwenn @sugarbutterbailey @pestoluvr8 @ilovemangoes444 @kaiparkerwife @qardasngan @animegamerfox @helloimamistake @rinapomu @chaoticroaddreamerpasta @ryomku @dreamlesssleepsaga @yzuposts @mickey-mouse-crackhouse1902 @j07lvrg @khxna @1wannab3inaband @wintersoldierenthusiastt @yyiikes @rosie-hao @psiiconic @httpstoyosi @lettucel0ver @scorpio-echo @iveofficiallylostmymarbles @aratakiittooo @angelicprincess12 @pinkluv29

@shine101 @karimestarksworld @lortheswiftie @bangtanevermore @njdluvr @justamina-blog @avroravia @m3lod7 @just-pure-trash @pprettyvisitorr @againanothersideblog @differentcandycreation @hagarsays

[belli5]

Do You Wish You Were Athletic? .ᐟ ೀCB⁹⁸

╰ Synopsis Pranking your boyfriend for a TikTok video, by asking him if he wishes he was athletic.

tags/contains Connor Bedard x reader. Fluff, established relationship, really short, nothing else that I’m aware of.

➺ from Sera, to you📨. A short fic for my bf, ugh I can’t he’s so cute. 🤭😋

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

It’s a lazy night, the kind where time moves slowly and the two of you barely say a word because you don’t have to.

Connor’s sitting on the couch in his hoodie and shorts, long legs stretched out in front of him, watching highlights on mute while you lay sideways with your legs draped across his lap.

You’re curled up with a blanket, holding your phone against your stomach, angled just low enough to record him without raising suspicion.

You’ve been playing with the idea of trying one of those lowkey prank TikToks, and tonight feels like the perfect time.

Your finger hovers over the record button. “Hey, Connor?” you ask, as casually as you can.

He hums, not looking away from the tv. “Hmm?”

Connor had started tracing slow little circles on your thigh, while you tried to seem casual and trying to keep the camera steady, so he stays in the frame.

Then you hit him with it. “Do you ever wish you were athletic?”

He doesn’t answer right away, he just slowly turned his head and looked at you. His awkward look settles in, a perfect wtf are you talking about?

“…What are you talking about?” he says flatly.

You can’t help it, a little giggle slips out. You repeat the question, like it’s totally normal. “Do you ever wish you were more athletic?”

He squints at you. “What do you mean by that?”

You suppress another laugh, “Like, do you ever wish you were more athletic? Stronger, faster.. better at sports?”

He blinks a few times, processing the question you have asked like three times already. “I mean..” he scratches the side of his head and lets out a small laugh. “I don’t know.. probably skate faster? I guess. What do you mean ‘better at sports’?”

The confusion in his voice is so genuine, it makes the whole thing ten times funnier. You giggle again, eyes wide and innocent. “So you think you’re like very athletic already?”

Connor gives you a slightly dramatic shrug leaning back on the couch. “Yes?” He says like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “I mean.. am I not? I was first overall draft pick, isn’t that athletic enough for you?”

You cover your mouth, trying not to burst out laughing. His tone is more amused than offended now, and you can tell he’s catching on.

“I’m just saying,” he adds. “Do I need to do some kind of push ups to prove it to you?”

You poke him in the side for his sassiness, laughing. “I was just asking a question!”

He glances down at your phone, looking right into the camera. “Are you filming me?”

You gasp in mock offense. “I would never—”

Connor snorts. “So it’s a yes.”

“I mean.. it’s not a no..”

You stopped recording to show him the video. “Why did you look so personally attacked?”

“I was,” he says, smiling. “You just asked a pro athlete if he ever wished he was more athletic..”

“You could’ve just said ‘no’ and moved on,” you tease.

“I was too busy questioning reality..”

[bravehyde]

hi !! can we have any sort of source about the google docs thing? I use it for pretty much everything and I want to know for sure before I move everything somewhere

I'm not sure if you're from the US but I'm not and I don't if it's something happening everywhere or somewhere specific

I absolutely appreciate warning people about something that could cost someone their hard work but I doing so without any sort of checkable source could get people kinda panicked

(genuine message/request, I don't mean to discredit your personal experience at all, I don't think what you've shared is made up, I just wanna look into on my own too and couldn't find anything)

yeah, so sorry about that! I was so busy telling all of my writer friends, who know I wouldn’t lie about something like this that I personally watched occur, that I totally forgot people outside of my circle would not just need “hey this happened in front of me” as confirmation something’s real. Also this blog isn’t that big so I thought it would just be in the writer circles I’m in, I’ve never seen so many notifications! I’m writing this on my phone so sorry if it looks bad, trying my best here.

I’m from the US and the person who had their property deleted by Google is also from the US. I saw someone else in the reblogs who also stated they had their content removed without their permission, but I technically can’t verify for them because I did not know them before this occurred and I wasn’t there when it was discovered.

While trying to find similar experiences I found multiple complaints over the past few years of people getting their permission to their content revoked even though it’s not sexually explicit and posting to their help forums, but that’s also hard to use as a concrete source since we don’t know those people’s full stories. Google’s official policy on explicit content is as follows:

I know the friend whose content was removed would share their document for writing feedback, as that is the reason many people choose docs over word (as well as that it can be opened and edited easily on an iphone). It may be that “distribute” is the key word here for getting your items removed.

Someone was kind enough to link this story of it happening to an adult romance author last year who had this story sent to multiple news articles. I’m still looking for if this had more incidents, there are some claimed in the article but they don’t have names attached the way Renee is.

Once again, these people had their work removed because they would send it to betas, which Google flaggged as spamming people with explicit content. And to anyone thinking it’s not possible because they don’t have permission to access our work-they do. You give them permission by putting your stuff on their servers at all. It’s just that their current ToS doesn’t let them remove it until you share it with someone, in which case it’s “distribution”. Also I’m going to address this is another post with more info and stuff because I want to give more basis: I see people framing it as impossible to do in “so short a time”, but this was built up for years. This personal information stockpiling has been around for a while. I’ll put more out there when I can, right now I have to get back to my job

EDIT: talked about this in another ask here for more links

[misterreca]

Date Everything Headcanons with a MC/Reader that dislikes being picked up

Making this for self indulgent reasons, lol. And kind of as a writing exercise... I really want to get back into writing fanfic 😮‍💨 you can find me on AO3 as DescendingDreams if you'd like :) This was also inspired by some characters that are mentioned as having picked up the MC either pre/post realization in game.

Characters: Shelley, Abel, Daisuke, Dasha, Kristof, Tydus, Tony, Freddy

Warnings: Suggestive in Dasha's, but it's hurt/comfort fluff otherwise :), established relationship, not proofread

Shelley: The second you let out a screech after she scoops you up, she stumbles in shock. Will likely release you the second you beg for her to put you down, leaving you flat on your ass. Apologizes profusely and once you explain that you’re uncomfortable with it, she promises she won’t do it again without asking first. She’ll still lift you a few inches off the ground when hugging you on occasion. She can’t help it, she’s just so excited to see you!

Abel: Was honestly trying to be romantic when he sweeps you up in his arms the first time, but when you tense up and yelp moments later, he’s locating the nearest couch, chair, or other comfy place to put you down. Asks what’s wrong and when you explain he becomes a bit sheepish, explaining that he wanted to sweep you off your feet (no pun intended), not scare you. He apologizes and says that he’ll let you stand on your own legs from now on (pun intended).

Daisuke: Was also attempting to be romantic. When you let out a scream he immediately and gently puts you back down exactly the way you’d been before. You admit you don’t like being picked up, and he apologizes for not asking first. He might beat himself up about it a little, honestly; now believing it to have been exceptionally rude of him to do that without warning. Just reassure him that you know he was trying to do something charming- not something to scare you, and he’ll be alright. Will be extra gentle with you for a few days after that.

Dasha: Was trying to give you a sexy surprise, but is instead met with a shriek from you. Like Daisuke, she will put you down exactly in the place you were before. “My beloved, have I done something wrong…? That scream was not the kind I like to hear from your lips!” You explain your dislike of being picked up and she nods, completely understanding. “I see. I also prefer keeping two feet on the ground, except in bed, of course. It’d be hard to sleep with half of me hanging off the mattress!” She gives you a firm pat on the back instead, then wraps an arm around your shoulder. “This is enough for me. Let’s get back to our date, yes?”

Kristof: Oh boy… he’s the hardest to explain it to. He thinks it’s just your usual play-wrestling at first, taking your scream as you just getting really into your ‘violence’ session, but will release you when he realizes that “Put me down, Kristof” and its variations are the only thing coming out of your mouth. “What is the problem, lover? Did you get a cramp?” He scrutinizes your face for any signal of pain, but comes up with nothing. When you confess you hate being picked up and that it scares you, the blonde viking is confused. “Scary? There are far scarier things in the world. Like the violence I did during the battle with Friar Bjartur!” He questions you a bit further, and eventually you admit it’s the fear of being dropped/falling that makes you hate being picked up. “Ha! You think I would drop you, lover? You insult me and all of the violence I’ve ever done!” While he insists that he would never, ever, drop you- even if someone took an axe to his ankles while holding you; eventually he agrees to not do it again without asking first.

Tydus: Would never pick you up without first asking your permission. Ever. She’s definitely strong enough to do so, more than enough, in fact- but does not feel the need to show off to you in that way. If you happened to bring up your dislike of being lifted in casual conversation, she’d be supportive and reassure you she wouldn’t do it unless dire circumstances came up somehow. “My love, let it be known that come the flames of defeat or the light of victory, I shall never act upon anything that frightens you so.”

Tony: He was trying to be smooth, let’s be real. He loves to impress you, so he thought a show of strength like picking you up would make you swoon and fawn over him. He was in for quite the opposite reaction however, as you were squirming and yelling for him to put you down only milliseconds later. “Whoa, hey, easy there! You’re gonna give me a dent with all that flailing around!” He eventually puts you back right where you were, and as you’re catching your breath you tell him you loathe being picked up and to never scare you like that again. Tony laughs awkwardly, scratching his nape while doing so. He feels bad for scaring you, honestly; he did run up behind you for it, so you hadn’t even seen him coming. “Sorry babe, I uh… didn’t know that was a thing you… didn’t like.” He avoids eye contact for a few moments, but eventually manages. “Can ya forgive ol’ Ton’ for uh… bein’ a little too rough?” Of course you can, you tell him; as long as he doesn’t try anything like that a second time. Tony agrees without a second thought. “You’re the best, babe! ‘Lemme give you a smooch in apology, yeah?”

Freddy: Honestly, it’s unlikely he’d attempt it unless he thought you might like it. He does not want to come off as scary, and he takes protecting you very seriously- mostly from food poisoning, but in other ways as well. If you happen to tell him that you don’t like being picked up, he’ll definitely remember it. The last thing he wants is to cause you distress because of something he did. He’ll be a bit more cautious when hugging you; the exact opposite of Shelley basically, lol. He knows his own strength and size, but will still happily hold you close to him while cuddling!

[gayandbasic]

Drabble: Laundry Day

Bob Reynolds X Female!reader || WC: 2K

Summary: Getting back into a routine does you some good, quiet mornings in comfortable silence leads to confusing feelings and quiet fear of wanting more, the internal tension between love and losing what you already have.

TW: mentions of panic attacks and anxiety

A very short Drabble taking place some time after the Silhouette story which you can read HERE

Masterlist

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Somewhere on the 8th floor, where the dryer rattles like it’s full of coins, you realize you’re in trouble.

You’d dragged your hamper down the hall half-asleep, sweatshirt sleeves swallowing your hands and socks mismatched, hoping to find the laundry room empty. The machines make a kind of constant, humming white noise that feels like safety—steady, predictable, easy to disappear into.

The past few weeks living under the same roof as other people had you tense most of the time. Slowly adjusting you found it easiest when you were alone or with Bob…maybe Bucky depending on what mood he’s in. It was a slow process adapting and learning to trust the people who have become so important to you that even if you were uncomfortable living with this many people you wouldn’t change it for the world.

Before Bucky and Yelena insisted on doing your chores for you, worried you would tear the stitches in your stomach. Yelena even joked about not wanting to find you passed out in the hall because you were too stubborn to carry your own laundry to the washers. Being the only one in the group that didn’t get the super healing part with your super serum you were the only one still feeling the effects of the voids hell scape as well as Valentina’s ‘tests’.

Lucky bastards

Your back still aches if you move the wrong way—a reminder of your time before Valentina—but the comfort of routine soothes the part of you that still twitches at shadows.

You don’t expect anyone to be there when you let out a soft groan when bending down to peer into the dryer.

“Hey”

A stern yet gentle voice startles you, turning quickly you find Bob already crouched by one of the machines, frowning at a stubborn stain on what might’ve once been one of John’s shirts.

His hair’s clipped back to keep his bangs from getting in his eyes and his hoodie’s speckled with what might be pancake batter or paint. He looks like he belongs here, like he does this all the time. Casual. Normal. Like someone who’s never been haunted by his own mind.

“Should you be doing this?” he says, glancing over his shoulder at you with a small, crooked smile. “Why didn’t you ask for a hand?”

You hesitate before opening one of the dryer doors. “What and ask you to keep doing my laundry for me?”

He shrugs. “I may be some superhuman nuke, but I’m not above detergent pods. I’m surprised you do yours, honestly.”

You give him a faux-offended look. “What, you think my shadow does it for me?”

He snorts softly before he can stop himself. “Honestly? Wouldn’t put it past it. Probably folds your shirts in eldritch geometry.”

You grin. “Only the socks. They like symmetry.”

He laughs—and the sound has you joining in. It bubbles out of you before you can smother it, surprising you with its lightness. It’s the kind of laugh that feels like someone else’s voice. Someone softer. Someone before.

It’s the kind of exchange you always have—easy, deflective, laced with sarcasm like bubble wrap. But there’s a slow burn underneath it lately, something you can’t name. Something that curls low in your stomach when he smiles at you like that, crooked and unguarded.

After taking your clothes out of the dryer you heave the tangled mess into your hamper then drag it closer so it lands with a soft thunk beside his. He doesn’t wait for permission—just starts pulling out clothes, sorting colors and whites with the precision of someone who’s either incredibly organized or just distractingly thoughtful.

You try not to stare.

Fail.

Your eyes catch on the slope of his shoulder, the softness of his profile when he leans in to sort your whites. There’s nothing remarkable about the motion—mundane, even—but the way he moves so gently through your space feels like he knows he’s handling something sacred. Something breakable. Something like you.

You tear your gaze away before he can notice.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid.

Bob is—Bob is safe. That’s what this is. That’s all this is. He’s the person who doesn’t flinch when your voice goes quiet or your hands tremble or you check every corner of a room before sitting down. He doesn’t treat you like a burden. Doesn’t look at you like you’re going to splinter apart.

Of course you feel something. Who wouldn’t?

It’s not love. It’s not like that.

It’s just… comfort. Familiarity. The ease of being known, a little bit. The quiet luxury of existing near someone who doesn’t ask for anything in return.

Except, lately, you’ve started noticing things. Little things.

The way your breath skips when he leans too close. How you laugh more around him—real laughter, not the bitter kind that feels like smoke in your throat. How the space between you feels charged now, like a held breath, like a string pulled tight between two people waiting to see who tugs first.

It scares you.

Because if it is love—or anything near it—then it’s dangerous.

Because if you let yourself fall into it, let yourself name it, then everything shifts. The ground moves. The air changes.

And you’re not sure you’ll survive that.

Not again.

You remember the last time you cared too much. How it was used against you. How affection was measured in blood and leverage. How love—whatever shape it once had—turned to chains. You were taught that closeness was currency. That attachment was a weapon waiting to be twisted in your ribs.

But Bob doesn’t twist.

Bob folds.

Folds towels. Folds shirts. Folds memories into something gentler. And that terrifies you more than anything else ever has.

Because you don’t know what to do with someone who holds your past like it isn’t dirty. Who folds your trauma beside your T-shirts like it’s just another part of the fabric.

You don’t know how to want him without wanting to run

It’s quiet in a way that feels comfortable. His shoulder brushes yours once. You pretend not to notice.

And then he pauses.

He’s holding one of your shirts—black, or what used to be black, now faded and threadbare and stretched at the collar. You’d forgotten it was even in there. One of the last things you have from right after the cages and the syringes and the lights that never turned off. It’s barely wearable anymore.

But he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t make a joke. He just… holds it.

Carefully. Like it’s fragile. Like it matters.

His brow furrows. “Hey… this one’s… important, huh?”

You look down, throat tight.

“I guess,” you say, too quiet. Then you clear your throat and try again. “It was the first thing I ever owned. After Sokovia. After the labs.”

You expect him to fumble, to flinch away from the heaviness of it—but he doesn’t. He just looks at you, really looks, with that impossibly gentle patience he always seems to save for you.

“It was a shitty kiosk in the middle of a market,” you go on, voice slow and quiet like it’s coming from far away. “Three shirts for ten euros. I picked this one because it was the least pink. Paid in coins I’d scraped together from stealing someone’s laundry tips. I wore it three days straight. Didn’t take it off even to sleep.”

You glance down at your hands. “It was the first thing that was mine. Not assigned to me. Not tagged with a number. Mine.”

Bob doesn’t say anything for a second. Just runs his thumb gently over the sleeve, as if afraid to wrinkle it. Then he folds it neatly. Places it on top of your pile like it belongs on a velvet pedestal.

“I’ll be careful,” he says.

And somehow, that’s worse than a hug. That quiet reverence.

You feel it like pressure behind your eyes, sharp and sudden. You blink it away.

You reach for a towel to give your hands something to do. He doesn’t press you.

Instead, he hums. Low and distracted. A tune you don’t recognize. He’s folding his shirts with that same quiet care, but you catch him glancing your way now and then—like he’s making sure you’re still breathing. Still okay.

You move on to socks. The motion is automatic, muscle memory and muscle tension fighting for dominance. Your fingers shake a little. You ignore it.

You’re both standing close enough now that you can feel his warmth. Can smell the faint citrus of his shampoo. It’s too much and not enough.

“You know,” he says suddenly, voice soft but not hesitant, “I think about that sometimes.”

You blink. “What?”

“First things. What they mean. When they matter.” He gestures vaguely with a folded T-shirt. “You talk about that shirt like it anchored you.”

You look away. “Maybe it did.”

Another moment of quiet. The machines rumble. Your stomach does, too—maybe from hunger, maybe from nerves.

Bob speaks again. “I didn’t have a ‘first shirt’ moment. Not really. But I remember the first thing I ever chose. A cd player. From a thrift store. It didn’t work. I carried it around anyway.”

You glance over. His expression is wistful. Uncharacteristically bare.

“Felt like claiming something. Like saying, ‘This is mine. This is me, even if it’s broken.’” His voice dips. “Sometimes broken things are still… worth keeping.”

You stare at him.

You don’t mean to. But the way he says it—the quiet certainty, the warmth—makes your chest ache.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Just breath.

So instead, you fold another towel. Your wrist brushes his. Neither of you move away.

“I like your shirt,” he says.

“Shut up,” you mutter, too soft to mean it.

But you’re smiling.

He doesn’t press. Doesn’t tease. Just smiles back at you like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like you’re not unraveling slowly in a laundry room, surrounded by soft cotton and ghosts.

The dryer beeps. The load is done.

You both move at the same time, knees bumping, and for one heart-stopping moment your hands graze.

Your breath hitches. He notices.

But doesn’t call you out. Doesn’t make a joke.

He just hands you a warm hoodie from the dryer and says, “Here. Figured it might be yours. Smells like night.”

You blink.

“Night?”

“You know,” he says, already reaching for a pair of mismatched socks. “That smell when it’s about to storm. And shadows. I don’t know—Seven smell.”

You laugh again, startled, and this time it’s easier.

And somehow, in the hush of fabric and faint detergent, you realize something else.

You want more of this.

More warm silence. More shared laundry. More… Bob.

But for now, you fold another towel. Pretend your heart’s not in your throat. Pretend it doesn’t mean something when he says your name like that.

Like it’s already home

You feel it like pressure behind your eyes, sharp and sudden. You blink it away.

You reach for another towel to give your hands something to do.

The room hums on. A sock tumbles out of the dryer and hits the floor. He bends to pick it up. You pretend your heart isn’t doing that thing again, that wild fluttering that doesn’t feel like fear. Not exactly.

By the time the folding’s done, it’s late. The kind of late where the Tower hallways hum with nothing but soft machinery and your own breathing. Most of the others are tucked away in their rooms, in their silences, in their scars.

You walk side by side with Bob down the corridor, the weight of laundry baskets balanced against your hips. His sleeve brushes yours once. Then again.

You don’t move away.

He hums under his breath—same as before, low and tuneless, comforting like the murmur of a lullaby you almost remember. You don’t ask what it is. You’re afraid if you speak, the words might slip—might say too much, or worse, not enough.

You reach the corner where your hallway splits off. You stop.

So does he.

There’s a pause. One of those pauses that stretches, uncertain. Like maybe this is where it ends, or maybe you both pretend it doesn’t.

“Thanks,” you say, like it’s nothing. Like it isn’t everything.

He gives you that lopsided smile again—the one that makes it hard to breathe right.

“For what?” he asks.

You shrug, keeping your eyes low. “The help. The folding. The… I don’t know. Stuff.”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t tease. Just looks at you for a moment—gentle, open, quiet in a way that makes your throat tighten.

“Anytime, Seven,” he says.

And just like that, he turns and walks away, laundry basket under one arm, hoodie swaying, that hum still trailing behind him like a thread you want to follow.

He doesn’t look back.

You don’t move.

You stand there in the spill of fluorescent light, in the hum of the hallway, holding your breath like it might keep something from unraveling.

This—this thing in your chest—it’s not supposed to be here.

Not with him. Not like this.

Bob is safety. Bob is familiarity. Bob is the one who sat through your silences and never filled them with noise. Who makes dumb jokes when the memories claw their way up your spine. Who knocks softly on your door when you’ve been gone too long inside your own head.

He’s family. Or he was. Or is. Or—

This feeling curling tight in your gut, this warmth that turns your bones to water when he smiles—that’s not family.

That’s something else.

Something more.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

You want more. You want all of it—his hands, his laughter, his gravity. You want to crawl into the spaces between his words and stay there, warm and selfish.

But if you want more, you risk everything.

You press your back to the cool hallway wall. Try to ground yourself. Try to breathe. The scent of detergent clings to your shirt like a ghost.

You cross your arms. Tuck your fingers tight against your sides to stop the shaking.

You can’t lose him.

Not to this.

Not to the aching want blooming behind your ribs like something alive and dangerous.

Not to something you can’t name without breaking it.

So you stay there. In the quiet. In the hum. In the wake of his warmth.

And you don’t say a word.

Because if you do…

you don’t know if you’ll be able to take it back.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

A/N: this was another brief Drabble I written before I even finished silhouette haha. I have so many prompts and ideas I want to explore and I am curious to see if any of you have any suggestions as well!

As always thank you for reading

🖤🩶🤍

[yan-lorkai]

I saw the post about the twst first years planting a pumpkin patch for Halloween, and the way the post was written gave me the impression that the first years had transferred to Ramshackle(hence why Ace would refer to the dead Ramshackle garden as HIS dorm’s dead garden).

I don’t know if you’ve made a post beforehand, but I would be interested in seeing the yandere first years actually in the process of transferring, maybe with them being quietly obsessive about the fact that they’ll be as close with reader/Yuu as possible.

Like, maybe we focus on Sebek in the beginning, showing him packing his bags to leave Diasomnia, giving up his green arm band and vest in preparation. It would be interesting because it would show that Sebek now has a priority more important to him than staying by Malleus’ side. And then we cut to the first years meeting up before heading to Ramshackle.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ a/n: despite not being the exact thing you detailed here, I hope you enjoy it, dear. It was certainly fun to write it!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ warnings: platonic yandere, gn!reader

"Hey, you," Ace pointed a twig he found lying somewhere in the garden in Sebek's direction, actively stopping the half fae from entering the dorm. The latter had a pout over his lips as he could already imagine what shenanigans awaited him. "How dare thou enter my domains without my permission? For that, you shall be beheaded. Guards!"

You giggled, rolling your eyes as Epel and Deuce came running from inside the dorm with another set of twigs that they had stolen from Jack's nest.

"Your Majesty?" Deuce asked, a little too eagerly as he made a moviment as if to dare Sebek to take another step.

"My King," Epel muttered, biting his lip as he prepared to fight. "Tell us your humble order."

In truth, they had moved from their respective dorms to Ramshackle. Either because you had complained about how lonely it felt roaming these halls late at night; the silence so deafening you could hear a nail falling somewhere on the second floor. Or, because everything started with Ace and Deuce, because of course it would start with them.

After another punishment Ace simply had taken refuge in your dorm and didn't planned to go back - as he so smugly proclaimed, he managed to bribe Crowley and changed dorms. And Deuce followed him, as one does, naturally.

Epel, wanting just an excuse to not endure Vil's treatment, demanded that the headmaster move him from Pomefiore to Ramshackle, as he had done with Adeuce.

The first few weeks were funny. You were so used to waking up alone with Grimm curling over your belly, purring, despite claiming he did not, in fact, purr.

For he wasn't a cat nor a weasel, he was The Great Mage Grimm.

And then, in the mornings you could hear Ace and Deuce arguing about breakfast, and a suspicious smell coming from the kitchen as Epel strolled into your room to wake up, even if more often than not, he ended up curling himself over your side and taking a long nap.

It was chaotic, messy; even more so when Ace started a food fight once - you thought that only happened in movies. And even if it was funny, cleaning up was a nightmare and Jack forbade him from doing it again, lest he go around spilling out Ace's secrets.

"Behead him," Ace screams like he is a protagonist in some trashy movie and his guards advance upon Sebek.

Despite the lack of gratefulness, you guess there was some strength in their way of fighting. It wasn't fluid nor beautiful, but it makes enough for a little show as Sebek dodges their movements with ease - as, probably, he did in his training.

Deuce tried to punch him, though he left his defense unguarded and Sebek elbowed his side at the same time Epel tried to hit him with the twig. A breathy laugh left you. The scene was far too comical, even more when Deuce let himself fall down to the floor, falsely clutching his side in hurt.

You felt a movement and didn't even need to turn around to guess who was there. Jack took the vacant space at your side, tail wagging lazily behind his back as he stared at his friends with a little smile. If anyone asked, though, he would pretend that he wasn't smiling at all.

"Do they have to do this every time?" He asked, eyes rolling in faux annoyance.

Ace and Deuce had a way to greet someone in the dorm, as a tradition. This time was... whatever this was supposed to be.

"Well, jelly because they didn't do something this great for you?" You replied, staring deeply at the half-wolf to capture every micro-expression. Sometimes teasing him got the best of you, even more when he took offense on it.

"As a matter of fact, I wasn't jealous." But his ears twitching and tail wagging aggressively behind both of you said another story, soon after he crossed his arms around his chest and looked ahead.

Ace was pinned to the floor as Sebek pointed his sword to the redhead's neck, breathing a little too quickly, his cheeks tinted red and his hair a mess.

He looked powerful like that.

"I need no permission from you, as you aren't the one I pledged my loyalty to." With the blink of an eye, his sword made its way deep into the soil beside Ace's head. His final warning.

You applauded, as did Deuce, Epel and Jack. And as Ace sat down, he smiled full of himself.

"Welcome aboard, mate." He imitated a pirate, accent and all, which made everyone laugh.

You felt happy. Complete. All fuzzy and warm inside as your dorm now was full of life and joy, so different from a few months ago.

Usually never thought that to be possible, never even occurred to you that they would think to do something like choosing you, your old, chilly dorm with uncomfortable beds and leaks everywhere, instead of their beds and good food back in their old dorms.

After Epel joined, you thought that was it. Your other friends didn't have any reason to join Ramshackle; Sebek was a dutiful soldier, and despite disagreeing with Leona in some matters, Jack had no problems with Savannaclaw.

Or rather, that was what you saw on the surface, but beyond what you thought was real lay some cold truths you may never find out. And it was exactly that way, so trusty and naive to their obsession and silent care, that they planned to let you be.

They were privileged.

They could see you at any time, under any circumstances now. Your bedhead, the dry patch of drooling on your shirt, the little stumbling you do when you aren't awoken yet; your awful singing in the bathroom, the weird dances you do when happy for something. There was so many reasons for they to celebrate.

You were precious to them.

"Why did you wanted to move dorms, though?" You asked Sebek when he sat down at the front step, a few steps below.

He made a little face, furrowed his brows as if the fact disturbed him deep inside. "My master had told me to broaden up my horizons, hence I'm here to learn everything I can with you all."

You hummed, that seemed just like Malleus. Even if a part of you was happy that so many of your friends were living with you. That, at least, you wouldn't be alone in this lonely world.

In parallel, Epel and Jack were talking about plants in general as the half-wolf explained how to make some homemade fertilizer - something about a project the Adeuce wanted to try. Well, as long as they didn’t break something, you guess they could do anything.

"Shall we go inside to eat something?" Sebek asked you, pulling you out of your thoughts.

And you nodded.

After all, the best meals were eaten with friends.

[little-lolaaa]

"I'll do anything for you, ma." C.S."

Wanted to try dominant sub!Chris... this is just Fluff. Wanted to not try smut...kinda like it.

"Byee, I'm leaving for a little massage thingy. See you in a bit, I love you!" I quickly kissed his lips before turning away. "Where are you going? Why?" He gently grabbed my wrist, pulling me back.

"To the massage place? To get a massage??" I glanced around, confused.

"Stay, I'll give you one." Chris practically whined. Looking at me with those soft puppy eyes.

"Whyy??" I squeaked softly.

"Please? Just stay. I don't want you to leave me here alone. Without you." He pleaded, pulling me closer and wrapping his arms around my waist. "Okayy, okay, fine. I will stay. But I expect top performances from you for taking me away from my massage bestie. I had tea to tell her." I set my purse down and walked over to the couch.

Chris followed and quickly sat down next to me, pulling my feet into his lap. "Tell me the tea. I'm a great listener when it comes to you, baby." He winked.

"It's so weird, thoughhh" I leaned back against the armrest. "You know I don't care how weird it is, right? I love you for all of you. Not just some 'polite lady' like' version of you. So spill, girlfriend." He kissed my cheek before grabbing one of my lotions and squirting some onto his hand.

"Okay, well, you remember when I went over to my friends house the other day? Because she said it was an emergency?"

"Mhmmm," he hummed softly.

"She told me not to tell anyone, but I'm gonna tell you anyways. So she called me over because she was home alone, her boyfriend was at work, and all her other friends were working. So she called me-"

I bit back a small laugh.

"She called me because she said she thinks her boyfriend actually blew her back out. She wasn't sure if she was just cramping up from the–and I quote– 'big dick being rammed inside me' or if she actually needed a doctor."

I paused, glancing around again.

"She needed a doctor." I whispered quietly. Chris burst out laughing, slightly struggling to rub my feet from laughing so hard.

"Jesus, that bad, huh?" He snickered. "Apparently,'that good', yea. Also, can you do my calves, please?"

"Anything for you, ma." He grinned and put some more lotion on my legs. "Why did you not want me to leave?" I asked softly.

"Because I love you, and I wanna spend every moment of every day with you. Also, I'd take you to the doctor if I blew your back out."

He leaned closer and kissed my jaw lightly. "You are such a perv." I giggled, pushing him away playfully.

"You love me." He taunted.

"What all would you do for me exactly?" I asked genuinely, crossing my arms over my chest in confusion. "You sure you want that?" He looked up at me nervously. Slowly coming to a stop on my foot massage.

"Yea. I wanna know. I won't be mad. Promise." I smiled softly.

He grinned devilishly and slowly slid his hands up my thighs and over my shorts and panties, grabbing onto the waistband of both.

"I'll do," he pulled them down in one swift motion and quickly but gently threw my legs over his shoulders. "Anything for you, ma."

He waited for me to respond. To give him permission.

"Just gotta tell me 'yes'. I'll take good care of you." He glanced up through those beautiful lashes, hovering slightly.

"Yes." I grabbed onto his hair softly, playing with the, now short, ends.

A/N:uhhh....I think I like dominant sub!chris...??? Just a lil something to keep yall entertained🫦

[inaudible-summoner]

The place didn't have a name? That be a bit annoying to their search. With a sigh Lawrence would give a slow nod. "We'll split in pairs, so we don't make the locals skittish...Carmen...can I bring Lily with me and Bas?"

"I mean you don't need permission from me, but may I ask why?" Carmen was more curious and wanted to see how his mind was playing out.

"Frankly...me and Bas are kinda tall and intimidating appearances...so Lily...will put people at ease..." It was collateral mostly, and if need be a great messager since she could sniff the others out and bring them to the pair.

"Okay then...be careful okay? I know you don't like talking much." The young girl put a hand on his forearm and the capped summoner would nod in return.

"Alrighty then, bet I can gather the most information, come on Brooke~" Andrew darts off. "Why am I always stuck with you? Why can't it be a Brooke and Darlene episode?" She call out chasing after him.

"...Ready you two?" Lawrence craned his head towards the pair. Lily would respond with a bark and a tail wag, which made him smirk.

*Basilio couldn't help but laugh at that, most people around him would tell him to basically get over it as he had the physical strength to overcome it right? Although not this lot, they were encouraging him to actually ask for help when he needed it, that was refreshing to the male.

After he heard the request Lawrence made Bas nodded after all he was the only one familiar with the area within their group.*

"We're about a week's walk from where I found you all originally, there's a natural deposit of the crystals there but the locals don't want to go near the stuff...for obvious reasons. Still though if I remember right the village itself should be right around the corner.

The folks are skittish but I don't know if that's just around us or in general. I never did come here without Lord Louis before so I can't tell you all. That's all I got really."

[jkwrites-m]

Daddy Kookie (7)

Pairing: idol!Jungkook x female reader

Genre: childhood lovers to exes to lovers, parents au, smut, angst, fluff

Word Count: 6.3k

Summary: After Jungkook dropped all contact, Y/N was left broken - and pregnant. Seven years later, fate brings them back together.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, heavy angst, smut, fluff, childhood lovers, abandonment, young (teenage) pregnancy, hurt, anger, fighting/yelling, heartbreak, cursing, struggle, co-parenting, growth, stress, exhaustion, fear, apologies, trauma response/PTSD, insecurity, self-worth crisis, press, doxxing, industry manipulation/anger, public backlash, saesangs, stalking, harassment, online hate, almost abduction, jungkook going full rage daddy mode, separation anxiety, explicit: praising, kissing, missionary, oral (f. & m. receiving), unprotected sex, body worship, post-sex intimacy, multiple smut scenes

A/N: srry abt posting later than i said 😭 just had some things happening 🫶

MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST

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═══════

I didn’t even sit down this time.

I walked into the HYBE conference room and stayed standing, arms crossed, jaw locked, already ten seconds away from telling someone to go to hell.

There were only two people in the room. The same two from last time.

The man started. “Did you think people wouldn’t notice?”

I didn’t respond.

“Dinner on a rooftop with fairy lights?” the woman added, folding her hands like she was trying to sound calm. “She wore a diamond ring out of the restaurant. She wore your jacket. The internet isn’t stupid.”

I stared at her.

“I’m aware.”

The man sighed. “There’s still time to spin it. Deny. Deflect. Say it’s a music video concept. A shoot. Maybe a charity event. Something- anything.”

I laughed once. Just one dry, sharp sound.

“You think I’m going to pretend my engagement is a concept?”

They said nothing.

“We’re not confirming anything,” the woman said firmly. “You understand that, right? Not yet. Not until we decide what narrative benefits the company best.”

“Let me guess,” I muttered. “You’re trying to decide if my daughter ruins the fourth quarter forecast.”

Her expression didn’t change.

Which told me everything.

“We’re preparing for the comeback,” she said. “The world tour. Major brand renewals. And now there’s a child involved? A wedding? Do you have any idea what the press would do with that right now?”

I stepped forward.

“No one’s asking your permission.”

“No one’s giving you a green light.”

“Good,” I said. “I’m not waiting for one.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Y/N.

I didn’t answer it.

I was too busy making a new decision.

I’d been walking the line since the start- trying to protect them, trying to keep the label pacified.

But it wasn’t working.

They were still being hunted.

She was still scared.

And I was still muzzled in a life that was supposed to be mine.

Namjoon texted me after the meeting.

Namjoon: You okay?

I wrote back:

Jungkook: They want me to spin it.

Jungkook: I’m done spinning.

He didn’t reply for a minute.

Then:

Namjoon: Then stop letting them write the narrative.

That was the moment it clicked.

I didn’t need to speak.

I just needed to show them.

No faces. No details. No confirmation.

Just truth- quiet, defiant, undeniable.

I went home that night and held them both longer than usual.

Tucked Eun Ae in.

Waited for Y/N to shower.

And opened the photo album on my phone.

There it was.

A silhouette from the park.

Y/N and I holding hands.

Eun Ae sitting on my shoulders, arms out like airplane wings.

You couldn’t see our faces- just our outlines, blurred in golden light.

Just shadows.

Just joy.

No names.

No explanation.

No confirmation.

But anyone who knew love would understand exactly what they were looking at.

I didn’t post it yet.

But I would.

And when I did…

They’d see a family.

Whether they liked it or not.

═══════

It started like a normal day.

Eun Ae wanted strawberries, so we walked to the store down the street. Just the two of us.

I wore a hoodie. No makeup. Nothing flashy.

Eun Ae was in overalls and little pink sneakers, her stuffed flamingo sticking out of my tote bag.

We weren’t doing anything wrong.

We weren’t even trying to hide.

Just live.

But the moment we stepped into the produce section… I felt it.

That pull in my gut.

That shift in the air.

Someone was watching.

I glanced up casually, trying to be subtle.

A girl- maybe mid-20s, long black hair, mask covering her face- stood at the end of the aisle. Just staring.

I moved on.

Eun Ae was picking out apples like a tiny chef and lecturing me about bruises.

I pretended I didn’t see the girl follow us to the bread aisle.

Then the dairy section.

Then the frozen food aisle.

Every turn I took… she was there.

Not shopping.

Not talking.

Just watching.

I started to feel sick.

I turned into the last aisle and stopped short when she was already standing at the end of it, waiting.

This time she walked toward us.

I tightened my grip on the cart.

Eun Ae looked up from the cereal boxes just as the girl reached us.

She didn’t say hello.

Didn’t introduce herself.

Just bowed slightly and looked at my daughter like she was trying to memorize her.

“You’re so cute,” she said softly in Korean. “Do you know how lucky you are to have an Appa like him?”

My whole body locked.

“Excuse me,” I said, stepping between them quickly. “You need to back up.”

The girl looked at me.

And even with the mask, I could feel the smile under it.

“Is it true?” she asked, eyes flicking to my hand. “Are you married yet?”

I didn’t answer.

She leaned in.

“Is she really his kid? She looks so much like him.”

I grabbed Eun Ae’s hand, left the cart where it was, and walked, fast and purposeful, straight out of the store.

The girl didn’t follow.

But I didn’t stop looking over my shoulder until our front door was locked behind us.

I was shaking.

Not angry.

Not even sad.

Just scared.

Because I’d always known people would talk.

But today… someone got close.

To her.

To my daughter.

And for the second time since moving to Seoul, I wondered if I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.

═══════

She didn’t say anything right away.

She just walked in, her hand clutching Eun Ae’s a little too tight, her face pale beneath the late afternoon light. She didn’t even take off her shoes.

I was in the kitchen pouring juice.

She stood there for a beat- frozen- and then said, quietly, like it hurt to speak:

“She followed us.”

I turned.

“Who?”

“A fan. A… sasaeng, I think.”

My stomach dropped.

“She followed us through the store. Watched us. Stared at her. She-” Y/N’s voice cracked, “-she spoke to her, Jungkook. She bent down and asked her questions.”

I put the glass down so hard it cracked.

“Where is she?”

“She didn’t follow us home. I made sure. I walked different streets. I kept my head down. But she was inches away from our daughter.”

Eun Ae didn’t notice the tension.

She was already on the living room floor, coloring.

But I saw the way Y/N’s shoulders were hunched, the way her hands trembled when she reached for her phone and missed.

I walked over and wrapped my arms around her.

She didn’t melt into me like usual.

She stayed stiff.

“She knew,” she whispered. “She knew who Eun Ae was. She looked at her like she was a puzzle piece that finally fit.”

I rested my chin on her shoulder.

“I’m done,” I said quietly. “I’m not waiting anymore.”

She didn’t ask what I meant.

She just stood there, silent, while I grabbed my phone from the counter and opened Instagram.

I didn’t need a caption.

I didn’t need a press release.

I just uploaded the photo.

The one from the park.

Me, standing with Eun Ae on my shoulders, her little arms out wide like she was flying while Y/N held my hand beside us.

Silhouettes.

Golden light.

No faces.

Just love.

Just truth.

I posted it.

No tag. No explanation.

Just one word in the caption:

“Mine.”

The app crashed within ten minutes.

The world noticed.

And I didn’t care.

Because the only person I was protecting now… was standing in our hallway, staring at me like I just handed her a shield she didn’t know she was allowed to carry.

And I walked straight to her.

Held her face in both hands.

And said:

“No more secrets. No more shame. Let them see us.”

═══════

The internet broke within an hour.

I was still holding the phone when the first headline dropped.

“Jungkook posts mysterious family photo - Engagement?”

“Fans divided after cryptic ‘Mine’ post goes viral”

“Who is the mystery woman in Jungkook’s life?”

And then my name trended.

My full name.

Not just in Korea.

Everywhere.

People dug through everything. Old posts, deleted photos, clips from my job at the venue. Someone even posted a blurry picture of me from that time I stood in the wings backstage.

The reactions were split right down the middle.

Half were beautiful- people saying it was inspiring, how brave we were, how happy he looked, how adorable Eun Ae was.

And the other half?

Vicious.

Mean.

Dangerous.

“She baby-trapped him.”

“This is career suicide.”

“She’s not even that pretty, why would he choose her?”

By noon, I’d had five blocked calls, two fake package deliveries, and one person knock on the door pretending to be press.

I was shaking by the time I tucked my phone under a pillow and started cleaning just to do something with my hands.

Then the call came.

Eun Ae’s school.

“Hello?”

“Miss L/N?” the voice said. Calm. Too calm. “This is the administration office at Eun Ae’s school. We need to inform you that an individual arrived before pickup hours claiming to be her guardian.”

My heart stopped.

“What?!”

“They had no proper identification and were turned away. But it appears they knew her name. And yours.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“She’s okay?” I gasped. “She’s safe?”

“She’s completely safe. Our staff followed protocol. But we wanted to alert you immediately.”

I dropped the phone twice trying to call Jungkook.

He picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, babe-”

“Someone tried to take her from school.”

Silence.

“What?”

“Someone went to the school. Claimed they a guardian and they were picking her up. They knew her name, Jungkook. They knew my name.”

Everything in me felt like it was on fire.

“I can’t do this. I can’t- what if they- what if I’d been late- what if they- ”

“I’m leaving practice.”

“You don’t have to- ”

“I’m not asking.”

“But- ”

“I’ll fix it,” he said, voice hard. Final. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix this.”

He hung up.

And I stood in the middle of the kitchen, shaking.

Phone still in my hand.

The post was live.

The world knew.

And now…

So did the monsters.

═══════

I didn’t knock.

Didn’t wait.

Didn’t text.

Didn’t schedule.

I walked straight past the assistant’s wide-eyed panic and into the executive conference room like I owned it.

Because right now?

I didn’t give a single fuck if they banned me from the building.

The door slammed open.

Half the table jumped.

The CEO stood from his chair. “Jungkook- ”

I didn’t let him finish.

I walked right up to the table, planted both hands on the polished wood, and stared them down.

“Someone went to my daughter’s school,” I said. “Pretended to be her guardian. Tried to pick her up.”

The silence in the room cracked like ice.

“She’s seven years old,” I said, voice deadly quiet. “And I want you to hear me when I say this happened because you fucking did nothing. Because you told me to wait. To stay quiet. To play pretend.”

One of the execs opened their mouth.

I cut them off with a glare. “Don’t speak.”

I was shaking. Not with fear.

With rage.

With clarity.

I was seething. My hands trembled, but I didn’t flinch.

“I posted one photo. No names. No faces. Just us. And it was still enough. Do you understand how fucking terrifying that is? Do you get what kind of message that sends?”

I pointed at the woman near the end of the table.

“You want to talk image? You want to talk brand partnerships?” I leaned over, voice low. “You almost let a child get hurt.”

“You’re escalating this-” one woman tried to say.

I slammed my hand down on the table. Hard.

“I will burn this fucking building to the ground before I let you treat my daughter like a scandal. Do you understand me?”

Everyone went still.

“I’ll walk. I’ll cancel the fucking album. I’ll leak the tracks myself. And when the fans ask why?” I leaned in, eyes sharp. “I’ll tell them it’s because my label protected our brand more than my daughter.”

The CEO stepped in quickly. “The comeback is a month away.”

“I know.”

“We’ll release a statement,” he said slowly. “But we need something in return.”

I folded my arms. “What?”

“Full tour commitment. A year. Press, promotions, the works. You’ll do everything we’ve planned and then some. You’ll be the golden boy again.”

I didn’t hesitate.

“Done.”

They blinked like they hadn’t expected me to fold so fast.

“You’re agreeing?”

“You’re finally doing right by my family. So yes. I’ll do the tour. I’ll be your damn golden boy. But if you delay, lie, or spin this- ” I stepped closer, voice sharp-

“I will walk. And I take half the damn fandom with me.”

They didn’t argue.

Because they knew I would.

And this time, I meant it.

I walked out without waiting for approval.

By the time I got to the elevator, my phone buzzed.

Draft statement. In my inbox.

“We confirm that BTS member Jeon Jungkook is engaged and the father of a child. We ask for the public’s understanding and respect of his personal life.”

Good.

Now the world would hear it. 

Not from a tweet.

Not from a blurry photo.

From the truth.

And next time anyone tried to come near my daughter?

They’d know exactly who the hell they were dealing with.

═══════

The silence in the house felt louder than screaming.

Eun Ae was napping on the couch, surrounded by blankets and her stuffed flamingo. Her shoes were still on. I didn’t even take them off- I couldn’t move. My hands were still shaking from the phone call with the school.

It could’ve gone differently.

That girl could’ve said the right name, forged a signature, played it smoother.

And in a world where no one was supposed to know who she was… someone did.

I stared at the front door like it might swing open again.

Every creak of the hallway. Every hum of a passing car outside.

I flinched.

Then the phone rang.

Kook 💜

I answered on the first ring.

“It’s done,” he said. No greeting. Just fire and finality. “They’re going to announce it. It’s going live within the hour.”

I didn’t breathe for a second.

“Are you okay?” I whispered.

“I’m fine. They’re not.” A pause. “I told them if they didn’t post it, I’d take the whole empire down with me.”

That should’ve comforted me.

It didn’t.

Because I knew what came next.

The headlines.

The comments.

The threads dissecting my past, my clothes, my face, the shape of my body, the way I held our daughter’s hand too tight or not tight enough.

Everything.

I whispered, “I’m scared.”

“I know.”

The call ended gently. No promises. No fantasy.

Just the truth.

An hour later, I saw it.

First on Weverse. Then Twitter. Then everywhere.

“We confirm that BTS member Jeon Jungkook is engaged and the father of a child. We ask for the public’s understanding and respect of his personal life.”

That was it.

No names.

No photos.

No scandal.

Just truth.

But it was enough.

The world detonated.

Trending #1 in ten countries within fifteen minutes.

Old footage resurfaced. Fan theories. Screengrabs. Debates. Fights.

And somewhere in all that noise… was me.

I closed the app.

Turned my phone face down.

And just sat there on the floor, leaning against the couch, listening to the soft breathing of our daughter- completely unaware that the world just found out she existed.

I didn’t cry.

Not because I wasn’t overwhelmed.

But because there wasn’t room.

There was only weight.

And underneath it, something quieter.

Something that felt like… surrender.

Not in defeat.

But in truth.

I had nothing left to hide.

And somehow, that felt more terrifying than all the secrets in the world.

═══════

I didn’t check the comments.

Didn’t scroll.

Didn’t read.

Didn’t respond.

The moment the statement went live, I powered down every device except the one I used to call Y/N.

I heard it in her voice- the quiet, the trembling.

She didn’t say thank you.

She didn’t say we did it.

Because this wasn’t a celebration.

It was survival.

But we weren’t going to cower.

So I told her, “Let’s go out today. Just us.”

She hesitated. “With people watching?”

I nodded. “Let them.”

We walked to the park- nothing fancy.

Sneakers. Sunglasses.

Eun Ae holding both our hands like the world hadn’t just exploded.

We got ice cream. Sat on a bench under a tree.

Watched our daughter chase butterflies and trip over her own shadow.

She laughed like she hadn’t just been turned into a trending topic.

Then it happened.

A girl, maybe eighteen, walked by on her phone.

She slowed down when she saw me. Sunglasses, hat. Still recognized me.

She wasn’t loud. But she had that look.

The I-know-who-you-are look.

The I’m-about-to-start-something look.

She paused in front of us.

For a second, I braced.

Then she saw Y/N.

Her mouth twisted.

“Oh my god, they’re here. I didn’t think it’d actually be real,” she muttered as she slowly passed. “She’s not even that pretty in person.”

Y/N froze beside me.

Then the girl’s eyes dropped to Eun Ae, who was sitting on the bench licking the edge of her cone.

“And that’s really their kid? Huh. Thought idols had standards.”

That was it.

I stood up.

She stopped walking, clearly waiting for a reaction.

I gave her one.

“She’s not a scandal,” I said quietly, stepping between her and my girls. “She’s my family.”

The girl blinked, caught off guard.

Then I added, cold and final:

“And you don’t get to have an opinion about them.”

She flushed red.

Didn’t say another word.

Just turned and walked fast in the other direction.

Y/N was still frozen. Eun Ae didn’t notice.

She was singing to her ice cream.

But me?

I never took my eyes off that path until the girl was gone.

Y/N exhaled beside me like she’d been holding her breath for an entire year.

We stayed at the park another hour.

Eun Ae made a crown out of dandelions.

Wore it like royalty.

On the walk home, she rode on my shoulders, humming some nonsense song about waffles and dragons and clouds with sunglasses.

I didn’t correct her.

When we got inside, Y/N said nothing just kissed me hard. Just thank you and I see you in the way her lips pressed to mine.

It wasn’t fiery or rushed. It was slow. Careful.

Like she was checking that I was really still here.

We didn’t say anything for a while.

Eun Ae ran off to find her pajamas, singing something about dandelions and dragons.

Y/N leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded, still watching the door long after Eun Ae disappeared down the hall.

Then she asked, barely above a whisper:

“How are you so calm?”

I looked at her.

Really looked.

She was still bracing.

Still scared the world might crack open again any second.

I walked toward her. Rested my hands on her hips. Let my forehead touch hers.

And I said, “Because I’ve already lost you once.”

She blinked, breath catching.

“There’s nothing scarier than that.”

═══════

That night, I checked the trending tab just once.

Just to know.

It wasn’t #Scandal.

It wasn’t even my name.

It was:

#JungkookFamily

I didn’t screenshot it.

Didn’t repost.

Didn’t text the members.

I just turned off my phone again.

Because the only thing I needed to see…

Was already asleep between us.

═══════

We were a week and a half from goodbye.

The suitcase was already out.

Unzipped. Half full. Still open on the bedroom floor like a wound that hadn’t stopped bleeding yet.

Jungkook was folding clothes while Eun Ae sang to herself in the hallway, pretending her stuffed flamingo could read Korean.

He looked so calm.

I hated that he looked calm.

“Are you excited?” I asked, not turning around.

He glanced up. “For the tour?”

“Yeah.”

He hesitated. “I mean, yeah. It’s a lot of prep but… I’m trying not to think too far ahead.”

I nodded like that made sense.

Like I hadn’t already spiraled through every worst-case scenario in my mind for the past six days.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

We were curled up in bed, lights off, Eun Ae asleep down the hall. And I just laid there, staring at the ceiling while his hand rested lightly on my hip.

“Do you think it’ll change?” I whispered.

He shifted slightly. “What?”

“This. Us. You being gone for a year. Press. Fans. Life getting louder again.”

He didn’t answer right away.

So I pushed.

“I’m scared.”

His arm tensed.

“Of what?” he asked.

I swallowed. “Of everything falling apart again.”

“We’re not the same people we were then, Y/N.”

“I know. But I haven’t been this happy in years. And that makes it worse. Because I don’t know what happens when you leave. What if the love changes? What if this only worked because it was… quiet? Hidden?”

I felt his whole body shift behind me.

“Wait,” he said. “You think this is going to fall apart because we’re finally living out loud?”

“I think I’m terrified,” I said. My voice cracked. “And I don’t know how to stop being terrified.”

He sat up.

“So talk to me. Tell me what you need.”

I sat up too, brushing hair behind my ear.

“I need to know I’m not going to be forgotten the second someone newer and shinier shows up on stage. Someone who will understand.”

His face twisted.

“Don’t do that.”

“It’s not about you,” I snapped. “It’s about me. I’m scared of being left again. Even if it’s different this time, even if I know you love me- I still wake up at 3 a.m. sometimes and think, what if I just imagined all of this?”

Jungkook didn’t speak. Not for a second.

Then- 

“I’ll bring you with me.”

“What?”

“Whenever I can. You and Eun Ae. If there’s a stop with a day off, you’ll be there. If it’s a long leg, I’ll fly you out. If it’s only three days, I’ll FaceTime you three times a day if that’s what you need.”

I tried to breathe.

“And when you can’t bring us?”

He leaned in. Pressed his forehead to mine.

“Then I’ll make sure you still feel like you’re in the room with me.”

“How?”

“I’ll write about you. I’ll talk about you. I’ll post you if you want, or never mention your name if that makes you feel safe. But I’ll never act like you don’t exist. Not ever again.”

My hands were shaking, but I nodded.

He kissed me. Gentle. Deep. Honest.

“We’re not hiding anymore, remember?” he whispered.

And that was the moment I broke.

Not because I didn’t believe him.

But because, for the first time, I did.

Jungkook’s words hung in the air like a promise, heavy and undeniable. I felt them settle into my chest, a weight that wasn’t oppressive but grounding. 

His forehead pressed against mine, his breath warm on my skin, and I realized I was trembling. Not from fear, but from the sheer force of his conviction. 

He meant it. 

Every word. 

Every vow to keep me and Eun Ae close, to make us a part of his world, no matter how chaotic it became.

“We’re not hiding anymore, remember?” he had whispered, his lips brushing mine with each syllable. 

The phrase was a mantra, a declaration that echoed in my mind. 

I nodded, my hands still shaking as they gripped his shoulders. He kissed me again- gentle, deep, and honest. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a seal, a pact between us. 

I felt the walls I’d built around my heart crumble, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but raw, unguarded trust.

When he pulled away, his eyes searched mine, as if to ensure I understood. And I did. My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard, my voice hoarse when I finally spoke. 

“I believe you,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

Jungkook’s gaze softened, and he cupped my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears I hadn’t realized were falling. “Good,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Because I’m not letting you go. Never again.”

The tension in the room shifted then, the weight of our conversation giving way to something else- something primal and urgent. 

His lips found mine again, but this time there was no gentleness. It was hungry, desperate, as if we were trying to devour each other whole. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, closer, until there was no space between us.

Without breaking the kiss, Jungkook moved on top of me. My legs spread, and I felt him press against me, his hardness a promise against my cunt. I moaned into his mouth, my body already aching for him. 

When he finally pulled away, it was only to trail kisses down my neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

“I need you,” he growled, his breath hot against my skin.

I didn’t hesitate. My hands went to the hem of his boxers. He helped me, his fingers working in tandem with mine until his boxers were sliding down his legs. He kicked them aside, and I wasted no time, flipping us over and sliding down his legs. 

His intake of breath was sharp as my hands wrapped around him, my fingers tracing the length of him. He was already hard, throbbing in my grip, and I smiled up at him, my heart racing. 

“You’re perfect,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re killing me,” he groaned, his hands tangling in my hair. 

But he didn’t stop me when I leaned forward, my lips brushing the tip of him. I took him into my mouth slowly, savoring the taste of him, the way he fit perfectly against my tongue. 

His hands tightened in my hair, but he didn’t pull, just held me there as I began to move, my lips sliding up and down his length.

Jungkook’s head fell back, a deep, guttural moan escaping his lips. “Fuck, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough. “You’re so good.”

I hummed from the compliment, my hands cupping his thighs as I deepened the rhythm, my mouth working him with a steady, relentless pace. His hips twitched, his body tensing as he fought for control. 

But it was short-lived.

“Stop,” he said abruptly, his voice strained. “Not like this.”

Before I could protest, he was pulling me back up, his hands gripping my waist as he turned me, pressing me face-down on the mattress. My heart pounded as I felt him behind me, his lips brushing the curve of my shoulder. 

“I need to taste you,” he murmured, his voice a low growl.

His hands slid up my thighs. I shivered as his breath ghosted over my cunt, his fingers teasing the edges of my panties before sliding them down my legs. 

I kicked them off, my body arching in anticipation.

“So wet,” he murmured, his fingers dipping between my folds, spreading me open for his mouth. “Always ready for me.”

His words sent a jolt of heat through me, and I gasped as his tongue pressed against me, firm and deliberate. He groaned, the vibration sending shivers through my body as he began to move, his tongue lapping at me with a rhythm that was both torturous and exquisite. 

My hands gripped the sheets, my nails digging into the fabric as he ate me out with a hunger that left me breathless.

“Kook,” I moaned, my voice breaking as his fingers slipped inside me, curling in a way that had me crying out. “Please-”

“Not yet,” he whispered, his lips brushing my clit as he spoke. “Not until you’re begging.”

His words were a challenge, and I met it head-on, my body arching into his touch as he drove me closer and closer to the edge. 

My breath came in short, sharp gasps, my muscles tightening as the pleasure built, relentless and overwhelming.

“Kook, I- ”

He didn’t let me finish. With a growl, he pulled away, his hands gripping my hips as he positioned himself behind me. I felt the head of his cock press against me, and I whimpered, my body aching for him.

“Ready for me?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Yes,” I gasped, my voice desperate. “Please, Kook- ”

He didn’t make me wait. 

With one thrust, he was inside me, filling me completely, and I cried out, my head falling back as he began to move. His hands gripped my hips, his fingers digging into my skin as he fucked me with a ferocity that matched the intensity of his words.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his lips brushing my ear. “Always mine. I’ll never hide you again, baby.”

His words sent a wave of emotion crashing over me, mingling with the physical pleasure until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. My body moved with his, our rhythms syncing as he drove into me, deeper and harder with each thrust.

“Kook- i’m close,” I panted, my voice trembling.

“Me too,” he groaned, his pace quickening. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel it.”

His words were all it took. 

My body tightened, the pleasure coiling tight before it snapped, sending me over the edge. 

I cried out, my walls clenching around him as I came, my orgasm ripping through me like a storm. Jungkook followed, his thrusts stuttering as he buried himself deep, his release hot and intense.

For a moment, we stayed like that, our bodies still trembling, our breaths ragged. 

Then, slowly, he pulled out, turning me to face him. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me into his chest, and I went willingly, my head resting on his shoulder.

“We’re okay,” he whispered, his lips brushing my forehead. “We’re going to be okay.”

I nodded, my fingers tracing the tattoos on his arm. “I know,” I murmured, my voice soft.

Jungkook’s lips found mine once more, gentle and sweet, I let the uncertainty fade, replaced by the steady, unwavering rhythm of his heartbeat against mine. 

That night I held him tighter than I ever had.

Because in eleven days, I’d have to learn how to let go without falling apart.

═══════

The last week blurred.

Between tour prep and press calls, security upgrades, and label meetings, it felt like I barely had time to breathe- let alone exist in the same room as Y/N and Eun Ae for more than a few hours.

But I made it happen.

Every night, I was home.

Every morning, I made breakfast.

I answered Eun Ae’s five million questions about airplanes.

I kissed Y/N in the kitchen, no matter how tired I was.

I slept with one arm around her and didn’t let go.

I paid for full-time private school security.

I gave Y/N emergency contacts in every city.

I wrote songs in secret. One about Eun Ae’s laugh, one about Y/N’s hands, one about the day they first forgave me.

And I made a promise I planned to keep:

They’d never be erased from my life again.

═══════

It was the night before I left.

We ordered takeout and watched a movie in the living room- all three of us tangled together in a blanket pile on the couch.

Eun Ae fell asleep halfway through. A piece of popcorn still clutched in her little hand.

I carried her to her room.

Y/N followed behind me, brushing hair from her daughter’s forehead, tucking the blanket up to her chin, and kissing her softly.

“She’s gonna miss you,” Y/N whispered.

“I’m gonna miss her more,” I whispered back.

We didn’t talk on the walk back to our bedroom. 

The air was thick with things neither of us could say without breaking. Every step felt heavy, like we were carrying the weight of the world between us. 

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was necessary.

It was the kind of quiet that comes when two people are so full of emotion that words would only cheapen it.

Once the door closed behind us, I turned to face her.

She didn’t speak. 

Neither did I. 

There was no need. 

We both knew what this moment meant. 

I took a step toward her, and she met me halfway, her eyes searching mine like they were trying to memorize every detail. 

I pulled her into my arms, and we kissed like we were trying to imprint each other into our souls. Her hands shook against my chest, and I felt the tremors like they were my own. My fingers curled into her hair, holding her close, afraid to let go, even for a second.

She pulled down my boxers, and I let it fall to the floor without a second thought. My skin tingled where her hands brushed against it, and I shivered, not from the cool air but from the intensity of her touch. 

I took off her nightgown slowly, my fingers grazing her skin as the fabric fell. She stepped out of it, and I let it pool at her feet, my eyes drinking in the sight of her. 

She was so beautiful, so real, and in that moment, I felt like the luckiest man alive.

We fell into bed slowly, every movement deliberate, like we were choreographing a dance. 

It wasn’t about haste; it was about worship. 

Every touch was a promise. 

Every breath a plea to wait, to savor this moment, to make it last forever. 

I traced the curve of her jaw with my thumb, my fingers lingering on the softness of her skin. She closed her eyes, leaning into my touch, and I felt her body relax under my hands.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“I love you too,” I replied, my lips brushing against hers. “Always.”

Her hands moved down my chest, her touch sending sparks through my body. I groaned softly, my head falling back as she traced the muscles of my abdomen. 

She smiled against my skin, her breath warm and teasing. I reached for her, pulling her closer, my hands roaming over her body like I was mapping every inch of her. She arched into my touch, her moans music to my ears.

“You’re so beautiful,” I murmured, my lips finding hers again. “So fucking perfect.”

I kissed her deeply, pouring every ounce of love and desire into that touch. Her body moved against mine, her curves fitting perfectly into my embrace. 

I could feel her heart racing, her breath coming in short gasps, and I knew she felt it too- this overwhelming connection that went beyond words.

I moved my lips down her neck, savoring the taste of her skin. She tilted her head back, giving me better access, and I smiled against her, my hands roaming lower. 

I cupped her ass, lifting her onto me, and she moaned, her hips grinding against mine. 

I could feel her wetness, and I groaned, my control slipping.

“Fuck, I want you,” I whispered, my lips brushing against her ear.

She shivered, her hands gripping my shoulders. “Please.”

I would do anything she ever asked. 

I moved between her legs, my hands guiding her as I positioned myself at her entrance. She was already wet, her body ready for me, and I teased her, my tip pressing against her before slowly sliding inside. She gasped, her nails digging into my back, and I paused, giving her a moment to adjust.

“You okay?” I asked, my voice rough with need.

She nodded, her eyes locked on mine. “Don’t stop.”

I didn’t. 

I thrust into her slowly, savoring the way she felt around me. Her walls clenched, her body welcoming mine, and I groaned, my head falling back as pleasure washed over me. I set a steady rhythm, each thrust deliberate, each movement a declaration of love. She met me with equal fervor, her hips rising to meet mine, her moans filling the room.

It was slow.

Worship.

A farewell in skin.

Every touch was a promise.

Every breath said wait for me.

Every whispered I love you was a thread tying us tighter than before.

“Kook,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I- I’m close.”

I smiled, my lips finding hers. “Me too, baby. Cum with me.”

Her body tightened around me, her breath hitching as she cried out my name. I followed soon after, my release overwhelming, my heart pounding in my chest. I collapsed onto her, my weight careful not to crush her, and she wrapped her arms around me, holding me close.

We lay there for a moment, our hearts slowing, our breaths evening out. I kissed her forehead, my fingers tracing patterns on her skin. 

She cried at the end.

Not a breakdown. Not sobbing.

Just quiet tears that slipped down her cheeks as I held her and kissed her temple and whispered, “You’ve got me. You always will.”

“I don’t want to do this without you,” she said, voice raw.

“You won’t,” I promised. “You never will again.”

We laid there for a long time.

No more countdowns.

No more planning.

No more pretending it wasn’t going to hurt.

I held her until she fell asleep.

Then I stared at the ceiling in the dark- one arm wrapped around the girl I thought I’d lost, my other hand resting in the warm space where our daughter would sometimes sleep when she had a nightmare at 3AM.

Tomorrow, I leave.

But tonight?

Tonight, I was still home.

═══════

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These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

═══════

Posted: 07/29/2025

Taglist: @mar-lo-pap @lovingkoalaface @whoa-jo @kiliskywalker666 @sucker4jeon @annpeachy-blog @kaiparkerwifes @nikkinikj @asyr97 @jjkluver7 @bammbi-jeon127 @kookoo-kachoo @angelsdecalcomania @kayswatanabe @kelsyx33 @tatamicc @llallaaa @chromietriestowrite @k1ll1ngcl0wns @jahnaviii @mfsitscho @traumaanatomy @yu-justme @bangtaniess @roseda @hottigerboba @xumyboo @bangtansfav-7 @ggukieskookie @granataepfelchen @blubird592 @mellyyyyyyx @gukkiemybaby @likeesapphire @magicalnachocreator @suker4angst @taetaecatboy @somehowukook @busanbby-jjk @ecomidnight @cuntessaiii @jungshaking @nbjch05 @baechugff @jakiki94 @songbyeonkim @xmiaacxio @smoljimjim @welcometomyworld13 @marihoneywk @fiddlebiddls @battlingmyowndemons @rinkud @withluvjm

[stellaspectral]

Hello!

So I've recently read your 'Drawn to you' 2014/2016 Raph and I LOVED IT. So I was hoping I could ask you could write something for me.

So recently I got sick, nothing to bad just a stomach bug, but it was right before I started my period. Which cause some of the worse period experiences I've ever had. To the point where even though I had taken pain meds, the extreme pain woke me up. And even my usual methods of taking a hot shower didn't work, in fact I rain out of hot water.

So I was wondering if you could write about how the turtles, particularly ❤Raph❤ and Mikey, would take care of their partner when their having horrible period pains. Like would they wash them, massage them, hold them, wipe their tears, and so on.

I know it may seem odd but I wished I had someone to at the very least get me, my heating pad.

Thank you in advance and seriously I love your work!!!

A/N: It makes me really happy you love my work! And I’m so sorry about the period pain; I get very ill during mine because I have a reproductive disorder. And being sick with something else on top of that is torture 😓

For this, I decided to do headcanons with all four of the Bayverse turts. I hope you like it! 😊 (And PS: I hope you feel better!)

Bay!Turts & Their SO’s Period Pain

💚 Bayverse Turtles/AFAB Reader 💚

CWs: Descriptions of period pain and everything that it entails. But nothing too graphic; only mild details. All characters are aged-up.

LEO

Leo approaches your pain like a mission that needs a strategy. He’s the one who keeps track of your cycle on a private calendar—with your permission, of course—so he’s often prepared before you are.

He notices the subtle signs of your period approaching before you do: the slight irritability, the fatigue behind your eyes. He won’t point it out, but he’ll start steering you toward calmer activities, suggesting a movie night instead of a late-night patrol or taking over dinner duties so you can rest. When he sees you slowing down, he’s already there with a glass of water and painkillers.

He’s the one who ensures the lair stays quiet. He’ll give his brothers a single, stern look that silences any impending arguments or loud video game sessions. Your comfort is his top priority.

He isn’t a naturally touchy-feely person, but that changes when you’re in pain. He’ll sit behind you on the couch, letting you lean your full weight against his plastron as he gently wraps his arms around you. His hands come to rest over your abdomen, providing a steady, comforting pressure.

He draws a warm bath for you, ensuring the water is just right. He washes your back carefully, letting you lean against his chest if you’re too tired to sit upright. You melt into his hold as he cradles you, his hands soothing the ache across your abdomen and back.

If you cry from the sheer exhaustion and agony of it all, he remains silent and steady. Using the pad of his thumb, he gently wipes the tears from your cheeks. He won’t offer platitudes; his presence alone says, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

RAPH

Raph hates seeing you in pain and feels utterly powerless to punch it into submission. So, he channels that protective frustration into physical, grounding care.

He’s your fierce guardian, a protector through and through. Though always a second away from snapping at anyone who even thinks about upsetting you, his anger falters the moment your tears fall. He isn’t good with soft things—but for you, he tries. He pulls you close and presses his forehead to yours, breathing slowly and steadily, as if trying to calm you with his own rhythm.

He is your living weighted blanket. When the cramps are so bad you can’t move, he’ll gently lift and carry you to bed—his or yours—and settle you against him. He drapes an arm over your middle, his size and warmth becoming a comforting anchor in the storm of pain.

He gives you massages. He’ll have you lie on your stomach, using the heels of his hands to press deep into your lower back and work out the aching tension with focused intensity. Though he might grumble under his breath about “stupid biology,” his touch is nothing but careful.

He will help you to the bath. If you’re too weak to stand for long, he’ll sit on a stool beside the tub and wash your hair for you. With slow, deliberate movements, his fingers gently scrub your scalp and make sure you feel clean.

He’s the one who will look you dead in the eye when you feel at your lowest and say, “You’re a damn warrior for goin’ through this.” He genuinely admires your strength, and hearing it from him, the toughest person you know, makes you believe it, too.

DONNIE

Donnie’s approach to your pain is both scientific and practical. Having researched the biological processes extensively, he comes armed with data-driven solutions to ensure your comfort.

He has a complete system in place. He not only tracks your cycle (with permission) but also keeps a dedicated supply bag stocked with your preferred pads/tampons, painkillers, and specialized teas. His research is so thorough that he has even determined the precise water temperature required to soothe your cramps.

He is the master of remedies. Knowing exactly which herbal teas have anti-inflammatory properties, he will brew you a cup while explaining the benefits as you sip. He also ensures you’re taking the most effective, non-drowsy pain relief, precisely tailored to your specific symptoms.

He has engineered the perfect heating pad. Dismissing store-bought models as crude and inefficient, he custom-built a device that contours perfectly to your abdomen and lower back. It maintains a precise, optimal temperature, all of which he can monitor and adjust when needed.

He’ll hold you in a way that is mechanically perfect for pain relief. He positions each pillow for optimal spinal support, then arranges his own limbs to apply warmth and pressure exactly where it’s needed most. All the while, he’ll murmur facts about how pressure points can ease uterine contractions.

When you cry, he gently cups your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears. “I wish I could take the pain instead of you,” he murmurs. His quiet sincerity eases the weight on your chest, a reminder that while he cannot fix this, you are not carrying the burden alone.

MIKEY

Mikey’s goal is to soothe your pain with comfort, distraction, and a whole lot of love. He’s the most emotionally intuitive of his brothers and knows that sometimes, you just need to be coddled.

He builds you the ultimate “pain nest”: a mountain of every soft blanket and pillow he can find in the lair, all piled high in front of the main screen. He then tucks you in, fussing over the arrangement until you’re perfectly snug.

He becomes your personal entertainment and snack courier. He’ll queue up a marathon of your favorite comfort movies or shows and deliver a steady supply of your favorite snacks. Ice cream, chips, chocolate, pizza—whatever you crave, he will hunt it down for you, no questions asked.

He’s completely unfazed by the messier aspects of a period. If you need help changing or cleaning up, he’s there in a heartbeat with fresh sweatpants and a warm, damp cloth. He treats it all with such gentle normalcy that there is simply no room for embarrassment.

When a vicious cramp makes you cry out, he’s there, holding your hand and letting you squeeze as hard as you need. He presses his forehead to yours, whispering, “I’m right here. Just breathe with me. You got this.” He anchors you, helping you ride the wave of pain instead of drowning in it.

When you cry, he lies down facing you, wiping away your tears while making goofy faces, until a small smile finally breaks through. He’ll then rest his head near your stomach, humming softly or telling a rambling, silly story meant purely for distraction. His warmth and relentless affection are a powerful medicine all on their own.

[dalliancekay]

To Protect

To summarise today's thoughts: Aziraphale just learned that Crowley was in Heaven all night, and apparently saw Metatron, right? Aziraphale does not know that Crowley saw Heaven tried to initiate Second Coming already (which they both knew and expressed worry about in S1). And we don't know what Metatron knows or what he saw of the events that just transpired.

My questions are:

What does Aziraphale mean by 'making his position clear'? When was that? I think Aziraphale means after his failed execution, meaning he'd like to be left alone and apart from Heaven and that has not changed.

Why didn't he nor the Archangels recognise Metatron at first though?

Aziraphale is very confused by the notion of Metatron giving him coffee, and he does pause at the description of it (we have no evidence that Aziraphale likes almonds or would prefer oat milk, so those words definitely are warnings to heed imo).

So why is Metatron warning Aziraphale? He could have just make him have a chat, no 'coffee from the shop' required. ("Are you going to take it?" Coffee or Death?) Is he pretending to be nice to get Aziraphale to come quietly?

"No one's ever given me anything before."

I know people think Metatron is (easily) manipulating Aziraphale by giving him something, by saying he 'ingested' things in 'his time', etc. But I don't think Aziraphale is easily manipulated. He's the one who (manipulates, or, as I don't like that word applied to Aziraphale as it's heavily misused imo - likes to get his way and knows how to tempt) saw what Heaven was, clearly, even before Crowley started up his Nebula.

Is Aziraphale less cynical than Crowley? Absolutely. Is he more trusting (of humans)? Yes. Is he more hopeful? Also yes.* But he is not easily manipulated. And he knows what Heaven is. *Are these negative qualities? No.

When Aziraphale looks back to Crowley, I think it's a mix of things, but he is not asking for permission as some metas would have him do (or as Crowley seems to assume?) - like that's not how our couple operates at all, why would he ask Crowley if he can go?

Just minutes earlier, Crowley asked Aziraphale if he'll be alright with the Archangels and Demons in his shop while he pops out with the humans and Aziraphale reassured him that he'll be fine. And he was fine. Why isn't Crowley asking if Aziraphale will be fine with Metatron? Surely that's a step up? And Aziraphale is visibly nervous, almost stuttering.

This is after his partner started a war protecting their home and the second to last boss of everything showed up wanting a chat with him. It's very strange. To me, Aziraphale's behaviour was never odd in F15. Crowley's was. I think Aziraphale hoped a little that Crowley will use his ADHD jumping charms to come with, much like he understood the assignment in the pub. But Crowley just sits there and waves his hand.

Crowley seems to think everything will back to normal after all that and they'll go for a boozy breakfast. Not plan how to stop the new Armageddon or talk about what happened to 'Jim' who almost got wiped out. Or whether any punishment is waiting for them after all they've done. Again.

Aziraphale seems to check 3 times that Metatron is following him after he fails to get Crowley to engage. At some point when I saw that, I thought he was eager to get Metatron to follow him away, even if he did not quite see that creepy smile (which still does not seem to rouse Crowley's suspicions). Crowley can't possibly think that Metatron would only have beef with him so if he stays away, it'll be fine (?). Aziraphale's behaviour reminds me of, sorry to mention abuse (in general) but Aziraphale right then acts like someone leading a violent/angry/revenging person away from someone they love and care about to take on whatever punishment is coming by themselves.

I mean Aziraphale didn't know what Metatron wanted. What did Metatron come for? He interrupted Michael who was talking about punishing Aziraphale for helping Gabe. Was he coming to punish him for starting a war instead? Or both?

But now Aziraphale probably thought as well - what if Metatron is here to punish Crowley for whatever he did in Heaven (even for just basically breaking in there in the first place) since Aziraphale did not know what Crowley did there.

Two years on and still so many questions.

[rear-naked-chokehold]

Are we ready for the UFC thirst compass?

As a girlie who likes UFC fighters, one cardinal rule I try to follow is to separate my mind from my pussy. [In other words, there are active fighters that I love to write about, and then proceed to never bet on.] What do y'all think?

Also, I was THIS close to posting a version with a third axis labelled: "Do I think they're a fundamentally good person, like in real life." Though I run my account for light-hearted fun, I kinda do think it's important to have subtle reminders that stuff like fanfiction is rooted in fantasy, which is distinct from appreciating MMA as a sport, and more importantly, is distinct from what we think about a fighter's politics/morality. Those three things sometimes mix in ways we can't always control... (Like I can't help it, I want these conservative fighters from Dagestan so bad even when they sometimes chat such mad shit 😭) But I hope we feel empowered to call out fighters on their bullshit while giving each other the permission to explore fantasy without shame.

I hope this post actually makes some of you more comfortable reading my stuff. Like, you now know I'm not some weird apologist for far-right views, AND I'm also quite happy to write about fighters that give you tingly feelings!

That said, my controversial takes on this compass might be:

Usman Nurmagomedov: Yeah, I just saw him against Paul Hughes and I think he didn't look impressive against a well-rounded, well-prepared fighter who wasn't afraid to push forward. The UFC is a whole different league in terms of quality, and many champions have struggled to make the transition. I think Usman would struggle ESPECIALLY in the UFC's hyper-competitive lightweight division.

Umar Nurmagomedov and Merab Dvalishvili: I know there are a lot of Merab haters out there – but you cannot deny that he has an insane record. Umar broke his hand and that sucks, but breaking your hand in a fight is still on you, man. But I would totally watch the Hell out of a rematch! (I also don't care what anyone says. Maxxing your skill points in conditioning IS a valid MMA strategy.)

Shara Magomedov: A super entertaining fighter, for sure. But the MVP fight showed that he deals quite poorly with a skilled fighter who pushes forward. They fed him a can in the recent Abu Dhabi card, and he still got his nose absolutely destroyed.

Sean Strickland: Yeah I know that he's a former champion but he has shown little to no willingness to evolve his strategy in any way, even for the DDP fight. Like teep kicking and the Philly shell might have worked in previous years, but people have developed responses to it now, and Strickland has stubbornly refused to acknowledge that. I also think his style makes for terrible watching – when it works, it makes BOTH fighters look quite bad.

BONUS: No one asked but Pantoja is so slept on on BOTH axes. Like he's fucking hot, and not just in a patronising "yay for short kings" way. Like, if the guy doused me in gasoline before lighting me on fire, and I'd say thank you. Do yourself a favour and watch this.

[venusbyline-blog]

#ask

what do you feel about accidental pissing?

-

aegon mocked his sister for not being able to control her bladder when he overstimulate her

i won't lie guys, accidental pissing and forced pissing are my fav things about writing piss kink scenes 🤭🤭

⚠️: SMUT & DARK CONTENT. dark!Aegon II Targaryen, little sister!reader, Targcest (older brother/younger sister), kinda dubcon, underage sex, reader is 16, Aegon's age isn't mentioned but he's older, rough oral sex (female receiving), cunnilingus, piss kink, accidental pissing, vaginal fingering, forced orgasm, overstimulation, degradation kink, dacryphilia, corruption kink, reader is kinda inexperienced yet, Aegon and Helaena aren't married, open ending, canon divergence, porn without plot. no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

For Aegon, there was nothing better than taking a few hours out of his days to devote himself to eat his little sister out.

Ever since you had the first moon blood, Aegon had always been closer to you, and it was not until you turned sixteen that he could start introducing you to new experiences, since he could not marry you yet.

Although he was more of a receiver than a giver when he was fucking whores or forcing himself on some servants of the Red Keep in the past, now Aegon preferred to dedicate himself completely to giving you pleasure rather than letting you overwork your innocent little brain.

That is why he loved spending hours between your legs, licking your pretty cunt as if it were the finest feast of the Seven Kingdoms, made especially for him.

There was nothing as arousing as giving you a rough oral sex and watching you whimper and beg him to stop, yet more if you felt so overstimulated you could not control your own bladder.

"You can handle it, cannot you? You told me you are a big girl, not a child anymore." Aegon teased, pulling his face away a few inches to catch a breath.

Two thick fingers were thrust inside your cunt, holding them still so Aegon could give you a brief respite. You were already so soaked that your juices were running down your inner thighs, turning them into a sticky mess quite humiliating.

"I-I am a big girl, brother. But— mmm, it's t-too much!" Those words were so whiny that it would have been difficult for anyone else to understand what they meant, but Aegon was a different story. He always understood anything his little girl said. No one knew you better than your older brother.

He knew you so well that he already noticed your bladder was getting fuller and about to "explode."

Then he fucked one more finger inside you too, his lips moving toward that swollen little bud to suck on it softly, as if it were a cute small fruit.

"A-Aegon! It feels so good, brother!" Your hands lowered to his messy silver hair, leaving it tangled as you pushed his head harder against your needy core, body wanting him to lick you to death and sane conscience trying to remind you how overstimulated you were already.

Without stopping his ministrations, Aegon frowned as he felt you almost fucking yourself against his face, hips rocking and leaning forward to chase your orgasm, forgetting about the inexistence of his full permission. Gods, you were really trying to control your own overstimulation, as if that would give you better control of your bladder.

Aegon would not let that happen, obviously. He was the one in charge, and if you thought just one more orgasm would be enough to make him stop, you were sorely mistaken. You were his little girl and you needed to learn to take what he gave to you, not the other way around.

If you had been overly sensitive before, everything got worse after that. One more orgasm turned into two, then three, then four...

As soon as you reached the fifth one, you cried in panic, legs kicking in vain and body writhing. You looked like young whores losing their maidenheads in their first night working in cheap brothels, all of them unprepared for the world's cruelty.

"I cannot do it anymore! P-Pleaseee brother, stop!" You sobbed, unable to push his head away from you, smaller hands too weak to fight back. "Please please please! I am feeling too sensitive! I am going to pee here if you do not stop!"

You were clearly desperate to pee: abdomen was slightly bulging due to your full bladder, and Aegon could not help but chuckle at that sight, the muffled sound sending vibrations against your throbbing, abused clit.

There was no need to even respond, just few more licks and then you cried out loud, a complete mess of cumming and peeing happening simultaneously.

"N-No, n-no... It was an accident, I am sorry!" You whimpered, drool dripping down your chin.

Meanwhile, Aegon found it impossible to hide his amusement. He laughed wide-eyed, the back of his hand wiping his face all wet with the pee jets. It should have been a disgusting experience, but the way you cried, your cheeks flushed...

"Fuck, did you just piss yourself on me? How old are you, little sister? Five?"

You did not defend yourself against those teasing mockeries, turning your head to the side and whimpering, your body still shaking due to the recent orgasm. After a few minutes, Aegon heard a sad voice whispering. "It was an accident..."

"Big girls do not have accidents, sister. So I guess you are still a dumb little girl."

[bravehyde]

could you link a source to back up the google docs post? I find it very easy to believe but a source or other confirmation would be helpful

linking this since it was the first ask I saw and answered: https://www.tumblr.com/bravehyde/790422701153157120/hi-can-we-have-any-sort-of-source-about-the

AI coming through our google drives and reading our stuff without permission has been happening for a while. Google implemented their AI service, Gemini, in a way where it cannot be turned off. Gemini comes with “safety features” to block “harmful content”.

This is what is considered prohibited use according to their privacy and terms:

And of course, Google’s AI can see our information, because we give it to them. By using their products, you give them information that they collect for their own purposes. This is a long documented phenomenon that did not start with AI, but has certainly reached a new level of concerning as a result.

This has been their business model for years. They scan your documents, your shared images and videos, your search queries, and they use it. This is plainly stated in their privacy policy.

It’s to sell to advertisers to give you personalized advertisements. It’s also so they can cover their own asses if someone shares illegal content (such as CP) on their servers. Their terms of service dictate that they will remove anything distributed under their services that violate their terms, and in order to find out if it violates it, they have to scan it. They claim it is not used to train their software (I found conflicting info on whether this is true, but it’s what their ToS on AI say), but that doesn’t mean they don’t look at it or decide to get rid of it.

This is how drives that have pirated shows and movies are taken down. They are scanned, flagged, and removed. Yes, someone CAN report it for them, but now we’ve reached the stage of AI doing it instead. There are very few regulations on this at least in the US, and the practice of looking at our so-called “protected” information for advertising or safety measures is such an open secret I had to do multiple projects on it in school when taking journalism/mass media classes. Hell, just look for yourself on how Google makes money and they proudly explain that accounts are on a constant betting war for individualized advertisements.

I know this was mainly about how they’re doing this NOW, but I think it’s equally important to know they’ve been gearing up to this and it was the most natural evolutionary step. It’s hard for me to source my personal experience, but I certainly can source that they have the power to do this at all. Tristan Harris, former Design Ethicist at Google, first released his concerns over Google’s monopoly over our information and minds in 2013.

Google has only grown in power since then. I’m just going to link some stuff about general AI and Google ethical implications now because I don’t know where to take this. Even if you don’t believe my personal account, I’d heavily encourage doing research on what Google can do with what you’ve already given to them, and decide for yourself if it’s worth the convenience.

[cryingatwindermerepeaks]

i love your chronic pain laura lee board!! it gave me so many thoughts so i hope you don't mind me dumping a few here.

but i imagine laura lee would really benefit from a wheelchair long term, even if she can still walk. in the US, wheelchairs are so expensive and they take so long to get (it takes about 6 months minimum and that's just to have it built) so normally people will get a temporary standard hospital chair first.

but they're SO bulky and uncomfortable and they're not made to be self propelled. you can get some really brutal bruises on your arms from trying (speaking from experience lol) and it makes the upper body pain a lot worse.

anyways - laura lee feeling kind of down about her hospital chair. it feels so overtly medical and kind of scary sometimes when really, she needs comfort more than anything. so lottie, jackie, and misty, who have always been the most crafty, help her make it a bit more personal. they find a big pillow to use as a seat cushion and use soft pastel fabrics to cover the arm rests. the four of them also go through sticker packs and carefully select ones to put on the sides - making sure laura lee is okay with the placement before actually sticking them down.

when they go out, the person who pushes her varies because it depends on who's feeling big and who laura lee wants (typically lottie, but if lottie's also small, she wouldn't be able to push it). but it's always a really big display of trust for her to allow someone to push her, so it's a job they all take really seriously.

(i also imagine they'd have talks as a group about not touching the chair without laura lee's permission - the same way you wouldn't touch someone's body without permission)

anyways i'm sorry this is so long lol - just got inspired by your post

I absolutely adore this!! Laura Lee would get so upset about it at first - especially when she’s small. But she’d feel so bad saying anything about it because she knows there isn’t really anything the others can do and she feels bad complaining when she knows theu are trying to help her get a better chair. Lottie eventually figures it out when she tries to help a little Laura Lee into her chair and she just starts crying. They go out and help her pick fabrics for her - she’d probably pick like a pastel yellow floral one and a soft pink pillow which Lottie embroiders Laura Lee’s initials and a little flower into. They pick heaps of stickers from the sticker box - some little flowers, bears, and gems! Laura Lee has so much fun getting to pick where they each go. They also might tie pretty yellow and lace ribbons onto the handles. Jackie also puts her skills from building Sylvanian family houses to the test and with Tai’s help theu construct Leonard a little chair so he can match Laura Lee!

I imagine she could sometimes be a bit specific about who is allowed to push her chair because it really depends on who she feels safest witj at any time and who she wants near her in public incase someone is giving her a weird look or she’s just feelings a bit sensitive. Usually it is Lottie, though Van is a good option if Lottie is too small. Sometimes the littles will come up to her and ask if maybe they could have a go pushing the chair - sometimes she says no but also sometimes she will say yes because she knows they just want to be able to help her out! If, for example, little Van is really anxious to go out because there might be a dog, Laura Lee will ask her to push the chair because it makes her really focused and super grown up!