#I’m not giving up despite how late it is

[glamorizethechaos]

Bruised Pt 3 | Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: When you find yourself in an abusive relationship, you never thought your attending Jack Abbot would become your protector and saving grace.

TW: domestic violence, age gap relationship (reader is in late 20s & Jack is 49), hospital setting, surgery, medical inaccuracies, nudity, fluff, angst, eventual smut, Not beta read. Likely typos. Lmk if there is anything else!

Word Count: 3.2k

Authors Note: I’m so sorry it took so long to get this part up! I’ve been so busy with work, and my kids. Then it was my anniversary, my husband’s birthday and Father’s Day, so I’ve been running around like crazy. Whenever I get a minute to relax I’m just been sooo tired. This chapter isn’t my favorite at all, I didn’t want it to be too medical considering I have a history degree and have no medical background (aside from my hypochondria and time spent on webmd). So consider this to be a filler chapter I guess? Hope next chapter is good and perhaps a little smutty 🫦

Prev | Next

Feel

You felt the tether of all the wires connecting you to the countless monitors. The burn of the IVs embedded into your skin. Then the pain. The utter indescribable pain. Your head pounded, your body stiff. The slow trickle of cerebrospinal fluid from your nose was now coating your lips. You want to wipe it away, but your hands are too heavy, your fingers tingling. Your face feels cold despite the sweat that covered your body. The cold offering comfort in the chaos.

Taste

Your mouth was so incredibly dry that it was difficult to swallow. Your tongue almost sticking to the roof of your mouth, peeling it away giving the sensation of velcro. The only thing that offered temporary moisture was the salty spinal fluid that seeped into your mouth. All you could crave was water.

Smell

It all smelled so sterile. The metallic smell of dried blood, your dried blood, mixed with iodine. Had you had surgery? Why were you covered in iodine?

Sound

The beeps and clicks of the monitors were a constant, but words around you were muffled, as if you were drowning under water. As the words ebbed and flowed, you managed to make out some in all of the chaos.

“Basilar skull fracture”

“Post- traumatic seizures”

“Subdural hematoma”

“Craniotomy”

No. No. No. No. Please God no. This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t possibly be happening; but the memories begin flooding back with each passing moment. You are back in the trauma room where can hear the sound of your skull cracking as Charlie’s hands gripped your throat and bashed your head against the wall. You can hear the sound of Jacks fist making contact with flesh, Robby’s screams, and Charlie’s groans.

Sight

Darkness. You only saw black. Your eyelids feeling as if they were being held shut by some unknown force. No matter how hard you tried, they wouldn’t budge. Jacks voice enters the room and you want so desperately to open your eyes, tell him you’re okay, you’re alive. He must know you’re trying because you feel his hand in yours in an instant, squeezing it lightly and assuring you it’s alright. That it’s just the swelling around your eyes. Was that the cold you felt on your face? Was that Jack holding a compress to your eyes?

————————————————————————

With an unknown lapse in time, your eyes began to flutter open. Your vision blurry, the bright lights making them immediately shut again. While you couldn't see him, you knew he was there.

"J-" you were taken aback by how hoarse your voice was, your mouth and throat so dry that little sound came out. Before you knew it, you felt the comfort and warmth of his hands. Hesitantly he traced his rough fingertips along your jaw and down your bruised neck.

"I'm here." he whispered.

"Hurts" was all you could muster, god you needed some water.

"I know it hurts, we can get you some more morphine in about an hour."

You shook your head, reaching out with trembling hands to find his. You opened his palm and slowly traced each letter:

L - I - G - H -T

You heard Jack scurry to turn the light off, and only when the world felt less harsh your eyes opened slowly. He looked exhausted, he hadn't shaved, hair disheveled, cheeks sunken, but he smiled at you softly. Bringing his your hand up to his mouth, he shut his eyes and placed a tender kiss on the back of it, the ring on your finger still taunting you. He helped bring a glass of water to your lips, trickling down your throat, washing away the salty and metallic taste.

"Jack..." you finally whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. "Wh-wh-- h-ha " for some reason the words didnt come. You shut your eyes tightly again, trying to focus on what you wanted to say, what you needed to say. Its as if your mine and body were no longer working in sync.

"Hey, hey, slow down, it's normal to have a bit of aphasia after a brain injury. It'll come back to you soon enough." Jack assured you as the panic began to fill your eyes. "You can squeeze my hands once for yes, two for no. Okay?"

One Squeeze.

"Good..." Jack smiled a toothy grin, "Let's figure out what you remember... okay?"

One Squeeze

"Do you remember what happened at Pittfest?"

One Squeeze

"Do you remember Charlie? What he did to you?"

One Squeeze

"Do you remember going up for CT?"

Two Squeezes

Jack looked down, trying to figure out how to tell you all that happened when your eyes fluttered shut in his arms. He wanted to block the memory from his mind. The way your body grew rigid and clonic before you even made it to radiology.

"Charlie caused a basilar skull fracture, which caused you to have the CSF rhinorrhea. It's getting better, you just gotta stay flat for a while." You hadn't even noticed the trickle from your nose had almost gone to a standstill.

"Taking you up to CT, you started having a seizure, you had one last night too. Imagining found a subdural hematoma. Walsh had to do a craniotomy to relieve the pressure..."

Your hand immediately reached for the back of your head, feeling for the incision. You felt the bald patch, the stubble pricking your fingers and they traced along the staples. You stopped counting after 10 staples.

"She left as much as she could... it'll grow back. Come on don't look like that." Jack whispered, wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

"See?" you asked, pointing to your face.

Jack pulled his phone from his pocket and turned on the front facing camera. Holding the phone in front of your face, you gasped loudly. Your eyes were black and swollen, your neck bruised, tacky spinal fluid crusted on your lips and chin. A sob stuck in your throat and you shut your eyes, not wanting to look at your reflection any longer.

"Hey, hey, none of that. You're still my pretty girl, right?" he cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to face him. "Open your eyes. Look at me. The cuts will heal, the hair will grow back, and the bruising with fade. You are still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." His hazel eyes were glassy and exhausted, but he looked genuine; like he meant every word that was coming out of his mouth.

Your chest ached at his words, the world standing still. His pretty girl. The woman that looked back at you in the mirror was far from that. You saw a battered woman, a lost woman, a broken woman. Yet Jack looked at you like you were the most beautiful woman in the world. Behind those tired eyes of his, he looked at you with nothing but complete adoration. How? Why?

“Charlie?” The words seemed to come easier to you now, like Jack had promised. It took everything for him not to explode at the mere mention of that man’s name. The man who hurt the woman he loved.

“He’s here. In the ICU.”

“I want to see him.” You whispered firmly, throat still hoarse.

“I dont think th-“

“Jack, please.”

Jack pressed his back against his chair, his shoulders slumping forward a bit, almost in defeat. He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his chin, and you heard the scratch of the hair on his rough skin. With some hesitation, he stood and fetched a wheelchair.

"I'm gonna sit you up slowly, okay?" he said softly, looping his arms under your armpits to slowly guide you up. It felt like the room was spinning, all the blood rushing to your head. You let out a small cry from the pain, resting your head into the crook of his neck as you adjusted. When you were ready, he lifted you into the chair and began to push you down the hallway. Stopping outside his room Jack sighed.

"I dont know if its a good idea if I go in there." he wanted nothing more than to finish the job, break every bone in that mans body.

"Please, Jack. I need you."

With a nod, Jack used his back to push the door open and wheel you inside, trying not to jostle you around too much. Seeing him there in bed was a shock. His jaw was wired shut, an NG tube down his nose, his face nearly unrecognizable. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, and you stared at Jack in awe of the damage he had done, for you.

Charlies head turned, eyes widening and heart rate increasing at the presence of Jack Abbot. For a moment, you almost pitied the man, your heart somehow still ached for him. With a nod, Jack wheeled you to the edge of the bed, him gripping the handles so firmly his knuckled were now white. His jaw was clenched shut, he said nothing, but his eyes said everything.

In one fluid motion you took off your engagement ring, twiddling it in you hands. Your finger felt naked, the ring that has been there for 2 years was now gone.

"Give me your hand Charlie." you demanded, before firmly grabbing it yourself, pressing the ring firmly into the palm of his hand. Your jaw was tight, you spoke through gritted teeth. "I stayed because I hoped things would change. I told myself it wasn’t that bad. That I could fix it. Fix you. But you hurt me. Over and over and over again. With your words, with your fists, with how small you made me feel." tears began to soak your cheeks as the words spilled into the air.

"Every day I tried to survive it. Every time you grabbed me, shoved me, screamed in my face—every time you told me no one else would want me—I believed you. But thats not true, Charlie." you looked back at Jack who was studying your every movement and every expression. Through the anger, through the tears, through the heartbreak, you smiled softly at Jack who looked at you with pain in his eyes.

"You hurt me for the last time." finally letting go, the ring you pressed into his hand left an indent in your palm, and you watched it slowly fade away. You knew that Charlie would leave a permanent mark on you. The scars that would remain, the trauma that would persist, those wouldnt go away. But watching the outline of your once promise slowly dissipate made this real.

"I feel sick Jack." you choked, and he swiftly pushed you out of the room into the hall. You were pale, diaphoretic, and trying to catch your breath.

"Tell me what hurts." Jack switching from protector to doctor in a matter of seconds.

"I cant breathe." you gasped, grabbing onto his shirt, looking for something to hold onto, to ground yourself.

What Jack first dismissed as another panic attack after your encounter with Charlie vanished the moment he saw the bluish tint creeping across your lips. Barreling down the hallway, he immediately called a rapid response.

"Honey, we gotta get you on the monitor to check your pulse ox, now."

With a reading of 85% he was now in combat mode.

"I need high flow oxygen mask, now!" he barked, "where the fuck is respiratory?"

"Infection?" you gasped, breathing growing more and more shallow.

"Maybe. I dont know."

"Please... dont intubate." you begged, grabbing his hand with all the strength you had left.

"Not if I can help it." Jack smiled assuringly and slipped the oxygen mask over your nose. It brought him relief to see your levels improving on just room air. Your airways felt assaulted by force of the oxygen mask, the pressure making it feel like your head was about to explode more than I already was, your chest feeling as if it were on fire. Jack reached out to grab your trembling hands are you began to pull and paw at the mask.

“I know it feels uncomfortable. Just focus on my voice—breathe with me, okay? In and out, slow and steady. We gotta figure out what's going on."

"M-Me-Meningitis?" you were a doctor, you knew the risks, and the infection risks were high. Jack simply nodded at the possibility and as he prepped you for a spinal tap. You winced and called out as the needle pierced your back.

As you waited for your results Jack sat at the edge of the bed rubbing your legs to avoid blood pooling and clots from forming. Your body was sore, and his hands felt heavenly. You moaned involuntarily as he hit a particularly tender spot, causing you both to blush.

You felt disgusting. Your hair was matted, bloody and greasy. Your skin still stained with iodine and a layer grime. You just wanted to get clean but had no means of doing so. You couldn’t stand unassisted, your breathing was labored, and your body was too weak. The thought of getting a sponge bath was humiliating.

“You don’t have to do this, Jack. I’m filthy.” You pulled your mask down briefly. Jack simply shook his head and chuckle.

“Try grown men in the middle of desert combat going 3 weeks without a shower. This is nothing, kid.”

Still— you recoiled a bit, pulling your legs away from him, causing him to frown.

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up then.”

“What?”

“I said let’s get you cleaned up, I can help you shower.”

"Jack... I-I-I dont--"

"Or if you aren't comfortable, I can grab a nurse to help?"

You looked at him, contemplating the offer. It was strictly clinical, right? He was a doctor, he's seen hundreds, maybe thousands of naked bodies. Clinical, strictly clinical.

With a nod, Jack took a few slow steps towards you, removing your oxygen mask to see how vitals held before moving forward. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he helped you up and into the wheelchair.

"I'm gonna take off your gown now, that okay?"

Not answering, you let out a small squeak as you stifled a sob. He immediately knelt down next to you, standing at your eye level. His brow was tense as he looked at you with a painful expression. Your body was trembling, jaw chattering, eyes looking shellshocked. The bathroom grew hotter as the shower steam began to billow around the bathroom. Your reflection beginning to fade as condensation clung to the mirror.

Jack began to search for comforting words, his back leaning against the bathroom door.

"I've been in this exact situation myself, you know? When I got hurt, I was unable to bathe myself. It was a sponge bath, talk about mortifying. I'm a grown man and I had some hot nurse in a German military hospital flipping me over to scrub my ass..."

You couldn't help but chuckle, appreciating not only the imagery but his vulnerability.

"So I get it... trust me."

"Okay...yeah."

Jack untied the back of your hospital gown, slipping it off you. Instinctually, you covered your exposed body.

He lifts you into the shower, placing you on the shower stool. The hot water began to cascade over your bruised and scarred body, washing away the dirt, grime and blood. Jack began to work his hands along your body, starting with your hair. You shut your eyes as Jack began to gently massage shampoo into your scalp, taking extra care to avoid your craniotomy staples.

Then your bruised neck and down to your stiff shoulders.

He worked away at the knots from laying in the hospital bed, your head hung forward, breath quickening again. Not because you couldn't breathe, but from the sensation of his hands on your skin. The crook of your neck was now exposed to him, almost inviting him to press his lips against you. He shook his head, trying to get back to the task at hand. He was standing in front of you now, kneeling down at eye level. With more precision his hands moved lower, the washcloth brushing against your breasts, your breath hitching. His eyes met yours, checking in to see you were okay.

With more assurance his hand traveled lower, brushing against your stomach. Lower and lower, until you grabbed his wrist, stopping him before he reached your most sensitive part.

"Jack..." you whispered.

"I-I'm sorry." he whispered, handing you the washcloth. "I'll go wait outside so you can finish up, call me when you're ready, yeah?"

He left the bathroom in a hurry, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck.

"Fuck..." he whispered to himself. He felt so guilty, for wanting more when you were in your most vulnerable. Felt disgusted he felt for how good it felt to have your hands on your body, even in your condition.

When he heard your faint callings from the bathroom he went back in with a smile.

"Ready?" he helped you stand, you pressed your back against his chest as he wrapped a scratchy hospital around your frail frame. "Feel better?" he asked, helping you back into a fresh gown and into your bed with fresh sheets.

"Much, thank you Jack."

"Let me fix your hair so it doesn't get tangled again, alright?" he sat you up and started to braid your hair.

"You know how to braid hair?"

"Not my choice. I have 4 sisters." he chuckled before finishing up and admiring his work. "I'm a little rusty, but I think it'll do."

"Thank you." you smiled.

"Listen, abou-" he began before you promptly cut him off.

"Dont, Jack." you grabbed his hand, shaking your head, "Its okay. I promise. It's okay." Despite your assurance, Jack kept pushing.

"No...it’s not. Because I didnt just... I told you... you were in such a-- I wanted..." he began to stutter, fumbling over his words.

"Wanted what?"

"YOU!" he yelled before lowering his voice to almost a whisper... "I wanted you.”

He tried to get up, but you held onto him firmly. Your grip getting tighter and tighter as he spoke. “Even though I’ve been in your position and know how helpless you felt in that moment… I still wanted to touch you. And I just feel like some animal. That I’m no better than the sick fuck who hurt you in the first place.” Jacks voice cracked and in that moment you thought he was going to cry.

“Jack…” you whispered, cupping his face in your hands.

“You trusted me…” He whispered back, his eyes welling up with tears.

“I still do, Jack.” You rested your forehead against his. The tips of your noses brushing, your lips hovering mere inches apart. Both you were breathing quickly as his hands found your body again, rubbing his fingers down your bare spine through the opening of the hospital gown. You could feel each other’s breath panting against your lips. Your eyes beginning to flutter shut.

“Jack Abbot?” And unfamiliar voice pulled your attention away from each other in almost an instant. Two officers stood in the doorway, both resting their hands on their tactical vests.

“Yes officer, how can I help you?” Jack responded.

“Stand up for me and put your hands behind your back.” One stepped forward, pulling the handcuffs from his belt.

“What?” You yelled, not wanting to let go of Jack. “No, please!”

“Dr. Abbot you’re under arrest for the aggravated assault and battery of Charlie Truett.”

————————————————————————

Tag list //

@michasia24 @emma8895eb @nosebeers @runawaybaby3 @antisocialfiore @xxxkat3xxx @livingavilaloca @popeabbot @catmomstyles3 @bxxbxy @meowmeowyoongles @midnight-dixon @nerdgirljen @aj3684 @screechingenemy18 @profoundlynerdywolf @rogersbarnesxx @sebastianstangirl01 @princesssunderworld @looneylooomis @shadowhuntyi @drlangdonsbabydaddy @celiacallsitcausal @sjester42-blog @geekgirl1996 @ksyn-faith @peggyofoz @trustme3-13 @foolishseven @floofmc @anxiousfuckupon @silas-aeiou @pinkdrinkwithraspberry

(I think I got everyone! Sorry if I missed you!!!! Lmk if you wanna be added)

[dollzstrology]

⋆.ೃ࿔ 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍’ ᝰ Smoke stops by your shop, coming to check on you and the baby. After he’s with you for a while you realize he’s here for more than a welfare check, he interested in what’s between your thighs.

𝑭𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮… Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore

𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻… Explicit; smut + fluff, porn w/ plot, fem!reader, spiritual!reader [hoodoo], envisioned as black!reader while writing, half-canon & half non-canon, very similar to Annie x Smoke dynamic, established relationship [married couple], mom!reader & dad!smoke, pregnancy [second trimester], pregnancy sex, oral [fem!receiving], p in v, dirty talk. 1930’s time period. southern/country dialect used.

𝑫𝑼𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… 3.5k words

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑺 𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴 𝑾𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑹… This is my first ‘Sinners’ fic and I’m soooo excited to be posting it! I’m already obsessed with Micheal B. Jordan but this movie made me love him 1,000 times more! All my Smoke lovers lmk how you like this fic! As always feel free to comment and reblog, I love reading y��all reactions! I hope you enjoy!!

𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑺… Sinners M.List ・Sinners Taglist ・Main M.list

It’s a slow day at the shop, the perfect time for you to catch up with creating some batches of fresh herbal teas and home remedies for your customers when they come by. You have your radio humming low in the corner, keeping you company as you sing along and work, grinding some dried yarrow in your mortar and pestle.

You’re about to reach for the peppermint to add into the blend when a quiet shift in the air makes your skin prickle. You feel a presence come behind you before it can even make its way into your line of sight.

Your hand slips to the straight razor beside your tray and you spin around, steel flashing in the light, holding it right under their chin. “Elijah…” you say slowly, drawing out the vowels as if you’re warning him. “How many times I done told you ‘bout sneakin’ up on me while I’m workin’?”

“Put that blade up, woman, ‘fore you nick me.” Smoke replies with his gold tooth gleaming in the sunlight, unfazed by the weapon at his throat, knowing you would never actually harm him, plus it’s not the first time you’ve had a razor blade to his neck. “I jus’ came to love on you a lil’ bit.”

You stare at him a second longer, eyes narrowed, then you huff through your nose and lower the blade onto the table. You set it down with a little clatter and let him gather you up in his arms. His hands cradle your small belly bump, lips pressing gently against yours. “You always sneakin’ around. One day I’ma really cut your ass.” You mumble in between kisses while still embracing his love, spewing out out a threat you know will just end up being empty.

“And you still gon' love me, jus’ like I love you with that fire in yo’ mouth.” He replies, referring to your slick tongue and the feistiness within you that’s always making an appearance. Before you know it he’s kissing you slow and tender, like he don't plan on leaving anytime soon.

You lean into it, breathing in his scent: woodsmoke, Irish beer, and gunpowder. You rest your hand on his chest, right over his heart, giving him one last kiss before pulling back. “What you doin’ here in the middle of the day? Thought you and Stack was gettin’ the juke ready for tonight.”

“We are. I just… wanted to check on you. And the baby.”

“We alright.” You say with a smile, loving how he’s become even more attentive since you told him you were in the family way. “She movin’ more lately. Likes when I sing to her in the mornin’.”

“She? You still holdin’ onto that?” Despite you having all the hoodoo abilities to tap into the spiritual and supernatural realm, your husband swears he knows the gender of the baby. “I’m tellin’ you, it’s a boy. Gon’ be just like his old man.”

“Lord, I pray that ain’t true.” You tease, laughing while walking over to where your candles are, grabbing a match and lighting the wick. Having to deal with Smoke and Stack everyday, trying to keep them safe, and make sure they stay out of trouble is enough to worry about, you can’t imagine having to deal with that times three.

While your husband watches you light a candle, his eyes wander to all the things surrounding you; herbs, mojo bags prepped like the one he has around his neck, and other things you use as a hoodoo practitioner, makes a frown appear on his lips. “I don’t like you doin’ all this magic shit while you carryin’. You don’t know what kinda spirits you callin’.”

Smoke’s never been able to grasp the in and outs of hoodoo, he’s never been the type of man to believe in things like that but it doesn’t stop him from supporting you and taking your word on everything because he believes in you. He’s always been fine with it and never interfered with your work but now that you’re carrying his child he’s concerned.

“I been doin’ this since before you even knew my name.” you calmly reply, understanding his point of view but wanting to reassure him everything is fine and the baby isn’t in harm's way. “I was born into this. My momma did it carryin’ me, and her momma ‘fore her. You know I don’t call nothin’ dark in here.”

“I know. But still, it makes me nervous.” He finds his way behind you again, wrapping his arms around your mid section, resting his chin in the crook of your neck. “You my whole heart and this lil’ baby too. I don’t want nun bad happenin’ to y’all.”

You lean into his embrace, letting his warmth wash over you like a river. You close your eyes a moment, feeling a sense of peace settle in your bones from his presence. “I’ll be alright. We both will.” You place your hand over his, gently rubbing your thumb against his skin. “I promise.”

Smoke turns you in his arms, kissing you deeper than he did earlier, this interaction feeling more fueled by lust than love. You feel the pull of him, the same pull that causes you to gravitate towards him when his body is calling for you.

Things with Smoke are always easy, you and him have the type of chemistry where certain things don’t have to be explained, like you and him don’t have to discuss how he yearns for you, how just you touching him makes him feel like he’s about to crumble. You’ve always been his safe place so when he comes to you needing comfort, to blow off steam, or some sweet lovin’, you’re always happily ready to provide.

Without breaking the kiss he takes off his jacket, throwing it somewhere on the floor before gently lifting you onto your work table, sweeping some of your jars to the side so they won’t get damaged. Your hands are already at the buttons of his shirt, and his mouth trails down your throat, his tongue swirling over the place where your pulse beats strong.

The ceiling fan above spins lazy circles above the two of you but it doesn’t cut down on the Mississippi heat or the fire burning between you and him. Smoke’s palms slide up your thighs, rough and warm, pushing your flowly dress up bunch by bunch ‘til he’s gets you exposed, your panties already damp from the way he's been touching you.

“You wet f’me already, mama?” he hums low, his thick fingers pressing against the wet cotton, a smug expression comes across his face that’s filled with pride. You bite your lip, nodding as he hooks his fingers in the waistband and pulls them down your legs, letting them fall to your ankles before taking them off.

“Always wet for you, ‘lijah,” you whisper, voice breathy and thick with need for what lies beneath his waist. “You know that.” He groans at the sound of his name on your lips, the only person on Earth who’s allowed to say his birth name, the only one who says it so sweetly it makes him want to hear it again and again.

He drops to his knees, kissing the inside of your thighs like he’s praying at an altar. The farther he moves up your body, slowly making his way to your sweet sweet center, you can feel your heart pounding with anticipation. Once he’s done teasing, his mouth meets your core, warm and wet, tongue parting your slit nice and slow, allowing your delicious taste to settle on his tongue before he starts to really ravish you.

You gasp when the warmth from his mouth comes in contact with your pussy, trying to control yourself before shoving his head deeper between your legs. His tongue gives your folds the most attention in the beginning, repeatedly moving up and down, giving you a nice warm up before he turns things up a notch.

Smoke’s starts giving your clit some love, the tip of his tongue gently grazing over it before applying pressure, causing your hips buck instantly and him to groan into your heat, making you moan from the vibrations. The more he eats your pussy, smearing your slick across his face, and him angling his mouth and sucking your clit so well it feels like your spirit is levitating, edges you closer and closer to releasing all over his face. “Mhm! Smoke, right there!”

If you could see the look on this man’s face there would definitely be a smirk across his lips, hearing those words from you, spoken in that needy tone you use when he’s hitting all those right spots, makes his dick rock solid. Of course with him being a gentleman ‘n all, his first priority is making sure his wife is taking care of, so he’s gonna make sure you get one off before he does… but not without making you work for it first.

Your fingers thread through his coarse hair, hips rolling up into his face to create more friction and help you chase your high faster. The moans that fall from your lips aren’t as soft as they were earlier. They’re raw, hungry, each one more whiny than the next. You can feel that pressure in your stomach beginning to build up and when you feel his fingers protruding the entrance of your pussy, you already know you’ll be cumming in a couple minutes or less.

When that feeling starts growing stronger and intense, about to take over your body and allow you that sweet release, Smoke pulls back making you glare at him as if he has two heads. “I know you ain’t gonna jus’—”

Smoke give you the smallest smirk as he stands up, licking your juices off his lips, already knowing how you’re about to finish that sentence. “I ain’t, baby. I jus’ wanna feel you wrapped ‘round me when I make you cum.” He undoes his belt, slow and deliberate, his predatory gaze looking at your body. You watch as he frees himself from his slacks, thick and undeniably hard, the sight alone making your mouth fill with saliva, wanting him to just fill you up already.

He helps you get off the table, lifting you by your waist and gently placing you on the ground. Once your feet hit the wooden floor he’s barking out orders. “Turn ‘round and put them hands on the table.” You obey without question, leaning forward and angling your ass in the air.

Once you're in position Smoke comes up behind you, pushing your dress up until it’s past your hips, giving him a full view of your ass that he’s practically obsessed with. He takes a moment to take in the sight in front of him, your pretty ass on display, your juices slowly dripping down your thighs, and your hole clenching around nothing, begging to be stuffed.

Your husband bites his lip, his dick twitching against his thigh in anticipation of what’s to come once he wrapped around your velvety walls. He gives himself a few strokes before gliding his dick across your folds, allowing your slick to gather on his tip and mix with his precum, using the fluids as a lubricant. He grounds himself in his stance and places himself at your entrance, slowly pressing himself inside you, stretching you wide open with his girth.

When he enters your wetness, a groan slips through his bared teeth, his hands wrapping around your full hips as he lowers his eyes and watches his dick begin to disappear into your heat. Even though you’ve had sex with Smoke a million times, every time he fucks you it somehow feels the first time. A sound flies out your mouth, something that’s a mixture of moan and cry when you feel him stretching you out every time he pushes another inch of himself inside you.

You’re not in pain, it’s just the delicious burn that comes with being with a man that’s well endowed. Your hands begin to grip the end of the table, needing to balance the pressure you’re feeling in your lower region. “I got you, baby. Jus’ relax.” Smoke whispers while placing a few soft kisses on your back, reassuring that he has everything under control.

Feeling his lips press against your skin makes you clench around him, so tight that he lets out sharp breath, trying to keep himself from busting on the spot. He's not even fully inside you yet and he’s already teetering on the edge of having his own orgasm. He allows both of your bodies to adjust, for both of you to become one flesh, slowly nudging his dick further and further into your pussy until he bottoms out.

After a few moments his pelvis is flush with your ass and he just holds there, waiting until you’re ready. Once you relax and he feels your body loosen up, he takes that as a green light to continue and start applying some real pressure. He slowly slides out, pulling out almost halfway before rolling his hips and pressing back into you, beginning a series of long strokes into your pussy.

Your mouth flies open, moans filling your small shop as Smoke thrusts into you with no plan on stopping anytime soon. He angles himself slightly upward, giving himself the perfect position to continually hit your g-spot until you cum around him. At this point you and him are both dripping in sweat, droplets traveling down your face and towards the spillage of your breasts and his trickling down his chest and torso.

You decide to not let your husband have all the fun and start throwing it back against him, meeting him in the middle of each thrust, creating an echo of your skin slapping together. Smoke groans, loving the sound of your skin colliding each time he pushes himself deeper inside you. “Pussy feels so good, baby. Makes me wanna get yo' ass pregnant all over again.” He mutters before throwing his head back.

Ever since you’ve become pregnant Smoke swears your pussy has become even better, which he didn’t think was possible. He doesn’t know if it’s because you’re more sensitive now, that you’ve been able to become so wet to the point he sometimes slips out, or your body is just preparing for the baby but either way he loves it.

“You talkin’ like I ain’t already carryin’ your baby.” you manage to pant between moans, lips curling up into a soft grin. “Lemme get this baby out first before we talk about another one.”

Smoke chuckles low, a sound that doesn’t come from him too often but when he’s around you it easily emerges. “Can’t help it.” he murmurs, breath hot on your skin. “You so damn good to me. Make me wanna keep you knocked up, full a’me all the time.”

He punctuates his words with a deep roll of his hips, hitting that spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyes. Your fingers curl around the edge of the table, knuckles white as you brace yourself against the slow, deliberate strokes that are unraveling you, thread by aching thread.

The scent of yarrow, rose, and the musk of your joined bodies hangs heavy in the air, brewing in the humid Mississippi heat. You feel like a woman possessed, bent and spread in the middle of your sacred space, lost in the kind of pleasure that only Smoke can provide.

It doesn’t take long before Smoke starts going harder and faster, his thrusts becoming relentless as tears of pleasure stream down your face. His pelvis slams against your backside with every stroke, the table rocking from your tight grip and his rough movements, causing a few jars of herbs to fall on the floor but you’re too fucked out to care. You cry out each time he hits the spot that makes your knees weak, your nails scratching at the wood while his balls slap against you.

“Say my name, baby.” he pants, giving your ass a nice hard love tap before his hand return to your hips. “Tell the whole Delta who fuckin’ you this good.”

Your breath catches, your body trembling with the raw fire he’s stroking inside you. You bite your lip, eyes squeezing shut as the waves of pleasure crash over you. “You fuckin’ me so good, Elijah.” Your voice trembling as the words spew out your mouth. “Can’t nobody fuck me like you can.”

He growls your name back, deep and full of hunger, sends a shiver straight down your spine. His hands dig into your hips harder, pulling you flush against him, every thrust driving deeper, more urgent. “You my woman.” he snarls low, voice rough like thunder, his possessive ways making an appearance. “Ain’t no woman on this earth meant for me but you.”

His words break through all your control and with a cry, your body collapses against his, your muscles convulsing in waves as you fall apart, every nerve ending going up in flames, breathes coming in sharp gasps as you let go. His name spills from your lips again and again, one of Smoke’s many weaknesses when it comes to you.

Smoke grunts as he continues to thrust inside you, repeatedly brushing against your g-spot until you quiver tightly around him again, your walls rapidly pulsing around his shaft. Your orgasm rips through you and a loud whine fills the air, your legs beginning to shake and your balance falter, causing your husband to tighten his grip around you so you won’t collapse on the hard wooden floor.

Soon after you Smoke’s body succumbs to its own pleasures, his orgasm washing over him as he releases his hot seed deep inside your walls, the thick sticky fluid reaching the depths of your womb, his body shuddering until his high levels out.

Smoke exhales a deep, satisfied groan as he gently pulls out of you, careful not to move too fast, not wanting to overstimulate you. Your body jerks slightly, a soft whimper slipping from your lips at the sudden emptiness. He leans down immediately, pressing a line of kisses along your spine like an apology, his strong hands gliding up your sides with a gentleness that replaces how rough he was just being.

“You okay, baby? I ain’t hurt you, did I?” he murmurs, voice low as always, but sweet, filled with a certain softness that only you are allowed to hear. He’s usually not rough with you, he hasn’t been since you’ve become pregnant but he’s been wound up, things with Club Juke and business deals, he needed this as an outlet for his issues but now that his brain fog has cleared he wants to make sure you’re alright because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he ever hurt you.

You shake your head, resting your forehead against the table, lips parting with a small, breathless laugh, still trying to regulate your breathing. “You ain’t hurt me, ‘lijah. I’m doing good, real good.” you whisper, eyelids heavy, wanting to just go home and soak in the tub. “But I don’t think I’m gonna be able to walk right for a while.”

He chuckles at that, one that’s filled with satisfaction of his previous actions, that he once again fucked you ‘till you can barely walk. “Lemme help you out then.” Smoke easing you up into his arms, bridal style, like you don’t weigh a thing and placing you into the chair in the corner of your shop. He grabs a clean towel from the hook near the window and dampens it with some fresh water before he starts cleaning you up, making sure he's as gentle as possible.

When he finishes, he presses a kiss to the curve of your belly, whispering something low to the baby that makes you melt all over again. Smoke pulls up a stool and sits beside you, pulling you close until your head rests against his chest. “Think we scared off the spirits in here.” you mumble, giggling softly, knowing that your ancestors probably wouldn’t approve of you having relations on sacred ground.

Smoke chuckles at that, his hand stroking lazily over your thigh. “Well, they need to let grown folks do what they s’pose to do. Don’t need them watchin’ us no way.”

You hum softly, nuzzling closer, feeling his lips press against your temple and his hand making its way to your belly for the millionth time today, his thumb rubbing slow circles against your warm skin. “Gon’ be a good daddy to this baby.” he adds after a beat, his voice steady now, that rare, open affection in his tone. “Better than mine ever was.”

You lift your head just enough to meet his brown orbs, looking up at him with pure love in your eyes. “I know you will. You already are.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the wind brushing against the shutters, the faint creak of the old ceiling fan above, and the gentle rhythm of your breathing syncing with his. “I love you, Elijah.”

“Love you too, mama. Always.”

𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 — @Yungblud423 @nostlicions @loveabledovee @secretisme4 @pinkkycherrish @bl3ssyn @shamansha @queenofklonnie22 @rios-st4rs @Secretlifeofpreshap @bxrbie1 @t-wylia @bendoverboo18 @milesf4vg1rl @secret89sblog @gabbysbl0gg

— all rights reserved ©𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐙𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘. all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, repost repost on other platforms (ex. AO3 or Wattpad) nor recommend on tiktok any of the works seen here.

[ipc-shareholder]

No budget

Pairing: Aventurine x fem!reader

Tags: Mainly fluff, Sugestive, Sugardaddy!Aventurine, Flirting as Foreplay, Reader is a menace, Gift Giving (more like spoiling) as a Love Language

Summary: You didn’t expect much for your birthday — only a night with him. But when he calls to cancel last minute, duty-bound to IPC business, you brace yourself for disappointment.

Lucky for you, Aventurine never leaves a debt unpaid.

Hours later, a luxury gift box arrives with a handwritten note and his private credit line — unrestricted, untraceable, and entirely yours. The message is simple: "Anything you want. All day. No questions."

You stood in front of the mirror in his penthouse suite, the light casting a divine shadow on your figure, adjusting the clasp of your earrings with the kind of precision that came from years of learning how to look untouchable. The dress—black, backless, liquid silk—clung to your figure like it had been poured onto you.

You were glowing.

Nails done. Hair sleek. Skin perfumed with the faintest trace of something rich and spiced—just the way he liked it. You looked like a woman ready to conquer the world under her heel. And it was your birthday. You were going to own tonight. The mirror caught the edge of your satisfied smirk as you checked yourself over once more. Everything was perfect.

Everything except—

The moment your phone lit up, your stomach sank.

A call. From him.

You took it, expecting something flirty. A countdown. Maybe a reminder to wear that lipstick he liked—the shade that looked lethal on you and always made him late to meetings. “Aventurine,” you greeted, voice warm despite the chill creeping up your spine. “You’re calling to say you’re five minutes away, right?”

“Don’t do that,” he said, quiet and taut.

“Do what?”

“Make this harder than it already is.”

You froze.

His voice—smooth, low, familiar—cut through the speaker. But it wasn’t playful. Not tonight.

“I’m not going to make it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Emergency call with the board,” Aventurine said, words clipped but regret threaded between the syllables. “Final negotiations on the Solaris Belt merger. They moved it up. I have to leave tonight— can’t delay.”

Of course he couldn’t.

You sat down slowly on the velvet bench, one heel still off. “You said tonight was cleared.”

“It was,” he said, and you could hear the tension beneath the calm—tight, taut, the barely hidden strain of someone trying not to clench his jaw. “And I meant it.”

You stared at your reflection. At the way the city lights blinked against your bare shoulders. You looked like a woman heading to ruin something—in the best way. You didn’t look like someone spending her birthday alone.

You didn’t speak for a moment. Neither did he.

Then, softly: “You look beautiful, don’t you?”

Your throat tightened. “You don’t even know what I’m wearing.”

“I don’t have to,” Aventurine said. “You always look beautiful when you dress for yourself.”

That almost softened the blow. Almost.

You leaned forward, elbows on your thighs, voice lower now. “So what happens now? I blow out candles solo in some overpriced lounge while you charm a room full of old men with mineral rights?”

“I’m sorry.” And gods, he even sounded sincere. “This wasn’t how I planned it. Believe it or not, I was looking forward to tonight.”

“I understand,” you said after a beat. Your voice didn’t crack. You didn’t let it. “Duty calls.”

The quiet between you stretched like glass, thin and shining. “I’ll make it up to you,” he said. It wasn’t a promise. It was a declaration.

Guilt hit you immediately. It wasn’t his fault. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes,” he cut in, sharper now. “I do.” There was silence for a beat. Then the sound of movement on his end—papers shuffled, maybe a tie being adjusted. You could picture him, already halfway into another persona. The mask he wore when the IPC needed him. Poised, calm, collected, charming. The man the world called a Stoneheart. But before the call could end, his voice softened. “There’s something coming your way,” he said. “A gift. Open it. Use it. Enjoy it.”

“Aventurine…”

“Don’t argue. Not tonight.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately, but a reluctant smirk tugged at your mouth. “You really think money can fix everything?”

“No,” he said. “But it will have to suffice until I'm able to be there.”

Click.

The call ended. You sat in silence, one heel dangling from your fingers, the low hum of the city buzzing against the windows. Disappointment curled low in your chest—not just at the change of plans, but at how easily you’d let yourself hope. The room around you was too quiet. The hem of your dress whispered against your thigh as you moved, just enough to reach for your glass of champagne—untouched, still cold.

You raised it toward the empty space in front of you. “To me,” you muttered, dry. The bubbles burned down your throat.

..........

You didn’t expect anything the next morning. You hadn’t even taken the dress off—just slipped the heels aside and curled up on the chaise, champagne bottle half-finished, the cityscape stretching bright and glittering beyond your windows. Sleep had been shallow, your thoughts looping the same question over and over: Why did it still hurt, even when you understood?

You knew better than to take it personally. IPC emergencies were IPC emergencies. Aventurine didn’t answer to anyone except the board and the gold-gloved tyrants on the other side of a galactic comm line. You’d told yourself it was fine. But it wasn’t. Not entirely.

So when the suite’s private delivery unit pinged first thing in the morning, you were shocked. You blinked blearily, rising with the weight of silk still draped around you, and padded barefoot toward the small intake port by the door. The package was small. Slim. Wrapped in a midnight envelope sealed with a gold wax emblem you knew far too well.

IPC executive-issue. Aventurine.

You opened it slowly, expecting something ridiculous. You were not disappointed.

Inside was just a card. His private finance card. The one tied directly to his private account. Matte black, weightless, executive tier. The one coded to bypass most purchase limits. Not a courtesy card. Not a gesture. Not symbolic.

His.

And beneath it, a folded note. Handwritten.

To make up for last night.

No budget. No questions. You have full access until midnight. Happy birthday, sweetheart.

—A

You stared at it for a long moment, lost for words. On a list of things you expected him to do, this wasn’t even in the back of your mind. It was one thing to say he’d make it up to you. Another to send you this. You laughed—short, incredulous, and then you did what anyone with a moral compass and the barest sliver of dignity would do.

You called him to take it back.

He picked up on the second ring.

“A bit early for luxury shopping, isn’t it?” he said by way of greeting, voice low and velvet-smooth. You could hear the tired edge beneath it. He hadn’t slept.

“You sent your private card to my door.” You didn’t bother with hello.

“I did.” No trace of remorse in his voice.

“Aventurine.”

You could hear the smile through the call. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“This is too much. Take it back.”

“But mailing is such a hustle. I guess it just has to stay with you today.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” A pause. Then, softer: “I know I missed your birthday. I know what that meant. So I’m trying to make it right.”

You swallowed. Your tone softened, despite yourself. “You didn’t have to—”

“But I wanted to.” His voice lowered, rougher now, velvet with something else threading beneath it. “Let me have this. Let me spoil you. If I can't be there in person… let me be the reason you feel wanted today.”

You went quiet.

“You deserve more than some forgotten evening and an apology,” he said. “And I don’t do half-measures.”

You exhaled slowly, sinking into the chair by your window, the card turning between your fingers. “You know I’m not the kind of girl who spends half a million credits on shoes. You could’ve just sent a bottle of wine and called me beautiful over a voicemail. That would’ve done it.”

“Oh, I plan to do that too,” he said. “Multiple times. But I’ve also sent your name to three boutiques, five jewelers, and a spa suite that owes me too many favors.”

You tried one last protest. “I can't just spend your money—.”

“You can.” His voice dipped, heat curling around the edges of it. “Just for a day. Spend what you want. Try everything twice. Ruin me if it helps. You have until midnight.”

You could feel your heart flutter—just a bit too fast. He always did this. Spoke like it was a game, a gamble, a dare. But you knew the truth behind it. This wasn’t about the credits. It never was. It was about everything unspoken between you two.

It was about you.

You looked at the card again, gleaming dark in your hand. You thought of the way his voice changed when he got sincere—dangerously close to vulnerable. You thought of the half-finished bottle of champagne on your table and the aching weight in your chest. And suddenly, you missed him so much it actually hurt. “I’m starting with shoes,” you said, finally. “Since you’re apparently so eager to foot the bill.”

A beat of silence.

Then his voice, infinitely amused and tinted with something darker akin to want. “You’ll let me know if I need to send a transport? Or to have something delivered?”

You smiled, finally. “Relax, Aven. I won't try to bankrupt you.”

"You should,” he said, and ended the call.

You stared down at the card in your palm. And for the first time in years, you felt what it might feel like to be wanted without conditions.

................

The boutique was ridiculous.

Crystal lighting overhead. Scented air tuned to the frequency of indulgence. Velvet lounges arranged like altars. You’d wandered in with the intent of “just browsing,” maybe trying on one or two things—something ridiculous, something Aventurine would hate not seeing you in.

You hadn’t expected them to roll out the crimson carpet. Or the clerk to whisper into her earpiece the moment you gave Aventurine’s name. Or for the entire staff to straighten like soldiers at attention.

“Miss,” said one of the associates—hair slicked back, dress pressed like protocol—“Mr. Aventurine has already informed us of everything. You need only choose.”

You blinked. “Already informed … what?”

He smiled with practiced polish. “He said to give the full experience.”

Of course he had. Immediately, you picked up your phone and dialed him with a sigh, ignoring the tingle of amusement curling beneath your ribs. It only rang once before he answered.

“Enjoying yourself yet?” His voice was rich as ever, all charm and velvet.

“Aventurine,” you said sweetly, “I just walked into a boutique and they’re acting like I own the place.”

A pause. “Technically, you do. For today.”

Feeling unusually embarrassed, you turned away from the clerk who was practically ready to crawl at your every want, lowering your voice. “You’re seriously doing this?”

“I told you,” he said. “Make it worth my absence.”

“You sent them a platinum clearance chip.”

An amused scoff. “I’m aware.”

“I don’t need any of this.”

“I didn’t ask if you needed it,” he said, voice dipping just slightly—dangerous. “I want you to have it. There’s a difference.”

You swallowed the smile threatening your lips. “What if I max your limit?”

His laugh was low and indulgent. “Try me.”

You hung up before he could say anything more outrageous. But your pulse was elevated now. Flushed. Unsettled in the best kind of way.

By the time you reached the dressing suite—private, of course—there were already racks being wheeled in. Dresses in every cut, silk in every shade. Shoes, accessories, even perfume. The kind of experience reserved for top-tier IPC executives, and you were just… you. Or so you thought.

Until today.

Until you saw the way Aventurine’s name carried weight like gravity around here. The way even high-ranking clerks softened their tone when they mentioned “the Director.” How they looked at you not with dismissal—but calculation. It followed you like a shadow through glass doors and perfume-drenched corridors. Private fitting rooms. Complimentary champagne. A stylist who looked like she walked off a fashion editorial. Shopping assistants offered rare, unreleased pieces. Security guards nodded as you passed. One merchant nearly tripped over himself to explain which imported perfumes "Sir Aventurine" had personally purchased before—along with a whispered, breathless: “He has exceptional taste. You're very lucky.”

He didn’t just send you shopping.

He sent you into a world where you could see what power actually looked like. And it looked like this: access. Silence. Deference. It looked like standing in a thousand-credit gown in front of a mirror while a stylist adjusted your hem and murmured that “Mr. Aventurine would very much approve.” It looked like being able to say “I’m done here” and watch six people leap to accommodate you.

He hadn't just gifted you luxury.

He had—very quietly—let you into his world.

And you weren’t sure if that terrified you… or thrilled you.

You had never seen a saleswoman so determined to match a scent to someone's taste as the moment you mentioned Aventurine. They pulled down bottles from locked shelves. Poured samples into black crystal. Described them in absurd metaphors—wealth, moonlight, blood, silk.

You chose something dark and golden. Sharp on the first breath, then lingering—warm, sensual, unmistakable. You let it linger on your skin and imagined his reaction. He’d lean in too close. Pretend not to notice at first. And then, just before pulling away, he’d whisper something like: “What is that? You smell like temptation.”

You laughed aloud at the thought.

The world of opulence was dizzying to say the least. You hadn’t even heard of some of these designers before today, but the sales associates? They knew exactly what to bring out when you said his name. Every single one of them. “Oh, Aventurine,” the boutique manager at Maison Éclat had breathed when you dropped his card. “Of course. Right this way.”

And just like that, the boutique doors kept swinging wide open.

At one point, you stood in front of a mirror wearing a backless black gown so delicate it felt illegal. You tilted your head, arching a brow.

“He would like this one,” the stylist said, sharp-eyed. “Too much, perhaps.”

Your smile curved slowly. “Good.”

By midday, you’d already lost count of the bags. They multiplied like decadent little trophies—each one stamped with a brand that whispered old money and exclusivity. You tried on shoes that felt like sin, lingerie spun from what looked like lace and stardust, a velvet wrap that hugged your frame like it had been made for your skin alone. And you were laughing now—giddy with the surrealness of it all—as you stepped out of the spa, skin dewy and glowing, freshly massaged and wrapped in satin.

Since he insisted, you were going to have some fun with this.

............

Aventurine was in the middle of a boardroom debrief when his phone buzzed—discreetly, but persistently. He didn’t glance down. Not right away. The IPC directors were droning on about quarterly profit forecasts, contracts and trade deficits and for once, he was actually trying to look like he cared. But then it buzzed again.

Twice.

He tilted the screen toward him under the table. Your name jumped out at him from the display.

Message received. 1 image attachment.

Aventurine swiped the screen open without much thought—and nearly dropped the phone. The photo was tastefully framed. Cropped just enough to leave things to the imagination, but not so much that it spared him. You were in the dressing room of some boutique he probably owned a stake in, wearing something dangerously red and silk-thin. One hand held the phone. The other rested at your hip in a pose that said: I know exactly what I’m doing.

[you, 10:17 AM]

This one’s on clearance. Should I save you some credits?

Aventurine exhaled slowly through his nose. No smile. No reaction. Not even a twitch. Then the next message came in. Another picture. Different outfit. Lower neckline.

[you, 10:19 AM]

Or do you prefer black?

“Aventurine,” Jade prompted from across the table, not looking up. “You’re quiet. That’s never a good sign.”

“Just dividends paying off,” he said smoothly, palming his phone face-down before another buzz could betray him. His thumb pressed hard against the casing. “Go on.” All the while, each new vibration made his fist clench tighter.

The minute he was alone—elevator doors closed, boardroom behind him—he pulled up the messages again. There were more photos now. Some sent in rapid succession. Some with teasing little captions. Every single one designed to test him. You weren’t just shopping. You were playing a game. And worse—he was losing.

[you, 10:26 AM]

This one has a matching garter. But it feels a little too… generous.

[you, 10:27 AM]

Still want me to get whatever I want?

He leaned against the elevator wall, squeezing his eyes shut. God, he should’ve known. You didn’t just accept gifts. You turned them into games. You didn’t spend his money—you taunted him with it, made him feel every credit. He’d given you the entire weight of his wealth for the day, and instead of running wild, you were drawing him in with every photo, every message, every devilish little smile curled at the corner of your lips.

By the time the fifth image came through, Aventurine abandoned all sense of restraint and hit call.

You answered on the second ring, your voice pure mischief. “Miss me already?”

He didn’t dignify that with a yes. “When I gave you full access to my finances, I did not expect you to use it as targeted assassination.”

“Oh?” you lilted. “You’re sounding a little breathless.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, teeth gritted in the most elegant way possible. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“I thought you liked high-risk ventures.”

“I like calculated risk. What you’re doing is—” He exhaled sharply as you sent another photo mid-call. “—criminally effective.”

You giggled. “So I can keep the lingerie?”

“You can keep the whole damn store.”

Your laugh was a caress across his skin. “That’s not very financially sound of you.”

“I make exceptions.” He paused, letting his voice drop, velvet-dark. “For you.”

You went quiet for a second on the other end. He could hear the shift in your breath. And then you said, sly and sweet, “So what’s the limit again?”

Aventurine’s grin sharpened. “There isn’t one. I told you: whatever you want.”

“And if what I want…” you said, your voice suddenly soft and silken, “…isn’t in a store?”

His throat tightened. He closed his eyes for one dangerously long second. “Then I suggest,” he said lowly, “you put it on hold until I get there.”

You laughed, breathless. “Now who’s teasing?”

The line disconnected before he could answer. But Aventurine just smiled, slipping the phone back into his pocket. You could spend a fortune if you wanted. But right now, he was the one feeling expensive.

............

That night, he could not wait to get home. The lights in the suite were low when he entered—sensor-triggered but dimmed just enough to let the city glow through the floor-to-ceiling windows paint everything in hues of champagne and midnight.

He was tired. Bone-tired. Polite smiles, Diamond’s demands, executive ego-stroking—it was a miracle he hadn’t burned down the entire boardroom out of sheer boredom and urgency to go back to you. He wanted a drink, a silence no one could interrupt, and if the universe was kind enough, you saying you were forgiving him after a day with his card.

But the soft rustle he heard from the other room wasn’t the sound of quiet.

It was the sound of you.

And when he stepped into the bedroom, the sight that greeted him nearly made him forget how to breathe.

You didn’t hear him at first. You were too absorbed in your reflection—one heel slightly cocked, adjusting the strap of a slip so sheer it might’ve been made of smoke. Soft ivory lace. Bare skin. Something new— something you’d picked for him, whether you admitted it or not. On the bed behind you: a careless scatter of luxury bags, designer tags, and half-unwrapped boxes. Silk, perfume, heels, lingerie. The aftermath of indulgence. Your perfume— his perfume— hung in the air like a siren’s call.

He stopped in the doorway, chest tightening.

Aeons help him.

Your reflection met his, only the widening of your eyes betraying your surprise at his unexpected arrival, before you turned. “You’re early,” you said, but the hint of a smirk on your lips betrayed how little you minded.

“And you,” he said slowly, eyes raking over you with absolutely no shame, “are dangerous.”

You let your fingers trail over the hem of the slip. “Should I change?”

“Absolutely not.” His voice was hoarse, velvet wrapped around heat. “Tell me, this is what you spent my credits on?”

“This and a spa day. And three pairs of shoes I’ll probably only wear indoors. Some jewellery. And perfume. Want to guess which one I picked for you?”

He crossed the room like a man hypnotized, stopping just close enough to feel the warmth of your body. “I don’t have to guess.”

You leaned in, brushing your wrist under his nose, the barest hint of expensive, wood-laced sweetness catching the air. “Figured you’d like something with spice.”

“You figured right.” He gently nuzzled your wrist, leaving a featherlight kiss on the inside of it. His hand hovered at your waist, not quite touching. “Though if you keep looking like this, I might stop caring about the details.”

You tilted your head. “Even the heels?”

He glanced down—four-inch stilettos, red-bottomed, the kind of thing no one wears for walking. “Especially the heels.”

A slow smile spread across your lips. You turned on your heel—just enough to give him a better look. “Want a private haul?”

His laugh was low and sinful. “Darling, if this is what I come home to, you can take my card every week.”

“Dangerous promise.” You stepped closer, placing your palm against his chest, feeling the thrum of his heart beneath silk and precision stitching. “I tried to say no. You insisted.”

“And now I’m insisting you model everything.”

Your breath caught—just slightly. Just enough for him to notice. But you covered it with a tilt of your head and a wicked smile. “Everything?”

“Every. Single. Piece.” He said it like a dare. And aeons help you—you loved a dare.

You laughed, softer now. “You’re impossible.”

“And you,” he murmured, stepping closer, “are entirely too good at tempting me." His fingers found your waist. Skimmed beneath the slip. Warm and gentle and so achingly desperate against your skin, like he already knew how you’d feel before he ever touched you. He leaned in, slow and deliberate, his lips brushing just beneath your ear. "Am I forgiven, yet?"

You arched into his touch. “I might need to think about it some more.”

He pulled back just enough to let you see the look in his eyes—hungry, reverent, aching. “Good. I've only just started to apologize.”

[junnieverse]

DADDY DAY CARE ➳ H. DONGMIN

➙ synopsis: with you at work due to an emergency and taesan having the weekend off from his own job, this was the perfect time for him to spend some quality time with his daughter.

pairing: han taesan x afab!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.0k

warning: not proofread, set in the future where taesan is much older (like late 20s), domestic husband taesan may melt your heart

a/n: this was originally in my drafts (for a very, and i mean VERY long time- like years) written for hanbin, but since I no longer write for zb1 and I found taesan’s interactions with babies so cute, this seemed like the perfect member to go with

a/n (2): taesan never beating the girl dad allegations <3 [ REBLOGS HIGHLY APPRECIATED! ]

“Okay, I have to get going now or I’m gonna be late. Remember she has to have her nap time at one or she’ll get grumpy. And do NOT let her eat a lot of sugar.”

Going through the last of your instructions, your husband only nods as your glare softens at the sight of your 11 month old daughter cradled in his arms.

“Bye my butterfly, mommy loves you so so much.” you litter kisses all over her chubby little cheeks as giggles erupt from her.

Turning back to your husband again, you also give him his own well deserved peck on the lips before he speaks up, “don’t worry honey, I got this. Butterfly and I are gonna be perfectly fine.”

Nodding, you let out one last silent prayer for your house and child to be in one piece by the time you come back and make your way out feeling your heart hurting having to leave your family even if it would be for just a few hours.

It was a weekend but your boss had called you in to work to finish up some last minute preparations for a presentation your team had been working on seeing as some issues had arose and your help was needed to fix it.

Luckily for you, your husband, found this as the perfect chance to bond with your daughter since he rarely got to spend much time with just her alone.

With the unexpected call into work, Taesan offered to stay home with your daughter, whom you referred to by her nickname “butterfly” which Taesan himself had started calling her ever since finding out you were both having a girl during your pregnancy.

You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t a bit hesitant at first. Despite how incredible of a husband and father Taesan was, this would be his first time being on "daddy duties", as he called them, on his own and you were just hoping he would be able to handle it.

“Okay butterfly. How about getting ready to go out for a walk with me huh, since mommy already gave you breakfast.” he asks the baby in his arms as she only smiles back, probably at the mention of her dearest mom.

Now Taesan had his own personal style he liked keeping to, but he could admit that getting his daughter dressed was simply not his forte.

Placing the little girl down on her playmat as she grabbed a nearby building block enamoured by the colours, Taesan turned his attention to her closet faced with his first challenge of the day.

Letting out a huff, his hands rest on his hips as his foot lightly taps on the floor with his eyes scanning the rack of various clothes.

"What do we think butterfly, are we feeling more colourful with glitter today or do you want sequins?" he asks turning to the preoccupied baby who only babbles back in response as her form of communication.

"Both it is!"

Pulling out a pastel-coloured and sequinned dress from the hanger, a pair of white frilly socks, and silver glittery ballet flats with little bows on the front to complete the entire look.

"Wow bun, I'd say I did a pretty good job don't you think~" he once again asks admiring his style of work cooing at the baby as he blows raspberries into her stomach making her laugh as he smiled.

Next, he grabbed her little ribbons as he sat down behind her preparing to tie her hair just as he had watched you do all the time.

For a good five minutes he seemed to struggle seeing as his very playful daughter couldn't sit still wanting to play with all the toys around her.

Like a cartoonish lightbulb moment hitting him, Taesan takes his silver Chrome Hearts necklace off dangling the chain in front of his daughter catching her attention.

"Look at the shiny necklace butterfly, play with this so daddy can do your hair please." he pleads as her tiny grasp reaches for the necklace quietly observing the new object with high interest.

Taesan exhales in relief as she was now sitting quietly playing with the necklace around her neck as he attempted to part her hair in two to give her little space buns.

"And... done." he huffs adding the last yellow bow to her head admiring her hair.

Evidently skew and still mildly unkept with a few curls falling out, he was proud of his first attempt at doing her hair having expected it to look a lot worse.

With butterfly in the carrier on his chest, tucked and secured, Taesan decided to use the late morning to get his daily steps in and let the both of them get some fresh air and sun for the day.

Making a stop by a nearby ice cream truck, he orders himself one before sitting by the bench watching the kids nearby play as he enjoyed his soft serve ice cream.

"Don't think I didn't notice you eyeing my ice cream missy. You want some? No, you can't have any~" he teases her inching the ice cream near her as she opens her mouth, only to pull it away and lick it as she watched.

Her small face suddenly changed as her eyes began to water and her pout full on display growing upset at her dad's teasing.

"Wait no no- don't cry butterfly. Here, have some. But don't tell mommy about this, let's keep it between us." he pinky promises as he joins his pinky with her tiny one making him internally scream from the cuteness aggression.

Carefully letting her lick some ice cream, her smile grows back and he leans down to kiss her forehead.

"You just have daddy wrapped around your tiny finger don't you." he rhetorically asks noticing some ice cream on her nose.

His camera on his phone open, Taesan captures the moment quickly, saving the picture as his new wallpaper as he chuckles to himself realising she still had his necklace around her neck this entire time.

Giving her some of her own puffs to snack on for the time being, your husband made sure to send you short clips and pictures throughout the day of him and butterfly to show you that they were both still doing well and missing you, her words, not his, according to him.

It was small moments like this Taesan enjoyed most.

Due to the nature and demand of his job, he didn't get to spend as much time as he would've liked to with both you and your daughter. But when he did get the chance, he made sure to cherish every little moment because you were both his favourite people.

Looking down at his daughter, he notices the small yawn escape past her lips and noticing the time on his phone, Taesan realised it was nearing her nap time and decided that was enough outside time for them both.

It was now 1:23pm and Taesan was now faced with his next challenge.

Butterfly was meant to be long asleep, but after changing into her onesie to get comfortable, she was seemingly putting up a fight wanting to stay up with her dad.

She had been fighting to stay awake that it started to frustrate her because her body also knew it was naptime, making her a very grumpy grouch.

This gave Taesan the bright to try and wear out her energy until she couldn't stay up from the exhaustion.

"Daddy brought you some paper, so how about we make some fun art for mommy instead?" he placed all the markers and glitter down knowing she would just scribble all over and make a mess, which he would have to clean up before you came back later.

Picking up whichever colour caught her attention first, Taesan opened the lid for her showing her what to do for her to mimic his actions and she was quick to follow along.

Unbeknownst to him, when Taesan had left the room to answer his ringing phone he had left in the living room, the glitter was left unattended and open for butterfly to have her own little fun.

Tipping the bottle over, the pink glitter spills onto the playmat and she reaches for some glitter as it sticks all over her hands. Her next mistake being she reached for her face leaving remnants of it all over her and her clothes in an attempt to get the weird substance off her hands.

Making his way back into the room, Taesan gasps in horror at the scene in front of him, rushing to his daughter he grabs the wet wipes trying to wipe off whatever he could, some of it still being stubborn on her.

Continuing their little arts and crafts, the man only surrenders to his daughter as she uses the washable markers to draw all over his arm, the paper long forget on the side which she should've been using.

Taesan was evidently whipped for you, without a doubt, but his daughter truly had his entire heart and he would give her anything and everything... even if it meant being used as her little art canvas for a few minutes to keep her entertained.

Yawning himself, he looks at the clock on the wall which read 1:45pm, which was well past butterfly's bed time and she too seemed to be growing tired.

"Time to pack these away butterfly and I'll read you a story to sleep." he gently says as he slowly packs everything back into it's place and grabbing Little Red Riding Hood to read to her.

He picks her up chuckling at how messing her hair had become over the course of her fussing and playing with some glitter still prominent on her cheeks.

Laying down on the playmat himself, he lays his daughter on his chest as he opens the storybook onto the first page.

Beginning to read to her as he interchanges her one hand to hold the book up as the other goes back and forth between stroking her back softly and flipping the pages of the book.

As he nears the end of the story, he hears soft snores and feels her light breathing notifying him she had successfully fell asleep.

Closing the book beside him, he notices the left mess of glitter from before sighing in exhaustion.

"I'll clean that up after a short nap with butterfly." he mumbles to himself as his own tiredness catches up with him closing his eyes letting the sleep take over.

You step into the house kicking your shoes off as a sigh of relief escapes past your lips letting your toes finally breathe after hours of working in those mildly shoes.

Having expected to walk into either the smell of something burning in the kitchen or at least be greeted by your loving husband and daughter, you’re instead met with complete silence.

“My babies~ I’m back home. Please tell me you’re both still alive.” you speak out into the open, cackling softly at your own joke, only to get no response in return.

Making your way around the house quietly, you go into your daughter’s room and find a scene you were least expecting to see.

On the floor, both your favourite people were fast asleep cuddling each other.

Taesan snores softly with butterfly on his chest sound asleep, light snores matching her father’s, her hair wild and unkept and glitter all over the two of them and the floor beside them.

Quietly tiptoeing towards the two, you kneel down placing a light blanket on top of them to keep them warm before adding soft pecks onto both of their foreheads.

Your hand gently brushes the loose strands of hair to the side covering your husband’s face, you look down and notice the scribble marks all over his arm and a small smile grows over your face only imagining what these two had gotten up to while you were away.

In most instances you wouldn’t be happy at the sight of the mess in front of you, but your heart couldn’t help but melt instead seemingly content at the turnout of your perfect little family.

You truly couldn’t ask for anything more.

[mullermilkshake]

Time constraints

Part 27 <- Part 28-> Part 29

It's time for labour, the twins are coming and nothing is stopping them.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Pregnant!reader Tags - Heavily pregnant reader, Graphic depictions of labour/childbirth, Hospital, Mentions of c-section procedure, Trauma

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

TAG LIST RE-OPEN (The tag list is back up and open for a little while, if you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! 🤗)

TW - This will contain some very graphic details of labour in childbirth which may be triggering for some, if you do not wish to read it, I will leave a short summary of this chapter at the bottom of this post, thank you all for reading this far and enjoy!!

Don’t freak out.

Don’t freak out.

Don’t fucking freak out.

Your fiancé had lost his memories of you and the twins and now you were pretty sure your water had broken, and he still didn’t remember anything. Fuck- holy fuck, holy fucking- fuck, you were wholeheartdley freaking out, naked and freaking out.

“Okay…” Deep breaths, you ignored the trickling down your leg which pooled on the floor. “Okay. I need to- I need-“

Jinwoo rushed to your side, touching your arm made you flinch. “Tell me what you need. You have a hospital bag or something we need to take, right?”

“Yeah, it’s in the closet- I need a shower.” There was a sudden, dull pain radiating from your back.

Did having sex cause this?

“Okay.” Jinwoo gathered his clothes. “I’ll call the hospital, leave the door open, shout if you need me.”

“Alright.”

The doctor said that when your waters broke, it could be a matter of hours until the twins arrived though not guaranteed. Not long in the grand scheme of things, less than a day and over in a blink.

What if something went wrong? Maybe something would happen to you and Jinwoo ended up being left with two screaming babies all on his own.

You ran the water in the shower, breathing slowly, screwing your eyes shut to try and balance your mind and relax your muscles from tensing too much.

Hot water? No, warm. If it’s too hot, my blood pressure could drop, I might faint and end up having the babies here- what if we were too late to the hospital and I give birth in the car- oh my god.

“Oh my god.”

A quick shower, one to wash your hair and prep yourself before sitting in a stuffy hospital for the week. 

Ten minutes tops, hyper aware of the pressure in your back, like mild period cramps that slightly intensified each time they came over like waves. A couple of minutes maybe more apart.

Ten minutes turned into twenty, then over half an hour when Jinwoo came in, knocking behind the mist of foggy heat on the glass.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything? The hospital said to come in when you’re ready, I’ve put everything at the door and there was an oversized t-shirt on top of the bag so I laid it out for you on the bed.”

You just about heard his voice over the shower, his silhouette waiting behind for a response.

“I’m… freaking out.”

Jinwoo didn’t say anything at first, you could see him pacing, wanting to say something. But he never did.

“Can you come in? I want to make sure I got all the soap out of my hair.”

In honesty, you’d rinsed your hair twice and stood under the running water for who knew how long. Despite Jinwoo’s troubles, having him next to you brought you a comfort you craved.

“Sure.” He took his clothes off quickly, opening the door and slipping inside right next to you.

He hesitated before holding your shoulders, rubbing his thumbs over the wet skin where it counted. You accepted a chaste kiss to your temple, grounding you a little when a cramped pulse through your back and stomach.

“Are the bubbles out?” 

You looked up at him, already exhausted, knowing the next time you slept properly, you wouldn’t be pregnant anymore. Jinwoo searched your hair, massaging it with his fingertips under the water like there were actual bubbles left over.

“Yeah, they’re all out.”

“Okay-“ You hissed, inhaling a sharp breath and catching you off guard.

“What’s wrong? Is it a contraction?”

Nodding, you breathed it out and turned the shower off. “Yeah, it was sharp, nothing like the ones before that.”

“Let’s get dried, I’ll take you to the hospital-“

You pulled him back before he could open the door. “You’ll stay with me, right? You won’t leave.”

Jinwoo smiled sweetly, like how he did before, like his face was searching for little fragments to piece together.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“What if you need to come back here like Jong-in did, and I have the babies before you get back?”

“I guess I better bring everything I need so I won’t have to leave your side then.”

That sentiment stopped your heart beating any faster, yet the anxiety still remained. “It’s too early, I thought we still had a week, what if something’s wrong?”

Jinwoo handed you your towel, wrapping his own around his waist. He picked up another and scrunched your hair in it softly so that you didn’t break as delicate as you were feeling. 

“Lets see what the doctor says before we get riled up, I’m sure there’s a reason.”

A reason, you couldn’t think of any except that you must have done something to agitate it, to aggravate the twins into dipping out because you were just no longer inhabitable. The babies were early, meaning they would need some sort of help when they got here, the doctor said that.

It must have been the sex, it had to be. What if it hurt them or something now that they’ve dropped into position?

Your babies had dropped a few weeks ago, your body’s way of telling you that the they were ready to come at any time.

On the entire way over there, you didn’t speak, calmly breathing away more contractions. And when you weren’t doing that, you pulled apart every reason why you wouldn’t be a good mom.

If you never got your mana back, how would you raise them properly? Jinwoo couldn’t remember your face and every time he looked at you, you knew he was wracking his brain to try and find something to recognise you by. Every glance, every touch, like he was touching someone new for the first time.

He had forgot key moments in the relationship that only you knew and could never get back because you couldn’t experience them for the first time again.

A first kiss, first time, when he cooked for you and you for him when moving into that apartment into the unknown, you both made it a home. You hated that place now, wanting to live anywhere but there. Jinwoo would have loved your old place, one with a little balcony and a beautiful view of the city. Now it was gone.

All gone. Your little piece of privacy, all gone.

Jinwoo informed the receptionist of your arrival, stating your name and pulling up a wheelchair to sit in because your back began aching constantly. Tightness, that’s what you’d describe it as, a tightness around your belly each time a contraction washed over your body. Just plain uncomfortable most of the time, and then a certain pain came with a vengeance and made your teeth grit and you’d hiss like a snake or venomous animal that ought to be left alone.

“Hello!” When the doctor’s high pitched voice and grin entered the room, you couldn’t bear her. “How are you feeling?”

Jinwoo helped you on to the bed after you’d managed your hospital gown on, he never left, and you recognized that stare he’d given the doctor many times before. Now, you knew she meant well enough, but her face was pidsing you off.

“Oh, y’know, just as good as carrying around two babies inside me can feel.”

“I know, it’s a lot to process, but we’ll hopefully have a smooth birth like we did the pregnancy.” The doctor shuffled through some notes on her clipboard. “Now, I see your finalised birth plan says no pain medication, we’ll keep to that?”

“For now, I’m managing alright so far.”

Chances were you’d want medication later. It all depended on what you heard from the other rooms on the delivery ward. One screaming mother in your ears and you assumed it would send you into a state of panic. For now, the halls were mostly silent apart from squeaking hospital shoes and distant, beeping monitors behind other private doors.

Simple enough.

“Are you delivering the baby?” Jinwoo asked, his hand resting on your own as your legs swung off the side of the bed.

“Me? No. I’ll just be going between you two and Hunter Cha, the midwives will be taking care of the delivery. I’ll be assuming more of a matron role today. While I do specialise in pregnancies, I’m more involved in caesarean assisted deliveries and postpartum surgeries.” She smiled and adjusted her lab coat over her new pink scrubs. “I leave the amazing work to the midwives, but I’m on call for any procedures as a last resort, it’s commonplace.”

“Oh, right- yeah of course.” You’d never even entertained the idea of a C-section. Too busy worrying over everything else.

The doctor took your other hand and tried her best to reassure you, Jinwoo’s hand squeezed yours in response. “Please don’t worry about that right now, the midwife will check the babies position, but we already know they been engaged for a little while now, so I don’t think their positions will be an issue. So try not to think about my role today, just focus on yourself… you have a very supportive partner with you.”

She spoke the truth with that. You smiled involuntarily and nodded, watching Jinwoo with adoration even in the shitty times, he pulled through for you.

“Now, the twins are a little earlier than we hoped, but a specialist midwife will be on standby with incubators incase they’re in need of support. It is very common for twins to require longer hospital stays, but it’s okay.”

“We had sex-” It slipped from your mouth faster than you could ever control it. Fucking verbal vomit, coming out with it like you were shamelessly telling your parent. “Could that be-”

“No. There are some outdated methods to hurry labour along, but we could never confirm it. Sometimes babies are just ready to come out early, and yes, there could be complications, but you must remember, it’s pretty cramped in the uterus with one baby let alone two. They’re probably just ready to meet everyone. But we’ll monitor them to be sure, okay?”

“Okay.” It settled your nerves as another contraction rolled through your body.

Jinwoo massaged your shoulders and bridged the gap between you and the doctor. “What about Hae-in? She’s been here longer, shouldn’t you be with her?”

“We still have a little ways to go, I’m heading over to see her now, last time we checked she was over halfway there, so she’ll most probably give birth way before you do, but if you need anything, just call a nurse and they’ll come and get me.”

She sighed wistfully, shaking her head with the most delicate chuckle you’d ever heard from her. “I never would have guessed you two girls would go into labour at the same time! Talk about timing- now, get some rest while you can and my advice is to walk around if applucable, it can help get things moving. Best of luck you two, see you in an hour or so.”

As soon as she left the room, you grabbed onto Jinwoo’s t-shirt and tugged him closer, a sudden doom looming over your head. “Jinwoo, what if she has to cut me open- it was never part of the birth plan I-”

When he embraced you, you eased into him, taking on the smell of his cologne and natural smell that soothed you.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Brushing your hair from your face he smiled. “Let’s tackle it together, see where it takes us.”

If he was freaking out like you were, he was doing a pretty decent fucking job of hiding it.

“Okay…”

The comfort sat on the shelf longer than you were able to keep it, several hours later, you were in what the midwife called active labour. And it fucking killed. Every movement, each sharp breath as your contractions sort of merged together in one thick contraction. You were struggling.

“I need to use the bathroom-”

“Do you feel you need to push?” The midwife asked, taking your hand to aid you out of bed.

“No- no, I need to pee, I really have to pee.”

Your poor bladder, probably swollen to the size of… well not bladder sized. One of the twins were kicking at it like a fucking football. If you didn't go now, you were sure to wet yourself and piss all over the floor. Not your finest moment, yet with all the gross stuff, Jinwoo never batted an eye.

Yet, the more in pain you got, the quieter he became. After each outburst of fear or panic, that was when you could see his eyes widen.

However, he said nothing to voice his fears, internally processing them and still being available to support you. Each time you overheard Have-in scream and shout during labour, it frightened you, making you jolt and flinch and temporarily forget the pain you were in yourself.

Childbirth was fucking terrifying.

But, peeing was great, sitting down in a different position was even better, it helped you ignore the commotion outside.

“What the fuck is that?!” Struggling to stand with assistance, you backed away like you’d found a spider in there.

The midwife looked into the toilet once you were up and wide eyed at the lump-of-whatever that fell in the toilet, all veiny and globular.

“It’s alright, please don’t panic. It’s your mucus plug, it means things are moving along.”

The thing looked alive, it looked fucking alive. It could have been the overwhelming pain shooting through you or an array of other things, but that thing fucking looked alive.

“Jinwoo… I don’t think I can take this any more.” You were so close to sobbing, inches close to giving up with each second passing and making that C-section look appealing as it could be being cut open.

“We’ll get you something for the pain-” He waved over the nurse. “Can you get her something for the pain now?”

“I’m back!” The doctor came in with a positive grin you wanted to sneer at.

The nurse nodded over to her and said, “She’ll be able to prescribe it for you.”

Relief, perhaps? Any painkillers were deliciously just in reach, anything to take the edge off. “Good, because I need something for the pain- I can’t take this any longer, doctor..”

She pulled out her clipboard and scanned through the pages. “We can, but your birth plan states no pain medication, do you want to wait and-”

“No,” You managed yourself back into bed with Jinwoo’s aid. “I want it now, anything you have. Please.”

“I think maybe we should-

Something snapped in you alarmingly fast, a feral and rabid inducing. “Get me some fucking pain medication, bitch! I’ve just birthed a giant glob in the toilet and was told it’s normal. These kids are gonna split me in two and I’d rather not feel it! Now, if you aren’t gonna be useful, get the fuck out!”

Silence. Indescribable silence.

Then you realised what you just said through the constant wall of pain. “Fuck… I’m sorry-”

“Doctor.” Jinwoo coaxed her over towards the corner of the room where you couldn’t hear anything, far too many machine beeps and heavy breaths to even see clearly.

But you noticed the doctor's expression change from neutral to something out of a horror movie. Eyes wide and mouth wider. She nodded and adjusted herself, clearing her throat and announcing to the room that she’d be back with the medication you wanted.

“She’s getting you anything you need, don’t leave anything out, alright?” Jinwoo turned, watched you like he hadn’t done within the last day and gave you a knowing smile. “Hi, Baby.”

Your pet name. Even in the pain you realised.

“Jinwoo- wait- do you-”

He approached and kissed your forehead, holding you firmly like he hadn’t seen you in weeks. “I’m sorry I went away, I won’t ever leave again, I promise.”

What the hell. Jinwoo remembered all of a sudden with no warning, and he thought it was appropriate in your pain blind mind to apologise right now?

“Wait- wait.” Grasping his shirt made him groan unexpectedly. “You took your time!”

He let you pull him about. “Thanks for waiting for me, I missed you too.”

Sarcasm. But you couldn’t deny it. “I did miss you.”

“And… you love me too, huh?”

Not one minute back to his usual self and already you wanted to throttle him and kiss him all at the same time.

Better late than never.

"I do."

Wiping the damp hair away from your face, he stared at you with the most adoring look he'd ever given you. "Let's have our babies. I'm with you the whole way, properly this time."

No, he came back at the right time.

Part 27 <- Part 28-> Part 29

SUMMARY - Jinwoo and reader go to the hospital, the doctor is indirectly involved with her care and Hae-in's, and is on standby. She tries to keep to reader's birth plan, (which is no meds) Reader is in pain and shouts at her hehe, and then we see Jinwoo put the doctor in her place and we find out that he has his memories back.

Not the best at summaries 🫣 Sorry!

I'm not fully fully happy with how I've done the ending but I'm not sure if it's just me reading over this one like ten times, what do you think?

ANNOUNCEMENT - I'm away all of next week, so no chapters until sometime next week 🫣🫣 sorry! I'll still be writing, I just won't be uploading.

TAG LIST RE-OPEN (The tag list is back up and open for a little while, if you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! 🤗)

Thank you for reading and all of the support on this fic! ❤️ Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated and I appreciate you all! See you next time 🤗

Tag list - @bubera974 @snowy-violet @sky2lar @starrynights23x @kamiliora

@yessirr7 @qmabailor @yihona-san06 @mashiromochi @daiyanomochi

@justatimidcreator @alia-17 @otomegamesforlife @m00n-estelle @towomatos

@stormnightingale @johnnysactualgf @solarisstarrsolomonsbeloved @johnnysactualgf @notleclerc

@minkuro @misakicchi @lovingyeet @soft-dots @gina239

@sabrina-senpai @tsukimoon-chan @afkmylajah @livelaughlovekuni @keiva1000

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work, thank you!

[itoshiierae]

⋆ ˚｡ 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 . ݁₊ ✶ ˖

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

ᡣ𐭩 ft: suna rintarou x f!reader

ᡣ𐭩 summary: you’ve been tangled up in a situationship with suna rintarou for the past six months — late-night texts, secret dorm visits, and sex that feels a little too intimate for something that’s “not serious.” he never calls you his, but he touches you like he owns you.

ᡣ𐭩 cw: minors dni, situationship!suna, cliché trope ngl, college-setting, explicit sex, oral (f! & m! receiving), toxic!suna, fingering, overstimulation, dirty talk, slight lingerie kink, creampie, nipple play, aftercare, emotional tension, slight angst (wc: 2.6k words)

ᡣ𐭩 notes: my very first hq post on this blog and of course it had to be suna <33 writing this lowkey felt like time-traveling back to 2020/2021 — back when i’d stay up way too late reading suna fics on ao3 😩 anywayyy this one’s extremely filthy 🥵😵‍💫 (not proofread bc i’m just lazy like that)

it always starts with a late-night text from him, and then you’re off sneaking out of your dorm room. your roommate doesn’t even bother stopping you anymore. she knows exactly what you’ve been up to, but at this point??? she’s too tired to keep repeating advice you’ll never take, especially when it comes to him.

you’ve been “seeing” suna rintarou for the past six months now — or more accurately, tangled up in a situationship with him. how it started? kind of unexpected. but somehow, it unraveled into secret rendezvous and quiet nights in his bed. he was one of those effortlessly popular boys on campus; reserved but well-known. he’s not as loud or “chaotic” as compared to his friends, but he still stood out without even trying. you, on the other hand, were more lowkey — kept to yourself, quiet, and definitely not the kind of girl anyone would expect to get tangled up with someone like him.

but despite that, girls like you are exactly his type: the soft-spoken ones, the ones who seem innocent until they’re not. it’s the contrast that gets him every single time. you’re quiet, reserved even, but the second he gets you alone??? now that’s a whole different story.

so tonight when you walked in wearing that little red set: a sheer crimson slip with lace teasing over your skin, and a matching robe slipping off one shoulder with delicate bows untied just enough to make him twitch beneath his boxers??? yeah… safe to say he was gone the moment he saw you. he’s barely said a word since, too busy drinking you in the way the fabric clings to your body and the way you look.

“…shittt, baby you look good..”

he doesn’t give you time to respond. the words barely leave his lips before his hands are on your waist, mouth hot against your neck, dragging you into his room like he’s starved. your robe slips off with ease and then it’s just his touch all over you.

the way he’s touching you right now; it almost feels like he owns you. but not once has he ever officially called you his.

your back hits the mattress with a quiet thud. the sheets are cool, but his body is burning. he kisses you like he’s trying to memorize your taste; slow at first, then rougher when you kiss him back harder. his hands roam without hesitation, slipping beneath the fabric of your lace top, fingertips skating across your familiar skin like he’s claiming it all over again.

he pulls back just long enough to strip off his boxers, cock already straining and flushed — the second he hooks his fingers under the band of your lace panties, he yanks them aside with zero patience and then he’s inside you in one deep, ruthless thrust.

“fuckkk— you’re so warm… it’s only been a week, did you miss me that badly baby??”

he doesn’t let you answer — just buries himself deeper, hips rolling with slow, punishing thrusts that make your whole body arch.

“you wear that slutty little robe,” he breathes, voice low and ragged, “lookin’ all innocent… and then act surprised when i lose it??”

then his hand smacks your thigh, the sound echoing through the room. your moan’s barely muffled by the sheets and the way he’s grinding into you like he’s trying to ruin you from the inside out.

“fuck,” he mutters against your neck. “why do you always do this to me...”

you want to ask him what he means, but you already know. it’s the same reason you keep showing up at his door in the middle of the night; because even if it’s temporary, even if it hurts, this is the closest you’ve ever felt to being wanted. especially by someone like him.

“ahhh rin—s’too good, i can’t handle it—”

you were barely keeping it together, body arching beneath him, moans spilling out like second nature the rougher he got.

“oh?? that’s the spot, isn’t it? look at you...” he groans, already slowly falling apart from the sensation.

“… you gonna be a good girl and cum for me?? or should i keep playing with you until you cry??” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear as two fingers circle your clit in slow, taunting circles.

“you’re too deep, rinn, i can’t—” you gasp, trying to steady your breathing, but it’s useless. he’s got one hand pinning your thigh wide open, and the other??? still circling your clit, taunting and precise, like he wants you to fall apart faster.

he groans, low and guttural, leaning down to kiss your jaw. “then take it,” he growls.

his pace falters — not out of mercy, but to lean in close and whisper, “you feel that? that’s mine.” and just when you think he’s about to break you completely, he pulls out with a slow drag of his cock, watching the way you whimper at the loss. before you can whine, his hand grabs your jaw, forcing your eyes back to him.

his thumb swipes across your bottom lip.

“mouth now, baby,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “be good and let me fuck your throat too.”

your lips part instinctively, breath hitching as he presses his thumb down on your tongue, just enough to make you look up at him through your lashes. “that’s it,” he breathes, thumb still resting on your tongue as he strokes himself slowly with the other hand. “look at you… already so obedient.” after he removed his thumb, you don’t even wait for a cue before you lean forward, tongue sliding along the underside of his cock as you take him inside your mouth — inch by inch, until your lips are flush against his base. his breath stutters.

“shittt—” he hisses, hand tangling in your hair. “you missed this, huh?” you hum around him, and the vibration makes him curse under his breath. his hips jerk forward once, then again — and that’s when he starts thrusting, slow at first, but steadily deeper.

“yeah… now that’s my good girl,” he groans. “so fucking good with your mouth… look at the mess you’re making.” your eyes water, as he rocks into your throat with more force now, hips snapping forward. the stretch, the weight, the sound of his breath unraveling—it’s all dizzying.

“… hands on the mattress,” he mutters, voice low and dangerous. “i wanna see you take it without touching me. just your mouth... nothing else.”

your fingers curl into the sheets, knuckles tightening as you brace yourself, breathing hard through your nose. he watches with that unblinking gaze as you lower your mouth onto him again like you know exactly what he wants.

“… there you go,” he breathes, voice fraying. “look at you… fuck, you’re perfect like this.”

his hips roll forward, testing your gag reflex. you choke slightly, and he grins before muttering, “… breathe through it, baby.”

he starts training your mouth with sharp, precise thrusts — using your throat like it’s his personal project, groaning every time you gag around him. spit starts to drip down your chin, pooling at the corners of your lips, but he doesn’t stop. “eyes on me,” he growls, dragging your head back just enough so he can see your face. “wanna watch how good you look when you’re falling apart.”

you blink up at him, tears streaking, mouth stuffed full, and his voice drops even lower. “ahhh— that’s it... yesss take it like a good girl. fuck— i could come just from seeing you like this.”

his abs flex with every thrust, muscles rippling from years of volleyball training — spikes, drills, sets — and now every ounce of that strength is wrecking your throat. your jaw burns. spit still dripping down your chin. but you take it, just like he told you to. “now… look at you,” he pants, hips snapping forward again. “not even touching me, and still being such a good little toy.” he groans when your throat tightens. “bet you’ve dream about this, don’t you??? being used like this.”

when he pulls out, panting, a thin string of spit still connecting him to your swollen lips. he lets out a low chuckle, eyes dark with satisfaction as he takes in the mess he made of you.

but then your voice breaks the silence — breathy, almost needy. “ …. rin,” you whine, cheeks flushed.

he raises a brow, cock twitching again at the sound of your voice.

“oh??? now you’re making requests?”

you nod, eyes wide and glistening. “please...”

he leans in, thumb brushing over your lips to smear the spit there, before slipping it into your mouth again; watching you suck on it, obedient and desperate. “… you taste me so well,” he murmurs, pulling it out with a wet pop. “but you want me to taste you now, huh??”

your thighs press together instinctively, a reflex you barely register but he does — already lowering himself between your legs; eyes low-lidded, soaked in lust — locked onto your every twitch. “spread them,” he says, voice low. you hesitate just for a second, and he’s already swatting your inner thigh. not hard, but just enough to make you gasp.

“now.”

and you do; slowly, shyly, like your body knows better than to disobey him. the second your legs fall open, he immediately sees how soaked you are.

“fuckkk… baby you’re dripping already.”

he doesn’t tease you for long. his mouth is on your cunt in seconds. he eats you out like a mad-man, almost as if this is how he plans to make you pay for making him lose control; tongue dragging slow, teasing strokes before sucking your clit just to hear you cry out. and when your fingers tug on his hair, hips rolling up against his mouth? he growls against you. “keep those legs open for me, baby. i’m not stopping till you scream.”

you’re already close — thighs trembling, breath hitching every time his tongue flicks over your clit.

he knows it, too. knows the exact way your hips twitch when you’re on the edge, how your fingers tangle tighter in his hair, how your moans start falling apart like they’re not even words anymore.

so of course he pulls back.

you whine — broken, needy. “r-rin… why’d you stop??”

he smirks, lips glistening, voice low and wrecked. “you thought i’d let you come that easy??” his fingers slide through your folds, spreading the wetness just to watch you twitch. “nah, baby… not yet.”

he leans in again, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh instead.

“rin, please… i’m soo close—”

his fingers circle your clit again, barely brushing. just enough to frustrate you. “… you’ll come when i say you can,” he mutters. “not when you think you’ve earned it.”

your eyes flutter shut. your breath stutters. you’re dripping, aching; already so desperate that it’s borderline pathetic.

and then he goes all in — tongue dragging over your clit like he’s starving, as his fingers pump slow and deep inside you, curling juuust right. your hips jerk, your back arches, and your moans spill out unfiltered, raw, like a prayer he’s pulling straight from your lungs.

“… that’s it,” he mutters against you. “look at you… so fuckin’ pretty like this.”

you’re shaking, already close to your limit but he doesn’t stop. not even when you scream because now that he’s made you fall apart, he wants to see you do it again and again.

you barely have time to catch your breath.

you’re still aching from your last orgasm, thighs slick and trembling, when he crawls back over you — pupils blown, jaw clenched, cock flushed and still so fucking hard it makes your mouth water. his hands trail up your torso, until they reach the flimsy lace of what’s left of your lingerie top.

he grabs the lace between his fingers then immediately rips it off without warning.

you gasp. “… wait rin—?! that was new—”

he just shrugs, cocky and unbothered, eyes dragging down your now-exposed chest like a feast. “oops,” he mutters with a smirk, not sounding sorry at all. “guess i’ll just buy you a new one.” he tosses the shredded fabric off the bed like it’s trash, mouth already lowering to your chest.

“maybe something even sluttier this time,” he murmurs against your skin. “… something easier to take off.”

you moan when his tongue flicks over your nipple, one hand gripping your waist as the other strokes between your thighs again — fingers slipping back inside like your body was made for him. “… damn, you’re still soo wet after all that we did??”

“rin—”

“you like when i ruin things, huh??” he grins, voice dark. “your clothes... your body… this pretty little pussy.”

when he thrusts into you again, it’s with the full force of a man who plans to ruin a lot more tonight. your legs are already jelly, body wrecked from everything he’s done to you, but rintarou still isn’t finished. not until he’s buried so deep inside you as your walls clench around him like they’re begging him to stay. his hand snakes behind your back, and with one rough pull, he lifts you up — pushes you against the headboard with your knees straddling his thighs.

“…hold on, don’t let go,” he grits, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head, fingers curling around the bars of the headboard.

“fuck—!”

he groans low in your ear, hips slamming up into you, relentless and so deep your eyes roll back. “you’re still gripping me so tight, baby… you gonna let me finish inside??”

you can barely speak. all you can do is whimper, nod — as your hips instinctively rolling to meet his.

his pace falters for a moment — then sharpens.

“say it.”

“yes, rin… fuck—inside,” you gasp. “finish inside me.”

he kisses you sloppy and desperate, hips drawing back just enough before slamming into you one last time — deeper than before, as his release hits; thick and warm, spilling deep inside you. you cling to the headboard like it’s your only anchor, moaning through the aftershocks as he groans your name into your shoulder. and when he finally pulls out, slow and spent, his cum gushes out in sticky waves, dripping down your thighs and staining the sheets below.

“shit…” he breathes. “you okay, baby??”

you nod, breathless before managing a soft little “barely.”

“good… you did well,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple as his fingers trace slow, gentle circles over your hips — right where he held you too tight just moments ago, almost as if he’s trying to soothe the ache he left behind.

“… you always do,” he adds — softer this time, almost like a quiet confession meant more for himself than for you.

and the way he says it??? low, vulnerable, and just a little too tender; it makes you ache in a way that has nothing to do with lust. because even the quietest part of you still yearns for the chance that whatever this is between you two… could one day turn into something real.

✶ p.s: found this fanart on pinterest — credits goes to the original artist! // ‘warning’ divider credits to @/cafekitsune ✶

© itoshiierae 2025 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ please do not modify or repost my content onto any other platforms.

[birdie-in-arcadia]

Always

This was an anon request, and I honestly had a lot of fun writing this despite the subject matter. Thank you for such a great ask anon, and I hope I did it justice! Enjoy <3

CW: angst, verbal fight between Vessel and fem!reader, reconciliation, fluff, and suggestive content at the end

Word Count: 5.3k

It started in the little ways. The late replies, the sidelong glances that never quite land. The way he pulls his hands or lips away just a second too early, almost like warmth and love has become something he doesn’t yearn for the way he did before. 

You’ve been trying not to notice, to shrug it off. You tell yourself he’s tired, and that tour wears on everyone, which is inevitably true. That if you give him space, he’ll come back to you in his own time. But it’s been weeks, and that quiet ache in your chest is getting harder to ignore. Every time you reach for him, literally or metaphorically, it feels like his edges are sharper than they used to be. Not angry or anything, just… untouchable and distant. 

And even now, back at the hotel, he barely looks up when you speak. You’re perched on the end of the bed, arms wrapped around your knees, watching him dig through his overnight bag. Your hair falls over your arms, tickling you occasionally as if to say, “lighten up”. But you can’t, no matter how hard you try. 

“Did you want to get breakfast downstairs in a bit?” you ask, gently. Not needy or clingy, just hoping he’ll want to be with you. 

He hums noncommittally. “Maybe. I’m not sure I’m up for it.” His tone is flat, yet loaded. You simply nod and take a deep breath before replying quietly, “Okay. I can bring something back up if you’d rather stay in.” 

“Maybe.” Another one-word response. You want to rake your nails through your hair and rip it out at the roots in frustration. You don’t understand what you’ve done to deserve such... silence. It’s all maybes with him lately. No certainty, no weight or sincerity. Like every answer is a placeholder for the thing he wants to say, but won’t. 

You try not to show your disappointment or frustration. Instead, you stand and stretch, offering a faint smile. “I’m gonna go see if the band lounge has that ginger tea again. Might help my throat.” 

“Yeah,” he says absently, his gaze now cast on his phone. “Good idea.” 

No offer to come with you. No kiss goodbye. Just the rustle of his joggers as he reclines in the corner chair and the low hum of traffic outside the window. 

You step into the hallway and let the door click quietly shut behind you, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. Your gaze is fixed on the floor beneath you as you wrack your brain, attempting to think of anything and everything you’ve ever done wrong or said sideways that could’ve hurt his feelings or pushed him away. You mentally ask yourself, “Am I too much? Do I need or ask for too much from him? Is he tired of me, or has he found someone better?” Nothing makes sense. You’ve loved him as much as he’ll let you, you give him space when he requests it, and you give him your undivided attention all the same. 

It was such a perfect relationship up until about four weeks ago. You try as hard as you can to think of something that could’ve been pivotal enough to warrant such distance. Was there an argument or a disagreement of any kind? Any harsh words or slammed doors? Absolutely nothing comes to mind, and it’s driving you mad. What did I do? 

You blink hard and shake your head, turning your focus to the elevator you’re approaching. You click the down arrow button and stare at its flickering orange glow, letting your mind run wild with what ifs and circumstances and possible answers to an impossible equation. 

The lift doors opening brings you back to reality and your eyes dart up as you see yours and Vessel’s dear friend II standing near the front of the lift, bracing himself on the handrail along the side. He smiles at you as you step in the rig, standing opposite him. You lean against the wall as you hear II’s Welsh lilt ask you which floor you’re going to. “Lobby, please.” you answer simply, your tone too deflated to hide. His face drops from friendly to concerned as his brows furrow slightly. 

He turns and jabs the button with a calloused thumb, and the doors close, trapping you in this space with him, and you just know he’s gonna ask what’s wrong. It’s in his caring nature. Like clockwork, you hear that same voice ask, “You alright, babe?” He’s called you that platonic nickname since he first got to know you nearly six months ago, and you’re used to it by now. It holds the same endearment as “buddy” or “pal” or even “dude”. 

You sigh as you turn your gaze from the dingy steel walls of the moving rig to meet II’s, and you can see the concern on his features. You quickly decide how much you wanna tell him, and you reply, “Yeah, just... I dunno, Ves seems so distant lately and I don’t understand why. I’ve been thinking all day for the last few days about what I could’ve done to upset him or push him away, and I got nothing.” You shrug as you finish, and II’s face goes from an expression of concern to one of sympathy as he nods his head along to your words. 

“Sorry, love. Ves just gets like this sometimes when he’s got something on his mind. He was like this right before him and his last girl broke it off, for example.” II says before he realizes his implications. As your eyes go wide and your brows arch on your forehead, you feel your stomach drop through the floor of the lift. His own eyes widen, and he immediately backpedals. “Uh, no wait, I uh- shit- I didn’t mean- that's not what I-” he splutters, his hands flailing in front of him as if he’s physically grasping for the words. You chuckle lightly at the sight. 

He sighs and runs a frustrated hand over his face before dropping it limply to his side. “I didn’t mean that’s what’s gonna happen with you two. It was just an example, and a horrid one at that. Sorry about that.” he says, his tone heavy with embarrassment. His cheeks are red as his gaze fixes on his Nikes. You chuckle again as you reply, “It’s alright man, my heart only stopped for a couple seconds.” He lets out a nervous yet relieved laugh as he runs a hand over his hair, and the rig comes to a stop. 

He steps out first, and you follow behind as you ask, “You thirsty too?” He turns back to glance at you over his shoulder, and he slows down to walk beside you. “Nah, just wanted to grab more of those Lifesavers gummies. Fuckers are addicting.” You hum in agreeance as he asks, “What’re you gettin’?” You point to the coffee and hot water bar a few feet away and reply, “Hopefully one of those ginger teas if they still have any.” He hums again as he makes his selection and pays the clerk behind the counter. 

“I was actually headed up to talk with him about tomorrow’s gig after I grabbed these. D’ya want me to talk to him about what you told me?” II asks as you both walk back toward the lift. You ponder for a moment, hands comforted by the warmth of the paper cup in your grasp. After a few steps, you reply, “No, that’s okay. I’ll talk with him about it tomorrow on the flight back. I appreciate it, though.” II simply smiles at you and nods once before you both step back into the lift. 

You make small talk about venues and light rigging and sound systems as the lift takes you back to your floor. Eventually, it comes to a stop and you both bid your farewells as you step off, leaving II, as his room is another floor up. 

Your mood slowly falls back down into “what did I do to upset him” the closer you get to your room. As you approach the door and unlock it, a pit forms in your stomach as you open the door and step in, finding Vessel gone. 

You pull out your phone instantly, nearly dropping your fresh tea, and you check your messages. Did you miss the chime of a text message? Apparently you did, because you have one new message from Vessel. 

It reads, “Grabbing drinks with III. Don’t wait up.” 

What the fuck? Your face screws up as you reread the message three times over, incredibly confused as to why he’d want to grab drinks considering he’s recovering from addiction. Worry and guilt sweep through you as you wonder if he’s drinking again because of you. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away in frustration. 

Wait. Didn’t II say he was going to talk with Vessel about concert shit? Did II lie to you or is he just misinformed? You sit your cup on the counter nearest you, and you frantically pull up Find My iPhone. You zoom in on his location, and it indicates that he’s still in the hotel, and so is III. 

A bone-chilling realization washes over you, and your stomach churns something nasty as your mind flies through all the possibilities. III’s still in the hotel, and so is Vessel. Are they together? Is Vessel in another member’s room? Or is he in someone else’s room entirely? 

A myriad of emotions flood through you as your veins fill with fire and ice and your heartrate catapults. There’s no way, right? Vessel has been cheated on in the past, so he’d never... right? You aren’t certain of that, and it makes you vehemently nauseous. However, you are certain of one thing: you have to find him now. 

You storm out of the room, emotions in a whirlwind as you stare down Find My iPhone, stomping in the direction of his location. Your brain is a tsunami of thoughts and possibilities. What if he’s just in one of the guys’ rooms? What if they’re just relaxing and maybe gaming, and you storm in there like a bat outta hell for no reason and embarrass yourself? 

You shake your head, and one thought lingers: regardless of who’s room he's in, you’ve been lied to. Your chin trembles, but you deny your eyes any release of salt; not until you know for sure. His location leads against a wall in between two rooms. Huh? You refresh the app, and it still shows the same place. Maybe it’s up or down a floor? 

You turn confusedly and head for the lift you were just in with II. You press the up-arrow button since II said he was going to talk with Vessel, and you're kind of banking on him being up there with II. You tap your foot lightning fast as the rig moves slowly upward, the gravitational pull downward not helping your nausea in the slightest. 

Once the door opens a few moments later, you step out and follow his location directly to II’s room. Okay, this checks out, but why did he say he was getting drinks with III? You form a fist, knuckles forward as you raise your arm, but just before you knock, you hear your name.  

Their voices are low but still audible in the quiet of the room. You freeze, not intending to eavesdrop, just… uncertain. The way he’s speaking is different; tense. 

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Vessel mutters. “It’s like… the closer she gets, the more I feel like I’m going to fuck it up.” II doesn’t respond right away. 

“She’s everything. Sweet, steady, and forgiving. And I can’t even hold a conversation without it feeling like a lie.” Vessel continues. You blink as the words land, your heart dropping into your stomach. 

“Every time she looks at me like I’m the moon and stars in her skies, I just feel like a fucking fraud. Like she’s in love with someone who doesn’t exist anymore. I feel like I’m living in someone else’s skin when I’m with her sometimes,” he continues. “Like I have to pretend to be this perfect version of myself or I’ll lose her.” He lets out a shaky breath. “But the worst part? I think she’d be better off if I did.” 

You don't hear the rest. Your ears are ringing and roaring with your blood. But you don’t need to hear it, nor do you want to. His voice cuts through you like a razor, sharp and brutal. The weight of it lodges in your lungs, and suddenly you can’t breathe. You stumble back a step, hand pressed to your chest, mouth slightly agape. Your heart pounds in your ears as you catch yourself on the wall across from II’s door. 

I feel like I'm living in someone else's skin when I'm with her sometimes. She’d be better off if I did. He can't be fucking serious.

You turn, quick and quiet, and walk straight back to your shared room. Your hands are trembling when you unlock the door. 

The air in the room still smells faintly like his cologne; amber, smoke, something earthy. You shut the door behind you and lean against it for a moment, the silence loud and suffocating. Your brain immediately goes to war with your heart.

He doesn’t love you. He’s been pulling away because he’s already gone; emotionally checked out, just waiting for the right moment to say the words out loud. You’d been holding on to hope that it was in your head. That maybe he was just stressed. Maybe he was trying. But you heard it. Not from a text, not from a rumor. From his own mouth. 

No, you know he loves you. From the way he clings to you at night like you're his lifeline. The way he always checks in on you no matter the scenario. He brings you along on every tour, to every show just so you feel included. All the times he's held you while you cried and put you back together with just his voice and vocabulary.

She'd be better off if I did. His words ring through your head again, shattering any semblance of logic or hope that he still wanted you around.

You cross the room in a haze and start pulling your things together. Toothbrush, charger, whatever clothing you could find strewn over the floor haphazardly. That hoodie you always wear to bed that still smells like him catches your eye, and you feel your throat nearly close up as a sob threatens to tear from it.

You step over to the end of the bed where the hoodie lays, and you pick it up and take a deep inhale of its scent. Agony surges through your chest like a knife to the heart and your knees nearly buckle as your combined smells lilt through your sinuses.

You clutch the hoodie with white knuckles, your face contorting into a mixed expression of anger and grief, and a sob pummels its way up your throat and past your lips. You throw the hoodie onto the floor and turn from it, picking up what's left of your belongings on the floor and surrounding tabletops.

You divert your eyes from the article one last time and deny yourself the relief of fully crying. Not yet. You stomp into the bathroom and grab your toiletries from the shower wall, knocking down one of his bottles in your wake. You groan as it tumbles down, echoing through the bathroom. You leave it where it lies as you rush back to your bag and stuff it all in with shaking hands. 

In a last ditch effort to feel in control of something, anything, you make the bed. As you finish, you hear the familiar crinkling of a small aluminum packet underfoot. You wince at the sound, at the memory, and you bend to pick it up and discard it in a nearby waste bin.

You bend and hover over the desk and tear a page from the hotel’s notepad. You pick up a nearby pen, then pause, staring at the blank paper. A single tear falls onto the sheet, wrinkling it. And then you write: 

"If you wanted me to leave, you didn’t have to disclose it secretly to II. I wish you’d just said it to my face." 

You fold it once and place it on the bed. You give the room one last look, and then you’re gone.  

_______________

“…I think she’d be better off if I did.” Vessel’s voice trails into silence. II says nothing at first, he just lets the words of his struggling best friend settle. Vessel had been waiting outside II's door as II returned from grabbing his snack in the lobby with you. He'd let Vessel in without a word once he saw the helpless look in his eyes.

Vessel leans against the wall, head tipping back, eyes shut. The room smells like lemon floor polish, burnt coffee, and old carpet; cheap and forgettable. A fitting backdrop, he thinks bitterly, for the way he’s been acting lately. 

“I mean, fuck,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “She gives me everything. Patience, kindness… all this love I don’t know how to process. And what do I do? I shut down. I shut her out. I can feel her slipping away from me and I just keep letting it happen.” 

II sighs, arms crossed. “So talk to her, man. Don’t let your head run the whole show. If you’re scared, tell her. If you love her, and I know you do, show her.” 

“I do,” Vessel breathes. “God, I do. I’ve never-” His voice catches in his throat. He clears it, blinking hard. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone. Not since... you know. It’s terrifying, being vulnerable again. But I don’t want to lose her. I’d rather die trying to let her in than watch her walk away thinking I didn’t care.” 

II rests a hand on his shoulder, solid and grounding. “Then go. Tell her that, all of it. Before your silence speaks louder than your words ever could.” Vessel nods, heart thudding against his ribs, determination coursing through his veins. “Yeah, you’re right. Thank you, man. I’m going now.” 

He turns, heart already racing, and opens the room door. The hallway stretches ahead of him, silent, like it knows what's coming. His feet move rapidly toward the elevator, and he jams the button. He all but jumps inside when the doors open, and he mashes the floor number until the rig is moving again. He’s grinning as he descends at a slow pace, ecstatic that he’s about to go fix everything with his girl, and maybe even make love to you if you’d let him. 

The door clicks open with a familiar sound, the keycard light flashing green. He steps inside, voice low but warm. 

“Baby!” His cheerful greeting rings through the small room. 

He’s met with silence. He frowns as he notices that the bathroom door is open, and the lights are off. 

“Baby?” he tries again, this time laced with a hint of confusion. Still nothing. The room is quiet, way too quiet. His eyes scan the space. The bed is made, the chair in the corner is empty, and the closet door is slightly ajar. 

And then it hits him. Your things are gone. The tote bag that always slouches beside the dresser? Gone. Your travel case of skincare and scrunchies that typically adorn the counter? Missing. The sweater you wore this morning, cream colored, soft, probably still faintly scented like you? No longer tossed over the arm of the chair where you always leave it. 

His blood runs cold. “No…” he breathes, stepping forward. He checks the bathroom, heart lurching. Nothing. Your soaps are gone, even your microfiber hair towel. 

His hands start trembling as he crosses back to the bed, eyes darting over the blankets, the table, the floor, anything. “Maybe she just ran out for food”, he thinks. “Maybe she-” 

Then he sees it. Folded once, an unpinned grenade on the center of the bed, his given name, not the moniker, not a pet name, in your handwriting unmistakably on the hotel paper. He picks it up slowly like the bomb that it is. His eyes trace the words. 

If you wanted me to leave, you didn’t have to disclose it secretly to II. I just wish you’d said it to my face. 

The paper trembles in his hand. He rereads it.  

Once. Twice. A third time. 

“No, no, no- fuck, no-” His voice breaks. 

His knees give, and he sinks onto the edge of the bed, the note still clutched between trembling fingers. The breath leaves his lungs like he’s been punched. His chest burns. His vision blurs. 

You must’ve come looking for him and overheard. Dammit, his plan of diverting your attention by telling you that he was going out with III did the exact opposite. Go figure. Regardless, you heard him. But you didn’t stay long enough to hear what came after. Didn’t hear him say he loves you. Didn’t hear him say he wants to fight for you. You think he wanted you to go. 

He drops his head into his hands, shoulders shaking as a raw sound escapes his throat; half anguish, half pleading. The pain slams into him like a wave, unforgiving and cold, clawing its way through every part of him. He presses the note to his chest like it might somehow undo the damage, but it doesn’t. It just hurts. 

“Fuck,” he gasps again, standing suddenly, stumbling, frenzied, and searching for anything that could give him an answer. He grabs his phone from his front left pocket, and he opens your thread. His thumbs hover, trembling, then he types: 

“Please come back. I didn’t mean it like that. Please.” 

“I love you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you heard. Please just tell me you’re okay.” 

No “... is typing...”, no response. He hits the call button. 

Straight to voicemail. 

He calls again. 

Two rings, then voicemail. 

“Pick up, baby, please,” he whispers to the static. “Please, just... fuck, just talk to me. Let me explain. I swear to God I didn’t mean it like that…” 

He’s pacing now, chest heaving, phone in a death grip. And then, a miracle. He swipes down with shaking fingers and opens the location-sharing app. Your dot is still live, still glowing. Looks to be approximately three blocks down. A little boutique hotel near the edge of the shopping district. You must’ve forgotten to turn it off amid all the emotions and taxi-hailing. Otherwise, you definitely would’ve turned off your location. You don’t want to be found. 

Without a second thought, he bolts for the door. 

Rain pours against the sidewalk as Vessel sprints down the street, dodging passersby, lungs burning, the cold biting into his damp skin. He doesn’t feel any of it, not really. The only thing he feels is you. The absence of you, the shape you leave behind, like a phantom in his chest. 

The GPS dot blinks steady on his screen, his lifeline. He turns a corner and sees it, small and quaint, tucked between a florist and an antique shop. The boutique hotel you chose in the heat of heartbreak. 

He’s there in seconds, breath ragged, soaked to the bone. The front desk blurs past as he races up the stairs, skipping steps, heart pounding so hard it makes him nauseous. He follows your beacon of hope to the very door you’re hidden behind. 

He knocks once, three light sounds against the wooden door. He’s met with nothing. He knocks again, another three times, but a tad bit louder this time, in case you’re sleeping. 

“Please,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to the wood, rain dripping from his hair and trailing down the door, his fingers clenched into fists. “Please let me in.” 

Still nothing. He swallows down a sob and knocks one last time, louder this time. “I know you don’t want to see me. I know I hurt you. But baby I swear, I didn’t mean it like that. You left before you could even hear the rest.” Silence on the other side. He breathes hard, trembling hands travelling upward to brace himself as he leans on the door, and he fights the urge to break it down to get to you. Your silence completely unnerves him. 

“I was talking to II because I didn’t know how to talk to you,” he confesses, voice cracking. “I’m scared all the time. That you’ll realize I’m not what you need. That you’ll wake up one day and see what a fucking mess I am and walk away and-” 

The lock clicks, and his head shoots up to look for your face, regaining his balance and lowering his hands to his sides. The door opens just enough to reveal you; eyes red and glassy, hair tied back in a loose bun, gray hoodie zipped to your throat. You don’t say anything at first, you just look at him like he’s something wild and foreign. 

You cross your arms tightly over your chest as you prop the door open and turn, walking away from him, the sights of the city momentarily capturing your attention as you approach the window in your room. You hear the door click shut, and you feel his presence in the room as you turn to face him. He’s standing about a foot from the door, his hands at his sides, his face drawn down, his big, beautiful puppy eyes focused solely on you. 

“You lied to me,” you say finally, breaking the silence, your voice quiet but sharp. “You told me you were going to get drinks with III when you were just upstairs talking shit about me to II.” 

“I wasn’t-” he steps forward, then stops, hands raised like you might bolt. He exhales and checks his tone before continuing. “I wasn’t talking shit. I was spiraling, alright? I was telling him that I’m scared of how good you are to me... how I keep messing it up.” He finishes, and he takes a small step toward you as if you’re a feral cat he’s found outside. "And I said I was going out with III because I didn't want you worrying and wondering where I was. I couldn't just tell you I was going to talk to II because I didn't wanna risk, well... this happening..." He trails off and you mull over his explanation. You know mentally that he was right. You would've definitely insisted on going with him. You decide leave that part of the argument to be discussed later.

“You said I’d be better off without you,” you snap. “How the hell was I supposed to take that?” You punctuate your question by unfolding your arms and gesturing toward him, your brows furrowing in frustration. 

He flinches, the realization of how bad that would’ve sounded from your perspective washing over him. “I know how it sounded,” he says honestly, voice breaking again. “But that wasn’t the end of the sentence. I was saying I didn’t want to lose you. That I was going to talk to you. That I love you. I’ve just been- fuck, I’ve been so in my head lately, and I didn’t want to put that weight on you.” 

You shake your head, eyes shining. “You think lying was protecting me?” you ask exasperatedly, your arms out to your sides, forefingers pointing inward toward yourself. “But I didn’t lie about that,” he says, his tone serious. You point as accusatory finger at him as you spit, “It was lying by omission, Vessel.” His face drops. 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” he breathes. “I just… I thought if I told you I was falling apart, you’d start seeing me the way I see myself. And then you would leave.” You step back, arms crossed tightly, and your frustration is evident on your face. “And the distance? The coldness? Was that supposed to be protection too? Because it felt like punishment.” 

His face twists in anguish as the truth in your words pelts him like bullets. “I know,” he says. “I know I’ve been distant. I’ve been awful. And I hate how I’ve made you feel. I hate that I made you doubt yourself when the only failure in this relationship has been me.” He looks at you through defeated eyes, tears beginning to brim again. 

Your voice wavers now, anger giving way to hurt. “You made me feel like I wasn’t enough, or maybe I was too much. Like I was annoying you just by existing. You’ve been pushing me away for weeks, Vessel.” You feel your tough exterior cracking as the look in his eyes peels you apart layer by layer. 

He steps forward again, slower this time. “I didn’t know how to let you in without showing you all the worst parts of me.” You look at him, eyes searching, still guarded. “Ves, you already have. Remember when your family cut you off because they don’t agree with your new lifestyle? Or when we first got together and you were so anxiety ridden you practically bolted for the bedroom anytime you heard your doorbell ring? I was there through all of that, and I never batted an eye. It’s my job as your partner to see you through every chapter of life, no matter how scary or unbecoming. You know this, love. You just have to let me in.” You finish, your arms falling to your sides as a tear marks its own trail down your face, dripping from your jaw. 

His expression crumples. “And you’re still here, still talking to me, even with me coming to find you like some sort of headcase,” he says quietly. You blink fast, biting the inside of your cheek. “How the hell did you find me, by the way?" You ask him, suddenly reminded of the blaring question.

He lets out a short, breathless sound. Almost a laugh, almost a sob. “You didn't turn off your location, lovey." he replies, a slight hint of amusement in his eyes. You chuckle and run a hand over your face as you're taken aback by your own lack of attention to such a major detail. "Christ... Well, I'm glad I didn't," you reply, looking up at him through long lashes. A long silence passes between the two of you as you both take in what the other has said. Then, with trembling hands, you capitulate and motion him forward, and you move toward the bed. “C’mere.” 

He wipes his face with the back of his hand as he approaches you slowly. He perches at the edge of the bed like you might dissolve if he touches you too soon. Vessel looks over you after a few seconds, taking in your disheveled appearance. His chest aches with the knowledge that it’s his fault you fled in such a hurry, and that you’re so forlorn. You meet his gaze and allow your eyes to take in the sopping wet cat of a man next to you. Rainwater drips from his hair onto his lap below, but he doesn't seem to notice, and he looks like a man who’s been through war just to get to you. 

“I love you,” he says again, steadier now. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. And I’m sorry for every time I made you question that.” You look at him, eyes glossy, heart swelling in your chest. “I love you too, Ves. That’s why it hurt so much.” 

He moves to kneel in front of you, hands reaching for yours. You let him take them slowly, like it's a test she’s not sure he’ll pass. “I’ll do better,” he whispers. “Not just today. Every day. I’ll keep choosing you.” You swallow hard, the lump in your throat rising again. “Don’t shut me out again, please,” you whisper to him, eyes blurring with tears. “I won’t,” he says, forehead pressing to your hands. “I swear it.” 

Your breath shudders as you exhale through the sadness leaving your body. You pull him up and into your arms, holding him tightly, like you’re afraid if you lets go, he’ll vanish again. You stay like that for a long time, just holding each other, letting the fear bleed out. Eventually, you whisper, “Let’s go home.” Those three simple words wash over him like a cool wave of relief, and he didn't realize how badly he craved to hear you say them until you did.

The walk back is quiet, but your fingers are laced the entire way. Once inside the room, Vessel closes the door behind you with a soft click. The lights are low, the hum of the city a dull throb beyond the shaded windows. You turn to face him, and he just stands there for a moment, eyes soft yet unsure as they flicker over your form. 

You step toward him, hands reaching for the hem of his soaked hoodie. “Let me,” you say. He easily acquiesces and lifts his arms, letting you peel it away slowly, reverently. His shirt comes next, and it hits the carpeted floor with a dull, wet slap. Your hands glide over the bare skin of his chest; cold from the rain but warming beneath your touch. He watches you like you’re shaping the skies before his eyes; like you’re the only thing anchoring him to earth. 

He undresses you slowly, hands lingering, fingers and lips exploring, and you move together like water, slow and unhurried. There’s no urgency now, just the deep ache of reunion. He lays you down with such care, like you’re thin glass. 

When he enters you, it’s with soft gasps and a whispered, “I missed you.” Your bodies meet in a rhythm that speaks more than words ever could. Not rough, not desperate. Just homecoming. Every thrust, every touch, every sigh is an apology, a promise, a thread sewing you gently yet thoroughly back together. 

He presses his forehead to yours as you move in tandem, voice trembling. “You terrify me,” he whispers, “Because I want you, all of you, forever. I want to bare my entire soul to you, my beautiful girl.” You whine as you pull his face to yours and you kiss him slowly, deeply, and so lovingly. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper as he moves above you. You wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders as you approach your peak. 

When you both reach your climax, it’s a beautiful release of emotions and endorphins. Your shared moans and heavy breaths curl through the room around you. You’re breathless, your eyes are locked with his, and your fingers stay intertwined. 

You lay like that long after cleaning up, curled into each other beneath the sheets, skin to skin, heart to heart. You sport only Vessel's hoodie, the same one which broke your heart earlier, and a pair of knickers, and Vessel lays comfortably in only his underwear. His nose is buried in your hair, arms locked around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip.

His voice is low, barely a breath against your ear. “You smell like me, love.” You laugh softly, eyes fluttering closed. “That’s because I'm wearing your hoodie, you goof.”

“Oh,” he murmurs delightfully. “Then I guess I like me better on you.” You groan playfully and swat at his chest. “That was horrendous. I rescind all affection.”

He grabs your hand and kisses each knuckle with dramatic flair. “Forgive me, my darling muse. I’ll compose better lines on the morrow.” You hum, feigning pretentiousness. “I’ll be expecting a full sonnet.”

“Only if I get paid in kisses,” he jokes, smiling against your cheek. You open one eye. “You drive a hard bargain, Mister Vessel Marie.”

He smiles wider and chuckles before taking on a more serious tone. “I missed you. Even when you were still next to me I missed you so fucking much.” Your heart tightens, full and aching. “Don’t do that again, please. Don’t pull away like that. I am always here for you, sweetness,” you assure him, rubbing over the tops of his knuckles with your thumb.

“I won’t,” he promises. “You’re stuck with me now. I’m basically your emotional barnacle,” he finishes, and you can hear the cheeky grin shaping his words.

You snort. “Sexy.” He pulls his hand from yours and he licks the tips of his pointer and pinkie finger before smoothing over his eyebrows with them. "I try," he says, waggling his brows down at you. "You are such a dork," you say to him as you giggle. You turn in his arms just enough to kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you,” you tell him, and you've never been so serious about anything else in your life.

“I love you more,” he whispers. “Even when I’m an idiot. Especially then.” He kisses your cheek as he pulls the duvet higher around you both, your legs tangled, his thumb brushing soft circles into your hip. The steady rhythm of his breathing lulls you closer to sleep. How would you ever be able to live without this?

And when you’re nearly unconscious, he whispers to you, “Gonna stay with me, sweet girl?” You squeeze his hand as you whisper your reply, and it’s the last thing said for the night. 

“Always.” 

@deathcapbunny @yourgirlisa @houseofsleeptoken @wormm-mom @lynzeequitlollygagging @blackcherrywhiskey @thedemonofsodom @mysticmorning1 @xnikix02 Here you go! If you'd like to be added here, let me know :) I really hope you enjoyed this, anon <3<3

[sethmcc22]

Our Little Blessing In The End Of The War.

In this Tony and Nat doesn’t die in the end game. Just goes into a small week long coma. K/N means Kid Name.

You and Bucky been dating for a while, and you guys fell in love basically at first sight. You were already an Avenger member before, you tagged alone with Steve during the fight against Tony and others because of the Sovia Courts. You and Bucky fell in love instantly, since then you both been dating.

Current time, It was during the fight of Avengers Infinity War. You were beside Natasha helping her, as Bucky and Steve were near each other shooting guns. Suddenly things went quiet, some of the Avengers yelled for their friends. You and Nat looked at each other confused, you ran to go find Bucky. You ran seeing Steve, he was on one of his knees touching the ground.

“Steve?” Your voice shaking. “Where is- where is Bucky?”

Steve looked up, fear and sadness in his face. Then you realized, what he was touching is Bucky. You look around and see others fading away. Fear set in you now as well. You began to cry.

Weeks went by since that day, you felt depressed all the time, but unusually felt sick a lot especially in mornings. You googled your symptoms, realizing you might be pregnant. You quickly left heading to the store, coming home with a box of pregnancy tests. You took it, just waiting for the results. You felt afraid of what the test would say. After 3 minutes past, you looked a it seeing two pink lines. You took another one because you didn’t believe it, same results positive. You grabbed your phone, instantly calling Steve. Once he answered you asked him to come over it’s urgent. A knock comes at your door, you rush opening the door. You let him in, he left to go into the bathroom as he sat on your couch. You walked towards him with two pregnancy tests, you showed him them.

“Wait.. you’re.. pregnant?” Steve said, confusion in his voice,

You nod your head. “Yes.”

Your eyes glossed over as tears started to form. Steve stood up as he took the tests from your hand setting them down. Steve opened his arms giving you a hug. He rubbed your hand contorting you. You balled your eyes in his arms for almost an hour. Once you finally relaxed, Steve and you began to talk.

“It’s Bucky’s.” You said looking down at the tests. “The baby, it’s his.”

Steve already knew, it was obvious. “I know. I know it is.”

“Steve, what am I supposed to do but he is not here because of the blip I’m afraid.” You exclaimed.

Steve sighed. “Don’t be you know Nat and I will easily help you with this baby despite us not having kids we know a lot. I’ll gladly help you.”

You smiled out of relief. “I just feel-” Your words felt stuck in your throat. “Like I- I feel like I’m not gonna be a good mother.”

Steve rubbed your back. “No, No. I have faith in you. I know you’ll be a good mother.”

You smiled at Steve. “But another thing is, how am I supposed to literally tell my kid why their father isn’t here.”

“Time will tell I guess.” Steve responded.

Your first ultrasound came up, and you cried once you saw the baby for the first time. Nat went with you for this ultrasound because you felt awkward with Steve being there. You showed Steve the photos, he felt amazed when seeing them. You all joked around how the baby has Bucky’s forehead. As your pregnancy continued, you got more ultrasounds. You were about to pop almost. That’s what Nat described you, you laughed at it. It was a late night, your water broke. Lucky Nat was spending the night, she rushed you to the hospital. Steve eventually showing up after you gave birth. You were lying in the hospital bed, tears of joy as you held your baby. You had a baby girl, you smiled with joy. You let Nat and Steve hold her as well.

Eventually the time went by, the End Game came, they’ve been collecting stones for couples weeks. Eventually getting the stones all ready, you stayed with the baby at home. You just worried, Steve got your hopes on telling you they might be able to bring Bucky and everyone we all lost back. You hope so, your daughter is now 5 years old. She’s sitting playing with toys as you made dinner. You just couldn’t help to worry.

A knock at the door startled you.

“I’ll get it mommy!” Your daughter ran to the door. You followed behind her.

You both opened the door seeing Steve standing there. “Hi uncle Steve!”

“Hi K/N.” Steve replied.

You looked at him as he smiled brightly. Bucky walked up behind Steve. Steve went inside as well Bucky did. You hugged Bucky tightly. Crying in his arms. Eventually one time, Steve did tell your daughter where her daddy went, who he was. All he claimed was he was kidnapped that’s it. Bucky looked at K/N and smiled.

“Daddy?” She turned her head looking at Bucky.

“Yes- it’s me.” Bucky had tears already in his eyes but now even more from seeing his daughter.

She ran hugging Bucky as he hugged her back. From that day, Bucky always made sure he was there. It was a dream come true you thought, your boyfriend and your guys kid. You both got married shortly after, having your daughter as the flower girl because she begged to be a flower girl anyways. Nat was your brides maid, Steve was the groomsmen.

Thank you for reading. I know it’s not the best but I hope you enjoy!!

[footballuver]

Take a Sexy Picture of Me

pairing: mason mount x reader

word count: 1k

overview: mason asks his girlfriend to take a picture of him on their date

The late afternoon sun spilled through the windows of the restaurant, casting golden stripes across the polished tables. Mason ran a hand through his hair, checking his reflection in the window. His new green jumper fit just right, soft and snug in all the ways he liked. He turned slightly, admiring how the colour brought out his eyes. Yeah, this was definitely an Instagram-worthy fit.

Across from him, you sat, chin propped on your hand, watching him with a mix of amusement and fondness. “You done checking yourself out?” you teased, the corner of your mouth tugging up into a grin.

Mason shot you a look, but it was more playful than annoyed. “I’m just making sure I look alright. Can’t be letting the jumper down, can I?”

“Oh, no,” you said, mock serious. “That jumper has a reputation to uphold.”

He laughed, leaning forward slightly. “Go on, babe. Take a picture of me for my Instagram, yeah?”

You raised a brow. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now!” Mason said, already shifting in his seat, angling himself toward the light. “The lighting’s perfect. The jumper’s new. I’m feeling it.”

With a small laugh, you reached into your bag for your phone. “Alright, alright. Hold your horses.”

Mason was already adjusting his posture, leaning his elbow casually on the table, jawline sharp as he tilted his head slightly. You lifted the phone and snapped a quick picture, then dropped it back onto the table.

“There. Done.”

Mason blinked at you. “One photo?”

“Yeah?” you said, blinking back at him, innocent. “You look great. One and done.”

He let out a disbelieving chuckle. “Are you serious right now?”

“What?” you said, grinning.

Mason leaned back, folding his arms. “One photo. You know when I take pictures of you, I take about, what, two hundred? From every angle, every lighting situation, every possible pose. And you’re giving me one?”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I am not,” Mason protested. “Imagine if I took one photo of you when you’re all dressed up. You’d have my head.”

“Because I need options,” you said, shrugging.

“Oh, you need options. But me?” He gestured to himself. “Apparently, I don’t deserve options.”

You laughed outright now, the kind of laugh that made heads turn briefly at the next table. Mason smiled despite himself, loving the sound.

“Fine, fine,” you said, picking up the phone again. “Mr. Instagram, let’s get your angles.”

“That’s more like it,” Mason said, sitting up straighter. “And try to make me look tall.”

“You are tall.”

“Yeah, but like… taller.”

You shook your head, giggling as you stood up, moving to his side of the table. The restaurant wasn’t too busy, and the people nearby didn’t seem to care much about the fact that Mason Mount was now posing like he was on a photoshoot.

You snapped a few more, changing the angles, stepping back, leaning down, getting close-ups. Mason pulled his ‘serious face’, then his soft smile, then he laughed as you made some silly noises to throw him off.

“There you go,” you said finally, plopping back down into your seat. “You’ve got about fifty. Happy?”

Mason took the phone from you, flicking through the photos. “Hmm… not bad. I knew you had it in you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Glad I could serve.”

He set the phone down and looked at you properly then, his gaze softening. The sunlight caught your hair, and the brown dress you wore hugged you in all the right places. He reached across the table, taking your hand.

“You know,” you said, smirking at him, “you look sexy.”

His face broke into the warmest grin, and he squeezed your hand. “Do I now?”

“Mmhmm. The green jumper suits you. Good choice.”

Mason leaned over the table and pressed a sweet, soft kiss to your lips. Not rushed, not showy — just pure affection. When he pulled back, his eyes shone.

“You look so pretty,” he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “That dress is something else.”

Your heart squeezed at the way he said it, like he meant it with every bit of him.

“Flatterer,” you teased, though your cheeks warmed.

“Just telling the truth,” Mason said, settling back in his chair but not letting go of your hand.

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

And so the afternoon drifted into evening. You ordered your food, shared starters, and Mason kept sneaking glances at the photos you’d taken, picking his favourite. Every so often, he’d show you one and say, “This one?” or “Maybe this one?”

You gave him your honest opinion each time, and he appreciated it more than he said.

When dessert came, Mason was still on about the photos.

“I’m going to post this one,” he said, finally settling on one where the light hit his face just right, the green jumper vibrant against the neutral tones of the restaurant.

“Good choice,” you said, popping a spoonful of cheesecake into your mouth.

He tapped out a caption, then hesitated. “What should I say?”

You leaned over, peering at his screen. “Just put, ‘Spring Equinox.”

Mason laughed, the sound filling the space between you. “Spring Equinox? That’s awful.”

“It’s brilliant,” you said, grinning.

“Fine. I’ll do it.” He hit post, then set the phone face down, finally giving you his full attention.

“You’re happy now,” you said.

“I am,” Mason admitted. “Thanks, babe.”

You squeezed his hand. “Anytime, Mr. Instagram.”

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

The night went on, full of easy conversation and little touches — his knee brushing yours under the table, your fingers laced together as you walked out into the cool spring evening. Mason draped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“Best date night,” he said softly.

“The jumper did all the work,” you teased.

He laughed and kissed your temple. “Nah. That was all you.”

[tinybopper]

—Attitude—

Pairings: Yunho x Mingi

Genre: Suggestive, No explicit smut

Summary: Mingi has an attitude. Yunho knows just how to fix it.

Warnings: Hair pulling, manhandling, Yunho gets a little rough with Mingi, he loves it. Nothing crazy, Mingi just gets really turned on. <3

Word count: 474

Author’s Note: Okay everyone please bear with me. This is my first ever published fic (and first ever fully written one, too.) I don’t yet know how to format everything to make stuff look good and I’m really nervous so try to cut me some slack!! But yeah I won’t make this too long I’ll just let you all read. :)

Mingi was upset about something. About what, Yunho wasn’t really sure. He was probably too friendly with some coworker, or didn’t take out the trash, or forgot some kind of holiday. Whatever it was, it got Mingi real pissy.

Yunho usually brushes stuff like this off. Mingi gets attitudes frequently, it comes with the territory. Every time they’d end up the same giggly, lovesick couple by the end of the night. And honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way. But it’s been a few hours of this—eye rolling, the cold shoulder, huffing, puffing, etc…and they’ve got places to be. People to see. So Yunho figured he’d nip this in the bud and have a little fun.

After getting ready to meet up with their friends in tense silence (tense on Mingi’s part—Yunho was as calm as ever), Mingi makes a point of walking ahead of Yunho to the garage.

He’s just so annoyed. Yunho was super touchy with an old friend they’d met up with earlier. All smiles and brushes of the hand. I mean, seriously? Yunho knows how jealous Mingi gets, so of course-

Mingi’s train of thought is cut off by his front colliding with the hood of their car. It wasn’t painful, really, but harsh enough to force him to be bent over it. Realization of what had happened makes a shiver run down his spine, despite the tall, warm body currently pressed against his back.

“Wh-“ Mingi tries to speak, but a large hand on the back of his neck shuts him up immediately. Heat travels throughout his body as Yunho presses impossibly closer, warm breath fanning over his ear.

“If you want to act like a brat, then you’ll be treated like one.” Mingi lets out an embarrassingly loud whimper. The hand on his neck slides up to his hair, gripping tight and pulling his head from where it laid flat on the hood of the car up to meet Yunho’s eyes. Mingi couldn’t stop the sharp gasp from leaving his mouth at the look on Yunho’s face. Eyes dark, brow furrowed, lips pulled into a tight, thin line. Fuck, he looked delicious.

“Now are you gonna be good, or do you want me to open this garage door and fuck you into submission in front of the whole neighborhood?”

Tempting, honestly. But Mingi gulps and writhes against the car uncomfortably, the license plate digging into his thigh.

“I-I’ll be good, Yunho.” Yunho’s grip tightens in his hair, making Mingi hiss, and gives him one last scathing (read: sexy) look before letting go. His face melts into a boyish grin as Mingi stands upright, and he gives him a quick peck on the cheek before making his way to the driver’s seat.

“C’mon, Min, don’t wanna be late!”

Mingi is left standing there, disoriented and so, so horny.

[moon-kid39]

Saja Boys Backstories Part 2: How They Met Gwi Ma

A/n: The second part of their backstories for you guys. I’m debating on watching the movie again (as if I haven’t already watched it six times now) just cause lol. It’s been really fun studying these boys and growing my Saja Boys multiverse lol

Disclaimer!: Mentions of poison, death, panic attacks/panicking, execution (Abby). As always, let me know if I missed anything!

Romance:

The poison he ingested was a slow one, and multiple doses were needed, so he didn’t know. Until he could feel the changes, and knew his time would come soon as there wasn’t a cure. One day, he wanted to go visit the woman he had really fallen for, whose heart he broke. But he was so weak he couldn’t get out of bed at that point. He tried to send a letter and multiple things that could help her family live comfortably, even going as far as to ask her sister to take it. As spiteful as she was, she never did, and the parents didn’t accept anything either. Then, news came that his true love passed away from and illness because they couldn’t afford a doctor. He was overwhelmed with guilt, thinking that he should’ve given the things to her himself rather than try to rely on others, partnered with the hatred he felt towards her family, and that’s when Gwi Ma pounced. Taking advantage of his sick state and promising to make her family pay for not accepting his gifts if Romance became a demon.

Mystery:

The water he had been given was from a merchant passing through town, and it was one of the lowest points Mystery had been at in his entire life. He was looking for a job, but no one hired him due to his low education and unwillingness to speak. The merchant did though, and gave him a cleaning job. He met a guy there and they became best friends, to the point where Mystery was comfortable enough to say a few words here and there. One day they were goofing off, enjoying their lunch break and acting as if their brooms were swords. They got too close to the merchandise and knocked over the most expensive vase in the merchants possession, which was supposed to go to one of the wealthiest families in the town. Mystery took all the blame, and he was fired and kicked to the streets of an unfamiliar town. The merchant came back a few days later to give him the water, under the guise of feeling bad, when in reality it was orders from the family who lost their vase and their money. His life for an almost priceless vase. He found out about the plan after he was infected thanks to his friend (too little too late), and was filled with rage and hatred. Gwi Ma started to whisper in his ear, and made the promise of revenge against the merchant and the family.

Baby:

Gwi Ma had actually been preying on him since adolescence; with Baby always being blamed for the trouble his sisters would cause simply because he was a boy and was held to a higher standard than they were (despite them having seniority). Baby would always hear little whispers in his ear, telling him to get back at them, but he loved his sisters too much. Even if they were always in trouble, they never left him out, making sure to modify their plans if they needed to, and he always had fun. Baby was actually a big scaredy cat, and as he got older, his sisters would take him on more and more scary adventures, and ignored his pleas to be left out for once. After he got lost that day in the woods, he was forced to survive on his own. It ends up being harder than people said it was, and he was in a constant state of stress of whether he would make it to the next day or not. After a couple of weeks a party of explorers found him and brought him back, to which he was reunited with his family. That stress didn’t go away, and instead grew into hatred towards his sisters. He had made a deal with Gwi Ma the first night he was lost in his state of panic, wanting to make sure he never felt as hopeless and as scared as he did ever again. His first night home is when he finally turns into a demon fully.

Abby:

After being caught trying to elope, Abby was placed into holding away from everyone he knew. He was treated poorly and wasn’t allowed to eat much; he just passed the time by working out. He would ask to speak with his lovers father, hoping to be diplomatic and talk things out, but every request would be denied. Within the first week or so, Gwi Ma was in his head, but he ignored him, truly believing he could get out of this and marry his love. When one week turned to three, and three weeks into two months, he started to give up hope, and gave into Gwi Ma. Of course, by the time he was to be executed, his appearance had changed. The father talked to him to ask if he had any last request before he died, and Abby just asked that none of his family, friends, or his lover was there. His wish wasn’t granted, as they had front row seats, and were the only people in the crowd. At first he was regretting making the deal with Gwi Ma, but seeing that his execution was being used as a humiliation ritual for his loved ones, he told himself he made the right choice, and promised that the first soul he stole would be the man who caused all this.

[shinygoldenangel]

Lauren French the TikToker is way gorgeous then your mom.

I recently spent some time scrolling through Lauren’s TikTok, and I have to be honest, i wouldn’t call her gorgeous. “Cute” feels like a more accurate word, especially for someone who’s still early in their journey. Almost every single post she shares is of herself in bikinis, over and over again. That kind of content sends a very clear message: “pick me.” It’s like she’s fishing for attention, relying on looks alone without showing much else. And that same pattern repeats itself on her Instagram page. There’s a sense that she’s stuck in this loop of posting the same kinds of photos and videos, hoping that’ll be enough. But here’s the thing, it’s not enough. It never is. And honestly, to me, it comes off as lazy. Not because she’s not pretty because she can be, but because she seems to be expecting everything to come to her just by showing up looking a certain way. That’s not how anything worthwhile works.

Contrast that with my mom’s story. My mom is not some TikTok star or Instagram influencer who gets endless likes for posting bikini pics or selfies. She didn’t get handed things on a silver platter. My mom worked incredibly hard like, physically, emotionally, mentally hard every single day of her life to carve out a place for herself in the world. She is a mother of two kids, and despite all the challenges that come with that, she continues to absolutely kill it in her career. She balances parenting, work, and her own ambitions with a level of dedication and grit that’s honestly awe-inspiring. Watching her push through exhaustion and setbacks to build a life she’s proud of has been one of the most important lessons of my life.

I know Lauren’s situation is different. She’s likely the only girl in her family. She’s probably never had to hear “no” in her life. I know her parents spoil her rotten. And that’s totally understandable, every family is different, and some kids grow up with more privileges than others. I’m not here to judge her upbringing. But I do know what it’s like to be that kid who gets everything they want without working for it, and I also know how that feels when you suddenly realize that it’s not enough to just coast on that.

Before my mom got pregnant and gave birth to my little sister, I was that kid, too. I had a pretty easy life compared to some, but what truly shaped me was the time I spent traveling with my mom and watching her model for years. I saw firsthand what it takes to be successful beyond just looking good in pictures. I saw her wake up early, work long hours, face rejection, and still get back up every day. I saw the sacrifices she made missing events, pushing through pain, and never giving up on her dreams. Even now, I watch her and learn from her. That kind of real-life hustle and perseverance can’t be faked, and it definitely can’t be bought or inherited.

There’s something truly special about watching someone you love transform their life through hard work. It’s inspiring. It makes you want to be better, do better, and push harder. It shows you that real beauty isn’t just about how you look, it’s about the strength and character you build along the way.

So here’s a modeling picture of my mom. This is what gorgeous looks like, not just the surface, but the soul behind the image. This is what true success looks like. It’s earned, not given. It’s fought for, not expected. It’s about heart, resilience, and a relentless drive to rise, no matter what life throws at you.

Lauren, if you ever see this, take it as a gentle challenge: Don’t settle for easy or lazy paths. Real growth happens when you push yourself beyond your comfort zone, when you work hard even when no one’s watching, and when you build something meaningful with your own two hands. It’s never too late to start proving what you’re truly capable of and when you do, that’s when you’ll know what real gorgeousness really means.

[tj3star]

🖼️ Day 30 - Mount🖼️

[reikunrei]

feeling a little weird about this holiday season and i’m not really sure why

[floorpancakes]

a banshee prima ballerina themed outfit i just freshly cooked for spectra demonica’s outfit contest!! the skirt really draws the eye, doesn’t it? it’s my favourite part.

[lizardho]

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about some of the people I interact with. I have a coworker who I am pretty sure is a MAGA type, and she is also a lovely woman who is dreadfully overworked and so good at connecting to patients when they call. I can see the conflict on her face when she talks to me, a gigantic tranny dork who speaks Spanish and affirms the LGBT community, but can also talk to her about her cows and knows about guns and stuff. I can see the fear in the eyes of my former Young Men’s leader when he misgenders me and realizes that I’m not an ideology but a person he has known for a long time. I can see the way my extended family stop and stutter over political discussions when they realize they are talking about me. And I don’t know why but lately it’s just made me think about my neighbor as a kid.

When we moved to Arizona, we moved next door to a lovely retired couple - John and Lucy. John was a veteran of WWII, he had an M.D. and a Ph.D. in radiology, and he LOVED us to pieces. His wife, Lucy, was a sharp and gifted woman - well spoken, very observant, and VERY clever. I just know that she used that cleverness as a mom to great effect, because with my and my siblings she always managed to find a way to send us home with candy and treats for a week despite my dad’s protests. We loved them, growing up, and even though they have long-since passed away I love them still, and I love what I learned from them.

John was, as stated, a WWII veteran. He was enlisted as a rifleman, and later as a front line medic, starting at Point Du Hoc and moving inwards to France and towards the Rhine. He let me do a report on him in 6th grade where he shared war stories with me he had kept to himself his whole life - he said it was out of respect for his friends who didn’t get to come home and tell their stories.

He said he told me because he knew I could respect the memories of his friends.

He showed me his collection of medals, and which he’d kept hidden away in a sock in his attic because he’d feel an immense grief any time he saw them. He had wanted to be a doctor his whole life, prior to being drafted he was studying medicine and had taken the Hippocratic oath to Do No Harm. He saw his medals as a reminder that he had Done Harm.

After telling me his stories he was able to convince himself that while he had Done Harm, it was only because his only other alternative was, to him, cowardice. He chose to be brave even if it meant acting against his Oath because he felt that if he didn’t do it someone else would have to go in his place and he would be responsible for the harm that befell them. I don’t think that’s true, but for him it was and that was something no being on earth could have ever dissuaded him from believing.

He shared wild stories - melee combat on the beach, clearing artillery bunkers, receiving a Purple Heart for being injured in hand-to-hand combat with a Wehrmacht rifleman he said he felt pity for because they were the same age and he had to imagine the man he was fighting had been drafted just like him.

He shared how he was awarded a Silver Star for charging a machine gun nest, but shared that he was most proud of not killing anyone in the process. He threw a grenade with the pin still in it and when the machine gunners jumped to avoid being blown up they were killed by someone else so he didn’t have to do it. He took the machine gun and shot the other machine gun in that French field to pieces so he didn’t have to kill the people operating it. He said they were giving out Silver Stars like candy but I knew he was being modest.

He told me about being redesignated as a medic, about how he crawled for about 500 yards on his belly to rescue an injured tank driver, then threw him over his back and crawled the same 500 yards back (1000 yards total) to treat his injuries. He said he met the man in an Army hospital in England after his spine was broken by a high explosive panzer shell was fired through a hollowed out French farmhouse and landed about 20 feet away from him.

He told me about all the people he helped and saved as a medic, he told me about his work in radiology and research after the war. He showed me a hallway that was quite literally wallpapered with academic honors he’d earned as a researcher. He told me about how his first Fourth of July back was a horror show for him because fireworks and German artillery make very similar sounds. He told me about how he woke up in a cold sweat well over half a century later hearing the screams of German artillery men being burned alive with flamethrowers, or hearing his own voice apologizing to the young German soldier he stabbed in the heart at Point Du Hoc.

He told me that when he was asked to present at a medical conference in Germany 25 years after the war ended that he was so scared he couldn’t step off the plane, and that his wife had to hold his hand and lead/pull him with her. He said he was not scared because he was worried about being triggered, but because he knew that someone somewhere outside of that plane had the course of their life irreparably altered by his military service. That to someone out there he was the cause of immense suffering and harm. That some unwitting waiter could be the son of the Nazi Officer he stabbed in the heart with a 12-inch hunting knife. That some woman asking questions in the audience would be the daughter or widow of a man he sent to judgement with a .30-06. He was scared that they would hate him.

He knew what the Nazi’s had done, he knew better than anyone I’d ever met. He’d watched the documentaries, he’s seen the PoWs returning from camps, he’d seen the civilians massacred and tortured by their regime, but he also knew that among the monsters were people like him - idealistic 20-somethings who only wanted to make the world better and were ripped away from that life by the Nazi war machine. And he spent his whole life mourning the loss of innocence and peace that was forced on so many people by such a corrupt power.

To be honest I don’t know if I could do that, but he could. He told me he could still feel the dead and lost with him, both when he slept and when he woke. He told me he thought he’d go to his grave never having told a word of this to anyone. That the stories of him and his friends and allies would disappear silently with him and those like him. That he had wanted that until he realized that he didn’t have to sell out to share the stories - that he could give the stories away for free to someone who would love the people in them, and not just the content of them. He didn’t want his stories to be used as Patriotic Pornography by some TV network or magazine. He wanted the people he knew to be respected, he wanted their memories to be honored and loved, and he entrusted me, a 12-year-old “boy” to do that.

He told me for years afterwards that after telling me these stories that he slept better than he ever had. That by sharing the stories with someone who could hear Him over the din of victory and glory and honor and revisionistic history. Someone who could see the man in the story and not just see the plot of a battle being won. He wanted to be human, and he wanted the people he saw die to be human too - everyone, not just the people on his side. He wanted someone to see and to know the anguish of having to look someone in the eye as heartblood muddies the ground beneath them and hope that they understand that this was not an act of love or hatred but an act of desperation. To hope that you had just taken out One Of The Bad Ones instead of a medical student or a poet who had been drafted. He wanted me to see how hard he had worked since then to build a world without scarcity, to build a world of peace. He wanted me to know SO badly that the cost of violence, any violence, even necessary violence, is always ALWAYS paid by both parties involved.

I think about the rise of the new right wing - the new Nazi movement’s traction in politics, and I feel sad and scared - the world that Johnathan J Yobaggy, my neighbor, my friend, and my hero, worked SO hard to build is being done away with by people who do not understand the cost of the path they are entering. I can see brief moments of recognition in the eyes of some of the people I mentioned - The former young men’s president who immediately regrets misgendering me and hen he makes eye contact with me and sees Me staring back at him and not a faceless “ideology.” I can hear it in the voice of my uncle who quietly comes up to me to apologize for some homophobic comment he made absentmindedly. I can see it in the eyes of racists and sexists being interviewed on TV when they realize that they didn’t vote for a concept, they voted for a real thing. And honestly, I have mixed emotions about it. Because while I understand frustration with the status quo, the importance of basic human needs like affordable good and rent, and I know the fear that comes with feeling powerless, I also can’t help but grieve the endless wheel of history bringing us back to this God Damned Fucking Place again. I hope we can avoid this fate, not just for our sake but for the sake of everyone who has ever tried to make the world safer. For everyone who has ever tried to make up for human nature, for everyone who has ever placed themselves on the offering plate to protect others from the cruelty they know lies just under the surface of mankind’s tenuous grip on progress. I want SO badly for there to be a solution to this, for the people who idolize the Nazi party and the impact of fascism to see that the price of this path is paid in more than just blood but in soul. That they’re allowing themselves to be devoured too. I want for the centrists and the fence sitters and the idealists who want to “change it from the inside” to see how dangerous our politics have become. I want them to see that they’re losing the things that make them great in exchange for a security blanket that’s now become far far far too small to ever work for them again.

Safety found in the past is already gone, and safety found in the future is only as real as a daydream. That any ideology that promises that by “joining us now we’ll make things rough so we can make things safe in a decade” is a promise made by those who will not have to fight the battles they send you to.

I don’t know if America was ever really great, but as long as John was alive it felt great to me. There is no ideology that can replace a neighbor. No tax plan that can replace a friend. No grocery bill that can replace community and connection. No amount of budget cuts that can replace kindness. No amount of suffering from people I hate that will ever make more love. I don’t know how to make America great, but I know how to make my America great and it is not by selling out integrity and compassion and community and fucking humanity to make eggs and gas cheaper. It is by seeing and hearing the people around me. I’m not Mormon anymore, but I still know the value of mourning with those that mourn and comforting those that stand in need of comfort. I’m not Christian anymore but I still have Eyes That Can See and Ears That Can Hear. I want to make this all stop but I can’t stop the collective power of tens of millions of people so instead I listen to my MAGA coworker tell me about how sick her kid was last week. I make jokes with my Young Men’s leader. I hug my uncle. I let them see me fully, as a human and not an ideology. As a woman and not the concept of gender. As a whole person and not someone who can be easily summarized or boiled down into something short and quippy. And I let them know I can see them fully too, and I can see all their humanity as easily as they can see mine. I just have to hope that this works - that enough people can See and Hear the people in their lives who matter to them to bring them out of their personal world of forms and into the real world.

I am probably, honestly, just spiraling a little bit. I took my ADHD meds today and in addition to helping me focus they make me a little anxious so I doubt things are as bad right now as they seem. But just in case there’s any truth to the way things seem to be going, remember, and I mean this seriously: Be kinder to each other, be gayer, and read more Terry Pratchett.

And for the love of god day hello to your neighbor.