#No time to be tired. No time to be scared. I know I know. But this has to be done or it'll only get worse. I'll do it I'll take care of it. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jkwrites-m · 2 days ago

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Daddy Kookie (2)

Pairing: idol!Jungkook x female reader

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

Word Count: 6.4k

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

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, smut, angst, abandonment, young (teenage) pregnancy, unintentional parental neglect, resentment, fighting, boundaries, guilt, burnout, anxiety, confessions, reunions, slapping, anger, heartbreak, cursing, struggle, explicit: PRAISING, kissing, missionary, tension, pillow talk, unprotected sex

A/N: here’s what was originally the ending of part one but for some reason i can’t post that many blocks 😒 so here’s the “part 2”.

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I found Namjoon in the hotel gym that night.

He was alone, earbuds in, pacing the far side of the room with a water bottle tucked under one arm, muttering rehearsal notes to himself like he always did before a show. I stood in the doorway for a solid minute before I said anything.

He saw me in the mirror first.

Pulled out one earbud.

“You alright?” he asked.

“No.”

He nodded once and didn’t press me.

Just set down his bottle and motioned toward the bench press like, sit.

I sat.

And for a while, neither of us said a word.

“I met with her this morning,” I said finally, my voice rough from not speaking since the show.

Namjoon didn’t ask who.

He just waited.

“I asked for an hour. She gave me exactly that.”

I rubbed my hands together. My legs were bouncing, and I couldn’t stop.

“I thought I was ready to see her. But I wasn’t.”

Still, Namjoon said nothing.

“She has a daughter.”

His brows lifted just slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“She’s mine,” I added. “Her name is Eun Ae.”

That got him.

Namjoon blinked slowly and sat down on the bench across from me. “You’re a dad?”

I nodded. “I didn’t know. I- God, hyung, I blocked her. She tried to tell me and I just… I disappeared.”

He sighed but didn’t scold me.

I think that made it worse.

“She raised her alone,” I said. “Worked. Went to school. Everything. No help. And I was here, living my dream while she was raising my kid and barely surviving.”

“You didn’t know,” Namjoon said carefully.

“I should’ve.”

“That’s true.”

I buried my face in my hands. “She’s giving me one chance. Tomorrow. At the zoo. I get to meet her - meet my daughter - for the first time and I don’t even know how to breathe around the thought of it.”

He let me sit in the silence for a beat.

Then: “What are you most scared of?”

“That she’ll hate me.”

Namjoon’s gaze softened.

“That she’ll ask me where I’ve been,” I whispered, “and I won’t know how to answer.”

“You don’t have to have all the answers,” he said. “You just have to show up. That’s what matters now.”

“I want to be in her life,” I said. “I want to earn it. I want to be someone she can count on. Not someone she has to recover from.”

Namjoon nodded slowly. “That’s a good place to start.”

“And Y/N…” My voice cracked. “I still love her.”

“I know.”

“I don’t expect her to forgive me. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I want her to see that I’m not the same kid who left.”

“You’re not,” he said.

I looked up at him. “What if I ruin it again?”

“Then you don’t,” Namjoon said. “You show up. You listen. You apologize. You be present. And if they don’t let you in, you keep showing up until they do- or until they tell you to stop. Either way, you stay honest.”

I nodded, swallowing hard.

“Thanks, hyung.”

He gave a tired smile. “Get some sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

I didn’t sleep much.

But I dreamed of a little girl with my eyes.

And Y/N beside her.

═══════

It was her idea to wear her tiger hoodie.

“Because we’re going to the zoo,” she said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

I tied her shoelaces twice- her feet wouldn’t stop bouncing- then stood up and stared at her for a moment too long.

“Mama?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you nervous?”

A pause.

“No,” I said. “I’m just thinking.”

It wasn’t a lie. I was thinking. About everything.

About how I swore he’d never meet her. About how easily I’d broken that rule yesterday. About how I’d watched his hands tremble when I said the word daughter.

He didn’t cry, not fully.

But he looked like someone who had finally understood what it meant to break something that couldn’t be fixed.

I kept that image close as I buckled her into her booster seat and drove to the zoo.

He was already waiting by the entrance.

Sunglasses. Mask. Hoodie. Head tucked down.

It should’ve made him look anonymous.

It didn’t.

Even behind all that, he looked unmistakably like him.

And when Eun Ae saw him, she didn’t pause.

She ran.

Full-speed. Straight up to him like she’d known him her whole life.

“Hi!” she chirped. “I’m Eun Ae. Are you the friend Mama said we’re meeting?”

He knelt down slowly.

I watched his fingers shake as he pulled the mask down from his face.

“Yeah,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m… I’m Jungkook.”

“That’s a funny name,” she giggled. “Can I call you Mr. Kookie?”

He let out a short, stunned laugh.

“Sure,” he said, clearing his throat. “You can call me that.”

She grabbed his hand like it was nothing. Like it was normal.

Like this hadn’t been six years coming.

I followed a few steps behind them, unsure what to do with my arms, my heart, my breath.

They moved together easily.

Too easily.

He matched her pace. Let her pick which exhibits to visit. Lifted her onto his shoulders to see the giraffes. Bought her a pretzel and wiped the cheese off her face without hesitation. They laughed at the same things. Tilted their heads the same way when they were curious. Chewed the straw of their drinks when they were thinking.

They were mirrors.

And I was the frame- holding it all together, barely.

At the tiger enclosure, Eun Ae pressed her palms to the glass and gasped.

“They’re so cool!” she shouted. “I want one!”

“They’re a little big for a pet,” Jungkook said, crouching next to her.

“I’d teach it tricks.”

“I bet you would.”

There was a pause. Then she asked the question I’d been dreading.

“Did you know my mom when she was my age?”

Jungkook blinked.

I tensed.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I did.”

“Was she weird like me?”

“She was perfect,” he said. “Exactly like you.”

She grinned. “So… super weird?”

He laughed, and I heard something in it that sounded like mourning.

Later, while she climbed a small jungle gym near the café, I sat beside him on the bench.

He didn’t speak at first.

Just watched her, eyes full of things I didn’t want to name.

“She’s incredible,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“You already said that.”

“I’ll say it again,” he said. “As many times as you need.”

We sat in silence for a long time.

Then I heard my voice say something I hadn’t planned.

“You’re good with her.”

He turned to me, surprised.

“She doesn’t know who you are,” I added. “But she likes you.”

“I’m glad.”

“She’s never had… that. A male figure. Anyone to play like that with.”

He looked away. “That’s my fault.”

I didn’t correct him.

He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled something out.

A little stuffed tiger.

“I bought this on the way here,” he said, holding it up. “I didn’t know if I’d get to give it to her.”

She ran back to us just then, sweaty and smiling.

Jungkook knelt again and held out the tiger.

“For you.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Thanks, Mr. Kookie!”

She hugged him. No hesitation.

He closed his eyes like the moment hurt in a way he needed.

═══════

That night, after Eun Ae was tucked into bed, I sat on the couch with a blanket around my shoulders and my phone pressed to my ear.

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

Like the kind of quiet that presses in on your skin and makes your thoughts louder than they should be.

“She hugged him,” I whispered.

My best friend on the other end of the line didn’t speak. She waited. She always did.

“She hugged him like she’d known him her whole life. Like he hadn’t missed anything. Like he hadn’t disappeared.”

I wiped under my eyes with the edge of my sleeve.

“And he was… good with her. Gentle. Patient. Funny. Like he’d been waiting his whole life to meet her. Like he already loved her.”

“You sound surprised,” my friend said.

“I am,” I confessed. “I don’t want to be. But I am.”

There was a pause.

“You still love him,” she said.

I closed my eyes.

“Don’t,” I said softly. “Please.”

“Y/N-”

“I can’t afford to love him,” I whispered. “Not again. Not after what he did.”

The words came out raw and wet and cracked.

“I spent years hating him,” I said. “Years trying to forget the way he looked at me, the way he kissed me, the way he made me believe in things that never came true. And today, I watched him hold our daughter’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, and I…This could’ve been real. This life. This moment. All of it. If he had just… stayed.”

I swallowed the sob that threatened.

“I didn’t feel anger. I didn’t feel hate. I felt… sad. And full. And furious. And terrified. All at once.”

“You’re allowed to feel all of that.”

“I know. But it doesn’t make it easier.”

She didn’t say anything for a while.

Then: “Do you think he still loves you?”

I laughed. Quiet and bitter. “He says he does.”

“And do you believe him?”

I looked out the window. The city lights blinked back like stars caught in a snow globe.

“I believe he thinks he does,” I said. “But I don’t know if he loves me- who I am now. Not the girl he left behind.”

“You don’t have to decide anything now.”

“I don’t want to decide anything,” I said. “I just want to breathe again.”

I hung up after that.

Tucked my phone under the blanket and rested my head on the arm of the couch. My eyes closed. My chest ached. I felt heavy and hollow and full of fire all at the same time.

And then I heard it.

A shuffle.

A creak of the hallway floorboard.

I turned.

Jungkook stood there, just outside the door frame, his hand against the wall like he needed it to hold himself up.

He hadn’t knocked.

He hadn’t said a word.

He just looked at me like he’d walked straight into the center of a storm he hadn’t seen coming.

“You heard all that,” I said, my voice flat.

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said quietly. “I was bringing back the little drawing she made. She left it in my jacket pocket. I was going to knock. I just… heard you.”

I sat up slowly.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

He didn’t budge.

“Y/N,” he said softly, voice shaking. “I love you. Not just the girl I left. Not some idea. You. Right now. All of it.”

And then he crossed the room.

Without another word, he bent down and kissed me.

Soft and sure and shaking all at once.

And for one second - just one - I kissed him back.

It was like breathing again for the first time in years. Like lightning. Like a heartbeat I didn’t know I missed.

But then I pulled back.

And I slapped him.

Hard.

He didn’t even flinch.

“You can’t just do that,” I said, my voice rising. “You don’t get to walk in here, say I love you, and kiss me like it erases what you did.”

“I know,” he said, eyes shining. “I know it doesn’t fix anything. I just needed you to know it’s real.”

A long silence stretched between us.

He finally set the folded piece of paper on the table.

It was a crayon drawing. Stick figures. A tiger. The word “KOOKIE” spelled backwards across the top.

“I’ll go,” he said, stepping back. “But… thank you. For today.”

He turned and walked out before I could say a word.

And I sat there, hands shaking, heart a mess, trying not to chase after him.

Because no matter how much I wanted to…

I didn’t know if I could survive loving him again.

═══════

I didn’t mean to kiss her.

I meant to leave.

I meant to say those words and walk away like a man who’d learned his lesson. Who knew better now.

But when I looked at her- sitting on that couch, eyes full of grief and strength- I forgot what I was supposed to do.

And when her lips touched mine back… for that brief, burning second, I thought maybe I wasn’t too late.

But then she slapped me.

And she was right to.

I walked out shortly after. The drawing Eun Ae made was still on the table. The door shut behind me like punctuation on a sentence I’d rewritten too many times in my head.

I didn’t go to my room.

I went to Namjoon’s.

He was still up, writing in a leather-bound notebook like always. When he opened the door and saw my face, he didn’t ask. Just moved aside to let me in.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands gripping the hem of my hoodie.

“She still hates me,” I said.

Namjoon didn’t reply. Just waited.

“I heard her talking to someone. On the phone. After the zoo.” I exhaled shakily. “She said it could’ve been real. The life. The moment. If I had just stayed.”

My voice cracked.

“She’s right,” I said. “It could’ve been. I destroyed everything.”

Namjoon sat in the chair across from me, elbows on his knees. “You didn’t destroy everything.”

“I kissed her,” I admitted.

That got a raised eyebrow.

“She kissed me back. For a second. Then she slapped me.”

Namjoon didn’t flinch. “You probably deserved it.”

“I definitely deserved it.”

I leaned forward, elbows on my thighs, head in my hands.

“She thinks I’m just showing up now because of Eun Ae. But it’s not that. I was going to try before I even knew. I swear. I just… I still love her. That never went away.”

“I know,” Namjoon said. “We all do.”

“She said she doesn’t know if I love who she is now. Not the girl I left behind.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” I said immediately. “She’s stronger. Sharper. She’s everything I wish I’d grown up fast enough to deserve.”

Namjoon nodded slowly.

“Then show her,” he said. “Not with words. You’ve said enough. Do something.”

“Like what?”

“Think,” he said. “What did she love? What mattered to her?”

I blinked.

“Wildflowers,” I said. “She always picked the ugly ones growing out of sidewalk cracks. Said they were survivors.”

Namjoon smiled. “Then that’s where you start.”

I nodded, a lump forming in my throat.

“I’m going to show up,” I said. “Every day. Until she tells me not to. Or until she believes me.”

“Good,” Namjoon said. “And Jungkook?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not a piece of shit. You were a scared kid who made a selfish mistake. Now you’re a man who has to own it.”

I nodded again.

I wasn’t running anymore.

Tomorrow, I’d bring her flowers.

Not roses.

Not something expensive or flashy.

Just wildflowers.

The ones that survive.

═══════

He didn’t text the next morning.

Didn’t call.

Didn’t knock.

But when I opened the door to take out the trash, there was a bouquet of wildflowers on the step.

No note.

No explanation.

Just color.

Simple and honest.

I stared at them for a long time before I brought them inside.

I didn’t put them in a vase.

Not yet.

Eun Ae noticed them instantly.

“Oooh, are those for you?”

“Yeah,” I said, almost under my breath.

“From Mr. Kookie?”

I froze.

She giggled. “He smells like sunshine.”

I blinked. “What?”

“His hoodie. It smelled like sunshine. And gum.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

She took one of the smaller stems from the bouquet and tucked it behind my ear before skipping off to play.

═══════

The next day, he didn’t bring flowers.

He brought her a book.

One of those thick picture books with a glittery cover and a dragon on the front. She shrieked like she’d won the lottery. He handed it to her without a word and let her read to him, even though she kept skipping pages and making up half the story.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t correct her.

He just smiled like it was the best thing he’d ever heard.

I watched from the kitchen, trying not to feel anything.

Trying to stay steady.

Trying not to remember the way his hand had felt on my cheek when he kissed me.

And the sting of my own palm after.

═══════

The third day, he showed up with both- flowers for me, a new stuffed animal (a bunny this time) for her, and takeout from my favorite noodle place.

He didn’t ask to stay.

Just handed it over, bowed, and walked away.

I didn’t stop him.

But I didn’t close the door right away either.

═══════

The fourth day, he didn’t come.

And I hated how I noticed.

How the absence felt like a missing rhythm in my day. A skipped beat.

I told myself it was good. Smart. Necessary.

That space was healthy.

But then he texted.

Jungkook: Didn’t want to crowd you today. Just… wanted you to know I’m here.

I didn’t reply.

But I stared at that message for a long time.

═══════

The fifth day, he came by again. This time he asked if we wanted to go for ice cream.

Eun Ae screamed like he’d asked her to Disneyland.

I tried to say no.

I did.

But my mouth betrayed me.

“Okay,” I said. “Just an hour.”

He didn’t smile like he won.

He smiled like it hurt to be that grateful.

We walked to the corner shop with her bouncing between us. He let her pick his flavor. She made him get bubblegum. He pretended to like it. I knew he didn’t.

He caught me watching him.

And didn’t look away.

That night, after she was in bed, I sat on the same couch, stared at the same wall, and whispered into the dark:

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

And I meant it.

I wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

But I also wasn’t closing the door anymore.

Not all the way.

═══════

I should’ve known it was too good to last.

The morning started perfect.

Too perfect.

Jungkook showed up with matching zoo t-shirts he found online. One for him, one for Eun Ae. Hers said “Mini Tiger.” His said “Big Tiger.”

She laughed for five straight minutes and made him wear it out in public.

I rolled my eyes and told him he was shameless.

He just grinned and handed me a coffee with two extra espresso shots- exactly the way I liked it.

“Trying to bribe me?” I asked.

“Maybe.”

I didn’t smile.

But my fingers brushed his on accident when I took the cup.

And I didn’t pull away.

We took Eun Ae to the botanical gardens. Let her feed koi fish and run across wooden bridges with her stuffed tiger tucked under one arm. Jungkook stayed close the entire time. Carrying her backpack, tying her shoe when it came undone, wiping ice cream off her face.

It almost looked like a family.

Almost.

We sat on the grass to rest before lunch, and she ran over to the koi pond like it was a different world.

“She’s so comfortable with you,” I said, trying not to let it sound like an accusation.

“I’m glad,” he said. “I want her to be.”

There was a quiet pause.

Then he looked at me and said something that should’ve been sweet.

But it wasn’t.

“She’s just like you, you know.”

I blinked.

“She’s strong and stubborn and always needs to be right. She even talks with her hands like you do- ”

“Don’t,” I said, sharper than I meant to.

He froze. “What?”

“Don’t compare us like that.”

“I wasn’t- I meant it as a good thing-”

“She’s not a mirror, Jungkook,” I snapped. “She’s a person. Her own person.”

“I know that,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like- ”

“You weren’t around. You don’t know what she’s like. You’ve seen her for what? A week? You don’t get to analyze her like you raised her.”

His mouth opened. Then closed.

And I saw something shift in his eyes.

Something small and hurt.

Then a tiny voice interrupted us.

“I’m sorry,” Eun Ae whispered.

We both turned.

She was standing by the fish pond again, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to make you mad,” she sniffled. “I’ll be good.”

“No,” I said quickly, moving toward her. “Baby, no. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She clung to me like her little heart might explode.

I scooped her up and pressed her to my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, voice thick. “I’m not mad at you. I promise. You didn’t do anything.”

She looked over my shoulder at Jungkook. “Are you mad too?”

He shook his head, eyes glassy. “No, sweetheart. Never.”

“I just wanted to have a nice day,” she mumbled.

My throat tightened.

“I know,” I whispered.

We sat on the bench together for a long time after that.

No one said much.

═══════

Eun Ae fell asleep in the car on the way home, and Jungkook carried her inside like muscle memory. He tucked her into bed without needing directions, covered her with her favorite blanket, and kissed the crown of her head before stepping back like it hurt to walk away.

Neither of us said much after that.

He left for the venue early that night to prep for their final concert.

I stood in the hallway after he left, hand pressed against the door, heart aching like it was made of split seams and bad timing.

I didn’t cry.

But I wanted to.

Because I knew this was what I did.

Push away before I could be left again.

═══════

The stadium vibrated under my feet.

Screams rolled like thunder across the roof, and I could feel the beat of the music reverberating through the concrete backstage walls.

It was the final night of BTS’s residency.

Everything was fire.

Everything was electric.

Everything was right- except me.

I stood at the main comms table with a headset snug against my ears, spitting rapid-fire cues to the light techs, the camera ops, and the runners, my voice a metronome of control.

“Camera C, pan stage right. Cue smoke burst. Light rig alpha, wait two seconds on drop- no, two seconds, not four-”

My tone was clipped. My spine straight.

On the outside, I looked like I had it together.

But I could feel it.

The crack behind my ribs. The pulse behind my eyes. The way I flinched every time his voice cut through the speakers.

Every note he sang.

Every lyric he poured his soul into.

It hurt.

I told myself I didn’t care.

I told myself I was over it.

But every time the lights shifted and his silhouette appeared, I remembered the way he’d looked when he kissed me and the way he’d stayed when I slapped him.

I remembered how his voice broke when he said, “I love you. Right now. All of it.”

I remembered the way he meant it.

And I remembered how much that terrified me.

“Y/N?” someone called in my ear. “Spotlight three needs confirmation. We’re doing the slow solo bridge in thirty.”

I blinked, the fog in my head thick.

“Copy that,” I said quickly. “Cue in thirty. Confirm on bridge.”

I watched the monitors as he stepped up to the center of the stage.

Alone.

Golden lights haloed around him. Fans screamed his name from every direction.

And he sang.

Not just to them.

I knew that voice.

I knew when it was for the crowd…

…and when it was for me.

My hands curled into fists at my sides.

Stop it.

Don’t romanticize this.

Don’t soften.

But I did.

I always did.

Every time his voice cracked. Every time he hit a note like it cost him a piece of himself.

He looked straight into the lens during the final chorus- the one that streamed to every screen in the arena.

It was almost too direct.

Too intentional.

And in that moment, I knew.

He wasn’t singing to a sea of strangers.

He was singing to me.

The cue ended. The screen faded to black. Lights cut. Screams exploded.

My heart thudded harder than the bass.

I turned away from the monitor and pulled off my headset.

I needed air.

The crew backstage was already preparing for encore. The guys were offstage hydrating, catching their breath, prepping for the last two songs.

I slipped through a side door and stepped out into the shadowed corridor by the loading dock. It was cold. Quiet. The noise of the crowd muffled by thick walls.

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.

I didn’t want this to hurt.

But it did.

I didn’t want to care.

But I did.

And worst of all?

I didn’t want to want him.

But God, I did.

═══════

The cheers were still echoing in my bones.

My shirt clung to my back, soaked through with sweat. My hair was dripping. My lungs were still catching up.

But all I could think about was her.

I didn’t see her once during the show. Not backstage. Not in the wings. Not even in the flashes of tech crew darting through shadows.

But I felt her.

Like gravity.

Like silence.

Like a missing beat in the rhythm I couldn’t get right.

I sat alone in the dressing room while the rest of the guys laughed and recapped their favorite fan chants. Jimin had his feet on the table, Taehyung was dancing shirtless with a can of soda, and Jin was complaining about the confetti in his hair.

But I couldn’t join them.

I couldn’t even smile.

My hands trembled as I unlaced my boots. My knees bounced restlessly. My throat was dry, but I couldn’t drink anything.

Because all I could hear was her voice.

“You don’t know what she’s like.”

“You weren’t around.”

“You don’t get to analyze her like you raised her.”

She was right.

Every word.

I’d tried so hard to connect, I didn’t realize I was stepping on landmines she’d spent years trying to bury.

I messed it up.

Again.

“Yo,” Namjoon said, stepping into the room and tossing me a towel. “You good?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“You’re lying.”

I sighed. “I know.”

He sat down across from me, cracking open a bottle of water and sliding one my way.

“She didn’t talk to me tonight,” I said.

“You talk to her?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then maybe she’s waiting.”

“Or maybe she’s done.”

Namjoon didn’t say anything to that. He just leaned back and looked at me with those eyes that saw way too much.

“Do you regret it?” he asked.

I blinked. “Regret what?”

“Kissing her.”

I hesitated.

“No,” I said. “Not for a second.”

“She kissed you back.”

“Just for a second.”

“But she did,” he said. “And that means something.”

“Does it?”

He nodded. “It means she hasn’t closed the door. She’s just scared to open it.”

I stared at the floor.

“I don’t want to scare her,” I whispered. “I just want to show her that I’m not that kid anymore. That I’m not running. That I’m here. I’m here.”

Namjoon leaned forward. “Then tell her. Really tell her. Not to fix things. Not to beg. Just to say it. Say what you didn’t back then.”

I nodded slowly.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” I said.

“Then tonight’s your last chance.”

“I don’t know if she’ll open the door.”

“Then knock anyway.”

I looked up.

“I’m scared,” I admitted. “If she sends me away, I don’t know if I’ll recover.”

“She won’t send you away,” he said. “Not if you’re honest. Not if you’re real.”

I took a deep breath.

I was real.

I was terrified.

But I was real.

═══════

I didn’t ask what he was doing here.

I didn’t ask why he looked like he hadn’t slept in days or why his fingers were twitching at his sides like they didn’t know how to be still.

I just watched as he stepped inside my apartment, slowly, like the floor might vanish beneath him and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

He stood there for a long time.

Like he couldn’t find the words.

Like if he said the wrong thing, I’d vanish.

I leaned against the wall and waited.

He finally looked up.

“I didn’t know how to leave this city without seeing you again.”

I didn’t reply.

“I’m not asking for anything,” he said. “Not your forgiveness. Not a second chance. Not some happy ending I don’t deserve. I just… I need you to know.”

His voice cracked.

“I need you to know that I never stopped loving you.”

My breath caught.

“I didn’t leave because I stopped. I left because I was scared. And young. And stupid. And then I was ashamed. So ashamed I couldn’t even look at myself. So I blocked you. I shut you out. Because every time I thought of you, I remembered what I threw away.”

My throat burned.

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known,” he said. “And you raised our daughter without me. You built a life, a home, a future- and I wasn’t there. I missed her first words. Her first steps. Her birthdays. I missed everything.”

Tears welled in his eyes.

“I don’t deserve to be her dad. I don’t deserve to even stand in this hallway. But I’m here. And if there’s even the smallest piece of you that believes I could be more than what I was-”

He stopped.

Swallowed hard.

“-then I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it.”

The silence that followed felt like thunder.

And then I whispered, “You don’t get to walk back in and say the right thing and expect it to fix the past.”

“I know,” he said, hoarse.

“But…”

He looked up.

“But you said the right thing anyway.”

And then I stepped toward him.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe.

Until I reached for him.

And he broke.

His hands cupped my face like I was something fragile, like I was glass, like he wasn’t sure if I’d let him keep holding me.

And when he kissed me- this time- I didn’t slap him.

I kissed him back.

Hard. Messy. Real.

It wasn’t slow.

It wasn’t soft.

It was years of ache and regret and longing that had nowhere else to go.

His hoodie came off, tossed aside like it was nothing, and mine followed, sliding to the floor in a forgotten heap.

Hands found skin like they were remembering. His fingers traced the curve of my waist, the dip of my spine, like he was mapping me again, reclaiming territory he’d lost.

My back hit the hallway wall, the cold plaster a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressing against mine. He kissed down my neck, his breath hot and ragged, and whispered,

“I missed you so much. I missed this. I missed you.”

I moaned into his mouth, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. We stumbled toward the bedroom, shedding layers like they were shackles, breathless and desperate.

The bed creaked beneath us as he lowered me onto it, his weight hovering above me, his eyes searching mine like he needed permission.

“This okay?” he asked, barely above a whisper, his voice raw with need and uncertainty. I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest, but he needed more.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

He didn’t hesitate. His lips found mine again, hungry and demanding, but his hands were gentle, reverent, like he was worshipping me. He kissed his way down my body, pausing at my breasts, his tongue tracing the curve of my nipples, his lips murmuring praises against my skin.

“God, I missed these. So fucking beautiful.”

I arched into his touch, my breath hitching as his hands slid down my thighs, his fingers brushing the edge of my panties. He hooked them with a single finger, pulling them down slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Always were.”

He kissed his way back up, his lips brushing mine before trailing down my neck, his hands roaming over my body like he was memorizing every inch.

“I’ve thought about this every day,” he confessed, his breath hot against my ear. “Every. Fucking. Day.”

I reached for him, my hands tracing the lean muscles of his back, the ink of his tattoo sleeve, the piercings that glinted under the dim light. He was solid and real, and I couldn’t stop touching him, like I needed to prove he was here, that this was real.

He shifted above me, his eyes dark with need, and I felt him, hard and insistent against my thigh.

“I need you,” he growled, his voice rough, his hands gripping my hips. “Now.”

I nodded, my heart racing, my body aching for him. He didn’t waste another second. He entered me slowly, his eyes locked on mine, his breath catching as he filled me completely.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his forehead resting against mine. “You feel so good.”

He began to move, slow and deliberate, his hips rocking into mine, his hands gripping my thighs like he was anchoring himself to me.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low and demanding, and I obeyed, my eyes meeting his, holding his gaze as he thrust deeper, harder.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his lips brushing mine with each movement. “So perfect.”

His words sent shivers down my spine, his praise fueling the fire burning between us. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, meeting his thrusts with my own, our bodies moving in perfect sync.

“Jungkook,” I gasped, my nails digging into his back, my voice breaking as pleasure coiled tight in my core.

He growled, his pace quickening, his hands gripping my hips tighter, his control slipping. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel it.”

His words were my undoing. My walls clenched around him, my body trembling as my orgasm crashed over me, waves of pleasure washing through me, my breath catching in a sharp cry. “Jungkook!”

He whispered into my neck, his lips brushing my skin, his voice hoarse and desperate. “I love you. I love you so much.”

His words were a balm, a salve to wounds I didn’t realize were still raw. I clung to him, my fingers digging into his back, my body still trembling as he followed me over the edge, his thrusts becoming frantic, his breath ragged against my skin.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice breaking as he came, his body shuddering above me, his release a sharp, primal sound.

He collapsed onto me, his weight heavy but comforting, his breath hot against my neck. For a moment, we just lay there, our hearts pounding in unison, our bodies still joined, the silence thick with unspoken emotions.

He brushed my hair back and kissed my forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he said, voice trembling.

I didn’t answer.

But I didn’t ask him to leave either.

And that was enough.

For now.

═══════

I woke up to the sound of his breathing.

Slow. Steady.

It filled the room like the soft hum of a song I hadn’t heard in years.

For a moment, I didn’t open my eyes.

I just listened.

Soaked in the weight of him next to me. The warmth of his arm draped around my waist. The rise and fall of his chest behind my back. His hand, large and gentle, resting against my ribs like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go.

The light was pale through the blinds. Morning had barely begun.

But the ache in my chest already knew it was time.

I turned over slowly.

He was already awake.

Watching me.

Not smiling. Not saying anything.

Just looking.

Like this was the first morning of his life that made sense.

I searched his face for hesitation.

There wasn’t any.

Just quiet awe.

And something softer than I knew what to do with.

“You didn’t sleep,” I whispered.

“Didn’t want to.”

I blinked. “Why not?”

He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek.

“Didn’t want to miss this.”

My throat tightened.

I looked away.

“You’re leaving today.”

It wasn’t a question.

He nodded. “My flight’s in four hours.”

I swallowed.

“Will you tell her?”

He nodded again. “I want to. When you’re ready.”

“I don’t know when that’ll be.”

“I’ll wait.”

I looked back at him.

He meant it.

“I don’t know what this is,” I said softly.

“Me neither,” he replied. “But I want to find out.”

Silence stretched between us like thread.

“Can I see you before I go?” he asked.

“You’re seeing me now.”

He smiled. Just barely. “After I pack. Before the airport.”

I didn’t say yes.

But I didn’t say no.

He leaned in and kissed me once- just once- like he didn’t want to ask for more than I could give.

Then he pulled back, exhaled, and whispered:

“I’m so in love with you.”

I didn’t say it back.

But I didn’t need to.

Because he pressed his forehead to mine, closed his eyes, and stayed there for a long time.

And when he finally pulled away, when he slipped out of bed and gathered his things, I watched him with something heavy and quiet in my chest.

Not fear.

Not anger.

Something like hope.

And when Eun Ae woke an hour later and asked where Mr. Kookie was, I smiled, just a little, and said:

“He’s not gone. Not really.”

Because for the first time in years…

I believed it.

═══════

Post A/N: dont hate me 😭 there’s still so much to their story

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MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST

♡ requests are welcome ♡ taglist ♡

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

═══════

Posted: 06/24/2025

Taglist: @mar-lo-pap @lovingkoalaface @whoa-jo @kiliskywalker666 @sucker4jeon @annpeachy-blog @kaiparkerwifes @nikkinikj @elithenium @asyr97 @heyinwluv85s @jjkluver7 @bammbi-jeon127 @kookoo-kachoo @angelsdecalcomania @kayswatanabe @granataepfelchen @kelsyx33 @tatamicc @blubird592 @llallaaa @chromietriestowrite @k1ll1ngcl0wns @jahnaviii @mfsitscho @traumaanatomy @mellyyyyyyx @yu-justme @bangtaniess @xmiaacxio @emmie2308 @magicalnachocreator @suker4angst @dragonflygurl4 @taetaecatboy @somehowukook @iiamnotsure @lavender2ari @busanbby-jjk @prilnextdoor23 @ecomidnight @cuntessaiii @jungshaking @nbjch05 @baechugff @jakiki94 @songbyeonkim

#jkwrites m #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #bts #bts ff #bts ffs #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook idol au #daddy kookie m

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sugarwarachan · 3 days ago

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18+ - older roommate! aizawa *barks*

you've only been aizawa's roommate for a couple months, but it's long enough to develop an absurd crush on him. he mostly keeps to himself, although lately he's taken to bringing you extra blankets when you fall asleep on the couch watching atla re-runs.

personally, you find it impossible to ignore him. he's broad and gruff and just manly in a way that makes your thighs press together whenever you see his chest hair poking out of his sleep shirt.

(the first time you saw the happy trail ducking into his sweatpants, you waited for him to leave for work before fucking yourself on the thickest dildo you own. you saw the outline of his cock; you know he's hung.)

the only saving grace of working your thankless job is that you can work remote, which usually leads to late nights hunched over the desk, blearily sorting data in cells.

just like how it is tonight, music blasting in your ears and an excel spreadsheet four inches away from your nose.

a hand falls on your shoulder.

flinging your headphones off, you whirl around to see aizawa backing away from you with his hands held up in surrender. he points at his ear. "your music will blow out your eardrums."

god, he's such a fucking dad sometimes.

(you do not let that thought linger longer than it has to.)

your voice comes out squeaky. "you scared me half to death!"

his lips quirk up, and fuck him for still being devastatingly handsome when he looks bone tired. "i should have announced myself. you okay?"

you rub your neck, one eye on the computer. "yeah, i'm fine."

aizawa zeroes in on the movement. "does your neck hurt?"

you can't help laughing. "i'm wound tight as a drum, so it's kind of par for the course."

he steps forward. "where does it hurt?"

"ummm..." your brain short-circuits. "sort of around here?" you gesture vaguely between your shoulder blades. "it's always the worst at the end of the day."

"turn around for me real quick, y/n."

you obey, and immediately, strong fingers sink into the muscles on either side of your neck. you shiver in his grasp at the unbelievable relief in tension.

"feel good?"

he's joking, right?

you manage a nod as he continues to work out the knots along your spine. "it feels really good."

he says nothing in reply, just keeps working the delicate muscles in your neck and shoulders until you're practically as loose as melted wax.

(later, when you've gone to bed, aizawa finally unbuckles his pants and releases his cock, flushed red and sticky with pre-cum and so sensitive to the touch that the second his palm slides over the shaft, he has to bite the inside of his cheek to distract himself from cumming all over his belly)

2025 © all works belong to me, @sugarwarachan! do not repost, translate, or steal any of my works pls. because this is a community and community thrives off interaction, reblogs and comments are appreciated and encouraged!!! <3 and last but not least, f you'd like to be added to my general taglist, let me know!

general taglist <3 @cielito--lindo, @one-scarred-mofo, @uekarashi, @waterfal-ling, @iluvikeu, @bach-ira

#i'm ummm thinking about this a lot hahahahaha #like he's in his 30s (or 40s honestly #reader is in their 20s #roommate!aizawa #aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #aizawa smut #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa smut #bnha x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #boku no hero academia #mha x reader #sugarwarachanwrites

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0sbrain · 2 days ago

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i think susie is a foster kid. the foster system has deemed her a problematic child and they let her know that.

she keeps moving from place to place, being treated like a criminal and being told she's scary. so why shouldn't she be? it's not like anyone cares about her.

she's tired and angry and scared. she doesn't have a room. she doesn't have a family, she feels completely lost

and then she starts being friends with kris and their mother feels like everything she's always yearned for. she treats her with respect, she cared for her, she cooked a pie with her. she was a dream come true. so for a moment she indulged in the thought: wouldn't this be nice? to have the perfect mother, to be in a regular family?

she can scape to the dark worlds, but what if on top of that she had to somewhere to go back to once their adventures are over? to get endless eggs and pancakes for breakfast on the weekends. to be welcomed with a smile and open arms. to feel like she can let her guard down

she kept thinking about her fantasy as they got back to kris' home after closing the fountain at the church. they didn't get to the shelter but that's ok, they can try tomorrow. besides if she's lucky she might be able to stay at kris' again. she smiled as kris opened the door...

she's been around drunk people enough times to know it's not safe. her heart fell to the floor as her legs begged to run away. of course. there's nowhere to be safe and it was stupid to think otherwise.

she feels like an idiot. she feels betrayed. she feels like crying. but above everything she feels sorry for kris

if only there was a place they could run away to...

#deltarune #susie deltarune #deltarune spoilers #deltarune chapter 4

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mooningningg · 14 hours ago

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ᴊᴊᴋ ʀᴏᴄᴋ ʙᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

notes, i've got to stop this is nawtt me.

drummer!sukuna who barely talks during soundcheck. just rolls his neck, stretches out his shoulders, tests his kit with three sharp hits and a scowl. but the second you walk in? he glances up, eyes tracking you without missing a beat. no smile. just a quieter kind of attention.

he plays better when you’re there. doesn’t say it. doesn’t need to.

drummer!sukuna who sends you a text that just says “where” after a show. no punctuation. no question mark. you reply “home,” and ten minutes later you hear his bike pull up outside. he doesn’t even knock — just walks in, kicks his boots off, drops his bag, and collapses on your couch like he lives there.

you pass him a cold drink. he grunts. “thanks.”

it means: i missed you. i’m tired. i needed to see you. all in one.

drummer!sukuna who acts like he’s annoyed every time you ask about his tattoos — rolls his eyes, scoffs, says “none of your business.” but when you’re curled up next to him, tracing them with your fingers, he’ll murmur, “this one’s from when i got expelled.” you ask why.

he shrugs. “pissed off a teacher. punched a guy. you know. dumb shit.”

then he lets you keep touching, lets you stay close. says nothing else.

drummer!sukuna who’s weirdly good at remembering the smallest things — your favorite energy drink, how you like your eggs, the exact way you complain when your shoes hurt. he won’t mention it, but he’ll hand you a new pair of insoles one day and mutter, “stop limping. you sound pathetic.”

he looked it up. measured your size. didn’t sleep until he found the exact brand you liked.

drummer!sukuna who doesn’t flirt with you like gojo would. no pickup lines, no charm. just rough hands on your hips when you walk past, or a lazy “you look good in that” when you’re not even trying.

once, you asked him what he liked about you.

he looked at you for a long time, then said, “you don’t bullshit me.” that was it. and that was everything.

drummer!sukuna who drags you into his lap during rehearsal breaks, makes a scene about it like he’s doing it just to be a dick. “you’re in my spot,” he mutters, tugging you down. “move or stay, i don’t care.” you stay. obviously. he smells like smoke and sweat and black fabric softener. you fall asleep on him once. he doesn’t move the whole time.

drummer!sukuna who doesn't take selfies, doesn’t post much, doesn’t care about online attention. but he has exactly one photo of you as his lock screen. took it when you weren’t looking. your face half-hidden in his hoodie, holding one of his drumsticks and pretending to be tough.

“you’re a loser,” you told him when you saw it.

he replied, “yeah. but you’re mine.”

drummer!sukuna who never says “i love you.” not out loud. but he brings you backstage passes even when you say you’re too busy. stocks your fridge when you’re sick. lets you wear his rings, his shirts, his hoodie with the hole in the cuff. he watches you from the crowd when he’s not playing, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

he’ll never be soft in public. but if he trusts you, if you’re real with him, he’s loyal in a way that scares even him.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #suguru #suguru geto #rock band jjk #jjk men #jjk ff #jujutsu kaisen ff #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk imagines #sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna x you #drummer sukun #sukuna imagines #drummer sukuna

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p1astr81 · 2 days ago

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pretty please could you write about Ollie and virgin reader, but he doesn't know she's a virgin and gets confused and frustrated when even months in they haven't had sex. Maybe he goes to some of the other drivers (like Lando or something) for advice cuz he doesn't know what to do or why she won't sleep with him. I absolutely love your writing, keep up the incredible work 👏🏻🫶🏻♥️

Things were getting heated in his flat. He’d pulled you into his lap mid makeout as he was trying to devour your lips with his. His hands were all over you. In your hair, on your hips, under your shirt and roaming over your back.

But he wanted more than another heated make-out session. He rolled his hips into yours, creating friction.

You gasped, which he thought was a good thing.

Until you jumped off his lap and practically bolted to the kitchen. “I’m kind of hungry. Should we order or cook?” You covered quickly, opening the fridge like you were actually searching for a meal.

Ollie sighed at how you’d ran from him again. In truth, he was getting skeptical of your constant avoidance to move past kissing.

You’d never allowed him to kiss you below your collarbones, always pushed him away when he tried. Whenever his hand snuck up your thigh, you’d shift or move it. And that one time he’d squeezed your ass as a joke, and you blushed like crazy, got really quiet and avoidant.

He asked you if you were okay on multiple occasions. You always had some excuse. He was only willing to let it slide for so long.

The following week, as he was sat with Charles at lunch, he asked him about it.

“Does Alex ever… like… reject you?” He knew it was a highly personal question, but being constantly rejected was eating away at him. He had to know what was up.

Charles raised a brow, smirking a bit. A dimple carved into his cheek. “How do you mean?” He knew exactly how he meant it. He just wanted to hear him say it.

Ollie scoffed. “Like…” he scoffed again, frustrated. “Whenever I try to initiate anything, y/n just- she runs away.” He confessed, a quiet voice.

It was getting harder for Charles to not laugh. “Runs away?”

“Not actually but,” he sighed. “yeah.”

“Well, did you ask her about it?”

Ollie paused. “Not directly.”

This time, Charles did laugh. Not loudly or making a scene out of it. Just a quiet chuckle. “So you don’t know if she’s waiting for marriage?”

Another pause from the younger. Then quietly, slightly embarrassed, “I didn’t even consider that.”

Charles only laughed and shook his head at the younger driver.

It wasn’t until two weeks later that he worked up the courage to actually ask you.

Sat on the couch, watching a movie. Your head rested on his shoulder, arms hugging one of his. His hand placed on your mid-thigh.

You were dozing off, so relaxed curled into his side. He thought there was no better time.

“Hey baby?” He called and squeezed your thigh. You hummed, a very sleepy sound. Still, your tired eyes looked up at him through your lashes. “Are you waiting til marriage?” He found it difficult to look into your eyes as he spoke.

Brows tilted, you tip your head back to see him easier. “You mean like… to have sex?”

Ollie swallowed. “Yeah.” He breathed. “And- and I know it’s kind of invasive I guess but I just want to know because, well, because I keep trying to- uh- you know. And-“

“I figured you’d ask about it eventually.” You sat up, letting go of his arm. He missed your touch instantly. “I’m not exactly… saving. I mean, yes I’m still a virgin but that’s not why.” You reached for the remote and paused the movie in the middle of an action scene. You kept the remote in your hands, thumbing the buttons. “It’s stupid.” You muttered.

Ollie bumped your knee with his. “It’s not stupid. If it’s about you, I want to know.”

Too conflicted to answer, you left him with a pause. Your thumbs paused on the remote buttons. “I guess I’m just scared.”

The smile came before the laugh. You looked to him, face twisted in hurt. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you.” He clarified and your expression softened. “I just- I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” He laughed again, a small chuckle.

“So, you’re not upset?”

“Upset? No, why would I be? That’s normal, and we can get there whenever you’re comfortable. I just didn’t know.”

A weight was lifted off the both of your shoulders. Lighter now, you leaned into him again. Curled into his side.

“I love you.” You whispered, a hand on his chest, over his heart.

Ollie smiled, feeling all soft inside. “I love you, too.” He kissed the top of your head. “Even if you’re lacking a little in the communication department.” He joked.

You shoved his chest, earning a laugh. “Not like you tried to either.”

“I just did!”

“Yeah, after how many weeks?”

You had him there. He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, I guess we are both guilty.”

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 blurb #f1 fluff #f1 x you #f1 angst #ollie bearman oneshot #ollie bearman imagine #ollie bearman x you #ollie bearman x reader #ollie bearman #oliver bearman x reader #oliver bearman #Ollie bearman angst

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oaksgrove · 1 day ago

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hi love! I hope you're doing alright ♡

im here to request a tiny, little angsty piece. I can picture John being so, so tired from work that he just can't stand being touched, but his beloved needs it so badly, so they go for it (holding his hand) —don't get them wrong, they always ask! but they also had a bad day. John snaps, accidentally smacking their hand away.

little angst, with John comforting withdrawn neurodivergent reader after he accidentally snaps at them, which turns into them comforting each other because "you're tired - no, you are tired", until John moves to seek their touch himself

Tired.

Pairing: John Price x Neurodivergent!Reader

Synopsis: Some days are too much. Too loud, too bright, too sharp. When the world presses in, you don’t need grand gestures. You just need John to understand.

Warning: Sensory overload, brief miscommunication/startled response, hurt/comfort, soft reconciliation

The kettle was screaming again.

High-pitched. Piercing. It had only just started, but it dragged across your nerves like nails on glass. You stood frozen in the doorway of the kitchen, jumper sleeves stretched down past your hands and gripped tight in your fists.

It was just a kettle.

But it wasn’t.

The hallway light was flickering again, same as yesterday, the bulb stuttering in the corner of your vision. The drawer next to the stove was open again—your carefully organized cutlery now out of order, one large spoon stuffed awkwardly into the teaspoon slot like a mistake you couldn’t fix. And the boots—

Thud. Thud. Thud.

John’s heavy steps across the kitchen floor, back and forth, back and forth like a pacing bear in a too-small cage. He was muttering again, voice low but rough with frustration.

“Fucking brass—changing the op schedule last minute—bloody nightmare—”

You winced.

You weren’t scared of him. Never had been. But the noise, the pressure, the weight of it all pressing down around your shoulders—it was too much today. Too loud. Too bright. Too off.

You didn’t even realize you’d whispered his name until his voice cut through the air, sharp and fast.

“What?” he snapped, turning with a furrowed brow, hand half-raised in mid-gesture.

It wasn’t loud. Not really.

But it cracked something in you.

Your whole body stiffened. Like a rubber band stretched too thin. Your shoulders drew up high and your chin tucked down, sleeves clenched in your fists, throat closing up.

John stopped.

Instantly.

His face changed—brows falling, mouth parting with regret blooming like a bruise behind his eyes.

“Shit—no, love—wait—” he stepped toward you quickly, one hand out, then hesitated, hovering like he didn’t want to crowd you. “I didn’t mean that. Christ, I’m sorry.”

You said nothing. You looked down.

And that was somehow worse.

“I was just—” he started again, then cut himself off with a frustrated sound, softer this time. “Fuck, I was bein’ a right bastard.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” he said.

You tried to breathe. The room felt too big and too tight all at once. The kettle shrieked one last time before clicking off. Still too late.

“I didn’t mean to be in your way,” you murmured. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just—everything’s loud today. I didn’t want to make it worse.”

John stared at you. His mouth twitched like he was about to argue—but then he caught himself. He crouched a little in front of you instead, like he was trying to shrink himself. His voice lowered.

“You’re not makin’ it worse. I am,” he admitted. “I know when I get like this—loud, angry—I make things heavier. And you’re carryin’ too much as it is.”

You didn’t answer. Not right away.

Just tried to unknot your fingers from your sleeves.

“I don’t always have the words,” you said finally, voice thin. “Some days I just… can’t talk properly. Or explain why everything feels so sharp.”

John’s gaze dropped to your hands, your tight shoulders, the way you were trying so hard to regulate even as your body rebelled against the room.

“You don’t have to explain,” he said. “Not to me.”

You looked at him. A flicker of disbelief passed across your face.

“I’m not good at being…” you trailed off. “Easy. Or quiet. Or normal.”

John’s throat bobbed with a hard swallow.

“I didn’t marry you because I wanted normal,” he said. “I married you because you feel like home.”

A beat of silence. The flickering light still buzzed. But it felt dimmer now—like the world had shifted, just slightly, around him.

“You’re tired,” you said softly. “You’ve been pacing since you got back.”

His mouth tugged into a wry smile. “No, you’re tired.”

You blinked. “Okay. We’re both tired.”

He huffed a warm, half-laugh. Then—very carefully—he leaned his forehead against your chest. Not heavy, just enough for you to feel the quiet weight of him.

“You always let me come back,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Even when I act like a grumpy sod.”

Your hand came up without thinking. Just resting gently in his hair. Fingers threading through the soft, short strands at his crown.

“I love you,” you said quietly. “Even when you’re a grumpy sod.”

He exhaled. His arms wrapped around your waist.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” he murmured. “Sorry for making today harder.”

“You didn’t,” you whispered. “You just startled me. That’s all.”

You held each other for a long while—standing in the middle of the kitchen, kettle off, boots stilled, lights flickering quietly above. Nothing had changed. But everything had softened.

And when John eventually pulled back to press a kiss to your forehead, he didn’t say anything more.

He just reached over, finally closed the drawer the proper way, and turned off the light.

“C’mon, love,” he said gently. “Let’s go sit down. I’ll make you tea.”

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap @rainyjellybear @anonymouse1807 @twoandahalfdimes

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arthurs-ficz · 1 day ago

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Mission Accomplished // Jax x reader oneshot !!

Caine had decided to give you random jobs for you to complete today, due to him having 'too many overstimulating options' from the submission box, according to him...

Despite this, you were about to complete another job when suddenly Jax decided to bother you. Of course.

"Whatcha doing? Looks real boring and tiring to me."

He says as he practically looms over you, watching to see exactly what you are doing. The jobs that Caine had assigned you, particularly, were pretty tame compared to the adventures you all would regularly go on. It did make you question why you were the only one assigned them, though... and why were these tasks so easy? You shrug it off for now and respond to Jax.

"I have to do some things today."

You say as you complete another task from Caine.

Jax quirks an eyebrow and leans closer, arms folded.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

Suddenly, you get the idea to say something risky. To get back at all the pranks and embarrassing things Jax had done to you. Would you regret it? Proba-

"Like you."

S i l e n c e .

Jax’s eyes widened at that, and a slight pink tinge tinged his cheeks. A slow smirk spreads across his expression and his tone becomes cocky as he looks at you.

“Oh, you’re gonna ‘do me’, eh? Really goin’ for full on cheesy pick up lines here, aren’t ya?”

Your cheeks stung with a flush as you looked away from him, continuing with what you were doing.

"Okay, but seriously, I need to get things done today."

Jax rolls his eyes with an exaggerated sigh, his smirk staying plastered on his face.

“Fine, be a boring workaholic. Go do important stuff'n ‘n all.”

He pauses and glances at you sideling again.

“But can’t you spend like, one minute just hangin’ with me first?”

You sigh. Just to get him away, you agree and look at him, his smug expression not leaving your sight for a moment.

"Well, what do you want to do?"

Jax shrugs as a mischievous glint appears in his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m easy to entertain.”

He turns in the direction of Ragatha and Pomni playing in the distance, and a sly grin breaks across his features.

“Or I could always take a tease at Pomni. That’s always fun.”

You sigh through your nose, looking at him with an uncertain gaze.

"Just don't go overboard... like you did last time?"

Jax leans against the wall and snickers, recalling the way Pomni had freaked out last time.

“Hey, not my fault she’s got no chill. You have to admit it’s funny.”

He glances sideling at you.

“Besides, you laughed.”

"Okay- but I laughed because I was in shock okaayy? That's completely different."

Jax grins widely and steps closer. His gaze is heavy as he leans in, his voice lowers to a murmur.

“You’re cute when you act all defensive.”

You hold your breath. He did not just say that.

"Shut up. I'm just telling you the truth here, it's different."

Jax snickers and raises an eyebrow, his smirk growing into a cocky grin. He steps closer so that you’re both almost chest to chest and lowers his voice.

“You’re totally cute.”

He glances sideling at Pomni, who’s still happily playing with Ragatha, and grins wickedly. You're about to open your mouth to object to what he'd said, but he interrupts your thought before it can get out.

“Y’know what would really get her to lose it?”

You stay silent for a moment, not knowing if you should even ask.

"..What?"

Jax grins mischievously and whispers into your ear.

“You should kiss me.”

He looks at you with the smuggest face, with no regret for what he had said. Did he really just say that? Seriously, what is he thinking?! You could have nearly dropped what you were doing right there and then.

"What?! Jax, that's literally crazy!"

Jax glances sideling at Pomni, still happily chatting with Ragatha. He smirks smugly.

“But it’d get a reaction.”

He turns to look right at you and leans in, his breath fanning your face. His gaze is intense and his tone is a smug murmur.

“You wouldn’t be too scared to do it, wouldcha?”

You have to blink before responding. This was insane.

"I'm not scared- it's just extreme for a prank! Let alone teasing."

Jax raises an eyebrow and takes a step closer to you. His voice is silky and cocky.

“But you’re tempted, aren’t you?”

His grin is Cheshire Cat wide as he studies your expression.

"Don't put words in my mouth."

You shake your head before looking at him again. Still has that smug cheeky expression on his face.

"Look, we'll just do this really quickly because then I have to go.. Are we seriously going to do this just in front of them? To give them a shock or something? "

Jax’s cocky smirk widens into full mischief.

“Oh absolutely we are.”

He glances sideling at Pomni and laughs out loud.

“This is gonna be sooo funny—“

"Okay!!"

You interupt.

"Let's just get it over and done with quick..."

You say as you try to keep your flush from staining your cheeks.

Jax’s expression softens a fraction, and he cups your face with one hand, the other hand dropping to your waist. He leans in closer still, his voice lowering to a murmur as his cocky smirk fades to a softer smile.

“You know, I can make it real dramatic. Give you like, the whole big kiss thing and all—“

His free hand brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Or I can make it quick and sweet… your choice.”

"Does it really matter if it's just a prank anyway?"

You mumble under your breath.

Jax’s grip on your waist tightens for a moment as he leans in even closer, his face a mere few inches from yours. He keeps his voice low, his expression an intense smolder and his smugness replaced with a softer, more genuine emotion.

“It matters to me.”

His voice grows to almost a whisper, his grip on your face shifting so that he cups your cheek rather than holding your jaw.

“I wanna know what you want.”

You feel your flush completely burning your face off again. Not only that, but it's suddenly so hard to stand up? Your legs wobble and your breathing hitches as you think of a response to give.

"I don't- I don't mind..?"

Jax pauses a moment longer, his hand still cupping your face. He searches your eyes and grins.

“Well, since you can’t decide, I guess I’m taking charge.”

He leans in the rest of the way, and his lips are on yours. The cocky smirk from before is gone now with the kiss he gives you: soft, almost slow, although they are right in front of both Pomni and Ragatha. However, he does make sure to keep it brief. After a few seconds, he breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t pull back. He keeps his face a few inches away from yours, his thumb idly tracing the outline of your cheek. His tone is soft, cocky smirk gone, and the mischief in his expression is replaced with something softer.

“Mm. You taste sweet.”

He leans forward and pecks you on the corner of your mouth for extra measure. Your thoughts are completely gone, almost like they pooled to the bottom of your shoes. The only thing you can feel now is Jax's surprisingly gentle grip on you.

"Did they- Did they see?"

You barely mutter out.

Jax glances sideling at both of them, trying not to break into laughter.

“Yeah and now they're both freaking out. Ha.”

He grins and turns back to look you directly in the eye, his expression still oddly soft.

“I think mission accomplished.”

#Jax x reader #Jax x reader headcanons #Jax oneshot #Jax fanfiction #tadc jax #the amazing digital circus #tadc x reader #tadc x you

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wendichester · 1 day ago

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⋆˚⊱ the talk,

summary. dean, your boyfriend, gives you the talk.

pairing. dean winchester x reader genre. weird fluff

wordcount. 748

notes / warnings. mild language, mentions of supernatural violence, protective/jealous dean winchester, pop culture references, a tense confession scene, slight crack energy

You’re not really mad, per se. More like… Yeah, confused as hell.

Because your boyfriend just told you monsters are real—like, capital-M Monsters. Vampires, werewolves, demons, the whole horror movie roster. Except this isn’t a movie. You’re not on your couch, halfway through a sleepover marathon with a bowl of popcorn in your lap. You’re at your kitchen table, and Dean is sitting across from you looking like someone just kicked his puppy. Which is kind of hilarious considering he just confessed to stabbing a werewolf with a silver blade last week.

You haven’t said a word in maybe… five minutes.

Dean’s knee is bouncing. He keeps glancing toward the door like he’s expecting you to run for it.

“I didn’t tell you ‘cause I didn’t want you to freak out,” he mutters, voice low. “It’s not exactly first date kinda stuff, y’know?”

You blink slowly. “…You said you were a mechanic.”

He flinches. “I can fix cars.”

“Dean.”

“Alright, part-time mechanic, full-time monster-hunter. Happy?”

You lean back in your chair, arms crossed. You should be more panicked. Any reasonable person would be. But the weird thing is—you’re not. Not really. Maybe it’s because Dean doesn’t feel dangerous to you. He feels safe. Has since the night you met him in that parking lot, laughing and talking you through your flat tire like he didn’t have somewhere better to be.

You’ve seen the way he handles a wrench. The way he walks you to your door. The way he keeps a loaded gun at yours and how he sometimes feels the need to sleep with a knife under his pillow.

You should’ve figured this out.

Dean's still talking, trying to explain himself.

“I just—look, I never wanted to lie to you, but this life? It’s dark. I didn’t want to drag you into it unless I had to. But the longer we were together, the more I felt like... you should know. You deserve to know. I promise you, Y/N, I'm not cheating on you. I just have a shitty day-job.”

You stare at him a moment. Really look at him. His hands are clasped together on the table, knuckles scraped. There's a little blood on the edge of his sleeve. His jaw’s tight, shoulders hunched like he’s bracing for a slap.

You tilt your head.

“So… when you said you’d kill Damon Salvatore if he ever tried anything with me,” you say slowly, “you meant that?”

Dean’s whole face twists. “What—of course I meant it! That dude’s a vampire. He eats people, baby. I don’t care how nice his car is.”

You blink. Then blink again.

And then, god help you, you start laughing. Not a little giggle—like, full-body, stomach-aching, shoulders-shaking laughter. Dean just stares at you, caught somewhere between horrified and offended.

“I’m serious!” he says, eyebrows yanking together. “That guy’s a psycho! He compels people and drinks his weight in blood! I don’t care how many redemption arcs he’s got or what moody indie soundtrack they put under his scenes—he so much as sniffs in your direction, he’s toast.”

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, wiping your eyes. “You were jealous of a fictional vampire.”

Dean scowls. “He’s not fictional to me.”

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand, eyes sparkling. “Okay, hunter-boy. So what is fictional to you?”

He pauses. “Uh… Harry Potter, probably.”

“That explains so much.”

Dean’s still tense, like he’s not totally convinced you aren’t about to kick him out.

You reach across the table and cover his hand with yours.

“I’m not running,” you say softly. “I’m weirded out, yeah. I mean, you basically just told me Buffy was a documentary. But I’m not scared of you, Dean.”

His shoulders drop about two inches. “Yeah?”

You nod. “You’re still the guy who brings me diner pie and gets pissy when I leave the window cracked at night.”

“That’s because it’s not safe,” he mutters.

“Uh-huh. You know I’m just gonna make more vampire jokes now, right?”

Dean groans. “Great. I’ve created a monster.”

You grin, leaning across the table to kiss him—quick and sweet, your fingers curling around his wrist.

He kisses you back like he’s exhaling for the first time in days.

When you pull away, you squint at him.

“…You still haven’t explained why you carry holy water in your jacket pocket.”

“Emergency exorcisms,” he says, deadpan.

You nod slowly. “Cool. Cool. Totally normal boyfriend things.”

Dean smiles, wide and shameless. “Welcome to the family business, sweetheart.”

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #supernatural #spn #.docx #d : the talk

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rainrot4me · 2 days ago

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your girl dad jeff post has got me in a chokehold!!! /pos

i was wondering if you would be willing to maybe do girl dad brian or tim too? :]

Hehehehehheeh I love what I’ve started.

── .✦

Masky’s girl. The daughter of a man who speaks in grunts and violence but melts at the sound of “Daddy.”

“You okay, baby?” It’s the phrase he says the most. Doesn’t matter if she fell off the swings or got overwhelmed in the grocery store—Masky’s immediately crouched beside her, gently gripping her little face in his scarred hands, eyes searching hers with that quiet intensity only she can handle.

“Use your words. What do you need from me?” He listens. Every time. Always.

He reads to her in a low, gravelly voice, one arm wrapped around her like a steel cable while she curls up under his jacket.

Doesn’t matter what the book is—fairy tale, adventure, bedtime story—he treats it like sacred ritual. If she interrupts to ask a question, he stops and explains it like it’s the most important thing he’s ever been asked.

“The bear’s not mean, sweetheart. He’s just scared, like people get sometimes.”

She gets night terrors, and you don’t even have to call him. Masky’s already in her room before she fully wakes up, sitting at her side and running a thumb over her brow until she calms.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Breathe for me, baby.”

You catch him on the couch watching her sleep sometimes, completely still. Mask half-on, eyes hollow—but there’s that crack in his armor when he brushes her hair back and whispers, “You make all of this worth it.”

First time she cries because of someone at school? He doesn’t say a word. Just kisses her temple and walks out of the house for a few hours. (You know he didn’t hurt anyone… but he definitely scared their shit straight.)

His biggest fear is losing her. So he teaches her self-defense like it’s another form of love. “You aim for the throat. You run. You don’t freeze, you hear me?”

The day she asks him why he wears a mask around strangers, he just sighs and lifts her into his lap. “Because I’m scared people will look at me wrong. But you never do.”

She hugs him tighter. Tells him he doesn’t need it. He doesn’t take it off yet—but he lets her see him. You two are the only people he doesn’t mind not putting up a shield for.

Every drawing she makes of “Daddy” gets pinned to the kitchen fridge. Even the ones where he has three teeth and giant bug eyes. “She nailed the hair though,” he mutters.

He would rip this world apart piece by piece if it ever got too close to her, no matter what.

── .✦

Hoodie’s sweetheart. The only thing in this godforsaken world that keeps him human.

Hoodie is the kind of dad who doesn’t talk a lot, but who watches everything. He knows exactly when she’s about to cry—before she even realizes it. He notices when she’s off, when she lies about being okay, when she drops a crayon because she’s tired.

“…C’mere, bug.” He’ll just pull her into his lap without a word and hold her there. Calm heartbeat. Gloved hand stroking her back.

She always calls him “Daddy,” even when she’s older. He pretends to be annoyed about it, but it makes his throat tight every time.

“Still my little girl, huh?” He says it like a joke. She knows it’s not.

He teaches her how to use a camera before she can even spell the word. She wanders the backyard with an old Polaroid in hand, taking shaky, blurry photos—and Brian keeps every single one.

There’s a box in his room labeled “Her Eyes.” It’s sacred. No one touches it.

Hoodie is terrifying when someone hurts her. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just suddenly gone for a few hours. The school bully never bothers her again. His teacher gets real quiet when Hoodie shows up for parent meetings.

One time, a neighbor made her cry—Brian just stood on their porch the next morning, silent, unmoving, hoodie up, until the man closed his blinds and never spoke again.

She always puts stickers on his gear. His gloves, his boots, even his spare mask. You catch him brushing one off his sleeve once—and then peeling it off carefully and sticking it to the corner of his laptop instead. “She said that one looked like me. I’ll keep it.”

When she falls asleep on him? Hoodie freezes. Like he’s afraid any movement will wake her. He leans his head against hers, tucks her close, and finally… lets himself breathe. You swear he sleeps better those nights.

She grows up soft, but sharp. Independent. And Hoodie is ferociously proud of that.

“That’s my girl,” he says when she stands up for someone.

“That’s my girl,” when she bandages his hand after a job.

“That’s my girl,” when she hugs him for no reason.

His girl forever and always.

꩜ .ᐟ

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lxvvie · 2 days ago

Text

One Night (I Can't) Stand.

loser!simon x loser!reader

You smelled smoke. Right after the direct sunlight bitch-slapped you awake.

You’d glare if you had the energy, but it was the sun and you were tired. Too tired. Too tired physically, and it wasn’t the type of exhaustion that came from being at work all day with your asshole boss and inept coworkers, oh no, this was… this was that ‘feel good’ tired, the one that came from a lot of—oh!

Oh.

You moved and… you were sore. In all the right places, too. Your body felt heavy and a little like Jello. You took a peek under the covers. Butt ass naked. Ohhh. So you did get some after all. Finally. Look at you, getting dicked down like normal people. After a bar crawl you were practically dragged to under the guise of “team building”. You cackled like some fuckin’ goofball, like you were in on some inside joke only you and the universe knew, and then you felt the bed shift a little next to you, heard a soft exhale, smelled some more smoke, and…

…Wait a minute. Who’d you fuck?

You were almost scared to turn over. The last time something like this happened, you shat where you ate. By proxy. It was one of your co-worker’s friends, some guy named… Jack? Joshua? Whoever the fuck. Anyway, the sex was… mediocre at best, you don’t even remember if you came or not (like who could forget an orgasm?), and afterward, you had to contend with said co-worker’s knowing smile every time you saw her. And then the poor guy asked you out (at her encouragement). Oh, you still cringe at the fallout from that.

Anyway… who’d you fuck again?

You took a deep breath, counted down from five, prepared yourself for the possibility of it being another shit-show, and then—

“The fuck was so funny?” Well, that eliminated… all of your co-workers. Deep voice. Nice, deep voice. Nice, deep, gravelly voice. Big dick energy voice. You think. The stuff fanfiction and bad boy fantasies are made of. Okay, you’ll hold that next cackle in. You turned over to face your bedmate and was immediately greeted to the sight of a pair of big brown eyes staring into your soul. Or, rather, staring through your soul. Same difference. You just know that he’s big. Huge. Physically imposing. Broad-shouldered. Muscular but not, what is it, incredibly defined? You can see the power in his body, and it was something to watch as he rubbed the back of his neck absentmindedly. Muscles under tan-lined skin. Angular, long face. A nose that was broken one time too many. Long eyelashes. Furrowed brows. Five o’clock shadow. Resting bitch face. Buzzcut that was growing out. He was cute in a grungy “fuck you and fuck them, too” kind of way. Mismatched features that matched him and made sense.

Shitty tattoos, though. Mm. A travesty.

So now you’re face-to-face with your bedmate who, from the looks of it, had been up longer than you, had also been watching you if his sitting up against the pillow was any indication, and was nursing one of cheapest cigarette brands known to man (shoutout to your chain-smoking HR rep for getting you hip to this information against your will while at job orientation), and… uh…

“…Who the fuck are you?” Smooth. Real smooth, blurting that shit out. Fuck your foot-in-mouth syndrome. It’s done you more harm than good.

Didn’t really faze the guy much, if any, though. He just quirked a brow. Took another hit from his cigarette. Flicked the ashes into the makeshift ashtray of a cracked shot glass. Exhaled and let the smoke settle over you two. Came back to staring into (or is it through?) your soul. Okay… this is awkward. Well, it was until—

“Who the fuck are you?” came the brusque response. You were taken aback. Don’t know why because you didn’t know the guy from a can of paint, but you were, and if he caught the shadow that passed over your face, he didn’t say anything. The high you had earlier from FINALLY getting some dick came crashing down stupendously upon this asshole’s broad shoulders.

You hate your co-workers and boss all over again.

And you hate that HR rep even more.

#cutie 𝓠.#nsfw.#loser!simon #loser!reader #I use the term “loser” loosely y’all lol.#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #x black reader #x poc reader #x plus size reader #x gn!reader #x loser!reader

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date-everything-has-taken-over · 10 hours ago

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Hi hi hiii I wasnwondering if u could do a fic thing where reader is basically dating most dateables n one day they (the reader) basically ends up feeling extremely sick from not taling care of theirself properly, running around to fix stuff, starting a new part-time job, going out with new friends. Could some of the characters included be dorian, eddie & volt, hector and whoever else? Pls and thank uu!!

Gonna add Barry and Betty because I think they'd fit in very well with this case (And they're my babygirls)

Dorian🚪

● One of the first to notice something was off

●After losing your job at Valdivian, you had gotten two part-time jobs to make up for it, and it was beginning to take its toll

●He was the kne to see you before you walked through the front Dorian. Before you would take a deep breath and put on your best, "everything's okay" face

●He'd try his best to convince you to give yourself a break and get some well needed rest, but you kept reassuring him you'd be fine

●Well, he was right. After one too many overtime shifts combined with coming home to help everyone with their problems resulting in many sleepless nights, you come home and practically collapsed in the front hallway

●"Right, that's it. You're taking a couple days off work and resting"

●Unfortunately, he's still the front door, so he can't take you to bed himself, but bedroom Dorian will take things from there

●If you thought he was like a bouncer before, you haven't seen anything yet.

●A dateable wants to see you. "Are you on the list?" "What do you need with them?" "You're not gonna cause a fuss are ya?"

●He even contemplates moving the hanks downstairs. Sure, they're usually in your room, but they're so loud. He gives them a stern warning (which scares them just a bit) and let's them stay

●He makes sure the house is safe and that your room is the pinical of peace

●"Autherized personal only" Dorian blocks anyone trying to get in, but especially the more rowdy members of the house

●"Darling, you never believe what I heard about Hoove!" Scandalabra tries yelling through Dorian, which was followed by a suspicious thud (I'm sure it's nothing to worry abt)

●Until he sees you're 100% better, Dorian doesn't let you out of his sight (not that he does that anyway). Going to the kitchen for chicken soup? He's got an eye on you just in case

●When you actually do recover, he's making sure you don't get yourself in the same issue and makes you promise not to push yourself

●"It's not just my job to keep you safe from the outside world, love." He holds you close to him, enveloping you in a warm hug. "I will always be there to keep you safe from all danger"

●Even after you're better and going back to work, he's checking on you every chance he gets, reminding you to eat and sleep at a reasonable time

●He may not woo with words as much as other dateables, but he shows how much he loves you every day by being a safe and reliable presence for you

Eddie & Volt⚡️

●Work was short-staffed, and with it being busy season, you were picking up extra shifts almost every day

● They know overworked when they see it, so when you show up to the club, noticeably tired, they clock you right away

●Volt takes a seat next to you, placing his lips on the side of you head

"You know we're always happy to see you, live wire-"

Eddie cuts him off

"-But you look dead tired, go to bed"

● Volt chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you onto his lap

"Our live wire doesn't need to leave to rest, do they?" He brings you closer. "You can relax right here, live wire"

●After that night, Eddie stopped letting you help out around the club

"Don't worry about it, alright? You look like you're about to fall over anyway"

●Eddie acts tough, but he's checking on you and bringing you water every time you visit the Breaker Box after work

●When everything catches up to you and you actually do end up getting sick enough to take a couple of days off work while stuck in bed, they're both worried (and a little pissed)

●They've seen you running around the house helping everyone, fixing things around the house, settling arguments between other members of the house so they have a pretty good idea of how you ended up like this

●They check on you every day to make sure you're doing alright

●If you're not awake when they come by, you'll wake up to find a glass of water, Nyquill, and a note

'Rest well, live wire -E&V

●After a couple of days of bedrest, you return to the club, and they're happy to see you doing well

●They've both accepted you're too nice to say no to helping everyone in the house, so how do they remedy this?

●By practically keeping you hostage in the club for the next couple of days (Can't get exhausted again if they just keep you at the Breaker Box)

●Eddie still refuses to let you help out even if you insist

"And you get on me for not taking a break," he sets a glass in front of you. "Little hypocritical, don't ya think?"

●He places a gentle kiss on the top of your head, keeping close for a moment before going to the back to do maintenance

●They may be busy running the club, but never too busy for you, and they make sure to remind you

Hector💨

●Also, very quick to notice

●He was very worried when he noticed how much slower you seemed lately

●Asks how you're doing multiple times a day. Never believes you when you say you're fine but he doesn't wanna push it and upset you

●Fully panics when he sees you collapse after walking through front Dorian

●The temperature spikes for a moment until he calms down

●He doesn't leave your side for a moment

●Takes extra care to keep the temperature at a comfortable level for you

●You don't even have to say anything. Ate you pulling the blanket closer to you? Heat up. Are you kicking away the sheets? Air on.

●He so badly wants to be there with you. To hold you and comfort you. But he's still terrified to leave the vents

●He's slightly soothed knowing Betty is taking very good care of you (but also kinda jealous)

●In the middle of the night, when he's sure everyone is asleep, he sits beside your bed, watching as your breath rises and falls

● He brushes your hair aside, admiring your beautiful face (even though it's sick and sweaty, he doesn't care)

●Before leaving, he gives your forehead a kiss. "Feel better soon, my love."

● If someone tried disturbing you or kept you awake, he'd turn the heat up in the room they're in to be petty

●When you're well enough to get out of bed, he's overcome with both joy and anxiety

●Joy because you're well enough to see him in the attic now. He can hold you again (and you can watch him turn bright red as you kiss his face)

● But anxious because, what if this happens again? What if the human keeps pushing themselves? What if it's WORSE next time?!

●He begs you to slow down and not push yourself too hard. To give yourself more free time and rest more often

●The look he gives you is like a kicked puppy, and you just can't help but hold him close and promise to take care of yourself better

●He clings to you for a bit before you leave the attic to go to bed "Rest well, my love."

● When you finally go back to work, he anxiously waits for your return, watching Timmy just a little too closely

●When you finally return, he observes your every move to see if you look tired or overwhelmed

●If not, good. But if you look any kind of distressed, he's whisking you away to the attic to cuddle, then practically dragging you to bed at the end of the day

●You're honestly a little surprised since he's normally not this bold face-to-face

●Even long after recovery, it becomes a new routine. If you come home tired, he's attaching himself to you koala style

Barry💄

● Well, technically, he noticed pretty quickly when he'd see you so exhausted every morning, buuuuut then he forgot and would notice all over again each morning

●Feels terrible when you come home sick and remain bedridden for days

●He's almost too nervous to visit you, scared you'd be mad at him

●"Are you feeling alright, darling?" He peeks into your room, "Anything I can do to help?"

●When you tell him you'd just like to hear his voice and that you love it when he goes on little rants about whatever he's obsessed with at the moment, his whole face turns red

●"Oh! W-well, that's, um, very n-nice, darling." He laughs nervously. He takes a moment to compose himself. "I 'm-I'm glad you enjoy hearing me talk. I'm happy to keep you company, darling."

●Since you're stuck in bed with nothing to do, Baeey is happy to keep you company while you recover

● He'll talk about just about anything that interests him at the time. Makeup, toucans, history, lions, movies. He's also happy to listen if you have anything to yap about

● If you're not able to shower, he'll brush your hair so it doesn't get too knotted while you're sick, taking care to be extra gentle.

●It's so soothing you send up falling asleep. He brings the covers over your body and turns the lights off, letting you sleep peacefully

●Before leaving, he leans down to kiss your cheek "Goodnight, darling."

● You may or may not have woken up with a lipstick smudge on your cheek, but you certainly didn't mind

●When you're feeling better, Barry helps you through your post-sick self-care routine. Warm bath, skin care, hair care

●Helps you with your bath so you don't fall asleep, definitely not because he wants to rub your soapy body noooo definitely not

Betty🛌

●She noticed right away. You've barely been sleeping and even when you do, you toss and turn all night.

●She tries to get you to come to bed early, but you're busy helping around the house. Then she tried getting you to sleep in, but you got called into work early.

●This repeated a couple of times until you stumbled into your room and fell onto her.

●She's happy to be able to spend so much time with you, but she wishes it weren't under such conditions.

●She holds you close, your head just under her chin and your face against her chest (awooga). She's somehow the perfect temperature for when you're cold or overheating.

●She'll gently stroke your head and hum softly until you fall asleep.

● When you wake up, she looks down at you and brings a hand to your cheek. "Good morning, lover." She presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. "I'm afraid I can't let you go anywhere until I'm sure you're better." Her gentle voice makes it seem like a joke, but you know she's serious.

● You wouldn't have thought to leave anyway, you could barely move, and your whole body felt achy but more importly Betty was just so damn sweet and comfortable.

●Ngl it's mostly sleeping and cuddleng with you and occasanaly getting food

●When you finally felt better, she convinced you to take an extra rest day with her "just in case"

Sorry, Betty's is so short! I couldn't think of much for her

#date everything #date everything x reader #visual novel #date everything eddie #date everything volt #date everything dorian #date everything hector #date everything barry #date everything betty

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multific · 1 day ago

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Kiss With a Curse

Yelena Belova x Reader

Summary: You can take pain with a touch, but at a cost. Every time she returns from a mission, bruised and battered, you reach for her, willing to suffer so she doesn’t have to.

As a young child, you were cursed with a gift, take someone’s pain into your own body with a single touch.

You’ve only ever used it for one person and she never wanted you to. But when you collapse from the weight of all you’ve taken, it becomes clear what’s been building between you all along.

The door creaked open at 3:12 in the morning.

Rain tapped on the windows with a rhythm, the kind of sound that should lull you to sleep.

But you were wide awake, waiting.

She stumbled in, breath ragged, her jacket torn, blood soaking through her sleeve. Again.

You were already getting up from the couch, blanket sliding from your lap.

"How bad?" you asked quietly.

She didn’t meet your eyes.

"It looks worse than it is." Her voice was hoarse. The lie was familiar by now.

She flinched when you stepped close, and not from pain. From knowing what you’d do. What you always did.

“Don’t,” she murmured, almost a plea. “Not tonight.”

“I’m fine,” you lied back, just as easily.

You pressed your palm gently to her side, where her ribs had turned angry and purple.

The glow was faint, your gift never needed light to be felt, but the warmth passed through her, and the pain passed into you.

Your breath caught but you tried not to show it.

You felt your knees dip slightly. Her pain became yours and it made your vision blur. But you steadied yourself.

She gripped your wrist. “I said don’t. It’s not your job to bleed for me.”

You smiled softly. “Too late.”

She let you do it. She always lets you.

But her jaw clenched the whole time, her hand tightening on your arm like she was trying to anchor you to this moment, to the world, to her guilt.

You were both quiet as you sat her down.

You fetched the tea she’d never drink for the pain she no longer felt. And you curled beside her when she let you, your body aching where hers used to.

The next time, it went differently.

You didn't collapse so much as fold.

Gently. Quietly. Like a flame running out of air.

She found you on the bathroom floor, eyes unfocused.

It had been too much. A gunshot wound this time. Deep. Maybe mortal, until you touched her.

She’d screamed your name as it hurt her worse than the bullet had.

When you came to, hours later, your chest felt like it was full of broken glass.

And she was sitting beside you. For once, not pacing, not leaving.

Her hands were shaking in her lap. She looked like she hadn’t breathed in hours.

“You can’t do that again,” she whispered.

You smiled, your voice thin. “If it means you live-”

“No,” she snapped. But it was quiet, broken. “No heroic speeches. I’m not worth dying for.”

Your hand reached out and touched hers. “You are to me.”

She stared at you.

And for the first time in all the years, in all the careful distance, she let her walls crack.

“You shouldn’t love me like this.”

“You don’t get to choose how I love. I just do.”

Her throat bobbed. “Then I don’t want to keep hurting you.”

The silence was fragile.

And then, she bent down, her forehead resting against yours. There was no blood between you this time.

Just heat. Just breath.

"I feel safe when you touch me,” she whispered, “and I hate that because I know what it costs you.”

You laughed, tired and gentle. “Then maybe it’s time you let yourself feel safe without it hurting me.”

She kissed you.

Not in hunger or desperation, but in love. Completely and utterly in love.

Her lips were soft. Careful. Almost scared.

Like you might fall apart again. Like she might, too.

You kissed her back, pain and all.

Weeks later, when the bruises had faded and you no longer woke in sweats from phantom pain, she came home early.

You were cooking.

Your apartment smelled like garlic and warmth.

Your power, peacefully inside you, unused.

She dropped her bag at the door and watched you for a long time. You wore soft clothes. Your hair was a mess. There was a scar on your cheek that she hadn’t kissed yet.

“You’re staring,” you said, without turning.

She crossed the kitchen in two strides, wrapping her arms around your waist from behind. Her head rested on your shoulder.

“I missed you,” she murmured. “Even though it was only four days.”

You leaned into her. “I’m always here.”

“I know. And I don’t deserve it. But I’m going to try to be the kind of person who does.”

You smiled, setting the pan aside to face her. “Then I’ll keep choosing you until you believe it.”

And she kissed you again.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

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bitchinbarzal · 20 hours ago

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Emergency Contact | M Kesselring

summary: you never changed your emergency contact and he never stopped showing up.

⸻

You don’t realise you’ve still got Michael listed as your emergency contact until you’re half-conscious in the back of an ambulance, blood trickling down your temple, vision swimming in and out. The paramedic asks if there’s anyone they should call and you try to give them your sister’s name, or maybe your best friend, but the record they’ve pulled already has a name. His. And you never changed it.

You’re trying to explain that it’s a mistake. That there’s someone else. That he’s not—he shouldn’t be involved. But it doesn’t matter. They’ve already called. And when the hospital doors slide open and your bed rolls past the waiting area, he’s standing right there.

He looks older somehow. Or maybe just tired. Same frame, same face, same stupid hoodie you used to wear when it was cold and you didn’t want to ask for your own. When he sees you, he swears under his breath and follows without hesitation.

You come to fully in the hospital bed, surrounded by too-white walls and the low hum of machines. Your head is pounding but your body feels light, like it hasn’t caught up to the trauma yet. You hear a chair shift and your eyes flick toward the movement. He’s there. Michael.

You blink slowly. “Why are you here?”

“They called me,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Emergency contact, remember?”

“I didn’t mean for that to still be you.”

“I figured.” He doesn’t sound offended. If anything, he sounds careful. “But I came anyway.”

He stays quiet after that, just sitting by the bed with his hands clasped in front of him like he doesn’t know what to do with them anymore. Like maybe he hasn’t known in a while.

“How bad is it?” you ask, your voice thin and tired.

“Concussion. Needed stitches. You were unconscious for a bit but you’re okay now.”

You nod and let the silence wrap around you again. But it’s not the same silence that sat between you in the last few months of your relationship. That one was tense and bitter, full of things unsaid. This one is gentler. Sad, but not angry.

“I didn’t mean to pull you into this,” you say eventually.

He shakes his head. “You didn’t. I just… I needed to see for myself that you were okay.”

There’s something in his voice you almost don’t recognise. Not until he adds, “I was scared.”

You blink, and it stings. “Why?”

He looks at you like it’s the dumbest question in the world. “Because I still care. Because even after everything, you’re still the person I think about first when something happens.”

You want to say something back but you don’t know how. So you don’t. You just watch him as he leans back in the chair, his knee bouncing, his gaze fixed on the edge of your blanket like it might offer some kind of answer.

When the nurse mentions you’ll need someone to stay with you the first night back, he answers before you can. “I’ll do it.”

You shoot him a look but he just shrugs. “I want to.”

You don’t have the energy to argue. And maybe, deep down, you don’t want to.

The ride home is quiet. He drives your car like he used to. Left hand loose on the wheel. Right hand flexing on his thigh. You glance at him once, maybe twice, and it hits you how familiar this all still feels. Like no time has passed. Like the last fight, the last tears, the final goodbye, never happened.

He helps you into bed, finds the extra pillow without asking, even knows where the painkillers are. You hate how natural it all feels. You hate that you still know how he takes his coffee and that he still knows how you like your blankets folded.

“Why’d you really come?” you ask in the dark, your voice just above a whisper.

There’s a pause, and then he answers just as softly. “Because you’re still the first person I want to show up for. Even when I shouldn’t be. Even when it hurts.”

You turn your head on the pillow to look at him. He’s sitting in the chair beside your bed again, same as earlier, arms crossed over his chest like he’s trying to keep himself together.

“I didn’t change my emergency contact,” you say, “because I think I always hoped it’d still be you.”

His expression shifts. Not surprise. Just something softer. Something that looks a lot like hope.

“I never stopped caring,” you add.

Michael stands slowly, walks over, and sits gently on the edge of your bed. He reaches for your hand, pauses, then curls his fingers around yours like he used to. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I didn’t know how to fight for something I thought I was already losing,” he says. “I thought giving you space was the right thing. But I was wrong. I should’ve stayed. Should’ve tried harder. I thought I was doing the kind thing by stepping back.”

“You didn’t trap me,” you murmur. “You just let me go.”

He leans in then, forehead resting against yours, and for a second neither of you breathe. When he kisses you, it’s careful. Like he’s not sure if this is okay. Like he’s waiting for you to stop him.

But you don’t.

You kiss him back like your heart never figured out how not to.

The next morning, he’s in the kitchen, burning toast and swearing at the toaster like it personally offended him. You walk in, sore and slow, and he turns like he’s been caught.

“You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“You’re supposed to be letting someone else cook.”

He laughs, low and sheepish. “I wanted to make you breakfast. Still terrible at it.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He looks at you for a moment, all soft eyes and sleep-mussed hair. “I wanted to.”

And this time, you believe him.

You believe he’s here because he wants to be. Not out of guilt. Not out of obligation.

Because he never stopped showing up.

And maybe this time, you won’t stop him from staying.

#michael kesselring imagine #michael kesselring x reader #nhl imagine

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dairyfaerie · 1 day ago

Text

Home Invasion

[‼️Warnings‼️]: Impersonation, Non-consensual touching / Dubcon themes, Pregnancy tension ,Obsessive behavior Stalking / Emotional manipulation, Identity confusion / Multiverse horror, Alternate! Mark Grayson, Psychological + light body horror, Delusional possessiveness, Implied violence & dread

-If any of these themes upset you, skip this one, babes. Don’t say I didn’t warn you-

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

Next Variant

The sauce was starting to burn.

You didn’t notice.

Mark had told you to stay inside. Said there was something brewing—big, dangerous, world-ending big. His tone had been different this time. Scared, almost. You hadn't seen him scared since the Viltrumites showed up the first time.

He left with a kiss on your forehead and a trembling, “Wait for me.”

That was three days ago.

So when the knock came—firm, purposeful—you rushed to the door without a second thought.

And there he was.

Or… something like him.

“Mark?”

He nodded once, slow. His suit wasn’t the one he’d worn last. It was yellow and black, sleeker, almost tactical in design. Harsh lines where there used to be curves. It looked like something someone wore to hunt gods.

And the goggles.

Opaque black. No eyes. No reflection. Just your stunned face looking back at you in tiny warped pieces.

“…Where’ve you been?” you asked with a soft smile. “You look like you came out of a war movie.”

He stepped inside without a word, and you took a breath as he passed. His scent was different—same cologne, but… colder. Like he'd been flying through ash and fog for hours.

“I was just cooking,” you said, closing the door behind you. “I made spaghetti. With too much garlic, because apparently I’m trying to kill you slowly.”

Still nothing.

You glanced at him. He was standing in the living room, looking around like it was foreign. Like your home was a museum exhibit he used to live in.

You forced a laugh. “Okay, I know the silence thing is new. Did you lose your voice? What’s with the mysterious vibe?”

“I’m just tired,” he said finally. The voice was close, but a shade deeper. Rougher. Like gravel under honey.

“Yeah. I figured.” You walked over to him and gently reached for his hand. “You want to talk about it?”

He didn’t pull away. His fingers closed around yours slowly, testing the shape of you.

“We’re safe now,” you said softly. “You can rest.”

He nodded again. “Safe.”

Your other hand rested on your belly. “She kicked today.”

At that, his head tilted slightly. Like the word "she" was a code he couldn’t crack.

You smiled. “Hard, too. Like she was mad you were late.”

A pause.

“…She?”

You nodded. “I haven’t gotten it confirmed yet, but it feels like a girl. Deborah. After your mom. What do you think?”

He didn’t answer. His head dipped slightly, the way Mark did when he was overwhelmed. He stepped closer, slow and reverent, until his hands were resting gently on the swell of your belly. You could feel the tension in his arms.

“She’s strong,” he whispered.

“Like her dad.”

A strangled sound left him. Maybe a laugh. Maybe a sob.

You smiled and leaned up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You hungry? I think I scorched the sauce but I can salvage it.”

You turned, heading back toward the kitchen, but his hand caught yours and pulled you gently, firmly, back toward him.

His hands slid around your waist. His lips brushed your neck, jaw, cheek. It felt… familiar. Comforting.

Until it wasn’t.

“I missed this,” he murmured. “You. All of you. No one else ever mattered. Just you.”

You smiled softly, cheeks turning a pretty red. “You’re so sweet baby...”

Flustered, you turned away from him and spoke again. “Hungry? I may have burnt the sauce, but I can fix it.”

You turned toward the kitchen, but his hand caught yours. Firm. Insistent.

Mark's arms circled you, pulling you close. You felt his lips, his mouth as it traced your neck, warm and familiar.

You closed your eyes, breathing in the scent, the closeness. Relaxing into the hard, firmness of his muscles underneath his suit.

His hands slid beneath your shirt slowly, fingers pressing softly on your skin as if afraid to hurt you…Then they grew bolder, sliding up to your swollen breasts, kneading them underneath your bra. Your pulse raced as you let out a small whimper of enjoyment.

He bit into your neck then, sucking your flesh and bruising it as he pressed his hips into you, the outline of his cock rubbing between your butt. You moaned softly and he growled into your ear, turning you around and kissing

You responded eagerly, your hands weaving into his hair, savoring the moment. It had been a minute since the two of you had REALLY engaged in anything too intimate.

The world narrowed to heat and touch, your shared movements becoming more urgent, more insistent and intense. Whispered how much you'd missed him those three days he was gone..how much you loved him… Then, slowly, the kisses slowed—became calculated.

His grip tightened—not on your waist, but around your throat. When had he gotten there?

Your eyes snapped open and you let out a chirp of uncomfort and slight confusion as you looked at him. Because Mark would usually ask before trying something new while they were being intimate.

And as the dizzy high faded she began to realize that… something in his kiss felt…off. Like he wasn’t savoring, but studying. Memorizing. "O-Oh Mark..?"

He didn’t lift his head. The black lenses hid his eyes, his lips parted as he panted softly in front you.

His fingers dug in your neck just enough to claim, not kill.

A voice, low and harsh, whispered in your ear, a quiet giggle slipping from swollen lips, “Oh Baby…How gullible you are…You've always been like this..so cute and naive..I guess some things never change”

Your breath caught and you looked up at Mark.

"W-What..?"

“But here? Here you’re weak. Pregnant. Devoted.”

His hold crushed, steady.

“And you’re mine.”

His voice turned cruel, unhinged.

His lips pressed harder against your neck and you mewled, frightened.

"Mark, what's the matter with you? You're s-scaring me! A-And holding me too tight-"

You struggled against him, heart hammering as Mark's crazed smile slowly vanished upon hearing the fear in your voice.

The goggles reflected only your terror.

Then he said it.

“You’ll never leave me again. Not this time.”

You froze.

Your heart stuttered.

“…What?”

His hand tightened on your hip. “You’ll see. It’s better this way. I’ll keep you safe this time. I swear it.”

The voice was wrong now. Not just deeper. Unstable. Cracking under its own weight.

You slowly pulled back, his hands loosening on you.

“Mark,” you whispered. “Take off the goggles.”

He didn’t move.

“Take them off, Mark,” you pleaded, louder this time. "Please.."

Still, he stayed still as stone

You stepped away, slowly, heart pounding so loud it drowned out the bubbling pot behind you. You felt your heart hammer in your chest as something in your mind screamed that this man in front of you was NOT Mark.

“W-Who are you…?.”

“I am yours,” Not-Mark hissed suddenly, the calm, cruel facade fracturing. “ As you are mine. In this universe and the next.”

Your blood ran cold. 'This universe?' What the fuck??

“What—”

“In my dimension,” he cut in, stalking toward you slowly, “you left. Or TRIED to leave. After I did what had to be done. After I made us safe. You said I scared you. Me. After everything I sacrificed for YOU. After I HELPED you when Dad tried to kill you.”

You backed up until your spine hit the counter, your eyes wide with fear.

“I loved you,” he said, the words shaking, voice filled with raw and bitter emotion. “I killed Mom for you. Killed Nolan. Killed everybody. EVERYBODY for US. And after all we'd been through… You said I wasn’t Mark anymore. You said I was sick. Crazy…EVIL.”

You grabbed the knife from the cutting board where you'd been cutting garlic.

“And maybe I was,” he breathed. “ Maybe… B-But I got better. I got better, Baby. Had only killed about 0ne hundred people before Angstrom came and captured me and the other variants. And when Angstrom told me you were alive out here, that your Mark had managed to keep you alive and even MARRIED you? I knew That I could have you…WELL, I almost believed there was some higher being up there… And who would've thought I'd not only find you…But here you are… Pregnant. Alone. Waiting…Just for ME~”

His voice broke into a twisted, malicious grin and giggled gleefully.

The pot beside you began bubbling over, the smell of burnt marinara sauce filling the air. You trembled with anxiety and fear as you brandished and held the knife in front of you. "P-Please…I'm not…I don't know what happened to you…or who I..I was to you in your…ah.. dimension…But I…I'm not yours…M-My Mark is going to come home and if you…if you hurt me…I guarantee-"

You were interrupted by the sound of him giggling again before exploding into full blown maniacal laughter. Like you'd just said the funniest thing in the world. When he finished he sighed and watched as you trembled, one hand holding the kitchen knife and the other holding your belly protectively. So cute…And so dumb.

“ I wouldn't dream of hurting you…Not again…Not when I've been granted a second chance to claim you…No…No…I think I'll be taking you now… Because at the end of it all..You're mine. And you'll ALWAYS be mine. In every universe. No matter what… And Your Mark? He's probably dead by now..The other variants aren't as calm as I am...In fact..If he isn't dead yet..he'll wish he was soon."

You didn't have time to respond, the smell of burnt food filling your nostrils and making you weak. Weak and distracted enough for him to act.

Didn't have time to react as he lunged, a maniacal smirk painted on his face.

You screamed.

Idk guys...Between college and panic attacks.. I gotta hyperfixate on smth-

Should I do a part 2?

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