#I WAS THERE I REMEMBER IT ALL TOO WELL 🫶🏻 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kookiestarlight · 3 months ago

Text

Lines of fate: 01 | jjk

➵ pairing: tattooist!jungkook x f. reader

➵ genre: apocalypse au, exes to lovers (?) dad!jungkook, survival, angst, smut

➵ summary: the last thing Jungkook ever imagined was an outbreak that turned the dead into the living. But even more unexpected is seeing you—an ex he’s known nothing about in the past four years—with a small child who bears a striking resemblance to himself. As Jungkook grapples with the shock and the city spirals into chaos, the two of you are thrust back together, forced to confront unresolved feelings, long-buried truths, and the horrors of the deadly virus taking over.

➵ word count: 11.9k

➵ warnings: swearing (jk says fuck way too much), graphic depictions of violence and death, blood and gore, seizures, virus and zombies ofc, brief mentions of alcohol consumption.

➵ series masterlist

➵ a/n: it’s finally here!! <3 sorry this was postponed way longer than expected, all I can say is: life :,) anyway!! posting my writing again after years on hiatus definitely feels nerve wracking lol. this idea has been in my wips for literally years so I’m so excited to finally be sharing it with you all!! I would greatly appreciate your feedback and thoughts as it is something quite different from anything I usually write (it’s definitely been a kick in the ass) it’ll also really help me stay motivated to continue writing it. thank you for all the hype and excitement you showed for this fic before it was even released cause like hello?? that’s crazy to me😭 thanks for always showing my stories love and support🫶🏻 I’ve taken inspiration from all the zombie movies and videogames I’ve ever seen and played over the years (thanks dad). I should also mention, I had a very thorough plot for this planned out and it kinda went to shit in the process of writing so we’re kind of going off vibes only and 20% of the plot I had originally planned so yeah, bare with me🤪 I also want to say, updates on this will most likely be slow, but I will try my best to get them out as fast I can for you🙏 now that that’s over, I hope you enjoy this series as much as I am enjoying writing it!! this chapter is just the very beginning <33

The autumn sun filters through the large window with an amber glow as you take a slow sip of your coffee, the warm bitterness spreading in your chest as you attempt to chase some kind of comfort. But the loud hum of the city just outside and the muffled chatter of the bustling cafe are very much a grounding reminder of where you are — and where you really wish you weren't.

Your gaze travels down to your daughter sitting on the booth beside you, her little legs swinging off the seat contentedly as she picks away at her blueberry muffin. Completely oblivious to your ongoing little inner torment. Her big eyes flicker up to meet yours, brimming with glee. Brushing a crumb off her cheek, you force a little smile for her.

Like a dull sting under your skin, you feel how little teeth of guilt gnaw away at you, not only because it’s been almost impossible to offer her a genuine smile in the past two days since you stepped foot in this dammed place, but because you simply wish you could share the same excitement as she does, and perhaps…feel more positive about this whole situation. For her.

But all you’ve been able to feel is guilt.

An incessant amount of it. Guilt and fear. Slowly brewing up inside you like some sort of poison that has had you feeling a little sick to your stomach.

”You’re spiraling again.” Hoseok pulls you out of your absentminded state, studying you over the rim of his half finished iced americano.

You blink. You often tend to forget how well he’s capable of reading you. Though you suppose that’s a skill acquired with nearly twenty years of friendship, and an unavoidable consequence of growing up constantly together, practically like siblings.

Hoseok has been the only constant in your life for as long as you can remember, like a brother to you — conjoined at the hip as his mother always used to joke. It all began when you moved next door. With your parents always working late and often times far away from home, Hoseok's home slowly became your second one — the place you spent most of your childhood and adolescence and formed some of your fondest memories. A place where you were never alone.

You do suppose it’s no surprise the years and the unbreakable bond you’ve formed have given you exceptional abilities to know when something is off with just a simple glance. But it's never less surprising.

The corners of your mouth tug upwards into a tiny smile at his words, brows pinched in a pathetic attempt to hide your truth. “I am not.”

“You are. You’re thinking too much,” he stirs the ice in his drink with the straw, eyes flicking up to meet yours again. “Which if I may remind you, is one of your fatal flaws.”

You scoff, only slightly offended as you watch him take a slow sip. Pushing your sunglasses further up your head as you lean back. “Thinking too much is not my fatal flaw.”

He’s may very likely be right about that, but of course, you’d never actually admit it.

Hoseok snorts, clearly unconvinced. His voice just above a whisper when he murmurs, “Right. Sorry. It’s definitely lying.”

Before you can argue, he leans forward to accept some crumbs of muffin Jieun is so eagerly offering him. The sight tugs at something deep in your chest, watching his expression soften to mush as he thanks her with that brightest, tender smile he only ever uses for her before he brings his attention back to you.

“If it weren’t your fatal flaw, you’d actually be enjoying that overpriced coffee and oh—, maybe being reunited with your best friend again. I haven’t even seen you in like three months.” He shakes his head in utter disappointment, sitting back with a dramatic sigh.

“Hobi, I am so thrilled to be reunited with you, truly.” You roll your eyes ever so slightly and place a hand on your heart rather sarcastically as you say it, but deep down you hope he knows you’re only half joking. No one has done for you more than what hoseok has in the time you’ve known him.

You suppose all the change has got you in a rather sentimental state. But you bury it away. Hoseok deserves a nice time out with a friend for once too. He’s seen enough of your tears.

“Yeah?” he leans in, studying you with mock concern. Though not falling for it even a bit. "That's your thrilled face? You sure about that?” You almost laugh in response, but then, he shifts, looking more serious than just seconds ago. “You know,” he pauses, crossing his arms over his chest. “For someone who finally landed a nice new job and has everything working out, you don’t look all that thrilled to me, actually. That’s all.”

You press your lips together and glance down at your coffee, suddenly the truth a little too hard to face. You should be happy. He’s right. Because things really are starting to look up for you again. Everything you’ve spent the last few months wishing for has finally become a reality. And yet, you can’t shake the fact that there’s a deep buried sense of dread that seems to be getting in the way of that, a familiar fear that's been present for years, but only intensified since you stepped foot in Seoul again.

Hoseok follows your gaze, watching you carefully, then nudges your foot under the table gently. “Come on.” He murmurs softly, eyebrows raised gently. “What is it?”

You suppose your real fatal flaw is your emotions showing up as flashy neon subtitles over your head apparently, or the fact you are simply terrible at hiding them, because Hoseok doesn't budge. He sees right through your little facade — always has. And as much as you know he is a great listener and that he genuinely cares to hear it all, always ready to give you a helping hand in any way he possibly can, you just don’t want to sound ungrateful. Not when anyone else in your position would be feeling over the moon right now.

Besides, you’ve never liked burdening him, or anyone for that matter. Never wanted to add more weight to the heavy things he already carries himself. He deals with so much of that at work already. So many problems significantly worse than your own worries. So you simply shake your head, putting on a small smile once again in hopes to appease him.

“I’m alright, Hobi. It's just…strange. Being back here. Overwhelming, I guess,” you admit, though only to half of the truth. “It’s so calm on the island. I suppose I got used to it. Everything here is just so intense. But that's all.” You cross your arms on the table as you gaze out at the busy streets. Hoping you don't sound as pathetic as you feel. Though in truth, this whole things isn't just strange. It’s all actually fucking terrifying.

In many ways it seemed like nothing here had changed since the day you left four years ago. The cityscape is as bustling as you remember – a stark contrast to the quietude and stillness of Jeju, where you had been building your new life up until now. People in suits rush back and forth and push into each other with no care, everything is always shadowed by a maze of buildings that don't seem to have an end. Cars weave through traffic like they want to crash into each other, and neon signs and billboards still flicker blindingly even in the daytime.

The fact that everything remains the same, terrifies you. The rush, the stress, the chaos. That constant hustle and bustle that seems suffocating. It wasn't the reason why you left. but it was certainly a factor that made your life here something you wanted to escape from. It feels like stepping back into the life you thought you’d left behind for good. Like stepping onto a moving treadmill, when you no longer know how to run. Not sure if you’ll ever find your place here again.

Hobi hums in understanding, and the warmth in the familiarity of his smile helps lessen the knot that's been forming in your stomach all morning. And though you've only let out a tiny portion of what's on your mind, you already feel like you can breathe with more ease.

Sometimes, it’s not so bad that he can see right through you. Because you also tend to forget he’s the only one that truly gets you, understands you when even you struggle to understand yourself, and has never once been one to judge you, no matter how small or ridiculous it may be.

“Yeah, I get it. It can be overwhelming.” He nods slowly, letting the words settle. “But if I were you, I’d be damn proud of myself.” His expression is calm and his words full of sincerity as he speaks. “You did what you had to do, and now you’re doing it again. Making more big changes. Really tough decisions, and I know that’s not easy.” He pauses. “But you've always made it after all. This time won't be different. Besides, think about this, we’re close to each other now. I’ll be here for anything you guys need, you know that.”

Your heart softens at his comforting words, and the reassurance feels like it melts some of the tension off your shoulders. And for just a split second you feel that roar of confidence, thinking about everything you've accomplished, but it's not lasting, and deflates with the weight of your heavier thoughts.

You want to believe what he says — you really do. For your daughter's sake. Because this is finally your chance to start over and build something better. To give Jieun the life she deserves, something stable, a chance to thrive in a place full of new opportunities.

A fresh start.

After all, isn't that all you've ever been chasing?

You don’t want to allow your fears and the past to come in the way of that. But it's never so simple. At least, definitely not here — definitely not for you.

Because the truth is, being in Seoul again feels like roaming a haunted city. Tainted and plagued by shadows from the past, by who you used to be, and everything and everyone you left behind all those years ago when you ran and didn’t dare to look back. Being here now, you can’t shake the feeling — the apprehension and fear that everything you once left behind is lurking around the corner, ready to jump out and haunt you, making everything you've finally built up crumble to pieces once again. This place just gives you an indescribable feeling of…dread. Eeriness even. Enough for it to linger gut deep with a painful sense of discomfort that hasn’t eased since the day you arrived. As if you can never truly let your guard down.

But after all, it was an opportunity you couldn’t pass up, even if it meant returning to the city you swore you’d never step foot in again. The offer came at just the right moment, a lifeline after months of uncertainty and dead-ends. After losing your job, and endless nights crying yourself to sleep with the heavy burden of becoming a failure of a mother and not knowing how to make ends meet. You practically cried with joy the morning you finally got the call, and ignored the pit that formed in your stomach when you heard where it required you to move to. It had felt like you were about to reach the peak of a mountain, only to drop all the way back down to the bottom. But it was a steady paycheck, and a chance to finally give Jieun some stability. It wasn’t glamorous or grand — a position in a small marketing firm. But it was enough to rebuild. The breakthrough you so badly needed to start over and secure a future for your little girl.

How could you possibly turn it down?

That was your biggest and only goal in life.

There was nothing you wouldn’t do for her. So you knew in that very instant you had to take it. Even if it meant returning to the place that broke you beyond repair. So you packed up your life and now, here you are. Back where you never thought you’d be. So far from the tranquility of the home you had made for yourself in a secluded tiny seaside town four years ago. Where you were happy. Where you didn't live in constant fear.

“I know this is what I need right now,” you speak softly, more to yourself than anything. You reach out, gently brushing your fingers through Jieun's baby soft hair, watching as she focuses intently on her muffin, completely unaware of the heaviness of the conversation. “I just don’t want to mess anything up…the job, you know, our new life here. I want to get this right. I don’t want anything, getting in the way of that.” You swallow thickly, fingers tightening around the mug of coffee in front of you, and Hoseok knows exactly what you mean by that. You hesitate, letting out a quiet breath before speaking again. “I know there's so many opportunities for us here but…I was happy in Jeju. Jieun was happy.”

Hoseok nods, slow and understanding. “I know you were. A city like this takes some adapting to, you know that.” He reaches out and gives your arm a gentle squeeze, “but give it time. You’ll settle right back in.” He says warmly, reassuring. You return a tiny smile, more genuine this time.

“Seriously though. Change is good. New home, new job, meeting new people…maybe even someone special…” he adds.

You scoff, eyes widening, only half incredulous at how fast he swerved the topic there. So typical of him.

“Yeah no, thanks. You can stop it right there.” You shake your head.

“What?” Hobi leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he waggles his eyebrows, a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, completely unbothered despite your clear opposition. “I'm just saying,” he adds in, raising his hands in mock innocence, though he feels like your glare could actually kill him. “You’re young. You’re no longer in that tiny ass town full of old drunk married cheating men. Everyone deserves a little fun. It wouldn't kill you to-”

“Hobi,” you sigh, cringing internally at the memories of disastrous dates you told him all about over the phone. You throw a pointed look in his direction, but Hoseok just chuckles. “I’m done with all that. Seriously.”

“Come on,” he presses.

“No. No way. I told you.” You interject, tone firm, not even allowing space for the idea. “I’m a single mother, Hobi. That’s been off the cards for years. I have different priorities now.” You straighten in your seat, making a point to scoop Jieun's hair back and out of her drink. These are your priorities now.

Hoseok raises a brow, watching you carefully, but there's no judgment in his expression now �� just silent understanding. He leans back in his chair again, smile dying down, tapping his fingers absently against his iced americano before his gaze drifts over to your little girl. His expression softens, fondness flowing in his eyes.

“I know,” he says after a moment, his tone a tad more gentle. “But I’m just saying…you’re allowed to let yourself be happy again, you know. You deserve that.”

Something uncomfortable twists in your insides. Happy. What a simple word, but what a complex thing.

You lift your eyes to meet his, the sincerity in his gaze cutting right through. You could argue, explain that you don't agree, that romance is a door locked for good. Not only out of fear, but out of necessity. It’s no longer just about you. You don’t have the luxury of reckless choices or fleeting little flings like you did before.

There's simply to much buried history to let anyone new into your life.

And deep down, you don't believe you deserve it. But you don’t voice any of that. There's no need to explain. Hoseok knows your history better than anyone, the pain etched deep into you, the one you carry like a scar beneath your skin. He knows Jieun's father plays a big role in that, even though you don’t dare to mention him and haven’t in years. He knows his existence and every memory he’s involved in is something you merely refuse to acknowledge. And though Hoseok wants nothing more than for you to thrive, he knows better than to press on the matter.

Still, he hesitates before speaking quietly. “I’ve been here four years, and I’ve never seen him again.”

He says it gently, in hopes the information is comforting to you, to maybe put you at ease, but instead it feels like a small jab between your ribs. You stiffen, for just a second. You feel your heart begin to race a tiny bit faster. And you wonder when the mention of him will stop having this goddamn effect on you.

Hoseok notices, and regret quickly flickers across his face. He realizes he might have overstepped, treading on thin ice that he fears may slowly be cracking beneath him.

But it doesn't. You take a deep breath, and you simply nod. It’s okay. You know you can’t avoid it forever. Besides, who’s to say he even still lives here? The thought should be reassuring, bring you some sort of peace, be relieving. But it isn’t. Because the thought of ever seeing him again makes your palms sweat, and your chest a little tight.

“Yeah.” You say quietly. “You’re right. Who knows.”

You don't mention how many late nights you've stayed up, haunted with thoughts like if ever did make it out of here. If he ever made it to the states and accomplished all those things he wanted. If he's perhaps settled down and started a family or if he's stuck right where he used to be, how he used to be. You don't mention that sometimes, you mind even attacks you with the intrusive thought of if he’s even still alive.

You don't dare mention any of it.

Hoseok exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I just-” He pauses, voice lowering as he checks Jieun to make sure she's not listening, not that she would know or understand, but you appreciate that he does. “I know we’re not meant to talk about him–“

You push past it, giving a small dismissive shake of the head. Instead, you plaster on a small practiced smile, turning to glance down at the little girl beside you as well. It isn't something easy to avoid. But for the past four years, somehow, you’ve managed it.

“Anyway. I am happy,” you say, voice softer now, steering the conversation elsewhere. “I get all the love I need from my little lovebug right here, don’t I?”

The little lovebug in question remains completely unaware of the heaviness of the conversation. Instead, her wide eyes are fixated on something outside, her eyes big and small fingers suddenly clutching your sleeve.

“Mommy, look!” She gasps, tugging desperately for your attention, she calls you again, tearing you away from your conversation. “The birdy!”

You follow her gaze, a small black bird just on the other side of the glass, and the simplicity of her joy softens you, eases the heaviness for a second. It really doesn't take much to amuse a child, and you’re glad to see at least someone enjoying her time here so far. “I see, baby.”

You smile with her, that is until, just a moment later, you notice… the small bird is no longer pecking at crumbs on the pavement. It’s… acting rather strangely. Its head twitches sharply to the side, body jerking with twitchy erratic movements as it flaps it’s wings like crazy, then suddenly, it freezes, before twitchting again.

Your brows furrow, unable to take your eyes off it. What the hell? Something about it sends a strange chill through you, suddenly understanding what had Jieun so surprised.

“Oh, I think that poor bird might have gone a little coo coo.” Hoseok turns his head to take a look himself, and you both exchange a puzzled glance, to which Hobi just shrugs with a mildly disgusted expression.

“What, you know I hate birds.” he whispers, shrugging like someone just walked over his grave, and you swat his arm and shush him, suppressing a laugh. You wouldn't want your sweet animal loving daughter hearing that.

“Isn't that so weird. I’ve never seen one do that before.” You say, and hoseok tilts his head, staring at it with a mildly grossed out frown. “Probably has some kind of parasite or something. Not sure.”

“It’s gonna die?” she looks up at hobi, her little face full of worry. You wrap your arms around her, pulling her in closer.

“Not necessarily, bub. I’m sure it’ll be okay,” Hobi answers, trying to be tactful, however, Jieun doesn’t look convinced, but she nods sadly and resumes eating spoonfuls of her hot chocolate that's long gone cold.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine baby.” You kiss the top of her head, as you glance out the window once again, only to see it’s no longer there.

“So odd.” You shake your head, taking another sip of your coffee, and Hoseok nods and lets out a low hum, taking another sip himself.

“So, what’s the plan for the rest of the day? Are you actually gonna start unpacking, or are you going to let those suitcases rot in your living room for another week?” He taunts.

You chuckle. “I’ll unpack eventually. This little girl and I have a long list of errands left to do today.”

“Uh-huh.” He gives you an unconvinced look, then looks at Jieun with a dramatic pout, cooing. “My poor little monkey. Prisoner to moms to do list. I remember that feeling.”

She giggles, and you speak up. “Shhh, she loves errands with mommy, don't you-”

Suddenly, a loud crash sound from the back of the café, startling you all.

The sharp clatter of metal rings out and you hear a young worker gasp, emerging hastily from behind the counter as the previous muffle of conversation begins to die down. Heads immediately start turning towards the scene unfolding before them.

“What the hell?” you murmur as you hastily turn around yourself, pulse spiked from the jump.

Near the back of the cafe, a chair is knocked to the ground, a mans body hunched over on the floor, shaking and convulsing with an unnatural force that seems to take over him completely. The man sitting beside him instantly scrambles to the floor next to him, shaking his shoulders in a failed attempt to break him out of whatever is happening as he calls out for help in a trembling voice, panicked.

“Oh my god, Hobi-” You gasp and your stomach twists as you take in what is occurring, grip instinctively tightening around your daughter's hand, turning her away from the scene. One of the members of staff pulls out her phone, announcing that she will call an ambulance right away, the man on the floor now surrounded by two other workers that instantly made their way over to him.

Hoseok takes just a few seconds to register what’s going on. “Shit.” He mutters, “A seizure.”

Instantly, he’s up on his feet, leaving you and Jieun behind and rushes over to help, but before he can reach the man on the floor, a young worker steps in front of him, his hands raised.

“An ambulance is on the way!” he blurts out, eyes darting between the unconscious man and the crowd gathering around him, Hoseok noticing his eyes full of panic. “Please, just give him space.”

“It's alright. I’m a nurse,” Hoseok urges, trying to step around him. “Please, let me-”

This time, there’s no resistance — only relief in the young man's panicked eyes as he steps aside, allowing Hoseok through to where the man is convulsing on the floor.

Jesus christ. On his one day off. He thinks internally.

Without hesitation, Hoseok drops to one knee. “Don’t hold him down,” he instructs the mans friend beside him as he proceeds to unbutton the first few buttons of the man's shirt to facilitate his breathing. He presses his fingers to his wrist as best as he can, taking a pulse. He attempts to roll him on his side, but he seizes with too much force, limbs jerking far too erratically for him to do so.

“Has he ever had seizures before? Is he epileptic?” Hoseok asks without tearing his eyes away from the man.

The man's friend just shakes his head. “No…no- he was fine right before.”

“Ambulance is just two minutes away,” the barista yells, phone still pressed to her ear. Hoseok nods but keeps his focus on the young man. Face contorted in concertation as he's checking his pulse once again before tilting his head to ensure he’s breathing properly.

You sit speechless few tables away, watching the scene unfold, your heart erratic in your chest. But feeling so much relief Hoseok was here. Jieun's small hand holds yours tightly, grip strong. She shifts in her seat, trying to peek over the booth to the commotion, but you gently pull her in beside you. Pulling her close, you brush a soothing hand over her hair.

“It’s okay, baby,” your whisper. “That man wasn’t feeling very well. But uncle hobi is helping him. Isn’t that so good? He’s really good at helping people remember. It's okay.”

Jien nods slowly, though her brows are still drawn together in concern. She doesn’t fully understand, but she doesn’t doubt your word, or her uncle's abilities.

Across the large space, Hoseok presses his lips into a thin line, his eyes watching carefully as the man's convulsions finally begin to slow, the violent jerking finally seeming to ease up. But just as the worst seems to have passed…Hoseok stiffens.

There’s a concerning, deep purplish hue creeping up the man’s neckline, peeking through the gap of his unbuttoned white shirt. Dark veins snaking against his pale skin, spreading like ink through thin cracks. Hoseok swallows hard, alarm bells ringing at the back of his mind.

That…that doesn’t look right. His medical knowledge kicks in, a thousand possibilities racing through his mind, digging for the most fitting answer. Is it cyanosis? an undiagnosed vascular disease? Possibly an infected wound? blunt trauma?

His mind dashing for answers in an instant, but before he can take a better look and unbutton his shirt completely, after what feels like a lifetime, the piercing wail of sirens cuts right through his thoughts, and just moments after, paramedics burst into the café, pushing past the gathered crowd near the Hoseok and the patient on the floor. Hoseok quickly regains focus, stepping back to allow them to take over.

“He had a seizure. Approximately a minute long. His breathing is stable but—“ He hesitates for a second, then presses on, giving them a brief diagnosis and rundown. “I think he may have another underlying condition. Possible hypoxia.”

The paramedic beside him nods, wasting no time as they swiftly load him onto a stretcher. He stands back, his jaw tight, fingertips tingling with the urge to do more, watching as they wheel him out through the entrance. The murmurs of the coffee shop begin to start up again, confused and concerned looks turning left and right, but Hoseok can’t shake all the questions in his mind.

He just hopes the guy turns out to be okay. The same way it goes with every patient he sees. You have to do your part and let go. That's how it works. but this time, he's left with a weird feeling bubbling inside.

After a few minutes, Hoseok turns back to your table. The moment his eyes meet yours, you’re already standing and asking, “God, is everything okay? He’s okay, right?”

“It’s alright,” Hoseok reassures you, though his tone is softer than usual. “They've got it under control.”

His gaze flickers toward Jieun, who’s still clinging to you, her small face twisted in worry as she glances between the two of you. She tugs your sleeve, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mommy…what happened to the man?”

“The ambulance people will take care of him and take him to the hospital so they can help him.” You say gently. She blinks up at you, then glances toward Hoseok, as if waiting for confirmation.

Hoseok lips form a small smile, crouching slightly to be at her eye level. “Your mom is right,” he says carefully, patting her head. “Sometimes when people don’t feel well they need a little help. That’s what doctors and nurses are for Jieun. It’s okay.”

Jieun watches him for a moment, and gives him a slow understanding nod. He then straightens and exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking back toward the road in front of the entrance where the ambulance is now setting off.

You nod, now feeling a weight of unease in the crowded space. It would probably be best to give them space to handle the situation, and to get some fresh air after that. So you retrieve Jieun's little pink puffer vest from off hobis chair and gently help her arms into, zipping it up snuggly to keep her warm from the afternoon chill, before taking her hand in yours.

As the three of you finally step outside, you're grateful for the crisp autumn air that lifts some of the heaviness off you. God, that was stressful. The distant sounds of the city hum around you, and life moves as if nothing happened.

“God, I hope that guy is okay.” You say quietly only for Hoseok to hear, taking your daughter's hand as you let out a slow breath. “First that weird bird and then that poor guy.”

Hoseok hums in agreement and gives a small reassuring nod, pushing his concerns aside. But you know how hard it is for him to switch off. How even when the emergency is over, his mind replays it again and again, analysing— wondering if he could have done more, if he could’ve done better. Even when he deals with stuff like this everyday, it’s never been easy.

“Jesus Christ. What's that saying, bad things always come in two’s? Three’s? ” He chuckles, letting out a huff. “I told you, there’s never an uneventful day out here.” Hobi shakes his head, forcing a smile to lift the mood. But his body still buzzes with tension. Then, in one swift movement, he scoops Jieun up, swinging her into his arms. “Now, time for ice cream?”

Jieun giggles loudly, kicking her feet excitedly at his words, all her earlier worries forgotten. “Yes!”

“Hobi, she just had a hot chocolate. Do you even have space for ice cream, Jieun?” You say, trying to sound stern, but the sight of them giggling together pulls a real smile out of you. And something inside already tells you you’re going to give in.

“She’s with uncle hobi now, there’s no rules.” He sing songs, walking ahead of you with your daughter in arms, all smiles as she squeals at his gentle tickling. The spitting image of joy if you ever saw it.

And for just a moment, you try to push away the nagging feeling that’s been pressing at the back of your mind.

Because maybe, just maybe, this time, everything will be just fine after all.

Jungkook steadies his hand, a quiet hiss of pain getting lost in the low thrumming of the tattoo gun that fills the quiet studio, lulling him into that comforting sense of calm he knows so well. It’s a fairly big piece, he’s been here hunched over for hours now, that familiar dull ache creeping up his back, but he barely registers it. Because all that matters is the art taking form beneath his touch.

Here, in these moments, it's when the feels most himself. Distracted, at peace, In control. Something he’s never found that easy outside of these four walls.

Every stroke, every line falls exactly where he intends it to. In a way, the rest of the world seems to fade away — no worries, just ink and skin, art coming to life. And it grants him a satisfaction nothing else can quite offer. And if there’s one thing Jungkook prides himself on, it’s his work and dedication. He built this place with steady hands and relentless effort, and he knows damn well he’s good at what he does. Confidence hasn't always been second nature to him, but time and experience have definitely sharpened him.

He leans back slightly to take in the work before him, his disheveled strands of dark hair falling over his eyes as he uses a paper towel to wipe up some excess ink from the client's forearm before glancing up. “How are we holding up?”

The young guy shifts in the chair, letting out a breathy chuckle. “Let’s just say I felt that last bit there.”

Jungkook nods, noting the slight sheen of sweat on the guy's forehead. He’s just glad he’s not a squirmer. That shit makes his job so much harder than it needs to be.

His own body is the canvas of plenty tattoos. All colours, shapes and sizes. He's more than numb to the pain now. But he gets it.

“You’re doing really well. I won’t torture you much longer. We’re almost done with the worst part.” Pressing the pedal again, he feels the familiar vibration travel up his arm, he tongues with his lip piercing, a habit that signals his concentration. His hair is dusting over his eyes as he continues with the last bits of shading and does the final touch ups of all the smaller details. Another forty five minutes pass, broken by lighthearted conversation here and there. Though Jungkook never used to be one for making conversation before, he has long mastered the art of letting his mouth wander while his hands and precision remain steady and focused.

“Alright, and we’re done,” he wipes down the fresh ink one last time before setting the tattoo gun aside, letting out a silent exhale as he wheels back, peeling off his black gloves to grab the aftercare instruction sheet, ready to spew his usual little lecture he knows most people don’t even pay much attention to.

“Sit up slowly.” Jungkook instructs.

When the guy finally stands, he marvels at his tattoo in the mirror. Jungkook feels a flicker of pride swell in his chest. No matter how many times he does this, seeing the completed, polished work and his client's expressions of amazement never gets old. “Looks sick man. Better than I imagined.” He beams, twisting his arm under the light, his smile spreading all across his face.

“Good choice with the design.” Jungkook replies with a faint smile tugging at his lips. He then places the protective film, gives him a quick rundown of the aftercare and hands him the sheet. “Take care of it. Follow the aftercare instructions and it’ll heal nicely. And you know, any issues just come by or give me a call and I’ll check it out.”

“Will do. Thanks man, it’s perfect.”

As the last client of the day slips out with a final wave and he hears the bell over at the entrance ding, Jungkook finally feels the exhaustion set in — the kind that only comes after hours of steady concentrated work. Fuck, he really does need to work on his posture. He stretches his back, then cracks his knuckles, stretching his toned, inked arms over his head. But despite the tiredness, he feels no rush no rush to get back to his empty apartment.

He never does.

Instead, he takes his time wiping down his station, tidying all his clutter and ink in the methodical and organized way only he understands — something Yoongi always grumbles about when borrowing his space. But this is his sanctuary. He makes the rules. And yoongi may complain, but he accepts it.

When he's done cleaning up, Jungkook emerges into the entrance area of the studio, rubbing the back of his neck and ruffling his hair at the nape.

Yoongi stretches in his chair behind the front counter, arms lifting above his head as he lets out as wide yawn, smacking his lips as his eyes land on the younger. “Christ, I thought you were dead in there,” he says deadpan, watching as Jungkook attempts to roll out the tension coiled in his shoulders, stifling a yawn himself. “Or are you? I genuinely can't tell.”

“Very funny.” Jungkook mutters, slumping onto the leather couch with an over dramatic sigh, throwing the back of his arm over his eyes as he lets his body sink into the plush cushion. It’s moments like this he’s really fucking glad they invested in a good sofa. He wants it to swallow him.

“Sure you can survive the schedule tomorrow? We’re fucking packed.” He says.

Jungkook’s brows knit together as his eyes dart over to Yoongi, eyeing the printed schedule in front of him as he rubs his jaw. “What? You think I can't handle it?”

Yoongi shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He coughs into his fist, a rough dry sound that echoes through the quietness of the now empty studio. “I know you think you’re some kind of machine,” he gives the younger a pointed look, “but let me just remind you that you are, in fact, very much not.”

Jungkook's lips quirk. “Woah, woah. I’ll be fine. Unlike someone who sounds like they've caught the plague.” Lifting his arms from his eyes just enough to peer at Yoongi, he swings his arm as if to push him away. “Stay away from me with that. I can’t afford a day off anytime soon.”

Yoongi scoffs, waving a dismissive hand as he coughs into his fist again. “Relax, it's just the dust. Or if you’re lucky enough I've caught that shit going around. Won't be on your case anymore for at least two weeks. That's if I survive.”

The sound is muffled by his arm as Jungkook lets out a tired chuckle, but his eyes remain closed. “Now you’re just trying to get out of work tomorrow, hyung. I know your little tricks.”

“If anyone should be trying to get our work, it should be you. Admit your running on fumes.” Yoongi drops the piece of paper to the desk and crosses his arms, looking right across to Jungkook, his eyes squinting lightly.

Jungkook feels his heavy gaze, but he's not in the mood to face one of Yoongis lectures right now. He can’t exactly argue that. Because he knows Yoongi is not entirely wrong.

He's working six days a week, morning till night, barely stopping to take a breath. Hell, it would've been the entire seven days of the week if Yoongi hadn’t raised hell the day he suggested it. Jungkook had tried to reason with him, insisting that Yoongi would still get his days off as usual, that he’d open up the studio alone on weekends and get everything sorted for the week ahead. But it was never about that, and he knew it.

Jungkook has always had a knack for picking up self-destructive tendencies. A slow brewing kind of self destruction, pushing himself way past his limits, working himself down to the bone until he can barely function. And Yoongi simply wasn't going to stand back and watch it happen all over again right in front of his eyes.

Most days, he only eats because it’s Yoongi who shoves food his way, whether he wants it or not. Prepping meals and stashing them away in their mini fridge in the back room where Jungkook can find them, labeled with a little note in his unmistakable messy handwriting that reads “eat.”

Because behind his serious facade, Yoongi had always tried his best to care for him.

From countless nights of dragging his black out drunk body home back in college, and many times after college as well. To picking him up from the streets at 4 am after he got into a nasty fight, bruised and bleeding and sobbing his heart out alone on an empty sidewalk. Yoongi didn’t question it back then, didn't hesitate. He never does. He just helped quietly with no second thought, allowing him to sit with his silent sobs on the car ride home. He had always been there, offering him a home when he had nowhere else to go, offering everything he had if it helped Jungkook from drowning.

It was Yoongi that had seen the potential in him and had patiently guided him to finally see it for himself, helping him build this studio from nothing — helping him build every piece of furniture, putting up every shelf, painting every wall, making sure Jungkook finally had something to call his.

And now, despite all the hardships, he’s come further than they both could have imagined.

Yet deep down, Yoongi knows no amount of help can stop Jungkook from being who he is, not when he has it so deeply rooted in himself to self sabotage in every way he possibly can. It's simply how he’s wired. Yoongi has long accepted that some things are simply beyond his reach, and that Jungkook won’t ever fully change. And he may never admit it out loud, but somewhere in his heart, as the eldest, he’s always felt an unspoken weight of responsibility for Jungkook. That's why he tries relentlessly to guide him towards better choices.

Even though Jungkook has matured and come a long way from his troubled past and the reckless kid he used to be, he’s far from eradicating his bad habits entirely. He knows he’s working himself down to the bone. He knows it's not healthy. Unrealistic for him to sustain in the long run. But he doesn’t like himself when he’s unoccupied.

He doesn't like the quiet.

Because when there’s silence, there’s space for his mind to make noise.

So that’s what he does. He works, works until he can exhaust himself to the point of passing out, too drained to even feel. It means no thoughts can haunt him when his head hits the pillow. And he’s okay with that.

Besides, he loves his job. That's a fact. The only thing he’s passionate about. All he’s ever found himself to be good at. He doesn’t need anything or anyone else.

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

“Fumes are still fuel,” Jungkook shoots back. He reaches behind his head to grab an old vintage manga off the small side table, flipping through the pages without really reading.

Yoongi studies him for a moment, his sharp gaze softening just a fraction. He shifts in his seat, resting his elbows on the counter, zeroing in on him as if he were ready to throw out a serious scolding, like he did back when he was a kid. But his next words are nothing but gentle. “You know, if you wanna keep up with that schedule, you’re gonna need sleep. I can close up if you wanna head out first.”

Jungkooks expression falters — just a flicker. But he covers it with an exaggerated groan. It does get on his nerves ever so slightly, just slightly. What is it with everyone always underestimating him? Treating him like he's not capable of making his own decisions. But his tongue toys with his lip ring as he continues flicking through the pages, feigning nonchalance. “I’m good. I wanna sketch out a few new designs first. Got some ideas ratting around.”

Yoongi squints at him, clearly unconvinced. “You do know that old couch isn't a substitute for a bed, right? and you could just…do that at home.”

Jungkook tosses the comic aside as he shrugs, already bored of the conversation, his inked fingers drumming relentlessly against the worn red leather. “I focus better here.” Is his simple answer, but before Yoongi can speak, a loud siren cuts through their conversation, blaring jarringly as it flashes by across the street. Almost instantly another follows, and then another.

Instinctively, both of their heads turn towards the window, though it only gives view to a small glimpse of the larger front street, most of their view blocked by the building across from them, all they can see is the bright lights flashing as they rush past.

“The hell’s that about,” Yoongi mutters, straightening in his chair.

Jungkook furrows his brows, pushing himself up on his elbows to get a better look outside. But from what he can see, everything seems normal enough — cars passing by, people going about their night and a few students heading home from late study sessions. Nothing in particular out of the ordinary.

The studio is located on a fairly quiet smaller side street, on the outskirts of the city, just a little further from the booming heart of Seoul. It’s never as busy or chaotic here, much quieter.

“Accident, maybe?” Jungkook guesses, a tired breath slipping past his lips. It’s still Seoul after all. When is it ever completely quiet?

Yoongi hums in agreement, but as if on cue, another set of sirens blares through the streets, overlapping with others as the noise grows, this time it’s police cars too, wailing violently and urgently before fading into the distance as they speed away. Jungkook glances at Yoongi, who meets his gaze with an equally puzzled expression.

“Must be pretty bad.” Jungkook says.

Yoongi just pulls out his phone to check the time and sighs. “Well, whatever it is, I'm not sticking around to find out.” He pushes himself to his feet, patting his back pocket to pull out his dented pack of cigarettes before reaching for his jacket draped over the back of the chair.

A slight sense of uneasiness crawls up Jungkook's spine. That was about four ambulances and three police cars if not more. That’s….that’s a lot. But he soon brushes it off. “I’ll check the news later.” He mumbles, letting his heavy body drop back against the soft cushion, with no energy or intention to move.

Yoongi tugs his jacket on, tossing him a small glance. “Well, if you’re gonna stay here, at least don’t fall asleep on that damn couch again. You drool, and it’s gross.”

Jungkook chuckles, though it's half hearted. “I won’t ruin your sacred couch, hyung. Don't you worry.”

“Good.” Yoongi deadpans, heading toward the door. He flips the neon sign to closed before turning back to Jungkook once more, his tired features softening just a touch. “Don't stay too late. Tomorrow is fucking packed and you’ll regret it when youre half dead in the morning. And don’t forget about that girl you booked in at 9.”

He presses his eyes shut for a moment, letting out a breath. The girl needed some touch ups to her tattoo but had a busy schedule and no time to visit any other day or at ay other time. So Jungkook did the favour, and offered to book her in before opening time. But fuck. He really does need to stop bending his schedule for people.

He knows he’s going to regret it.

Jungkook just waves a dismissive hand, already getting comfy on the couch. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll leave soon.”

Yoongi doesn't believe him, but he doesn't argue, just pulls out a cigarette from the pack and raises his hands in surrender before he pulls open the door. “Alright. See you tomorrow.”

Jungkook hums in acknowledgement. “Rest up, Hyung.”

The studio fades to dead silence once the door closes. Though sirens still echo faintly in the background.

Stretched out on the couch, Jungkook stares at the ceiling a little longer than necessary. His limbs feel heavy, exhaustion pressing down on him heavily. He wants to work on those sketches, he wants to push his limits a little further. But his body seems to know what's best for him. And within minutes, he’s passed out.

When Jungkook’s eyes crack open, it’s to the gentle sound of rain pattering against the windows. But it’s not rain the noise that woke him. Distant voices shout over one another, and the erratic wailing of car alarms and sirens blast in a near distance, sounding like he’s still stuck between consciousness and a dream. Jungkook blinks, then suddenly, screeching tires follow into a loud crash, something heavy and metal hitting the pavement. His heart spikes, and his body jerks up instantly before his mind can register what the hell is going on. The sudden movement makes him lightheaded, blinking as he tries to shake the disorientation fogging his mind.

Shit. How long had he been out?

He curses under his breath, his head throbbing. Did someone just fucking crash their car outside? In his dazed state his fingers fumble for his phone in the front pocket of his jeans. He squints, the bright screen glaring back at him painfully in the darkness of the studio.

11:48 PM.

The first thought that comes to mind is drunk people causing a ruckus. It certainly wouldn't be unusual for Friday night. But then… he stops to listen. Are they breaking in? then his mind steers more towards the possibility of some petty street fight, or some idiots causing trouble. It’s the only conclusion his sleepy can come to.

But then, he hears it.

Raw, panicked, screams erupting from the streets outside. It sounds close. Really close.

What the fuck?

Jungkook feels a sickening pit form in his stomach.

Because that's definitely not the drunken shouts of a fight, not the sound of some petty fight or a car accident. It’s the kind of scream that crawls under your skin. And Jungkook knows the sounds of panic when he hears it. He feels his heart beating in his chest now, fast and strong. Something isn’t right. Before his mind can think further, he pushes off the couch and yanks his leather jacket from the armrest, pulling it on in a swift motion, feeling a little dizzy as the room slowly begins to spin from getting up so fast.

Behind the front counter he crouches, reaching for his motorcycle helmet. But his grip isn't steady, his palms suddenly feel a bit sweaty. The air in the room slightly suffocating.

His mind scrambles as he finally strides for the door, all he knows something is telling him he needs to get out. He’s ready to leave and check on what's happening outside, but just as his fingers brush the cold metal door handle—

A loud bang crashes into the large front window of the studio.

The impact rattles the entire front window, the glass shuddering violently as something smacks right into it with bone crushing force, causing large cracks to expand from the center like a spiderweb, blooming outwards across the glass. The helmet drops to the ground with a loud thud and Jungkook stumbles back in the darknesses, almost crashing back into the front counter as his breath gets stuck in his throat.

Jungkook freezes. His entire body completely paralyzed as he watches a thick, dark gush of red begin to trail down the ruins of the window. His eyes slowly follow it upwards and then…then he sees it.

A face, wedged between the shards of glass.

Jungkook sees the face of a man...except, it can't be. The skin is unnaturally pale, sickly white, dark veins bulging beneath the surface, tiny pieces of glass wedged everywhere into its flesh. Blood coats its entire mouth, dripping to the floor beneath — but it's the eyes… They send a shot of terror right down Jungkook's spine.

They’re clouded and gray, almost white and eerily vacant, yet somehow, they’re locked right onto him.

Jungkook feels like he can’t take a breath, his chest tight as his eyes grow with complete shock and confusion.

Then, it moves.

Its head twitches in a slow agonized form before it seems to fully register Jungkook's figure standing right across. It cocks his head towards him completely with a grotesque sound of craking and lunges forward, slamming its hands against the glass with inhuman strength. Giving it all his power to break inside. It lets out another groan, a guttural broken sound as it reveals a row of blood stained teeth, the deep red liquid dripping from its mouth.

Jungkook swallows hard. If he moves will it move too? Will it...chase him? He feels like no oxygen is reaching his lungs, or his brain, his mind struggling to even process what he is seeing. That…that can't be real. It can’t be human. All he can do is watch as his heartbeat pounds like a hammer in his chest, louder than the sirens and screams growing outside, louder than the animalistic banging against the window.

That…thing is trying to kill him. It’s going to kill him.

It doesn’t stop. It claws at the glass, smearing the blood, desperate, mindless — growing more violent as it seems to realise its stuck. But the glass creaks more with each hit, trembling under the pressure of each movement, and Jungkook realizes it might not hold up much longer. He has no time.

Move.

He has to move.

Like a spring snapping, his body finally kicks into action. He stumbles backwards, feeling glass beneath his shoes as he tries to hold in a breath, his eyes fixed on the creature as he tries to back away with steady steps. After a beat, he sprints towards the back of the studio, running as his body pushes through the beaded curtain into the back room.

His hands fumble frantically in his pocket — keys, keys, keys — but his hands are trembling too much to grip them. Fuck.

Jungkooks mind races with a thousand questions colliding all at once. But none of them make sense. None of them are even remotely rational.

That thing. It wasn’t human. Then what the hell was it?

Another jarring bang echoes in the studio, followed by a loud screech. But Jungkook doesn’t look up. He doesn’t have time. His only thought is to get out of here. Fast. He needs to get away from whatever the fuck that is. He needs to get to his motorcycle. He needs to get the police.

His fingers finally curl around cold metal. The keys. With a sharp inhale, he yanks opens the heavy back door leading into the tiny side alley and slams it shut behind him as he rushes out.

It’s dim, lit only by a flickering street lamp near the end, casting eerie shadows across the brick walls. The air is cool and damp, the smell of rain fresh on the damp asphalt and the sound of sirens and shouting voices in the distance become even clearer than before. But Jungkook can't see the one thing he’s looking for. His gaze darts around frantically and he feels a dreadful realization claw at his throat.

His motorcycle is gone. The spot where it’s always parked is empty.

Jungkook panics, his hands coming to his hair. Fuck, fuck, fuck. As he looks around helplessly, his breath only grows more erratic. He finds no other option but to run, so he runs to the end of the alleyway, running right towards the screams and tumult, and when he reaches the end, the scene unfolding before him almost kicks him to his feet.

The once quiet street had turned into a horrifying scene. People mindlessly running away from something. But what his eyes land on almost immediately is on a young woman in the middle of street, clutching her neck with both hands, her body swaying as she chokes out for help before she drops to her knees, her body shaking. Jungkook watches in horror as someone else runs right past her, coming from the same direction, white button up shirt soaked in something dark as his features display a kind of terror he’d never witnessed before. Across the street, an older man is pulling down the storefront gates as he locks himself inside, letting two kids in high school uniforms scream and kick as they beg to be let in, screaming and crying.

“What the fuck...” the words escape involuntarily in a quiet mumble to himself, his hands coming to his head.

Jungkook blinks repeatedly, completely aghast. But he doesn’t think— just moves, bolting down the street. His thick leather boots slam against the wet pavements as he runs, his dark hair blows in the air, his skin covered in a layer of sweat as he weaves past a fallen trash can and then a body, his breath ragged as he tries not to slip on the broken glass. The rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins too strong to even feel his body protesting.

Rounding a corner, he nearly collides into another person, but his hands instinctively come up to push them away, almost knocking them to the ground. He doesn’t have a space in his mind to think about it or time to dwell on it. His body acting on autopilot. The more he runs, the more people seem to be running in the opposite direction. Away from something. His legs burn as he sprints faster, but coming off onto the main street of Jongno, he comes to a halt as he takes in the state of the streets, pupils blown as something terrible dawns on his expression.

The city is in shambles.

Everything.

Chaos.

Cars sit abandoned in the middle of the road, their doors flung open, some have crashed into street lamps and traffic signs, into each other at intersections, even buildings, the smoke clouding up into the dark sky. Blending with the red and blue of wailing sirens. People are everywhere. Hundreds of people are running in all different directions — some screaming, some covered in blood, some sobbing and some seemingly unmoving on the ground. Pushing and tripping against each other, running, but most don’t even know what they’re running from, simply following the crowd.

How many more of those rabid people were there? How far had this spread?

He wants so badly to be wrong, but something deep inside him tells him this is something big.

He stills for an instant, trying to orientate himself. He scans the street hurriedly for the best route to avoid getting stuck in a crush, to avoid more of those things…but all he sees is the panicked chaos spreading by the second.

Jungkook feels like he’s outside of his body, like this is a dream, a nightmare he’ll wake up from any second now. He closed his eyes for a second and inwardly prays for it to be just a bad dream. But the air is thick with the acrid scent of smoke and blood, and the pounding in his chest is too real. The world around him still screams, set aflame.

This can’t be real.

This…this can’t be happening.

Just a few meters away from him two figures wrestle on the ground — except one of them isn’t fighting back anymore, and the other is hunched over them, their head buried in the victim’s throat. Jungkook staggers back, his stomach lurching at the gut wrenching sounds of someone being mauled alive, bile burning the back of his throat when he watches infected pulls back, large chunks of flesh dangling from its bloody mouth, dripping crimson.

The truth slams into him, but his mind is till fighting to accept it.

People are killing people. Eating people. Except…they're not people. They’re monsters.

Jungkook scans the crowd for an escape route, desperate. After a moment, he catches sight of the least crowded street, it's right on the way to his place. He takes a sharp breath and runs, runs non stop down a dozen blocks. But as he navigates the frantic roads, he spots something as he runs past a small street. Stopping him in his tracks. He notices a tiny figure huddled up alone at the beginning of an alleyway, wearing bright pink, shoulders trembling and hands pressed over her ears as she sobs violently.

A child, no older than three or four if Jungkook had to guess. He halts, heart pounding as he registers her small frightened face, streaked with tears.

He should keep running, he knows he should. His body is urging him to just keep moving, his insides shaking with adrenaline. That’s not his responsibility. He hasn’t stopped for anyone. But the burning images of what he’s just witnessed flash fresh in his mind. And something deeper roots him in place. Something inside him twists, snaps almost, an unfamiliar instinct that overrides his own confusion and fear.

Ah, fuck it.

Before his mind can catch up with what he’s doing, he rushes into the alley, approaching the child cautiously with slow steps as he gets closer. He crouches down to her level, looking over his shoulder nervously. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” his voice is gentle but hurried as he searches her face. “Where are your parents? Are you lost?”

The small girl just looks up at him with large, wet eyes and a trembling pout, her hands balled into tiny fists. She doesn’t answer, just stares, whimpering and hiccuping softly, like she’s been warned to not talk to strangers — especially not ones clothed head to toe in black, covered in tattoos and piercings like himself. He glances around, hoping to see someone rushing towards them, any sign of this child's parents so he can just hand her over and run, but there’s nothing, just the crowd at the end of the alley pushing past in frantic waves and yelling, no one stopping to even look in their direction.

He has to do something.

“Do you…where did you see your parents last-” a loud metal bang echoes in the distance, making Jungkook and the child flinch, a heavy breath escaping him. Fuck, his mind races as he realizes she’s truly alone. The girl just sobs more and he curses under his breath, eyes pressed shut as his mind scrambles for what to do.

He can’t just leave her alone in whatever the hell this is. But what the hell is he supposed to do?

“Uh, alright,” he coughs, throat dry, and speaks softly but hurriedly, trying to mask his unease as he reaches out his hand. “Come with me. It’s not safe here. I’ll… I'll help you find your parents.”

He’ll take her home, get her out of danger and call the police. That’s what he should do.

It’s the right thing to do.

Okay.

He hopes she knows he’s only trying to help. God, his pulse races every second he’s standing here still. They need to move. Now. She just stares at him, uncertain, then slowly reaches out with her tiny fingers, clasping his much larger hand with a surprising grip. She must see past his intimidating exterior, or be so terrified that she’ll take up any offer of being reunited with her parents, either way, her innocence makes Jungkook's heart sting a little. He can't just leave a child out here, he has to help her before something terrible happens to her or she falls into the wrong hands. He doesn't know what the hell to do, all he knows is they have to run, run right now and get away from this, and-

Suddenly, a piercing, desperate voice breaks through the havoc of noise, loud enough to catch Jungkook's attention.

“Jieun!”

The sound makes his entire body lock up, his heart jumping in his chest as he turns toward the voice.

Running towards him, just feet away, eyes filled with worry and tears, he sees you.

Jungkook feels the blood drain from his face.

For a split moment, the world seems to fall silent. The noise, the screams and chaos, the sirens — all of it blurs into a distant hum in the back of his mind. He feels like the air is knocked straight from his lungs as he slowly takes in your face, a slightly more matured version of a face he once knew every inch of, a face he’d buried away along with every memory he’d tried so hard everyday to annihilate ever since you disappeared from his life. A face he could never forget, not even after four painful years.

It can’t be.

No, no, no-

But it’s real, because there you are. Lunging forward and arms out reaching for the little girl beside him with thick tears of relief flooding from your eyes. The child lets go of Jungkook's hand instantly and her tiny feet pat across the concrete as she launches herself into your embrace, leaving him behind to watch, frozen and stone cold like a statue.

“Mommy!” She cries.

Jungkook feels his stomach drop. He thinks he's going to throw up.

He must’ve heard that incorrectly.

Mommy? That child is…

He feels like he can’t move, blood cold as he watches you crumble to your knees, gathering the little girl into your arms with a grip that looks suffocating, as if she might disappear into thin air again. Your whole frame trembles as you hold her close, relief pouring from you in loud, choked sobs, your fingers getting tangled in her wet hair as you comb though it desperately.

That’s.. your child?

“Jieun, oh my god, baby. You’re here, you’re okay,” your voice cracks with all the pain your body just underwent, whispering against her temple. “Are you hurt? You’re not hurt are you, baby?”

The last thing you remember is being in the convenience store when the chaos began. When you walked out you had no choice but to run into the crowd. How Jieun was holding your hand and in the blink of an eye, her hand slipped from yours. You turned back, screaming her name, but she was gone, just another small figure lost in the stampede of a city falling apart.

By the time you fought your way out of the crowd, Jieun was nowhere in sight. Your heart is still hammering loudly between your ribs, mind stuck on the past horrifying minutes since she disappeared from your side.

But as you finally look up… all your relief shifts, eyes darkening with shocking realisation that mirrors the expression in the man standing just feet away when you. Heart hammering in your chest as if it recognized him before your eyes do.

You blink once, twice to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. Completely distraught.

If Jungkook thought he was stuck in a bad dream before, he’s certain now this is all a cruel, sick and twisted nightmare. He feels his stomach churn. The weight of clashing emotions and utter disbelief thrown over him. So many questions he can’t yet voice crashing into him like a bucket of ice cold water, making his blood run cold.

This has to be some kind of sick joke.

All of it.

“Jungkook?” Your voice trembles, barely a whisper, as if the sound of his name out loud might shatter you to pieces.

He’s standing in front of you, drenched from the rain, his wet dark hair hanging messily in his face — so much longer than it used to be. He has new piercings on his face, and his features have definitely matured. He looks…different, yet somehow exactly how you remember him. His big dark eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, you feel your world stop.

“Y/n?” His voice cracks slightly, like he’s just been punched in the gut. “Wh…what are you doing here?” but there’s no anger in his voice, just confusion, and perhaps, a hint of something painful. His words hang heavy between you, getting lost in the sounds of the burning city beyond this tiny street, and you feel a paralysing weight on your chest. Your mind reeling beyond comprehension.

You open your mouth to speak, ready to say something, anything. But you feel like you’ve forgotten how to form words. So you close it again, no words come out. His eyes flicker from your face to the little girl clutching your side, and you feel a pit sinking in your stomach. God, please no.

This can’t be happening — not here, not now.

Not like this.

You want to bolt, to run and not look back like you always do. You wish the earth would just swallow you entirely. But all you can do is stand there, your heart pounding faster in your chest, mouth dry.

You try to step around him, desperate to move forward, to escape this horror. But before you know it, his hand catches your arm. He grips you gently, but with a force that indicates he won’t let you slip away again. His touch almost makes you fall to your knees.

“Come with me.”

Your body stiffens at his words, and you swat your arm loose of his grip. You lift Jieun into your arms instinctively, fingers curling around her small body as if the mere act of holding her can shield you from everything. From him, from all the pain, from all of this living nightmare.

“No,” you say, the word coming out broken, like your breath is caught. “I can’t go with you. I need- I need to get hobi-”

“My apartment isn’t far,” he cuts in, not giving you space to say more. “We need to get off the streets.’’

You hesitate, watching his gaze scurry between you both again. Everything in you is telling you to just run, to put as much distance as you can between yourself and Jungkook. Willing this conversation to die before it can even begin. Before he can start asking questions you’re not ready to answer. Before you have to face things you’ve already buried deep. Before it’s too late.

You need to leave. But Jieun is shaking, clutching onto you for dear life as she whimpers against your chest, and the sounds of screams still ringing in your ears. And there’s infected everywhere. You’re stuck in the middle of a warzone, and you have no idea what to do, no idea where to go.

All you know is you need to get Jieun out of this. Away from danger.

“Have you not seen what the fuck is going on? People have gone fucking insane!” His tone grows harsher now, trying to knock some sense into you. “We need to move.”

A gut wrenching scream echoes from somewhere beyond the alley, closer than before this time. Too close.

Jungkook swears under his breath, running a hand through his hair, torn between a storm of brewing emotions and the immediate danger closing in. His jaw tightens as he looks behind him then back to you. “Y/n, we need to go. Now.”

You shake your head violently, and you can feel hushed tears burning behind your eyes. You can’t breathe, can’t think clearly. All you can feel is Jieun trembling in your arms.

“Please-” his voice drops, raw and desperate. Almost a plea.

And don’t know when or why it happens, but the next thing you know, your feet are moving. You’re running with everything you have left in you.

Somehow, the world is ending, and you’re allowing yourself to be guided by Jungkook down streets devoured by chaos, heading to the only safe place around you.

His home.

➵ taglist: @amatun28 @ahgasegotarmy116 @knjs95s @jeoncookiebar @badaspice @lachimolalajeon @tearykth @lovingkoalaface @jcrl99 @hellbornsworld @mortqlprojections @xumyboo @honeymeraki @justanarchiveforfics @iamnotdrunk420 @iveivory @k-p0p-4ever @jksjx @yoonberriez @lotustv @hannahmae18 @eclipsethemagic @bybyash @rjooniesdimples @minimoninini @satisfied18 @pinkpunkdynamite @jheneeko @sungiesworld27 @neuviloved @somehowukook @iohwa-com @lola75111 @hanversace @ot7even @rie-pdf @futuristicenemychaos @chl0buggy @happycheesecakedelusion @busanbby-jjk @minyoongi7016 @stellamalonesolaria @qyurryus-m @ex7stance @dchimminie

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divagrace · 4 months ago

Text

How Sweet Pogue reader met Rafe!

Soft RafexSweetPogue reader

Summary: Rafe is known to hate Pogues. All of them are nuisances to him. Until one particular girl catches his eye. He asks Topper if he knows her name and only for Topper to tell him that she’s a Pogue.

Warnings: Nothing!

Enjoy 🫶🏻🫶🏻

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊

The beach party was in full swing. People were drinking, dancing, and partying their asses off. Rafe on the other hand, was busy trying to make sure Topper’s psychotic girlfriend, Ruthie, didn’t start any more fights with people. She was literally insane.

“Topper. Control your girl. She’s being a fucking lunatic.” He bites out to Topper. Crazy ass bitch. He thinks to himself. His eyes scan the beach, making sure everything is going smoothly. Then all the sudden, his eyes land on you.

You’re wearing a bright pink tank top, it’s spaghetti straps fighting to hold in your boobs that are threatening to spill out from you jumping around. It shows just a sliver of your tan waist, but it’s enough to make Rafe want to wrap his arms around it. Your toned legs are clad in a pair of jean shorts and beaded brackets decorate your arms.

You look so carefree, so happy. Dancing around with everyone. Your smile is stunning. It takes Rafe’s breath away in the best way possible.

Rafe turns to Topper. “Hey, who is that?” He asks him. Topper tries to see who Rafe is pointing to.

“Dude, there’s about 20 people you could be pointing to right now.” Topper says sarcastically.

“Her. The girl in the pink tank top and jean shorts.” Rafe says growing impatient, even though he knows Topper had a point. It’s a giant group of dancing teenagers and Rafe could have been pointing to any of them. But he needed to find out who this girl is.

“Oh. Man that’s Y/N. She’s hot but I would never mess with her. She’s a Pogue, the Pogue princess as many people refer to her.” Topper spits the word out with disgust. Rafe’s eyes widen.

Now he remembers. Of course he knows how the Pogue Princess is. I mean, he’s the Kook King.

Well you being a Pogue isn’t going to stop him. He may hate Pogues but most of them are annoying and make stupid decisions. He’s never even heard of you so you must be normal.

Rafe walks over to you confidently. When he wants something, he gets it. And you’re no different.

When he lightly grabbed Y/N’s arm, she was startled and turned around to see who the culprit was.

She was even more surprised when she was met with Rafe Cameron staring down at her. Y/N along with everybody else knows that Rafe doesn’t interact with Pogues unless he has to. And typically it’s in a violent way.

Rafe has never done anything bad to her before. Honestly, she doesn’t get out too much anyways. Usually her dad and her are scrubbing down their little shack, and if not, she’s out at the beach tanning and surfing.

Y/N just lives her life to the fullest. Her family is dirt poor, the only reason they have a roof over their heads is because her grandpa built her house when he was younger. But other than that, life is all about the experience for her. She tries to be kind to everybody and will never ever judge someone for what they look like, or how they are. That’s why many people in town refer to her as the “Pogue Princess”.

But she has no hard feelings towards Rafe unlike many other kids on the cut her age. She doesn’t blame them though.

“Hi.” Rafe says. He can smell her intoxicating scent. She smells so good. Like vanilla, warm and sweet. The breeze is making her scent drift right to his nose.

“Hi!” She giggles and its music to ears. “Do you need something from me?” She asks him.

He lets go of her arm and runs a hand through his buzzed hair. But something caught his attention, there was no judgment, no nasty look, or condescending tone in her voice that was directed at him. Most people in town couldn’t even look at him without wincing. Whether it was from fear or disgust. So naturally, Rafe was drawn to her.

“Well I just wanted to come talk to the prettiest girl on the beach.” He said with a grin stretching across his face. Y/N’s face burned with a blush.

“You think I’m pretty?” She shyly asked him

“I think you’re the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He leans down and whispers in her ear.

The red staining Y/N’s cheeks turned to a dark crimson. Y/N has struggled with her appearance for a long time. Growing up in a town surrounded by pretty girls can mess with your head. The compliment meant a lot to her.

Rafe and Y/N shouted over the loud music, talking to each other about everything. Y/N was dancing and swaying to the music, and Rafe was trying to keep her still so her words wouldn’t jumble up while she was bumping around.

After a while, Y/N got tired. She smushed her face into Rafe’s chest.

“I’m tiredddd.” She complained. Rafe wrapped his hands around her forearms and guided her to a big piece of driftwood down the beach. Now they were away from the craziness of the party.

Rafe was looking at Y/N with something in his eyes that she couldn’t quite decipher.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She’s asks him.

“Can I go on a date with you?” The words fly out of his mouth before he can even register what he’s saying. Y/N’s mouth falls open.

“What?” She asks.

“Can I take you out? On a date. Tomorrow.” Rafe says. Now his words are collected and put together.

Y/N teases him a little. Taking a long time to come up with an answer. Even going as far as tapping her pointer finger on her chin and making it look like she’s thinking about it. Obviously there is only one answer.

“Y/N.” Rafe mutters.

“Of course I will!” Y/N happily says, finally giving up on her teasing. A sigh of relief escapes Rafe. Like she was really going to say no.

“Thank goodness. Here’s my phone you can give me your phone number so you can send me your address.” Rafe says while fishing his phone out of his pocket and opening his contacts app.

Y/N’s whole mood changes. More red flush adorns her cheeks, but not out of the fact that she has butterflies or is nervous, it’s out of embarrassment.

“What’s wrong?” Rafe asks her. He noticed her mood change.

“Ummm. I don’t have a phone.” She says.

“Why are you grounded or something?” Rafe asks her.

“No, it’s just my parents can’t afford to get me a phone.” Y/N says embarrassed.

Rafe’s eyes widen. He has never experienced a life without having some sort of electronics thrown in his face. Ward had always tried to buy his and his sister‘s love with either the newest gaming console or tablet or iPhone.

“Oh. Well that’s okay. You can just give me your address and I’ll write it down in my notes app.” Rafe says. It’s obvious that she is uncomfortable about not having a phone, so he doesn’t want to make it something it doesn’t have to be.

“Okay.” Y/N says and then proceeds to tell Rafe her address. She’s glad he didn’t make a big deal out of the situation. I mean it’s the 21st century almost every kid her age has a cell phone, especially in the Outer Banks. But unfortunately, her parents don’t make enough money to be able to give her a phone. So she goes without one. The only way her friends can communicate with her, is verbally.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow, 6pm sharp. Wear something comfortable.” Rafe says and smiles.

“Okay. I’ll be ready” Y/N beams up at him.

“Can’t wait baby.” That’s the last thing Rafe says before walking off and disappearing into the crowd of teenagers.

What just happened? They both wonder to themselves.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

First one! 🫶🏻

#rafe obx #⋆˚࿔ rafe 𝜗𝜚˚⋆#rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe fanfiction #outerbanks rafe #rafe x you #rafe cameron #rafe imagine #rafe fic #outer banks #obx fanfiction #obx x reader #obx fic #date night

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organic-bloodbath · 5 months ago

Note

hello! could I request literally anything w chishiya x pregnant!reader? maybe how he (and the rest of the group) would take care of reader during and in between games? thank you sm!

Child of Hearts

Chishiya x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: Chishiya takes care of you after you two have been separated from the rest of your friends.

A/N: Please request me more Chishiya i need this man so bad. I hope this is alright 🫶🏻 (mind you, i have never been pregnant myself so i might not know what the hell i'm talking about)

Part 2

♤♡♧◇

Running away from a man shooting every person in sight with a huge rifle was a big challenge when you were 7 months pregnant. You didn't know what the gun was called, but when the bullet hit its target, it would basically cut your body in half. Hiding behind a car would be useless, as the car would be in pieces as well.

Running fast enough was already difficult, almost impossible, but your heavy stomach, bearing another human being, was making it a lot harder. It didn't take long to be out of breath and your legs were going to betray you any moment. Chishiya's hand was pulling you forward and you could barely keep up. He would soon have to drag your body against the ground, and then you'd both be dead.

This was it. You had played several games, somehow been able to beat them all with the help of your friends, which was a miracle itself. Especially without Arisu, Usagi, Kuina and Chishiya you would have died ages ago.

Before your pregnancy, you had been quite a fast runner and could run fast for a long period of time. Now? The total opposite.

Finally, you could sit down on the ground, leaning against a car. You had to only hope that the shooter had passed you and wasn't going to blow it up.

"You doing okay?" Chishiya looked at you with concern when you closed your eyes and threw your head back, breathing loudly.

"Yeah, yeah, i'm fine," you nodded, barely being able to talk. "Just can't run anymore."

Seeing a massive airship floating in the sky almost right above you, a large playing card hanging from it, you finally came into a conclusion what was going on.

"Well, he must be the King of Spades," Chishiya said next to you, leaning against the car.

Absolutely amazing - now the entire Tokyo was a game arena?

The shooting had stopped for a moment, but the shooter – or more specifically the King, should you call him – could come out from any corner at any second, surprising you completely.

Ann arrived with a car, telling all of you to hop in. However, Chishiya was left behind, because of a grenade that had been thrown between him and the car.

As were you with him.

♤♡♧◇

The others were gone now, driven away with the car. You and Chishiya were left alone to find a way to survive on your own. You were relieved to have Chishiya with you, he was extremely smart and knew how to survive different situations.

Previously many of your teammates had helped you, but now it was just the two of you. For a second you were slightly afraid that taking care of you alone would become too much to Chishiya if the King of Spades found you out of all people and started chasing you. You could tell that running with you was challenging to him.

You were starving, not remembering when was the last time you got proper food, and eventually found a small grocery store which windows had been shattered.

Chishiya started browsing for food while you waited, leaning against the counter. Soon, he came back with the most suitable and edible food he could find in this situation.

"Cash or credit?"

"Aren't you a little too pregnant to be working?"

"Don't underestimate me, Doctor Shuntaro," you teased him.

You pretended to scan each item like you had worked here for years.

"Thank you for shopping with us, please come again," you said with your best customer service voice.

"You definitely deserve the best worker of the month award," he praised you, almost impressed, and clapped his hands a few times.

"Finally someone gives my work credit," you said, hand on your chest.

There was a small table and two chairs by the window. You and Chishiya dragged them away from the window, so you could sit down in the back of the room and not be seen to anyone possibly walking past the store.

"Here you go," Chishiya said and offered you food and a plastic fork, along with a bottle of water, as you sat down. "It's not much but it's the best i got now without any electricity to heat it up."

"Thank you," you said quietly.

You ate in comfortable silence. You hadn't realized how dizzy you had started to feel after all the running and having not eaten or drank water in hours.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" Chishiya asked when he was finished with his meal and put his hand gently on yours, looking concerned.

"Yeah, i'm fine," you mumbled and stretched a little. "My back just hurts."

"Let's take a break and lay down for a while, okay?"

"But shouldn't we stay on the move? The King of Spades might come back and-"

"We'll be safe enough here for a while. Take a short nap, i'll keep an eye on the surroundings," he insisted. "You need more rest than me."

You were sleepy, so you weren't going to resist too much. You hadn't slept properly in a while.

Chishiya watched you sleep on your left side, your head on his lap to use as a pillow. You clinged on his leg with both of your arms, and he gently brushed your hair with his fingers to soothe you to sleep.

You were so beautiful, and he knew that he didn't say it to you often enough - as often as you would have deserved.

Chishiya was terrified every second of being in this world, having to play the games with you on his side. He wasn't afraid of many things, but you? If he lost you, he'd also lose your baby. His unborn child. And that was easily his biggest fear.

You had been in a relationship together for the past three years, and the pregnancy hadn't been planned, at all. Chishiya wasn't sure if he would ever want children, and when you told him that you were pregnant, he didn't know what to think. But it didn't take him too long to get used to the idea of becoming a father. And having you as the mother was everything he could have wished for.

You, however, hadn't considered becoming a mother at this age and had cried in the bathroom for an hour after seeing the two lines on the pregnancy test. Now, as the months had passed, you had gotten used to the idea of having a child and were more ready with Chishiya's constant support, who you loved and trusted with all your heart.

You just had to finish the rest of the games and hopefully, you could then return home - before you'd start delivering the baby.

♤♡♧◇

You entered a new game with Chishiya inside an old prison.

Jack of Hearts - Solitary confinement.

This was absolutely the ideal game for you, since all you could do was just chill and sit around until it was time to go into your little prison cell to announce the correct symbol on the back of your collar. And for that, you had Chishiya revealing it for you. As long as Chishiya was there for you, you had nothing to worry about.

People formed groups, telling each other everyone's symbols, so other people could confirm they were telling the truth.

"Hi," a girl in a blue dress greeted with an eager smile, approaching you. "Want to join our group?"

You glanced at Chishiya, unsure, but nodded your head.

"Sure, why not," you shrugged. Mom always told you to try and be more social.

Slowly, as the rounds went by, people started to lie and betray each other, which ended up more and more people being eliminated. This was a Heart's game, after all, it was supposed to mess with both your head and heart.

"Listen, let me worry about the game, you just remember your symbol and rest, okay?" Chishiya had said earlier, giving your hand a squeeze.

Chishiya had been eyeing the other people and trying to study any hints that could lead him to reveal someone as the Jack of Hearts. He hadn't told you much about his thoughts, probably still trying to decide his opinions on the players.

Right now, you sat at the table, looking towards the group which was sharing their symbols with each other. It was like watching a high school drama all over again, except now people were getting killed.

"Here," Chishiya said, sitting next you, and laid food on the table in front of you. "You need to eat."

He had grabbed two different kinds of crackers, a bottle of water, some orange juice, and a can of soup.

"I just did, i'm fine," you tried to refuse, even though you knew you could have eaten a little bit more. Chishiya just stared at you with no expression on his face.

"Yes, but you need to eat more, since you're eating for two," he insisted and wasn't having a 'no' for an answer.

You rolled your eyes, and he noticed it, giving you a look.

"Fine, fine, Doctor Shuntaro," you smirked.

After you had finished eating, you went to the bathroom again - you were sure you'd have to pee every hour. Washing your hands and your face, you heard someone arriving to the bathroom.

"Hello," a young girl greeted you nervously, taking careful steps towards you. "Sorry to bother you, but could you tell me the symbol on my collar? I don't really trust my group anymore and, well, you seem nice."

"Um, sure," you mumbled and looked at the girl's symbol. "It's a diamond."

"You sure?"

"I have fully functional eyes."

"Thank you so much," the girl said, giving you an excited smile.

You didn't bother to include yourself in that drama club and lie for no proper reason, you had decided to keep your distance to them since you didn't need help with your symbol. You doubted any of them would be the Jack, but who knew - the Jack could be a girl too, after all. If they started manipulating and lying to each other, that was on them.

A few more rounds passed, and you were starting to become really sleepy. By now you had been at the prison for 8 hours and you had no idea how much longer all this would take. Chishiya had been feeding you crackers and other snacks almost every hour, now that you had food available a lot easier.

You wondered if your friends were alright, though you knew all of them were strong and if they had survived this far, they must be able to handle anything. Still, of course you couldn't help but to worry.

You walked around the place and tried to search for a corner to take a quick nap, there was 36 minutes left until you had to go back to your cell.

Then, you had to stop walking when you felt sudden pain and pressure on your stomach. You let out a loud gasp, startling any few people nearby and make them look at you. You leaned against the nearest wall, so you wouldn't fall on the floor.

No, no, no, no. You weren't going to start delivering your baby a month or two early. Especially in the middle of the game where there was a time limit and a chance to be killed. Of course they wouldn't stop the game for a moment if there was a woman on labour.

Chishiya had heard you and instantly ran towards you. His eyes widened when you were holding your stomach in pain.

"Y/N? What's happening?" Chishiya asked, trying to hide his panic so you wouldn't start to freak out even more.

"I-I don't know," you mumbled and truly started to panic. "It just hurts. I don't know. Oh my god, Chishiya, I-"

"Okay, calm down. You're having contractions, it doesn't necessarily mean the baby's coming, okay?" he tried to reassure you, his hand on your cheek. "Look at me. Just breathe, take a deep breath."

You did as he told, taking deep breaths and squeezing Chishiya's hand every time the waves of pain took hold of your stomach. If this hurt, you didn't want to know how much it hurt to push the baby out of you - your pain tolerance was extremely poor.

"I can't do this, any of this, i'm-"

"Yes, you can, darling," Chishiya said softly.

After some time, it stopped. You sat on the floor, back against the wall, for the next twenty minutes, Chishiya holding your hand the entire time and gently rubbing your back.

"See? Everything's fine," he said calmly and put his arm around you, keeping you close against him.

"You know," you started, eyes starting to water. "I haven't felt any movements from the baby in a few days. What if something's wrong?"

"Listen," Chishiya said. "Contractions are normal, even when the baby won't come yet. The baby might not move every day, it's normal. You'll just have to stay calm and try to avoid too much stress. And i know that's a lot to ask for in our current situation."

You nodded, unsure, but trying to believe his words as well as possible. He was a doctor after all, right?

"Next round, we'll get you a place to sleep for a moment," Chishiya promised. There was 9 minutes left to announce your symbols.

"You know, when the baby will be born, we'll have a lot more different story on how the pregnancy went than other expecting mothers," you chuckled. "Like, not many moms can say that they've run away from a shooter while being on their third trimester of their pregnancy."

Chishiya smiled. "Or spent a day in a prison with no actual guards around."

An older man walked past you, still sitting on the floor, leaning against Chishiya.

"My God. Are you okay? How on earth have you survived this far being pregnant like that?" he asked in shock, surely seen the scene just a moment ago.

"Well, i've had a lot of help," you shrugged.

You had been used to people commenting on your pregnancy. Every time you met someone knew, they just stared at your stomach for too long, feeling bad for you and considering you the weakest player of the group. You stood out from the rest of the people around, it was understandable. At first it had bothered you, but now you were so tired of it you just felt numb.

Arriving to the Beach for the first time, the entire pool party had quieted down for a moment when people saw you.

"Here, it is required to only wear a swimsuit," they had announced, but looking at you, they let you wear more clothes. Thank god for that. You weren't exactly very fond of showing off your stretch marks and everything. You had been given shorts and an oversized t-shirt - it was the same shirt you still had on.

In the end of the current game, only four people came out from the cells alive, after the Jack had guessed the wrong symbol, and left the prison, two of them you and Chishiya. It had been the first game where you could have actually relaxed and sat back for a while.

If there had been a proper bed, you wouldn't have minded to stay a bit longer too.

"So, what now?" you asked.

"We'll try to find a place to spend the night."

It was becoming the night and you had been walking almost half an hour on the streets, trying to find a good place to hide and sleep.

You found a small hostel, completely abandoned and empty, and found your way into one of the rooms. The door was locked, but Chishiya could easily pick the lock open. You were able to sleep on a real bed again, you could have started crying from even the thought of it. The sheets weren't fresh at all and the blanket was really thin, but you couldn't complain.

You laid yourself on the bed, it felt so good to feel an actual mattress and a pillow under you, you felt like your body could melt there like a cotton candy in water. Chishiya came to lay down next to you after removing his shirt, warming you better with his bare skin. He cupped your cheek and pulled you in a sweet kiss.

Suddenly, you winced when you felt a kick inside your stomach. Chishiya immediately sat up, concerned.

"What's wrong? Did the contractions start again?"

You grabbed his hand and put it on your stomach, trying the correct spot to find any movements, and when he felt a kick right against his hand, he flinched and a smile spread on his lips.

You started laughing, with a few tears of relief and happiness, and he laughed a little too.

"We'll be alright," Chishiya whispered. He hugged you and kissed your forehead.

"I hope so," you said quietly.

"I love you," he whispered and looked you deep into your eyes. "You know that, right?"

"Are you saying that in case the King of Spades comes to shoot us in our sleep?" you teased. "Honestly, that would definitely be cheating."

"I doubt he's going to find us here," he assured you and pressed a kiss on your hair. "Good night."

"Good night," you answered and turned on your side. Chishiya's arm wrapped around your stomach, pulling you against his chest.

#chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x reader #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya imagine #chishiya shuntaro x reader #chishiya shuntaro imagine #aib chishiya #alice in borderland #alice in borderland x reader #alice in borderland imagine #aib x reader #aib imagine

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lovebugism · 8 months ago

Note

for your smut request ☺️ eddie seeing the love marks he left on reader and getting turned on all over again remember how it got there in the first place 🫶🏻

thank u for requesting :D — the one where eddie realizes quitting smoking would be a whole lot easier than quitting you (established relationship, allusions to smut 18+ | 0.9k)

You lie in the center of Eddie’s bed, trying hard to catch your breath, while the boy rolls off the squeaking mattress on tingling limbs.

You hear him chuck the used condom into the bin by the nightstand as he goes. He tugs plaid boxers up lanky legs, then fishes for the pack of cigs left in his discarded jeans in one fell swoop. His movements are so practiced now they seem almost fluid. Or maybe that’s just the honeyed haze leftover in your heavy eyes.

Eddie opens the window with one hand, then brings the other up to his mouth. He plucks a cigarette from the carton with his lips and leaves the rest on the sill. A midnight breeze billows past his flushed cheeks and wild curls before finding you. It feels like silk against your buzzing, bare skin.

He cups a hand over his mouth to light the stick. The amber flame makes his face glow. Suddenly, everything smells of sex, nicotine, and midnight air.

You writhe under the thin sheets to stretch your aching limbs before mustering a small smile at the boy across the room. “Smoking after sex is so cliche,” you joke in contented slurs.

“Well, it’s your fault,” the boy insists as grey smoke billows from his rosy mouth. He flicks the filter end of the cigarette to dispel the ash in the ceramic tray, then stretches his arms over his head. It leaves his milky white torso on display for you. Your mouth waters with the urge to run your lips over each of his fading tattoos.

“Is it?” you hum.

“Mhmm,” Eddie nods wordlessly. He sticks the cig back in his mouth and mumbles through it. “If you weren’t so needy, I wouldn’t be smokin’ so much.”

A beam tugs at your lips, threatening to fill the lamplit bedroom with sunshine. You cage it between your teeth because both of you know Eddie was the so-called needy one no more than ten minutes ago –– panting in your ear as he fucked sloppily into you, and leaving his pathetic little whimpers there, too.

“Please cum,” he begged against your skin as his thrusts lost rhythm, weighed down by his own need for release. “Please cum for me. I need to feel it. Need to feel it so bad, baby. Please.”

You watch the memory replay itself in Eddie’s faraway gaze. The notion makes your chest go warm. “Well, you have my deepest sympathies, Eddie Spaghetti,” you murmur in response, soft and sarcastic.

Eddie lifts a pale shoulder in a lazy shrug. “It’s okay,” he mumbles back, cigarette bobbing on his bottom lip. “I can just bill you for all the packs I’m goin’ through.”

“Or we can just stop having sex?” you offer with a knowing lilt to your voice, rising to sit further up on the pillows. You clutch the sheets to your bare chest and look at the boy beneath your lashes. “That’s free, at least.”

Eddie nods, eyes squinted in feigned curiosity. “Hm... That’s definitely an interesting proposition,” he hums with his head angled towards the window to blow smoke out of.

“I mean, I have plenty of toys to keep me occupied––”

“And by toy, I assume you’re talking about Steve The Hair Harrington?” Eddie tries to joke, though his poorly concealed jealousy goes unentertained.

“––But I think you’ll get tired of your right hand very quickly.”

“Hey,” Eddie pouts. “You know I’m ambidextrous. I can switch it up.”

“So, it’s settled then?” you shrug. “No more sex.”

Eddie bows his head sheepishly, silently calculating a way to get him out of the hole he dug for himself. He snuffs the cigarette out in the ashtra, and his eyes flit to the opened box of condoms on his dresser, all but calling his name.

“Well… I mean… We still have eleven condoms left, so…”

You meet his brown-eyed look of expectancy with a cynical smirk. “You see eleven condoms, I see eleven minutes of my life I’m never getting back,” you quip.

Eddie stalks towards you on long legs, brows furrowed in a pitiful look. “Stop being mean to me. I’ll fall in love with you––” he whines playfully, leaning over the mattress with the intent to kiss you. His eyes fall to the blossoming bruises on your neck, and he stops short. “Jesus…”

“What?” you murmur in a mousy voice, eyes wide and glittering.

“Nothin’,” Eddie blurts as he raises his hand to run his fingers over your warm skin. He traces the blooming blood vessels over your collarbone, and his face screws with worry. “Do these hurt?” he wonders aloud.

“Do these?” you echo, motioning to the scratches on his shoulders he hasn’t bothered to notice until now. You didn’t even know you were leaving them there, in truth, as you held onto the boy for dear life while he fucked you within an inch of your own.

Eddie tucks his chin to his chest and tries to eye the scrapes from his peripheral vision. He spots four lines of raging red and puffed-up skin. They feel almost like battle scars –– an aching that he’s proud of.

“A little,” he shrugs, then smiles proudly to himself. “They feel good, though.”

“So do these,” you hum.

His heavy eyes fall to your neck again. His mouth waters at the sight of the lovebites littered there. “Want some more?” he offers lowly.

“I thought we had a deal, Eds? No more sex,” you tease as the boy leans further into kiss you. You smell nicotine and sex on his breath, and your head starts to swim.

“We never shook on it,” Eddie insists, right before kissing you hard enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble

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hoondrop · 11 days ago

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can you js write anything about big d sunghoon (i feel so freaky asking this 😣)

anon,, we're all freaky for sunghoon here. you're allowed to be as freaky and feral as you can be 🫶🏻

“Breathe,” Sunghoon murmured, voice low and deep as he kissed the side of your neck. “Let me in slow, baby. Don’t rush it... your body’s learning me.”

You whimpered as the thick head of his cock pushed inside, already stretching you impossibly. It burned, but the way he held you, his large hand wrapped under your thigh, the other brushing your jaw, kept you grounded.

“You’re taking me so well,” he praised, tone reverent but firm. “Fuck… this tight little pussy’s trying to keep me out, but I’m gonna teach it how to open for me. Every time.”

You gasped when he pushed another inch in, hips flush against yours, his length pulsing hot and heavy. The stretch made your walls flutter around him, involuntarily squeezing. His jaw clenched as he held himself back.

“Easy,” he growled softly, leaning over you, lips brushing your parted mouth. “You want all of it, don’t you?”

You nodded, breath trembling. “Please, I want it—want you"

“Yeah?” he whispered. “Then you need to let go, baby. Trust me.”

He rolled his hips forward, deeper now, and your back arched, overwhelmed. One hand splayed on your stomach like he could feel himself inside, claiming every inch of you.

“You feel that?” he whispered, possessive, his thumb rubbing slow circles just above where he was buried. “You’re so fucking full. You weren’t made for anyone else, were you?”

You couldn’t answer, too full of him, too wrecked. He chuckled darkly, a hand brushing the hair from your face, kissing your jaw between slow, torturous thrusts.

“You’re mine,” he whispered as he bottomed out, finally seated to the hilt, your body trembling under his. “I’ll stretch you open like this every night if I have to. Until you stop fighting the way you were made to take me.”

And with that, he began moving; slow and deep at first, coaxing you open, groaning at every squeeze of your walls, praising every inch you gave him like it was sacred.

“You’re gonna take all of me,” he promises, lips pressed to your temple. “Again. And again. Until your pretty little pussy remembers me.”

#enhypen smut #enhypen #enhypen x reader #sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon smut #enhypen sunghoon

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dcxdpdabbles · 3 months ago

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So I had an idea for a snippet series if your interested🫣

Danny is actually Bruce's brother, but nobody knows until they meet him, when he comes to Gotham to create music videos for his song series EPIC. (Through a combination of his Space obsession and his mentoring with Pandora Danny gets hyper fixated on Greek mythology) (I can see him going throughout the DCU for each Saga and Gotham would definitely be the Underworlds Saga)(They only know about him because Diana becomes interested)

Btw ABSOLUTELY LOVE your stories, they make slogging through my Christmas MET at work SO much easier. 🫶🏻

That man has his mother's face.

It's an odd thought to have about a stranger, but Bruce has it all the same. He spotted him after noticing the other man setting up some recording equipment, checking the camera with the same smile his mother used to make whenever she was writing songs at her piano.

It was the kind of smile that hid a smirk in the corners of her lip. Like she already knew that she captured Bruce's and Thomas' attention simply by approaching the piano bench. It was her special talent that she was willing to gift to them, one they loved dearly and she knew it.

Martha Wayne wasn't known for her musical talent, not in the way she was known for her charities or her horrific death. People always talked about her in those two ways, or sometimes, they reduced her to just Thomas Wayne's wife.

None of them knew of the hours she spent writing up songs about her life. The way she told stories with lyrics, and how Bruce knew how his parents met, their first date, their first kiss, and the feeling of their first dance, all within one of his first lullabies. She hummed mindlessly throughout her day, so much so that Bruce often figured out her mood by the way she raised or lowered her hums.

It was her own piece of theme music. Her little touch of love echoed throughout the manor. When she died, Bruce realized how loud silence could actually be. It felt like drowning, that silence, and no amount filter noise could ever save him from it.

It wasn't until he took in Dick, who has a habit of beating his hands against items in makeshift drums, did his drowning finally end. Even if his son is tune deaf.

In fact, none of his kids are talented in singing, not even Damian. It wasn't a bad thing, but sometimes he wished one of the children could join him in his mother's duets. The ones she wrote for Thomas (his father wasn't the best singer around but Mom always had a way of masking that with her melodies) , and the ones she wrote for Bruce.

She even wrote some songs she wanted to sing at Bruce's wedding, always talking about it, never being too early to have the perfect song for his perfect dance. They were all half finished, because she got distracted and figured she would have time before Bruce actually needed them.

He kept her songs and her music sheets, tucked away in his office behind a fire proof vault. Sometimes he would pull them out and attempt to sing them.

Bruce knows he has an amazing voice, has had multiple people burst into tears after hearing him, but he could never bring himself to partake too long in each song. It hurt too much to think of his mother.

How she sounded better them him, and how he could not remember her speaking voice, but at least her singing lived on in his memories.

The man finishes setting up, moving to stand in front of the camera. He offers the curious crowd a slight wave- he's behind some ropes with a permit hanging off of it, permitting his shoot. The official setup and the strange outfit- robes and a white sheer clothe around his eyes- has gotten the attention of walkbyers. It's why Bruce had looked as well.

He shakes his whole body, before he taps the microphone he has on his scarf. It's adjusted so it's hidden behind cloth, before the man climbs onto the rock statues that are designed to resemble a human skull, it was one of Gotham's oldest and most famous works of art. He sits inside the hole of the skull's left eye, draping himself dramatically on the ledge of it while dangling a leg and facing away from the cameras.

A murmur goes through the crowd, mostly appreciative of his pose and physique. A couple of teenage girls beside him giggle helplessly as the music feels the air.

It's a soft pick up of strings, piano, and it blends well with the man's voice as he gracefully moves his hand through the air, speaking about a prophet giving a warning of a future.

Bruce is mesmerized as the man's voice rises and falls, swaying in the skull. He carefully tilts his head towards the camera, his singing voice rising as the more emotions carefully blend into his warning.

By the chorus, the singer lets himself fall gracefully out of the skull, walking slowly towards the camera, speaking now of a castle in red, and his face slowly gaining more urgency.

Just as he leans into the camera, he spins on his heel repeating the same prophecy, a gripping tragedy of overcoming trails and still failing. It's ends with the man leaping back into his eye, slowly untying his blindfold to reveal glowing green eyes staring and reaching as if the sky was the future he spoke off.

It must be contacts, and yet, Bruce feels like someone kicked him in the chest. Those were his mother's eyes, the same shape and the same color, even if they had a special effect. The song ends with a choir of people singing as he bows his head but Bruce doesn't hear anything over the sound of blood rushing his ears.

The crowd goes wild, clapping and cheering as the man breaks character to grin and smile at everyone, taking some cheeky bows. His mother's hidden kiss and sparkling eyes dancing with the warmth he remembers her by.

Without really realizing it, Bruce steps over the rope, walking towards the stranger as if in a trance. The singer spots him, smiling, dropping as Bruce gets near, "Hey, I rented this area for recording. You have to get behind the rope-"

"Who are you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Who are you. Why do you look like her?" Bruce breaths more then asks as he pulls out a photo of his mother from his pocket. The man's glowing green eyes- and now that he's close enough, Bruce can tell they are contacts, can see the slight ring around his pupils- blink slowly.

"Wow, she's a female version of me." The man gasps, touching his own face as if he could feel the similarities through his fingers. Holding out the picture makes this so much more uncanny, because the man's effeminate features and age almost makes it seem like Martha Wayne has come back to life.

"She was my mother." Bruce realized with a jolt that they are both at the age his mother died, and it makes something cold settle in his chest as the man blinks up at him.

"Were you ever adopted? My birth parents gave me up when I was born because of some twin superstition. At least that's what my adoptive parents said. I never bothered looking for them. All I know was that her first name was Martha."

Bruce steals some hair to confirm it but he knows deep in his heart the answer long before Danny Fenton, inspiring musical writer, test results come back.

This is his twin his parents gave up.

It takes months of investigation before he finds a centuries-old contract. The Wayne's had long ago promised the Court of Owls the spare of any twin born into the family, and to protect Danny from such a fate, Martha and Thomas faked his death and gave him away the day he was born.

His mother's song, "My lost little song," finally makes sense. She always cried when she sang that song.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #My lost little song #Part 1 #Danny and Bruce are bio brothers #Danny inherited his mother's musical talent #Bruce canonically is a great singer #The Waynes gave him up to protect him #If I continue this I'll focus more on different songs cause I don't like too big crossovers #Danny Fenton looks like a male Martha Wayne\#Slight angst?

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alohajix · 2 months ago

Text

𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐦

Description: [Y/N] signed her son up for soccer to help him feel a little braver. She didn’t expect it to feel like she was the one learning how to start over. And she definitely didn’t expect the coach to start feeling like home.

Warnings: single parenthood, child anxiety, parental guilt, emotional vulnerability, fear of abandonment, slow-burn romance, eventual consensual smut (soft to intense).

Word count: TBD.

author’s note: this little mini-story is actually part of something a bit bigger! if you enjoyed part one, i’m planning to share the four other parts exclusively on my patreon as i write them. there’s zero pressure, of course—just knowing you’re here reading already means the world to me. but if you’d like to support my work even more and follow this story as it continues, you’ll be able to find the rest over there when they’re ready. thank you so much for reading. i appreciate you more than you know! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Main Masterlist

Marked by Midnight’s Masterlist

***

Warnings: child nervousness, social overwhelm, parental self-doubt, references to past social exclusion, emotional tension, fear of letting someone in.

Word count: 3,748.

The field is busier than I expected. Parents already staking their claims with fold-out chairs along the sidelines, sipping from oversized thermoses, shouting to each other over the hum of kids in matching jerseys sprinting across the grass like it's the World Cup. My stomach pulls tight as I kill the engine, my hands still wrapped around the steering wheel like I'm not entirely sure if we should even be here.

I glance into the rearview mirror, catching Archie in the back seat, small hands fidgeting with the hem of his jersey again. He's been doing that since we left the apartment—rolling the fabric between his fingers like it might unravel if he stops. It's bright red, way too big on him. He'd wanted it that way. Said the bigger one felt safer. Like armor, he told me, with the kind of serious little face only a six-year-old could pull off. But looking at him now, all I can think is how small he really looks in it.

I let out a slow breath and glance toward the field again, already feeling the weight of every other parent who looks like they've done this a hundred times before. Like they belong here. Like they belong together.

I climb out of the car, shut my door gently, and walk around to his side. He doesn't move when I open it, just looks up at me with those wide, worried eyes I know too well. The same eyes I've seen every time we try something new. I crouch down so we're level, resting my elbows on my knees.

"Alright, champ... you ready?"

His feet swing nervously over the edge of the seat. His voice is so soft I almost miss it.

"Do I have to go with them by myself?"

God, how many times have I heard that question in one form or another? First days of school, new babysitters, birthday parties where he doesn't know anyone but me. The same fear, every time. The same knot in my stomach when I have to lie just a little to make him believe this time will be different.

I reach for his hand, curling my fingers around his.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," I tell him quietly, brushing a piece of hair off his forehead. "But remember what we said? About trying? About being brave enough to see if it feels a little better once you get started?"

He bites his lip hard enough to leave a mark, glancing toward the field. I follow his gaze, taking in the kids already spread out in messy clusters, parents shouting encouragement like this is the most important thing in the world. My throat feels tight just looking at it.

"I'll be right here," I add softly. "The whole time. You can look for me whenever you want."

His chin wobbles just a little, but after a second, he nods. It's barely there, but it's enough. I press a quick kiss to his temple, breathing him in like it might settle something in me, too. That familiar scent of shampoo and syrup and him. My safe place, even when I'm the one who's supposed to be his.

I hold out my hand.

"Come on. Let's go check it out."

He slips his hand into mine without saying another word, holding on tight. Tighter than usual. We start walking toward the noise. And even though I've already promised him it's going to be okay, I'm not sure I believe it yet.

The closer we get, the more it feels like my skin's been pulled too tight. Like every step drags me further into a place I'm not convinced we belong. Archie's fingers are sweaty in mine, small and tense, and I can feel the tiny tremble in them with every squeeze. He's walking slower now, half a step behind, like if he keeps dragging his feet long enough, maybe I'll turn us around and call the whole thing off.

I want to. God, I want to. But I don't.

We stop at the edge of the field, just shy of the first line of folding chairs. I shift my weight, standing tall enough to look like I know what I'm doing, even though the truth feels like it's unraveling by the second.

Parents are everywhere—chatting over the hum of thermoses being popped open, stretching their legs out toward the grass like they've claimed this territory a dozen times before. Some of them are wearing team hoodies. Some already know each other's kids by name. You can tell by the way they laugh like it's nothing new.

I tuck Archie in a little closer to my side, scanning the field until I find the group in red jerseys forming near the far goalpost. A man's standing in front of them, clipboard tucked under one arm, whistle hanging loose from his neck. His sleeves are already shoved up to his elbows, hands gesturing casually as he calls the group to attention.

"All right, Red Rockets, let's bring it in!"

The way he says it catches me off guard—not sharp, not impatient, not the way I expected someone to rally a group of six-year-olds on a cold Saturday morning. It's... soft. Confident, but not loud. Like he already knows they'll listen without needing to shout.

I feel Archie flinch just a little beside me, his body shrinking closer to mine like the sound spooked him. I glance down, smoothing my thumb across the back of his hand.

"It's okay," I whisper, even though I have no idea if that's true.

When I look back up, the man's moving. Walking toward the group of kids gathering into a loose circle in front of him. I catch the edge of his voice again—lower this time, more focused on the ones who haven't settled yet.

Archie stiffens all over again, frozen like he's deciding whether to bolt or hide. And all I can think is please don't shut down. Not yet.

I'm already running through my backup plan in my head—how to peel him off the sidelines gently if he refuses to move, how to keep my voice from cracking when I tell him it's okay, we can try again another week—when I catch movement from the corner of my eye. He's walking toward us. Steady. Unbothered. No clipboard this time, no whistle in his hand. Just easy steps like he's done this before. Like he's not in a rush to fix anything.

Archie stiffens even more, his little body locking up next to mine like he's bracing for impact. I lean down toward his ear, lowering my voice to that quiet, steady hum I've learned works better than anything else.

"It's okay, baby. Just breathe. I'm right here."

He stops a couple of steps away, leaving space like he knows better than to crowd us. His hands are loose in his jacket pockets, his mouth tipping into the kind of smile that feels... patient. The kind that makes it look like this isn't a problem to solve—it's just a moment to walk through.

"Hey there," he says, nodding once like it's the most normal thing in the world to approach strangers this way. "First day nerves?"

I shift my weight, pulling Archie a little closer to my side.

"Yeah," I answer softly, my voice rougher than I mean for it to sound. "We just moved here. Still trying to find our place."

He nods like that makes perfect sense. Like he's heard it before.

"'S a lot, isn't it?" he murmurs, glancing toward the field again like he remembers exactly what it feels like to stand on the outside of something. "Is that your little one, then? Number five?"

I look down at Archie, who's still clinging to me, eyes wide but curious now.

"Yeah. Archer. We... we call him Archie."

Harry crouches down slowly, resting his elbows on his knees. He doesn't reach for Archie. Doesn't try to pull him out of hiding. He just lowers himself to his level and lets his voice drop even softer.

"Hiya, Archie. I'm Harry. Coach Harry, technically, but that feels a bit too serious for six-year-olds, don't you think?"

Archie doesn't answer, but his grip on my sweater loosens just a little. His eyes flick to Harry's shoes, then to his face, then back to me like he's checking if I'm still here. Harry keeps going, easy as anything.

"Y'know, we've got a job open today," he adds with a quiet grin. "Someone needs to help me set up all those cones over there before the team comes in. Think you might be able to help me with that?"

Archie shifts his weight, biting his lip, and for a second I'm sure he's going to shut down again. But then—so small I almost miss it—he nods. Just once. Harry doesn't make a big deal out of it. Doesn't whoop or cheer or make it a moment bigger than it needs to be. He just leans back on his heels, pushes to his feet, and tips his head toward the pile of cones on the grass.

"We'll just be over here," he says to me softly. "Promise I'll bring him right back."

I stay frozen where I am, arms wrapped tight around myself like I might actually fall apart if I move too fast.

Archie follows him. Slowly, yeah—but he follows. Two tiny steps at first. Then one more. He's a full body length behind, but he's moving. Moving toward something without me. My throat feels like it's closing up just watching it happen.

I hover at the edge of the chairs, not daring to sit down. My eyes flick to the other parents spread out along the sidelines, already swapping stories about school pickups and carpool schedules like this is just another weekend. Some of them aren't even watching the field. Some are already halfway through their second cup of coffee, shouting out names like they've done this a hundred times.

It's strange, standing here alone. My arms wrapped around myself like I'm bracing for something, like I'm waiting for a punch that never comes. I glance up at the sky for no reason at all, noting the gray clouds stretching low and heavy over the trees at the far end of the field. One gust of wind, and it'll probably rain.

Of course, I didn't bring an umbrella. I didn't think that far ahead. I'd been too busy worrying about Archie. About whether or not I could even get him this far.

I shift again, pressing my tongue to the back of my teeth to stop myself from calling Archie back. My fingers itch to reach for him, to pull him out of the spotlight and hide him somewhere safer. Somewhere smaller. Somewhere where he doesn't have to try so hard. But I don't. I stay planted. I watch Harry kneel beside the pile of cones, picking them up one by one and laying them out on the grass like he's got all the time in the world. He doesn't even glance back to see if Archie's still following. He just... waits.

Archie shifts his weight from foot to foot, looking back toward me like he's asking permission without saying it out loud. My chest tightens, but I nod once, small and steady, like I'm not terrified he's about to fall apart in front of everyone. And then he moves again. Steps right up to the pile and crouches awkwardly, his little fingers fumbling to grab a cone. Harry leans in a little, points to a spot on the field, and Archie starts walking toward it, arms stiff like he's afraid to drop it.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My throat stings with it. Like I've been holding that breath for longer than just today. It's small. So small. But it's more than I expected. I've seen people give up on him before. I've watched them get impatient when he freezes or takes too long to answer or hides behind me when they try to pull him out of his shell too fast. I've heard the tight, strained "it's okay, some kids just aren't social" more times than I can count. Always laced with that disappointed edge like they've already decided he's too much work.

I've seen the way they check their watches. The way they glance toward me with that half-frown, half-smile that really means "he's slowing us down." I've walked Archie back to the car more times than I can count with his head on my shoulder, whispering it's not his fault even when I know he doesn't believe me.

And every time it happens, I feel that weight in my chest. That bitter little voice in the back of my head that says see? This is why you keep your circle small. This is why you don't expect people to stay.

But Harry doesn't flinch. Doesn't push. He just lets Archie take his time, moving one cone at a time like there's nothing else to do today but wait for him to figure it out.

I glance down at the ground by my feet, kicking at the grass with the tip of my shoe like that might ground me somehow. It doesn't. All I can do is watch. All I can do is hope. I feel my heart catch in my throat because I already know I shouldn't let myself get used to that. He's just doing his job. And it's nothing. But the way it feels settling in my chest tells me I'm lying to myself already.

The rest of practice passes in a blur. I barely register what the other kids are doing. I don't hear a single word the parents around me say. I'm too locked in on Archie. On the way he stays close to Harry, watching every move like he's afraid he might miss something important.

And somehow, somehow, he stays. He doesn't run back to me. He doesn't shut down. He doesn't quit.

By the time Harry claps his hands together and calls the team in one last time, Archie's cheeks are flushed, curls sticking to his forehead, his little hands tugging on the bottom of his jersey again—but his shoulders aren't hunched the way they were when we got here. He's tired, but he's still standing.

I push off the fence and start toward the edge of the field, hugging my arms around myself again like it's going to hold me together for the next thirty seconds.

Harry crouches down to Archie's level again, says something low that makes Archie nod. Then he stands, turns toward me, and starts walking over with that same easy pace like we aren't two strangers standing on opposite sides of a life we haven't figured out yet.

"He did great," Harry says when he reaches us, nodding toward Archie like he means it. "Took a little warming up, but he stuck it out."

I swallow the knot in my throat, brushing Archie's hair off his forehead again.

"Thanks for being patient with him. I know he's... a lot sometimes."

Harry frowns a little—just for a second—like he doesn't like hearing that.

"He's not a lot," he says quietly, like it's a fact. "He's a kid. Kids move at their own pace."

And just like that, something in my chest pulls tight again. Because no one ever says it like that. Not without sounding like they're trying to convince themselves. But Harry says it like he actually believes it.

I shift my weight, blinking hard to keep my expression neutral. My mouth opens to thank him again, but nothing comes out. I chew the inside of my cheek instead, heat creeping up the back of my neck.

Before I can embarrass myself further, he clears his throat, rocking back on his heels.

"Listen, uh—would it be alright if I grabbed your number? Just in case we have to reschedule or... if Archie forgets anything?"

I freeze for a second longer than I probably should. I shouldn't. I shouldn't. That little voice in my head kicks in fast, warning me not to blur the lines. Not to give anyone even an inch closer than they need to be. But he's looking at me with that same steady patience I've watched him give to Archie all morning. Like I have a choice. Like he'll back off if I say no.

I nod. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, already unlocked to a blank contact screen. I take it carefully, fingers brushing his. His skin is warm. Calloused, like he works with his hands for real. I feel it all the way down to my wrist, like something I shouldn't notice but do anyway.

I stare at the screen longer than I need to. I could fake it. I could type a number off by one digit and let this stay exactly what it is. Professional. Detached. Easy to forget.

But my thumb moves before I can stop it. I type my real name—[Y/N]. My real number.

When I hand it back, Harry glances at the screen, then up at me again with that easy, unreadable smile.

"Perfect. Thanks [Y/N]." God help me, I don't trust myself not to read too much into it.

Archie shifts beside me, tugging lightly on the hem of my sleeve like he's working up to something. He's got that scrunched-up little look on his face—the one he gets when he's thinking too hard. His cheeks are still flushed from running around, curls sticking to his damp forehead, but his eyes are darting between me and Harry like he's trying to figure something out.

Harry tucks his phone back into his jacket pocket and gives Archie one last ruffle of his hair, starting to turn back toward the rest of the kids when Archie blurts it out—loud enough for half the field to hear.

"Mama... can Coach Harry come to dinner sometime?"

The words hit me like a slap to the chest. Quick. Sharp. Immediate. My stomach drops. My throat closes. I freeze.

Harry doesn't. He doesn't laugh. He doesn't flinch. He doesn't even blink, really. His smile doesn't falter for a second. He just crouches down to Archie's level again, his voice dropping low and soft, like it's just for him.

"Maybe one day, little man," Harry says, reaching out to tap two fingers lightly against Archie's tiny fist. "Gotta keep practicin' those kicks first, yeah? That's the deal."

Archie beams like he's just been promised Disneyland. I, on the other hand, feel like my face is on fire. My heart slams so hard I swear I can hear it in my ears. I glance around like I'm half-expecting someone to be standing there listening, but no one is. No one's paying attention to us at all.

Except me. Except Harry. Except Archie, who's already moved on like it's the most normal thing in the world to invite a complete stranger to dinner.

I clear my throat, tightening my grip on the strap of my bag.

"Alright, bud... let's grab your stuff."

Harry stands again, brushing his palms against his thighs like he's shaking off the grass. His eyes meet mine for one last second, and there's something there I can't quite name. Not teasing. Not pity. Just... something steady. Something that feels like he already knows I'm going to overthink this all night.

"See you next week?" I ask before I can stop myself, my voice tighter than I mean for it to be.

Harry nods, rocking back on his heels again.

"Wouldn't miss it."

And just like that, he's gone—turning back toward the pile of equipment like the last five minutes didn't knock the air clean out of my lungs.

Archie talks the whole walk back to the car. Little bursts of excitement tumbling over each other—how he kicked the ball once, how Coach Harry let him carry the cones, how next week he's going to run even faster. He's out of breath before we even make it across the parking lot, his tiny hand swinging in mine like all the fear from earlier never happened.

I keep nodding, making all the right noises, but it feels like my head is full of static. Like I can't get my feet back under me, no matter how many steps I take.

I get him buckled into his booster seat, double-check the straps even though I know they're fine. I lean in, pressing a kiss to his temple like I always do, breathing him in for just a second longer than necessary. He giggles, pushing at my face with one small hand.

"Mamaaa," he laughs, like I'm embarrassing him. Like it's funny. Like his heart isn't still tangled up in my hands the way mine is in his.

I shut the door quietly and lean back against the car, staring out at the emptying parking lot. Most of the families are gone already. The folding chairs are packed up, the chatter's faded, and the breeze is colder now than it was an hour ago. I wrap my arms around myself, digging my nails into my sleeves like that might stop the way my chest feels like it's caving in.

I don't know what I expected today to be. But it wasn't this. It wasn't the way Archie actually stayed. The way he looked—pink-cheeked and almost proud—for the first time in God knows how long. And it sure as hell wasn't the way Harry spoke to him. Or to me. Like we weren't some charity case. Like he wasn't performing patience for points. Like he actually... saw us. Both of us.

I shove my hand into my pocket, pulling out my phone before I can stop myself. My thumb hovers over the screen for half a breath too long before I swipe it open and scroll to my contacts.

Harry.

I lock the screen again and stuff it deep into my jacket like I can hide from it if I don't look too long.

"Okay," I whisper to myself, pushing off the car and moving toward the driver's side.

I'm already overthinking it.

***

@cloudyluun @gem1712 @dipmeinhoneyh @idk1990 @harrrrystylesslut @sparxx27 @likea-silhouette @fangirl509east @starryhaze-crystal @mads3502 @run-for-the-hills @twinklaei @belgianblondee @pbandnutella @maudie-duan @cat-loves-music @harrysgirl2003 @harrystyleshotwife @secretands-blog @dutchtheatrelore @angeldavis777 @idkidcfuboh @maddiesalvatore1839

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blueberrybirdsworld · 3 months ago

Text

The Cat Distribution System 5/5

Summary:

When a stray kitten adopts Lando Norris, the self-proclaimed cat hater accidentally starts a soft-launch spiral with his secret girlfriend the ballerina Ariana Riverria.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, SMAU

Warning : none, just yeah the kitten will be different in some pictures

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

CHAPTER FIVE :

@landonorris

"She likes ballet and cats, I like girls with pink bows. Seems fair for me to fall in love of you 🤍🎀"

@oscarpiastri: okay FINE you guys are cute or whatever 🙄

@maxfewtrell: glad i don’t have to keep dodging questions anymore

@maxverstappen1: does this mean we can all talk about it now? asking for a friend

@charles_leclerc: finally. no more pretending i don’t recognize your cats 😂

@carlossainz55:

happy for you, mate. and for the cat. looks like he's running the house 🐱

@pietra: i literally screamed

@pierregasly: really glad you two are out in the open now

@arianariverria: glad you came around, glad you waited, I love you to mon coeur 🧡

@catdadconfirmed: for real they are the cutest

@f1slowburn: wait… “glad you waited”? what do you MEAN. was this enemies to lovers?? did he mess it up at first?? i need context

@ballerinaxboosted: ok now i need to know what happened before this. why did he have to wait?? WHO LEFT WHO??

@gridoftenderness: oh this is some “wrong time, right person” energy and i am SOBBING

@softlaunched: “glad you came around ” is gonna haunt me for weeks. they better give us the how we met story soon or i’m writing it myself.

@arianariverria

"And he said he hated cats 🐾"

@pietra: this might be my favorite post, you are perfect for each other ❤️

@alexandrastmleux: the perfect balance of grace and humor. you two make sense in a way that feels effortless 🫶🏻✨

@kikagomes: everything about this is so soft and real. happy for you both 🤍

@pierregasly: very glad you’ve tamed him. no one else could’ve

@maxverstappen1: finally. took you both long enough

@oscarpiastri: i was going to say something sarcastic but honestly this is sweet as hell. glad you posted it

@landonorris: well I like cats now but I love you even more 🧡

@chaoticpirouette: he’s SO GONEEEE 😭

@f1girlsunite: she pulled the man who got beat up by a kitten and turned him into boyfriend material. ICON.

@slowburnf1: "he said he hated cats" girl this is enemies-to-lovers pet edition

@balletxf1squad: i don’t think you guys understand the power of “i love you even more” from a man who used to flinch at commitment and cats 😭

@landoandariaupdates: this is the first time we’ve seen him say that out loud. publicly. fully. not a joke. not a tease. i’m emotional

@mcLarenhearts: this is what happens when you fall for someone who feels like home 🧡

📱@f1sleuths

THREAD : Lando & Ariana — how long has this actually been going on? Because “glad you waited” says a LOT.

1. okay soooo after Lando posted and Ariana replied with that, I went digging. I’m not saying I cracked their relationship timeline but I cracked their relationship timeline.

2. Remember when Ariana randomly gained like 15K followers in December? Now scroll back to Lando’s Brazil trip during winter break, 11 months ago. Guess who was also tagged in background stories ? 👀

3. Also, Pietra and Max started commenting and liking Ariana’s posts exactly 11 months ago. Kika and Alexandra followed her a week later. All the girlfriends followed her right after the Brazil trip that wre organised with some drivers and their girlfriends, where Ariana must have been too.

4. But the wildest part?

There’s an old pic floating around of Lando spotted leaving the Royal Opera House in London last December. It was Nutcracker season. Ariana danced the lead that month.

5. Which means — they’ve possibly been seeing each other before Brazil and then goes on couple holiday together with the group were she met the other drivers and girlfriends

6. But then around day 7 of the trip... Lando disappears from all group pics. No more candid tags.

Other couples still doing beach days, dinners, pool shots. Lando? Gone. And Ariana’s not in the rest of the trip either 👀

7. Which begs the question: what happened? Because right after that: Lando posts a cryptic IG story: "Sometimes space is the kindest thing you can give someone.”

Ariana goes totally radio silent. No ballet pics. No stories. No updates. No public sightings for weeks.

8. So maybe there was a shift. A fight? A misstep? Maybe she got overwhelmed. Maybe he messed something up. Maybe they both did.

But the point is — they separated, then go back together after he waited for her.

@gridromantics: this went from soft launch to literary drama. the slow burn. the waiting. i’m crying.

@f1archivegirl: so it was Nutcracker > Brazil trip with the crew > soft separation> reconciliation > the kitten > hard launch? that’s the arc???

@charliespurrlog: and don’t forget—Lando’s entire vibe changed 11 months ago. man started journaling, reading, wearing calm colors. the girlfriend effect is real.

@danielricciardoteapage: also… HE STARTED LIKING BALLET CONTENT. ON HIS PUBLIC ACCOUNT. WE HAVE SCREENSHOTS.

📱@balletxf1archive

THREAD: so can we talk about how the Brazil photos that just resurfaced basically confirm Ariana and Lando were already a full-on couple 11 months ago??? not “talking,” not “flirting”—a whole relationship.

@catdadconfirmed: they were already gone for each other. we were the ones late to the party 🥲

@mcLarenmutuals: it’s wild how Lando looks exactly like a man in love in all these pics and we STILL missed it for 11 months

@slowburnsofties: "not flirting, not a situationship — a relationship" YUP. and she meant every word when she said "glad you waited"

@gridromantics: people talk about the girlfriend effect like it’s about aesthetics but honestly? he just looked happier in Brazil

@heartonsleeveera: I know they’ve never posted an anniversary date but if they don’t celebrate it in December I’ll riot

The glow from Ariana’s phone screen was the only light in their quiet Monaco apartment. She was curled up on the couch in one of Lando’s hoodies, legs tucked under her, Charlie asleep at her feet. Lando walked out from the kitchen with two mugs of tea, pausing when he noticed the look on her face — soft, distant, maybe a little sad.

He placed the mug next to her. “You okay?”

She blinked, glanced up at him, then tilted the phone so he could see.

“Someone made another thread,” she said quietly. “About us. Brazil. The pictures.”

Lando settled beside her, his arm brushing against hers as he read over the thread. Blurry beach photos. Grainy candid shots. Theories. Timelines. A caption that said:

“They weren’t flirting. They were already each other’s.”

And then:

“Imagine loving someone that much, losing them, and still choosing them again.”

He exhaled slowly. “They’re not wrong.”

Ariana didn’t say anything for a long moment. She set her phone face-down and picked at the sleeve of the hoodie she wore. Her voice came quieter than usual.

“We almost didn’t make it.”

He looked at her, heart tightening at the truth in her words — not as regret, but remembrance. Because they had come so close to walking away.

“I know,” he said softly. “And it was my fault. I was stupid. Too proud. Too used to running when things felt hard.”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t just you. I shut down. I pushed you away.”

“You had a reason to,” he said. “I should’ve shown up for you better. But I meant it, Ari — I would’ve done anything to get you back”

That made her let out a soft laugh through her nose, but there were tears in her eyes now — not the heavy kind, just the full kind. Full of everything that had been held back, then let go.

“I hoped you would,” she admitted. Her voice cracked a little. “I hoped you’d fight for me. I told myself I’d be fine either way, but I wasn’t. Not really.”

Lando leaned in, pressing his forehead gently to hers.

“I would’ve followed you to every ballet in Europe if you hadn’t picked up my calls,” he whispered. “I would’ve sat front row until you looked at me again.”

Her breath hitched — part laugh, part sob. She reached up and touched his cheek.

“You’re such a softie now,” she whispered.

He smiled. “You made me soft. And really good at apologizing.”

She kissed him, slow and quiet, like she was still processing the weight of all they’d made it through. When they pulled apart, Lando nudged her nose with his.

“We messed up,” he said, “but we didn’t give up.”

She nodded, resting her head against his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her, fingers lacing with hers. Charlie stirred at their feet, mewed softly, then promptly rolled over and continued sleeping.

Ariana looked down at him, then back at Lando.

“You, me, and the catS,” she said with a small smile. “We turned out okay.”

He kissed the top of her head. “We turned out better than okay.”

@landonorris "Pics from our first date. The moment I knew I was falling for you. Happy 1 year, my love 🤍"

@arianariverria: How was I supposed to not fall for the boy who brought me flowers on first date? I love you too 🤍

@oscarpiastri: Okay but this is actually disgustingly sweet, I’m happy for you or whatever 🫠

@maxfewtrell: He went from cat-hater to flower-bringer in 12 months. love really is a personality shift.

@carlossainz55: One year already? Bro… you’re soft now. I like it.

@pietragoncalves: AND THE BOY KEPT SHOWING UP. proud of you two 💛

@landoinlove: who gave him the right to be this soft???? literally a flower boy now 😭

@gridgossipgirl: “the moment I knew I was falling for you”??? yeah I’m crying in the club

@charliesfavhuman: Lando: I hate cats and romance

Also Lando: posts anniversary love letter with a bouquet in frame 🧡

@carbonfiberhearts: oh so we were watching a love story and didn’t know it yet. I feel betrayed and blessed at the same time.

@balletbunfiles: he took her to see Monet on the first date??? meanwhile I’m dating men who think “romantic” is sharing their fries

@F1wagsupreme: this post just proved Ariana wasn’t a rebound or a crush. this man planned a real date with flowers and art 😭

@mclarencore: it’s giving ‘boyfriend of the year’ and I’m not even mad

@w14tears: Happy for them but also deeply unwell

@gridgirlfriendenergy: I love how everyone thought they were just flirty when this man was fully in love on date one

That morning, tucked away from the buzz of the internet, things were quieter. Softer.

Lando stood in the kitchen barefoot, while Ariana leaned against the counter next to him, half-asleep, nursing a mug of tea and wearing his hoodie that swallowed her whole.

Charlie and Aria had claimed the sunny patch of rug by the window, curled into one another like they always did.

Lando looked at Ariana, smirking as he flipped a pancake. "Rate my domestic skills. Be honest."

She blinked up at him, unimpressed. "They’re pancakes. You mixed stuff and didn’t burn them."

He feigned offense. "These are artisan. You’re eating Michelin-starred flour and vibes."

"You’re lucky you’re cute," she muttered, stealing a slice of fruit from the counter.

He grinned, pulling her closer by the hip. "You like me because I adopted a kitten."

"No," she said, teasing, "I like you because the kitten adopted you. Big difference."

They both laughed.

The kettle whistled. The cats yawned. And for a moment, the world felt simple.

"Hey," he murmured, tapping her chin so she’d meet his gaze. "Thanks for being patient. For the waiting. For everything."

She smiled, leaning into his chest. "You’re worth it. Even if Charlie is still my favorite."

He kissed her hair. "I know my place."

Ariana tilted her head up, fingers curling into the collar of his shirt. "Still, I guess I could remind you who ranks second."

Lando grinned and leaned in, his lips brushing over hers. It started soft, playful. But soon her mug was set aside on the counter, and he had her perched on the edge, hands gripping his hoodie like it anchored her.

"This is unfair," she mumbled between kisses. "You’re distracting."

"So are you," he murmured, trailing his mouth along her jaw. "Wearing my hoodie like that."

She was halfway into tugging him closer when—

Mew.

They froze.

Mew.

They turned their heads slowly to the left.

Charlie sat by the rug, head tilted, big round eyes fixed on them like he’d caught his parents sneaking candy before dinner.

Lando groaned. "Oh my god. He’s judging us."

Ariana burst into laughter, covering her face. "You said he was clingy, but I didn’t think he was Catholic-school-principal levels of judgy."

Lando carefully scooped her into his arms. "Alright. To the bedroom. My son must never witness this."

She giggled against his chest. "You’re ridiculous."

"I'm respectful," he said, already heading down the hall. "Let the child nap in peace. We’ve earned this."

Charlie let out one last dramatic mew.

Ariana shouted over Lando’s shoulder to the cat, "You’ll understand when you’re older!"

The end

Thank you so much for everyone who have been following this serie Maybe I will post some bonus parts to this if I get inspo, I think it could be interesting to have a prequel story of their meeting and what happened between them in Brazil, let me know if you will like to read it and to give me your review on this story !

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07

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hamilando · 1 year ago

Text

ੈ✩ i did not need to know that (smau) ੈ✩

pairing : charles leclerc x norris! fem reader

summary : With all the extra information being spilled, noriss’s sister spills something way important !

tw : a lot of sexual innuendos , cursing, chaotic af

fc: megan roche *she is so pretty-*

a/n : thank you so much to @xshazxx for suggesting this ! lysm 🫶🏻

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

liked by norissfr, lordperceval, lilihye, albono, maximilian and 76 others

norizzfr y’all my brother was not paying attention to Zak 🫷🏻

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mclaren Lando Noriss, kindly report to the office 🙌🏻

norissfr such a lovely sister 😒

norizzfr any day my loving brother 🧡

oscarpastry does the official McLaren account follow your private !?

norizzfr cuz the admin loves me 💪🏻

mclaren 🙌🏻🧡

norissfr admin… stay away from her

mclaren 🙌🏻🧡

jrchilli he never listened to me as well ☹️

norissfr oh shut up you no fish !

lordperceval damn, is it only my eyes but you look ugly

norizzfr if you care for you balls, you better keep that thing of yours shut

fernandoalonso yes Charles, don’t be rude

norizzfr 🤍🩵

lordperceval but i speak genuine facts 🫶🏻

norissfr dw charles, she can’t see that’s why she wears those huge ass balls on her face

norizzfr at least i am getting some balls -

norissfr i would rather have some 🐱 instead of 🐔

norizzfr EW BROTHER

albono i did not need to see that -

maximilian stop acting as if he is not sucking your balls everyday !

lordperceval can everyone stop exposing the dirty little secrets ?

hamsandwich charles, do you want me to start ?

mercedesgeorge lewis, remember the gold old times of us two in a tub?

carmenvroom sleep in the tub tonight then ! ❤️

norizzfr WHY THE HELL IS EVERYONE’S SEX LIFE BEING TALKED ABOUT IN MY COMMENTS !?

lilyhye i feel bad for you luv 🫶🏻

norizzfr thank you bubs 😤

liked by norissfr, lordperceval, lilihye, albono, maximilian and 56 others

norizzfr my personal papprazzi @ norissfr

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norizzfr i am an elder brother, ofc i was blackmailed to click these 😌

norissfr i am a younger sister, ofc i will expose all your broken vases to mum 🤩

fernandoalonso My child, you should not be posting these on the internet with every other person seeing !

maximilian its her private account 😐

mercedesgeorge you commenting from your main makes me nervous as well

fernandoalonso i cant handle this one, you expect me to have another !?

lilihye no lube, no protection, all night , all day, from the kitchen to the bathroom -

albono babe, why are you telling are sex life again ?

lilihye WHAT !?

carmenvroom WHt!? alex it was a joke

norizzfr i definitly did not need to know my best freinds sex life but WHY THE HELL ARE YOU NOT USING PROTECTION

albono SHE ASKED FOR IT

hamsandwich please be safe kids 🙏

jrchilli where did you pop out of ?

hamsandwich my mom

lilihye ALEX SHUT UP

albono YOU ONLY TOLD ME STOP BEING QUITE “ LET ME HEAR YOU ALEX !”

norizzfr my comments always become someones sex life discussion

lordperceval wanna tell them about ours ?

norissfr EXCUSE ME WHAT !? Y/N !?

norizzfr i hate him more than toto could hate ferrari

mercedesgeorge true that 💪🏻

maximilian you look pretty y/n!

norissfr the only normal comment 😩 thank you so much max 🫶🏻

liked by lilyhye, albono, norissfr, lord perceval and 64 others

norizzfr so yes, i do golf 💪🏻⛳️

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norissfr i was third wheeling the whole day !

albono us brother us 🙌🏻

norizzfr yall just jealous that lily loves me

lilihye I LOVE YOU 🫶🏻❤️

norizzfr I LOVE YOU TOO 🫶🏻❤️

maximilian suprised that hey found a stick shorter than lando 🧐

norissfr watch out for your next crash 😗

oscarpastry zak would not orefer that ☺️

mclaren Lando noriss in my office please - Zak

norissfr fuck, i forgot they follow her private, ADMIN UNFOLLOW HER

mclaren 🫶🏻🧡

lordperceval the first slide is making me see things 🙂‍↕️

norizzfr shut up before you see your own ass

lordperceval you have seen it though -

mercedesgeorge i think i am missing something -

jrchilli we missed a whole chapter -

hamsandwich kids these days 😌

norizzfr Sir Hamilton, you talk as if you dont have girls in your hotel room 🫶🏻

liked by lordperceval, norissfr, maximilian, lilyhye and 82 others

norizzfr in my polaroid era 📷

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albono I-

mercedesgeorge did she mean to -

norissfr Y/N NORISS WHAT THE HELL !?

norizzfr why are you screaming for no reason ?

lilihye hun, who clicked the first two pictures ?

norizzfr my friend …

lilihye the friend is visible in the third slide 🙂

norizzfr fuck…

norizzfr CHARLES BABE I AM SORRY

lilihye HIS FACE WAS NOT VISIBLE !

albono she just exposed the guy herself 🪽

norizzfr oh. so i just exposed it myself ….

norissfr Yes ma'am , CARE TO EXPLAIN !? I THOUGH IT WAS A GUY AND WAS OK WITH YOU DATING ! BUT WITH FUCKING CHARLES !? CHSRLES LECLERC?

lordperceval they could not see my face bubs ❤️

norizzfr well atleast i would now not have to pretend to hate you 🫶🏻

lordperceval the prettiest love ❤️

norissfr can you both not ?

hamsandwich ew.

maximillian ew.

mercedesgeorge ew.

albono they were better hating each other

lordoerceval I LOVE YOU Y/N

norizzfr I LOVE ME TOO CHARLES

lordoerceval HEY! we agreed to stop hating

norizzfr I LOVE YOU TOO CHARLES 💌

2K notes · View notes

norrisainz33 · 5 months ago

Text

set up || ls18

☆ summary: esteban sets his good friend lance up on a blind date after a tough season

☆ pairing: lance stroll x nonfamous!reader

☆ fc & warnings: none

☆ requested: yes! thank you sm for your request 🫶🏻

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

lance_stroll has made a post

liked by estebanocon, flavy.barla, astonmartinf1, ynuser, hugoboss, pierregasly and 654,234 others

lance_stroll: season finale on film 🎞️ hopefully next season holds more success for the team

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user1: we love you lancey

estebanocon: you’ll come back stronger next season💪🏻 [liked by lance_stroll]

user2: aesthetic fr

chloestroll: love you brother 🤍 [liked by lance_stroll]

user3: nowhere to go but up!!

flavy.barla: 💚 [liked by lance_stroll]

user5: hope you get some well deserved rest

astonmartinf1: we keep pushing! enjoy your break lance 🫶🏻 [liked by lance_stroll]

estebanocon has posted to his story

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yourbff: they’re so cute

estebanocon: and a mess but love them nonetheless 🤍

user1: obsessed with eo31 bf content

ynuser: heheh you can’t but you still do anyway. merci mon ami 🫶🏻

estebanocon: you are always welcome y/n/n

user2: is that the [insert uni] volleyball player y/n y/l/n? no way yall know her she went to my uni im?????

lance_stroll: who is flavy’s friend?

estebanocon: y/n! she’s flavy’s childhood best friend. why do you ask 👀🤭

lance_stroll: ah just curious.. she’s real pretty

estebanocon: oh curious are we?? im telling flavy

lance_stroll: no no that’s ok esteban i didn’t mean like that

estebanocon: too late!

user3: obsessed with their style tf

flavy.barla: my girl ❤️

estebanocon: guess who’s interested in your girl

flavy.barla: omg who

estebanocon: lance

flavy.barla: we’re setting them up whether they like it or not. i’ve seen the scripts - they’re perfect for each other

ynuser has posted to their story

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yourbff: OMG how did it go

ynuser: amazing actually… hate to admit it but they were right

yourbff: ahhhhhhh yayyy!!!!

yourteammate: begging to know WHO they set you up with

ynuser: would you believe me if i said it was an f1 driver?

yourteammate: no way?! which one!!!!!!!

ynuser: lance stroll 🤭

yourteammate: omg you’re winning he’s so handsome

flavy.barla: you love us 😘

ynuser: i do and you were right. he’s so sweet im actually obsessed

flavy.barla: music to my ears. we’re going on a double date tomorrow 🤍

ynuser: wait what?

flavy.barla: shhh don’t question it. lance has had a tough couple of months and esteban and i think you two are good for each other!! just roll with it 😘

ynuser: fine fine fine

lance_stroll: i had a great time with you tonight

ynuser: likewise! thank you for dinner

lance_stroll: no thanks needed! i’m really looking forward to seeing you tomorrow

ynuser: i’m looking forward to seeing you too 🥹

lance_stroll has posted to his story

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user4: oh so you’re on a date and it’s not with me….

chloestroll: ARE YOU OUT WITH THE GIRL YOU TOLD ME ABOUT

lance_stroll: yes!

chloestroll: jumping for joy!! can’t wait to meet her 🤍

lance_stroll: you’re going to love her chlo

astonmartinf1: enjoy lance💚

user5: this is unexpected…. a soft launch?

estebanocon: remember when you told me a blind date was a stupid idea and now you’ve seen her more in these past 2 weeks than i have and she’s literally staying at my house ????

lance_stroll: haha yes i do remember saying that and yes i do remember when you told me that you told me so

estebanocon: ok! i just had to make sure you didn’t forget

user8: crashing out that should be me

ynuser: oh these are cute 🤭

lance_stroll: i thought so too 😉

user6: MONTOYA POR FAVOR

ynuser has made a post 🔒

liked by yourbff, yourteammate, chloestroll, estebanocon, flavy.barla, lance_stroll and 214 others

ynuser: spent some time gallivanting around europe with 2 of my favorite people and a new friend. now onto my first season of professional volleyball with the las vegas thrill. see you all again on match day - it’s time to lock in 🫶🏻

view all comments

yourbff: cant wait to see your beautiful self back out there 🏐

ynuser: 🫶🏻😘🏐

flavy.barla: i miss you already

ynuser: i don’t think i’ve ever missed someone more

lance_stroll: good luck! can’t wait to see you again

ynuser: thank you lancey 🤭🤍

yourbff: this is certainly something 👀

yourteammate: clocking this 📝

yourteammate: yesssss my baby girl is coming home to me let’s gooo

ynuser: yes my love

estebanocon: you are always welcome at maison de ocon

ynuser: merci for being the best chauffeur and airbnb owner ever

vegasthrill: our girl 🤍

ynuser: 🤍🏐

lance_stroll has made a post

liked by astonmartinf1, yourbff, chloestroll, fernandoalo_official, ynuser, georgerussell63, and 352,935 others

lance_stroll: i think i might like vegas

[tagged: chloestroll, ynuser]

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user3: smiley lance im crying

chloestroll: you were right i do love her

lance_stroll: knew you would

ynuser: STOP I LOVE YOU CHLOE

chloestroll: run away with me ynuser

scottyjames31: hey hey hey let’s not do that

user8: he deserves this happiness fr

f1gossip: this was not on my bingo card i’ll be honest

ynuser: i like you in vegas that’s for sure

lance_stroll: well thank goodness because you’re going to be seeing a lot of me

estebanocon: disgustingly cute

lance_stroll: thanks man

vegasthrill: thanks for joining us! you are always welcome 🏐 [liked by lance_stroll]

user12: lance smiling and a hard launch before gta6

ynuser has made a post 🔒

liked by lance_stroll, yourteammate, vegasthrill, yourbff, flavy.barla, and 321 others

ynuser: with love from me and mine 🤍

p.s everyone say thank you eo and fb for this match made in heaven

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chloestroll: thank you esteban and flavy for bringing this ray of sunshine into my brothers life

scottyjames31: thank you esteban and flavy and y/n for making our lance so happy

flavy.barla: it’s the least we could do for our dear friends 🤍

ynuser: crying real tears rn

lance_stroll: 💚💚💚

estebanocon: two of my favorite people

ynuser: i screenshotted this for the next time you complain about me

estebanocon: of course you did

lance_stroll: look at my beautiful girl 😍

ynuser: i’m too busy looking at my handsome man 😍

lance_stroll: god i love you

ynuser: and i love you 🤍

yourbff: im throwing up. this is so cute its made me sick

ynuser: valid tbh

flavy.barla: remember lance_stroll she was mine first

lance_stroll: noted 🫡

yourteammate: dare i say you two are THE it couple

ynuser: babbyyyy 😭😭😭

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!! likes, feedback and reblogs appreciated. getting a lance request made me so happy

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

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tranquilreign · 2 months ago

Note

hi can i request a female reader x jk angst? the plot is jk's wife passed away like a year~2 years ago but he never moved on bcs he loves her so much maybe she's his first love?? but he's a well-known ceo so his family cant afford public seeing jk weak or it will affect their business, so they arranged his marriage with reader, a daughter of their business partner. jk always ignore her in their marriage but she never stops trying, but at one point jk did something that hurts her so she ran away and plan to divorce.. thats when jk realise how bad he's been treating her.. sorry for being too specific, u can change anything as u like 😭🙏🏻 i'm hoping for a happy ending but after jk has suffered LMAO anyways thank u so much in advance if u could write this request 🥹🫶🏻

without you | requested oneshot

🗒 details

pairing; jungkook/reader genre: angst, fluff, arranged marriage au! ceo au! warnings: loss, swearing, slight neglect, arranged marriage word count: 4.2k

🖋 synopsis

without (pre.) wuh·thowt in the absence of

when jungkook's image begins to crumble due to the loss of his wife, his family force him into an arranged marriage to keep their strong influence.

🖇links

jungkook masterlist main masterlist request | request rules prompt list

Jeon Jungkook. CEO of Golden Closet Corporations. A powerful, wealthy man. But broken. The news of his wife's death spread like wildfire when it was confirmed. He couldn't escape the images of his wife's face. She was everywhere he looked.

Being who he was, Jungkook couldn't properly grieve. Maintaining the perfect, pristine image as CEO. Though months passed by, Jungkook stayed the same. Stoic, unhappy. His employees had noticed the cracks first.

The way he would stay in his office for hours, claiming he was working, when in fact he was weeks behind. Lashing out at employees and even trashing his own office at one point.

Rumours quickly spread throughout the building, then into the press about Jungkook's behaviour. Contracts were cut, and new connections were declined due to Jungkooks state.

Eventually, his family had to get involved, turning up unannounced one evening at his home. Jungkook reluctantly let them in, letting them walk into the living room to sit down.

The house wasn't as clean as it used to be. Dirty dishes sat piled in the sink with the dishwasher open, showing clean dishes that hadn't been put away. The lights and table surfaces were dusty, something which Jungkook typically hated. It made his parents cringe at his lack of hygiene.

"Son," Jungkook's father began, leaning forward on the couch, elbows resting on his knees.

His eyes were stern, disapproving of his son's behaviour. Jungkook would usually shrink at his father's gaze, but he was numb. No amount of dissatisfaction he felt from his father fazed him. His own disappointment in himself clouded that.

"Kookie," his mother spoke faintly, moving to place her hand on his knee.

He looked at her, his eyes filled with nothing. Empty. She squeezed his knee reassuringly, but the look in her eyes told a different story. She was looking at him apologetically, which confused Jungkook. His eyes moved back to his father.

"Your past actions are having a severe impact on the company. On us," Jungkook's father explained.

Jungkook scoffed.

"Is that what you are here to talk to me about? My reputation. Your reputation," Jungkook snapped. "In case you've forgotten, my wife-" he paused, feeling the lump in his throat.

"Yes, we know. Your wife died... a year and a half ago," his father brushed off.

"What your father means to say-" his mother responded quickly. "Is that we know you are going through a difficult time, but lashing out at your employees isn't helping you."

Jungkook huffed, leaning back in his seat, looking out the window, staring at the city skyline. He remembered how he would sit with his wife, watching the sunset together as he held her close. He would whisper sweet nothings into her ear, embracing her in a long, loving kiss, as the sun sank behind the skyscrapers.

"You're getting married."

Jungkook's head shot round, now glaring at his father. How could he be expected to remarry when he hadn't even been given the chance to properly grieve his wife?

"No."

The two men stared at one another, silently challenging each other. Their gazes were intense, the atmosphere making Jungkook's mother shift in her seat uncomfortably. Jungkook's jaw clenched at his father, who wasn't backing down.

"If you don't remarry-" his father paused, "we'll take everything away from you. Your position, your home. We'll take every memory you have with your wife out of this house away from you."

Jungkook's eyes softened. He had built a life with the woman he loved in this home. It was their dream house, exactly how they wanted it. He couldn't give it up, letting go of all those memories. He would never see her again in his dreams, the only time he felt truly at peace.

"That's what I thought," his father spoke, tone low. Jungkook's head hung, staring at the floor.

His mother made a move to comfort him, but was stopped by her husband. They stood, making a move to leave the house.

"Will you at least tell me whom I am to marry?" Jungkook asked, looking up at his parents.

His father turned around, his grip on his wife's hand loosened, letting it drop to her side. She looked at her son with sorrowful eyes, wishing nothing more than to see her son happy again.

"Her name is Y/n L/n. She is the daughter of a rival company, but through this marriage, we will unite under one name."

His father walked out of the apartment, leaving Jungkook's mother as she looked at her helpless son.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," she soothed. "I know this isn't what you wanted, or what you'd ever want. But please, at least try."

Jungkook's eyes stung from the tears that rolled down his cheeks. His mother's heart broke at the sight, wanting nothing more than to embrace her son and reassure him that everything would be okay.

With one final goodbye, she left, leaving him completely and utterly alone.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Jungkook stood silently at the altar, the crowd muttering amongst themselves as they waited for the ceremony to start. The CEO unknowingly fiddled with his watch, feeling exposed. His father had made sure to make this a large, extravagant wedding, which was against Jungkook's wishes.

"It's to make a statement, Jungkook. Showing the world that we've made peace with our rivals."

At that moment, the crowd quietened down as the music picked up. Jungkook looked at the double doors at the back of the room. His mind wandered back to the day when his wife walked through similar doors, her face hidden by her veil. But he knew she would be beautiful. She always was.

He smiled slightly, expecting his wife to be behind the doors. Knowing it was too good to be true, his smile faltered back into his stoic expression. The doors opened, revealing a woman.

In her hands, she held a stunning arrangement of white tulips and roses, elegantly spaced among each other. Her dress was beautiful, featuring off-the-shoulder sleeves that showcased her radiant skin. It struck the perfect balance between lace and silk. Small rhinestones adorned the dress, creating an ombre effect that cascaded from the bodice to the floor.

Her face was not hidden behind a veil; instead, her hair was styled delicately, with a few curled strands falling down the sides and framing her face. Her chest rose and fell quickly, clearly indicating her nervousness.

Jungkook locked eyes with you, noting your innocence. But you still smiled at him, appreciating his presence. Jungkook hesitantly held out his hand to you when you reached the altar, which you gladly took.

Gracefully, you lifted your dress, making sure not to tread on the expensive fabrics as you ascended the stairs. You stood in front of Jungkook now, looking between him and the priest to your left.

Jungkook stood, imagining it was his deceased wife in front of him, hoping there was some escape in this nightmare.

"Mr. Jeon?" the priest asked.

The man looked at the priest, then at you. You were looking around, biting your lip nervously.

"Do you take Y/n to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Jungkook hesitated for a moment, the tension in the room growing thicker as the silence continued. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

"Yes. I do," he replied dryly.

You let out the breath you didn't realise you had been holding. You had responded immediately to the priest's question, smiling reassuringly at Jungkook.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Jungkook didn't hesitate, wanting this to be over with. He pulled you in by the waist and kissed you. It was short, with no passion lingering in his touch. He pulled away, both of you turning to the guests who clapped excitedly for you.

You tried to slide your hand into his, but he retracted. He had eventually moved it into yours as he escorted you out of the hall and into the street, which was bustling with reporters and paparazzi.

All questions were ignored as he guided you to the limousine, opening the door and indicating for you to get in. You compiled, the flashing of the cameras beginning to bother your eyes. Jungkook moved around to the other side, quickly getting in. The vehicle sped off, leaving the reporters and guests behind.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

The after party was uneventful, parents and friends giving speeches, dancing and drinking. You and Jungkook hadn't had anything to drink, growing uncomfortable in the growing silence between the two of you.

When you had made it back to his place, Jungkook tugged his tie off and threw his jacket onto the couch. He sighed, his head falling back, the realisation finally sinking in. You had been arranged to live with him.

"Take the bed, I'll sleep on the couch," he muttered.

Jungkook didn't want to disrespect the loving nights he shared with his past wife. It was their bed, and he wouldn't ruin those memories by having another woman beside him.

"Are you sure? I can take the couch instead," you suggested.

You were well aware of Jungkook's loss. Having seen the rumours in the news about his behaviour and coldness. You knew he would never love you and that there would be no way you could replace his previous wife. But you wanted to try and make things as easy for him as possible.

"No. What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you sleep on the couch?"

You hummed in response, bowing a quick thank you to him, then disappeared into the bathroom. Your belongings had been moved in the previous day, while you and Jungkook's families were sorting the final few details of the wedding.

You gently took off your makeup and did your regular skin-care routine. Sliding your dress off your body, you changed into pyjamas and draped your wedding dress over your left arm.

Leaving the bathroom, you took notice of Jungkook, who was still in his suit, shoes now kicked off, lying down on the couch, watching as the sun set. You slowly approached him, sitting down on the chair to his left and looked out at the city.

"I'm sorry," you spoke softly.

Jungkook didn't look at you, making no movement or sound to indicate that he acknowledged your words. You continued nonetheless.

"I know this isn't what you wanted. And I am deeply sorry for the loss of your wife."

Jungkook stiffened at your words. No one had given him an ounce of sympathy since she had passed. It felt strange, unnatural, now receiving that comfort.

"I also know I will never be her. And I won't try to be her either," you paused. "But please know, I will do my best to make your life comfortable and happy."

For the first time since the ceremony, he looked at you. He said nothing, eyes almost empty. You caught a slight sliver of appreciation for your words. He then moved, lying on his back and closing his eyes. You took that as your cue to leave.

"Good night," you whispered, standing up and making your way over to the bedroom.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

A few months had passed since you had been wed. Not much had changed; Jungkook was still quiet and barely acknowledged your presence. But he showed his appreciation for you being there for him in small ways.

Whether it was bringing home take-out for both of you when you'd had a long day. Or when he would silently run a bath for you when he had noticed you rubbing your shoulders in discomfort.

The awkwardness had eased between you, but sometimes it was still there. You never knew what exactly to say to him. He wore the same stoic expression, never once smiling or becoming angry.

You had awoken early one morning, yawning and climbing out of bed, and groggily walking into the kitchen. You glanced at the clock ticking away quietly on the tiled wall. 5:00 am.

Jungkook slept peacefully on the couch, still refusing to share a room with you. Yet you had often caught him in your supposed shared bedroom. He would gently graze the bedsheets with his fingertips, memories of his passed wife easing into his mind. It was the only time you'd truly see him at peace.

Jungkook inhaled the sweet scent of bacon, the aroma waking him up from his slumber. He groaned slightly, sitting up on the couch and looking around the room. Turning in his seat, he looked at you, his eyes still foggy.

"Good morning," you mused, giving him a gentle smile.

"Mina?"

Your smile faltered, turning back around to flip the bacon in the pan. Jungkook stood up, rubbing his eyes. Realisation came to him when he finally saw it was you in the kitchen, not the woman he loved so dearly. He cursed under his breath.

"Sorry."

"It's fine," you mumbled in response. "Like I said, I will never be her, or try to be her. I have no expectations from you."

Your words, for some reason, hurt Jungkook's heart. He was confused by the feeling growing in his chest. Shaking it off, he shuffled over to the island table in the kitchen and sat down at one of the seats.

"Mina used to make me this," he sighed, looking at the display before him.

Pancakes sat in the middle of the table, with an assortment of fruits and nuts, all in separate bowls. A glass jug of orange juice sat to his left, which Jungkook made a grab for immediately. He poured himself a glass, then looked around for yours.

"Are you not eating?" he asked.

"Hmm?" you asked, in a moment of confusion. "Oh, no. I'm not hungry."

Jungkook eyed you warily, watching you closely. You turned around, scooping the bacon out of the pan and placing it on his plate. He looked down, and it was exactly how he liked it.

"Thank you."

"It's alright. I won't make it again, though, if it was something Mina did. I don't want you to think-"

"No," Jungkook suddenly responded, taking both of you aback. "I appreciate you doing this for me. Please don't stop, if it's something you enjoy making."

A gentle smile graced your features as you sat down opposite him. You watched him eat, looking at his messy hair and baggy t-shirt. As time passed, with you and Jungkook living together, you had slowly begun to develop feelings for him.

You would never act on those feelings, however. Knowing Jungkook would never accept you. The loss of his wife still affected him so deeply to the point he still dreamt of her, and even envisioned her in the house.

You stretched, stepped out of your seat. Jungkook looked up from his food and couldn't help but stare at the way your t-shirt rode up, exposing a little bit of your stomach. He swallowed and looked away, scolding himself for his wandering eyes.

"Do you have any plans today?" you asked suddenly, moving out from the kitchen and to the living room, picking up the discarded pillows on the floor.

"No," Jungkook responded blankly. "You?"

"I was planning on doing some cleaning," you responded, fluffing the pillows that now sat on the couch. "I typically do it while you are at work, but I was so tired yesterday..." you trailed off, a slight blush spreading across your cheeks.

"Do you want me to help?"

You were surprised by his offer, not expecting him to want to help. You shook your head, holding up your hands and waving them in the air.

"No, no. It's alright, you just relax. I shouldn't be too long anyway," you explained sheepishly.

Jungkook finished the last of his food and picked up the empty plates. He moved over to the sink on the other side of the island, turning on the tap.

"At least let me do the dishes. It's the least I can do for you, making me breakfast," he spoke, his tone soft.

It was the first time he had sounded... human. It was surprising. You smiled at him and nodded, confirming his request.

"I'll start in the bedroom. If you need anything, just give me a shout," you said. "Excuse me."

You walked in behind him, trying to squeeze past him. You accidentally tripped, stumbling over your feet. Jungkook was quick to react, his arms wrapped around your waist, halting your fall. You jerked at the sudden stop, turning your head to look at him. Both of you held eye contact for a moment until he let out a grunt, helping you stand back upright.

"Thank you. Sorry."

"It's fine," Jungkook muttered shyly.

You bent down next to him, opening the bottom cupboard door and grabbing the feather duster. Instead of trying to squeeze past him again, you walked in the opposite direction around the island and into the bedroom.

Quietly, you hummed to yourself, dusting away and moving anything that could get in the way or get knocked over. You silently cursed to yourself when you had elbowed a small box off the bookshelf.

You bent down to pick it up, stopping when you noticed the contents had spilt out. A beautiful emerald ring encased in silver glittered against the sunlight. Carefully, you picked it up and examined it. It was beautiful.

You moved to pick up the box, and you placed it onto the set of drawers in front of the bed. Looking at it one more time, you were about to put it back in its box when Jungkook's voice boomed throughout the room.

"What the fuck are you doing!?"

You spun on the spot, stunned by his sudden tone. He was angry. With no hesitation, he stormed over to you and snatched the box and ring from you.

"I-I'm sorry," you stuttered out. "I accidentally knocked-"

"Shut the fuck up."

You fell silent. His glare didn't once leave you as he pocketed the box, ring now inside. He grabbed you by the arms tightly. You winced.

"Jungkook, you're hurting me."

"You will never touch that again. Do you hear me?!" he spat, his grip continuing to tighten until a scream escaped your lips.

In that moment, Jungkook felt his world crash down around him. He panicked, letting you go. You fell to the ground, holding your arms, trying to ease the pain.

"Fuck... Y/n, I'm so sorry," he went to move towards you, but you slid away from him, fear evident in your eyes.

Tears fell down your cheeks as you moved as far away as you could from him, your back hitting the wall when you could move no further. He ran both of his hands through his hair, fear and frustration clouding his mind.

He hurt you.

"I'm- I'm sorry," he breathed, backing away. "So... so sorry."

He ran for it, grabbing his jacket and leaving the house, the door creating a loud slam as he did so.

You sat back flush against the wall, exhaling in relief. You had never seen Jungkook so angry, and it terrified you. Based on his reaction, it must have been Mina's engagement ring, something which was clearly precious to Jungkook.

"That's gonna bruise," you muttered, examining your arms as you slowly stood up.

Grabbing the discarded feather duster, you shuffled back into the kitchen, putting it away. The ache in your arms was still evident, and in that moment, you decided that a bath was probably the best way to ease the pain.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Jungkook continued to run, the hard rain hitting against his face. He couldn't believe what he had just done. He put his hands on you. To hurt you. He wanted to hurt you. Because you had touched something precious to him. Something you weren't allowed to touch.

He stopped, catching his breath. He cried, not knowing what to do. Jungkook knew you weren't going to do anything with the ring. But the sight of you looking at it had him see red.

He leaned against the railings in the park, staring out at the pond, its usually still water disturbed by the pattering of the rain. Thunder crashed as the sky continued to darken, Jungkook's already soaked hair beginning to stick to his neck and face.

Jungkook had to make this right. He pushed himself off the railing and sprinted back to the apartment, praying you weren't already packing your things to leave him.

He pushed himself, lungs burning as they begged for breath, but he didn't stop. Turning the last corner to the street where you lived, he slid. He lost his breath, pitching forward and catching himself with his hands on the ground. He stumbled forward, eventually balancing out when he regained himself.

He barged into the apartment, not caring that he was leaving water all over the floor. He glanced around the room, looking for any sight of you. Running to the bedroom, his eyes widened when he saw the suitcase that sat on the bed, with clothes laid out.

"Y/n!" he shouted, between panting breaths.

No response. Without thinking, he turned to the bathroom, starting his search for you there.

You let out a high-pitched scream when Jungkook suddenly burst through the door. You move to cover yourself with your hands, trying to hide the most desirable parts of you.

"What the hell, Jungkook," you squeaked.

Your head was resting on your knees, which were tucked up against your chest. You were looking right at him, eyes blown wide at the circumstance you both were now in.

The sight before Jungkook didn't bother him. Instead, he dropped to his knees and shuffled towards you. He plunged his hand into the hot water, pulling your hand out and holding it in his.

"Please, don't leave Y/n," he begged, his head bowed as he did so.

"What-"

"Please. I don't know what I would do if you weren't here. You've helped me through so much. You have shown me kindness and that you care about me."

You were dumbstruck, unsure of the situation at hand. Had Jungkook hit his head while he was out? You didn't know, but you were more confused than ever.

"Jungkook, who said I was leaving?" you asked, lifting your head up.

Jungkook's head shot up, looking at you with tears in his eyes. He stuttered over his words, trying to find a way to explain his thought process. He stopped when his eyes wandered to your arm, a bruise beginning to form from where he grabbed you.

"I'm so sorry," he breathed, lifting your arm closer to him.

He planted a soft kiss against the bruise, his actions taking you by surprise. Jungkook pulled away, gently running his thumb over the injury, ashamed of his actions. He promised himself, from then on, that he would love and protect you. Forever.

In that moment, it was as if Jungkook had an epiphany. In the recent days of your relationship, whenever he closed his eyes, he thought he saw Mina. The love of his life.

Instead, he was seeing you. Smiling and holding out your hand for him to take. As if Jungkook was dreaming, he looked behind him, seeing Mina holding his other hand, caressing his knuckles lovingly.

"Go to her," Mina whispered. "Be happy again."

For the first time, after so long, Jungkook smiled, looking up at you. You raised an eyebrow, confused at his sudden reaction, but your heart warmed at his smile.

Jungkook moved his hands to cup your face. You stared at him, unsure of what he was doing. He didn't think, moving forward and pulling you into a soft, gentle kiss.

You immediately melted into him, closing your eyes, manoeuvring around in the bath so you faced him. His touch was warm, moving from your face to your jaw, holding you delicately, passion exploding between the two of you.

You were the first to pull away, moving your arm back around to cover your chest. Jungkook kept his eyes shut, panting softly. He felt warm, happy, something he had yearned for, for so long.

"It's taken me so long to realise," Jungkook whispered.

He placed his forehead against yours, opening his eyes and looking at you lovingly.

"That you are what I needed. Who I needed. You've helped me see, helped me realise that Mina wouldn't want me to grieve. To push everyone away."

You smiled at his words, moving away from him. He took your free hand in his, running his thumb over the back of your hand softly.

"I love you, Y/n," he breathed.

It was as if the world had stopped spinning. You looked at Jungkook, whose eyes held every emotion he had seemed to have forgotten long ago. Tears welled in your eyes, your hand squeezing his reassuringly.

"I love you, too."

hello guys! hope you enjoyed! this one felt rather long so i am sorry for that! and to the lovely person who requested. thank you so much!! you are the first to have requested and I really appreciate you doing so!

this was so much fun to write, despite it being sad, but it truly was a blast! i do hope this is what you had in mind when you requested. when I saw your ask this type of story immediately came to mind! i do hope that is okay!

tranquilreign~

375 notes · View notes

lyn31 · 3 months ago

Note

YOUR ZAYNE'S FIC ARE SOOO GOOOOOD. You cook so well😩. Now pretty please write MC in labor😩

I got carried away again as always..... but I like how it turn out! All this make me want to write about Zayne as dad now...... damn you guys! (read: Thank you) 🫶🏻😩

Oh and hopefully this is what you're thinking of! ✨🥹

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

Labor

Summary

A quiet hospital room, the rhythmic beeping of a monitor, and a steady hand in yours. The tension lingers in the air—uncertainty, hope, fear—all colliding in the seconds before fate takes its course. And then, with a single breath, everything shifts.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader I'm no way near know what labor feel like, so I try my best!

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

The hospital room is quiet, save for the steady beeping of the monitors and the occasional distant chatter from the hallway. The dim lighting casts everything in a soft glow, making the space feel cozier than it should—even with the sterile white walls and medical equipment surrounding you.

Zayne sits beside your bed, his ever-present clipboard in hand, reviewing something with a look of calm focus. He’s been like this for the past hour—checking notes, double-checking them, then checking them again, as if he personally intended to oversee every detail of your care.

You watch him for a moment before finally breaking the silence. “You know, for someone who isn’t my actual doctor, you sure look like one.”

His gaze lifts from the clipboard, cool and composed as ever. “I am a doctor.”

You snort. “Yeah, but not mine. You’re off-duty, remember?”

Zayne tilts his head slightly, a thoughtful hum leaving his lips before he counters smoothly, “Not yours?” He leans forward, resting an elbow on the bed as his cool fingers brush over your knuckles. “I seem to recall you calling me yours quite often.”

You narrow your eyes, catching the deliberate way he twists your words. “Oh, so we’re doing this now?”

His thumb brushes along your hand, his expression composed but undeniably pleased. “Doing what?”

You let out an amused huff. “Never mind.”

He doesn’t push, just holds your hand a little firmer, his touch steady. “Either way, I have no intention of being off-duty when it comes to you.”

You roll your eyes, squeezing his hand. “Wow, so controlling.”

His brow lifts. “I prefer ‘thorough.’”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “Right, right. Thorough.”

There’s a beat of silence, a comfortable one, before Zayne shifts slightly, his eyes dropping to your belly. He’s been doing that a lot—watching, his expression unreadable but his touch careful every time he rests a hand there.

You follow his gaze, smiling softly. “Getting impatient?”

His thumb brushes against your skin absently. “I wouldn’t say impatient.” Then, after a pause, he adds, “Eager, perhaps.”

The honesty in his voice makes something in your chest tighten. You bite your lip, fighting back the sudden wave of emotion, and instead lean back against the pillows with an exaggerated sigh. “I swear, if this kid doesn’t come out soon, I’m charging rent.”

Zayne exhales a quiet chuckle, the sound low and warm. “They do seem rather content staying where they are.”

“You think they’ll be as stubborn as you?” you tease, tilting your head toward him.

His gaze flickers toward you, amused. “I was going to ask if you thought they’d be as stubborn as you.”

You grin. “So, we’re both in trouble, then.”

Zayne hums, his fingers tracing absent patterns over your skin. He doesn’t say it, but you can see it in his eyes—the quiet anticipation, the depth of feeling he doesn’t always put into words. You feel it, too, this strange, overwhelming mix of excitement and nerves, the knowledge that any moment now, everything will change.

And then, as if on cue, there’s a sudden shift in your body—a pressure, a faint discomfort that makes your breath hitch.

You blink, startled.

Zayne immediately picks up on it. “What is it?”

You hesitate, then laugh lightly. “I think… my water just broke.”

His posture straightens in an instant, that calm, practiced focus settling over him. But you don’t miss the way his fingers tighten slightly around yours, or the flicker of something—something almost like nerves—that flashes through his expression before he reins it in.

“Well.” You exhale, shifting carefully. “Guess they finally decided to stop freeloading.”

Zayne’s lips press together in what might be a smile, but his gaze is already sharp, assessing. He reaches for the call button with his free hand. “Let’s not keep them waiting, then.”

The contractions start soon after, steadily intensifying with each passing minute. Nurses move in and out of the room, checking your vitals, monitoring the baby’s heart rate, and preparing everything for delivery. The air shifts—calm, but purposeful.

Zayne never leaves your side.

He holds your hand, his grip firm but careful, his other hand occasionally brushing over your forehead, pushing damp strands of hair back with cool fingertips. Every now and then, you hear the soft murmur of his voice—low, steady words of reassurance, though you barely process them between each wave of pain.

You squeeze his hand through another contraction, breathing through it as best as you can. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t complain, just lets you cling to him as tightly as you need.

When the pain eases slightly, you slump back against the pillows, exhaling a heavy breath. “You know, I’m starting to think we should’ve made a scheduled exit plan for this kid.”

Zayne huffs a quiet chuckle, though his eyes remain sharp, watchful. “That would’ve been ideal, yes.” His fingers smooth over your knuckles. “Unfortunately, they seem to have other plans.”

You groan. “Stubborn already.”

His lips twitch slightly. “Wonder where they get that from.”

You roll your eyes but don’t have the energy to fire back. Another contraction rolls through, sharper this time, stealing your breath. Your fingers tighten around his instinctively.

Your muscles seize, the pressure mounting unbearably. Each breath feels like dragging air through fire, your body fighting against itself in the desperate push forward. The contractions are relentless, but there’s no telling how much time has passed between them anymore. Minutes? Hours? It all blurs together, an endless cycle of pain and fleeting relief.

You gasp through another one, clinging to Zayne’s hand as your head slumps back against the pillows. Your limbs feel heavy, the exhaustion sinking into your bones, deeper than any mission injury you’ve had. For a brief moment, it feels like too much—like you can’t do this, like your body is failing you.

Your breath stutters. “I—” The words don’t come. You shake your head instead, a flicker of panic rising beneath the fatigue.

Zayne catches it instantly. His grip shifts, firm and grounding, his cool fingertips brushing against the back of your hand. “Breathe,” he murmurs, his voice steady, unwavering. He lifts your hand slightly, pressing his lips against your knuckles—a fleeting touch, but the warmth lingers. “You’re doing well.”

You force yourself to take a breath, then another. The haze doesn’t clear completely, but the panic eases—just a little.

You shake your head, barely able to get the words out. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” His grip tightens just enough to remind you he’s there, solid and unwavering. “One breath at a time.”

The room is a blur—rushed voices, the steady beep of monitors, the sharp scent of antiseptic and sweat. You can hear the doctor saying something, the nurses murmuring encouragement, but it’s all distant, muffled under the sheer weight of everything happening to you.

And then—another contraction crashes into you, sharp and all-consuming. You barely register the way your body tightens in response, instinct taking over as the doctor’s voice cuts through the haze.

“Almost there.” he says, quiet but firm. “Just a little more.”

Zayne’s hand never leaves yours. His voice, cool and certain, is the only thing anchoring you as the final stretch begins.

You don’t know if it’s minutes or seconds, but when the next contraction comes, your body takes over. You push—every muscle screaming, every fiber of your being focused on this one thing.

And then—weightless relief.

A newborn’s cry pierces the room.

Everything that just happened crashes into you all at once. The pain, the exhaustion, the overwhelming sense of finally. You let out a shaky breath, your body trembling with the aftershocks, your vision swimming with unshed tears.

Zayne exhales slowly beside you, and when you turn your head, he’s already looking at you. His eyes are unreadable for a moment, as if even he needs a second to process that it’s over. Then, something shifts—something so quiet, so deeply felt that words aren’t needed.

His fingers brush your temple, the touch featherlight, reverent. Then you hear it again—the cry, small but strong.

The sound nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. A choked, startled sob bubbles in your throat before you can stop it, your body sagging against the bed. You barely register the movement around you—nurses bustling, hands moving quickly, a soft, wriggling weight being placed onto your chest.

Tiny. Warm. Yours.

Your hands tremble as you touch her, brushing over impossibly soft skin, feeling the rise and fall of her first breaths. Her cries settle slightly as she squirms against you, as if already seeking the comfort of your presence.

Zayne doesn’t say anything.

You turn your head toward him, and for the first time since this all started, you see something unguarded in his expression. He’s staring, utterly still, his gaze fixed on the baby in your arms like he’s trying to memorize every inch of her. For someone always so controlled, so certain, there’s a flicker of something else. Like he’s seeing something impossible. Something fragile and new, and undeniably real.

His fingers hover for a second, hesitation creeping into his movements that are usually precise. Then, finally, he lets them brush over the delicate curve of her head. The warmth is unfamiliar, delicate, alive in a way that almost doesn’t feel real.

The moment his fingertips graze her skin, his breath catches—so slight it’s almost imperceptible. Then, as if remembering himself, he exhales slowly, his touch impossibly gentle. The baby shifts under his fingers, a tiny movement—barely anything at all. And yet, something in his expression tightens, a flicker of something deep and unreadable settling in his gaze.

For once, there’s an almost imperceptible delay in his movements, as if he’s afraid the smallest touch might shatter the moment.

It’s quiet between you, even as the room hums with movement. The weight of everything lingers, exhaustion, awe—something too deep to put into words.

Zayne leans in slightly, pressing a cool, lingering kiss to your temple.

“Thank you.”

It’s barely a whisper, yet it carries more weight than any grand declaration ever could.

The relief washes over you, but it’s tinged with something strange—a lightness in your limbs that doesn’t quite feel right. You blink, trying to shake it off, but the room swims slightly at the edges.

You turn toward him just as another wave of lightheadedness washes over you.

It’s subtle at first, a sudden wave of dizziness, sharp enough to make your grip falter, but then your vision blurs slightly at the edges. Your grip on the baby weakens for just a second—not enough to be dangerous, but Zayne notices immediately.

Immediately, his head lifts. His gaze sharpens. “What is it?”

You swallow, blinking hard. “I—” Your tongue feels thick and sluggish, like your body is struggling to keep up. “Feel weird.”

His hand is already at your wrist, checking your pulse. A second later, he glances at the monitors, his expression hardening almost imperceptibly.

“Get a blood pressure reading,” he orders, his voice cool, controlled.

A nurse moves quickly, wrapping the cuff around your arm. The numbers flash across the screen—too low.

Her expression shifts. “Her pressure is dropping.”

Zayne doesn’t hesitate. “Call the attending. Now.”

The room shifts instantly. Nurses move in taking your daughter away, adjusting IVs, lifting your hospital gown to check the monitors. Words blur together—blood pressure instability, excessive bleeding, immediate intervention.

Then—cool fingers brush your cheek.

“Stay awake.”

Zayne’s voice. Steady. Firm.

You blink up at him, trying to ground yourself. “M’not going anywhere,” you mutter, attempting a smirk. It’s weak.

His fingers linger for half a second before he pulls back. His gaze flickers toward the attending nurse as she steps in, then back to you. “It’ll be alright.”

It’s not a reassurance. It’s a certainty.

The attending doctor barely spares him a glance before issuing instructions. “We need to stabilize her before we proceed. Doctor Li, I need you to step out.”

You feel him stiffen beside you.

His grip on your hand doesn’t tighten, but you feel the hesitation, the way he lingers for just a second too long, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. Then, slowly, he exhales, his grip loosening like letting go is a battle within itself. He nods.

His fingers brush over your wrist one last time before he pulls away.

“I’ll be right outside,” he murmurs.

And then, for the first time since this all started—he’s gone. The space he leaves behind is too cold, too empty.

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

The hallway is quiet. Too quiet.

Zayne stands just outside the door, his hands clasped behind his back, shoulders squared in that composed, unshakable way that gives nothing away. From a distance, he looks like a man simply waiting—patient, motionless, his breathing even. But up close, the cracks are there.

His grip is tight—so tight his knuckles press white against his skin. His shoulders don’t relax, don’t shift, as if held in place by sheer force of will. And then, after a long moment, his fingers uncurl, his hands drop to his sides. He exhales slowly through his nose, a measured breath that does nothing to ease the tension gripping him.

Still, the tension lingers, wound tight in his chest. And then—without thinking—he moves.

His back touches the wall first, cool against the tension coiled in his muscles. Then he lowers himself into a crouch, forearms resting loosely over his knees. He doesn’t bow his head—doesn’t close his eyes. He just waits, eyes fixed on the floor in front of him, unmoving.

Minutes stretch. Nurses pass by, but no one stops him.

Eventually, a different nurse approaches, speaking in a quieter voice, like she knows she’s interrupting something unspoken.

"Dr. Li, your daughter has been moved to the nursery," she informs him. "She’s doing well. She responds quickly, no signs of distress—breathing is steady, vitals are stable."

Zayne listens, absorbing each detail without a single wasted motion.

"Is she warm enough?" His voice is steady, measured. A doctor’s question—but something else lingers beneath it, quieter. Something almost hesitant.

"Yes," the nurse assures. "She’s in an incubator for now, just for monitoring, but everything looks good."

He nods. "And her blood oxygen levels?"

"Normalizing well."

Another nod. His expression doesn’t change, but his fingers twitch slightly against his knee. He exhales through his nose—measured, controlled. He has his answers. His daughter is being taken care of.

Still, he doesn’t move.

The nurse hesitates, then glances toward the closed door beside him. "Your wife should be waking up soon."

He knows. That’s why he’s still here.

The nurse doesn’t press further. She just offers a polite nod before walking off, leaving him alone in the hallway once more.

And when the door finally opens, when a different nurse steps out and says, "Doctor Li?"—he’s already standing before she finishes his name, walking inside the room.

The door clicks shut behind him, but he doesn’t move right away.

For a moment—just a moment—he stands there, gaze settling on you. A flicker of something crosses his face—not relief, not entirely. His fingers twitch, just slightly.

You’re propped up against the pillows, the soft glow of the monitors casting shadows across your face. There’s exhaustion written in every inch of you, but your eyes are open, meeting his—awake, breathing. Present.

His shoulders shift, a tension he’s been holding finally loosening—just slightly.

Then, slowly, he exhales, a quiet breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Only then does he step forward.

He moves to touch you, then hesitates—just for a second. His gaze lingers, tracing the IV line, the faint tremor in your fingers where they rest against the sheets. When he does touch you, it’s careful, as if making sure you won’t disappear beneath his fingertips. His thumb presses slightly against your wrist—a quiet reassurance. A confirmation.

"You were waiting," you murmur, voice hoarse, the words threading through the rawness in your throat. You shift slightly—just enough for the sheets to rustle—but even that small movement leaves you breathless for a second. His fingers shift slightly against your wrist, like he notices.

His lips press together faintly—not quite a frown, but not neutral either. "Of course."

You huff a tired breath, tilting your head just a little. "And our daughter?"

"She's in the nursery," he answers immediately, his voice steady. "The nurses assured me she's stable—no complications."

A slow, relieved exhale leaves your lips.

Zayne watches you, his gaze flickering over every detail—the way your fingers twitch weakly against the blanket, how you start to lift your hand but let it fall back to the sheets, your breath just a fraction uneven. He knows you’re alright now, you’re awake. You’re here.

His hand moves, fingers trailing up until they settle against your cheek. His touch is cool, grounding, and when you lean into it—just barely—his thumb skims over your skin in a slow, absent motion.

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

You wake slowly, warmth pressing against your side, the rhythmic sound of beeping monitors lulling you into awareness. It takes a second to register everything—the hospital room, the soft weight of blankets over you, the faint scent of antiseptic lingering in the air.

Your body feels different than before—less exhausted, though a dull soreness still lingers, like a distant ache instead of the overwhelming fatigue from the first day. Manageable. Easier.

And then, you hear it.

A quiet, steady voice murmurs something too soft to make out.

You blink your eyes open, the room still dimmed by the evening light filtering through the blinds. And there, sitting beside the hospital bed, is Zayne.

He leans forward slightly, adjusting the tiny bundle in his arms—your daughter, cradled carefully in his hands. His voice is quiet, patient, as if he’s explaining something to her, even though she’s far too small to understand.

You don’t move at first, just watching. It’s rare to catch him like this—settled, no longer on edge, his focus entirely on her. His usually sharp gaze softens, tracing over every tiny feature as if memorizing her all over again.

You don’t know why you expected him to overthink this. The man analyzes data for a living, after all. But somehow, fatherhood has come to him as naturally as breathing—each movement careful but sure, each touch precise yet gentle. No hesitation, no uncertainty, just a calm, measured certainty in every move he makes. And yet, it’s not clinical. There’s something soft in the way he holds her, something instinctive. Natural.

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I’m not sure she’s ready to appreciate the commentary just yet.”

Zayne’s head lifts immediately, sharp instincts ever-present, but this time, he doesn’t tense. “You’re awake.”

“No, I’m talking in my sleep.”

His gaze flickers over your face, checking—because of course he is—but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he exhales, slow and quiet, before glancing back down at the baby. “She was fussing earlier.”

You shift, pushing yourself up slightly, but before you can get far, Zayne is already moving. One hand settles gently against your back, supporting you as he adjusts the pillows with practiced ease.

You give him a look. “You know, I did survive before you started micromanaging me.”

“And yet, here you are, letting me,” he murmurs, completely unbothered as he smooths the blanket over your legs.

You huff, but there’s no real bite behind it—because, well, he’s right.

His fingers brush over your wrist, lingering just long enough to check your temperature, before his gaze flickers to the baby. “You should feed her now.”

You glance at your daughter, her tiny fists barely peeking out from the blanket. “You’re giving her back just like that? Thought you’d keep hogging her.”

Zayne doesn’t react immediately, but the corner of his mouth twitches—slightly. “She does seem comfortable with me.”

“She’s a newborn, Zayne. She can’t even tell you apart from a blanket yet.”

He hums, clearly not convinced, but still, he shifts forward, carefully placing the baby in your arms. His movements are precise, ensuring she’s supported properly, as if she might shatter under anything less.

Once you’ve settled, he watches closely, like he’s analyzing every part of the process, committing it to memory.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re going to supervise the entire thing, aren’t you?”

His gaze meets yours, unblinking. “Obviously.”

A laugh bubbles up before you can stop it, tired but genuine. “You really are fussing.”

Zayne doesn’t deny it. Instead, he reaches over, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear with precise care. “You just woke up. Someone has to.”

And, well—he’s got you there.

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Notes:

Zayne as Dad is live rent free in my head now...... also I watch one of those video where everyone is literally fussing the baby and the dad is just waiting outside of the mom's room, like "why is my wife not out yet" it was so cute 🥹 so ofc I have to use it as well 🫶🏻😩 Not connected and more like a snippet (smut) but still on pregnancy theme!

You're reading the Pregnancy series! You're at Part 5

Part 0

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6 (Smut at the end)

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: Parenthood AU Masterlist ✨