#I will not be taking questions at this time

[sunburstsandmoonshadows]

still thinking coraline au thoughts btw

[honey-on-your-tongue]

Corruption kink with boyfriend Simon Riley, part 9 (nsfw)

part 8

“Si?” you ask one day as you’re spooning with him on the bed. His heavy arm draped around you, breathing heavy, he’s half asleep.

“Mm?” he hums sleepily.

“Si, you said your…You said you could be in me, the other day,” you say quietly, hesitantly. “How, exactly, does that work?”

Oh, he’s wide awake now.

He sits up a bit so he can look down at your face. “You don’t know how sex works?”

“I have…an idea. But not the specifics,” you say, avoiding his gaze. And he can see the way you’re starting to blush. “I just don’t understand how your…How all of it can fit in me.”

“Just like my fingers, baby. Your pussy just stretches more,” he explains, gently caressing down your arm.

“But how? It’s so big.”

He chuckles softly. “It fits, baby. With preparation and care, it fits.”

You scrunch up your nose, still obviously confused.

“Why the question, hon?” he asks, kissing your shoulder.

“I wanna try it some day. But I just…I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

Simon inhales deeply, sharply. Jesus. You can’t just say things like that, it affects him.

He ignores the stirring in his pants as he says, “You ever watched porn, girl?”

You glance at him and shake your head.

“You wanna watch with me? So you can understand how sex works?”

It takes little to convince you. You nod, soft eyes full of trust and intrigue.

That’s how you end up sitting between Simon’s legs, your back against his chest as he sits against the headboard. On the TV, a porn video is playing. Nothing too produced, Simon purposely chose an amateur video so it would be as natural as it could get.

You’re only half-watching, though, because Simon’s got his fingers touching your clit, working you up as he whispers in your ear.

“Watch, baby. Look how the girl’s pussy stretches. See? Yours will do that too.”

Your eyes are wide, your breathing is heavy. Occasionally, you whine or mewl, and Simon kisses your shoulder, your neck, your cheek to calm you.

“The guy is going too hard, but I’ll be more gentle with you, baby. I’ll treat you right,” he assures, his focus not on the video, but on the thought of being in you. God, how it drives him crazy.

“My cock will fit right in here,” he says, slipping a finger into you. “It’ll fill you up to the brim, baby. And you’ll feel good. I promise, it won’t hurt. I’ll make sure it doesn’t.” And then he’s fucking you with his fingers, the video forgotten.

Between understanding what it is that Simon wants to do with you, his fingers in you, and the words he spills into your ear, you come, squealing, body shaking.

Simon helps you ride out your high, holds you close as he kisses the side of your face. When your breathing turns to normal, you spin to face him. “Si?”

“Yeah?”

“I wanna do that with you,” you say. “Now. I’m ready now.”

And Simon’s heart almost stops. “Baby. Baby, we’ve got all the time in the world. Are you sure?”

You nod. “I’m sure. I’m ready now, and I want it now.”

He studies your gaze, your expression, your eyes, and sees the determination, not a hint of doubt.

“Alright, baby. Lie down for me. I’m going to treat you like the goddess you are.”

---

Taglist

@booboobear-12 @lilychristine01 @smzyyx @mxsatorisimp @akkahelenaa @crypticlxrsh @m-0-ssy-m-3-ss @actualpoppy @dawnnightshade666 @dethspllz @massivecandycrusade @mentally-unstable-hottie13 @shushyoudontknowme @readinggeeklmao @despairingrat @h0lydrag0ns @poseidonsbichild @sillylittlereader @vanillarosekiss @jangles-the-clown @lem-hhn @doubledizzy22 @http-bell @readingthingy @velvetdimond @thegaywitchofwhimsy @weaniebeaniebaby @havoc973 @lucienofthelakes @keiminds @8pmismybedtime @i-wanabe-yours @happysmappy @jp600fox @moonbluff @hobiebrownenthusiast @dragons-flare @canyonmooncreations @foxintheferns @dreamland08 @fertilise-me @dravenskye @hobiebrownenthusiast @liidiaaag @viviansvault3 @alwayzmsbehavn @nicolebarnes @tysukier @icouldntthinkofanythingclever  @cd-mr

*if you wanna be added to my Ghost taglist, lmk 💛

---

Ghost masterlist

[wintrbears]

Cradle Robbers: The Third Trimester | JJK

Summary: Everything feels different after having the worst scare of your life, but your baby's due date is fast approaching and there's still plenty more important things to do than rifle through your ever-growing feelings for Jungkook. He certainly doesn't make it easy on you when he's constantly sweeping you off your feet.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Pregnancy AU, Childhood Friends to FWB to Lovers, Slow-Burn, Smut, Fluff, Crack, Angst (barely, you have to squint to see it)

Word Count: 24.9k+

Warnings: pregnancy, childbirth, water breaking, talks of bodily fluids, blood, blood transfusion, mentions of dizziness, anxiety, surprises, gifts, alcohol, thunderstorms, hospitals, doctors, nurses, scrubs, wheelchairs, crying, screaming, extreme physical pain, airplanes. SMUT: kissing, cuddling, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, big dick jk!!!, oral sex (m receiving), doggy, dick riding, titty play, lactation kink, making out in the shower, cream pie, grinding, hair pulling, choking, manhandling, ok I think that might be it!

Author's Note: I actually cannot believe the final chapter is here. the amount of love I've received from this story is so overwhelming and it makes me unbelievably happy that you guys love these two as much as I do. here's to an epic conclusion for our couple and their beautiful baby! if you’ve given birth and see any inaccuracies pls just look the other way lol. also, to the anon that asked me about a lactation kink and I said no... I promise I'm not a liar you just inspired me to add one. thank you all so much for all the support. enjoy, my lovely readers :)

-> Cradle Robbers Masterpost

SEVEN

You sincerely hope your fellow grocery shoppers don’t see you with six bottles of wine balancing on your baby bump and think you’re a monster. It obviously isn’t for you, but stranger things have happened and you have no control over what these people may think of you. 

The sole reason you’re purchasing copious amounts of alcohol is because it’s wine night, and tonight is the inaugural gathering at your house. The girls are all unbelievably excited to see the illustrious home, including the partially decorated nursery they’ve only seen via video call.

It’s since been painted a neutral beige color with an adorable cat and dog mural on the wall behind the crib. More artwork occupies the remaining walls, including a set of picture frames containing photos of you and Jungkook from childhood until now. The furniture’s all been built at this point, although some of it still needs to be placed and secured to the wall. The ample supply of stuffed animals provided by none other than your baby’s father reside in a hammock above the rocking chair. 

Jungkook will be at Namjoon’s tonight along with the other guys so you can have the place to yourselves, which you’re grateful for since it wouldn’t be very conducive to conversation if a central topic of your gossip is present. He certainly doesn’t need his ego stroked by you enthusiastically retelling the girls about all your wild sexual encounters. 

Visually taking stock of your haul, which mostly consists of junk food and wine, you mentally run through your shopping list one last time before heading to the checkout. The employee scanning your items looks surprised when she glances between your belly and the wine collection, but thankfully doesn’t comment on the questionable items. She informs you of the total and you tap Jungkook’s black card against the machine. Once you hear the familiar chime, you thank the woman and steer your cart towards the parking lot.

A recent development of your pregnancy is that you began your third and final trimester by quitting your job, hence why you’re paying for groceries with Jungkook’s card and not your own.

It’s been on the table for a while now, with you and Jungkook discussing it here and there over the last couple months. After crunching the numbers, the two of you mutually agreed it’s for the best. Since your salary is astronomically smaller than Jungkook’s, you would lose more money paying for childcare than by removing your salary from the equation altogether. 

Being a stay-at-home mom was never the plan, even when you were younger, but now that you’re pregnant, the idea is more appealing than ever. Not only do you want to be present for all the special moments of their childhood, but Jungkook is loaded and there’s no reason to pay for a nanny or daycare when he can care for you financially while you take care of things at home. 

Truthfully, it’s been difficult depending on him, not because he makes it so, but because you still feel guilty using his money. Your last paycheck was about two weeks ago, so you’re exclusively using his funds and the first time you tapped his card against the machine you nearly bit your lip off. On the flip side, Jungkook’s been profusely scolding you for refusing to go on a huge spending spree with his no limit credit card. 

He’s been continuously sending you links to buy expensive jewelry, clothes, and handbags, and threatens to buy them for you himself if you don’t run his bank account dry soon. It’s the first time in his life you’ve given him the go ahead to support you in that way and he’s adamant about you taking advantage of the opportunity. 

Ironically, the only thing you’ve bought other than essentials is a gift for him. 

Last week his gaming headset snapped in half when Bam decided they were a perfect seat. Jungkook was rightfully distraught and refused to look his beloved pet in the eye for the remainder of the evening. Determined to mend their relationship, you went out the following morning to buy him the latest and greatest. 

When you presented him the gift, Jungkook lifted you so far above his head in excitement you feared hitting the ceiling. Despite his own bank account decreasing, the thoughtfulness of your act sent him over the moon with joy. He attacked you with kisses once your feet met the ground again, and you had to pry him off you before your lips turned purple. 

Independence is a key character trait of yours, so this new lifestyle is definitely an adjustment, but it would be a lie to say it doesn’t feel just a little bit nice using a card that doesn’t have your own name on it. 

During your drive home, the contact image of Jungkook positively cheesing next to your most recent ultrasound photo appears on the dashboard screen. Your heart does an involuntary flip at the sight, and you press the green answer button just as the car turns down your street.

“Hey, baby.”

Despite his usage of a pet name, Jungkook sounds exasperated, and maybe slightly annoyed, when the phone connects.

“Koo? Is everything alright?”

“No, Bams,” he admits begrudgingly. “There’s a leak under the kitchen faucet. It’s pretty bad. I don’t think we can have the girls over tonight, but I already called the Blue Lagoon Lounge and booked a room for you guys. The drinks and food are all paid for already. So, text the girls to let them know and have fun, okay?”

“What? Jungkook, are you sure? If the leak isn’t going to take more than a couple hours I can just tell the girls to come later.”

“No, no,” Jungkook says. “Just go enjoy yourself and I’ll take care of this. I don’t want your night to be cut short at all. The reservation is under Jeon.”

“Alright,” you mumble. “Love you, talk to you soon.”

“Love you more, Bambi, I’ll see you soon.”

You voice-to-text your group chat to reiterate the news and your friends are downright ecstatic about having access to unlimited free food and drinks. 

In fact, the last text to ping your phone from Tzuyu reads: “thank you so fucking much for getting knocked up by a sexy millionaire. I owe you my life.” The three other members of the chat heart react the message. 

When you arrive at the restaurant, you look down and mentally congratulate yourself on already being dressed in your attire for the evening. It’s unusually warm for this time of year, so you’re in a floral tea-length dress with your hair up. Your friend group doesn’t normally get dolled up for these occasions, but Mina is finally ready to reacclimate herself to the dating scene and suggested a mini photoshoot for your choice of entertainment tonight. 

The Blue Lagoon Lounge is massive, with a full dining room, smaller private suites, and large banquet halls in the back. Upon telling the hostess the name, she leads you through a couple of winding hallways and rooms. She gestures towards a pair of double doors once you reach your destination and you gaze at her inquisitively, wondering if she got the room right. Sensing your confusion, she nods to reaffirm her guidance and steps aside so you can enter. 

The moment your feet cross the threshold, the eruption of sound from inside the room makes you jump in shock.

“SURPRISE!” 

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head as your jaw falls open.

All of your friends and family are scattered around the large room which overlooks the river on the edge of your city. The multitude of round tables which occupy the space are decorated beautifully with white, purple, and yellow flowers along with gorgeous fine china place settings. There’s a liberal sized bar along the back wall and an even bigger buffet table in the corner closest to you.  

When your surveying eyes land on Jungkook, who's standing with your friends beside the grand, floor length windows, he smirks and wiggles his phone in accomplishment. 

“You little liar!” 

“I did good, right?”

“Yes, which is concerning because you’re a terrible liar,” you say while approaching them.

“Oh, don’t worry, he needed plenty of coaching,” Mina states.

“We went over the script four times,” Nayeon mentions.

“And my hands still shook!” Jungkook responds before holding his hand up to show you it twitching. 

You clasp the appendage between your own and kiss his knuckles, pulling him into you for a tight embrace. He laughs heartily as his arms latch around you, tugging you up against him until your heels lift from the floor. His hand holds the nape of your neck while you rest your head on his shoulder. 

“Thank you, baby,” you whisper to him. “This is amazing.”

“I didn’t do anything besides pay for it, Bambi. Your friends did all this,” he tells you. 

“Uh, see, now he’s getting a little too good at lying,” Tzuyu says from behind you. “It was his idea, Y/N.”

You reluctantly depart from his warmth, but lace your fingers together while you stand side by side.

“No,” Jungkook shakes his head modestly. “I mentioned it once in passing and you guys took it from there.”

“So humble, JK,” Jihyo clicks her tongue disapprovingly. 

Hugging the girls one by one, you thank them for sacrificing a wine night for your surprise baby shower before moving throughout the room to greet everyone else who came to celebrate you.

Jungkook follows closely behind with a hand on your lower back, thanking everyone for coming with an adorable bow of his head. He does it so much that at one point you place your hand beneath his chin to stop him so he doesn’t get a headache. 

Your parents are last, but of course not least, and you don’t miss the way your moms make eye contact with matching cheshire grins when they notice where Jungkook’s hand resides. 

The six of you exchange hugs and your mom holds your hands afterwards, excitedly shaking them in the air. 

“Oh sweetie, weren’t you so surprised?” She asks.

“Yes! It was the last thing I was expecting, but I’m so grateful everyone came,” you answer her.

“You’re glowing, sweetpea,” your dad comments.

Once the greetings are complete, everyone moseys around grabbing drinks and placing their gifts on the long table at the front of the room. You join Jungkook at the bar to grab his drink, which he thrice pretends to hand you before pulling it back with an annoyingly cute giggle. Rolling your eyes, you take his hand and lead him to the little sweetheart table at the very center of the wall of windows which faces the rest of the room.

Before tables are dismissed one by one to grab food from the buffet, Jihyo stands and clinks a fork against her glass to garner everyone’s attention. 

“Hi everyone, for those who don’t know me, I’m Jihyo. I want to say a little something before we eat and celebrate the amazing woman sitting at the front of the room.” She beckons towards you with her hands and the sound of everyone’s cheers turns your face bright red. “Y/N is the most loving, caring, wonderful soul I’ve ever known and although it wasn’t planned,” she purposely whispers the last word, sending a wave of laughter across the room. “I am absolutely certain she’ll be the most amazing mother the world has ever known. I love you so much, babe, and I can’t wait to meet your little one.” 

She raises her glass for a toast, and you parrot the act with your virgin mimosa. 

“I believe the little one’s daddy also has something he’d like to say?”

Jungkook’s eyes go wide, his hand pointing to his chest in surprise, clearly not expecting the spotlight. Jihyo nods encouragingly and shoots him a double thumbs up as she takes her seat. Always one for a challenge, Jungkook cracks his neck, clicks his tongue, and clears his throat before standing with his drink in hand. 

“Hello,” Jungkook says quietly while fidgeting with his shirt collar. “I’m fairly certain everyone here knows me, since you can’t really know Bambi without knowing me, too.” He taps his fingers against his glass as he ponders his next move. “I, um…” You squeeze his hand where it rests on his thigh and a smile creeps onto his face, his eyes briefly catching your supportive gaze. “Jihyo’s right, this wasn’t planned, not even a little bit, but it was without a doubt the best surprise of my life.” 

Jungkook’s ears go red to match the blush painting his cheeks. 

“I’m so incredibly thankful to call her my best friend and the mother of my child. I know I’ll never be able to repay her for everything she’s going through to bring our little one into the world. Her body and mind have been through hell and I’ve spent my entire life chasing away whatever may bring her pain and sorrow, so it’s been really challenging to feel so helpless. But she handles everything so beautifully, with so much grace and understanding, and I grow more in awe of her with every passing day.” 

He takes a deep breath and faces you with his glass held high. 

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, Bams, and there’s nothing you deserve more than to be celebrated for everything you do and will do in the future as a mother. I love you more than words can describe, Y/N.”

You gasp, your hands slapping against your mouth as tears immediately threaten your waterline. It’s been nearly two decades since the last time you heard the sound of your name rolling off his tongue, and you don’t think the syllables have ever sounded so beautiful. 

Jungkook smiles devilishly at the exact reaction he was hoping to pull from you. 

Your head falls forward as you cry into your palms, the kindhearted words from both him and Jihyo making your heart clench from all the love it’s receiving. Jungkook returns to his seat to console you, letting you cry on his shoulder instead. 

“You said my name,” you whimper.

The sound of his low chuckle meets your ears.

“Don’t get used to it, Bambi.”

He places multiple kisses between the strands of your hair and wipes the remaining tears away after you raise your head. If you weren’t currently surrounded by loved ones, you’d kiss him senseless and probably drop to your knees if you’re being totally honest.

When you glance around the room after falling back into your chair with a sigh, you notice your mom dabbing her waterline with a tissue while his mom reapplies the makeup under her eyes. You giggle and nudge Jungkook to show him, and he joins in your adoration of the two women with a loving shake of his head. 

Following dinner, your four friends run a series of typical baby shower games, some of which are guessing games while others require basic baby knowledge. 

You barely partake in the festivities yourself, too busy goofing off with Jungkook as he writes the most incorrect answers imaginable. The two of you laugh hysterically through every question as if you’re the only ones present, despite being the sole reason for the celebration.

An executive decision is made to open gifts at home rather than have everyone watch you ooh and aww at baby trinkets for an hour. It’s far more appealing to you to walk around and mingle with your loved ones, which is precisely what you do after dessert. 

“It’s the woman of the hour!” Yunjin cheers as you place yourself on Chaewon’s lap and rest your head on her shoulder.

“Thank you guys so much for coming,” you tell them.

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Hoseok states.

“We’re so happy for you, Y/N, and we’re so excited to be aunts and uncles,” Namjoon says.

“Also, are you and Jungkook like… a thing, because eyes don’t lie and that man is googoo gaga for you,” Eunchae asks. 

“And it’s not like you’re any better,” Yoongi adds.

You nibble on your lip as your eyes peruse the room and land on Jungkook’s silhouette standing beside your dads. 

“No, at least, not officially, but something’s definitely changed recently,” you answer honestly.

“How so?” Jin asks.

“You guys know how we went through that awful miscarriage scare last month?” They all nod. “Well, ever since then it feels like the energy’s shifted. Neither of us have said anything, but I know we both feel it. I mean, I’ve slept in his bed every night since, we constantly kiss outside of sexual activities, and we’ve started casually calling each other baby.”

“Oh, so you guys are like, in love love,” Jimin states.

“I don’t know,” you respond. “He’s always taken up nearly my entire heart, but I’m still figuring out if he’s finally got a monopoly on it or not.”

“Y/N, honey, you said so yourself you’ve never been happier,” Chaewon notes. “Don’t overthink it.”

You flash her a grateful smile as a thank you for her advice before telling them you’ll see them later and going to converse with your other guests.  

At one point, you realize you haven’t seen Taehyung or Mina in a while and do a once over of the room. When you spot them cuddled up in the back corner giggling to each other, you smirk. They hooked up once a few years ago before Mina started dating Mingyu, and you would be more than happy to see them rekindle their affair.

You catch Jungkook’s attention from across the room and point to them as nonchalantly as possible. When his eyes land on them, they light up and he makes a proud OK sign with his hand. 

Some people stay for a while and others wish you good luck with the delivery before sunset, but by the time Jungkook is done loading all the presents in your dad’s truck, only your parents remain.  

“Oh, shit, I don’t have a car,” Jungkook states when he returns for a final sweep of the room. “I drove over here with Tzuyu.”

It wouldn’t normally be an issue since you and him could drive home together, but for storage purposes your parents are taking the gifts home and he has to follow behind your dad to help bring them inside. 

“Just take my car and I’ll go with my mom,” you suggest.

Everyone exchanges goodbyes and you tell Jungkook you’ll see him later at home. He bends down to kiss your cheek after you hug him, and it forces you to hide a radiant blush crawling up your face and neck.

It’s familiar being in the passenger seat of your mom’s car, although it's been a while. She drives through the city towards your house with the radio on low, but you can already tell she’s itching to speak.

“Sweetie, you know you can tell me anything, right?” Sensing where this is going, you inhale exasperatedly. “No, don’t give me excuses. I know you’ve been keeping things from me because you don’t want me to get my hopes up.”

You sit back in your seat, your arms crossing over each other. 

“It’s just not any of your business, Mom,” you tell her.

“I don’t need to know everything, especially that stuff, but I can tell you have a lot on your mind. And I know something is going on. I see the way you look at him and how he looks at you. It’s not the same as it was before.” She squeezes your thigh lovingly. “Just talk to me, sweetheart.”

“There… there isn’t much to say.” She sends a disapproving glance in your direction. “Okay, yeah, maybe things have changed, but I don’t know in what way yet. I think we’re both happy with the way things are and don’t feel a need to label it or discuss it. Maybe once the baby’s born, we will.”

“Are you alright with that? You usually tell Jungkook everything the very moment it enters your mind.”

“It’s different this time. I’m not afraid to tell him or worry I’ll get rejected, but it just feels like we’re in this perfect bubble of joy and love and I don’t want to pop it.”

“What if it doesn’t pop, though? What if it makes the bubble even stronger?”

You toss her words around in your mind, nodding your head as your brain parses through the information.

“That would be nice.”

“I’m not trying to pressure you, sweetie, and I don’t want you to ever take my feelings into account when yours are the only ones that matter, but I want all the happiness in the world for you and that boy is heaven sent.”

“Yeah,” you agree with a smile. “He is. I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

“That would be me,” she proudly reminds you. 

You laugh with your head thrown back. And to think, the only reason you’re all here today is because their university randomly assigned them to be roommates. 

She drops you off at home with a hug and kiss on your cheek. Once inside, you hear Usagi meowing in annoyance at someone and when you round the corner, you see Jungkook rolling her back and forth on the couch as though she’s a furry rolling pin. He merely giggles at her indignation and attacks her little head with kisses. 

“Leave my daughter alone, will you?”

“Hey, she’s my daughter, too,” Jungkook retorts with a pout. When he turns over his shoulder to see you, the pout’s long gone and been replaced by a peaceful smile. “Did you have fun tonight, Bambi?”

He stands to full height and slides his hands into his pockets, still dressed in his attire from the evening sans the sport coat. His poor dress shirt is barely holding on by a thread where it lays across his chest, the buttons holding on for dear life to fit over the contours of his pecs. The slacks he’s wearing aren’t doing much better, with the black fabric stretched tight to accommodate the muscular thighs beneath. It makes both your mouth and pussy water.

“Of course, I did! I can’t thank you enough, Koo,” you say while meeting him by the couch. 

“There’s no need to thank me, baby. You deserve it.”

“Well, I can think of something that you deserve in return,” you propose using the sultry eyes you know he melts for everytime. 

His eyebrows twitch upwards, an anticipatory smile growing as he holds your gaze. Instead of waiting for a reply, your hand shoves at his shoulder to send him tumbling backwards into the couch. Knees automatically spreading wide open for you, you use your leverage on his thighs to kneel before him.

“Bams, you don’t have to,” he tells you, but his hand is already in your hair as you unbuckle his belt. 

“I want to.” You bend down to kiss him over his boxers once his pants are in a puddle around his ankles. “I want to so fucking bad, baby.”

Jungkook moans when your tongue presses down on the fabric and causes his dick to twitch. You quickly pull the garment down his legs and let it fall atop his slacks. He’s already sporting a semi that makes your thighs clench, the sight of his thick cock slowly becoming one of your favorites. 

Pumping him with your hand, you kiss and bite his thick thighs until he’s rock hard and leaking precum down your palm. You lick over his slit with a hungry moan and Jungkook throws his head back against the couch in response. 

“Oh, babygirl, that feels so fucking good.”

His hand becomes a ponytail, pulling all the strands away from your face so you can work unhindered and he has a clear view of you sucking him off. 

Your lips leisurely wrap around his head while you stare into his steadily darkening eyes. When you use suction and torturously swirl your tongue beneath the ridge separating the head from his shaft, Jungkook’s hips buck up involuntarily and you have to hold him still by his thighs. Slowly, all without ever looking away, you sink lower and lower until you’re gagging around him because he’s scratching the back of your throat. 

Jungkook cries out in pleasure, his free hand grasping desperately onto one of yours to give him something to hold onto. 

Swallowing a couple times while he’s buried deep in your throat, you allow a teasingly long moment to pass before finally sticking your tongue out and bobbing your head along his cock. He groans deliriously and his thighs shake as you sloppily work your mouth over him, doing so because you know exactly how much he loves to see the drool spilling from your lips. 

“Good girl, that’s my good fucking girl,” Jungkook praises nonsensically. “Mouth was fucking made for me.”

When you moan around him in agreement, your spit meets his balls below and you use it as an excuse to play with them in your free hand. Jungkook’s jaw clenches and the hand holding yours harshly squishes your digits together. You change gears upon the realization of how worked up the action makes him, sucking one of his balls into your mouth and replacing your tight throat with your hand.

“Oh, Jesus, Bams,” he shouts as you suckle the sensitive skin. 

After languidly curling your tongue around him for a moment, you switch and repeat the treatment for the other one, mirroring the pace of your hand to match the way your tongue works his sack. Returning to the main event, you flatten your tongue along the underside of his shaft until reaching the tip and spitting on him so you can bring him between your lips again.

Unfortunately, you’re only able to take him into your warm throat a few more times before he’s pulling you away by your hair.

You pout and place your hands on your hips.

“Koo, I wanna swallow your cum.”

“Nuh uh, I’m gonna put another fucking baby in you,” he states, his eyes completely overtaken by lust.

Jungkook manhandles you like a ragdoll until you’re face down ass up on the couch with him situated behind you. His hands grab the bottom hem of your dress and flip it upwards to reveal your underwear, which you only realize he rips off of you when you hear the sound of the fabric tearing.

“Koo!”

“Don’t complain when you know I can buy you a thousand more.” His fingers immediately find your pussy to check if you’re wet enough, and when you hear the pleased chuckle from behind you, you know he’s got his answer. “You got this wet just from sucking me off, baby?” 

You nod your head and Jungkook smacks your ass hard enough to leave a mark. 

“Yes!” Jungkook hums in satisfaction and you whine when he soothes the burn with his palm. “Jungkook, baby, please fuck me.”

You compliment your begging by wiggling your ass, and Jungkook moans appreciatively at the sight, his fingers grasping your flesh possessively. He slowly runs his dick along your sopping wet folds and you automatically keen and whimper for more. His movements continue that way for a tauntingly long amount of time, teasing you with just enough to keep you from going crazy. The only relief you’re given is when his tip brushes against your sensitive nub and provides you with delicious friction. 

An angrier version of your prior instruction is about to leave your mouth when Jungkook brutally spears you on his cock. In one single stroke he’s entirely sheathed within your walls and you scream out in ecstasy while your head falls forward. His pace can only be described as goddamn insane, or maybe those are just the only words you can think of when the huge dick ramming into your pussy is making your brain blank.

From behind Jungkook’s tip kisses your cervix with every thrust and you moan without restraint as he monstrously fucks your cunt open. His hand returns to your hair, the other one clutching the back of the couch so he can keep a steady rhythm. You feel his wet balls slapping your clit with every stroke and it makes you bite down on the skin of your hand. 

“Gonna fucking ruin you, Bams,” he warns. “I don’t want you to be able to walk tomorrow, you got that?”

“Fuck, yes,” you agree without a second thought. 

You can stay in bed all day for all you care, all you want is for Jungkook to keep stretching you apart and making you his. You don’t want your pussy to remember any other shape but his cock, want your flesh to memorize every ridge and vein so it knows exactly who’s coming home when he enters you. 

Jungkook was already close when he started fucking you, so he’s doing everything he can for you to reach the same precipice. He repeatedly slams his hips into your ass as he yanks hard enough on your hair that he can almost see your eyes from his position. His hand wraps around your throat, pressing down on your jugular until his fingers leave blotchy, red marks. A second later, he’s forcing you upright until your back meets his chest and he traps you there by looping his other arm beneath your tits. 

The new angle makes you whine pathetically as he buries his dick so deep you feel him in your throat. 

“Baby, holy shit.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook licks the sweat off your neck. “Whose pussy is this, baby?”

“Yours,” you moan weakly.

You would be more than willing to scream from the rooftops just how much your body belongs to him, but you can’t exactly speak very loud when you’re choking on the euphoria he’s providing you.

Coincidentally, your volume isn’t good enough for Jungkook.

“Louder,” he growls right into your ear.

“It’s yours, Jungkook!”

“That’s fucking right.”

His hand leaves your neck after gently constricting your airway to massage your clit instead, pushing two of his fingers into your mouth to lubricate them first. He circles and presses down hard on the nub to make you keen and throw your head back against his shoulder. He utterly devours your neck from behind, his spit coating your skin in a pretty sheen as he moves from one spot to the next. 

You feel his hand disappear from your pussy and whine disapprovingly, but then his middle fingers are sliding into your mouth again so you can suck your juices off his digits. Erotically licking around and between his fingers, you hollow your cheeks and suck so he can feel your tight throat again. 

He groans and bites on your earlobe.

“So good for me, Bambi,” he whispers darkly. “You’re fucking perfect, baby.” 

He removes his fingers from your mouth and they return to your cunt, rubbing your clit in fast circles to get you to where you need to be.

“I’m — fuck. I’m close, Koo.”

“Atta girl. Come on this fat cock,” he commands. 

Jungkook releases you and pushes you down by your shoulder blades, forcing your cheek into the cushions as you arch and match his cadence by thrusting your hips backwards. You scream into the fabric when he speeds up and abuses your hole at a demonic pace. 

The clapping is obscene and deafening, and you’re fairly certain you hear his pans rattling in the kitchen from where they hang down. 

Your climax builds to an impossible level before crashing over you like a tsunami wave of pure pleasure. There’s a combination of drool and tears left behind on the couch cushions. The room goes white when your vision blanks, your legs twitching along with your pussy as the orgasm tears through you and you helplessly sob Jungkook’s name.

The feeling of Jungkook’s seed filling your cunt makes you cry his name repeatedly like a prayer, the sensation of it dripping down your thighs heavenly enough to make your eyesight blur.

Jungkook pants irregularly for a while before pulling out and resting on your back, the two of you toppling down and lying flat against the couch as your bodies return to normalcy. 

“Goddamn, Bambi,” Jungkook huffs. 

“Me?” 

Jungkook just laughs breathlessly, kissing your cheek through the curtain of your hair. 

You remain as deadweight together on the couch until you finally feel whole enough to return to earth, and once you do, you walk hand-in-hand to Jungkook’s bedroom to catch a good night’s sleep.

A couple days later, after you can indeed walk properly again, you’re completing miscellaneous chores around the house while Jungkook finishes securing the furniture in the nursery.

It’s already been an outrageously long day, especially with the weight of your unborn child applying a disastrous amount of pressure on your lower back. Your little one’s recent growth spurt makes it nearly impossible to stand for longer than thirty minutes without reprieve. When Jungkook comes downstairs and notices you rubbing your lower back with one hand while white-knuckling the counter with the other, he rushes to you and replaces your hand with his own to massage your spine.

“Oh, thank you,” you sigh in relief. 

“I got you, babygirl,” he says with a kiss to your shoulder. A moment later he seemingly remembers something, an adorable noise of realization coming from beside you. “Wait, I saw something on the internet I wanted to try.”

“Jungkook, no.”

“No, wait, Bams, it’s supposed to help!”

You eye him dangerously over your shoulder, alerting him without a word that if this is a prank he’ll be in for a rude awakening. 

He ignores your warning glance and uses his hands to stand you upright. You feel his arms circling you to hold beneath your baby bump and you’re ready to ask what he’s doing when suddenly the weight of your womb and the pressure on your back disappears. 

Looking down, you see Jungkook holding your stomach up for you, relieving the ache and allowing you to breathe freely. 

“Oh, wow, that’s really nice,” you mumble as your head falls to his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’ll do it as long as you like, Bams,” he tells you honestly. 

He does exactly that, holding the weight of your unborn child on your behalf for about ten minutes while you relish in the feeling of being weightless for a while. The act eventually joins his foot rubs and serenades as a part of your regular routine.

You’re lounging on the couch reading another parenting book while Jungkook plays a video game with your feet in his lap. It’s actually a test run for the game he’s been designing, and Jimin was absolutely right about him giving your character huge boobs. They’re tasteful, though, and you don’t mind because she’s a total badass. 

The game is currently distracting you from your book when you feel a strange sensation in your belly. You jump a little, looking down at your baby bump which is on display since you’re only wearing a bralette. The sensation happens again, and now that you’re watching intently, you see something move beneath your skin. 

Gasping in excitement, you begin hitting Jungkook with your book to grab his attention.

“Koo! Koo! The baby is kicking,” you shout even though he’s inches away from you.

His reaction is instantaneous, pausing the game and tossing the controller unceremoniously on the couch. Your hand traverses your belly so you can feel the next kick, and when you do, it makes you squeal and giggle in amazement. 

“Here, give me your hand,” you say and he stretches his arm towards you in response.

Placing his hand where you felt the movement, you wait and watch his face instead of your belly, wanting to see his reaction when he feels his baby move for the first time. The sensation comes, and you see Jungkook’s brow crease before his whole face lights up, his big brown eyes sparkling brighter than any star in the galaxy. 

“That’s… that’s our little one?” He asks in awe. You nod repeatedly and he smiles so big it takes up his entire face. “Hi, baby,” he coos in adoration, bending down to kiss all over your stomach. 

They kick again while he’s smooching you and he yelps in surprise at the feeling. 

You’re both blushing and giggling like schoolgirls with a crush, already so completely spellbound by your child. 

Jungkook carefully crawls over you to kiss you, but it’s all teeth and tongue because you can’t stop smiling even while trying to lock lips. You whimper in pain after a moment and Jungkook pulls back to check on you, his hand rising to caress your cheek.

“Seems our baby found my spine to kick instead,” you groan. 

Jungkook frowns and runs his thumb along your cheekbone.

“I guess wanting them to grow up to be a soccer player isn’t such a good thing after all,” he notes. Then, a thought occurs to him and his eyes light up again while he giggles to himself. “Hey, guess what?”

“Hmm?”

“Bambi.” He points to you. “And Thumper.” He points to your bump.

An endeared giggle completely overtakes your body, the back of your head hitting the arm of the couch while you rapidly kick your feet. 

“That’s so cute, Koo!” You hold his face in your hands. “Our family Halloween costumes are gonna be freaking adorable!” 

Jungkook’s expression turns saccharine as his eyes trace over your features in wonderment, and his gaze makes you realize it’s the first time you’re referring to yourselves as a family. The notion is obvious, but hearing the word aloud causes both your hearts to leap into your throat. You share in an adoring chuckle again, your foreheads meeting as you serenely close your eyes.

EIGHT

Jungkook blares “It’s the Final Countdown” from his Bluetooth speaker as he enthusiastically skips around the living room, both Bam and Usagi trailing after him in wonder. You’re too busy laughing from your place on the couch to join them. 

Today is exactly one month from your due date, and you’re prepared for this to be the single longest month of your life. The last eight have felt more like eight years, but you’re so close to the promised land, and you can hardly wait to bring your little one home. If you’re lucky, the baby may even come a little early and save you some heartache. 

And the heartache is literal, since one of the latest symptoms to add itself to the disastrous mix is intense heartburn. Couple that with the incessant kicking your child’s been getting up to lately, and your entire torso feels like it’s under siege. 

Jungkook does everything he can to help, such as constantly passing you Tums and playfully scolding your baby to stop kicking so much. He even went so far as to lace up his boxing gloves and have a sparring match with your baby bump. The extreme laughter born from his antics ended up hurting your stomach more than the kicking. 

The chemistry between you has been steadily increasing for some time, the line between friends and lovers practically blurring into obscurity, but you both welcome the feeling with open arms. 

You don’t find it necessary to broach the topic. You and Jungkook have never needed words to communicate, always knowing precisely what the other is thinking with a single glance, and it’s no different in this scenario.

Every time your eyes meet you know he feels the same; you’re no longer just best friends, and that’s alright.

About a week later you’re in the nursery together working on some finishing touches to the decor. Jungkook is hanging the mobile above the crib while you place the astronomical amount of clothes you received from your surprise baby shower in the closet. The nursery is positively jam packed from all the gifts people gave you last month, every corner of the room bursting with clothes, books, toys, and accessories. Even though the ample amount of supplies is overwhelming, knowing your little one is already so loved makes you abundantly happy. 

Chaewon even crocheted the perfect gender neutral blanket, despite her original complaints about the gender being unknown. 

Since the gender is a surprise, you and Jungkook haven’t discussed baby names all that much. Some general ideas have been thrown around, including family names and a sarcastic suggestion of “JJ” for Jungkook Jr. But you both share in the, perhaps naive, belief that as soon as you see them you’ll somehow know exactly what their name should be. 

Jungkook’s work phone rings, and you briefly glance over your shoulder to see him exiting the room as he answers the call. Usagi happily trots inside with the door wide open and curls up in the little reading nook. You give her some well deserved head pats while she purrs in content before continuing with your assigned task. Once all the clothes are either hung up or housed in the proper drawers, you leave the room to check on Jungkook.

When you find him after descending the stairs, he’s standing at the kitchen island drinking a glass of water which he slams down once it’s empty. Your eyebrows quirk up at the harsh motion, wondering what the call could’ve been about to elicit such a reaction.

“Koo, is everything alright?”

Jungkook shakes his head and rests his elbows on the counter so he can cradle his head in his hands.

“They need me to go to Japan for a meeting with some execs,” he tells you. 

“For how long?”

“Three days minimum, but it could be up to a week.”

“A week? Jungkook, I’m more than eight months pregnant.”

“Yeah, I know, Bambi, I told them that!” He explains in exasperation. “Fuck, this sucks so bad.”

You take a deep breath so at least one of you remains calm. Once you’re beside him, you attempt to massage the tension away from his back and shoulders.

“It’ll be okay. Japan is only a short airplane ride away. Worst comes to worst, you fly back if I go into labor,” you state.

“It’s not just if you go into labor, Bams. This is our last month before the baby is born. We’ve still got a ton to do!”

“The nursery is almost done, and either of our parents or friends can come over to help me clean and baby proof the house.” You tug on his shoulder so he turns around before cupping his face in your hands. “It’ll be fine, baby, I promise.”

Jungkook sighs before nuzzling his head against your hand, pursing his lips to press a couple chaste kisses to your palm. Afterwards he removes your hands from his face altogether to hold them between his own.

“I just don’t want to be away from you, baby,” he admits. “Not now and especially not for that long.”

Your cheeks grow warm in response to his words and you attempt to pacify his melancholy by giving him a tender kiss on the lips.

“I don’t want to be away from you, either, but I’m sure it will go by in the blink of an eye,” you reassure him. 

He aggressively pouts, practically giving himself duck lips, despite knowing it’s the truth. He brings you to his chest for a hug and you snuggle deeper into the embrace, allowing his familiar, comforting scent to encompass you.

You still have the weekend together before Jungkook flies out early Monday morning. You spend the majority of the time cuddling on the couch watching your favorite movies and playing with your fur babies as Bam chases a bone and Usagi hunts for the laser pointer. It’s heartwarmingly domestic and you hope it’ll always be this way, especially once your baby arrives.

Whenever you’re lounging around, Jungkook always lies as close as possible to your belly and it warms your heart to watch his fingers trace little hearts and smiley faces across your skin. 

Even after eight months he still upholds the tradition of coming downstairs first thing in the morning and caressing your baby bump while whispering “hi, my little papaya.” The only difference now is the adorable behavior is immediately followed by him pecking your lips and whispering “hi, my baby” to you.

You’re fully aware that when Monday rolls around you’re going to be a total basket case. The two of you haven’t been apart for more than a day since you got pregnant, and the thought of going a whole week without him when you’re this close to the finish line is borderline unbearable. 

Especially because your third trimester hormones have turned you into a raving lunatic as of late. Crocodile tears form in your eyes over nearly everything and your temper flips on a dime, which you always profusely apologize to Jungkook for whenever he’s on the receiving end. Two weeks ago, you found a dead spider on the ground and started weeping hysterically, so it’s safe to say the time away from Jungkook is going to leave you a complete mess. 

When you do say goodbye, you make a valiant effort at staying strong, but then Jungkook kisses you reverently, both his hands cupping your cheeks as he pours every once of his devotion into your mouth and you shatter into a million pieces. Your tears get trapped between your faces as your lips mold together, but Jungkook diligently wipes them away when he parts from you. 

His forehead presses to yours when he whispers that he loves you and he’ll be back soon before departing with a final grace of his lips to your brow. 

You wail Disney Princess style on his bed as soon as the door clicks shut behind you. It’s downright pathetic, but you don’t care because Usagi is the sole witness to your display. The sheets smell like him and it only serves to make matters worse. It’s only been five minutes and you feel like you miss him down to your very bones already.

Even though he’s far away, you still sleep in his bed rather than your own. You haven’t slept in the guest bedroom originally meant for you in well over two months, and it feels wrong to stay there just because he’s gone. 

Jungkook remains in constant contact with you, which helps ease the heartache of being apart. He messages you at every milestone, from the moment he arrives at the airport, to when his plane lands, and then again when he reaches the hotel. He sends photos and selfies, too, which fills you with exuberant warmth while simultaneously bringing on more tears.

You wallow in self-pity the whole first day, eating an entire tub of ice cream while you watch cheesy romantic comedies. Various friends and family come over the following day to help around the house, which you genuinely appreciate more than words can describe because there is still so much to do. On the third morning without Jungkook, your moms visit and the three of you chat over sparkling grape juice about anything and everything to expect.

They explain all the intimate details of the birthing process they can remember, such as what contractions and labor feel like, and how the brief hospital stay will go prior to bringing the baby home. Your mom goes into grave detail about how awful you’ll feel afterwards and Jungkook’s mom adds more pack to the punch by mentioning how difficult caring for a newborn is while healing from the delivery. 

They assure you everything will be fine, though, and that they’ll be here everyday if you need them. The three of you also agree you truly have nothing to worry about when you have someone as wonderful as Jungkook to care for you.

“Why did you guys want to be pregnant at the same time so badly anyway?” You ask them out of pure curiosity. 

“Well, truth be told, and don’t tell Kookie this, but we were actually hoping you would both be girls so we could have this adorable, little, four way mother-daughter relationship,” Jungkook’s mom tells you. 

You chuckle at her admission and your mind begins to wonder just how different your life would be if that had been the case.

“Honestly, though, this outcome is so much better!” Your mom exclaims. “Now we get to be grandparents together.”

“I’m sure that wasn’t part of the plan,” you state.

“Not at first, no,” Jungkook’s mom says. “But I think we knew as you guys got older, especially after college, that it was only a matter of time.”

“You know, you guys aren’t the only people to say that and I genuinely don’t get it,” you say. “I’m head over heels for him now, no doubt about it, but before, I truly didn’t see him that way. I mean, we grew up together, we were closer than most brothers and sisters are for the majority of our lives.”

“I don’t think it’s about how you felt at the time,” your mom explains. “I think it’s the way you interact, how much you care about one another. There’s one else who could ever give you the love you deserve more than each other.”

As you process her comment, the cogwheels in your mind synthesize and you finally understand what everyone’s been telling you all this time. What Nayeon said about your feelings for him being more than those of a relationship and Chaewon telling you not to overthink things. No one’s presented the notion to you this way before, and something about your mother’s words causes everything to click into place. 

You’re together now because it’s as easy as breathing, and whether you initially had romantic feelings for each other or not, no one can compare.

On day four you’re alone again and you go genuinely stir crazy. Poor Bam has to take the brunt of your brief mental insanity as you cry into his fur and lay across him in a desperate attempt to gain some sort of warmth and comfort. 

Although, you don’t need his services for long, because Jungkook calls like he has every night, but this time he has good news.

“Guess who’s coming home early tomorrow?”

“Really?” You shout into the receiver, your hands still covered in chip dust from eating your feelings. 

“Yup, first flight out of here tomorrow morning,” he tells you.

“Ah! Koo, I’m so excited!”

“Me, too, baby,” he says. “I miss you like crazy, been thinking about you 24/7.”

“Me, too,” you respond. “I think our little one misses you, too. They’ve been restless ever since you left.”

“Have you been playing the mixtape for them?”

“Yes, but it isn’t the same, and I honestly think they’ve gotten picky about it. Live vocals are just so much better, you know?”

Jungkook chuckles and even through the phone you can tell he’s smiling. 

“I’ll make sure to serenade them immediately upon my return,” he states.

“Nuh uh!” You pout even though he can’t see you. “I take priority here, mister.”

“Oh, you’re right. I’m sorry, Bams,” he laughs. “You’ll always be my number one.”

The two of you continue to talk about your respective days for a while. Jungkook explains all the cool gaming stuff he’s gotten to see while at the headquarters in Japan and you parry with your accomplishment of watching all five Twilight movies in a single day. You reluctantly hang up after a couple hours with a quick “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Tomorrow ends up being a complete disaster. 

There’s extreme thunderstorms throughout the entire region, so as soon as you wake up, you see a text from Jungkook informing you his flight’s been delayed by about two hours. It’s no biggie at first, knowing these things happen and it shouldn’t keep him from you for that much longer. But one delay turns to two, which becomes three, and after eight delays, his flight is finally moved to an entirely different airline and won’t be arriving until the following day at approximately three in the morning. 

He tells you not to wait up for him and get your sleep, but there’s no way in hell you’re waiting even another second to see him. 

Even once he lands, it’s still down pouring and the taxi takes another thirty minutes to reach him. He gives you periodic updates, including some heartbreaking selfies of him pouting by the luggage carousel, but despite being able see his handsome face through the phone, it’s all so frustrating you could rip your hair right out of your head. 

By the time his location icon starts moving towards the house, you’ve been pacing the floor like a mad woman for close to an hour. 

Your incessant pacing screeches to a halt when you hear the sound of his footsteps bounding up the stairs and the key turning in the lock. You scurry across the floor as fast as your swollen, pregnant feet will carry you, waiting just behind the door for the reveal of your favorite sight in the world. Although, when the door swings open, you don’t get the chance to admire him before your face is squished against his. 

The very moment Jungkook sees you, he takes your face in his hands and smashes his lips on yours as though he’ll die if he doesn’t. His hungry mouth silences your noise of surprise, coaxing your mouth open and allowing his tongue to invade the space as he kisses you until you can’t see straight. Muscle memory makes it all too easy for him to guide you away from the door and into the wall. You moan when your back meets the hard surface and Jungkook groans in satisfaction at the sound, using his hips to trap you between him and the drywall. 

The warm hands on your skin, taut body flush to yours, and delicious mouth utterly devouring you completely shuts down your senses until all you can see, hear, smell, taste, and feel are him. 

Hands reaching up to grab the collar of his shirt, you tug him impossibly close, even though your bodies are already touching in every place possible. He’s kissing you like he never has before and somehow you still want more. Your hands release the fabric to traverse the planes of his chest and hold his shoulders, eventually moving upwards to caress his neck and jaw. 

He’s completely soaked from the rain, his hair dripping cold water droplets onto your skin and his soiled clothes transferring the liquid onto your own, but there isn’t a single piece of you that minds. He can drench you in acid for all you care, as long as he stays this close and keeps kissing you like this. 

Jungkook pulls a centimeter away, his lips still brushing yours as he breathes erratically as though he ran all the way from the airport. 

“I’m so in love with you,” he pants. “I’m fucking crazy about you, Bambi.” He shakes his head in disbelief of his confidence to finally confess. “I was going to wait to tell you until after the baby’s born, but being away from you was fucking torture and I couldn’t hold it in any longer.”

“Hold it in? How long have you felt this way?” 

Your eyes stare into his with wonder.

“Since we thought we were gonna lose the baby,” he tells you. “I was driving you to the doctor’s office and it felt like the whole world was crashing down around me, but then I realized that’s okay. That if that happened, it wouldn’t matter. The zombie apocalypse could destroy all of humanity, the tectonic plates could shift and send entire continents into the sea, and it wouldn’t matter as long as I have you.” He inhales while gently shaking his head and spraying you with rainwater. “And that’s not new, I’ve always felt that way about you. I’ve always known I want you by my side for the rest of my life, but it made me realize I don’t want anyone else by my side. I only want you, baby.”

“Jungkook, you kept that from me for two months?” You ask incredulously.

“We have a lot going on at the moment, Bams,” he explains.

“Sure, but the stuff we have going on is stressful. Your feelings for me aren’t stressful.”

Jungkook’s eyes burn with intensity as he analyzes the meaning of your words. 

“Why not?”

“What?”

“Why aren’t they stressful, Bambi?”

“Because.” You shrug like what you’re about to say is the most obvious truth of the universe. “Well, because I’m in love with y — mmpf.”

Jungkook ceases the remainder of your confession with a divine kiss. Your mouths move in perfect harmony and you swear you see the sun peaking through the rain clouds outside. It doesn’t seem possible, but you can feel every ounce of Jungkook’s love for you on his tongue as it traces your lips and tangles with your own.

“Say it again,” he requests. “Please.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“Again, don’t stop.”

“I love you.” Kiss. “I’m so, stupidly, madly.” Kiss. “Crazy in love with you, Jungkook.” Kiss. “I love you so much.” Kiss. “I love you more than anything.” Kiss. “More than I’ll ever be able to describe.” Kiss. “Jungkook.” Kiss. “You’re my everything.” Kiss. “I love you, Koo.”

You aren’t able to chant your emotions anymore because Jungkook doesn’t give you time to breathe, let alone speak. 

His hands are still firmly cradling your face, both your lips refusing to part from one another for a single second. He tastes like honey and vanilla, most likely from the sweets you know he had on the plane. It’s addicting and hypnotizes you completely until all you can think about is him and all you can do is kiss him with all your might. 

Jungkook’s hands travel to the back of your head and tangle in your hair. He uses the leverage to tilt your head so he can kiss across your jaw and neck, biting down softly before sucking over the same spot and making you whimper helplessly for him. 

The attention on your neck only lasts momentarily before he’s releasing you to grab your ass instead, but you stop him by gripping his biceps.

“Baby, you can’t lift me right now, I’m too heavy,” you warn him.

Jungkook looks so offended he takes two full steps away from you, one of his eyebrows rising in disbelief as his jaw ticks. He even goes so far as to scoff while cracking his neck. Then, for the sole purpose of proving you wrong, he effortlessly lifts you into his arms and you have to scramble to latch onto him with your arms around his neck and legs around his waist.

“You wanna try that again, Bams?”

“No,” you grumble under your breath.

The sound of his proud chuckle meets your ears as he seamlessly carries up the stairs and into his bedroom. He tosses you unceremoniously onto the bed, your body bouncing when you land as you giggle in excitement. 

You wait for him to join you, reaching towards him with a pout when he isn’t instantly on top of you, but he only rests one knee on the edge of the mattress.

“Wait, since when have you known?”

“Honestly?” Jungkook nods rapidly. “I have no fucking clue. It’s just like my nickname. I have no idea when or where it happened. I just know all of the sudden you were the first thing on my mind when I woke up, and I got butterflies when we were together, and I wanted to hold your hand, cuddle you, and go on dates. It’s like I just woke up one day and realized I fell in love with you but have no way of tracing it to an exact origin.”

Jungkook smiles and shakes his head knowingly.

“That’s so you.”

“I know, I’m a freaking space cadet!”

“My space cadet,” Jungkook says, finally moving to hover above you. “Also, I know how you got your nickname.”

“Huh?” You frown deeply. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve always known, but I thought it was cute that none of you could remember,” he explains. “It felt like it was my own little secret.”

“Koo!”

Jungkook laughs while scrunching his nose in adoration, his arms shaking where they rest on either side of your head.

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell you. We were watching the movie in my living room and you just wouldn’t stop crying after Bambi’s mom died, like full blown hysterical tears. So, to cheer you up I said ‘it’s okay, Bambi,’ and you smiled SO big and your eyes lit up like fireworks. I knew then it had to be your nickname.”

Your lip catches between your teeth as you will the sentimental tears not to fall. The notion of Jungkook knowing this whole time is both infuriating and also so heartwarming; that his nickname for you is so precious to him he didn’t dare share the secret of its beginning. 

“That’s so you,” you reply to his story.

He radiantly beams at you, his cheeks and ears turning bright pink from the blush spreading across them. You share in your affectionate laughter as he drops to his elbows so he can kiss you. 

“I love you so much, Bambi,” he whispers. “You’re everything to me, baby.”

The tears you successfully held back before make their debut, wetting both his and your cheeks as they roll away from your eyes. 

Even though you’ve known for a while now this confession was imminent, it’s still just as mesmerizing to hear the words from his lips and be able to say them in return.

The kiss begins with fluid, languid motions, your mouths dancing together for the millionth time, but then Jungkook raises the temperature of the room, greedily licking into your mouth and tugging on your lower lip with his teeth before letting it snap into place. The air fills with moans and whines as you make out, but you stop him with a hand to his chest when you feel him grinding against you.

“Wait, Koo, sex can induce labor,” you tell him.

“Okay,” he draws out the word. “So, we get it on and meet our little one a bit early, isn’t that a win-win situation?”

You chuckle and mentally berate yourself for believing his answer would be anything besides that. Rolling your eyes with an affectionate smile, you briefly peck his lips before smacking his ass.

“Deal, but I’m getting on top.”

Jungkook certainly isn’t going to object to you riding his dick. 

He holds you by the waist and rolls you both over, helping you settle in his lap and caressing your outline as his eyes memorize the vision of you above him. His fingers grip the bottom of your shirt to pull it over your head and then he does the same for his own. 

You don’t let him continue undressing, too mesmerized by his chiseled torso to allow the sight to be hindered. He’s been working out more these last few months as a way to unwind from the stress of preparing for fatherhood, and it’s definitely paid off. You’ve always known how blessed you are to have him, but moments like this remind you just how blessed you truly are.

His neck is your initial target while your hands run along his abs, sinking your nails into the hard lines and creating red marks across his pretty muscles. Jungkook whines at the feeling, his hand reactively grabbing the back of your head as you mark his neck with pretty, wet blotches. 

“Please don’t tease me, baby,” he says. “I need you so fucking bad.”

“You’re the one who left me alone for five days,” you reply in between kisses to his jugular. “I’ll take however long I want.”

Taking your time traversing his shoulder and collarbones, you trace over every muscle and bone with your lips, soaking his skin as your tongue drags across the area. His hand keeps a firm grip on your head, slightly guiding your movements, but still allowing you to savor his upper body despite his request. You bite into his pecs and circle his nipple with your tongue, making his hips bucks beneath you as he groans. 

You giggle like the brat you are at his neediness, already feeling his cock stiffening where your core rests against his crotch.

It honestly takes an exuberant amount of effort to stop painting his torso in kisses, reluctantly pulling away after licking across the entire expanse of his stomach down to his hips and placing a single smooch on all eight of his abdominal muscles. 

Jungkook forces your lips to meet his when you’re done, kissing you like he’s starving for you as he removes both your bottoms in quick succession.

He can feel just how wet you are as soon as your bare cunt meets his length, your essence already leaking all over him without him having to do any work. It brings a smile to his face as you kiss, the feeling of pride turning his chest red with blush because of his effect on you. 

“Missed you so fucking much, babygirl.”

The words have barely left Jungkook’s lips when he grabs your hips to position you over his cock. His fingers wrap around his shaft so you have a perfect target to sink onto, and the familiar feeling of him stretching you open as you sit on his thighs makes your head lull while you breathlessly moan.

“Oh fuck, baby,” you mewl. “I missed you so bad.”

Jungkook is pulling your face to his so he can kiss you before you even start bouncing on him, his other hand grabbing your ass and squeezing your flesh possessively. The kiss is quick, because soon after he’s turning your head and licking across the hot skin of your neck. His warm breath tickles your ear as he goes to speak. 

“This cock is all yours, Bams. So, be good and ride it for me, yeah?” 

You’d do anything he asks, and his words light up the competitive streak in you to give him the best fuck of his life. 

The temptress within you gets the better of you, and you decide to fully unsheath him from the walls of your pussy while grabbing his cock with your hand to keep him in place. He groans indignantly when your warmth leaves him, and you wait a few torturous moments before slowly letting him enter you again one inch at a time. 

Jungkook spanks you in retaliation, but you just chuckle and scratch at his pecs with your nails.  

Continuing the slow glide, you watch as Jungkook’s cock leaves your cunt covered in your juices until it disappears from view when your walls suck him in again. The erotic visual makes your body burn with wanton need. His thick cock repeatedly spearing you is truly a sight to behold and it feels even better than it looks. 

“Fuck, Bambi, don’t fucking do this to me.”

“Do what?” 

The faux innocent gaze your eyes possess makes Jungkook’s jaw clench. 

“I will demolish this fucking pussy. Don’t mess with me, baby,” he threatens. 

“I’d like to see you tr –” 

Jungkook cuts your air supply off completely with a single deadly thrust upwards, your sentence ending with a screech instead of the syllable it was supposed to. 

You aren’t able to replenish your oxygen because Jungkook’s hand is suddenly around your throat, pressing down on the sides to choke you without actually hurting you. His other hand bruisingly holds your hip so he can keep you exactly where he wants you. Your inner thighs meet his pelvis when he plants his feet against the mattress, giving him all the leverage he needs to fuck you dumb. 

“There we go, much better,” he grunts as he abuses your hole. 

“Koo, oh my God.” 

You’re grasping for purchase on his chest to keep yourself upright, eventually gripping his shoulders to prevent falling right over. The combination of his hand around your throat and his cock hitting just the right spot inside you has your mind going numb and your mouth dropping open. 

Jungkook’s completely focused on his singular goal of fucking you right, his brow creasing as his eyes sharpen with determination. He looks no less than ethereal below you, the sweat on his skin making him shimmer like the Greek god you’re positive he descends from. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking handsome, Jungkook. It’s unreal.”

He blushes at your compliment even as his hips work endlessly to force his dick deep into your pussy. 

“That means a lot coming from someone as beautiful as you,” he says with honey coating his tone.

Unlike him, you’re unable to blush or even react, the speed and force of his strokes is plummeting your body into an ocean of euphoria and all you can do is drown. The sex is borderline demonic, and yet it feels like heaven coursing through your veins. 

It’s a genuine mystery of the universe how someone as kind and gentle as Jungkook can be such a goddamn animal in bed. 

If it wasn’t for your pregnant belly, you’re certain Jungkook’s cock would be making an appearance in your abdomen. His lower body is working overtime to send his thick length as far as possible into you and the sensation turns your mind to goo. You would love nothing more than to focus on the feeling of his muscles beneath your fingers, or the way his thighs smash into yours with every thrust, but you’re in a subspace of pleasure. 

“Fuck, Bams, you look so sexy,” he tells you, his voice dripping with desire. “Pussy filled with me, belly swollen with my child, your perfect tits full of milk. You’re fucking gorgeous, babygirl.”

As if to prove his point, he sits up to tug one of your nipples between his teeth. You gasp at the abrasion against your already sensitive skin, but the sound melts into a moan when he takes it into his mouth and sucks on the pebbled skin.

He plays with your nipple until it’s sore, flicking it with his tongue and then slowly circling it until you’re whining and gripping his hair like a lifeline. Wet kisses are placed all over your breast, slathering you in drool and red blotches where he chose to suck on your flesh. You think the debilitating treatment is over until he switches sides, making you cry with pleasure. 

There’s a pop when he releases your nub from his mouth to kiss along your sternum instead.

“You feel fucking amazing, baby. So big, make me feel so full,” you moan.

Jungkook hums proudly as his tongue leaves his mouth to the lick your collarbone.  

“I don’t know how I’ll survive six weeks without fucking this perfect, little cunt.”

His hand tightens around your throat again and you whimper, rolling your hips downward along with his movements to create friction on your clit.

“At least you’ll be able to jack off,” you retort.

“Mm, that can’t even hold a candle to you, baby,” he kisses across your shoulder, inch by inch until he reaches your neck. “I would know, it’s all I fucking did the last five days.” 

Jungkook’s hand leaves your throat with a final squeeze to join his other one at your hips, bringing you down against him with more ferocity as the sound of skin slapping together fills the room. 

“I’ve got you addicted, don’t I?”

“Fuck, you have no idea, Bambi.”

You continue fucking yourself on him to the best of your ability even with his brutal pace, feeling infinitely needier as your orgasm steadily approaches. 

Jungkook is reeking havoc on your neck, coating you in his saliva as he licks across your sweat soaked skin and kisses your most sensitive spots. He nibbles on your earlobe and it makes you keen and whimper unabashedly. 

Honestly, you don’t know how you’ll survive the six weeks either. The two of you have done nothing but fuck since a few weeks after you moved in, and the forced celibacy may very well send you spiraling into insanity. You’re addicted to him, too, and you already know you’ll be begging for his dick for the remainder of your days.

Craving more of you, Jungkook holds you firm against his chest and slams back into the mattress, readjusting his feet and the angle of his hips so he can terrorize your g-spot with the tip of his cock. 

“Oh, holy shit.”

You bite down on his shoulder as tears prick your eyes.

He growls amorously in his throat, his hips taking on a mind of their own as they work effortlessly to send you both crashing into an orgasm. 

Part of you feels bad for requesting to be on top only to allow him to take control, but the guilt washes away like sand when you feel your climax pressing against your insides like a tsunami just offshore. 

“Come on my cock, baby, wanna feel how tight you squeeze me,” Jungkook orders. 

You can’t answer him, the only noises escaping your body being nonsensical moans and cries of his name. But your body certainly responds, your pussy clenching around his cock like a vice before your legs lock and twitch when your release comes.

The pulsing of your cunt triggers Jungkook’s release, and your cries of pleasure harmonize as you come together. 

“Shit, Koo,” you curse as he continues sending his cock into you, creating an ache of oversensitivity between your legs. “Baby.” 

You stall his movements with a hand to his chest as your pussy convulses around him with the aftershocks of your orgasm. There’s a soreness in your thighs when you lift yourself from his lap and fall beside him on the bed. 

Jungkook’s softening cock is covered in white from both of your juices, and if you weren’t entirely spent and borderline delirious, you’d lick it clean for him. 

He caresses your face as your eyes close, moving your hair out the way so he can kiss your cheek, nose, temple, and forehead. You hum happily, pursing your lips as a wordless demand for him to kiss them as well.

“I love you, Jeon Jungkook,” you whisper into the air.

The sound of his bright laugh makes you smile.

“I love you more,” he responds before finally giving you a tender kiss.

“Oh, please don’t make me fight you right now. I’m in no shape to do so,” you state.

Jungkook giggles and pecks your lips a couple more times in rapid succession.

Once your heavy breathing slows and your bodies cool, you roll into Jungkook’s side and he naturally pulls you into his embrace. 

It’s nearing sunrise and if you’re this exhausted, you can’t even begin to comprehend how tired Jungkook must be.

He wishes you goodnight where his lips rest on your forehead and you return the gesture by smooching his chest a couple times. The two of you sleep peacefully for the first time in days, the feeling of home completely encompassing you as you’re whisked away to dreamland. 

NINE

Despite the many warnings about the possibility of sex inducing labor, you’re three days from your due date and Jungkook fucking you sensless multiple times a day has yet to make your baby arrive any sooner. 

The two of you are in the honeymoon phase straight out of finally confessing your love for each other, and you having a massive baby bump and a few extra pounds on you doesn’t stop you in the slightest from celebrating your new relationship status. Jungkook can’t keep his hands to himself even when you’re in the middle of important tasks readying the house for your little pumpkin 

Honestly, you think it’s partially to distract himself from the imminent arrival of your child. He never says it aloud because he doesn’t want to worry you, but you know him better than anyone and can tell he’s anxious. 

It’s one thing to spend nine months positively itching to hold your baby in your arms, but it’s another to actually parent said child. 

Even with his nerves, he’s been the picture perfect partner throughout these final weeks and you’re nothing short of absolutely certain he’ll be the most amazing father in the world. Even if he fails at things or messes up every now and then, the immense love he already holds for your baby is more than you could ever ask for from a partner.

Right now he’s screwing the final dresser into the wall of his bedroom so it’s baby-proof. He’s never been much of a handyman, but you suppose the fatherhood gene has fully fermented in his blood and now he can handle a drill like a pro. You’ll have to ask him about changing tires next, and his sneezes will probably get louder as soon as the baby is born.

You’re moseying around the kitchen as you clean up following dinner. Jungkook keeps telling you to stay still and relax, but you’re way too antsy to do that.  

Every minute feels like an hour while you wait for your little one to arrive. Not only because you’re so eager to meet them, but because you’re terrified of labor and delivery and want it over with as soon as possible. It’s a fear of the unknown, and you know you’ll feel better once you understand how bad the contractions will be. 

Being pregnant comes with many lovely perks, one of which includes peeing every time you cough or even flinch the wrong way. 

That’s why, when you feel a warm sensation down below, you don’t question it. Like always these past couple months, you merely roll your eyes and make a mental note to change your underwear when you’re done cleaning. 

It’s only once you step to your left and have to catch yourself on the counter to stop from slipping that you realize you’re standing in a pool of liquid. You certainly didn’t pee your pants, because although it’s been a couple decades since you last did, you remember the feeling quite well. When the realization of what actually occurred hits you, you’re screaming bloody murder for Jungkook upstairs.

“My water! Jungkook! My water just broke!” 

The sound of his two feet followed by four large paws running down the stairs is all you hear until he appears at the bottom of the stairwell looking like he’s seen a ghost.

His cheeks are bright red, his eyes bigger than you’ve ever seen them, and he’s huffing out air as though he just ran a marathon. 

“Are you serious?” 

“Yes, Koo, I’m standing in amniotic fluid as we speak!”

Jungkook shakes his head aggressively to get himself into action mode. 

“Alright, you get your shoes on, I’m gonna get the hospital bag. Wait, do you need to change first?”

“That would be nice, yeah,” you admit. 

He’s gone in a flash to head back upstairs and obtain your pre-packed bag with all the essentials and something for you to change into. 

When he returns only a split second later, Usagi is following close behind now that she’s aware something exciting is going on. He hands you a comfortable dress and panties to change into and you strip right there in the kitchen. His hand on your hip stalls you before you’re able to slip the clothes on, and you nearly start screaming at him that now is not the time, but then he grabs a towel and wipes away the fluid from your legs. 

You smile graciously and thank him for thinking ahead before sliding the dress over your head and scurrying to the door. 

Now that your water broke you can feel a mild cramping from the contractions. It’s a dull pitch in your back as well as what you can only compare to a period cramp. You must not be dilated very much yet because the pain is still fairly tolerable. 

Jungkook bends over to help you with your shoes before resting his hand on your lower back to guide you downstairs to the garage. Both your hands are caressing your swollen stomach, slightly bracing yourself because the cramping is coming in waves every few minutes. 

When you reach the car Jungkook opens the passenger door for you, but you turn on your heel and place your hands on his chest before sitting down. He looks at you inquisitively, his eyes conveying his hurriedness and confusion as to why you’re not rushing, too. 

“I just, we have time, and I want to take a minute before we go,” you tell him.

“For what, Bambi?”

You admire the pretty features you’ve known all your life with a smile and reach up to circle his neck with your arms. He laughs cheerfully and reflects your embrace by hugging your waist.

“This is the last time we’re gonna be here, just the two of us.” You nuzzle your face in his neck and let his scent calm you. “The last time it will just be you and me.”

“It’s always gonna be you and me, Bams,” he replies. “Always.”

He kisses your cheek, leaving his lips there for a lingering moment before you part. Once you do, he rests his hand on your jaw and kisses you gently. His lips are warm and familiar, and you kiss one another with a promise of wonderful new things on the horizon. 

Jungkook waits to ensure you’re comfortable in the passenger seat before running to the other side and taking off towards the nearby hospital. On the way, you call your doctor to let them and she assures you she’ll meet you there once the labor and delivery nurses triage you. 

When you arrive, you take a poignant deep breath, knowing that when you exit this place you’ll be a mom, and this is the last time in the outside world where you’ll just be you. It’s exhilarating, nerve wracking, and overwhelming all at once, but you’ve been preparing for this next chapter for nine months now, and you’re more than ready.

You and Jungkook have your hands tightly wound together as you enter the massive hospital, but he relinquishes his grip to grab you a wheelchair once you’re inside. He watches you carefully as you sit down, holding his hands out on either side of you as though you’re made of glass. When you nod at him assuredly that you’re all good, he rushes to the counter to inform the receptionist while you text all your important group chats about what’s going on. 

Your parents and friends are planning on coming to see you and the baby after delivery, and you can’t wait to formally introduce them to your little one. 

Jungkook returns along with a labor and delivery nurse who introduces herself before wheeling you down the hallway. When you reach two large double doors, she stops and turns to you and Jungkook, whose hand is comfortingly rubbing your shoulder.

“Alright, this is where we’ll be parting for a bit. Mom, you’re coming with me, and Dad, you have to get scrubbed up so you can join us,” she explains.

This step in the process is something your doctor explained previously, but it doesn’t make saying goodbye any easier, no matter how momentary the separation will be.

Looking towards Jungkook, you notice he’s just as anxious to be away from you, but he hides it well and bends to your height so he can kiss you briefly. 

“I’ll see you soon, okay, Bambi?”

There are tears in your eyes even though you’re nodding your head.

“Yeah, soon,” you whimper.

“It’s okay, baby, it won’t be for long,” he tells you as he caresses your cheek. You lean your head into his hand and close your eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you parrot and kiss him one final time. 

He waves continuously as you’re pushed through the double doors by your nurse, and even though you know he’s upset, too, he’s sporting the cheesiest grin on his face to make you laugh.

Jungkook heaves out a sigh directly from his gut once you’re gone, his head falling back as he struggles to steady his jackrabbiting heart. Being apart right now feels like unadulterated torture, but he knows it’s only for a short while before you’ll be together again.

A different nurse comes to lead him to a sterile room just around the corner. The older woman explains the basics of scrubs and staying clean as well as what to do if he gets contaminated. He listens as dutifully as possible with all the other millions of thoughts running through his head and eventually the nurse helps him dress in the lovely, crinkly blue outfit, which includes shoe covers and a hair net. 

He looks utterly ridiculous, but truthfully, finally dawning his father-to-be attire makes him giddy.

When he exits, the nurse leads him down a seemingly infinite hallway to a delivery room where your doctor is waiting just outside the door. She smiles joyously when he appears in her vision and enthusiastically waves him down. 

“Hi, Doc,” he excitedly greets her.

“Hi, how are you feeling?” She asks him.

“I’m… nervous as hell,” he says truthfully. “I can’t stand seeing her in pain, so I don’t think I’m going to handle this very well.”

“A lot of dads feel that way about their partner,” she explains. “Just remember, all you can do is be there for her and she’ll get through it. She’s a tough cookie.”

“She is,” he nods with a smile.

“So, I wanted to talk to you before we go in. Y/N’s lost quite a lot of blood, and we’ve had to set her up with a continuous blood transfusion to ensure she’ll have enough for delivery. Now, let me just say, this is totally normal. We deal with this all the time and we’ve got everything under control.”

Jungkook’s heart drops into his stomach with a weighted plop, his entire body following suit as his shoulders sink and he nearly loses his balance.

“What — what — what do you mean, why is she losing blood?”

“It’s just something that happens sometimes, the baby is moving through her body and it can cause internal bleeding which drops her blood count,” she explains calmly.

“But… but she’s gonna be okay, right? I mean, Doc, that’s my entire world in there. I’m… I’m not even a person without her, I —”

“Jungkook, listen to me,” she interrupts his manic ramblings. “I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive. She’s going to be just fine. Her and the baby. You’re going to leave here with both of them tomorrow, alright?”

Jungkook attempts to calm his thoughts and take her words of expertise to heart, but he needs to see you for himself, hold you and feel your skin beneath his fingers so he knows without a shadow of a doubt that you’re alright.

“Okay. And you’ll… she takes priority, right? If something goes wrong —”

“Of course, she does.” She smiles reassuringly at him. “I won’t let anything happen to your Bambi, Jungkook.”

He nods his head as a sigh of relief leaves his lungs.

“Thank you, Doctor,” he says wholeheartedly.

“Of course. Let’s get you in there to see her, yeah? Fair warning, she’s a little loopy because of the blood loss, but it shouldn’t last too much longer now that she’s hooked up to a blood bag.”

She opens the door and gestures for Jungkook to enter before following closely behind.

When you see the light pouring in from the door opening, your eyes glisten with excitement as Jungkook appears in your field of vision. Even though you feel half alive, the sight of the man you love brings a huge toothy grin to your face. 

“Koo,” you call for him quietly, your hand weakly rising in his direction. He’s at your side instantly, taking your shaking hand and kissing the back of it before sitting in the chair beside your hospital bed. “You look so cute in your scrubs.”

“Yeah? Well, you look absolutely beautiful, baby,” he tells you as he delicately pushes your sweaty hair from your face. 

The contractions are coming in quick succession now and are significantly more powerful, but because of the blood loss you’ve only been given a mild pain reliever. It’s truthfully been horrible so far, especially when you nearly passed out from all the blood escaping your body. You don’t dare tell Jungkook about it, knowing precisely how he’ll react, but you already feel better with him next to you.

Pursing your lips in his general direction, you hear Jungkook chuckle as he leans in to kiss you deeply. Despite your current state, you still do your best to reciprocate the passion he pours into you, moving your lips in tandem while his free hand rises to cradle your jaw. Your foreheads meet once your lips reluctantly divide, but Jungkook uses his grip to lower your head so he can press his lips there a couple times instead.

“So, I take it you two aren’t just best friends anymore?” Your doctor is sitting between your legs with an eyebrow raised. You and Jungkook share a knowing chuckle before facing her and shaking your heads in unison. She smiles broadly in response. “Good, I’m glad.”

Just then, another contraction crashes over you and you groan while bending over in pain. Jungkook’s eyes go wide and misty in an instant, his hand clutching yours in support, which you return tenfold by brutally squishing his fingers together from the tightness of your grip. 

You feel his other hand combing through your hair as you attempt to push through the pain by counting your breaths. The pain coursing through your lower half is already borderline unbearable, and you pray they can give you the epidural soon.

“Breathe, baby,” Jungkook instructs, mimicking the Lamaze technique you learned all those months ago. 

The class was enjoyable enough, but the breathing exercises truly don’t do jack shit for the pain. Jungkook’s voice brings you more comfort than the repetitive intakes of air you were taught. As the pain begins to cease, you crash back into the bed with shaky breaths while Jungkook massages the shoulder closest to him. 

“Are you alright, Bams?” He asks, his eyes watching the monitor beside you so he can see your heart rate returning to baseline.

“Yeah, I am now,” you pant.

“Is there anything I can do?”

You caress his cheek with your free hand while putting on your bravest smile for him.

“No, my love, you just have to sit there and look pretty,” you instruct him. 

Jungkook blushes as he laughs.

You request he answer some of the hundreds of text messages currently blowing up your phone and causing it to nearly vibrate off the table. He does so without hesitation, sending mass text messages to your friends and family stating where to go when they arrive and updating them on how you're doing. There’s also a fair amount of selfies taken in between contractions, some for your loved ones and a couple of you two kissing for his own records. He wants to remember this forever, even if you both look questionable at best in your hospital attire. 

Everyone in your life knows about the relationship status upgrade, but he still wants to keep some moments sacred for just the two of you. 

When you told your moms, you genuinely thought they were going to pass out from sheer excitement. The two women cried hysterical happy tears and hugged one another for a minimum of five minutes before finally embracing the two of you in congratulations. 

The contractions continue for a couple hours, each wave of them getting closer and closer together until they’re almost neck and neck. After a particularly horrific one lasting about ten minutes, your doctor comes to speak to you.

“So, here’s the situation,” she starts. “You’re dilated to ten right now; the baby is ready to come out. The only problem is you still haven’t received enough blood for us to give you the epidural.” She sighs regretfully. “That gives us two options. You either do the birth naturally now or we give you a medicine that slows your labor down and we wait until we can give you the epidural. The biggest downside to that is the medicine can take upwards of ten hours to leave your system, so you’ll be feeling the contractions for that long.”

You were never planning on delivering naturally, and having to choose between the better of two evils is making your brain short circuit. All you want is to meet your baby, to hold, kiss, and love them, but there’s a barrier of brutality standing in your way. 

“Do you think I can do it naturally?” You ask her.

“Absolutely. I’ve seen thousands of women do it, but that doesn’t mean you have to. Everyone is different.”

Anxiously gnawing on your lip, you turn towards Jungkook, whose expression mirrors the fright on your own. His eyes are glossy with unsung emotion and it breaks your heart. You know how difficult it is for him to feel so powerless to help you, always proudly holding the title of your knight in shining armor all your life. 

“What do you think?”

“It’s not up to me, Bams,” he answers.

“I know, but I want your opinion.”

His jaw clenches and he shakes his head before speaking.

“I fucking hate seeing you in pain, Bambi. I can hardly stand it, you know that,” he responds. “But for either option it sounds like that’ll be the case. You either experience excruciating pain now or suffer for ten hours with severe pain.”

You mull over his words for a while before releasing the air in your lungs as your decision finalizes in your mind. 

“I wanna meet our baby, Koo,” you tell him. “I don’t want to wait.”

Jungkook smiles assuredly at you and brings your fingers to his lips to kiss.

“I know you can do this, Bambi. There’s nothing in this world I believe in more.”

“So, we’re gonna try naturally?” Your doctor asks to clarify and you answer her with a nervous nod of your head. “Great, we’ll start pushing in about ten minutes, alright? Remember that you’re going to push along with each contraction, so don’t push until I tell you.”

She walks across the room to discuss the plan with the other nurses assisting her with your delivery. Jungkook grabs your attention by brushing his knuckles down the side of your face and you paint an expression of false bravery on your face for him.

“Are you okay? You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah, Koo, I’m okay,” you assure him. “Just don’t be upset if I sink my nails into your skin and make you bleed.”

“You can do whatever you need to get through it,” he responds.

He brushes your hair away again, even more of your strands matted down after the hours of labor you’ve gone through already.

“This is it, huh? No turning back,” you say.

“Nope,” Jungkook giggles. “I can’t wait, Bams.”

“Me, either,” you reply happily.

Jungkook kisses you again, cherishing the feeling of your lips as he mentally maps the shape of your mouth and memorizes this moment. You allow the lip lock to be your final moment of rest before diving headfirst into the ordeal you fear the most. The next time your lips meet, it will be once you’ve become a family. 

“I know I’ve said it before, but you’re the best thing to ever happen to me. I love you so damn much,” Jungkook states.

“I thought you said that blowjob I gave you was the best thing to ever happen to you?”

Jungkook laughs indiscriminately, his eyes squeezing shut as his bunny teeth peak out.

“I was wrong,” he says. “It’s you, Bambi. It’s always been you.”

You smile at him in total adoration while tracing his features with your eyes, wanting to remember years from now exactly how he looked before he became a dad. 

“I love you, Jungkook, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to properly explain just how much.”

Instead of verbally replying, there are kisses spread all over your face as you giggle until your doctor returns and asks if you’re ready. When you tell her you are, she reassures you of your strength before sitting on the stool between your legs while the other nurses stand in various positions around her.

Jungkook squeezes your hand with an unknown melody and you share an affirmative glance from your periphery. You’ve been through everything under the sun together, and this is just another hurdle you know you’ll get through side by side. There’s no doubt in your mind you can do this because he’s here beside you and no one provides you with more strength and support than him.

Three consecutive, merciless contractions crash over you and you nearly turn Jungkook’s hand purple with your grasp. Your doctor informs you in a calm voice that when the third wave of pain begins to ebb you’ll start pushing. One contraction bleeds into the next, and you hear a backwards count of three before she orders you to push hard.

The pain is abundantly worse than you ever imagined. It feels like the entire lower half of your body is on fire while your insides tear themselves to shreds. You scream as hot, salty tears blur your vision and your nails bite into Jungkook’s hand. He holds your elbow with his free hand in an attempt to give you more support to steady yourself with.

The word “push” is repeated over and over as the contraction moves through you. You do as you're told for a few minutes, although it feels like hours, and then she states you’re going to pause for a moment. 

“Okay, you can stop, dear,” she instructs. 

As soon as your efforts cease, you gasp in hefty relief and fall backwards into the bed, all the while panting and trying to calm the inner workings of your body after pushing your nervous system to the brink.

“Bambi? Are you doing alright?” Jungkook asks as he brushes his fingers through your hair.  

“Fuck you, Jungkook. You’re never coming in me again,” you huff through shaky breaths. 

He chuckles and kisses your crown a couple times, making you smile despite the exhaustion and ache. 

When your doctor asks if you’re ready to continue you reply with a weak nod of your head and return to your prior position. The same sequence of events repeats for a while, but you honestly have no idea for how long because one excruciating moment just blurs into the next. There’s a particularly awful set of pushes and afterwards your doctor happily informs you the baby’s crowning and it shouldn’t take much longer. 

You brace yourself for what you know will be the worst pain yet, readjusting your hold on Jungkook’s hand as he whispers words of encouragement in your ear and kisses your sweaty cheek. 

Truthfully, all you want is to pause and climb into his lap so he can soothe the pain away as he always does, but your baby needs you, and there’s nothing you want more in the world than to hold them in your arms.

A moment later your doctor tells you to push as hard as you’re able and the loudest scream yet rips from your throat. You genuinely believe for a moment that you're being ripped in half and won’t make it out alive. The thought scares you half to death, but you force it away so you can focus on giving your child life.

“Ah! Fuck!” You wail as tears freefall from your eyes.

“One more, honey, you’re almost there,” your doctor assures you.

“You can do it, Bams,” Jungkook shouts as his arm shakes from how firmly you’re clutching his hand. 

“Ahh no, no I can’t, I can’t do it,” you cry helplessly, the pain nearly blacking out your vision. 

“Yes, you can, baby. I know that you can,” Jungkook replies. 

You weep hysterically while trying to breathe through the pain, but it feels impossible to push air from your lungs when all you feel is the overwhelming sensation of your insides ripping apart.

“Push, honey!”

Your doctor's words shove reality before you, that you only have one choice and that’s to bring your baby into the world. So, with all the strength you have left after hours of physical pain and torment, you push with all your might.

There’s an ear piercing scream which accompanies your efforts, but then your voice is drowned out by the sound of a shrill cry. 

You gasp harshly and slam into the bed when the immense pressure disperses from your bottom half. You’re left panting haphazardly as your body slows its momentum and your mind catches up to the world around you. 

The feeling of Jungkook’s fingers lacing through yours grounds you to the moment, but it’s your doctor’s voice which pulls your consciousness to the surface.

“Congratulations, you two, you have a beautiful little girl.”

“A girl?” You and Jungkook shout in unison. 

“We’re gonna clean her up and get her right back to you, alright?”

The world is spinning too fast. Everything seems to be happening at once, but you do your best to calm your mind so you can focus on your daughter and the man you love sitting beside you.

“Bambi, you did it,” Jungkook cheers as he leans over and kisses your forehead. “We have a daughter.”

You regain control of your eyes and turn towards the sound of his voice. He honestly looks just as bad as you. There are tear stains all across his face from crying over you being in pain, and fresh droplets are forming in the corners of his eyes at the news about your little girl.  

Reaching across to bring his face closer, you kiss him as ardently as you can with your strength almost entirely depleted. You’re both smiling too hard to even kiss properly, your teeth clashing as your tears of joy blend together until you don’t know whose are whose. 

You pull away when your doctor returns with your daughter wrapped in a blanket with a little pink hat on her head. She’s so tiny that you gasp in awe, your hands covering your mouth as you wait in eager anticipation for her to be placed in your arms. 

Your doctor smiles brightly at you as she hands you the little bundle of joy in her arms. 

There are truly no words to describe the feeling of holding her for the first time. It’s unbelievably surreal to think she’s the same little pumpkin growing in your womb all this time. She’s breathtakingly beautiful, with tufts of black hair just like her father’s sticking out from the edges of her hat. She has his button nose, too, but her lips and face shape seem to favor you. Her eyes are delicately shut while she sleeps peacefully in her carefully made cocoon.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper. “It feels weird holding you in my arms rather than my belly, huh?” She obviously doesn’t respond to your adoration, but you’ll speak nonsense to her all day anyway. “Oh, I love you so much already.”

Jungkook places a hand on your shoulder as he leans over to see his daughter up close. The two of you have identical watery grins as your happy tears continue to fall. 

“She’s so beautiful,” he whispers. 

“Yes, she is.” You gently caress her head and tap her little nose. “We made her, Koo.”

“For funsies.”

Laughing to the point your chest shakes, you nudge him in retaliation for possibly disturbing your little girl's slumber. He joins in your laughter and kisses the exposed skin of your shoulder where your hospital gown fell down. Your heart feels as though it’s swelling to ten times its normal size as you lean down to press the gentlest of kisses to her forehead. 

“You wanna hold her?” You ask him.

His eyes are wide with wonder as he nods his head slowly and reaches for her with adorable grabby hands. You pass her over as deftly as possible and admire the scene before you as Jungkook meets his daughter for the first time.

The sound he makes is a mixture between a gasp and a cry when he first comes face to face with her before he starts giggling endlessly, his nose scrunching up in pure bliss as more tears fall from his eyes. 

“Hi, my little one,” he coos. “I’ve been waiting so long to meet you.” You sniffle to hold back your own sentimental tears as you watch the two people you love most in the world interact. “Daddy loves you so much, little girl.” He chuckles to himself. “But we’re gonna have to talk, because you hurt Mommy and that just cannot go unpunished.”

You allow a hearty laugh to leave you now that you aren’t holding your daughter. 

“I can’t thank you enough, Bams. I’ll never be able to thank you enough, even if I spend every second of the rest of my life doing so. You made me a dad to the most beautiful little girl in the world.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Koo, because you made me a mom. You’ve loved and cared for me my entire life, and if the only way I can repay you is with her, then all this was worth it.” 

You kiss him softly, being careful not to jostle your daughter resting in his arms.

After a while of simply admiring your baby as she sleeps, your doctor informs you it’s almost time to go through afterbirth, although it should be easier since your water broke earlier. Once that’s done, they clamp the umbilical cord and allow Jungkook to cut it, which he does while smiling from ear to ear. 

It’s about an hour later when they tell Jungkook he can grab two loved ones at a time to come see you. You mutually agreed ahead of time that your mothers will be first, so he kisses you on the lips and your daughter on her forehead before heading to the waiting room to spread the magnificent news. 

Jungkook shakes his head in disbelief as he travels down the long hallway away from the delivery room, still so utterly shocked that he’s a dad and he has such a beautiful daughter. 

He also can’t believe how amazing you did. He’s positively in awe of you and what you went through to deliver your baby. It honestly pains him to leave you both even if only for a few fleeting moments. He could spend forever just staring at you and your sweet little girl. 

When the double doors open, a massive crowd of your friends and family are behind them waiting eagerly for his arrival. They all stand at once when they see Jungkook enter, and every single person shares the same anticipatory expression. 

“It’s a girl!” He announces with his arms held high above his head. 

The entire room erupts with cheers and the horde of loved ones descends on him in an excited frenzy. He feels multiple friends messing with his hair affectionately, his mom kissing his cheek, and your friends hugging his waist. It makes his heart jump for joy at the realization of how loved you, him, and your baby are already.

“How’s Y/N?” Chaewon asks once everyone gives him some room to breathe.

“She’s fucking perfect. I mean, she was just so amazing. I can’t even comprehend it,” he explains. “She couldn’t get the epidural because she lost too much blood, but she pushed through and she’s doing great.”

“She gave birth naturally?” Nayeon asks in shock.

Jungkook nods and Nayeon clutches her heart in response. 

“When can we see her and the baby?” Yoongi asks him.

“So, we can take you back two at a time. We’re gonna start with our parents, moms first, and then you guys can play rock paper scissors to figure out the order of friends,” Jungkook states.

The large group of friends immediately start turning to one another to start the tournament while Jungkook gestures with his head for his and your mom to follow him back. 

His mom clings to his arm as they walk and Jungkook throws his other one around your mom’s shoulders, placing a loving kiss on each of their heads. Both women are still crying from the happy news, but he can tell they're practically vibrating with giddiness to see you and the baby.

Jungkook opens the door for them to enter before following closely behind. Before his feet even enter the space he hears the excited gasps from the women as their eyes land on you and their grandchild.

Your mom is at your side like lightning, bending down to kiss your forehead and ask how you’re doing. You assure her you’re doing alright while offering your sleeping daughter to her. She nods like a bobble head and gently lifts the swaddled child from your arms where she was laying. 

Jungkook’s mom gives you a quick kiss on the cheek and then leans over your mom’s shoulder to meet her first grandchild. You watch endearingly as their expressions glow with warmth and affection for her while Jungkook joins you by your bedside again. When your eyes meet, you notice he’s staring at you as though you created the entire universe from scratch. The blush on your face is involuntary, and you kiss him for the umpteenth time today to hide the pink hue.

“I love you so much, baby,” Jungkook whispers in between smooches.

You plant one last peck on him.

“I love you more.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

“Are we about to have our first fight as parents?”

Eventually, after your fathers meet their granddaughter, your friends begin arriving in pairs to visit you and their niece, ending with Namjoon and Jimin, which is no surprise given their terrible history with lady luck. By the time the initial pass through of all your guests comes to a close, you’re beyond exhausted, so Jungkook takes your daughter while you rest. Your doctor bids you farewell shortly beforehand and tells you the nurses will assist with nursing for the first time once you wake up. 

Upon your return to the land of the living, the three of you are admitted to an actual hospital room rather than the delivery room, which allows for more people to come see you at one time. Although, you and Jungkook decide it’s best to hold off on visitors until after you breastfeed your daughter. 

The nurses are wonderful with helping you accomplish the daunting task, and it’s honestly easier than you expected. Your little girl latches onto you with ease and although it feels funny at first, the longer she drinks from you the more soothing it becomes. Relaxing against the pillows, you shut your eyes and appreciate the newness of motherhood while feeding your daughter. Jungkook interrupts your peaceful haven with a wistful sigh as his head falls into one of his palms. 

“I’m so jealous,” he states with his eyes locked on your chest.

The slap upside the head you give him is purely on instinct.

Your loved ones all visit again over the next twenty four hours prior to your discharge from the hospital. Before departing, the nurses ask you about a name since the process is simpler to complete while you’re still here. You and Jungkook wear matching smirks while eyeing one another. Contrary to popular belief, the two of you really did know which name to choose the moment you saw her.

You, Jungkook, and Naru return home as a family for the first time, along with your parents, later that day. Bam and Usagi are downright ecstatic to see you and Jungkook’s dad has to hold Bam back from jumping on you or Jungkook, who’s holding Naru in her baby carrier. 

It’s a flurry of movement as your moms support your back during your trek upstairs to sleep the pain away while Jungkook places Naru in her crib. Your dads immediately begin cleaning to take some chores off your plate, the two of them working in tandem to wash away the sticky bodily fluid still on the kitchen floor. Once you’re out cold and Jungkook is admiring his daughter with his head resting on the edge of her crib, your parents complete some other miscellaneous tasks around the house and feed the pets before heading home. 

After they leave, Jungkook sits in the nursery rocking chair and watches with stars in his eyes as his little girl sleeps soundly in her stolen cradle. 

It’s not totally certain why you chose Naru as her name. A couple months ago, Jungkook was rattling names off a list along with their meanings, and for some unknown reason it just stuck out. You and Jungkook both loved it amongst some other girl and boy names, and shortly after she was born, you unanimously agreed to go with that one. There’s an added cuteness bonus because Naru is the name of Usagi’s best friend in Sailor Moon, and in your little familiar they’re sisters. 

The name means to become, grow, reach, or attain, and you think the meaning suits her and the two of you so perfectly. 

When you wake after some solid sleep, it’s with a sore groan as you literally roll off the mattress to check on your family. It’s still so surreal referring to yourselves that way, but a completely lovesick smile graces your lips every time you do. 

You stop in your tracks before anyone can see you once you reach the first floor, wanting to leave the beautiful scene you’re witnessing undisturbed for a while longer.

Jungkook is horizontal across the couch with his shirt open as Naru sleeps on his bare chest. He’s been absolutely dying to try skin on skin time with her after reading how beneficial it can be, and although it may be good for Naru, the sight is terrible for you because it nearly sends you into hysterics over how precious it is. Not only that, but Usagi is curled up between his legs and Bam is watching curiously from the chair next to them. If you could pause time to admire this moment for longer than the world allows, you’d do so in a heartbeat.

A few quiet minutes pass as you watch Jungkook’s gaze flit across all the tiny features of his daughter’s face with the sweetest smile on his lips. He looks utterly in love, his eyes nearly forming into hearts as he stares at her. It makes you wonder if this is what everyone means when they mention how he looks at you. 

When you finally make yourself known and pad over to the couch in your slippers, Jungkook’s face somehow lights up even more, his smile growing exponentially as you sit beside his legs.

“Hi, beautiful,” he says softly. “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing alright, just sore,” you tell him. 

“Anything I can do?”

“No.” You shake your head with an enchanted smile as you brush some of his hair back and caress his cheekbone. “You’re doing everything already.”

He smiles gratefully and twists his head to kiss your wrist. The three of you remain there for a while, you and Jungkook only speaking every so often as your daughter naps peacefully and he brushes her tiny strands of hair away from her face. 

BACK TO ZERO

The low, dulcet sound of Jungkook singing in his lower register forces your eyes open. Blinking a couple times to bring your mind to reality, you turn your head to see Jungkook beside you in bed, softly singing to Naru as her cries subside and she falls into a deep slumber. 

You reach for them, running your hand along Jungkook’s bicep so he knows you’re awake. He looks at you with a saccharine smile and whispers good morning as to not disturb the child sleeping in his arms. Bending down, you place a gentle kiss on her forehead before sitting up to kiss Jungkook where he’s resting against the headboard. 

“You should’ve woken me up, Koo,” you whisper.

“It’s okay, Bambi. I got it,” he replies with an affirmative smile. 

Jungkook’s been doing more than his fair share of waking up during all hours of the night to care for your daughter, even though you originally agreed to take turns. He claims it’s because you’re still recovering from pushing her out of your body while he sat and watched, and it only makes sense for you to rest while he does the heavy lifting. You appreciate him more than words can express, but guilt still eats away at you everytime you see dark bags under his eyes from the fatigue.

Sometimes he doesn’t have a choice but to wake you, because as much as your daughter is undeniably smitten by him, sometimes a girl just needs her mother. 

If waking you is necessary, Jungkook will do so in the softest way possible, usually by pressing featherlight kisses all over your face and quietly telling you Naru needs you. Even when it’s your expertise required, he’ll follow you into the nursery while you either feed her or give her some much needed mommy and me time. Once her cries subside and she falls asleep, Jungkook will take you by the hand and tuck you into bed with a promise of a few more hours of rest. 

When she isn’t being finicky, she’ll fall asleep in seconds to the feeling of Jungkook rocking her or singing her lullabies. You genuinely believe she recognizes his voice from when he sang to her in your womb because her eyes always light up in wonder whenever he starts a new tune. 

She’s only been in your lives for a month, but somehow you love her more than anything else in the world. It’s strange for something to have a complete occupation of your heart without knowing them very long, but Naru makes it easy. Even though she can be quite the terror when she’s incessantly crying and screaming, and her diapers smell like sewage, she’s the absolute sweetest baby. When she’s being held, she always curls into the person’s chest and lays her little hand on them, or she’ll tightly grip their fingers between her tiny ones. She smiles constantly, no matter if you’re simply admiring her or playing peek-a-boo.

Naru definitely looks more like Jungkook, which is exactly what you were hoping for, although she does share some features with you. 

The first time she blinked her eyes open and you saw a twin pair of the big, boba eyes you fell in love with, you nearly wept. In fact, they’re so large they nearly take up half her face. You’ve already captured at least a thousand pictures of them side by side, with Jungkook often forcing his eyes open wider so they match hers. 

Your phone is positively overflowing with photos from the last thirty days, mostly selfies of you and Jungkook with your beautiful daughter, pictures of just her, or secret candid shots of Jungkook holding or playing with her. His phone is much the same, at least you assume so given that he’s always pretending not to be snapping photos whenever you’re with Naru.

“What time is it?” You ask Jungkook.

“Four in the morning.”

You groan quietly enough to avoid waking the sleeping infant and stand for a bathroom break before returning to your peaceful slumber. Your body is still in shambles from the birthing process, although you’re steadily recovering. Some basic functions are still a struggle and the extreme fatigue is enough to keep you in bed all day. Jungkook’s doing his best to take care of you while also caring for Naru, but both your parents come over often to assist in whatever way they can. 

Your friends are visiting for the first time later today because they’ve been begging nonstop to see Naru again. It’s not that you didn’t want them here, but you and Jungkook felt some alone time as a family was necessary to settle into your new routine. 

Both friend groups are visiting this afternoon since Mina and Taehyung are officially dating and it’s simpler to invite everyone over at once. You’re honestly elated about seeing your friends, desperately in need of some social interaction that isn’t with a tiny human or your boyfriend. 

Referring to Jungkook as your boyfriend is quite the adjustment, especially since the illusive term doesn’t hold nearly enough weight for what he truly is to you. Best friend still feels more fitting even though there’s a platonic connotation, baby daddy lowers him to a status far beneath him, and the word partner doesn’t feel intimate enough for your connection. So, boyfriend it is for now, even though Jungkook continuously makes references to replacing the current ring on your finger with a different one. 

You always reprimand him when he makes those comments, telling him it’s way too soon for both your relationship and being parents, and he assures you he agrees, but you know your hopeless romantic best friend better than anyone, and it’s obvious he’s itching to get down on one knee. 

The thought does leave you embarrassingly giddy, but even if you did get engaged, you wouldn’t wed for a while given that no one wants to plan a wedding and raise an infant simultaneously. Right now, you’re perfectly content with your current ring and the meaning behind it. Ironically, poor Jungkook keeps muttering to himself about how he’s ever going to top it when he does pick out an actual engagement ring. 

Upon returning to bed, Jungkook purses his lips towards you and you placate him with a tender smooch before plopping into bed. Unfortunately, you aren’t comfortable for long because your breasts start to hurt from needing to either feed your daughter or pump milk for later. Since she’s currently sleeping like the little angel she is, you grab your breast pump and mirror Jungkook’s position against the headboard while the machine works its magic. 

“You always look like an alien when you do that,” Jungkook jokes. 

“Like a sexy alien or an E.T. type?”

“Totally sexy, so fucking sexy,” he replies without missing a beat.

You blush bright pink and avoid his eyes before it gets any worse. Nothing about motherhood makes you feel even remotely sexy or desirable and yet there’s still hunger in Jungkook’s eyes whenever he sees you.

His love for you is genuinely the only thing that’s gotten you through the first month of parenthood and you can’t imagine doing this with anyone else. He’s always attentive to both you and Naru, never complains when you ask him to do something, and does everything in his power to relieve the weight on your shoulders. If there's a world where he didn’t accidentally knock you up, you don’t wish to live in it. 

Eventually, you and Jungkook are able to enter dreamland again after he places Naru in her crib. When he returns to the bedroom, he pulls you into his arms from behind and you melt into his warm embrace. His lips dance along your neck, jaw, and cheek while you hum happily at the familiar sensation. It’s been difficult not having dedicated alone time since Naru was born, so you cherish moments like these when you can relax as just the two of you.

Naru’s lovely cries wake you about four hours later, and you seize the opportunity to attend to her before Jungkook can steal your turn. 

When you reach the nursery, Usagi is posted up outside the door as she often is whenever your little girl is crying. Your adorable cat has fallen head over heels for your daughter and it makes you swoon whenever they interact. Bam’s also nearby, his ears perking up when you open the nursery door and he hears Naru crying. Of the two of them he’s taken on the protector role, turning him into quite the guard dog lately. You don’t allow them inside the room, but give them both a quick rub to thank them for being so caring. 

Naru is twisting and turning in her crib as she cries, her tiny hands reaching for you as soon as you appear before her eyes.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” you coo as you scoop her up. 

Cradling her to your chest, you soothe her by patting her back while she lays her head on your shoulder and cries into your shirt. One thing about newborns is it’s easy to figure out what they need since it can only be one of two things. So, you carry her to the changing table and diligently clean her up before getting her back into her onesie. She stretches her chunky fingers at you to hold her again and you immediately oblige, rocking her in your arms as you move across the room. 

The door creaks open as you’re laying her down again, but there’s no need to turn around to know who’s entering the room. 

The suspicion is confirmed when two strong arms wrap around your middle and you feel your boyfriend’s lips on your shoulder. As Jungkook continues pressing chaste kisses to your skin, you affectionately boop your daughter’s nose and watch as an adorable yawn takes over her face and her fingers curl into tiny fists.

Jungkook is still kissing along your shoulder and up your neck, but he isn’t trying to initiate anything, his lips are caressing you in a way you know means he’s merely doing it because he loves you and to silently thank you for doing everything you do. 

Your hand travels behind your head to play with his hair, tugging on it gently so you can hear his sweet laugh in your ear. 

“Wish we could stay like this forever, Bams.”

“Me, too,” you whisper. 

Turning around in his hold, you capture his neck with both arms and yank him closer for a real kiss. Jungkook automatically tugs you into him with his fingers clutching your waist, causing your back to arch as he deepens the kiss by coaxing your mouth open. 

It’s important to make time for intimacy even if it can’t lead anywhere yet, and truth be told, your inherent need to feel his lips on yours never wanes. You wonder if this so-called honeymoon phase will ever go away or if you just love him so much that this is what forever is going to be like. 

Jungkook grabs your jaw with one hand as his tongue slips into your mouth, and if he wasn’t holding you the action would probably send you falling into Naru’s cradle. You kiss him a hundred times a day, at least, and he still manages to make your knees weak every time. The two of you moan in harmony when your tongues meet and you press yourself harder against him in response. His chest is warm and solid and you can feel his steady heartbeat beneath his shirt. 

“I love you, babygirl,” he confesses quietly. 

He’s kissing you again before you’re able to reciprocate his devotion, but you part for the sake of oxygen a moment later and leave your foreheads touching. 

“I love you, too.”

You allow Naru to sleep in peace and exit the nursery holding hands. Jungkook leads you down the hall to his bedroom, which is technically shared now. There are plans to turn what was your bedroom back into Jungkook’s office since you certainly aren’t using it anymore, and you need the space where his desk currently sits for all of your furniture. 

Waking up in Jungkook’s arms is hands down the most wonderful feeling in the world, on par with holding Naru while she smiles radiantly at you. 

Upon returning to the confines of your bedroom, Jungkook brings you into him again so he can kiss you fervently. His intensity pulls a chuckle from your lungs as you shamelessly make out in the middle of the room. 

“How many more weeks again?” He asks breathlessly, referring to when you’ll be cleared for sexual activity.

“I’m not sure, since whoever decided on six weeks clearly never pushed a child out of their vagina,” you respond. 

Jungkook giggles while leaning in to kiss you again. He graces you with one last peck before heading to grab some towels so you can prepare for the day ahead.

“Well, whenever you are ready, just know I’ll be really gentle.”

“I don’t even think you believe that, Jungkook.”

His smile is riddled with faux guilt when he returns to your side. 

“Yeah, no, that’s a total lie.”

You smack his chest with the towel in retaliation, but you’re already laughing to reveal your true feelings. The two of you head to the bathroom together, making sure to grab the baby monitor so you can hear if Naru wakes up. 

Showering together is another sparing moment when you can just be in each other’s presence without any of the noise, so it’s become routine lately. Sometimes it gets interrupted by your daughter and one of you, usually Jungkook, has to run out in a towel to console her. One time, he still had shampoo in his hair and you carefully crafted a little bun on his head so it didn’t drip into his eyes. 

Jungkook turns the water on while you brush your teeth. It’s adorably domestic and reminds you just how far you’ve come since you first moved in more than six months ago. 

Your boyfriend strips as you're washing the toothpaste from your mouth and it takes everything in you not to drool into the sink. No matter how many times you see him naked, every glance feels like the first and you go dizzy over the sight. 

“Bambi, stop ogling me,” he teases. 

“Stop looking like that, then.”

“Oh, well excuse me.”

“You’re excused,” you reply, your arms crossing over your chest in victory. 

A sly grin appears as Jungkook begins robbing you of your own clothes. He caresses your torso once you’re naked in front of him, massaging your skin with his warm fingers until he reaches your hips and squeezes them with a quiet growl.

You frown involuntarily, your usual confidence noticeably absent in the skin you’re currently wearing. Some of the baby weight is gone, about ten or so pounds, but there are stretch marks and extra skin that didn’t previously exist staring back at you in the mirror.

“What is it, Bams?” He asks with evident concern. 

There’s confusion over your negative reaction painting Jungkook’s features as he eyes you inquisitively. 

“It’s unfair,” you pout. 

“What is, baby?” 

Your chin is pitched up by Jungkook’s pointer finger so he can watch your expressions when you respond. 

“How sexy you are,” you answer.

“Unfair to whom? I’m yours, aren’t I?” 

Blush creeps across your bare chest and neck, but his sweet words still don’t dispel your insecurities.

“Yeah, but I’m all flabby and misshapen while you still look freaking perfect.”

“Bambi, you look beyond perfect. There’s nothing that could make you not the most beautiful woman in the world,” Jungkook states earnestly.

“You’re only saying that because you’re in love with me,” you argue.

“No, no,” Jungkook says with a shake of his head. “I thought that long before I fell in love with you, Bams.” He can sense your disbelief, so he bends his knees until he’s staring directly into your eyes. “Do I need to kiss every inch of you to prove it? Because I fucking will.”

“No,” you mumble. His knuckles brush your cheekbone and you sigh. “I’m sorry, I just don’t feel like myself right now, you know?” 

“No need to apologize, baby, just tell me how to help and I will.” 

His everlasting love and consideration for you bring a smile to your face and you kiss him briefly before leading him towards the shower.

“You don’t need to do anything more than you already are,” you tell him. “And maybe once I’m fully recovered you can bring me with you to the gym so I can get back to normal faster.” 

Jungkook enthusiastically nods at your proposal of working out together. He’s been begging you for a while to join him at the gym, mostly because he wants to do push ups over you and kiss you everytime he goes down.

He holds you steady via a hand on your waist as you enter the shower before joining you under the falling water, keeping your back pressed to his chest while the steam encompasses you both. His lips find your neck as he slowly kisses across your wet skin, except unlike before, there’s fire behind his touch as he ravishes you in sensual affection. The water drenching you both only serves to up the intensity, the feeling of him licking up the droplets while he sucks on your throat sending you into euphoric bliss.

“Koo,” you moan, leaning your head on his shoulder as your eyes shut.

“Just because I can’t fuck you doesn’t mean I won’t make you feel good, babygirl,” he tells you. 

Which is precisely what he does as he continues kissing you in all the spots he knows drive you crazy while his hands caress you everywhere within reach. They eventually find purchase on your tits and he tactfully massages them in his big hands. 

His touch turns your brain to mush, your mind descending into a pool of pleasure as you relish in the sensation of his hands on you. It takes all your willpower not to say fuck it and let him push his cock into your cunt. If there wasn’t an adorable little girl who’ll be waking up soon, you’d let him manhandle you for hours until the water runs ice cold. 

You turn around abruptly upon deciding you want to taste him rather than feel him, and Jungkook catches on instantly, walking you both under the showerhead until your back meets the wall as his lips descend on yours. 

The kiss is deliciously sloppy from the combination of tongues chasing each other and water pouring down. Your hands rake into Jungkook’s dripping strands of black hair as you moan unabashedly into his mouth. One of Jungkook’s hands slams on the shower wall beside your head while the other catches your waist to keep your body pressed to his. Everything about it feels absolutely filthy even though you’re in a place meant for cleanliness. 

“I didn’t even know it was possible to want someone like this,” Jungkook whispers. “All the goddamn fucking time, baby.”

“Me, either,” you reply through a moan as Jungkook begins kissing down your neck again. “I don’t know how we went so long without it.”

He laughs while shaking his head where it resides in the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“Because we’re idiots.”

There’s only a split second between his response and his lips latching onto your nipple, his hand inching up your spine to fondle the opposite breast. It forces a gasp out of you as you desperately grasp his hair in your hands. He plays with your tits in sync, sucking on your pebbled nub in perfect time with the movement of his fingers. An incoherent curse passes through your lips when his ministrations cause you to lactate into his mouth, and he groans in delight as he laps up the milk coming from your nipple with his tongue. The act is supremely messy because Jungkook is purposely missing some of your breast milk so he can lick it off your skin before the water washes it away.

He alternates between drinking straight from the source and allowing his tongue to collect it, but neither choice is better for your sanity. This isn’t the first time he’s acted upon his insatiable urges, just last week he wrapped his lips around your nipple after you were forced awake at three in the morning to check on Naru. The feeling of him sucking on you while you lactate was strange initially, but after a moment it made your head spin with pleasure as he played with your tits and fed himself from your body. 

“Fuck, Koo.” 

Your head hits the shower tile while he moans pathetically around your nipple.

“I’ll apologize to our daughter for stealing her food later,” he mumbles into your skin.

You chuckle and Jungkook naturally smiles just from the sound of your happiness. He leaves a final kiss on your breast before returning to your lips with a satisfied hum. 

You’ve never had shower sex before and unfortunately, today won’t be the day, but after this it’s certainly going on your list. 

Your lips continue clashing while you caress each other for an unknown amount of time, but when you do finally catch your breath, the water has begun cooling down. There’s a major responsibility to someone other than yourselves looming outside the bathroom door, so you stop being sexual deviants and actually wash up for the day. 

Jungkook pours some soap on your luffa so he can work it into your skin, not missing a single inch as he glides the sponge along your body. You do the same for him while he gathers shampoo in his hands and starts cleansing your hair. 

He’s sporting the most adorable look of concentration while he scrubs the shampoo on your scalp until it turns to suds. Repeating the motions on his own hair, you dig your nails between his strands and make him whine from the soothing sensation on his head. The two of you finish up quickly, turning off the water and handing each other your respective towels to dry off.

After getting dressed, you return to Naru’s nursery to wake her up and feed her. Ironically, you have to bottle feed her because Jungkook used up all the milk collecting in your breasts for her morning meal. She looks positively delighted to see you once she’s awake, a heart stopping giggle coming from her tiny body as you pick her up. 

Jungkook says he’ll prepare for your guests to arrive while you care for Naru, which includes dolling her up for her visitors. You don’t normally dress her in actual clothes, usually leaving her in a onesie for simplicity, but you want your friends to see her in some of the clothes they bought her. When she naps, you always swaddle her in the blanket Chaewon made and most of her toys come from your friends. 

You trudge downstairs with her resting on your shoulder to find Jungkook cleaning up some lingering dishes in the kitchen. Bam bounds over excitedly to greet you and you use your free hand to throw his bone across the room after petting his head. Usagi follows close behind at your feet, per usual, her big eyes staring up at you and Naru as you walk towards the kitchen. 

There’s a blindingly bright smile on Jungkook’s face when you enter the room and he instinctively gestures for your daughter. Gladly passing her over, you watch in endearment as he nuzzles his nose against hers and she makes an adorable cooing sound. 

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says in his baby voice. She giggles and reaches for his cheeks at the sound of him praising her. “Yeah? You want your daddy?” 

Her giggles grow louder when he blows raspberries on each of her chubby cheeks. She cuddles up against his chest as he holds her close, her eyes shutting serenely at the feeling of her dad’s warmth surrounding her. Jungkook bounces her in his arms which causes her to smile adoringly at him and her little toothless grin makes your heart sing. 

You automatically take over for him on the chore front since Naru clearly wants some daddy-daughter time. 

When she wakes up after falling asleep in Jungkook’s warm embrace, it’s obvious she’s uncomfortable and needs her diaper changed. You never predicted being able to tell which cries mean what, but you’ve memorized every single noise she makes at this point. Jungkook volunteers for dumpster duty while you finish up downstairs. 

When they return, she’s still crying incessantly, only it’s soft whimpers you both know mean she wants her mommy. Jungkook gracefully hands her to you, ensuring she’s secure in your arms before letting go. You bring her to the couch and lay her in your lap, holding her little hands and moving them in circles to soothe her.

“Hi, sweet Naru.” Her cries diminish as soon as she hears your voice. “I love you so much, my darling girl. Yeah, that’s right.” 

She makes the cutest baby sound imaginable and squeezes your fingers to the best of her ability. You coo in adoration and bend down to kiss her tummy so she giggles even more. Jungkook clicks his tongue over your shoulder. 

“I always think she’s such a daddy’s girl until you get your hands on her,” he comments. 

“She is a daddy’s girl, Koo. In fact, she may be more obsessed with you than I am.” You boop her nose and her smile grows while she sticks her tongue out. “Isn’t that right, Naru? Mommy’s gonna have to fight you for him, aren’t I, little girl?”

The noise she makes sounds suspiciously like a yes. Jungkook blushes deep red, his love for his daughter physically manifesting on his cheeks. 

“I love her more than anything, but you’ll always be my girl, Bams,” he says with a kiss to your cheek.

An hour later the first of your guests arrives. You purposely told them all different times, in about ten minute increments, so everyone gets devoted time with Naru without fighting over her. Jihyo is first, and she has enough gifts in her hands to fill the entire nursery. She squeals and jumps a couple inches off the ground in delight when you appear before her with Naru. The gift bags fall to the floor with a plop as she extends her arms to take her niece from you. 

“Naru, my sweetheart!” She cheers.

You and Jungkook are able to take a much needed parenting reprieve as your friends slowly pile in and pass your daughter around like a hot potato. Once all thirteen of them have arrived, everyone spreads out between the living room and the kitchen. 

Naru is currently sound asleep in Yoongi’s arms, the usually expressionless man wearing a face of complete joy as he watches her with his gummy smile even though she’s not awake to return it. 

“I still don’t understand how the youngest of us is a dad before anyone else,” Jin says as he chews on his slice of pizza.

“Because he’s a doofus,” Jimin responds. 

“Hey! I may be a doofus, but I took part in making the cutest little girl ever,” Jungkook defends himself. “In fact, you could say I’m about fifty percent of the reason she’s so adorable!”

“Kook, you got to creampie the hottest woman we all know and then magically have a child nine months later. I’ll give you five percent tops,” Chaewon argues. 

Everyone chuckles at Chaewon’s extremely high level overview of pregnancy.

“She seems really well behaved,” Yunjin comments. 

“She is,” you say proudly. “Naru is a little angel.”

“You won’t be saying that in a few months,” Namjoon says. “She’ll be a demon once she starts teething.”

“Oh, remind me not to visit around then,” Hoseok adds.

As if she heard them talking smack about her, Naru wakes up and begins fussing around in Yoongi’s arms. His eyes go wide at the foreign behavior and he immediately locks eyes with Jungkook across the room for assistance. Your boyfriend smiles at his friend’s nervousness and goes to grab your daughter before she starts crying 

When she instantaneously settles down at the feeling of Jungkook holding her, all seven girls harmoniously gasp in awe. 

“Oh my gosh, she loves you, Jeon!” Eunchae states. 

“I would sure hope so,” he replies with a proud grin. 

He kisses her head a couple times and she nuzzles against his shoulder, tucking her face into his neck and laying her adorable, chunky, baby hand on his chest. 

“Wow, never thought I’d see the day,” Taehyung notes from where he sits with a hand on Mina’s thigh.

“So, who’s next? I think Naru needs a playmate, right?” Nayeon asks the room, her eyebrows rising when she meets Mina’s gaze. 

Mina aggressively shakes her head while putting her hands up in surrender.

“Nuh uh, not yet, especially not after hearing about what Y/N went through,” she states.

“How are you doing, Y/N?” Tzuyu changes the subject to ask.

“I’m recovering, some days are worse than others,” you answer. “I honestly thought I was going to die.”

“I still can’t believe you did it without any pain meds,” Chaewon says with a shake of her head. 

“You and me both.”

“It was genuinely pure magic,” Jungkook comments, his hand gently patting Naru’s back. “She’s a fucking goddess.”

You send him a charming smile from across the room and he blows a kiss at you in return. 

“It was worth it, that’s all I know,” you respond.

“It totally was, look at your little girl! She’s perfect,” Eunchae says. 

“We can only hope the rest of us schmucks make children as lovely as Naru someday,” Jimin states while holding his glass up to cheers. “To our niece!”

Everyone raises their own glasses in solidarity, except for Jungkook, who lifts Naru up Lion King-style as she giggles and kicks her little feet in joy. 

The night continues with Naru being passed around the room a couple more times. She seems to enjoy her uncle Jin the most, probably because he’s an expert at making funny faces that cause her to cheerfully scream and laugh. Jihyo also garners much of her attention, with Naru making grabby hands at her every so often. Mina jokes it’s because Jihyo has big tits and your daughter is getting her confused with a source of nutrients. 

Your friends eventually say their goodbyes until all that remains are the vast amount of gifts they brought. You and Jungkook mutually agree to put them away in the morning and use this precious time for quality family bonding in bed. 

The two of you lay on your stomachs with Naru between you on the mattress. You both take turns tickling her and blowing raspberries on her stomach and thighs just to hear the perfect laugh you adore so much. It feels like pure, unadulterated bliss, and with Bam and Usagi both curled up by your feet, you feel utterly complete as a little family of five. 

Resting your head on your arm, you gaze at Jungkook as he admires his little girl. The adoration in his sparkling eyes makes you feel eternally grateful to your past self for the decision she made. Here you thought you were sleeping with Jungkook just to try it, and now your heart is reborn in more ways than one. It’s swollen to max capacity with both romantic love for your best friend and unconditional love for your daughter. 

Jungkook notices your stare and raises an eyebrow at you. When you don’t respond, he leans over Naru to kiss you and pull you from your reverie.  

“You gonna tell me why you’re looking at me like that, Bambi?” 

You shake your head.

“I don’t have to because you already know,” you respond. 

He smiles beautifully and tucks some of your hair behind your ear. 

“Yeah, I do.”

Jungkook kisses you again, smoothly gliding his lips over yours while he pours his love for you into the gesture. Ardently returning his kiss, you caress his cheek with one hand and move your lips in a gentle harmony with his. Your foreheads meet after pulling away and upon looking sideways, you see Naru playfully rolling side to side between you. You share a heartwarming laugh at her mannerisms, both of you so completely taken by your daughter and each other. 

“I’m so glad I asked you to try something new that night, Bams. Now we get to do everything together for the rest of our lives, starting with parenting.”

“Mm, same here, Koo.” You lean back and rest your head in your hand. “I wonder what other new stuff we’ll get up to.”

Jungkook hums inquisitively and tongues his cheek as he ponders his answer, but then his eyes light up with a mischievous grin. 

“Marriage?”

Taglist: @lovingkoalaface @starcandybby @junniesoleilkth @keylime4eva @kissyfacekoo @rpwprpwprpwprw @spideyjimin @jjeonjjk7 @joonlover1207 @annpeachy @rexana19 @heartwith0uthe @kosmos1307 @minyoongi7016 @magicalnachocreator @misschelliejeon @bubblyi3 @bhonbhon @polnaraffsrack @amarawayne @majesticjung-97 @kmpj9 @upo1313 @songbyeonkim @kikikaaa @glowjuli @avawants2havefun @hyeinwluv85s @someonegoood @kyljjk @lalaren @dna2723 @tteokbokibyjk @tatyhend @kookienooki @ana-marais98 @gimeow @importantflowersblog43 @minghaosimp @belleilichil @neurospicynugget @missdumpling190811 @jungkooksnerniemilk @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @kayswatanabe @fancypeacepersona @jeonsgf-97 @star-my @neg-l3ct @kelsyx33

[nebinarnagovnara]

(2/2) Edgeworth meets Wright for the first time

Part 1!

For the prompt of Narumitsu Week Day 5: Another Universe, here's part 2 of this comic for my Story Contest AU.

[Transcript]

The descriptions how the characters look are in the Intro post linked in the word "Story Contest AU" in the previous caption.

The comic is mostly monochrome in black and white, with slight color variation due to a filter.

Page 1:

Wright leans in to Edgeworth. "So," he starts, "See anything you like?" Edgeworth simply stares at him. Trucy, still holding the big painting, turns to Phoenix, "Daddy, can I have my burger?"

Edgeworth's empty stare of shock.

Edgeworth's empty stare of shock evolves into a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes. The hand rises his glasses as he does so. "Of course," his train if thought begins.

"Um, sir...?" Wright questions him, "Uh." "Here you go sweetie," he hands his daughter a burger. She thanks him and adds, "I think you broke him." Meanwhile Edgeworth turned away from from them, his face in his hands, emanating a depressing aura while he is thinking, "Of course, it's the artist's daughter. Just what am I thinking? Embarrassing. I am so tired."

"Erm," Edgeworth turns back around to face Wright, his hand going through his hair, "My sincere apologies, but unfortunately I cannot afford original artworks at this time..." "Ah! Say no more!" Wright exclaims, his hand raising.

Page 2:

Wright is picking up a stack of papers from the table.

He hands Edgeworth the stack, grinning, while Trucy stares at Edgeworth from behind, munching on a burger. "Prints! Seven bucks. Go wild!" Wright tells Edgeworth.

Edgeworth starts going through the stack, his fingers dipping among the papers while thinking, "Ahh... Now I am expected to purchase something... I would feel incredibly bad if I left them hanging like this..."

His fingers stop, as he sees a glimpse of a Steel Samurai illustration.

"The Steel Samurai!!!" he yells in his mind as he stares wide eyed, sweating and blushing at his discovery.

"Do you sell more... Of this type?" Edgeworth asks, pulling the Steel Samurai illustration out of the pile. Trucy has her eyes on Wright now. "Ahh, no unfortunately..." he replies.

Edgeworth: "That's a shame." Wright: "To be clear, I did sell them at one con I was at... That one here is leftovers, haha." Edgeworth: "So you attend comic cons?" Wright: "Yeah, but mostly with a friend..." They continue going on and on while Trucy is eating her burger and her eyes swipe between them.

Page 3:

A panel of their hands, Edgeworth handing Wright the money bills. "Here you go," he says. "Thank you so much!" Wright replies. There are sparkles around them.

As Edgeworth is putting the print in his bag, Wright wishes him a nice day and he nods.

Edgeworth looks down and starts brooding. Wright looks at him questioningly.

"Here goes nothing," he thinks, pulling out a scrunched piece of paper from his pocket.

He hands Wright the paper. "A contest." Sweat drops roll down his face. Wright is surprised, and Trucy in her curious nature lifts herself up so she can try and peek the content of the paper.

Page 4:

Edgeworth is holding out the paper, blushing furiously and sweating. The focus is on him. He is surrounded by sparkles and cozy, dull lighting. "This is a flyer for an illustrated story contest. All the information is on it, if you wish to take a look... The contestants join in teams of two..." he begins to say.

Wright simply stares at him, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, also blushing. The focus is now on him, and he is the one surrounded by sparkles and cozy, dull lighting. Edgeworth continues, "I am a writer, Miles Edgeworth. Your artworks have piqued my interest... If you're interested..."

Wright nervously smiles at him, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nghh... There it is..." Edgeworth realizes to himself, "That look of pity..."

Trucy practically jumps in front of Wright. He jerks at her appearance. "That's so great!" she exclaims, smiling widely, "Perfect!"

Page 5:

"Daddy hasn't drawn in weeks!" she continues giddily, accentuating the 'weeks', those words sharply stabbing Wright's head. He freezes in shock. Edgeworth's hand twitches as Trucy quickly swipes the flyer away from him.

"It'll be so good for him!" Trucy says. Edgeworth stares dumbfounded at his now empty hand, and fixes up his bag on his shoulder.

Wright, exasperated, looks at his daughter, shoulders slouched, blushing from embarrassment. In return she turns on sparkly eyes and looks at him back.

Her gaze gets more intense and way sparklier, and Wright closes his eyes.

"Okay!" Wright declares, straightening up, one hand on his forehead, and another digging through his hoodie pocket. He repeats himself more quietly, "Okay." Trucy raises her arms in victory and grins.

"Listen, um, Mr. Edgeworth," Wright begins, smiling nervously, pulling out his old Nokia phone from his pocket, "I can't promise anything, but you did buy from me. You can give me your number and I can let you know by tomorrow. How does that sound?"

Page 6:

Edgeworth, with the back of his hand over his mouth, surprised, stares at him. "... That is amenable, yes." The answer he gives him is calm, but inside his mind, he is crying in excitement and relief, yelling "There is hope!" in all caps. The panel is filled with flashes and flickers.

Edgeworth is typing in his number in Wright's phone. "...Erm, forgive me, I didn't catch your name?" he asks.

"Oh! Phoenix Wright. Nice to meet ya," replies Wright.

"Likewise." As he says this, Edgeworth thinks, "What year is this phone from...?"

[End transcript]

[buckysleftbicep]

bent and bruised (4) 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!ex-hydra!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, non-con/dub-con themes under HYDRA conditioning (flashback), heavy angst, bucky's guilt, HYDRA related trauma and abuse, memory suppression, emotional breakdowns, mentions of torture and cryo, unprotected sex, creampie, emotional sex

summary: you were built by HYDRA to please the soldier—then left for dead. years later, bucky sees your face again. but no amount of time can erase the way you once whispered his name through tears. inspired by this request

word count: 5.4k

author's note: hi my sweethearts! chapter 4 is finally up! gosh, it took me a full day to write this, and genuinely, so much of my heart has went into this series ❤️ and i hope that you guys will love this chapter as much as i do! i am always grateful for the support from you which motivates me to write 🥹💓 i love you guys and please stay safe out there!

series masterlist

It had been nearly a month.

Since the collapse. Since the flames. Since Bucky carried your limp body out of rubble and ruin with blood in his throat and your name breaking over his teeth like a prayer he hadn’t earned the right to say.

Recovery came in fragments. You didn’t wake up whole. You didn’t wake up you. Healing was slow—not just in flesh and bone, but in the quiet, broken machinery of your mind.

Some mornings you opened your eyes and couldn’t remember your own name until someone said it.

Other days, it rolled too easily off your tongue, like muscle memory, while everything else felt like static.

The team didn’t ask questions. Not the important ones.

But Bucky… Bucky never really left.

He didn’t hover. He didn’t talk much. But he stayed.

A fixed point in your periphery, silent and steady like gravity. You’d turn your head and find him there—sitting in the corner of the medbay in the dark, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like he could see the shape of your soul etched in the tiles.

Sometimes he brought things.

A cracked paperback you hadn’t asked for. The soft blanket from the common room, worn at the edges, smelling faintly of cedar.

A water bottle he’d already uncapped for you, placed in your palm just before your throat got dry enough to ache.

Quiet gestures. Gentle offerings.

When you could finally stand without the world around you practically spinning, he helped you take the first few steps.

He didn’t guide you like a nurse—there was no forced gentleness. He was a presence at your side, solid and wordless. His hands would hover at your waist, the callused pads of his fingers barely grazing your ribs as you found your balance again.

But he never lingered.

Never touched you for longer than necessary. Never let himself want.

Even then, the tension was unbearable.

It pressed into the air between you like a storm front. Not new, not sudden. Old and starved and still too dangerous to name. It lived in the spaces between glances. In the pauses between words. In the way your breath always caught before his name.

You didn’t call it love.

Not yet. Not when it still felt like something torn from you, stitched back with the wrong thread.

But it was there—burning beneath the skin. Something once soft turned jagged. Something left behind in a room you couldn’t remember, but your body had never left.

And now… they’d cleared you.

Light training. No combat. Just movement. Reorientation. “Reintegration” as Val had called it, as if your mind and body were separate machines that had lost signal.

You weren’t sure if she believed that. You weren’t sure if you did either.

And of course—of course—they’d assigned Bucky to oversee your session.

The training room was as clinical as ever. Still, silent, stripped of distraction. Rows of padded mats laid out in quiet geometry.

The walls gray. The air chilled, no music, no background chatter. Just the high, electric hum of fluorescents and the whisper of your bare feet against rubber.

He stood several paces away. Arms crossed. Eyes tracking your every move.

Not invasive. Just… watchful.

Like he knew what it felt like to move in a body that had once been used against you.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

You stretched slowly, deliberately, muscles groaning with each extension. Tight. Resistant. But obedient. Your arms moved through familiar shapes, hips shifting to accommodate old weight distributions. Every breath came like you were borrowing someone else’s lungs.

Still—your body remembered.

Muscle memory. Instinct buried in the blood.

You flowed through the motions like a ghost moving through old ruins, letting your limbs carry you forward while your mind lagged somewhere behind.

Bucky’s gaze stayed with you. Never wandering. Never slipping. Just… there.

And when your posture slipped—when the angle of your elbow faltered—he stepped forward.

“Drop your shoulder,” he murmured, voice soft, low. Controlled. “Elbow higher. Like this.”

And then—his hand touched you.

Not firmly. Not boldly. Just the softest brush of his fingertips against your shoulder blade, correcting your alignment with the same ease he might guide a weapon into place.

No hesitation. No hesitation at all. As though his hand had always known where to find you.

But the second his skin touched yours—everything shattered.

It wasn’t just memory. It wasn’t just a flash.

It was a fucking detonation.

Your lungs seized. Your knees buckled.

Your vision didn’t blur—it replaced itself.

You were naked. Laid bare across cold sheets, back arched against the unforgiving steel of a table that creaked beneath every motion.

The air was damp. Your thighs slick with sweat, lips parted around a breathless cry that barely made a sound.

He was inside you. Not violently. Not with the detachment of routine. With intention—with devotion.

Each stroke of his hips was slow. Deep, measured.

Like he was trying to stretch time around you, like he was writing something into the lining of your body with every thrust, every roll of his pelvis pressed flush against your heat.

His hand gripped your hip—tight, trembling—the pads of his fingers bruising you with possession. The other, the metal one, cupped your cheek like you were something fragile.

Something holy.

His mouth hovered by your ear.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

Then, lower. Rougher.

“You’re mine.”

The words were a plea. A punishment. A prayer. Spoken like they tore him open just to say it.

And you—

You weren’t scared. You weren’t broken.

You pulled him deeper.

Your nails raked down his back, drawing thin lines through sweat-slick skin. His breath stuttered. His body bucked. He buried himself to the hilt in you with a groan that bordered on a sob.

He kissed your shoulder. Your jaw, your lips. Messy and shaking, mouth slick with desperation, like he was starving and you were the only thing that had ever fed him.

And you—god, you gave it to him.

Every whimper. Every tremor. Every broken sound.

Because it wasn’t sex. It was a man finding the last piece of himself inside the body of someone he wasn’t supposed to love.

You came back into yourself with a jolt.

Your body recoiled before your brain could catch up. You staggered back a step, a strangled breath catching in your throat like a sob choked off mid-sentence.

“Don’t—” you gasped, voice raw.

Your arm flew up instinctively, shielding your chest like you expected another memory to slam into you with teeth.

Bucky’s hand snapped back instantly, palms raised, eyes wide.

“I didn’t—” he started, voice low, rattled. But he didn’t finish.

He saw your face. The devastation. The betrayal of recognition.

And he knew.

He knew what you’d just seen.

You swallowed. Hard. The taste of him was still in your mouth. The ghost of him still pulsed between your thighs.

Your fingers trembled at your side.

“What…” your voice was barely a whisper. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

But something behind his eyes crumpled like paper soaked in blood.

You turned and fled the room before he could answer. Before he could lie.

Before he could not lie.

Because whatever that memory was—whoever that man had been, inside you, above you, holding you like he’d never get another chance—you knew two things:

You had loved him. And that man could very well be Bucky.

You stormed out without looking back.

The door slammed open, crashing into the wall behind you with a hollow, reverberating crack that rang down the corridor like a warning bell.

But the sound didn’t register—not really.

The only thing you could hear was your own pulse, pounding like war drums in your ears. Your breath tore in and out of your lungs with no rhythm, shallow and sharp, chest heaving as if the air itself was too thick to swallow.

You didn’t have a destination. You didn’t need one. You just needed distance.

Distance from him. From the walls of that training room. From the echo of his voice in your memory—mine, spoken with such unbearable reverence it had sunk into your bones like heat.

It was still clinging to your skin, that memory. Still pressing against the insides of your ribs like smoke trying to escape.

You could feel it in the throb between your thighs, in the ghost of his mouth on your throat, in the way your muscles still ached with the rhythm of a man’s body that had moved above you with trembling restraint.

You hadn’t just remembered it—you’d relived it. And your body had welcomed it like something holy. Something lost.

It was him.

The weight of his chest against yours, the shape of his hips fitting yours like they’d been carved to match. The breathless heat of his mouth whispering against your neck—you’re mine—like he’d meant it, like it had nearly broken him to say it out loud.

That wasn’t just memory. It was truth. And it had shattered you from the inside out.

You felt violated—not by him, but by yourself. By your mind, your body. By the truth of it.

Like something sacred had been pulled from the depths of your soul, laid bare, and forced into the light before you were ready. A dream you hadn’t consented to.

A memory played on loop with your body still trembling from the aftershocks.

And the worst part—the part that hollowed you out completely—was how deeply, how viscerally, you’d wanted it.

You turned a sharp corner, bare feet sliding slightly on the tile, and scanned the hallway for escape.

Your lungs were too tight. Your skin burned. You needed the dark. You needed silence. You needed somewhere you could scream without anyone hearing it.

That’s when you saw it—half-open, forgotten. The storage room.

No lights. No windows. Just shadows and space and shelves of gear collecting dust.

You slipped inside without hesitation, hand reaching back to close the door softly behind you. The latch clicked into place with a finality that felt more like a lock snapping shut around your chest.

But you weren’t alone.

You hadn’t heard him follow you—but you knew. You felt him.

The air shifted just slightly behind you.

A faint current. A gravity.

And then—he was there.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t step forward. Just stood in the doorway, motionless, cast in a wash of gray from the light leaking in through the cracked door.

His shoulders were hunched tight beneath his hoodie, arms loose at his sides, posture strained with restraint. Like he knew if he moved too fast, you might vanish entirely.

It didn’t matter.

You spun on him anyway, heart thudding so violently you could feel it in your palms, in your throat. The rage was already in you—rising fast, sharp as a blade and twice as lethal.

It wasn’t clean anger. It was tangled. Desperate. Grief and confusion and betrayal, all knotted tight behind your teeth.

Your finger jabbed into his chest with more force than you intended. His body didn’t move. But his breath caught.

“I want the truth,” you demanded, voice a raw crackle. “What did they do to us?”

You saw it instantly—the way his eyes flicked away. Like a reflex. Like shame.

His mouth opened. Closed.

“I—” he started, jaw flexing. “We were prisoners. We survived. We—”

You cut him off with a snarl. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

The words detonated. They didn’t echo—they reverberated. Slammed off the walls and bounced back with all the fury you couldn’t hold in. Your fists clenched at your sides, nails digging crescent moons into your palms.

His face didn’t move. But his entire body locked down.

Rigid. Silent. Like the weight of the truth was pressing down on every vertebrae, threatening to split him open if he said one more word.

“Don’t do that,” you spat. “Don’t stand there and act like we were just survivors. Like it was torture and nothing else.”

Still, he didn’t speak.

Your voice cracked. You didn’t care.

“Because I see it, James.”

His name fell from your lips like an accusation. Or a confession.

You took a shaky step forward. “Every night. I close my eyes, and I see your body on top of mine. I feel your hands. Holding me like I was something… something you didn’t want to break. Someone you were trying to keep alive.”

And finally—finally—he looked at you.

You almost wished he hadn’t.

Because what you saw in his face wasn’t denial. It wasn’t confusion. It was recognition.

And guilt.

So much guilt it looked like it might drown him. His mouth parted slightly, like he wanted to speak—but no words came. Only the flicker of a memory neither of you had asked for, now burning behind both pairs of eyes.

“I feel it,” you whispered, and your voice was so quiet it almost didn’t sound like your own. “I fucking feel it. But I can’t see your face. It’s like someone carved it out of my god damn memory, and all that’s left is everything else. The hands. The voice. The—” Your voice broke, your chest trembling. “The way it felt. And it’s driving me insane.”

He stepped toward you—just one step. A single shift forward.

And you stepped back like you’d been burned.

Your back hit the shelf behind you, shoulders slumping slightly under the weight of everything coming undone.

Your hands trembled at your sides. Your heart felt like it had torn in two and couldn’t figure out how to beat around the split.

And then—barely audible. Fragile.

“It was you… wasn’t it?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

It pressed in from every direction, thick and suffocating, the weight of unspoken things crashing like waves in the dark.

And then—you saw it.

The moment he broke.

His shoulders collapsed inward, like something inside him had finally given out. His head bowed. His eyes closed. His lips parted around a breath that sounded like a sob he didn’t want you to hear. His hands, once clenched into restrained fists, fell loose and helpless at his sides.

“Yes,” he said, and the word was barely more than breath. “It was me.”

The floor shifted under your feet. Not physically. Emotionally. It was like the world tipped sideways, like the ground beneath your ribs hollowed out and took your balance with it.

Your knees buckled. Your shoulder catching the edge of the shelf for support. Your breath faltered. Your vision blurred.

Because it was him. It had always been him.

And now—you couldn’t un-know it. Couldn’t outrun it. Couldn’t undo the way your soul had always known the shape of his.

There was no going back now.

Only through.

The silence that followed his confession didn’t soothe. It scraped.

The air in the room felt colder, somehow—denser. Like the shadows had multiplied, curling around the racks of supplies, slipping beneath the doorframe to listen.

Your spine pressed to the shelf behind you, heartbeat still ragged, fingers flexing at your sides like you didn’t know whether to run or reach for him.

He didn’t move. Not at first. Just stood there across from you, chest rising and falling like he’d just crawled out of a grave. Like saying those words—yes, it was me—had gutted him open from the inside.

When he did speak, his voice was rough. Wrecked.

“They put you in my cell,” he said, each word careful, as though afraid to drop them too hard. “Said you were mine. That you… that I could have you.”

You didn’t breathe.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours—and the look in them nearly undid you. Not lust. Not possession. Regret. Bone-deep. Aged. Like it had lived in him for years.

“They told me you were built for me,” he continued, slower now. “That you were designed for me. Said you wouldn’t feel pain. That you’d… want it. That it was what you were made for.”

He swallowed hard. A muscle in his jaw jumped.

“I didn’t believe them. Not at first. I—I didn’t even know how to want anything back then. I was still… gone, still on HYDRA's leash. But they told me you were compliant. That your programming would respond to mine."

Your stomach twisted.

“I didn’t know you,” he rasped. “I didn’t even know me. But they gave the order. So I obeyed.”

He stepped forward once, like he couldn’t stand being that far away from the truth anymore. His hand lifted half a breath, then fell again.

“I touched you the first night,” he admitted, and his voice broke around the word. “Not because I wanted to. Because I didn’t know what else I could do. I thought I was following orders that would spare you worse.”

Your breath came shallow, tears starting to pool hot behind your eyes.

You couldn’t blink. Couldn’t look away. Couldn’t not listen.

“But you…” he continued, softer now, as if the memory was something fragile. “You weren’t afraid. You weren’t empty like they said. You—looked at me.”

He swallowed again, chest rising with the effort.

“You touched me.”

His voice cracked around it, that last word, like it still didn’t make sense to him all these years later.

“You said my name. James.” His eyes burned, and he blinked like the memory stung.

The quiet between you pulsed, heavy and electric.

“Even after they’d dragged you back bloody and broken, too many times to count. And when they wiped your memory—when they tried to scrub everything clean—you still remembered me. Every time.”

You covered your mouth with one shaking hand, the sob building at the back of your throat thick and hot and impossible to hold.

“You never looked at me like a monster,” he whispered. “Even after the first time. Even when I didn’t know what it meant to be touched. You looked at me like I was still a man that could be loved.”

He took another step toward you.

“You used to kiss my scars,” he said, and the memory made his mouth tremble. “Talk to me in the dark. Tell me you wanted me. Not because they told you to. Not because it was your programming. Just because it was me.”

The tears spilled from your eyes before you could stop them.

He didn’t touch you. Didn’t dare.

“I didn’t believe you,” he confessed. “Not then. Not really. But I held onto it, you were the only real thing I had.”

His gaze dropped to the floor.

“I told myself I was protecting you. That if I made them believe I was following the plan, if I gave them what they wanted, they’d stop hurting you. That if I kept you close, I could keep you safe.”

He paused. And when he looked back up, his voice cracked open entirely.

“They broke you for me,” he said, the words thick, trembling. “And I let them. I fucking let them. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t fight them. I tried, sweetheart. I tried—” He cut himself off, pressing the heel of his palm to his brow like he was trying to press it all back in.

“I watched them put you in the chair,” he whispered. “Heard you scream. And every time they brought you back, you’d forgotten just a little more. And I kept holding you anyway. Like maybe I could hold onto the pieces long enough to keep you whole.”

Your knees gave out.

You sank down slowly, back sliding down the metal shelving until you were seated on the cold tile, knees tucked to your chest, shoulders trembling with silent sobs.

The tears came hot and heavy, streaking your cheeks, your chin, soaking into the collar of your shirt. You didn’t make a sound. But it wrecked you all the same.

Because it made sense. Every part of it.

The pull you felt when he entered a room. The ache in your chest. The way your body remembered something your mind couldn’t touch. It had always been him.

And now you understood why.

“I used to say your name,” you whispered, barely audible over your breath.

His chest hitched. “You did.”

He knelt slowly, as if afraid to shatter whatever was left between you.

“You used to hold me after,” he said, voice shaking. “And when they saw that—when they realised I was…feeling something —they started putting me in the chair again. Every time you made me softer, they shocked it out of me. But it didn’t work, not completely. Because you kept coming back. You kept finding me. Until you started to remember too much.”

He swallowed hard. “That’s when they wiped you clean.”

You stared at him through tear-blurred eyes. “You knew me all this time?”

His answer came without hesitation. “I did.”

His voice was lower now. Almost ashamed.

“You were the first person I asked about when I escaped HYDRA. When the memories started coming back in fragments—I went to Steve. Asked him if you’d ever been found. If anyone had seen you. If you were still…” He stopped himself. His jaw clenched. “When he told me HYDRA had written you off as dead—I thought I’d never see you again.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, pulling it back from his face with a soft, anguished groan.

“But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop dreaming about you. For years, I saw you in my sleep. Heard your voice. I remembered how it felt to be wanted. I remembered the way you said my name, how you held me in that room".

His eyes lifted again. Shining. Raw.

“I know what I felt in that fucking cell was real.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. You were just… there. Drenched in the truth. Cracked open by it. Heart splintered into pieces too jagged to fit back together.

Something in you shifted. Snapped. Broke free like a tremor ripping through fault lines that had been quietly, patiently waiting for the right pressure to come undone.

Before he could say anything else—before the shame in his eyes could kill you all over again—you crossed the room in two furious, breathless steps and grabbed the collar of his shirt with both hands. You yanked him down and kissed him.

No warning. No pause.

It was not gentle. It was not sweet. It was a goddamn storm.

Your mouth crashed into his like you were trying to consume him, like the ache in your chest needed to be dragged out of you by force. He gasped against your lips, the sound ragged and helpless, before his hands shot to your hips—gripping, anchoring, holding tight like he didn’t believe you were real.

His groan vibrated through his throat and into yours as he kissed you back—hard, hungry, full of restraint that had finally snapped.

It wasn’t soft. It was confession. It was grief and guilt and years of stolen time pressed into teeth and tongue and bruising touch.

You pushed him backward without thinking. Your hands curled into the front of his shirt as you drove him into the wall, breath tearing from your lungs, teeth scraping against his bottom lip as he fumbled for purchase, groaning your name like a prayer he hadn’t dared speak in years.

He grabbed at you like a dying man—hands spreading over your back, dragging down your spine, squeezing your thighs like he needed to feel you to survive.

And then your back hit the door. Hard. You gasped, the sound punched from your lungs, but you didn’t stop—not for a second.

Your hands were already under his shirt, yanking it up, bunching the fabric over his chest as you kissed him again—sloppier now, wetter, more frantic.

He pulled away only long enough to tear the damn thing over his head and toss it blindly behind him. And then his mouth was on your neck.

Not teasing. Not coaxing. Devouring.

His teeth scraped your throat, tongue following in a heated trail that made your thighs clench around his hips. You dragged your nails down his chest, groaning at the feel of his body—familiar, built for you, already yours.

He shoved his hand between your legs, under the hem of your shorts, palm pressing hard against your clothed cunt until you arched against him with a gasp.

Your underwear was soaked. He cursed under his breath—low, guttural.

You hooked a leg around his waist, dragging him tighter, letting him grind against you, both of you still half-dressed, half-mad. You reached between you and shoved at his waistband, fingers fumbling with his belt as he kissed you again, messier this time, mouth open and breath hot.

His hands were everywhere—sliding up your shirt, tugging it over your head, cupping your tits like he remembered them.

When he shoved his pants low, cock springing free, you moaned at the sight of it—thick and flushed and already wet at the tip.

He reached down, pushed your shorts aside, hooked a finger into your panties and dragged them roughly to the side until you were bare beneath him.

He hesitated for only a second. His eyes flicked to yours—burning. Haunted.

“You don’t remember me,” he said, voice cracking. “Not really.”

You reached for his face. Touched his jaw. Brushed your thumb over his cheek like you’d done a hundred times in that cell.

“But I feel you,” you whispered. “I remember this.”

And that was all it took.

He grabbed your thigh and lifted you higher, pinned you to the door with a groan, and thrust into you in one brutal, beautiful stroke.

Your mouth fell open in a gasp—head snapping back, fingers scrambling for balance against the door as his cock filled you, stretched you, split you open in a way that felt too perfect to be new.

Like your body had been built to remember him. Like it did.

He didn’t wait. Didn’t give you time to breathe.

He fucked you like a man possessed—hips snapping into yours, hand gripping the back of your thigh to hold you in place, the other buried in your hair. His forehead dropped to yours as he moved, breath hot and harsh against your lips.

He was everywhere. All of him. The weight of his chest pressing you to the door, the scrape of his stubble against your jaw, the slam of his cock inside you, deep and raw and relentless.

There was no rhythm. Only need.

He fucked you like he was trying to erase time. Like he was punishing himself for every second you’d spent not knowing his name. Like if he could just bury himself deep enough, you’d remember every night you’d spent tangled together in the dark.

You came fast.

It hit like lightning—sharp, electric, sudden—your whole body shaking as your arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding tight, clutching him like an anchor in a world that wouldn’t stop spinning.

Your cunt clenched around him, tight and pulsing, and he groaned—a low, broken sound—and spilled into you with a final, stuttering thrust that felt like a confession.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, forehead pressed to your shoulder as he breathed through it, body shaking.

And for a moment—for a single, breathless second—

It felt like home.

But then— The guilt returned. Like it always did.

He pulled back, still inside you, his face devastated, eyes wide and glassy. His hands trembled on your thighs. His breath came too fast.

“I can’t,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Not like this. You don’t remember me. And we—”

“James.” You reached for him again, desperate.

“We shouldn’t have,” he said, the words shaking. “You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t choose me. You don’t even know me.”

You swallowed. “But I wanted it.”

He looked at you like that only made it worse.

He didn’t stay.

Didn’t say another word.

He stepped back, hands falling away, head down, and walked out the door like the ghost he’d always been.

And you—

You didn’t stop him.

Because you were too busy sliding down the door, back hitting the floor, your thighs still wet with him, your body still echoing with the memory of his hands—and the empty space he left behind.

You lay on your bed in the dark.

The lights were off. The room was still. The hum of the compound’s night cycle buzzed faintly through the vents, soft and steady, like a mechanical lullaby too hollow to comfort. Even the silence felt like it was watching you—quiet, patient, endless.

You hadn’t moved in hours.

The sheets beneath you were twisted, rumpled from tossing, the faint scent of antiseptic still clinging to the cotton from your medbay stay.

Your limbs felt foreign—heavy and strange, like they belonged to someone else.

Your body ached—not just from him, not just from the way he’d held you to the door and fucked the breath out of your lungs—but from something deeper. Something that had been hiding in your marrow, buried beneath frost and programming and grief.

Your muscles were sore. Your throat was raw. Like the weight of remembering had torn through every nerve ending, every fragile thread of denial you’d still been clinging to.

You stared at the ceiling.

Blank. Colourless. Still.

The same ceiling you’d stared at the night after the mission. The same one you’d counted cracks in when the dreams started.

It looked the same now—but it felt different. Like something in the air had shifted. Like the truth had saturated the walls.

There were no thoughts left to chase. No fantasies left to run to. No lies left to wrap yourself in. The truth had been stripped down to the bone, and it sat with you now—quiet and heavy, like an old wound reopened. Like a ghost that had been beside you all along.

You had loved him. You had known him.

And now, knowing that—feeling it—was the worst kind of mercy.

And then—

A whisper.

Not out loud. Not in the room. But inside you.

A thread of memory, soft and fraying at the edges. It didn’t come with images. It wasn’t visual. It was sound. Scent. Weight.

The unmistakable presence of his body curled around yours in the dark, arms wrapped tight around your waist, chest pressed to your back, the low hum of his breath against your skin like a vow being made for no one but you.

His voice. That voice.

“I’ll keep them away from you,” he’d said. Barely above a whisper, broken and certain all at once. Like he was making a promise with his whole body. Like he knew he couldn’t keep it—but meant to die trying anyway.

“I swear.”

Your eyes blinked open again. The ceiling blurred.

Your chest stung, your throat tight with unshed ache. Your eyes burned with the sting of something that didn’t quite feel like grief. Not anymore. Not just pain. It was heavier. More complicated. A kind of sorrow that bled at the edges with memory.

With meaning. Because you remembered.

Not all of it. Not clearly. But enough.

Enough to crack the ice that had lived in your chest since the day they pulled you out of cryo, since the first scream you couldn’t place, since the first phantom bruise your body remembered without context. Enough to fill in the negative space of every nightmare with the shape of the man who had been beside you through it all.

Enough to feel the name form in your mouth like it had always lived there. Waiting.

“James.”

It escaped like breath. Like prayer. A whisper shaped from ash and ember and aching remembrance.

The sound didn’t echo. It settled.

Like it belonged here. Like it always had.

And in the silence that followed, your heart beat once—slow and steady and unbearably tender—like it recognised the name too. Like some part of you had been holding its breath for years just waiting for that moment. For him.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t move.

You just lay there—staring into the dark, blinking through the blur, wrapped in memory, in ache, in the unbearable silence of a future that might never come. Wrapped in something too quiet to be called hope, but too warm, too human, to be despair.

You said his name. You remembered. And it was enough.

It had to be.

a/n: i'll see you guys in chapter 5! it's probably one of the most painful things i've written in a while, and gosh, i cant wait to proofread and post it up! ❤️ please leave a comment or a reblog if you enjoyed this chapter! thank you for your support 🥹

taglist: @poisntree @moth-maam56 @ravenswritingroom @heymydearheart @secretdiaryofzai @whitelaxe @ficmeiguess @its-in-the-woods @chronicallybubbly @stell404 @overwintering-soldier @emilyswortwellen @vampirehimejoshi @chimmysoftpaws @herejustforbuckybarnes @s0urw00lf @cheeseman @onlyforyuto @hibiscy @quinquinquincy @wickedfun9 @bugs-n-roses @alicetesser @hibiscy @onlyforyuto

[neellscapsule]

wayne's secretary

summary | working as bruce wayne's secretary was never an easy job, specially when you're terribly in love with him and he doesn't dare look back. 

pairing | bruce wayne x kent!reader

warnings / tags | most fluffy, some angst, neglected feelings because reader thinks bruce doesn't see her as she sees him BUT HE DOES!!!he is just simply too much of a fool so we can add hurt/comfort

word count | 5.6k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :)

this is part of the kent!batmom!reader series. you don't need to read the other parts to understand this since this is about bruce and batmom's past. 

BEING BRUCE WAYNE’S SECRETARY ISN’T FOR THE WEAK.

You figured that out about three hours into your first day on the job. You’d walked into the sleek, glass-walled office on the 40th floor of Wayne Enterprises with your little notebook clutched in your hands, fresh off the Kent Farm and still smelling faintly of hay and sunscreen, heart pounding in your chest like a scared rabbit. You’d been prepared for a challenge. You hadn’t been prepared for Bruce Wayne.

The tabloids don’t do him justice.

Sure, they get the broad strokes right. Tall. Ridiculously good-looking. Billionaire. Occasionally seen with models or philanthropists or both on his arm. But they miss the quiet intensity that follows him into every room like a storm cloud, the way his blue eyes could pin you in place with one look, or how his voice, deep and smooth like whiskey, can make your stomach twist in knots even when he’s just telling you to rearrange his schedule for the fifth time that morning.

Actually, it’s a brutal, gladiatorial occupation requiring the patience of a saint, the multitasking ability of a NASA mission control operator, and the emotional resilience of someone who doesn’t cry when a perfectly good apple pie burns.

You are not that someone.

But you try. Lord, do you try.

You’re not sure if it’s the Kent in you or the catastrophic crush you’ve been carefully tending to like a forbidden summer bloom, but you don’t give up. No. You set your alarm for 5:00 AM every day, you iron your skirts and blouses the night before, and you march into Wayne Enterprises with a to-go cup of black coffee that could wake the dead. 

You take his calls. You reschedule meetings when Bruce inevitably disappears—out for “personal reasons” that you’re not allowed to question. You politely field phone calls from ex-lovers who think they can just waltz back into his life. You smile through tight teeth when angry supermodels demand an audience with “Brucie.”

“Miss Kent.” His voice cuts through your daydreams as you fumble with the office phone. You curse under your breath—quietly, because you’re still a Kent and Ma raised you better—before turning toward him.

“Yes, Mr. Wayne?” You push your chair back, notebook ready, pen poised like a weapon of mild administrative warfare.

Bruce glances at the clock on the wall. He’s wearing one of those immaculate, tailored charcoal suits that probably cost more than your entire apartment.

“There’s a board meeting at noon. I need the quarterly reports from R\&D printed and summarized.” He pauses, eyes narrowing just slightly. “And cancel lunch with Veronica.”

Veronica. Right. The supermodel. One of the many.

You nod, scribbling it down. “Of course.”

His gaze lingers for a second longer than necessary, unreadable, before he turns and retreats to his office, the door shutting with a soft click. You exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, the familiar ache settling in your chest.

Because Bruce Wayne doesn’t see you.

Not really. Not the way you see him. He sees a secretary. Efficient. Professional. The girl from Kansas with a polite smile and too many pens in her purse. Meanwhile, you see him—the man behind the Gotham mask, sharp-edged and distant, carrying the weight of an entire city on his shoulders.

And you’re in love with him.

Hopelessly, stupidly, painfully in love.

It’s not ideal.

This is fine. Totally fine. This is the job.

Sure, he makes you take calls from the kinds of women who have their own perfume ads and the press on speed dial, but that’s fine. Sure, he makes you memorize his calendar like your life depends on it, but fine. Sure, sometimes he leaves you with half his workload and the other half of his headaches, but fine.

You didn’t move to Gotham to have a soft, easy life. You moved here because a friend had recommended you and you needed the job, even if your parents were more than happy to let you live on the farm. At first, it was very difficult.

Renting an apartment had been the worst part. Gotham wasn't anything like Smallville, or even Metropolis, where your brother lived. Much more dangerous and dark, but just as beautiful. So, you'd ended up in a moderately affordable building with a small balcony that you'd filled with plants.

And not to mention how the people there weren't even a third as polite. How they gave you weird looks whenever you mumbled a "sir" or a polite "ma'am," but that could also have been because the Kansas accent had become so engrained in you, refusing to leave.

But you’d gotten good at reading Bruce. You had to. He was many things—Gotham’s most eligible bachelor, impossible perfectionist, a certified menace to your daily stress levels—but predictable in his routines. You’d memorized the way his brow twitched when a board member droned on too long, the faint edge in his voice when he asked you to "reschedule" a dinner with some socialite (which always meant cancel entirely), and the carefully contained glances he cast your way when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

Of course, maybe that last part was just your imagination.

Because if Bruce Wayne actually looked at you the way you looked at him, well… you'd probably combust right there behind your tidy little desk outside his office.

But no. You were just his secretary. The secretary with a too-big crush, a closet full of pretty, neatly pressed dresses, and a last name that carried weight only in your home place.

“Y/N?”

His voice snapped you out of your thoughts, rich and low and way too dangerous for this early in the morning. You looked up, startled to find him standing in front of your desk, broad-shouldered and devastating handsome.

You tried not to let your eyes linger on the cut of his jaw or the perfect, infuriating way his dark hair fell over his brow.

“Yes, Mr. Wayne?”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. You never called him that unless you were flustered—or hiding something.

“The schedule for today?” he prompted.

Right. His schedule. You were supposed to be a professional. You snatched the leather-bound planner off your desk and opened it with practiced precision.

“You have a ten o’clock with Lucius Fox, followed by a board meeting at eleven. Lunch is with Mr. Park from the GCPD charity board—”

“Cancel lunch.”

You blinked. “But—”

“Park only scheduled it to pitch more PR appearances. I’m not interested.”

You hesitated. “Should I tell him you’re busy or—”

“Tell him I’m unavailable. If he presses, tell him I’m allergic to public relations.”

Despite yourself, a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. Bruce caught it, the faintest glint of amusement flickering in his eyes before it vanished behind that familiar, stoic mask.

“And tonight,” you continued, clearing your throat, “there’s the Wayne Gala.”

His expression didn’t change, but you swore you caught a flicker of resignation in his gaze.

“You’re still attending, right?” you asked, fighting the urge to fidget with your pen.

Bruce’s eyes settled on you in that way that made your heart stutter—steady, intense, unreadable.

“Are you attending?” he countered, voice deceptively neutral.

You frowned, momentarily thrown. “I… well, I wasn’t invited.”

“You’re my secretary.”

“Technically, yes, but—”

“You organized the entire event.”

You ducked your head, heat creeping into your cheeks. “I just coordinated. It’s not the same.”

His jaw flexed, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But then, without warning, he leaned down, palm braced against your desk, invading your personal space just enough to short-circuit your brain.

“Be there,” he said simply, voice low and final.

Your throat went dry. “O-Okay.”

He straightened, adjusted his cufflinks, and walked back into his office, leaving you staring after him like a lovesick idiot.

But here’s the thing.

He does see you.

Bruce Wayne notices everything.

The way you hum when you’re overwhelmed with scheduling requests. How you bring a spare cup of coffee to your desk at exactly 9:15, just in case he needs it. The worn denim jacket from Smallville you sometimes forget on the back of your chair. How your smile never quite reaches your eyes sometimes.

You think he doesn’t care.

But he does.

He cares more than he should.

Because for the first time in years, he finds himself looking forward to Monday mornings. To your quiet, determined voice filtering through the intercom. To your handwriting on his notes. 

But he’s a fool.

A coward.

And so he stays quiet.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of phone calls, emails, and one very aggressive supermodel threatening to “storm the building” if Bruce didn’t return her messages. You handled it, like always, smiling politely, making apologies, and filing it away as just another day in the impossible life of Bruce Wayne’s secretary.

But tonight—the gala—it was different.

The Kent in you was screaming this is a bad idea. Smallville had taught you to keep your feet on the ground, your head clear, and your heart safe.

But Gotham had other plans.

By the time you arrived at Wayne Manor, you felt wildly underdressed, even in your nicest gown—soft blue satin that hugged your figure and made your eyes stand out in the dim light. The manor buzzed with the city’s elite: sharp suits, glittering dresses, whispered gossip trailing behind every conversation.

The party swirled around you like a glittering storm of perfume, champagne, and barely concealed arrogance. You sipped at your glass, nerves humming just beneath your skin, but you stayed grounded. For now.

Until you saw her.

Bruce stood across the room near the grand staircase, his expression cool, unreadable—but beside him, clinging to his arm like a designer handbag, was a woman you couldn’t tear your eyes away from.

Tall. Blonde. Sun-kissed skin that practically glowed under the chandelier light. Her gown shimmered in the low light, the cut sleek and expensive. She was the kind of woman that belonged in Bruce Wayne’s world. The kind that laughed easily at whispered jokes, who made socialites stare with jealousy and men stare with want. She tilted her head, smiling at him with practiced charm, a hand lightly resting on his chest as she spoke.

And Bruce—he’s not brushing her off. He’s not pulling away. He’s standing there, listening, patient, polite. His expression is carefully neutral, but you know him. You’ve studied him like a language, and you see it—the tiny flicker of amusement when she says something clever, the faint dip of his head when she leans in.

Your heart sank like a stone tossed into deep water.

You looked away, swallowing the bitter ache rising in your throat. Of course. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him with women before. Supermodels. Heiresses. Gotham’s elite tripping over themselves for a chance to stand where she stood now.

You set your glass down with more force than necessary, turning on your heel before your emotions betrayed you. The last thing you needed was to cry into your free bar champagne.

The room blurred as you weaved through the crowd, determined to find some breathing space, anywhere but here.

That’s when you found the bar—and her.

A woman leaned casually against the polished counter, swirling amber liquid in her glass with delicate fingers. Her short black hair framed her face in soft waves, dark as ink, contrasting beautifully with lightly tanned skin and sharp, green eyes that glittered with curiosity as she noticed you approach.

The bartender barely had time to greet you before the woman spoke first, voice smooth and low, with a teasing edge that wrapped around you like silk.

“Well, aren’t you just a breath of fresh air?”

You blinked, momentarily startled. “I… what?”

She smiled, slow and warm, like she was entirely unbothered by the sharp edges of this world. “You look like you wandered in from somewhere far, far away.” Her gaze drifted down your frame, lingering on your still-slightly-flushed cheeks and the soft blue satin of your gown. “Somewhere real.”

A small laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Smallville, actually.”

Her lips curved in amusement. “Figures.”

You slid onto the stool beside her, grateful for the unexpected reprieve from your spiraling thoughts.

“I’m Selina,” she offered, raising her glass. “Selina Kyle.”

“Y/N,” you replied, smiling despite yourself.

Selina’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Pretty name. Pretty girl. What’s your excuse for looking like you’d rather be anywhere else?”

You hesitated, tempted to brush it off, but something about her—maybe it was the friendly smirk or the purring warmth in her voice—made it easy to be honest.

“I work for Mr. Wayne,” you admitted, fiddling with your bracelet. “Secretary. Calendar wrangler. Human voicemail inbox.”

Selina’s expression morphed into something wickedly teasing. “That explains the heartbreak face.”

Your cheeks flushed. “It’s not… I mean, I—”

“Relax, sweetheart.” She waved a hand dismissively. “You’re not the first, and I’m guessing you won’t be the last.”

You groaned softly, burying your face in your hands. “Is it that obvious?”

Selina chuckled, the sound light and unjudging. “Only to someone who’s been there. You’ve got the look.” She took a sip of her drink, eyes softening. “Trust me, men like Bruce? They notice more than they let on.”

You lifted your head, doubtful. “Not him. He’s…” You sighed. “He’s different.”

Her smirk widened like she knew a secret you didn’t. “Aren’t they all?”

Despite the ache still clinging to your chest, her flirty, easy confidence soothed some of the sting. You chatted for a little while longer—about Gotham’s ridiculous social scene, expensive shoes, and how impossible it was to find decent coffee in this city. Slowly, the tightness in your chest loosened, replaced by the quiet comfort of unexpected companionship.

But happiness in Gotham never lasted long.

The collision was entirely accidental. You’d been making your way through the crowd again, half-lost in thought, when it happened.

The champagne flutes on her hand dangerously, and one tips, spilling its fizzy, golden contents all over the front of your dress. The cold is immediate, sharp against your skin, seeping through the delicate fabric and turning the soft blue satin dark and sticky.

You gasp, instinctively reaching for a napkin, already sputtering out apologies.

“I’m so sorry, I—”

But the woman’s gaze sweeps over you like you’re something stuck to her shoe. She’s impeccably dressed—pearls, tailored silk, not a hair out of place—and her expression drips with disdain.

“You should watch where you’re going,” she snaps, her voice clipped, precise, and cruelly condescending. “Clearly, you’re not used to being at events like this.”

“I—um—I didn’t mean—”

“Obviously not,” she cuts in, eyes raking over your soaked dress with thinly veiled disgust. “But what can you expect from… assistants.”

Something ugly twists in your stomach. It’s not even the words—it’s the way she says it. Like you’re beneath her. Like you’re a stain on the carpet. And worst of all, she’s not the first to think it.

You swallow the lump in your throat, your eyes burning.

“Excuse me,” you whisper, your voice barely steady.

You turn sharply and flee, weaving through the glittering guests, past chandeliers and waiters and couples who don’t notice you’re unraveling. You burst through the manor doors and into the night, the rain hitting you like cold glass.

The sky is heavy, dark, and pouring, but you barely feel it over the ache in your chest, the humiliation clawing up your throat. You raise your hand, waving desperately until a cab finally screeches to a stop, and you slide inside, your soaked dress clinging to your skin, your heart pounding wildly.

“Address?” the cabbie grunts.

You rattle it off quickly, voice thick with tears you refuse to let fall—not here, not yet.

The ride home blurred past the rain-streaked window. By the time you reached your small apartment, your teeth chattered and your heart ached with embarrassment so sharp it made your chest physically hurt.

Inside, you stripped out of the soaked gown, trembling hands fumbling with the fabric. The champagne stain spread across the satin, stubborn and taunting.

Warm pajamas—fleece, oversized, impossibly soft—helped, but not enough to quiet the storm inside you. You sat on the floor by the sink, the dress clutched in your lap, damp with tears as you scrubbed at the stain in vain.

The first sob broke free quietly, and then another, until your shoulders shook, and you pressed your forehead to your knees.

Your phone buzzed on the counter. You ignored it at first, but when it buzzed again—your mother’s name lighting up the screen—your resolve crumbled.

You swipe to answer, voice trembling. “Hey, ma.”

Her voice wraps around you like a quilt. “Hi, sweetheart. Thought I’d check on you. You were on my mind tonight.”

You swallow, the knot in your throat threatening to choke you. “It was a long night.”

“Tell me.”

So you do. You tell her about the gala, about the pretty blonde, about the woman who made you feel small, about the rain and the taxi and the stupid, ruined dress.

Ma listens to every word, soft murmurs of comfort filling the quiet between your sobs.

“Oh, honey,” she says finally, her voice tender and steady, like home. “You know what I always told you. People can only make you feel small if you let them.”

“I know,” you whisper, curling into yourself. “But sometimes it’s hard not to.”

“I know it is. But you’re a Kent, sugar. You’ve got more heart than that whole city combined. Don’t let some snooty woman take that from you.”

You sniff, wiping at your eyes. “The dress is probably ruined.”

“Clothes can be replaced. My girl can’t.”

Your chest aches, but the edges start to soften.

“And besides,” Ma continues gently, “the year’s almost done. Christmas is right around the corner. Why don’t you come home for a bit? We’ll put you to work on the farm. Your father's been asking when he’ll see you next.”

You smile faintly, the image of the old farmhouse glowing warmly in your mind. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Come home, baby,” she said softly. “For as long as you want.”

“Okay,” you whispered, the exhaustion catching up to you. “I’ll come home.”

And for the first time that night, you let yourself breathe.

Until a loud, metallic noise startles you.

“What was that?” your mother’s voice crackled through the tiny speaker, concern lacing her words even from miles away.

You stood frozen in your living room, heart lurching up to your throat. It had come from the balcony. Something heavy. Something… metallic? The rain outside still battered against the glass, wind howling like it was personally offended.

“Probably… the wind,” you tried to sound calm, but your voice wobbled.

“Wind doesn’t sound like that, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t exactly argue.

Your eyes darted around your modest apartment, landing on the first potential weapon in sight—the old, battered broom leaning against the kitchen wall. It wasn’t exactly an impressive choice, but it was better than facing Gotham’s nightlife with bare hands.

“Ma, I gotta go,” you whispered, grabbing the broom in a white-knuckled grip.

“Y/N—”

“Love you,” you interrupted softly, already creeping toward the balcony. “Kiss Pa for me.”

You hung up, slipping the phone onto the counter, broom clutched like a sword as you edged toward the sliding balcony door. Peeking through the glass, your eyes narrowed in confusion. The balcony was dark, but even with the rain streaking the glass, you could make out a broad shape slumped among your poor, potted plants. Your gaze sharpened.

A man?

His cape—or was that a coat?—dragged heavily on the soaked ground, the fabric clinging to his frame. The dim city light caught the unmistakable shape of pointed ears rising from the silhouette of his cowl. Unmoving except for the faint, labored rise and fall of his chest. His shoulders sagged slightly, like they were carrying the weight of the world—or at least tonight’s injuries.

A bat mask. A symbol that had been plastered all over Gotham’s tabloids for months now.

The Batman.

Your eyes widened. "Oh my God…”

Your pulse thudded against your ribs, nerves tangled with curiosity. He wasn’t threatening, not like this. He looked… exhausted. Slumped awkwardly on one side, one gloved hand bracing against the floor as if trying—and failing—to push himself upright.

The other hand pressed tightly to his torso. Even in the dim light, you could see dark, wet streaks staining his suit.

Blood.

The logical part of your brain reminded you: he beats up criminals, not civilians. You were safe… mostly. Still, your fingers tightened around the broom handle, and—against all better judgment—you poked him lightly in the side with the bristles.

“Uh… hey,” you called softly, voice higher than usual. “You okay there, big guy?”

There was a beat of silence. Then, his head tilted up, and even behind the intimidating mask, you could feel the weight of his stare settle on you.

The intensity made you freeze for a heartbeat—but you noticed the tension in his shoulders loosen, just slightly. He wasn’t here to hurt you.

The Batman—Gotham’s Batman—was hurt. And… on your balcony.

This city was ridiculous.

You lowered the broom slightly, heart racing. “Are you… gonna pass out? Or… need help?”

His breathing was heavy beneath the mask, but after a pause, he managed a rough, gravel-edged reply. “Help… would be… good.”

You hesitated only a second longer before setting the broom aside. The Kent in you—years of patching up scraped knees, stubborn farm injuries, and now your brother’s occasional “training bruises”—kicked in.

“Alright, c’mon,” you muttered, slipping your arm under his. “Let’s get you inside before you drown out here.”

It took effort, but between his stubbornness and your determination, you managed to half-guide, half-drag him inside. Rainwater dripped from his cape and suit, puddling onto your floor. Your poor couch squelched as he collapsed onto it with a heavy, pained grunt.

You grimaced. “Okay, we’ll… deal with the couch later.”

First aid. You needed the first aid kit.

You grabbed the small, dented metal box from the kitchen cabinet, snapping it open to see what was inside. It wasn’t exactly stocked for vigilante wounds, but it would have to do. 

You returned to the living room, dropping the kit beside him and kneeling at his side, crossing your legs beneath you. Your gaze flicked over him—his gloves were off now, discarded on your coffee table, his bare hands braced on his thighs.

But it wasn’t his hands that worried you.

The blood staining his side caught your attention—the dark smear spreading across his suit, seeping from beneath the armored plates.

Your fingers hovered uncertainly.

“Hey… uh, I’m gonna help you, alright?” Your voice was soft but steady. “But I can’t get to that with all… this.”

Your hand gestured vaguely toward the torso section of his suit.

For a long, tense moment, he didn’t move. The air between you thickened with unspoken questions. Then, finally, with slow, methodical movements, he reached up, fingers finding the subtle seams at the sides of his suit.

The chest armor loosened, peeling away to reveal scarred, marked skin beneath.

Your breath hitched.

Broad, muscular, every inch of him screamed strength and experience—the kind of body molded by years of brutal training and hard-earned scars. Bruises bloomed across his ribs in shades of deep purple and blue, some old, some alarmingly fresh. A shallow gash bled sluggishly along his side, the likely source of the stain.

Professional. Be professional, you scolded yourself.

“This’ll probably sting,” you warned, voice quiet.

Grabbing gauze and antiseptic, you began to clean the wound with careful, practiced hands.

As you dabbed carefully at the wound, the alcohol making him hiss softly through gritted teeth, you fought to keep your hands steady.

He remained silent for several beats, watching you with unreadable eyes beneath the shadow of his cowl. Then, his voice rumbled low, unexpectedly cutting through the quiet.

“You’ve been crying.”

Your hands stilled.

You didn’t meet his gaze immediately, focusing instead on dabbing antiseptic along the edges of the gash.

“Sharp observation,” you replied lightly, but your voice betrayed you—soft, shaky, raw around the edges.

His eyes softened—barely noticeable, but there.

“Why?”

The question hung between you, heavy and sincere. No judgment. No mocking curiosity. Just… quiet concern.

You hesitated, biting your lower lip as you worked. The gauze wrapped around his torso with steady, if slightly trembling, fingers.

“A party,” you admitted finally, taping the bandage in place. “Someone ruined my dress. Said I didn’t belong.”

His eyes never left yours.

“Gala?”

You nodded, the corner of your mouth twitching bitterly. “Wayne Gala.”

The words hung between you for a second, quiet, but not empty.

Batman’s eyes narrowed just slightly. There was a flicker of something beneath the surface.

“Did something happen there?” His voice stayed low, that smooth, rasping tone that carried authority, but there was an edge of something softer to it now. Less like the Batman of headlines. More… human.

You shrugged lightly, returning your attention to the emergency kit as you began packing away the supplies, the soft rattle of gauze and bandages filling the space between your words.

“Nothing unusual for a Wayne party,” you replied, trying to sound dismissive, but your voice caught just a little. You could still feel the sting of that woman’s words clinging to you like smoke. “Fancy people with expensive shoes and sharper tongues. That’s Gotham.”

His gaze didn’t waver, even as you busied your hands. “Someone upset you.”

It wasn’t a question. You hated how easily he saw through you. You pressed your lips together, not looking at him as you spoke.

“It’s not a big deal,” you lied. “Just some socialite who thinks anyone without a trust fund shouldn’t breathe the same air as them.”

A pause. You risked a glance at him.

The corners of his mouth tightened, and even though the mask covered most of his face, you could feel the disapproval radiating off him. Not at you—but at the situation. At whoever had made you feel small tonight.

“You don’t believe that, do you?” His voice was quieter now, laced with a firm, grounded certainty that sent a shiver down your spine.

You shrugged again, this time weaker. “Doesn’t really matter what I believe. You’ve seen the crowd Bruce Wayne runs with.” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully, eyes drifting to his injured side before flickering back up. “People like me… we don’t fit.”

His jaw flexed. “People like you?”

You let out a quiet, breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Small-town girl with a Metropolis zip code. A Kent. I grew up feeding cows and fixing fences. The fanciest thing I owned back home was a Sunday dress from Sears.” You pulled the blanket around your legs a little tighter, voice dropping with vulnerability you couldn’t quite hide. “Now I answer phones for the richest man in Gotham and try not to drown in places I clearly don’t belong.”

The silence stretched after your confession, heavy but not uncomfortable. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you expected.

“You belong,” he said simply, like it was fact—not up for debate. “Don’t let people like that convince you otherwise.”

Your eyes snapped to his, startled by the quiet sincerity behind the words. The shadows softened him for a moment, the harsh lines of the cowl blending into the dim light, but the conviction in his voice stayed.

You exhaled, some of the tightness in your chest easing. “You’re not what I expected, y’know.”

He tilted his head slightly, curious. “No?”

You smiled faintly, relaxing into the couch’s armrest. “All those stories… newspapers, rumors. You’re supposed to be this terrifying, ruthless vigilante. Gotham’s monster in the shadows.” Your eyes traced over him—tired, soaked, bruised. “But you’re… different.”

He let out a low sound that might’ve been the ghost of a chuckle. It was rough, brief, but real.

“I can be terrifying,” he teased, and for the first time tonight, the tension in your apartment cracked just a little, warmth slipping in through the cracks.

Your smile widened despite yourself. “I’ll believe it when you stop bleeding all over my floor.”

His mouth quirked again, the expression faint but not entirely hidden.

A beat of silence passed, comfortable now. The rain outside tapped steadily against the glass doors, a constant hum filling the space.

Then, he shifted slightly, his broad shoulders easing back against the couch, some of the tension bleeding from his posture. His hand pressed lightly to the gauze at his side, checking your handiwork.

“You’ve done this before,” he observed, his gaze drifting over the neatly wrapped bandage.

“Farm,” you answered simply. “Kent household is a masterclass in minor medical emergencies.” You gestured vaguely. “Cuts, scrapes, falling off tractors… patching up stubborn men.”

The corner of his mouth tugged, and your heart did a small, traitorous flip at the sight.

“You handle this better than most,” he admitted quietly.

You arched a brow, teasing. “What, bleeding strangers collapsing on my balcony? Sure, happens all the time.”

“Could’ve called the cops,” he pointed out, watching you closely.

You shrugged, voice light but sincere. “Didn’t think they’d patch you up.”

Another pause. His eyes never left you.

“And… you believe I’m not here to hurt you?”

It was a serious question, but you smiled softly, warmth creeping into your expression as you leaned in, resting your chin on your hand.

“I don’t think you’d let me shove a broom at you if you were the type to hurt civilians,” you teased. Then, softer, “Besides… you save people.”

His eyes darkened with something unreadable, but not dangerous. He didn’t deny it.

You hesitated, then added quietly, “I’ve seen the news. You stop muggings. Get kids out of danger. You might scare the criminals… but you help people.”

The admission settled in the air between you, thick with quiet honesty.

“You’ve been watching me,” he noted.

You rolled your eyes. “Everyone’s been watching you.”

His gaze was sharp, steady—watchful even in exhaustion.

“Y’know,” you began, your voice breaking the quiet, “I didn’t exactly picture my Saturday night ending like this.”

A brow under the cowl arched faintly. His lips twitched—barely—but you caught it.

“Unexpected house guests are common in Gotham?” he asked, voice low, rough, that rasp unmistakable even softened by fatigue.

You shrugged lightly. “Usually it’s angry or drunk neighbors, not six-foot-something vigilantes falling on my plants.”

His eyes drifted toward the balcony door, lingering on the flattened pots, the shattered ceramic.

“Apologies for the casualties,” he muttered.

You smiled despite yourself. “They were on borrowed time anyway. This city’s got terrible sunlight.”

A quiet hum left him, almost a huff of amusement if you were being generous.

You watched him for a moment longer, curiosity outweighing caution now that the shock had settled. His broad frame was hunched slightly, weight shifted to one side to avoid putting pressure on the bandaged gash. The blanket draped awkwardly over his shoulders, the edges damp but slowly drying from the apartment’s warmth.

For a man built like a walking warning sign, he looked oddly… human.

“Is this… normal for you?” you asked carefully. “The whole ‘bleeding on strangers’ furniture’ thing?”

“Occupational hazard,” he replied simply.

You tilted your head, biting back a grin. “Danger pay included?”

His eyes slid back to yours, sharp as glass. “Wouldn’t recommend the career path.”

“I wasn’t exactly planning to join,” you teased, your fingers absently tugging at a loose thread on your pajama pants. “I think I’m barely surviving my current job.”

A pause.

“You work for Wayne,” he stated again, the certainty in his voice settling over the room like fog.

You exhaled a soft laugh. “You’ve got an impressive memory for someone half-delirious on my couch.”

His head tilted faintly, studying you. “It’s… noticeable.”

“What is?” you prompted, curiosity peeking through.

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes lingered on you, unreadable under the shadowed mask. You waited, letting the silence stretch, expecting him to evade the question entirely.

But instead, his voice came quiet. Honest.

“You stand out,” he admitted.

You looked at him then, surprised by the sincerity tucked between the words. You swallowed, wetting your lips, forcing your eyes down to your hands to keep from staring, and, instead, you shifted topics, easing the tension.

“Bet this isn’t your first run-in with Gotham rooftops.”

His lips quirked faintly. “Rooftops, alleys, warehouses… name it.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “That’s one way to see the city.”

“Best way,” he replied simply.

“Define ‘best’,” you teased, your tone soft, lightening the mood.

A pause. His eyes lingered on you, thoughtful.

“Most honest,” he answered.

You smiled faintly, leaning back against the couch. “Guess you’d hate my job then.”

“Secretary?” His brow arched. “Nothing honest about it?”

You laughed softly. “Depends who you’re working for.”

A longer pause this time.

“And Bruce Wayne?” he prompted carefully. “What’s the verdict?”

You hesitated, pulse tripping unexpectedly. Careful. Careful.

“He’s…” You chose your words, fingers twisting your pajama sleeve. “Complicated.”

His eyes narrowed faintly, curious.

“Most days, I think he’s impossible,” you admitted, your voice quiet now, honest in a way you hadn’t planned. “He’s cold, distant… expects everything and says almost nothing.”

“And the other days?”

You smiled to yourself, gaze drifting to the rain-slick windows. “The other days, I think… maybe he’s just lost. Or tired. Or carrying more than he lets anyone see.”

The silence that followed was thick. Heavy. You could feel his eyes on you, steady, lingering.

Finally, his voice cut through the quiet again—rough, softer now.

“People notice more than you think.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t elaborate, only watched you with that same unreadable intensity, shadows curling at the edges of his expression.

The room settled into quiet again. The rain softened, tapping faintly against the glass.

And that’s when your gaze shifted—sliding down the sharp slope of his cheekbone, the curve of his jaw.

Strong. Defined. Familiar in a way that made your stomach twist with quiet realization.

Your eyes lingered on his mouth—lips you’d seen pressed into faint, disapproving lines during board meetings, biting back frustration during impossible phone calls, curled ever-so-faintly in quiet amusement when he thought you weren’t looking.

You’d stared at Bruce Wayne's mouth more times than you cared to admit. It was hard not to when you were sitting across from him most days, fielding angry calls from supermodels and rearranging his schedule on a dime.

And now, up close, barely away from you, with his cowl hiding everything but his jaw, his lips…

You recognized him.

The sharp line of his jaw. The curve of his cheek. The slope of his mouth.

Bruce Wayne.

It hit you like a punch to the ribs.

But you didn’t say anything.

Your heart hammered wildly, your mind spinning, but you kept your expression carefully neutral.

You shut your mouth.

And he… didn’t notice. Or he did—and he didn’t care.

His eyes drifted to the window again, watching the rain streak down the glass, the faintest ghost of exhaustion settling over his expression.

You stayed quiet, your mind racing, pulse skittering wildly beneath your skin, but your face remained soft, composed—the same mask you wore around Bruce every day.

For now, your secret stayed safe between the two of you.

And his?

You’d carry that, too.

[ssahotchnerr]

Hey doll, hope you're doing good !!

Since you mentioned jealous Aaron, may I request maybe them being away on a case and a suspect who's totally innocent makes things difficult on purpose to get to see n talk more with reader. Aaron could be seeing right through him while she could be oblivious to what is going on since she's so in loveeeee with A and can't seems to even imagine being with someone else LOL ! 🤍

too close for comfort

omg omg OMG cw; liaison fem!reader, established relationship, suspect being a creep, protective/jealous aaron 😵‍💫❤️‍🔥 wc; 1.2k

"I'm not talking."

Dave huffed at the suspect's remark, sharing a quick, irritated glance with Aaron. "You don't need to make this any harder than it needs to be. You help us, we can let the courts know you cooperated."

"I'm not talking to you." He corrected with a sneer, his lips lifting into a sickening smile. "How about that pretty girl I saw on my way in?"

You - He hadn't needed to clarify, Aaron knew immediately.

As they entered the precinct not even an hour ago, you had been amongst the few people in the bullpen; your eyes had lifted at the intrusion, mid-conversation with Reid. And as Aaron walked past you, towards interrogation with the suspect in tow, you had piqued his interest immediately.

While your focus had already shifted elsewhere, he studied you - slowing down his pace. His gaze moved deliberately over your figure, taking its time - and lingering just a moment longer on your behind. Aaron shoved him ahead, harshly enough for the guy's gaze to snap forward to ensure he wouldn't collide with anything.

"No." His eyebrows tightened with quiet anger.

"C'mon." The suspect laughed at Aaron's heightening glare, evidently pleased with the reaction. "You wanna talk about being cooperative? You help me, I help you. Simple as that. I don't think it's that big of a request."

Maintaining a neutral tone, aware that showing any emotion would only give him an opening, he stated, "She's unavailable."

"Something tells me you can change that."

Aaron shoved back from the table, the chair screeching against the floor, hastily retreating with Dave following in his footsteps. Once outside the room - the door shut behind them - Dave opened his mouth to speak-

"Absolutely not."

"She could get him talking, Aaron." Dave pressed, before an exasperated breath left him. "Look, you and I know what he's trying to do."

"Exactly." He shook his head once, utterly annoyed as his jaw tightened. The very last thing he wanted was to surrender you over, playing directly into the suspect's game.

But he also knew in his capacity as Unit Chief, that this was in the best interest of the case.

"We're running out of time here," Dave insisted. "We have a victim out there who could still be alive. This- She could be our only chance."

-

"If you feel unsafe, don't hesitate to put a stop to this whole thing. I'll be in there with you, Rossi and Morgan will be watching, and not to mention, he's cuffed to the table." Aaron instructed, his voice leaving him expertly poised; still, he seethed beneath his carefully crafted exterior. "He'll have no access to you."

You nodded along to his words, entering the viewing room as Aaron held the door open for you. The large window offered an unfiltered view into the room, exposing the suspect in full. He lounged in the metal chair; his posture was almost lazy, but there was a calculated stillness to it. As if he had nothing to hide - as if he had the BAU in the palm of his hand.

Aaron had said the suspect wanted to speak to you specifically, although you were unsure why. You were a liaison, not a profiler; you didn’t do interrogations. "So I'm just asking him questions?"

He nodded, "get him talking. Talk about his past, the victims, the MO. Anything you can get him to reveal can help us."

"Easy enough." As your fingers went to brush his arm, you caught the stiffness in his jaw. Your hand paused midair, "Wait, you're really not okay with this."

"I don't even want to consider what kind of sick ideas he's entertaining." Aaron spoke sharply, his voice tight with restrained frustration. "The fact that he's even going to be near you is enough to make my blood boil."

"I'm sure there won't be any." There was a subtle crease at your nose, a flicker of disbelief in your eyes.

"Sweetheart," he dropped his hardened front for a moment, compassion taking its place. "He's had his mind on you since we set foot in here. You didn't see the way he...." He exhaled deeply, quickly composing himself. "He's objectifying you, and I hate to be the one to enable it."

There was a brief shift in your features - uncertainty, maybe even unease. "Why?"

"Why wouldn't he." His voice fell on the flat side, his eyes analyzing you also, only his gaze went further than your appearance. Your kind heart, determination, compassion. You were easily anyone's dream.

Your voice grabbed him from his thoughts, "Do I let him?"

"Hm?"

Hesitating, you glanced off to the side before meeting his gaze. Your eyes were gentle, quietly seeking his approval. "Should I play into it?"

A surge of jealousy ignited within him, warmth spreading rapidly through his veins. Would it be beneficial? Yes. Would it get the suspect talking? Absolutely yes. Yet watching you flirt with someone else…

Aaron's lips drew into a thin line, and you took note: Yes, but be cautious. Please. "You can do whatever you're comfortable with."

"And you'll be with me?"

He gave a single nod, his eyes holding the weight of his promise.

"Then everything will be fine." You offered him a small smile, more so comforting him than yourself. You loosened his tie, knotted tightly at his neck - breathe. "It'll be over before you know it."

He reached for the door handle, only to be halted by your firm grip. One more reassurance was in order.

"I love you."

A look of triumph crossed the suspect's face when you finally entered - a sinister grin spreading as he straightened up in his chair. The sight sent a chill down your spine, causing the hairs on your arm to stand on end.

"About time."

You took your seat calmly, intent on staying composed despite him.

However, his overconfident display faded once Aaron sat beside you. You stole a look at him; the softness he had displayed moments ago long gone, he was furious. You could practically feel the aggravated heat radiating off his body.

Though you felt for him, you wouldn't deny that it caused your heart to flutter. His behavior was a result of yourself - the deep, instinctive urge to protect.

"I thought I said I wanted to speak to her alone."

"Not happening."

The suspect slouched back against his chair. "Then I have nothing to say."

"It's fine." You spoke up, mediating between the two. Your hand searched for Aaron's underneath the table, finding his clenched fist. You quickly slipped your hand inside it instead, causing it to soften. A firm squeeze, "It's okay."

"Thanks darlin', I knew I could count on you." He flashed Aaron a smug look.

Following a tense standoff - a silent warning not to make a move -Aaron rose to his feet. However he didn't leave, he only created some distance; standing next to the door with his arms crossed firmly against his chest.

If the suspect moved a centimeter towards you, simply looked at you the wrong way - he'd be at your rescue before you could blink.

"This still isn't what I-"

Aaron was finished with the games. His eyes were cold, his jaw set and leaving no room for negotiation. "Take it or leave it."

[sweetcalebb]

Oblivious boyfriend Caleb !

wc: 2.6

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and after reading all that angst, i was inspired to finish. it's kinda meh BUT im gonna drop it here anyway.

pairing: non-MC!reader x Caleb

content: self-indulgent, angst, emotional neglect, quiet breakup, fem!reader, avoidant reader, i had to make caleb ooc, he's a basketball player, college au, hurt/no comfort

——

When you first started dating Caleb, you thought you could handle it—the attention he got, his friends you never really got along with, his charm, his wit, his friendliness.

But the more you watched him, the more you realized you might've been over your head. That maybe, you were right.

That maybe, you never had a chance.

That maybe, he was never really yours to keep.

You always tried reminding yourself that he loved you. Because he did, right? He opened doors for you, bought you flowers just because, had an album just for you, introduced you as 'his girl'. That was love, wasn't it?

You bit your nails, glancing at your phone for the umpteenth time tonight. Your laptop was in front of you, Caleb's favorite snacks sprawled out on your bed, unopened and waiting, and your favorite Hello Kitty pajamas on (Caleb had a matching pair).

It was 6:24. Where the hell was he? He was supposed to be here at 6:05.

You flicked your mouse across your screen as your computer dimmed. You glanced at the time again—6:25 p.m.

Seriously, where was he?

You sighed, opening his contact and calling him.

It rang once. Twice. Three times.

Was he seriously not going to pick up—

"Pips!"

You couldn't help the small breath of relief that spilled past your lips. "Caleb."

"Hey! Uhm—look, please don't be mad."

Your heart sank.

"What?"

You heard laughing in the background, then a hushed scolding before Caleb was speaking into the phone again. "So, uh I got caught up with my friends at the courts. We were just supposed to stay for a few minutes but now I'm all sweaty and gross."

"Okay..." you murmured. "So, you're not coming?"

"I promise I can make it up to you."

You bit your cheek, trying your best to hide just how disappointed you were. But to do that, you had to stay completely silent.

After a beat, Caleb started again. "Babes.. I'm really sorry. Are you mad at me?"

"No," you managed, but the word was clipped.

"Hey, I'll see you tomorrow and I'll take you out on a date, yeah?"

Silence.

"Babe?"

"'Kay."

You thought you thought you heard Caleb's breath hitch. "Kay? Hey, if you're mad, tell m—"

"I'm not mad. Just text me to let me know you're safe."

"Wait, hold—"

'End call.'

You let out a shaky sigh. Of course, he missed this. Of course, he missed the one day of the week he didn't have practice or conditioning.

You switched your phone on do not disturb and placed it on your nightstand. You roved your eyes over the assortment of snacks you'd gotten him. You guessed they were yours now.

He'd been missing more dates recently. Had been having to make up a missed date or late arrival more often. It was always basketball, or his friends, or her that kept him from you.

But he still loved you, right?

-

You were curled up in bed with him, your arm lazily draped over his chest as you scrolled through TikTok, only half paying attention to the videos because your mind was swimming with the question: Who is Caleb texting?

You didn't want to be the girl who peeked at her boyfriend's phone or demanded to know who it was, so you just lay there, pretending you were fine when you were dying to know who he was talking to.

But you knew.

Deep down, you knew it was her.

At some point, he got up to get something from his mini fridge and you turned over on your side so you wouldn't impulsively grab his phone and swipe through every conversation he's ever had.

But then his phone buzzed.

Then again.

And again.

Caleb glanced up from his fridge. "Hey, think you can respond for me?"

Your heart leapt in your throat as you slowly turned on your side and glanced at his phone. "Oh." You slowly picked it up and entered the password.

You stared at her contact name: 'MC 🏃‍♀️'

His childhood best friend. Track girl. Tanned and skinny with toned legs like every other track player.

Of course. Why would you ever hope it would be anyone else?

You swallowed hard. "She said that she forgot her foam roller and her coach is going to kill her if she doesn't bring it tomorrow.. She's asking if she can borrow yours."

Caleb hummed in thought, taking out a small bottle of water and taking a sip. "Uh, type back 'sure'."

You hesitated. "Don't you need it?"

Caleb shrugged, crossing the room back to his bed and settling in beside you. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

Was that special treatment? Or was he just being nice? Just being him? Slowly, you messaged her back and handed him his phone back. You didn't say anything. Didn't look, just lay there on your back instead of cuddling with him again.

"Hey, why are you all the way over there?"

You shrugged, already scrolling on your phone again. "I don't know. Just got comfy here."

Caleb furrowed his brows. "You seemed fine just seconds ago."

"Mm."

Caleb sighed, sitting up straight. "Look at me."

"I'm fine, Caleb."

"No, Babe, please just—"

You sighed, shifting in his bed as you curled back into his side, and gave him your best smile. "I'm fine. See?"

Caleb stayed silent for a moment, his eyes softening. "If I hurt you, I didn't mean to. MC's just a friend."

Your throat tightened as you looked away. "I know."

"Do you?"

No.

"Yes."

Caleb sighed softly before lying back down. You guys didn't talk about it after that. Just settled into an uncomfortable silence.

But that was fine.

It was fine.

-

You fidgeted in his passenger seat, pressing your legs together. You tried something new that day—a bit of makeup, nicer clothes, a new hairstyle. Caleb told you how cute you looked before you left the dorms, but his words seemed to fade as you pulled up to the small restaurant.

"Hey," Caleb said, squeezing your hand. "I promise you look great."

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Okay."

With that, you two stepped out of the car and made your way inside. It wasn't upscale or anything, just some place to grab a quick bite and chat, but you felt out of place nonetheless.

His friends greeted him. They greeted you, too. They were never mean to you, your personalities just never really went well together.

But sometimes it made you wonder how you were with Caleb in the first place if the people he surrounded himself with were the complete opposite of you.

At first, everything was fine. You sat there, smiled at all the right times, and spoke when you were spoken to because you had no idea what you would say otherwise.

Then—"How come you barely speak?"

You glanced at his friend. The table had gone silent, all eyes on you now, like everyone was wondering the same.

"I do," you tried, offering a nervous smile.

"Sure, every now and then, but what is it? You don't like us or something?"

Caleb squeezed your hand under the table. "C'mon. So what she doesn't like talking?" he huffed.

His friend frowned. "We just wanna get to know her." Then he turned back to you. "So? What is it?"

Heat stung your face. You hated being put on the spot. Hated how everyone, including your own boyfriend, was just staring at you now, waiting.

You fidgeted in your seat, your throat suddenly too tight.

"No, I like you guys. I guess I just..." you shrugged, "don't have a lot to say."

One of his friends clicked his tongue. "You're really... shy, huh?"

You went even quieter at that.

Shy.

The way he said it was odd, like it was almost an insult. Was it meant to be an insult? What was wrong with being shy?

"I guess," you murmured, avoiding his gaze.

Before anyone could say anything else, Caleb cut in. "Alright, alright, let her be guys."

They all started fussing, begging Caleb to let them ask more questions, but you weren't listening anymore. You were staring at your half-empty cup of water, your cheeks burning so hot you felt like you couldn't breathe.

Caleb leaned over to you once his friends settled down. "Hey, you okay?"

You looked up, trying for a smile, but it didn't reach your eyes. "Yeah. I'm fine."

He looked like he was going to say something else, but you stood up before he could, your chair squeaking against the floor. His eyes followed you, his brows furrowed with concern. "Are you sure?"

You nodded. "Yeah. Just want to use the restroom."

Caleb stood up beside you. "Want me to come?"

"No. It's fine." Then you were gone, hurrying through the restaurant blindly. You had no idea where it was, but when by some miracle, you found it,you slipped into the first available stall. You sat there, too overwhelmed to care about how dirty the seat was.

You just breathed shakily, resting your elbows on your knees and bringing your hands to either side of your face.

So what if you were shy? Why did it have to be such a big deal? Why didn't Caleb stop them sooner? He would've immediately jumped to MC's defense if the roles were switched, wouldn't he?

No, don't do that to yourself. You were just—You just—You sighed, burying your face in your hands.

You didn't want to go back out there. Maybe you wouldn't.

-

That day made you spiral. It made you question why Caleb was even with you.

You stopped asking for things after that—pictures, phone calls, texts, hugs, kisses. You started deleting messages you meant to send like 'I miss you's and 'I love you's. Started stalking his old posts and compared them now.

He looked happier back then. Louder. More him.

Caleb noticed the small shifts and would suddenly say things like "You know I love you right?" You always nodded and told him you loved him too, but you believed him less and less.

Now you were at a party he insisted would be fun, but the second you got there he was pulled into conversations and games. And worst of all? MC was there, laughing and smiling with him like it was second nature. And Caleb smiled back—so big and bright. He never smiled that way with you.

And you stood off the side, a bitter drink in hand that was barely doing anything to quiet the voices in your head.

You felt lost for hours, and Caleb only checked in on you twice. Twice. He looked at you, talking to you, but he didn't see you. Not really.

"Hey."

You glanced up from your drink, blinking at MC who had padded over to you and took a seat on the couch next to you.

"Are you okay?"

You smiled. Or tried to. You didn't have the energy for it though. "Yeah. I'm fine."

MC wasn't mean or malicious. That's what really pulled this all together. She was nice. Observant. She saw you more than your own boyfriend and something about that made you want to break down right then and there.

She sighed. "Listen, me and Caleb aren't—"

"Picture!"

Before she could finish her sentence, you were both being pulled into a group photo. You were at Caleb's side, she was on his other.

Then it happened. He wrapped his hand around her waist and tugged her close, then smiled into the camera like nothing.

You felt the flash, but your eyes were glued to him. To his smile. To his hand.

Your stomach coiled with something hot and ugly. Your eyes stung with tears and you immediately decided no. No, you couldn't be here anymore.

You slipped from his side and started pushing through the throng of partygoers. You didn't care that Caleb was your ride, you'd figure something out.

You stepped into the cool air and let out a soft breath. You blinked furiously, trying to keep your tears at bay, but they streaked down your cheeks unbidden and ruined your makeup.

Not that it mattered. You weren't sure Caleb even noticed it tonight.

You stood there for a second before finally starting down the sidewalk. You were 5 minutes in when you got a text.

Caleb: Where'd you go?

Nothing.

Caleb: Hey, you alright? I can't find you. Call me.

Still nothing.

Caleb: Babe, why aren't you answering? Just text me if you're okay.

Do not disturb.

Caleb: Why'd you go on do not disturb? I'm sorry. Please answer.

You shoved your phone in your pocket and kept walking. Your feet ached and your body shook from the cold, but anything was better than talking to Caleb right now.

You weren't sure what happened once you got to your dorm, all you knew was that it was 3:00 a.m., your makeup was wiped off, and your shoes were on the floor near your bed.

Probably Tara.

You let out a small yawn, about to settle back into bed when your phone went off again. You let out a tired groan, blindly reaching for your phone that was on your nightstand and squinting as you looked at the screen.

20 unread texts from Caleb.

Slowly, you opened the messages.

You read over all of them, each one making your chest a little heavier. Then finally, you typed back.

You: I want to sleep.

Caleb: Jesus Christ. That's all you have to say? I've been worried sick.

Read.

Caleb: Stop doing that. Please talk to me.

Suddenly, your phone lit up with his contact. You sighed, hesitantly accepting his call and pressing it up to your ear.

You didn't say anything at first. Just sat there, listening.

"What the hell?" Caleb immediately breathed out. "I was so worried about you. Why didn't you tell me you were leaving the party?"

You waited a second, then quietly you said, "I didn't think you'd notice."

You heard something soft, like disbelief. "Why wouldn't I notice?"

You stayed silent.

"Y/N, please talk to me. What's going on?"

Tears stung your eyes again. You felt your lip tremble with a small cry, but you swallowed it back. "I'm tired."

Silence.

"Tired of what? You can't just leave a party like that."

You took a shaky breath. "Of this."

More silence.

Then you heard the stutter in his breath. "What?"

His voice got so quiet, you almost didn't recognize it.

"What do you—? I don't—Okay, just wait." You heard rustling, then again—"What does that mean?"

You shrugged, tears spilling down your cheeks now. "I don't want to do this anymore, Caleb."

"Stop," Caleb blurted out. "I don't—I don't get it."

"I tried," you whispered, your voice breaking on a quiet sob. "I'm just... I can't do it anymore."

"Are you breaking up with me?"

You couldn’t stop the sound that broke from your throat. The thought of being without him hurt. Maybe even more than everything you've gone through these past months, but you knew it wasn't right anymore.

Not when you were invisible to the one person who was supposed to really see you.

"Yes."

There was a beat of silence, until quietly, Caleb murmured, "I don't want to break up."

Your throat tightened painfully.

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, baby. I can—I can stop being friends with MC. I can quit basketball. I can talk to my friends and make them stop being such assholes. I can—"

"I don't want any of that." You closed your eyes, chest aching with all the months you'd spent trying to hold on, only for it to end like this.

“I just want it to stop."

WARNING. (it's just an additional a/n i didn't feel like adding)

[brokenbough]

"No- no, Simon!" You whimper, squirming away from his hands, your own clawing at the floor.

"Cmon, you can take it." He grumbles, his voice low and command clear.

"Please- oh fuck. Simon, Simon, Simon." You recite like a prayer, squirming again as he adds pressure. You whimper and moan, fighting-- anything to get him to stop.

"Stop squirming, you need it. Take it." He commands roughly again, pinning you firmer into the wooden floorboards.

"Alright, what the fuck are you guys doing?" Soap and Gaz burst in through the door, looking down at the two of you.

There you are on your stomach, pinned under Simon, his hands on your back, his front against your butt. But... clothed.

"What type of freak shit are yall doing?" Gaz asks, watching you squirm under Simon again. He doesn't let you move, pressing down on your lower back once more, growling something quietly at you.

You cry out, whimpering again and clinging to nothing. "Simon, Simon please!" You whine again.

"Take it Doll. Take it." He says, rubbing that same spot.

You groan loudly, starting to fight him again.

"Alright dude, what the hell!" Soap questions, pushing Simon off of you.

You crawl away quickly, standing with a groan.

"What?" Simon grumbles out, pushing Soap back a bit, watching Kyle hug you tightly.

"You can't just pin down girls ya like and- and do whatever the hell that was!" Soap growls out.

Simon tilts his head, looking to you and back to Soap. "What the fuck are you on MacTavish?" Simon asks again, pushing past the sergeant to you.

"You- whatever you were doing to her." Soap continues, getting between you two again.

"Move." He says to his sergeant harshly, leaving no room for argument. But Soap doesn't, standing his ground and protecting you from his perverted lieutenant.

"I'm not gonna ask again." Simon says, glowering down at Soap. Kyle is behind both of them, you behind him as they stand bodyguard.

Finally free from Simon's hands, you quickly dart out of the door, hearing the growl of Simon behind you.

"Fuck off Lt.!" You yell back, turning corners and jumping over furniture and people as Simon is stuck behind his two sergeants. You get as far away as you can.

--

"Back. away." You demand, ready to run again as Soap and Gaz corner you.

"Nah ah little lady." Gaz says, a lazy smile on his face.

--

"You guys fucking suck!" You yell, squirming in Soap's hold, Gaz walking behind him for backup in case you tried to run again.

They quickly deliver you back to your lieutenant, dropping you at his very feet.

"Don't run bunny, won't and never will end well for you." Simon says, kneeling next to you. "On your stomach." He growls.

You huff, turning over and glaring at the sergeants who brought you here. "Dead to me. All of you." You growl before it fades into a soft moan of pleasure and pain as Simon settles back onto your butt, rubbing from your lower back and up.

"There ya go." He croons, adding more pressure.

"When I--fuck, fuck."

"Right there?" He teases.

"No, fuck you. And when I get the chance, I'm gonna break every single one of your stupid little fing-- FUCK!" You grip nothing again, clawing for one of the sergeants-- something, anything.

"Soap. You had the most to say, hold her hand." Simon commands, rubbing circles now.

Soap is hesitant, and even more so at your sadistic smile as he slowly moves closer. You quickly latch onto him when he gets close enough, pulling him down with you.

Soap sits there with you, grunting in pain every time your nails dig into his pale skin.

Simon continues to massage you, hitting all the right parts that scream in agony under his hands. Your body begs for more, but your mouth knows better than to give Ghost a big head.

"Gonna kill you Simon." You say before he makes you whine and whimper as if it's some joke.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"Nice-- ngh-- and slow." You relay.

"Like this?" He asks, a slow, long drag of his knuckles down your back.

You don't answer, can't, as you fall into a fit of more moans. You squeeze Soap, your salvation between the pain and pleasure.

"Jesus lass, keep gripping me like that, you're gonna leave a mark." Soap grumbles, hissing when you break skin. Again.

"Shut the fuck up!" You growl, whining again almost to the point of tears.

"Gonna do your shoulders after." Simon says as if it's a threat. And it is.

"Please no, please, Simon. Simon, Simon, please, hear me out."

"Mmm..." He mulls, looking down at your turned head. You, no longer holding onto Soap for dear life.

"Tomorow. Please, just do it tomorrow." You plead, eyes misty with unshed tears of pain-- pleasure?

"That's the thing Doll, I don't really feel like chasing tomorrow. I don't feel like chasing at all."

"I'll- I'll come to you. Please. Just tommorow."

"Why should I believe you when you just tried to run 40 minutes ago?"

"Cmon Lt., you know I'm not a liar."

"No, but you're a runner." He counters.

"F-fine. End of day. I'll come to you after dinner."

"I don't know if that works for me Doll."

"Please." You beg again.

--

"Dead to me. All of you." You say at dinner, glaring at Simon, Johnny, and Kyle.

"What is she talking about?" Price asks, slightly amused.

"She won't go to medical and I'm tired of hearing her complain about being sore." Ghost says nonchalantly.

"She doesn't like Lt's massages." Soap chimes in. "Got a couple of scars from 'er." He continues, showing Price his arm. The thin crescents now just a slight pink from where you dug your nails into him.

"Wouldn't have happened if you didn't force me to go to him." You snap back.

"Yeah, yeah."

"What's this about you not going to medical?" Of course that's the part he focuses on.

"Well, I--"

"It's handled Cap'n. Don't gotta worry about 'er." Ghost finally chimes in, staring directly at you.

You flick him your finger before going back to your food. You had to mentally prepare for his heavy, deft... strong... veiny hands to massage out the kinks in your shoulder.

Oh fuck.

--

"Sit." Simon says, pointing to his office chair.

"We can't do tomorrow?" You ask weakly, already moving to the chair.

"No. We're doing legs tomorrow."

"What--"

"Shh." He says, his heavy hands on your shoulders.

You sighed, moaning before he even got to rubbing.

"Eager?" He teases.

"N-- oh~" you moan, leaning back into his chair.

"There ya go. Relax." He encourages kindly, genuinely happy to help. He really was tired of you complaining about being sore and didn't need you stiff on a mission. He'd work through all your... kinks if it meant a better mission... and maybe listening to you moan his name, begging for a release he wouldn't give.

Maybe.

Bold of you to assume he does the small things out of the goodness of his heart without any benefit for himself.

Naive even.

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

If you can't tell, I'm in pain. My left shoulder specifically

[peaktora]

“if i was a ball, would you kick me?”

the slow turn of sae itoshi’s head nearly pulls a giggle from your lips, but you catch it just in time. you can’t let your act slip up—atleast, not this early.

“why would you even say something that sil—“

“well y’know, your whole career revolves around a ball, so i’m asking.. if your life depended on it—well, your career—sorry. if your career depended on it, would you kick me if i were a ball?”

he sighs from his spot across from you at the dining table, and runs a hand through his hair. “where did that question even come from?”

you roll your eyes, “so would you?”

“what? kick you if you were a ball?”

“yes.”

“what a dumb question.”

“one that you wont answer.”

a hint of a smirk twitches at his lips. “no, i wouldn’t kick you. you’d probably roll off crying or something.”

“excuse me?” you manage to choke out, practically reeling from his audacity. “i’d be a strong, durable ball, thank you very much.”

he snorts. “you’d be a deflated one.”

you gasp, flying a hand to your mouth. “just say you hate me. c’mon spit it out, i can take it.”

sae sighs again, only this time is softer than before. “i wouldn’t kick you. i’d pick you up and keep you somewhere safe.”

“…aw. baby, that’s actually kinda sweet.”

he shrugs. “besides, if i did kick you, you’d roll right back to me anyway.”

“what makes you think that?”

“guess you’re just that obsessed with me.”

“you’re so full of yourself. with how hard you kick? i’d self-deflate myself if i saw you run up to me.”

he opens his mouth to say something, but you’re quick to cut him off, “do you even think about the harm you cause the soccer balls you kick? they could get a ball concussion! suffer from a uh—oh, a case of kick-lash!”

sae groans, and slides a hand down his face.

[gloomwitchwrites]

calling them daddy for the first time 😩

Oh, anon. You probably thought I'd go the naughty route with this (and if you believed that: you're totally right I would have.) However, if I'm being honest, I cannot imagine them being anything but startled. Went the humorous, fluff route with this.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (mdni): shenanigans, suggestive themes, established relationship, humor

Word Count: 400

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It’s a family gathering.

The night is calm but humid. It’s an evening for music, food, and mischief.

Sitting to your right is your husband, Kyle. Across from you is your father. Kyle is on his phone, typing out a text message. Your father is six beers in and nearly falling asleep.

It’s the perfect opportunity to be a little naughty.

“Hey, daddy.”

They both come to attention. Both turn in your direction. Both make the realization at the same time.

Your father clears his throat.

And Kyle?

Kyle stares at you. How could you betray me, it says.

Oops.

John Price

John examines a jar of pesto in the grocery aisle.

You peer at the label. “What about this one, daddy?” You point to a random one.

John glances up, his expression stone-cold and neutral. “No,” he whispers, holding up his hand. “Don’t. Not here.”

An elderly couple walk by. Fucking perfect.

“What, daddy?” you ask, louder than before.

They couple turn towards you and John.

“We’re leaving,” he hisses, putting the jar back on the shelf.

“John,” you tut, like he’s being silly and you’re not purposefully poking his buttons.

“Now, love. Or I will put you in the cart.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Daddy?” You shake the jar of pasta sauce. “Can you open this for me?”

Johnny slowly turns; an eyebrow arched with a hint of a question. He points at himself, as if you could be talking about anyone else.

“Johnny. There is no one else in this kitchen but the two of us,” you reply, deadpan.

He hops off the bar stool, walking toward you. “Oh, aye.” He grabs the jar, winking. He twists off the lid. “Just checking my hearing.”

“Were you?”

Johnny’s smile is devilish. “Wanna call me that one more time, lassie?” He leans in. Shrugs. “Maybe…upstairs?”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“It needs fixed,” says Simon, aggressively poking the yellow paper on the kitchen counter.

You nod like you know things about filtration systems or how the air conditioning functions. Simon is speaking, and you’re simply listening.

Big, strong man with veiny arms speaks many words, is all your brain can process.

“And the handyman you called to come out here is taking the fucking piss with these prices.,” he growls, agitated.

You love it when he’s angry.

“Whatever you say, daddy,” you sigh.

Simon comes to a halt. “What?”

Shit.

“Whatever you want,” you mutter.

“No. No. The other thing.”

[mishappeningss]

MORE THAN A DRIVER

CHAPTER FOUR

more about driver!yn

formula one + female!driver!reader smau + irl

Drive to Survive -- Episode 2 🏎 Featuring: YN LN

YN starts her new journey in Formula 1 with Mercedes. But not everyone believes she belongs. Facing doubt, she stays focused — and proves she’s more than just a headline.

warnings: covers the topic of misogyny, foul language

The screen is black. You can hear the crackle of an old camcorder. Then — a blurry footage: a 10 year old YN in a dust-covered helmet, wobbling on a dirt bike that’s clearly too big for her.

YN’s voice cuts through, “They told my dad it was a waste of time. Said girls weren’t built for this.”

“He handed me the helmet anyway.”

Cuts to a grainy clip of her taking a corner too fast, sliding through the gravel, getting up, helmet cracked, grinning.

A fast paced series of flashes — YN at 12 racing Moto3 in the rain, visibly the only girl on the grid. Another clip of her finishing 6th after starting at 18th.

Her teenage years in MotoGP2 — footage of interviews with doubting tones, “Do you think you’re strong enough for this?” “Will the boys take you seriously?”

It cuts to YN sitting in the interview room, expression calm, “I don’t know if they took me seriously. But they took the losses seriously when I started winning.”

Cut to the present, YN walks into the Mercedes factory, black fleece zipped all the way up, no makeup, hair pulled back. The simulator room is cold and mechanical, humming with quiet.

Toto Wolff stands by the engineer’s desk, arms crossed.

“We knew she was talented. But talent is just a ticket. The question was: how does she use it when no one’s cheering yet?”

Inside the sim, YN’s focused. She pushes hard — the whine of the engine in the sim climbs in pitch. She exits a fake Turn 8 too wide.

“That’s P10. Two tenths off Sector 2.”

No emotion, YN says, “Again, please.”

“The hardest part wasn’t the car. It was the silence. No one said it directly, but I could feel it. The ‘why her?’”

“The ‘how long until she cracks?’”

Media Bay

Press swarms around YN. She sits between George Russell and Lewis Hamilton. A journalist smiles too sweetly.

“YN, how do you respond to critics who say Mercedes only signed you for… visibility?”

Staring at him, YN replies, “They’ll have visibility when I pass them on the track.”

Tension. A few in the room chuckle. Lewis gives her a proud glance.

Lewis Hamilton: DTS Interview

“I’ve that look before. The one where you’re tired of proving yourself but you have to anyway.”

It cuts to Red Bull’s hospitality area. Two mid-level strategists sip their espresso, watching YN’s lap data.

“She’s aggressive, almost reckless.”

“Toto’s playing the long game. PR now, results maybe later.”

Their smugness is real. They laugh. The camera pans to YN walking past them down the paddock later, headphones in, jaw clenched.

“I heard every whisper. I learned not to respond with words, my response was my time sheets.”

Toto Wolff: DTS Interview

“We didn’t sign her to make a statement. We signed her because she’s dangerous — in the best way.”

FP1. The screen is sharp, the camera glued to her onboard point of view. She takes the tight chicane without lifting. Her hands are still, her eyes cold behind the visor.

On the radio, her engineer’s voice fills her ears, “You’re up on George. Two tenths. Purple sector 1.”

“Copy, still more in it.”

Cut to the Mercedes garage. Everyone’s watching.

“She’s not tentative. That’s rare for a rookie.”

Cue to her pulling in the garage. Helmet off. She’s glowing — but quiet.

George Russell watches her data flash onto the wall. His brow furrows, “She’s got bite, I won’t lie. She surprised me.”

YN LN: DTS Interview

“I didn’t walk into this paddock expecting open arms. But I also didn’t come to hold anyone’s hand. I came to take positions.”

It’s the end of the day in the Mercedes garage. The team is wrapping up. Lewis is sitting beside YN, quietly reviewing data.

“Hey, don’t let them shrink you. You already deserve this seat,” Lewis whispers to her. She nods. She doesn’t cry — but her eyes shine with something raw.

“You’ll get tired of me quoting you.”

Lewis smiles in return, “You quoting me right back at me means I did something right.”

It’s night. YN walks out of the paddock alone, still in her suit. A few rival engineers walk behind her, one muttering under his breath, “She’ll be gone by mid season.”

She hears that, she keeps walking.

YN LN: DTS Interview

“They said that in Moto3. Then Moto2, then MotoGP. I’m still here and I’m not leaving.

The screen closes with a text on the black screen:

YN LN makes her Formula One race debut in Melbourne. Not one betting company placed her in the top five.

She placed third.

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username the caption, the stare, this woman. we are witnessing HISTORY

username yall acting like she won the title? it’s js p3 lmao

username Did well, but the media obsession is over the top

username not here to be liked, not here to be polite, just here to be FAST

georgerussell63 Can’t lie, you made that your own track today. congrats 👏

f1 First of many 🏆 Welcome to the elite

here is chapter 4 for u !!! what do we think about those leaked information, real or not? 👀 i hope u guys enjoyed this, there’s so many more to come :) if u want to know more about driver!yn place a message on my inbox !!! if you’d like to be added to the taglist, leave a comment or dm me !

likes and reblogs are appreciated, love lots !! x

taglist: @omgsuperstarg @hymntostars @dollyvuu @halleest @smh-anon @scentedrosa @ceekokocee15 @melancholicandmessy @heavenbabyg @milkiane @jajouska @stqrgirlies-blog @imdyinghelpplease @iikissagirl @moonlight52moonlight @hollandxstanley  @sleutherclaw @deaddumblbumble @iamdedsthingz @scuderiapng @ninass-world @lagrandeourse @kodzuvk @reallifemermaidprincess @enfppuff @rosegoldorchid @cryinghotmess @hero-ically @anunstablefangirl @floraf1ln @beathreat @fromsaltandsea @i-need-to-be-put-down @usseraloo

[kisses4themissus]

Mr, Mrs & A Baby | I.H X Reader

a/n: SHE'S BACKK!! pairing: Hwang In-ho X Fem!Reader wc: 3.3k

Hwang In-ho Masterlist | Send me a love letter ♡

Panicked you stared at in-ho, holding your bump. 

“You need to get out of here.” In-ho sighed and glanced at the camera in the corner of the room and signaled to you. The manager behind the screen commanded the soldiers and workers to have you safely evacuated from the game. You watched through the small slot in the room door as the soldiers made their way over to cover you.

“What are you telling the others?” You questioned, in-ho sighed as he helped you up from the ground. “They're going to call your number, I will try to be with you, the soon as I can.” Your husband promised as the door softly opened, the soldiers all stood together and walked to the exit they would leave through.

- - - - - - - -

Everything has been a flash, you had been thankful of the surgeon you had hired as a worker. He had delivered your child. You were now left in yours and in-ho’s penthouse, with a newer addition, a son.

You giggled as your fingertip touched your son’s soft palm. You had a hard time adjusting to a newborn without the help of your husband. You hadn’t known how much time went by since you were pulled away from the games.

The big screen that would normally show the games was turned off, the sound of in-ho’s music playing as you swayed with your son, lulling the baby to sleep. You watched as he peaceful slept, occasionally  snuggling his face further into you. As you admired your son as he laid quietly in his crib the sound of static sounded in your living room. You quietly shuffled away from the crib and picked up the device.

“What is it?” You asked sternly; It was known among staff you’d be stepping away from control of the games once your child was born.

“Players have escaped, they’re heading up the stairs; they took a manager with them.” The officer informed you, making your heart drop.

“Which players?” You asked, moving to the screen and switched through the channels to see majority had been disconnected. The officer listed the players off to you as he got ready to command the soldiers. “The frontman is with them.”

You stopped as a camera caught your husband and the others in the stairwell, too close for comfort, the camera was soon disconnecting making you let out a shaky breath before glancing to your bedroom where your baby’s crib was. 

“If a single bullet is in my husband, I will personally shoot whoever in the head.” You warned before throwing the device on the sofa and stormed into your closet to find your own gun and mask.

- - - - - - - -

In-ho looked around the hallway to the control room elevator, he motioned for the men behind him to follow.

He smiled softly as soft sound of your boots filled the dark hallway. The men froze as you stood on the top of the stairs, leading towards the control room.

“Fools to my game..” You pouted, raising your handgun and shot one of the players, in-ho quickly turning to face the other and shot him several times. You sighed and grabbed the walkie talkie. 

“Confirm your death.” You commanded, shoving the device into his chest, turning around to walk back to your room, your mind running wild as you were away from your child and players were trying to rebel.

You light bounced your son as you paced around in your room, taking shuttering breaths as you could hear gunshots from below.

Your son began to coo, his lip pouting and his tiny features scrunch up.

“Shh, it’s alright, mama’s here, no one’s gonna get you!” You reassured, though you weren’t sure if it was directed at the baby or yourself. Pacing had sent your thought spiraling.

You had not way of knowing how your husband or where any of the fight got moved too except the distant sounds of gunshots coming below your floor. With a shaky hand you held your son with one arm and fumbled for the remote to play music.

Your son continued to cry, sniffling as he felt your distress. Huffing you began to sway with the baby, focusing on the lyrics of fly me to the moon, in the back of your mind you had began to plan an emergency escape.

The walkie you had on the side table light up. “It is over now, i’ll be up in a bit.” In-ho’s voice came through, you sighed in relief and laid a gentle kiss on your son’s tiny hand; the baby had began to settle down as you continued to sway with him in your arms.

“I’d never let anyone harm you my love..” You whispered into his soft hand, his little fingers curled around yours. 

- - - - - - - -

In-ho had noticed a shift in your personality, you had seemed on guard, alert and distant towards him whenever he held or was around your son.

You had now hated to watch the cameras that showed the dorms, instead opting walking to your shared room to lay down or holding your son while taking in his tiny features.

It wasn’t til the VIPs arrived you finally had enough.

Standing in the control room, your mask forgone, in your resting clothes you watched as players began to plan for hide and seek. Your eyes hadn’t left jun-hee, your nervous had gone up since you noticed her bump had dropped, meaning her due date wasn’t far behind.

“Gameplanner, the VIPs have arrived, do i send them in?” One of the managers asked, you shook your head and continued to watch. “No, they’ll have to wait till the end of the game to finish, even then do a sweep of only soldiers before you let them in..” You commanded, you had been frustrated when in-ho had changed your game to allow the VIPs to hunt down the last of the players.

“Yes ma’am..” They nodded before leaving to relay your words.

“You seem tense gameplanner, do you need to step out?” The police manager asked, noticing the bags under your eyes, and your appearance in general.

“No, I look tense since i just had a child and now i’m suppose to be looking over these stupid games while my husband entertains those obnoxious millionaires, no i’m not able to step out.” You scoffed, your eyes watching as jun-hee entered the arena. 

The police manager sighed and bowed his head. “My apologies.” 

You had watched with a straight face as one of the camera’s showed jun-hee sitting against a wall, a bundle of her jacket on her chest, her daughter. Geum-ja cried as she held hyun-ju’s body to hers.

You held back your reaction, turning to the workers to see them watching over the VIPs in the lounge, all of them dressed in the red jumpsuits like the workers.

Cameras had been planted since the previous year where an intruder had gotten in.

“At dinner, Give player 222 more, she’s going to need the energy in order for the next game for it to be considered a fair playing ground.” You told the nearest manger who nodded their head before giving directions to the workers over the walkie talkie.

With one last glance at the VIPs you walked out of the control room and back to the comfort of your floor.

Entering you dismissed the workers who watched over the sleeping baby, you smiled softly as you son light snored, his fist by his head as he slept soundly…peacefully even.

Glancing over to your vanity, your white mask sat in the middle.

You sighed and walked over, staring at it. You had spent majority of your life working under il nam, for the whole game concept, why was it now you were beginning to have a sense of regret..?

Picking up the mask, you sighed and walked to your closet, tossing it blindly in there.

- - - - - - - -

In-ho entered the floor to be greeted to music playing, walking to the main room, he smiled as you cradled your song, humming as your finger traced over the baby’s nose.

“You are all I long for, worship and adore..” You sang, smiling as your son gave a gummy smile the best he could up at you.

“He loves his mother very much!” In-ho commented, stepping closer to you both.

“I’m all he knows..” You replied, your gaze focusing on the baby who wiggled before yawning again. “You’re my comfort too..” In-ho smiled and rubbed your back, not mentioning as you tensed up.

“That’s my job.” You muttered, quickly standing up.

“I’ll go put him down.” You told in-ho, as you went to leave he stopped you.

“I’ll take him, you need a break, the workers said you dismissed them early to come back to watch over him, is it true?” In-ho asked, taking the baby from your arms.

“Yeah, it’s normal for mothers wanting to be around their child especially after birth.” You explained, your gaze watching as in-ho nodded before taking the baby to their nursery.

You sat on the plush chair, staring at the floor.

“What’s on that mind of yours?” In-ho asked, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“..Do you ever regret working under il nam?” You asked, finally looking at in-ho.

He stopped from taking a drink, his eyes finding yours, noticing the unstable look in them. “No, if i died in that night, i would never have this, a wife, a child..any of it really, i would’ve joined the other pieces of trash that die in this place.” In-ho explained.

You nodded and looked at in-ho. “Do you have second thoughts?” In-ho asked, making you sit up straight at the question. “No, like you said without it, none of this would’ve happened.” You nodded, unsure if it was in-ho or yourself.

There was a beat of silence before you nodded to yourself, “I’m going to bed, goodnight in-ho.” You spoke softly, walking into bedroom, not looking back.

- - - - - - - -

You sat on the couch you and in-ho had for yourselves in the VIP lounge.

Flipping through your sketchbook, you stared at a blank page, no ideas coming to you. You had ignored the chatter from the VIPs and mindlessly watched the scene before you.

Your stomach fell as jun-hee yelled for gi-hun to stay put, the timer running out. Your heart sunk as she stepped off the platform and fell to her death. Scooting to the edge of the couch, you watched in disbelief, behind your mask your tears fell.

You never had cried over players this much, any other year you would’ve brushed them off and ignored them, seeing your own friends hurt worse, going into the games you didn’t expect to find comfort in their company, seeing jun-hee death, your mind took it as if she was your own sister.

Your hope for them had slowly to dissipate; Hyun-ju being stabbed as she went to guide jun-hee and geum-ja to safety, minutes later, geum-ja had made the brave decision about her son, being too upset with herself, she went and killed herself that night. Your throat tightened as the announcement rang through.

“Player 222, eliminated.”

Nightly talks with the girl flooded your mind.

“Mrs Oh?” Jun-hee whispered as you both laid under the bunk beds, not too far separated.

Your eyes kept sight on in-ho who watched over your group. “Hmm?” You responded, looking over and gave her a soft smile. “If we get out, do you think we could keep contact?” She asked, fidgeting with her jacket.

You turned to catch her gaze, nodding “Of course, our babies could have playdates!” You planned, she chuckled and nodded. You both went silent, jun-hee glanced over and scooted closer to you. “He cares about you alot..” She mumbled, making you look at her confused. “Who?” 

“Young il, he always looks at you, dae-ho dropped something last night and young il jumped up ready to protect you both.” She explained, motioning your bump.

You smiled and rubbed your bump, “He always wished to be a father, practically sent me on bedrest once we found out..” You both laughed, jun-hee cupped her bump and smiled sadly down.

There was a beat of silence.

“Do you have anyone outside jun-hee?” You asked, she kept her head low and shook it.

“The baby is all i have…the father isn’t close..” She sighed, finally looking at you.

You swallowed and reached a hand out towards her. “Now, you have me and my baby!” You reassured her. 

She smiled and held your hand, you both slowly drifted to sleep, holding hands; strengthening you both were your own new found family…

A ball of anger formed in your stomach as the VIPs talked about jun-hee’s child as if they had control, throwing the idea to eliminate the baby since the mother had passed, one piped up saying the baby should be a separate participant.

As you stood up to responde, in-ho held your arm and spoke up.

“I suggest, the baby plays as 222, after all the players will vote to leave, it’ll add a twist to voting and the games.” He suggested, you turned to him, disgusted at his words.

The VIPs began to agree, making your stomach twist.

As they all began chatting you stood up and yanked your arm away from in-ho. “I have to take of something.” You said loudly, walking past the VIPs, each of them looked at each other, feeling a twist of anger in the air.

“Someone’s upset..” One of the men laughed as you exited.

- - - - - - - -

You had left to your floor and began packing your things away in your luggage you had taken when you first arrived to the island that year.

Rushing around you packed your son’s diapers, clothing and essentials into a bag, setting it by the elevator.

Pulling your walkie talkie out, you changed the channel. “I need workers to come take things down.” You commanded, a moment went by before a manger responded. Walking to your son’s crib, you gently picked him up, grabbing a warm blanket to wrap him in, knowing the boat ride back to the mainland was going to be cold due to the fall air.

“Shh, you’re okay, you and mama are going away for a bit..” You muttered as your son began to fuss as you wrapped him in the warm fuzzy blanket. 

You lined up the hall with your luggage, being left to wait for the workers. 

Looking down you noticed your son had fallen asleep once more, you turned to the side table and picked up the remote and turned the screen on. You watched as all the men dressed in suits sitting at their tables, scarfing down food. You felt a bit of relief as you noticed the worker feeding jun-hee’s daughter a bottle.

A ding from the elevator made you turn, your heart dropping as in-ho walked into the room. His footsteps slowing as he noticed your luggage all packed away.

“What is this?” He asked, taking off his mask, dropping it on the bar.

“I need to leave, in-ho…I-I can’t do it anymore..” You stuttered, looking at your husband. Who stared back at you, his brown eyes trying to search for any sign of you pulling a sick joke. “If you can’t do this anymore take a break, no need to leave the island.” He said, moving closer to you and the baby.

“If i don’t leave now, then twenty years later i’ll still be in the same place in-ho.” You sighed, tears building.

“What about him?” He asked, his expression switching from soft to a serious look. “Is this because of that girl?” He asked, you scoffed softly.

“Yes, jun-hee made me realize what’s gonna be my future…twelve years from now, will I still stuck here on this island watching mothers, fathers, sons, daughter, grandparents even, die for entertainment?” You ranted, cupping the back of your son’s head.

“What about his future, we got lucky that we’re both winners and won the money but what if he falls into debt and had no choice but the join? How would you feel to see our son playing among those people?” You asked, stepping closer to in-ho, who kept his head down.

“There’s a difference, those people are trash of the earth, you’ve seen the kinds people that accept the offer.” In-ho scoffed, you let out a laugh of shock.

“I’ve worked for these hellish games for seven years, there is no confirmation that our son won’t end up here like we did..” You sighed, shaking your head at in-ho.

“He wouldn’t, combined we have more than enough for him to lasts lifetimes..” In-ho attempted to stop you, following your gaze to the baby. “Wasn’t that what your father thought about you?” Your words seemed to stun in-ho.

With one last look you walked to the elevators, as you pressed the button there was a shuffle behind you.

Click.

You sighed and straightened out at the sound. “You couldn’t live with yourself if you did that.”

Behind you stood in-ho, holding the handgun you both kept in the living room as a precaution of an intruder. 

“Fix this mess in-ho, we’ll be waiting…” He sighed as you kept walking to the elevator and kept your back to him. As the doors closed, in-ho placed the gun down and scoffed as tears rolled down.

You were gone…

- - - - - - - -

Jun-ho huffed as he crawled through a vent, finally entering in a blacked out room.

There was a heavy layer of smoke, he coughed and covered his nose and mouth the best he could before forgoing it as he held his gun up in preparation.

Quickly he cleared each room, stopping as he figured out who it had belonged too.

A white 3D printed mask laid on a messy bed; standing out among the black bedsheets.

As jun-ho walked to an attachment room, opening the door he winced at the sudden bright colors.

His heart stopped as his mind proceeded the room he stood in.

A nursery, a cream colored crib in the center of the room, baby blankets on the side, toys decorated around, jun-ho walked closer and picked up the stuffed animal in the crib and held his breath at the sight.

Jun-ho had been young when in-ho had lived with him and their parents, jun-ho had remembered the stuffed animals hidden in his brothers closet, when he’d attempt to ask about it, in-ho would rush the young boy out and scold him for snooping.

In the crib sat a small white bear, originally a set, he furrowed his brows, where had the brown bear gone?

Jun-ho picked it up and shoved the tiny bear into his pocket before walking to the next room, his mind going as he thought why his brother would need a nursery.

- - - - - - - -

Six months had passed since you had left the island, leaving in-ho and your previous career behind.

You had arrived to the mainland and gone to your shared home with in-ho, you had waited night and day for anything from him; jumping at every noise in the night, hoping it was him returning.

Your son had grown quite a bit, now able to sit up on his own, babbling in his own language, tasting smooth liquids other than milk. After three months of waiting, you had enough and began to move your life on without in-ho, moving out of your shared home, closer to the city.

You had enough money saved to keep yourself and your son good for a while, you still couldn’t believe what you were doing.

Standing at an apartment door, shakily holding your fist up to knock, the baby on your hip cooed. With a deep breath, you knocked on the door and stood back, waiting for a response.

Moments had passed, no answer. With a nod you turned and went to walk away but stopped as the door opened behind you. “Hello, can i help you?” 

You stopped in your step and turned. “Are you hwang jun-ho?” You asked, trying to hold your son up without shaking. “That’s me, do i know you?” He asked, stepping out of his apartment, his eyes dropping ot the little brown bear in your son’s hands.

“I am hwang in-ho’s wife…and this is your nephew.”

[pomegranate-eater]

Phainon has a dream. cw: fingering, public sexual acts in the field, afab reader, fluff.

“You’re breathtaking when you’re like this…” Phainon murmurs against your ear. The voice comes from behind you, while you feel yourself drown into his broad chest your back is rested against. You both swim, actually; in the field of wheat, as it is the place where no one can disturb you two. It was just a few joys ago that the tunic of yours was bunched up and your garments pulled to the side. Now the legs that trap you from both sides are the only barrier concealing your below-waist nudity, after Phainon has stolen you to rest with him amidst the sunny land.

Except, said voice and nature are not all of the audible sounds in the open — the way his hand between your thighs lazily plays with your outsides and insides forces your wetness to be stirred in teasing to register for ears smacks. It’s all you can wrap your mind about besides how those fingers do you extraordinarily well — two are thrusting and curling in your soaked and constricting walls, while the heel of his palm rested on your mound keeps hitting your bud repeatedly. The arm draped across your front also allows you little escape, while the other makes sure to hold at least one of your shaky and sensitive limbs from closing.

“Phainon…” you whimper, needy yet wary... if not agitated from your desperation for release, as well. Your unadjusted gaze keeps the duty of taking in your surroundings to be on guard against any possible viewers. While the body wants to reach the highest of pleasures, the mind screams you are scared of this closeness disappearing too soon.

The calm sea that peeks through the golden crops feeds your tongue with salty air, the shuffle of wheat lulls you further into his manipulation, the house you two live in is in piece, and the familiar warmth of your lover leads you to believe you are still safe — nothing has changed, but the tension he's been building up lingers. Gathering wheat into your hands is all that you can do in order to ground yourself.

“Shh… I’ve told you, it’s just the two of us here. It’s my secret spot- or should I say, it's ours now,” he reassures with a loving laugh buried in and reverberating across nape, endeared by your vulnerability. As if to reward you for your patience with his slowness and bravery to be so exposed for him in the world’s rawness, his fingers hasten their pace and dig deeper into your body.

You moan — barely, as you remain prudent — and he smiles. “Feels wonderful, doesn’t it?” You nod, the back of your head against pressing tighter his shoulder when a nevralgic spot is grazed inside; as much as this question isn’t about this hedonistic comfort being the only possible truth.

You can feel your sweet release hanging and threatening to erupt between your legs, nestled under his eager hand, and he at once encourages you to let go. “It’s alright. I won’t deny you anymore…” it’s a soft promise made with a kiss as soft, right below your ear.

“So you do admit you were teasing me?” you manage to say amidst your whines and muffled groans, almost angry you had to endure his playfulness; but you’re not really mad at him, as you could never truly be that about your Phainon.

“Would you scold me if I said it’s more about prolonging our moment, even if you are not being given all that you want?” the way he speaks is gentle and you are incapable of reprimanding his approach. “Each chance is too precious to be ending soon.”

“Not if you finally…” your breathless reply is interrupted. Or rather, you deliver a clear answer as you finally finish on his fingers. It is him who’s cautious this time, the other hand quickly clamping your mouth. It’s a shame he has to be robbed of his name on your lips, but he’s not done with you yet to be letting other villagers know you’re hiding with him here.

The next thing you know, you’re on your back, the wheat's fibers poking and tickling your skin from below your fabrics. He’s protective, as the land is softened with a hand under your head. It’s just the bronze plants that accomplish entangling your hair, and you punish them by pulling at them with your growing anticipation once more.

“Will you allow me to have my own share of feeling wonderful?” That mischievous hand next rubs you between your folds, electrifies what’s already overwhelmed, and as your head tilts back with one more pleasure, all you could think about is how much more you want.

When you nod, he’s quick to be selfish himself, bottoms shoved down in a blink of an eye. Phainon is letting you know how much he needs you, and you appreciate that by wrapping your legs around his hips, entrapping your lover so he shall never leave.

“You’re beautiful. I can’t believe you’re here with me. Please, don’t you ever look away from me,” his desperate words are not a plea, but a wish you feel obligated to fulfill. You don’t look away from him now, and you want to maintain that promise in every future sense. Even as you feel the hot and hard intrusion and your hips taunted with a tight grip, your eyes abide faithfully to his ocean and reverent ones.

One thrust inside and the sole saltiness on your tongue is now his happy tears.

[ao3commentoftheday]

do you think my readers will notice that im not as passionate about my story anymore? i used to be so consumed by it and my chapters were always long and detailed. but now i am tired and the chapters are shorter and im not as excited, just trying to get it done. i assume people would prefer a finished fic over an abandoned one, even if the finished fic is a little rushed at the end. do you think thats the case?

I love a completed fic, don't get me wrong, but I'd rather have an abandoned fic and know that the author was doing what they wanted to do instead of having a completed fic that the author hated writing the end of.

I'm a big fan of not finishing things, in general. It might be weird to say, but not finishing things is actually a skill I've practiced and tried to build up.

I'm still working on it, but I try to check in with myself when I'm doing something in my free time and just sort of make sure that I'm doing it because *I* want to do it, not because I think other people expect me to do it.

That's why I said no when people asked me about making a dark mode of the medieval site skin. I know I wouldn't enjoy doing it, and I know it would take me several hours to do, and I didn't want to take on that work because I knew it would end with me feeling resentful of the askers. No matter how many thanks I got in return, it wouldn't be enough for the annoyance of doing the thing in the first place.

Did I feel like kind of a bitch? Yes. Did they think that too? Quite possibly. But there are only so many hours in a day and I only have so much of myself to give, and I'd rather answer tumblr asks now that I've got the ask box open again.

If you don't want to finish this story, you really don't have to. It's your story. If you want to abandon it entirely, that's your choice to make. If you want to post one last chapter with a bullet point summary of the plot beats you were planning to hit, that's your choice. If you want to orphan it or delete it or put it on hiatus, those are all your choice as well.

I just encourage you to think less about what other people want and more about what you want. Writing fic is play, not work. If it feels like work then you can just... stop.

I didn't actually answer your question here, so I'll invite other people to give their thoughts. Whatever the outcome of that is, though, take care of yourself 💗

[sinofwriting]

Aren't Girls The Worse - Max Verstappen

Words: 839 Summary: Max and her welcome their second daughter and Jos can’t help but talk to the media about it. Note(s): Not important or mentioned but does take place in 2023.

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“Don’t turn on your phone.” The shortness of his words make her eyebrows raise, not even aware it was off, but the clenching of his jaw and his hands balled into fist have her stopping the snapping words she wants to let out.

“Okay.” Her quiet response has Max’s jaw unclenching and he’s by her side in a blink, brushing a kiss to her lips, and brushing a kiss over the forehead of their eight-day-old daughter, Sienna. “Is everything okay?”

He easily reads the hidden question, his eyes just like hers drifting over to where their almost two-year-old daughter is snacking and coloring. He gives a small shake of his head, voice lowering. “Jos, he made a comment to the media.”

He watches her face carefully and normally where anger would well up there’s only sadness and he rubs at her back. “I know, I’m going to handle it.”

“I don’t want him here.” Her voice is quiet, barely a whisper, and his hand stills. “I don’t care that he's only been here once in three years, I don’t want him here, I don't want him around the girls, me, or you.” She takes her eyes off their toddler, looking her husband in the eyes. “Call Christian and tell him Jos is exempt from Red Bull or I will.”

He swallows thickly, eyes stinging because she doesn’t even know what he’s said, doesn’t need to know, and she’s pulling out all the stops. “Done.” His voice is a little hoarse. “I need to attend a meeting, Gemma is upset, but it has to be done.”

She nods, “Of course.”

“If you need to get up, you yell for me or send Alina to get me.”

She gives him an unamused look. “I can get up by myself.”

“You're shuffling to walk and in pain still.” Max counters and he’s bending again to press a kiss to her lips and walking away to quickly talk to Alina, accepting a hug and slobbery kiss to the cheek from her before disappearing down the hallway.

He’s gone for thirty minutes and when he comes back, he’s more relaxed, a bit of tension in his shoulders that she knows he’ll work out with Brad tomorrow.

“Banned from all races.” He murmurs when he takes Sienna from her before helping her up. “Red Bull, well me, was the only thing that was saving him.”

She gives a small nod and they both drop the subject until after both the kids are asleep.

She doesn’t even have to ask what Jos said, Max silently passes her his phone, the video, a fucking video already loaded for her to press play. Her fingers don’t hesitate and instantly Jos’ voice fills her ears.

“Two under two and not one a boy. It’s a disappointment and it’s all her fault. She doesn’t want to give Max sons, see his legacy live on. Max will wake up any day and find a much better girl who can give him the son he needs.”

The words make her jaw twitch, fingers curling a bit more around the phone.

“Has he tried calling?”

Max gives a small shrug of his shoulders. “Not since I yelled at him after seeing the video for the first time. He didn’t get a word in.”

“Good.” She looks away from Max’s phone, setting it on the bed and cupping her husband’s face in her hands. “How are you doing?”

He leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m exhausted, angry, but happy. We all knew something would eventually happen, I think I’m just grateful it was during break.”

Her thumbs run gently under his eyes. “You meeting with Brad tomorrow?”

His eyes flutter open. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

She shakes her head. “I’ll message Pascale and Charles. She was planning on stopping by tomorrow anyway to drop off more food and help out. Let us get a nap in.”

Max gives a small nod. “Okay, want me to text her?”

“Please? And let her know I’ve got my phone off. I don’t want to deal with it yet.”

“Of course.”

His eyes close again, the exhaustion from a newborn and the disaster that had struck is clear on his face and she presses their lips together in a soft, gentle kiss.

“Let’s get some sleep, yeah? Before Sienna wakes up to get feed.”

“It’s so early.” He complains, but he’s already kicking off his slippers, hands gently running over her waist, a featherlight touch, before he’s stepping away to push off his sweatpants.

He continues with featherlight touches as he helps her get dressed and then into bed. Their fingers tangle together once Max settles himself under the covers, his phone lighting up the room as he quickly types, before he sets it on the nightstand.

“Don’t even think about getting up to feed her.” He murmurs, sleep already filling his voice as he squeezes her hand.

“I won’t.” She promises, squeezing his hand back, eyes already closed and ready for sleep.