#I'm running with everything you said sorry not sorry

[nephynes]

afab reader finding out boyfriend!jake has a huge dick (fulfill my fantasy please)

fantasy fulfilled!

MDNI

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You're giggling into Jake's shoulder, the both of you tangled up in his sheets, half-dressed and entirely wrapped in each other. It's warm, safe, and so stupidly comfortable that you almost forget you're in someone else's bed and not in your own.

He made some dumb joke about your favorite romcom, and you shoved at him with a mock glare before collapsing back against his chest.

"God, you're annoying," you laugh breathlessly.

Jake grins, flushed from how close you are. "Am I really?" You roll your eyes, shifting to sit up a little, using your hand to push yourself up by his thigh.

Jake flinches, groaning sharply as your hand lands squarely on something very much not muscle or bone. You freeze. He slaps his forearm over his face like he's embarrassed and laughing all at once.

"Fuck—ow," he winces with a strangled chuckle.

Your eyes widen, your face heating up fast. "Oh my god—Jake, I'm so sorry, I thought—I thought that was your thigh!"

He's still wheezing under his arm, teeth sunk into his bottom lip like he's trying to hold it together. "It wasn't, baby," he mumbles, peeking at you through a grin that's somehow both smug and bashful. "Definitely not my thigh."

You're still hovering over him, hand clutched to your chest, mortified. "Wait... but—" You glance down, then back at him. "Jake. That was like—halfway to your knee."

Jake groans again and lets his head fall back against the pillow, arms thrown out like he's giving up. "I didn't want to freak you out," he says, quieter now. "We've been taking it slow, and I didn't... I don't know. I like you. A lot. I didn't wanna rush you or scare you away."

You blink, lips parting slightly. "You were worried your dick would scare me off?"

He nods, a little sheepish. "Deadass."

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh because he's being honest, but you're still mildly in shock. "Jake. You've made me cum with your fingers. Twice. You think I'm gonna run away over your dick?"

"I didn't know!" He lifts his hands in surrender. "You're so sweet and soft and perfect, and I didn't want to be the guy who—who whips it out and ruins everything. I meant it when I said I don't care if we have sex or not. I just like being with you."

Your heart twists a little at that, warm and fond. You reach out and touch his cheek gently. "I'm not going anywhere, Jake." He leans into your touch like it soothes something deep. "Yeah?"

You smile. "Yeah. Also..." You tilt your head playfully. "Now I'm kinda curious."

Jake groans again, dragging a pillow over his face. "Lord have mercy." You stare at him with wide eyes, one hand tentatively cupping him over his sweatpants, and the outline alone has your head spinning.

"Jake," you whine, your voice pitching higher with disbelief. "It's not fair. You've been hiding this from me."

He's propped up on his elbows now, looking absolutely wrecked already just from the way you're touching him. His chest is rising and falling faster, and the flush on his cheeks runs straight down his neck.

"I wasn't hiding it," he breathes. "I was trying to be good."

"But I wanna see it," you say, tugging at the waistband of both his sweatpants and briefs. "Please?"

Jake lets out a choked sound and lifts his hips just enough for you to slide them down. You weren't even trying to tease, but the second he springs free, your breath catches audibly. Your hand wraps around the base, then your other joins—and there's still length left over. You look up at him, slack-jawed.

"Jake."

"I know," he whispers, voice wrecked.

"I can't even..." You try to close your fingers over it, both hands working slowly. "My hands don't fit. How am I supposed to—"

Jake's watching you like he's starving, his eyes heavy-lidded and fixed on your mouth as you lean closer like you're going to try. But then he cuts in with a voice so low it makes your stomach flutter.

"Sit on it."

You blink up at him. "W-What?"

He reaches out and strokes your cheek, guiding your face up so you're looking at him fully. His touch is gentle, but his voice is firm. "C'mere, baby. Sit on it. Let me feel you."

Your entire body lights up. It's not like this was the plan, but the way he says it, like he's offering you the sun and begging you to take it, it has you trembling a little as you climb into his lap.

"Are you sure?" you ask, fingers clutching at his shoulders. Jake groans, one hand gripping your waist, the other slipping down to cup you through your panties. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

And when he slides them aside and runs two fingers along your folds, the heat in his gaze turns molten. "You're so wet already," he mutters, kissing your throat. "Fuck, baby, you're gonna take me so good."

You whimper when the tip of him nudges at your entrance, your thighs shaking as you start to sink down. You're halfway down and already shaking, nails digging into his shoulders as your thighs tremble around his hips. "Jake—" you gasp, breath catching. "It's—it's too much—"

He cups the back of your head and presses his forehead to yours, voice strained and low. "You can take it, baby. Just breathe for me." You do—shaky, shallow little breaths, but it barely helps. Every inch of him stretches you wider than you've ever felt, your walls fluttering around the thick pressure of him splitting you open.

"Fuck," he groans, hips barely rocking up into you. "You feel so tight baby, like your pussy's never been touched before." "Gonna flip you over, okay?"

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as he does so, pushing in deeper, slow but relentless, like he's determined to mold your body to fit him. You cling to him helplessly, whimpering when the head of his cock nudges something that makes your stomach flip.

"Look at me," he murmurs, brushing your hair back, gaze dark and wild. "Gonna stretch this sweet little pussy out, yeah? Make it fit me. Make it mine."

You nod fast, lips parted and teary-eyed, and he groans at the sight, gripping your hips harder. "So fuckin' small," he breathes. "So damn tight. Can feel every twitch—baby, you're squeezing me like you don't wanna let me in."

You cry out when he shifts his hips and finally sinks the last few inches, fully seated inside you. You're trembling all over, overwhelmed and breathless.

"There," Jake hisses, jaw clenched as he holds still, trying not to lose it. "Fuck, you did it. You took all of me. Knew you could." He starts moving, in short shallow thrusts.

"Fucking perfect," Jake snarls against your throat, one hand fisting your hair while the other bruises your hip. "So tight—squeezing me like you were made for it. You were, weren't you? Made to take this cock."

You can barely nod, tears on your cheeks, your moans coming out broken as he thrusts into you—deep and filthy, every snap of his hips knocking the breath from your lungs.

"Look at you," he groans, watching the way your tits bounce with every rough stroke. "So fucking pretty when you cry—so fuckin' good for me. Bet your pussy's never been stretched like this. It hasn’t right? I’m the biggest you’ve ever had? Gonna keep you stuffed until you can't even walk straight."

And the way he has you pinned down, fucking into you like he's starved, you know he means it. Jake's obsessed—wrecked. And now that he's had you like this, he's not stopping until you've cum on him again and again and again.

You're not just his favorite, you’re his new addiction.

And he's gonna ruin you for hours.

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• a/n: spent the whole day working on velvet vice and writing hard thoughts, i need a sunghoon req next please.

[anything-pov]

Since the person didn't answer i'll request

An Emily X Reader SOFT LAUNCH

where the BAU slowly finds out that Emily is in a relationship (w/a woman)

reader not apart of bau(maybe a chef??)

;))

Thanks for the request 🫦 Enjoy! 😉

The Soft Launch 🚀

For weeks, the BAU had been on alert. It started small, cute, funny little, cryptic Instagram stories from Emily.

A photo of her hand over another, fingers intertwined beside a wine glass and a plate of what looked like the most divine pasta any of them had ever seen.

No caption. Just a timestamp and a playlist linked, “Melt into You, Slow Jazz Sundays.” Then came the lunches. Homemade. Artisan, even. JJ had noticed it first.

“Emily,” she murmured one afternoon, during their usual break between rough cases, "did you pack that yourself?" Emily's eyes cast down to the perfectly layered beetroot and goat cheese tart in a glass container, simply shrugging.

"Got lucky."

Morgan, of course, had smelled something fishy when a bouquet of rosemary, not flowers, rosemary, had shown up in Emily's office with a note attached, "Don't forget the salt this time, baby. -Y."

But no one had answers. Just assumptions.

Then came the night at Rossi's, a few weeks later.

The house was buzzing with laughter, expensive liquor and the warm hum of an early spring evening. Rossi was holding one of his infamous parties, the kind where the wine flowed like a river.

Strauss had gotten tipsy enough to sing Piano Man on the baby grand. Rossi had, apparently, spared no expense on the food this time. "Hired someone big," he said with a smirk to JJ as he poured her another.

"Almost impossible to book, but I pulled strings." Emily, nursing her scotch, froze, "Who?" Rossi grinned, holding his glass a little tighter with excitement.

"Y/N Y/L/N. Apparently she trained in Paris and Tokyo and is probably going to get her second Michelin star before thirty." Emily's glass paused at her lips.

"What?" Rossi looked her over, "You've heard of her?" Emily blinked once, swallowing her worry, "You could say that." And then, like fate tipping its might hat, Y/N walked into the room from the kitchen.

Carrying an amuse-bouche like it was a crown jewel. She had short, tousled hair tucked behind one ear, arms inked with delicate fine-line tattoos, a lavender sprig, a sunflower, a French knife, and a crescent moon.

She wore her pristine chef's jacket rolled at the sleeves, her apron tied snug around a frame that was compact but clearly muscular. She glowed. And when her eyes met Emily's dark irises...

Everything stopped.

The room, the noise, the laughter, every bit of it melted. Y/N lit up, face breaking into the warmest smile and she crossed the space in a few long strides before stopping just shy of Emily's side.

"...Babe," she whispered, "Didn't realise you were here."

Emily looked dazed, then chuckled, running a hand through her hair, "Neither did I." Y/N leaned in and kissed her temple, and the collective BAU jaw hit the floor in unison.

"Holy..." Garcia whispered from across the table, "That's the chef?"

"THAT'S the mystery girlfriend?" Morgan mouthed to the blonde. Y/N turned to the group, cheeks slightly pink but utterly composed. "Hi. I'm Y/N. Sorry for the surprise. I wasn't told who the event was for."

Her eyes flicked to Rossi, "Your assistant booked me under 'D. Rossi Enterprises.' Very sneaky." Y/N smiled to the older man. "You're the Y/N?" JJ blinked, "The pasta queen from Instagram?"

Y/N laughed, nodding her head gently, "Guilty."

And just like that, any awkwardness vanished. Y/N floated back to the kitchen like she was born there, commanding heat and flame and plating like it was an artwork.

Emily, never far from the archway between kitchen and dining room, watched with an expression none of them had ever seen on her. Not even during a case crack.

Admiration.

Adoration.

The soft kind of awe that made her cheeks flush and her lips curl even when she didn't know she was smiling.

At one point, music drifted from the speakers, and Y/N, mid-sear on scallops, turned with a grin and swayed her hips to the beat. She danced around the kitchen like it was a small stage, a pan in one hand and a plating tweezer in the other.

"Is she dancing?" Reid asked in a whisper, "While cooking?" He turned to Garcia, the blonde shrugging her colourful shoulders, "Gordon Ramsay would cry," She whispered back, "Happy tears."

Then came the food.

A roasted duck breast with blackberry glaze, served over parsnip puree and heirloom carrots that had somehow sculpted into tiny roses.

Pasta with lemon cream and shaved bottarga. Each plate was a piece of art, every bite more transcendent than the last. A moan escaping every FBI agent's lips.

As dessert was served, something chocolate and impossibly airy, Emily stood and joined Y/N in the kitchen, slipping an arm around her waist.

"Can I help?" Emily murmured against the shell of Y/N's ear, Y/N just smiled, still focused on plating. "You already are." And when Emily kissed her cheek in full view of the team, Y/N leaned into it without a second thought.

Rossi raised a glass, "To Chief Emily Prentiss, and her not so secret anymore girlfriend." The team clinked glasses, JJ still wide eyed, Morgan nodding with impressed approval and Garcia already on her phone trying to find an open reservation.

- - -

Later, when the dishes were done and Y/N was tucked under Emily's arm on the porch with a glass of wine, Emily whispered, "Soft launch, huh?"

Y/N just turned to her and smiled, "Felt more like a firework finale..." Emily kissed her slow, like gratitude, like peace, like home. "Couldn't be prouder and more in love with you."

[itscalledastrategyfred]

Curtain Falls, So Do We

Request: -🏀

Pairing: Brother!Charles Leclerc x Sister!Reader

Warnings: missed performances :)

Summary: Charles missed your dance and he'll do everything to make it up to you.

A/N: tysm, 🏀 anon!

The curtain had just fallen.

The lights dimmed, the applause still echoing like a heartbeat in your ears, but you stood frozen behind the wings, trembling in your pointe shoes, your tutu barely rustling as you breathed in shaky, silent gasps.

You’d done it.

The first solo performance of your life.

Except—he wasn’t there.

You turned toward the doors, your eyes scanning the silhouettes beyond the velvet curtains.

Nothing.

No sign of the signature Leclerc curls. No smile that could melt your nerves. No warm arms ready to say “You were incredible, mon étoile.”

Just darkness. And noise. And stagehands calling cues for the next group.

You blinked.

Swallowed.

And walked off with your chin high.

Back in the dressing room, everyone buzzed. Makeup being wiped off, pointe shoes unfastened, glitter dusting the carpeted floor. Girls hugged. Instructors smiled. Parents waited outside, holding presents and bouquets.

You sat at your mirror, slowly unlacing your shoes. The satin ribbons trembled in your fingers.

Your heart felt too big and too empty at the same time.

Your phone buzzed.

You swiped it open without much hope.

Charli 8:42pm — “Je suis désolé, chérie. We got held up at the paddock. I'm coming now. Please wait for me.”

You stared at the text for a long moment.

Then a tear fell. And another. They kept coming.

Not loud. Not messy. Just quiet tears sliding down your cheeks like kisses from a rose petal.

You’d told him about this performance months ago. He’d promised. Pinky promised. Charles never broke those. It was the childish nature in him.

Except now, with the season full swing, the Monaco GP madness around him, and press demands on every corner…

You’d been pushed down the list.

Again.

It was twenty-five minutes later when he finally arrived.

He burst through the backstage hallway in his Ferrari polo and jeans, hair slightly mussed, eyes frantic.

“Y/N!”

You didn’t look up right away. Just sat in the corridor still half-dressed, your bag open beside you.

His voice softened when he saw you.

“Oh, ma petite…”

“I’m not that little anymore,” you mumbled, eyes fixed on your bag zipper.

“No, you’re not,” he agreed, crouching in front of you. “But you’ll always be my little étoile.”

You sniffed.

“I danced without you.”

“I know. And I’m so proud of you.”

“You weren’t there to see it.”

Charles looked like he’d been hit straight in the chest.

He reached forward slowly, like you were made of glass, and gently tucked a loose curl behind your ear.

“I’m so sorry. The race weekend—it ran long, the media was insane—I didn’t want to miss it, I swear on everything.”

You nodded, barely. Only just.

He dropped to sit beside you now, shoulder to shoulder on the cold floor.

There was a pause.

Then: “You know what I used to do before every kart race?”

You shook your head.

“I would listen to that one Chopin piece. The one you used to practice with. The one with the soft piano and the sad ending. It made me think of you.”

Your throat tightened.

“You did not. Liar.”

“I did. Even in Formula 2. Even now sometimes. It reminded me of how hard you worked. How graceful you were. How pretty and neat. How I never wanted to let you down.”

You bit your lip, a tear escaping. A gentle hiccup escaped.

Charles turned to face you.

“You didn’t let me down,” you whispered. “I just… really, really wanted you to be proud of me.”

“I am proud of you,” he said, voice cracking a little.

You looked up, and there it was—his face, open and full of love and guilt and admiration all in one.

“I’m your big brother. But tonight, I was also the guy running through the parking lot like a maniac to catch his sister’s final bow.”

You laughed, watery.

“That sounds stupid.”

“It was stupid. And I still missed it. But I swear, next time—I will be there an hour early, in the front row, wearing a glitter tutu if I have to.”

You burst out laughing.

The ache didn’t vanish, but it softened.

He pulled you into a hug.

“You looked beautiful,” he murmured into your hair. “Even now, all tired and glittery and grumpy. You’re everything I’m proud of, (Y/N). Always.”

You buried your face into his shoulder and let yourself breathe again.

Back at home, he insisted on cooking pasta.

“You danced, I make dinner. That’s the rule.”

You sat at the kitchen island in your hoodie, finally warm and makeup-free, watching your Formula One driver of a brother burn garlic in a pan like an amateur.

“You’re not doing it right,” you teased.

“You sound like Enzo.”

“You cook like Enzo.”

“Watch it.”

“Maman cooks better than you and she makes toast with tomato sauce.”

He gave you a deadpan look.

“Rude.”

You smiled, slowly, for real this time.

Later, you lay on the couch, legs stretched over Charles’s lap as he scrolled through pictures from your performance that your ballet teacher had sent him.

“She sent me like fifty,” he muttered, zooming in. “Look at your arm here! That’s crazy! You looked like you were floating!”

You blushed.

“Stop hyping me up.”

“Never.”

You peeked at his phone screen. One photo caught your eye — you, mid-pirouette, lit from above like a painting.

You inhaled. “I… I really did that, huh?”

“You owned it, ma belle. No wonder people cried in the audience.”

Your eyes widened. “Someone cried?”

“Yeah. Maggie’s mom told Arthur.”

You covered your face, groaning.

“Oh noooo.”

He laughed and poked your ribs. “Famous already.”

You peeked at him. “Did you mean it? About wearing a tutu to the next show?”

“Do you want me to?”

You grinned.

“Only if you bedazzle it.”

“Done. Ferrari red.”

You laughed so hard your stomach ached and tears fell.

As the night wore down and the apartment dimmed to its sleepy hush, you curled into the corner of the couch, head on Charles’s shoulder.

He wasn’t talking now. Just scrolling through photos again, eyes fond.

“I was scared today,” you murmured suddenly. “Before going on stage.”

He looked down. “Really?”

You nodded. “I thought I’d fall. Or forget the choreo. Or freeze.”

He wrapped an arm around you. Strong and protective. “But you didn’t.”

“Because I pretended you were out there watching.”

Charles didn’t speak for a moment.

Then he kissed the top of your head.

“I’m always watching, even when I’m late,” he said quietly.

You smiled.

That was enough.

That was more than enough.

[mullermilkshake]

Meet the family

Part 11 <- Part 12 -> Part 13

It's that important time, you're nervous and Jinwoo can't wait to share the news.

At 14 weeks, the twins are around the size of lemons.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Hunter!reader Tags- Pregnant reader, slight manipulation, arguing.

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

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

I drew this baby bootie divider and I think IT'S CUTE AS FUCK, I'm no artist but I'm pretty proud.

At fourteen weeks, you agreed to try again and visit Jinwoo’s mom and sister.

Anxiously standing there, you fiddled with your sweater and tried your best to keep your baby bump hidden before the public announcement. Jinwoo had managed to convince the Chairman to hold off on it until he could inform those close to him.

He wanted to tell his mom and Jinah immediately when he found out you were pregnant, but you were able to change his mind and wait just a little while longer.

Your oversized sweater was more of a tool than a fashion statement when leaving the apartment, just until the public announcement. Many people who recognised you and Jinwoo were none the wiser. Some made eyes at your radical clothing change, their gaze shifting down to your stomach with nothing more than a suspicious gaze.

There was only so much time before others would notice you carrying twins and not attending gate raids anymore. Time was running out. Jinwoo was growing impatient. Your moods were all over the place.

Organised chaos.

“Don’t worry.”

“Hm?” You met his gaze, chewing on your bottom lip.

“I said, don’t worry. They’ll love you, especially my mom. And Jinah will be great, I practically raised her while my mom was unwell.”

“It’s not that, I just… you’re taking me to meet her with the add on of ‘oh, by the way, the girl I’m seeing is also pregnant with twins’. It doesn’t make for a good impression, Jinwoo...”

You saw yourself as the girl he was seeing? Talk about making progress. Jinwoo wanted to smile, to kiss you right there on the doorstep.

But you sunk down with a slouch, clearly with more things on your mind. "You're closer with your sister then if you cared for her like that... We never really talked much about our families- What if she doesn't like me? That can happen- they could both take one look at me and decide not to like me."

God, you were adorable.

“To be honest, I think my mom will be really pleased. I’m twenty five and my sister’s always harping on at me about bringing a girl home so, it’ll go better than you think.”

It should have settled you, yet Jinwoo saw the way the distance between your eyebrows closed ever so slightly. You did this cute little thing with your face when you were conflicted, a worried stare that Jinwoo saw as adorable.

“Just stay close, okay?” Jinwoo took your hand and laced his fingers in between yours, a happy smile playing in his face as he knocked the door. “I’ll always be here.”

The door opened quicker than Jinwoo expected, like his mom was waiting for his visit.

“Jinwoo, I’m so glad you’re here- and this must be your girlfriend.” She smiled softly and placed a hand to her cheek. “Aren’t you pretty. Oh, Jinwoo, come on in and settle down, Jinah will be home soon.”

He took you through to the living area whilst his mom hurried through to the kitchen.

“Girlfriend?” You whispered, it shouldn’t have stung as much as it did.

Jinwoo shrugged reluctantly and played it off as best as he could. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure what to tell her.” 

He wanted you as his girlfriend, more than a girlfriend. You were to be the mother of his children and the only way to make everything right in the world was calling you his wife. Eventually, he’d ask you and you’d say yes when you were most vulnerable and understood that you could only rely on him.

Probably after the twins were born.

“So, tell me all about how you two met.” Jinwoo’s mom tiptoed in with a tray of tea, carefully placing it down on the table with one extra cup for Jinah.

It was surprising just how easily a lie dipped from Jinwoo’s lips, explaining some random story to him mom about how you and he met. It had nothing to do with the Hunter’s association. 

And then came the kicker.

“So… about us, mom.” He took your hand again. “There’s something else that I wanted to talk to you about-“

“Hey, I’m home!” It was Jinwoo’s sister.

“In here, Jinah! Jinwoo’s here with his girlfriend!” It sounded pretty nice to hear his mom say your name.

I guess now’s a better time than any. 

Jinah came into the living area beaming, grinning right at you. “Hey! So my brother finally brought a girl home, huh? Hey, I recognise you from the television, you’re a hunter too- you’re so pretty-“

“Woah, Jinah.” He practically pushed her away, taking note of how well you were enduring the overwhelming presence of his baby sister. “Give her some space, there’ll be plenty of time to get to know each other. There’s something important we wanted to talk to you both about before it’s made public, so would you listen?”

“Sorry! I can get carried away sometimes.”

Jinwoo’s mom smiled and put her hand on his knee. “Go ahead. Tell us all about what you want to say. We’re listening.”

“Uh…” The colour drained from your face, looking to Jinwoo for an answer.

“Mom, Jinah…” He looked at you with such adoration when he said your name. “She’s pregnant.”

“Oh my god…”

“Really? Oh, that’s wonderful news!” The reactions Jinwoo expected, but they were expecting one baby. Not two.

“That’s not all.” He said, pulling up your sweater to show your little baby bump. “We’re having twins.”

That’s when the shock really sank in. “Twins?”

“You’re going to have two of you running around, Jinwoo?” Jinah was ever the one to put it eloquently.

“Yeah.”

“Jinwoo, is that apartment big enough for two babies? Do you need me to come and help when they’re born?”

“Well…” You cut in, looking everywhere except the three people in the room. “The Chairman has offered support from the hunter’s association to help us, there’s a facility that has resources to help us… so…”

Your voice trailed off when you saw Jinwoo’s involuntary expression. He didn’t mean to look at you the way he did, but it sounded a lot like you were thinking of giving his babies away to the association’s facility.

Swallowing hard, you smiled at his mom and sister. “But we haven’t decided on the later stuff just yet…”

Jinwoo halted himself in the silent room, trying to stop is hands from shaking. “Mom, I think we better go now, I promise we’ll come over soon.” He stood abruptly and made his way straight to the door without you, knowing you'd follow.

“Now? You’ve only just got here.”

“Sorry, it’s been a long day. I just remembered that I forgot to do something… y’know, errands.”

Like hell you were going to give the babies to the care of the association. He wanted to get to the bottom of this and quickly, his compulsion to protect his children stung heavier than ever right in his gut to ensure their safety. He just never thought that he’d be protecting them from you.

The next ten minutes were a blur, he said goodbye and sat in the car with you for longer before he had the courage to speak with you and not say something he’d deeply regret.

You just needed to see that having a family with Jinwoo was the best thing for you, and for his babies. You still had time before they arrived to see that the only place they belonged was in your and Jinwoo’s arms.

“Jinwoo, will you say something?” You were close to crying by the time he pulled over in a random street away from Headquarters.

“Why do you want to give our babies away?”

“N-no, not give them away. Don’t make me sound so cruel. You're taking words out of my mouth. But we’ll need some sort of support when they get here… I’m terrified, Jinwoo.” He listened for the clicking of your seatbelt as you turned. “What can we give them that can ensure they’re raised right- we can’t do that our own.”

What were you even saying? Jinwoo was the strongest hunter to come out of modern times, he fought Beru for goodness sake, there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do.

“Yes we can. We can give them everything- please don’t do this.”

“How? How can we give them everything- Jinwoo, we aren’t ready to take care of one regular baby, and we have two with S-Rank mana, one tantrum and whatever abilities they might have, they could destroy half the city. How are we equipped to deal with that? What if both of them inherit something from us and it gets out of control? People could want to exploit that and we can’t be there all the time.”

“We’ll find a way to suppress it until they’re old enough, we can do something. We can stop it somehow, but we can’t give up on them and let them fall into the Chairman’s hands. You of all people should understand that-“

“I do understand it! That's the issue!” You were crying now, wiping your eyes as you talked faster, louder. More desperate. “I know we can't trust the association with them, but what other choice do we have? I can’t think of any viable options- I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t want to do any of this and now I’m pregnant with twins and it all changes for me, you get that, right?!”

He did, he really did. Even so, he would not have you raising any children on your own, it was his duty as the father to help raise his children. He’d be there like his dad should have been through his teen years, helping you and loving you to raise two beautiful children.

Still, he let you finish. “You get that the world keeps on turning for you, for Jong-in. But it stops for me, and for Hae-in. She’s being sent to this facility on her own so Jong-in can get someone else pregnant- they wanted me to go in her place. You can come and go as you please and I… I won’t be able to go on raids again- I still want to be a hunter, I can’t do it if I’m all on my own.”

Jinwoo shook his head vigorously, hoping the action alone would seek it to you. “You won’t be on your own. I’m here, I’m not leaving… Please don’t let the Chairman get his hands on our babies.”

“Jinwoo, you’re not getting my point-“

“I do get it.”

Should I tell her? Was it too soon to tell you how much he adored you, loved you and wanted to spend the rest of his life with you?

“I care about you, deeply. More than you know, and I want us all to be a family.”

You sat and watched him with wide eyes. He took the opportunity to continue. “I know you didn’t ask for this, and in another life, I would have asked you out and taken things slowly if you said yes. But we’re here, and we should make the most of this… we have the chance to have two healthy and beautiful babies that will no doubt look like you.” He chucked, taking your hand you gave him with no issue. “They’ll have your temperament, the cute thing you do with your nose when you smile and I’m sure they’ll have your taste in music too.”

You rubbed your belly, watching him with a look he hadn’t seen before. Total and utter fear. “Jinwoo… how are we going to take care of two babies, work and keep ourselves afloat all the time? The Chairman will want us to have more children if these two come out as strong as he thinks they will. He’s clearly taken an interest and I don’t think he’ll just move on to the next baby that has a mana reading like this.”

If you felt that way, why did you want to hand them over to the association? Jinwoo put it down to your changing hormones, lack of sleep and just wanting the best for your children. Your maternal side was late in showing, and even then it was inconsistent. In fact, your baby bump showed faster than your capability to adapt to motherhood.

Despite that, it was showing, little by little each day. When the babies were born, Jinwoo knew that from the moment you saw them wrapped up in their little blankets and woolly hats, you’d fall in love with them. Just as he would at the sight of the two little bundles in your arms after giving your all and making two wonderful little people.

On that thought, his frustrations melted away. “The Chairman won’t be a problem… I promise you.”

Jinwoo took both of your hands and held them tight, close. “He won’t demand us, not anymore. And money isn’t an issue, just let me worry about that. I’ll never leave you, you won’t ever be on your own. Ever.” 

“Promise?”

“Yes. I promise. I swear on my life.”

Part 11 <- Part 12 -> Part 13

If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! Thanks so much for all the support on this likes, reblog and comments appreciated! ❤️

Tag list - @bubera974 @snowy-violet @sky2lar @starrynights23x @minh907

@yessirr7 @aussie-boys-wife @yihona-san06 @mashiromochi @daiyanomochi

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

@stormnightingale @johnnysactualgf @solarisstarrsolomonsbeloved @johnnysactualgf @notleclerc

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

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

@delusionillusion322 @dreamingoftomorrow @gina239 @blxuqueenie @stardust0709

@chahaezii @athanasia10 @crutoyu @thetruepair @lostpsycho13

@dragoonsuki @sashagaming1012 

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

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[vinnyvamppp]

Two and a Half Graysons

Note: Trust and believe I'm using that horny ass line you ended with as a plot device too. LMFAO. @hhoneylemon

Synopsis: You're not officially a parent, but you might as well be. You're not officially married, but everyone seems to think you are. Between shirtless mornings, grocery store tension, and baby carrier missions, the line between “dating Mark” and “co-raising a purple alien infant with Mark” gets blurrier by the day. But it’s fine. You’re emotionally stable. Probably.

Warnings: Mild Sexual Tension (NO SMUT), Coping With Parenthood, Mind Swearing, Off-screen Canon-level Violence, Found Family & Co-parenting, fluff galour. (Original Request Link: https://www.tumblr.com/vinnyvamppp/783842276548952064/i-have-a-vision-ive-been-thinking-about-when)

Mark Grayson (+ Baby Oliver!) x GN!Reader

WC: 1.2k (so cute)

Mark doesn’t ask you to move in. He just starts making space, a shelf here, a drawer cleared there. By the time Oliver starts teething, you’re already brushing your teeth in his bathroom every morning and waking up with a foot in your ribs that definitely doesn’t belong to Mark.

You weren’t expecting him to drop out. No one was. Debbie had offered to help, of course—offered like it was the easiest thing in the world to raise a baby that wasn’t hers, born from a man who had already broken the whole family once. And Mark had just said: “I can’t ask her to do this. He’s my responsibility, my… brother.”

Then he’d looked at you. Like he was bracing for something. For the inevitable pulling away. The “I’m not ready for this” talk. But you’d just nodded. Said: “Okay. We’ll figure it out.” We. His shoulder slumped with a sigh of relief. And that’s how it starts.

It’s not glamorous. Mark’s working two jobs between diaper runs. You’re picking up shifts, catching Oliver when he won’t stop crying, and Mark looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. Some nights, the exhaustion settles over the house like fog, thick and still. Then there’s moments where Oliver laughs or falls asleep on your chest like he knows exactly where he belongs. And everything feels lighter—softer, just right.

Mark negotiated with Cecil… Kind of—out of desperation, moreover. After bringing Oliver back, Mark tried to keep up with college, parenting, and being Earth's part-time savior. It lasted about two weeks. He was late to a Kaiju fight because Oliver had a fever. Left a lab evacuation halfway through to pick him up from your job because the sitter bailed. Cecil nearly had a stroke when Mark fought a teleporting assassin with baby wipes in his pocket.

“I can’t do this full-time. He’s a baby. He’s my responsibility. I’m not leaving him with my mom again and I’m not dragging him into a war zone unless the world’s literally ending.”

Cecil—being a professional manipulator and also somehow slightly terrified of Oliver’s explosive bowel habits, reluctantly agreed. Now, Mark handles non-lethal, low-stakes missions like alien negotiations and minor emergencies.

He takes himself off the active-duty roster unless it’s a Level Red situation, and Cecil sends backup or Eve when something big hits. Mark still trains—still reports in, but often while bouncing a baby on his chest or feeding him yogurt off-camera. So what happens day to day? He flashes by your job to drop off Oliver. Literally, he’ll appear mid-conversation, hair a mess, onesie on backward.

“Hey babe, sorry—can you watch him for like two hours? There's a tidal wave hitting France. Be back by lunch. Probably.” Kisses you mid-chaos, and vanishes in a loud boom. Sometimes he leaves you with a half-full bottle and a sticky pacifier and expects you to just vibe.

If that isn't an option, he wears a baby carrier during missions. Look, not for the big ones. But if the threat is “giant sewer rat” or “angry alien ambassador who doesn’t understand doors,” Oliver is strapped to his chest like a tiny judgmental but giggly backpack with earmuffs. You even designed him a superhero onesie that says, "Invinci-baby," and yes—he wears it at every outing.

“You’re bringing a baby?”

“He likes the wind.”

“He’s drooling on your comm.”

“He’s observing diplomacy.”

Cecil threatens to fire him weekly. Debbie sighs deeply every time she sees the footage on GDA security—just to check in when needing Cecil to make sense of this. All the while watching Doc Seismic scream “IS THAT A CHILD?!” mid-monologue. Today, you didn’t realize how dangerous this grocery trip is going to be until Mark lifts the baby carrier with one arm like it’s nothing. He’s Invincible—what did you expect? His gray t-shirt rides up just enough to make your soul flicker out of your body like a dying TV screen. Focus on the produce section. Innocent terrain, right? You grab a head of lettuce. You do not look at the way Mark bounces Oliver gently while scanning for cereal. You are a good person, a person with restraint. He’s doing that thing again—being effortlessly domestic. Like, hot dad energy turned up to eleven. Every time he reads a nutrition label or wipes drool off Oliver’s chin, your brain short-circuits a little more.

You used to flirt shamelessly. Make out in supply closets, pull him into his room by the collar. But now? Now you’re in aisle six, arguing about formula brands, and trying not to climb him in front of a shelf of canned peas.

“I think we should get the oatmeal-based one,” Mark says, turning towards you. And there it is: that low voice, as he leaned in slightly. The focus with that soft-eyed, fully attentive attitude. You blink at him, trying to play it cool as you bite your tongue. “Whatever keeps his poop neutral. I'm not reliving last week.” Mark gave a crooked grin, brow raised, his shoulder hitching, “The explosion?”

“Don’t—” you groan, covering Oliver’s ear. “Don’t traumatize him again. We had to hose down the high chair, Mark.” A grin tugged at the corners of your lips. He laughs under his breath and sets the formula in the cart. You watch the muscles in his forearm flex as he pushes it forward. You’re sweating now—It’s winter. “Why do you look tense?” he asks. You gesture around helplessly. “Because this is basically foreplay, and there’s a baby in the cart.”

Mark chokes on a laugh, reaching instinctively to cover Oliver’s ears. “You can’t say stuff like that while I’m holding our son.” You freeze. “Our son?” His eyes widen a little. The cart keeps rolling. The baby stares up at the ceiling fan, utterly indifferent to the life-changing moment. “…I mean,” Mark starts, fumbling now, “he’s not yours, but like—well, he kind of—”

“Mark.” You step in close, dropping your voice. “If you keep talking in that voice and calling him our son, I swear to God, I will embarrass us in this store.” Mark’s eyes flick to your mouth, then back to Oliver. His jaw flexes with blotches of pink creeping up his neck. “I hate that we can’t do anything about this. ”You both stare at each other for a second too long. Then Oliver lets out a dramatic sneeze that breaks the tension like a rock through a window. You sigh. “We’re in hell.” Mark leans over and kisses your temple. “At least we’re in hell together.” You glance at the shopping list and mutter, “Add wine.” He stares at you in bewildered silence— “For Ms. Grayson.”

You find yourself thinking about stupid things. Like the taste of oatmeal lingering on your tongue. Like whether you’ll need a bigger place. Like whose last name Oliver will have. Like if Mark knows he hums when he’s rocking the baby to sleep, tuneless and low, and how your whole chest aches every time you hear it. You’d marry him. That thought hits you while Mark is on the floor of the living room, one sock on, hair a mess, cooing nonsense while Oliver grabs at his nose. You’d marry him tomorrow. Or bend him or let him bend you over the desk right now. Whichever happens first.

You’ve seen this man explode aliens. Why is him wearing low-slung sweatpants more threatening to your mental health than intergalactic war? But you don’t tell him that. You just hand him the bottle, brush your fingers against his, and whisper, “You’re doing okay.” Mark looks up at you—tired and worn down, but smiling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A/N: Literally kicking my feet as I write this, I will forever love your big, beautiful brain. Hopefully, this was decent, my friend. :)

[fallingcoups]

First hello🍼

♡ Seungcheol x reader

♡ word count : 402

♡ part 1 part 2

The soft hum of machines and the steady breathing are the only one that can be heard in the quiet hospital room. Morning light filtered through curtains casting a warm glow on everything.

Seungcheol sitting in the hospital room frozen in time.

Not on a stage not under the flashing lights, and not with a mic in hand.

Just him, in his hoodie with tired eyes and a heart that had never felt so full. And in his arms, the tiniest, most perfect baby girl he’d ever seen in his life.

His baby bean.

His daughter.

He looked down at her, still swaddled like a tiny burrito.

"Hello, baby bean," he whispered, voice shaking. "I'm your dad..."

A soft sound left her and Seungcheol gasped like she had already spoken of his fullname. His lip trembled and tears came.

His chest rose and fell rapidly as he pressed his forehead gently to his baby's forehead, trying not to cry too loudly and wake the baby and you who's asleep in the bed nearby.

"You’re so small and pretty," he whispered. "Like really really really small and pretty. How did I get so lucky to be your father?"

He looked over at you, curled up under the white sheets, sleeping peacefully. He'd never loved you more than in this moment.

“I’ll protect you and your mom,” he said, as if he's promising it to the universe.

The baby let out a tiny coos, and Seungcheol chuckled lightly, wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. He swayed her gently.

“You don’t know it yet, baby bean but I’m gonna embarrass you so much,” he smiled. “Like so so much. I’m already planning our dad and daughter and family matching outfits, princess tiaras and tea party. You can't stop me.”

He leaned back, eyes starting to swell with tears again as he watched his baby sigh in her sleep.

"And one day, you’re going to run to me yelling "Daaaaad!" and I'm gonna cry again." He chuckled, voice cracking. “I think I’m just gonna cry a lot from now on.”

He reached for his phone and quietly took a photo of her tiny fingers wrapped around his index finger.

He sent it to the group chat.

Then he looked back down and whispered.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me and to your mom. I love you so much baby bean."

Feedbacks

English is not my first language, sorry if my grammar is incorrect.🍒

[heyitspapayaontop]

Curtain Falls, So Do We

Request: -🏀

Pairing: Brother!Charles Leclerc x Sister!Reader

Warnings: missed performances :)

Summary: Charles missed your dance and he'll do everything to make it up to you.

A/N: tysm, 🏀 anon!

The curtain had just fallen.

The lights dimmed, the applause still echoing like a heartbeat in your ears, but you stood frozen behind the wings, trembling in your pointe shoes, your tutu barely rustling as you breathed in shaky, silent gasps.

You’d done it.

The first solo performance of your life.

Except—he wasn’t there.

You turned toward the doors, your eyes scanning the silhouettes beyond the velvet curtains.

Nothing.

No sign of the signature Leclerc curls. No smile that could melt your nerves. No warm arms ready to say “You were incredible, mon étoile.”

Just darkness. And noise. And stagehands calling cues for the next group.

You blinked.

Swallowed.

And walked off with your chin high.

Back in the dressing room, everyone buzzed. Makeup being wiped off, pointe shoes unfastened, glitter dusting the carpeted floor. Girls hugged. Instructors smiled. Parents waited outside, holding presents and bouquets.

You sat at your mirror, slowly unlacing your shoes. The satin ribbons trembled in your fingers.

Your heart felt too big and too empty at the same time.

Your phone buzzed.

You swiped it open without much hope.

Charli 8:42pm — “Je suis désolé, chérie. We got held up at the paddock. I'm coming now. Please wait for me.”

You stared at the text for a long moment.

Then a tear fell. And another. They kept coming.

Not loud. Not messy. Just quiet tears sliding down your cheeks like kisses from a rose petal.

You’d told him about this performance months ago. He’d promised. Pinky promised. Charles never broke those. It was the childish nature in him.

Except now, with the season full swing, the Monaco GP madness around him, and press demands on every corner…

You’d been pushed down the list.

Again.

It was twenty-five minutes later when he finally arrived.

He burst through the backstage hallway in his Ferrari polo and jeans, hair slightly mussed, eyes frantic.

“Y/N!”

You didn’t look up right away. Just sat in the corridor still half-dressed, your bag open beside you.

His voice softened when he saw you.

“Oh, ma petite…”

“I’m not that little anymore,” you mumbled, eyes fixed on your bag zipper.

“No, you’re not,” he agreed, crouching in front of you. “But you’ll always be my little étoile.”

You sniffed.

“I danced without you.”

“I know. And I’m so proud of you.”

“You weren’t there to see it.”

Charles looked like he’d been hit straight in the chest.

He reached forward slowly, like you were made of glass, and gently tucked a loose curl behind your ear.

“I’m so sorry. The race weekend—it ran long, the media was insane—I didn’t want to miss it, I swear on everything.”

You nodded, barely. Only just.

He dropped to sit beside you now, shoulder to shoulder on the cold floor.

There was a pause.

Then: “You know what I used to do before every kart race?”

You shook your head.

“I would listen to that one Chopin piece. The one you used to practice with. The one with the soft piano and the sad ending. It made me think of you.”

Your throat tightened.

“You did not. Liar.”

“I did. Even in Formula 2. Even now sometimes. It reminded me of how hard you worked. How graceful you were. How pretty and neat. How I never wanted to let you down.”

You bit your lip, a tear escaping. A gentle hiccup escaped.

Charles turned to face you.

“You didn’t let me down,” you whispered. “I just… really, really wanted you to be proud of me.”

“I am proud of you,” he said, voice cracking a little.

You looked up, and there it was—his face, open and full of love and guilt and admiration all in one.

“I’m your big brother. But tonight, I was also the guy running through the parking lot like a maniac to catch his sister’s final bow.”

You laughed, watery.

“That sounds stupid.”

“It was stupid. And I still missed it. But I swear, next time—I will be there an hour early, in the front row, wearing a glitter tutu if I have to.”

You burst out laughing.

The ache didn’t vanish, but it softened.

He pulled you into a hug.

“You looked beautiful,” he murmured into your hair. “Even now, all tired and glittery and grumpy. You’re everything I’m proud of, (Y/N). Always.”

You buried your face into his shoulder and let yourself breathe again.

Back at home, he insisted on cooking pasta.

“You danced, I make dinner. That’s the rule.”

You sat at the kitchen island in your hoodie, finally warm and makeup-free, watching your Formula One driver of a brother burn garlic in a pan like an amateur.

“You’re not doing it right,” you teased.

“You sound like Enzo.”

“You cook like Enzo.”

“Watch it.”

“Maman cooks better than you and she makes toast with tomato sauce.”

He gave you a deadpan look.

“Rude.”

You smiled, slowly, for real this time.

Later, you lay on the couch, legs stretched over Charles’s lap as he scrolled through pictures from your performance that your ballet teacher had sent him.

“She sent me like fifty,” he muttered, zooming in. “Look at your arm here! That’s crazy! You looked like you were floating!”

You blushed.

“Stop hyping me up.”

“Never.”

You peeked at his phone screen. One photo caught your eye — you, mid-pirouette, lit from above like a painting.

You inhaled. “I… I really did that, huh?”

“You owned it, ma belle. No wonder people cried in the audience.”

Your eyes widened. “Someone cried?”

“Yeah. Maggie’s mom told Arthur.”

You covered your face, groaning.

“Oh noooo.”

He laughed and poked your ribs. “Famous already.”

You peeked at him. “Did you mean it? About wearing a tutu to the next show?”

“Do you want me to?”

You grinned.

“Only if you bedazzle it.”

“Done. Ferrari red.”

You laughed so hard your stomach ached and tears fell.

As the night wore down and the apartment dimmed to its sleepy hush, you curled into the corner of the couch, head on Charles’s shoulder.

He wasn’t talking now. Just scrolling through photos again, eyes fond.

“I was scared today,” you murmured suddenly. “Before going on stage.”

He looked down. “Really?”

You nodded. “I thought I’d fall. Or forget the choreo. Or freeze.”

He wrapped an arm around you. Strong and protective. “But you didn’t.”

“Because I pretended you were out there watching.”

Charles didn’t speak for a moment.

Then he kissed the top of your head.

“I’m always watching, even when I’m late,” he said quietly.

You smiled.

That was enough.

That was more than enough.

[slexenskee]

Life update

Hello I am not dead! Thanks and sorry for everyone who's sent messages or comments here, on AO3, and ig - I haven't been able to respond to, life has been chaos lately.

TLDR it's nothing bad, just chaos haha. But idk if/when I'll be updating anything.

So there's a couple things that have made these past few months not bad but stressful lol

I work for myself now, which is awesome, and I make way more money than I ever have before (also awesome) except I now have a super demanding job that's very intense and often leaves me exhausted because I'm now basically running my own business! Which I said I never wanted to do because I wanted to avoid grey hairs, but here we are!

I also moved, and am likely going to be moving again in the upcoming months, which somehow has become the lesser of all problems in the grand scheme of things? I'm not thrilled but at this point in my life I've come to understand the value of paying a lot of money for other people to pack up your stuff and cart it around for you.

I'm also in a relationship, which is funny to list out here because actually through the course of writing MDNSY I've been in several, and while yes they all are time consuming and require a lot of effort that takes me away from writing this one is a little different because -

-last but not least I'm having a baby!! Which is awesome! But also untold and unbelievable amounts of stress 😂 I'm also in my first trimester, so I am basically just walking death right now.

So yeah, I wouldn't call this stuff the AO3 author's curse by any means, but while I had recently somehow managed to balance/ juggle the first 3 long enough to eke out a bit more writing... I was then slammed by the fatigue/nausea/death combo that is the first trimester and idk if I see the light at the end of the tunnel haha. So unfortunately I cannot say if/when I'll be updating anything in the near future, because I just have no idea how I'm going to feel. That's of course to say nothing of the newborn phase, which is rough, to say the least. I'm sure I'll come back to everything eventually because I've been writing fic for the majority of my life through every insane life event that's ever happened to me, but I just can't say for sure when that will be!

Anyway, thanks for sticking with me! 💖 I promise I read and love every comment even if I can't reply at the time!

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

I'll Always

More bucky x reader angst with fluff fics, currently writing a Thunderbolts one. This fic can be interpreted as being set...at any time really.

A small tug on your blanket is what alerts you to the intruder in your room. You freeze, feeling your breath catch in your throat and almost scream for your boyfriend when you realise said boyfriend is the very intruder.

"Bucky! You scared me!" You sigh in relief, scooting over to make space for him on your bed. He climbs onto the bed, slotting himself underneath your blanket and rests his head on your chest, right where your heart beats beneath. His flesh fingers intertwine with yours, grasping tightly onto your hands, shaking all the while.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

There's a deep sadness in his voice, a sign that over time you've come to learn means he just woke up from a nightmare. It's barely noticeable but you've learned to pick it up since Bucky isn't the kind of person to voice out when he's struggling with the ghosts of his past.

"It's alright. Next time, just wake me up the normal way when you want to cuddle, alright?" You press a kiss to the top of his head, knowing full well he isn't here to cuddle but you also know better than to bring up the nightmare when he hasn't talked about it. You've figured out that the best way to get him to talk about what's plaguing him is to pretend like you don't know, let him get comfortable, then ease into the topic.

"Mmm," he hums into your shirt, listening to the sound of your heartbeat. The two of you lie like this for a while, soaking in each other's presence until you shift and start to run your fingers through his hair. His brown locks are soft, and the lack of tangles lets your fingers run down smoothly. The motion lulls him into a state of relaxation, his closed eyes a sign that he's settling down, becoming comfortable in his new position.

That's how the rest of the night goes. You stroking his hair, the rhythmic touch making him drowsy, his warmth making you sleepy and soon the both of you drift back into dreamland, curled around each other underneath the blanket.

When you wake up, it's one of the rare times you're up first. Bucky's locks are messily spread all over, your hand still buried in them. His lips slightly parted as he breathes, his chest rising and falling. You can feel each breath he takes, a small reminder that despite everything he's been through, he's still as human as you are. His lips are curved slightly upwards, vastly different from the frown that always plasters his face and he looks peaceful. The nightmares must have been left behind in his room, and hopefully he managed to get enough good sleep in yours.

You spent a few more moments admiring the serene sight before you, knowing you'll only get another moment like this during the next blue moon and force yourself to lie as still as possible, hoping you won't wake him up. It works, until the alarm you forgot you had set the night before shrieks and startles Bucky awake.

He lashes out instinctively, catching you in your stomach but fortunately years of training save your poor self from most of the impact. The tangled mess of blanket falls to the floor as Bucky's eyes flick around wildly, analysing his surroundings for threats. You quickly shut off the alarm and slowly raise your hands in surrender, looking down at the bed.

"It's just me, Buck. That was the alarm I forgot I set, I'm so sorry."

"Y/N?" His voice comes out in pants, fists tightly clenched.

"Yeah, it's me. Do you know where you are?" You slowly lift your gaze to meet his, letting out a small sigh of relief when you see he's calmed down.

"Your room, judging from the tacky decorations alone." He searches your eyes for something, then exhales, lowering his fists. "It looks even worse in the day."

"Thanks," you drawl, unsure whether to feel annoyed or amused that even in such a state, he refuses to stop poking fun at you. "Didn't ask for your opinion on my room's decorations. Water?"

"If it means not needing to stare at your terrible taste any longer."

"Next time I'm kicking you to the couch in the living room."

"At least the decorations there aren't gaudy."

You roll your eyes, flipping him off as you slide off the bed to get two glasses of water. Bucky remains seated on your bed, but leans over to pick up the blanket from the floor and dusts it off before bundling it onto the table. Then you hear him slide off the bed and open your cupboard before letting himself back onto your bed.

"Isn't it a crime to rifle through someone's wardrobe?" You hand him a glass and take a sip from yours.

"I didn't rifle through your wardrobe. Not like there's anything to see anyways." He lifts the glass to his lips and gulps down half of its contents in one go.

"So should I be weirded out that you remember where I keep my blankets?" You gesture to the fresh set of blanket that now rests on your bed.

"They're not that hard to find."

What a lie. You know where you keep your blankets, and that's in back of the third drawer. He's either memorised where they actually are, or he's looked through the top two drawers, or he's gotten extremely lucky and opened the third drawer as the first drawer to check for blankets.

"Oh really? How many drawers did you check before finding them?"

"One."

"And the one you chose to open so happened to contain my blankets?"

"You could say I'm pretty lucky." He smirks at you and you nearly slap him, if not for the glass in your hand and last night.

"So if I asked you to take something else from my wardrobe you'd get it right the first try?"

"Probably." He shrugs, finishing his cup before changing the subject. "How long does it take for you to drink one glass of water?"

You immediately fall for the bait, inhaling the rest of the water in your glass and shove the empty glass at him, struggling not to cough but to no avail. You force yourself to swallow the water in your mouth before coughing, causing only little droplets water to fall onto the bed. Your vision blurs as you cough but the feeling of the warm hand that rubs your back is as clear as day.

"Don't die while drinking water, that would be a stupid way to go." There's a hint of amusement in his voice as he speaks into your ear before leaving to wash the glasses once he's certain you're fine. You collapse onto your bed with a groan that's broken off by a cough and hear Bucky laugh in response.

"I'm not dying!" You shout.

"Sure you aren't!" He laughs back. You let out a huff of exasperation, folding your arms and pout as Bucky comes into view. He sits on your bed, flicking you in the forehead before lying down next to you, soft blue eyes sparkling in contentment. His hand automatically moves towards yours, thumb brushing over the back of your palm before slotting his hand into yours, giving it a squeeze. You roll on top of him, eliciting a grunt of surprise before sliding your other hand into his metal one. He hesitantly pulls away, giving a small shake of his head and you immediately know what his nightmare was about.

"I know you won't hurt me," you murmur, but rest your hand next to his metal one. "I trust you."

"I don't trust me." He whispers. "I…"

His throat bobs, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. "I'll hurt you."

"I doubt so. I have you wrapped around my little finger and you know it." You try to lighten to mood a little.

"But if — the trigger words — I —" He struggles to form a coherent sentence, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Then I'll just reach in and pull James Buchanan Barnes back to the surface once more."

He locks gazes with you, blinking away the tears.

"What if you can't?" He chokes out.

"Then I'll fulfill that promise I made. I'll end us both."

"I don't want to make you to do that."

"Means you'll have to fight too. I can't be doing all the work." You offer him a smile. "We'll face it together, do this together, just like we always do. You will never be alone, I promise."

His metal hand brushes against your flesh hand, tentative and you place a finger on his open palm. An invitation, a request. He shifts his hand so that it's directly beneath yours and reaches up with his fingers to grasp your entire palm. The coolness of the metal seeps into your warm palm and you feel him intertwine his fingers with yours, no longer as afraid of hurting you.

I'll always be by your side.

I'll always have your back.

I'll always be there for you.

[lostbookmark]

MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Game Masterlist here

Summary: After the death of your brother and his wife. You find yourself adjusting to a new role in your life. A single parent to your teenage nephew. How do you help him heal? How do you help yourself heal? You're not sure. You don't think you can, until an annoying basketball coach enters your life and turns everything around.

Pairing: Basketball Coach Yoongi x Single Aunt F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Smut, Strangers to Lovers,

Warnings: Death Of Parents / Brother/ Family, Car Accident (Cause), Swearing, Explicit Sex, Arguments, Physical Fighting, Past Abusive Relationship, Talks Of Domestic Violence, throwing up. Getting sick. Stomach bug.

A/N: I got nothing for you. It's been a rough couple of days...sigh, I'm ready for winter!!! 🌪🌪🌪

“Is our masonry guy actually going to be on time?” Chris asks. “He's been late to the last few jobs that we had.”

“We hired a new guy,” Elly said, informing of this new information. “He has glowing reviews. I personally called the last four companies that hired him. He is very prompt and professional.”

“What about the city permits? Have they been picked up yet?” Your dad asks, looking up from the screen of his computer at you. “Y/N?”

“Hm?” You ask, looking up at your father not hearing a word he said to you.

“Are you okay?” Elly asks, looking at you concerned.

“I asked about the city permits,” your dad said, repeating himself. “Have you picked them up yet?”

“Yeah, they came in…” you say, taking a deep breath, trying to look at your own screen and focusing on the little black words. “They came in a few days ago, and I picked them up. I filed them away in my desk.”

“You look like shit,” Chris comments as he stares at you.

“Stop it,” your dad admonishes. “You look…..green. Are you sick?”

“Oh, no,” Elly said. “Did I get you sick? We shared that glass of wine at lunch the other day. I'm so sorry!”

You look around at the faces staring back at you and swallow thickly. You try to breathe deeply through your nose and slowly exhale out your mouth, but that shit wasn't working. Your stomach turns and gurgles. Jumping up from your seat, you launch yourself to the small waste basket that sat in the corner of the conference room and drop to your knees where you empty the contents of your stomach.

“Gross,” your brother says, covering his mouth and nose with his shirt. Trying to avoid the inevitable smell that was about to fill the room.

Your dad hurries to your side and holds the garbage can up closer to your face. You groan and rub your stomach, you couldn't get sick right now. You were a parent. Parents weren't allowed to get sick.

“Nicky's practice,” you say, collapsing on your butt and taking the waste basket from your father to hug between your legs.

“Don't worry about that,” your dad says. “One of us will be there.”

“Don't be late,” you warn, wiping your forehead that was starting to feel clammy. “They don't like that. They might try and suspend you.”

You want to laugh at your own joke but this fucking sucks. Leaning over the trash, you let loose again as your stomach churns once more.

Shit!

This was going to be a long day.

The cold bathroom tile felt amazing against your overheated face. Elly had offered to stay with you after she brought your home, but you had refused. You had spent hours running back and forth from your bed to the bathroom that you finally gave up and decided to just lie down on the bathroom floor. It was uncomfortable but welcoming at the same time. It was like a little piece of heaven in your living nightmare of hell at the moment. Closing your eyes, you debate whether or not to drift off. You're not even sure what time it was, but based on the fading natural light from your bedroom, it was getting late. Nicky would be home soon.

Closing your eyes, you rub your stomach and focus on your breathing, trying to lull yourself into some sort of sleep. You thought maybe you could feel yourself start to drift away because all of a sudden, Nicky's voice is scaring the shit out of you.

“Sunshine, are you still sick?” He asks from your doorway. “Uncle Chris said you threw up all over grandpas conference room.”

You groan and turn away from his voice. A large hand comes down on your face, checking your forehead and exposed cheek. You groan once more, trying to move away from the warmth.

“You're burning up,” a deep voice comments. “Have you taken anything?”

No!

No!

Fucking, no!

Why was he here? You did not want him to see you like this. It was too soon for him to see you this ugly and gross.

“You have tile marks on your face,” Nicky says.

Great.

Perfect.

Whining, you cover your face with your hand and remind yourself that you love your nephew. You love him, and he is just a kid. You can not flip him off or swear at him because that would be inappropriate.

“Why don't you go shower in your bathroom, and then we will order you some food when you're done,” Yoongi suggests, to the young teen. “I got her.” It wasn't long before your body was jostled and you were picked up off the ground. Yoongi walks with you cradled in his arms and into your bedroom, attempting to put you in your bed, but you shake your head. ���No?”

“Couch,” you say, sounding pathetic to even you. “I want the couch.”

“Okay,” he agrees, taking you to your destination of choice, depositing you on the couch. “I'll run to the store to get you some things and get Nicky some food.”

“No,” you argue weakly and sit up, but he gently pushes you back down. “That's not your job.”

“Taking care of you is my job, doll,” he said, tapping you on the nose. “I want to take care of you. What does he like to eat? I think I've only ever really seen him eat pizza and chicken.”

“Everything, anything,” you say, closing your eyes and burying your head into the pillow you had placed there earlier. Yoongi places a blanket over you and laughs a little. “Thank you,” you murmur.

“I'll be back,” he whispers, stroking your hair gently.

You don't feel him get off the sofa. You don't hear the door close. You don't even hear Nicky as you finally drift off in that blissful sleep.

“You should add just a little more salt to that,” your eyes blink open at the sound of your mothers voice. “If I were told sooner, I would have made her my homemade chicken noodle soup. She loved it growing up when she got sick. It was the only thing she would eat. That and grape popsicles.”

“I'm sure it's delicious,” Yoongi says, and you freeze from where you still lay on the couch.

“You picked a good restaurant, though,” she tells him. “The soup is bland, which is good for this situation. It shouldn't hurt her stomach. Just add a little salt.”

“You didn't have to get anything,” Yoongi tells her. “I already went to the store.”

“Of course I did,” she says. “You don't know what she likes…..yet. She prefers the oyster crackers for her soup, not the square ones. If you got her medicine that she has to drink….she won't take it. She'll act like the biggest baby and gag on it. It's best to get the pill form.”

You hear something small hit the counter and bet it's probably the medicine.

“Is she achy?” She asks.

“Umm, I don't know,” Yoongi asks, sounding nervous. “Umm…”

“A little epsom salt in a warm bath will help,” she explains. “You're an athlete, though, you know that.”

“I don't know if she….” Yoongi starts, and you hear something bigger hit the counter.

“Now she does,” she says.

You sniffle quietly, and the next thing you know, a tear falls down the tip of your nose, hitting the pillow under your cheek. This is so stupid. Why the hell are you crying? It was just epsom salt.

“Why are you crying?” Nicky asks as he suddenly stands over you.

Quickly, you wipe it away and sit up. Your mother is at your side in an instant with a glass of something in her hands. She places it down on the table and immediately feels your forehead much like Yoongi had earlier.

“Mom, I'm fine,” you say, moving your head away from her.

“I'm just trying to help,” she tells you. “I went to the store and got all your favorites. I would have been here sooner, but your father didn't bother to tell me that you were sick until he came home. That man acts like cell phones don't exist.”

Yoongi comes into the room and places a small bowl of soup in front of you, making your stomach growl loudly. You're not sure if it's out of hunger or nausea. Next to that, he places another small bowl filled with the oyster crackers that your mom bought.

She was right.

They were your favorite.

“You two don't have to fuss over me,” you grumble, picking up the bowl of soup. “It's just a stomach bug.”

“It's my job to fuss over you,” your mom says, and you snort, looking over at Yoongi sitting over in your chair.

“You two sound just alike,” you comment. “How does it feel to join forces with the dark side?”

Yoongi gives you a look, and you can see your mom visibly deflate next to you. You look at the soup in your hands and spoon a small mouthful in taking a small taste. You guess it was fine. Honestly, you didn't want to eat. The thought of eating just wasn’t appetizing at the moment.

“If I'm in the way I can go,” she offers. “I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome,”

“Mom,” you sigh.

“What?” She asks. “I was just trying to help, and it was still the wrong move with you. I even went to four damn stores looking for a box of your favorite popsicles.”

“We have popsicle’s?” Nicky asks, taking a bite of the hamburger in his hands.

You watch as a dollop of ketchup falls from the meat patty and lands on the foil that was wrapped around his burger. Clamping your hand over your mouth, Yoongi quickly takes your bowl from you as you book to the bathroom, falling to your knees once more in front of your toilet. Heaving, your little, tiny slurp of soup comes right back up, leaving your stomach empty again.

Sitting back against your bathroom vanity, you close your eyes and catch your breath. Suddenly, a cool cloth presses against your forehead before dabbing your cheeks and chin. Your mom reaches over, flushing the toilet and hands you the drink that she was holding just a little bit ago. Taking a drink, a light carbonation hits your tongue, and a lemony, lime flavor, fills your mouth. You would never admit out loud, but it was much more pleasant than the soup that Yoongi had brought you.

“I'm sorry,” she whispers. “You were right. I let you slip through the cracks.”

“I wasn't the easiest child to raise,” you admit. “The sneaking out and getting suspended. Hell, the police even had brought me home a couple of times. I was a lost cause.”

“No,” she argues. “You needed guidance, and I wasn't there. I was too busy trying to raise Nicky and trying to help….” The both of you go quiet and look down to the cloth that she was playing with in her hands. “I've been hovering over Chris and Elly too much trying to fill that emptiness and driving them crazy. Sometimes, it feels like he's my only child left because of how much you hate me, and I don't blame you.”

“Mom, “ you sigh again, feeling guilty.

“It's true. I don't blame you,” she continues. “Everything you said that night was true. I should have seen that you needed help, but I didn't, and I will never forgive myself for that. I'll never forgive myself for any of that. What kind of mother doesn't recognize that her daughter needed help?”

“That wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have said that,” you say. “I was just angry.”

“You know, sometimes I have nightmares about that night having a different outcome, and every time I wake up….I just thank god that you're still here. I just wish you would talk to us about it or at least talk to Chris about it.” She tells you. “I see him struggle around you sometimes and just don't know what to do. I don't know how to help you.”

“I don't know either,” you admit.

“Do you want me to take Nicky for the night,” she offers, changing the subject. “Give you the night to rest.”

“No,” you say. “I can do this.”

“Yeah,” she agrees with a nod of her head. “I think you can.” Standing up, she brushes off the imaginary dirt off her pants and looks at you sitting down on the floor. “Yoongi seems nice. He seems like he's pretty responsible.”

“He is nice. He's been good to us,” you say softly. You watch as your mom hiccups and covers her face as she tries to stop herself from crying. “Mom, don't cry.”

“I failed you as a mother, and I'm failing Nicky by fighting with you. I just need us to figure this out. I can't lose him…or you. It's too late to fix it, right?” She asks.

“I hope not,” you say. “Just don't push, okay?”

“Well… don't push me out, okay?” she retorts, and you nod in response. “I should get home to your dad. He said he would cook for himself. He probably burned the house down.”

“Mom,” you whisper and look up at her. She looks at you patiently as you wrap your arms around yourself. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” she whispers back. “Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”

“I will,” you promise. With a shared smile, she leaves you alone and not too long after you hear the front door open and close. Getting up to your feet, you trudge out to the couch and collapse onto the cushions. “You should go. I don't want to get you sick.”

“I have no problem staying,” Yoongi tells you. “I make my own hours at work. I can take Nicky to school and then go home. It's not that big of a deal.”

You could do what you do best and lie. Tell him to go home and try to deal with this the best you could, but you wanted him here. You wanted a partner that you could rely on. You wanted help. You wanted HIS help.

“You wouldn't be mad?” You ask.

“No,” he answers honestly. “Now, I can sleep anywhere, but where do you want to sleep?”

“Here,” you answer. “I always like the couch when I'm sick.”

“And apparently, you only like grape popsicles, oyster crackers and medicine in the pill form,” he says, ticking the checklist off on his fingers.

“My mom likes you,” you say as nonchalantly as possible. “Says you seem responsible. You two can bond over your handbooks. She loves a good policy and procedure. If you know anything about fire codes, you're in.”

“Very funny,” he says, standing. “I’m going to run home real quick and grab some things. Did you need anything else?”

“No,” you answer, unmoving from your spot as he heads for the door. Just as he’s about to walk through the door, you sit up and call out to him, stopping him. “Yoongi, thank you for staying.”

“Thank you,” he says, and you give him a look of confusion. “For letting me in.”

Winking at you, he leaves you sitting alone on the couch. You were letting him in. The old you would have thrown a fit if he tried to take care of you. The old you would have never let him be alone with your mother. You definitely wouldn't trust him with Nicky, but you do. You trust him with everything and for the first time in years. You weren't going to stop it.

“What's this?” You ask Ara as she shoves two paint cans and brushes at you.

“Paint,” Ara tells you slowly like you're an idiot. “You have seen paint before, correct?”

“Clearly,” you snap, glaring at her. “Why are you giving it to me?”

“Since you missed the last two days. You can finish painting our new Bangtan Ravens banner for the team,” she informs you. “It's on the cafeteria floor. Have fun.”

“You can't just order me around,” you tell her. “I'm not one of you little mindless minions that you can boss around.”

“And you can't just sit around and not be a part of the team,” she responds back, shoving everything further against your chest hard enough to actually make you stumble back a little bit.

“Touch me again, and that will be the last thing that you will ever do,” you warn.

“Are you threatening me?” she asks.

“I don't need to threaten you. I'm telling you,” you say with certainty.

“What's going on here,” Yoongi asks, coming up to the two of you standing at the bottom of the bleachers.

“Tell her to finish painting the banner,” Ara demands.

“I can't make her paint the banner, Ara. It's your project that you wanted to do. So, you can figure it out,” Yoongi tells her. “Have a seat.”

“Of course you defend her. You've been giving her kid special treatment just like you've been giving her special treatment, and we all know it,” she hisses, still standing.

“Excuse me,” Yoongi growls before looking at Coach Jeon and signaling something to him. Soon, Coach Jeon clears the boys out of the gym, and Yoongi turns to all the parents. “Does anyone have anything they want to say?” Nothing. Quiet. “Do I play favorites?” Again, nothing. Cricks. Awkward silence. “According to Ara, I play favorites. Do I put certain kids above others?”

“Why does she get out of doing team stuff?” Ara snaps. “The other moms and I spent hours drawing that banner. Why can't she paint it?”

“Why didn't you ask me to paint it?” Mark speaks up. “Or Jinyoung, or Youngjae, or…”

“Shut up, Mark, we all know you're hard up for her….” Ara hisses, but Yoongi quickly cuts her off.

“THAT'S ENOUGH!” Yoongi yells, placing his hands on his hips. “I asked if I played favorites with the kids. If I do, I will happily walk away from my coaching position and let Jungkook take over.”

“You gave HER kid Jake's position,” Ara said. “He's been your shooting guard for the past three years, and suddenly, he's not good enough.”

“I gave him some notes to work on, and he didn't do it. He's gotten complacent and stopped working for it,” he explained. “Jungkook even offered to work with him after practice, and the two of you said no.”

“But she..”Ara tries again.

“Give it a rest, Ara,” Mark interrupts again.

“No, things went so smoothly before,” she complains. “Suddenly she shows up and….”

You couldn't take it anymore. Bending down, you snatch the supplies that she pushed against your chest and stomp out of the gym. Slamming the gym door open, you make your way over to the Bangtan Ravens banner that was laid out on the floor. You needed to get out of there. You wanted to hit her. You wanted to hit her for talking about you like that and for talking to Yoongi like that.

Fuck, man!

It was just middle school basketball. Was it really that serious? You just really don't understand.

“Need some help?” You look up and see Mark giving you a small smile.

“You don't have to,” you say, dipping your brush into some black paint to outline some letters.

“Well, I don't want to go back in there right now,” he informs you. “Yoongi, is yelling at Ara. I don't think I have ever seen him yell before.”

“What is he yelling about?” You asked, intrigued.

“Something about how she's not in charge. He doesn't want her money anymore,” he says, opening the blue can of paint and filling in some blank letters in the word Bangtan. “Which is a pretty big deal because I know she and her husband are the top sponsors.”

“Fuck,” you say, feeling guilty that you caused this. “I have to fix this. I have to move. I'm just going to pack us up and move. Poof, everythings fixed. I hear Hawaii is nice.”

“Um, don't think so,” Mark says, laughing. “Ara would win, and she would have an even bigger head.”

“Did Nicky really take Jake's position?” You ask.

“Yes, but it was the right thing to do. He almost cost us our first game,” he explains. “Nicky really got in there and saved their asses. He earned that spot.”

“So, I shouldn't pull him and avoid this place like the plague?” You ask.

“Are you serious?” He asks, giving you a quick look as you nod your head yes. “Don't do it. It might just be basketball, but for some…for some, like Nicky. Teams like this can do amazing things for him. For moms like Ara, who use their money to buy their way to get what they want. She can’t buy her son Nicky's talent, and she knows that.”

“But she said you guys are champions,” you say, recalling her words.

“We are,” he confirms her words. “We’re surrounded by small distristics with small kids. It's not hard to pull out a win most of the time. I'm not saying that we're not a good team because we are. Yoongi and Jungkook have worked hard to instill teamwork into them, but our opponents aren't…”

“Fierce,” you supply.

“Exactly,” he says. “If you pull him and leave. Nicky would do well no matter what team he would join and would actually give us a run for our money if we played against him. Don't give up on the team just yet. Don't let her win.”

After practice, the moms came and took the completed banner with a quick thank you. They couldn't make eye contact with you, and Ara just stomped past you without sparing you any sort of attention. Mark rolled his head over to look in your direction, rolling his eyes as he did so. You hide your smile by looking down at your feet, but he gives you a little shove, making you laugh. You don't stop until Yoongi clears his throat and you stand up a little straighter. Looking past his shoulder, you see Nicky runs past, waving as he goes.

“Is everything good here?” He asks, looking between you and Mark.

“Yup, banner is done,” Mark answers.

“Good, thank you,” Yoongi says pleasantly. “We will see you tomorrow, but I need to talk to her.”

“Gottach, have a good night,” he says, giving you a quick pat on the upper back, making Yoongi crack his neck.

“Seems like you made a new friend,” he comments.

“Knock it off,” you say, taking off to the front of the school with him following close behind. “He's nice. I like him.”

“From what I hear… he likes you too,” he jokes, and you give him an unimpressed look.

“Did you really tell her that you didn't want her money?” You ask, continuing to your destination of your waiting teenager.

“Yeah, it was overdue,” he says.

“I’m fucking this up for you,” you say. “I literally destroyed your funding.”

“Not true,” he says. “I have other avenues I can explore. She was just easy.”

“Oh you know all about that, huh,” you sass.

“Hilarious,” he deadpans. “Seriously, I will figure it out. It will be fine. I promise. You didn't mess anything up for me.”

“Why do I believe you?” You ask and he smiles.

“Because you trust me,” he answers.

You already knew that and now.

He knows it too.

《Chapter 11》

Tagged Readers

@busanbby-jjk , @meelismee @jajabro , @wicked-game-black-butler @wobblewobble882, @damn-u-min-yoongi @mintedagustd , @Granataepfelchen @yoongiiuu93, @jimeg629 @jincapableoflove , @minghaosimp @redragdoll, @ot72025 @seoullove96 @our-cool-jenny @kam9404 , @momma1 @amarawayne , @militrybarbi @haileyborig, @bettytta @mar-lo-pap , @lattejimin,@butterymin @thelilbutifulthings , @cannotalwaysbenight @muchwita , @maryhopemei, @rinkud, @misfits1a , @ktownshizzle

[maewphoria]

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⌗⠀양정원⠀⠀CAT⠀DISTRIBUTION⠀SYSTEM⠀꒰⠀PT.1⠀꒱

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SYNOPSIS⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀starting college in a new city, you’re settling into your apartment and trying to make it feel like home. on your first day, a fluffy calico cat appears on your neighbor's balcony, jumping towards yours as if to greet you, stealing your heart instantly. but when a voice calls out for the cat from the next balcony, panic sets in—you rush back inside, too shy to meet your new neighbor. that neighbor turns out to be yang jungwon, a fellow student in the same university who’s also new in town. thanks to his mischievous and adventurous cat, the two of you keep running into each other in the most unexpected ways. a friendship blossoms, slowly turning into something deeper—though jungwon keeps insisting it’s nothing more than friendship. as feelings grow stronger, the question remains: will their bond turn into something more—or remain just a college memory?

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pairing⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀college student!yang jungwon x college student!f.reader. featuring⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀all enhypen members (soon), le sserafim yunjin, kazuha, and chaewon (soon), aespa winter and karina (soon). word count⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀2.241k genre⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀sfw, fluff, angst if you squint, kinda slow burn, college life, university life, slice of life, comedy (although i don't find myself funny), friendships, relationships, and the cat distribution system. (it has chosen you and gave you two lovely cats.) warnings⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀drinking alcohol, parties, getting drunk (obviously), misunderstandings, jealousy, denial (jungwon is in denial), lots of flirting and tension, cat keeps breaking into your apartment, kissing, skinship, reader (aka us) is very delusional and does a lot of overthinking, and might contain suggestive content in the later parts that are yet to be posted. lowercase letters intended. very proofread. tell me if i'm missing anything. mæw's notes⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀hi guys, this will be my very first enhypen au / fanfic here in tumblr. i will be cutting this fanfic in multiple parts instead of posting it all at once because it already has a word count of 40k. i am still new to this so i will surely make mistakes. please be patient with me and i hope you guys enjoy my work. this story will be added to my masterlist. also, don't even try copy-pasting my work into an ai detection website, because i already tried it and it still said that parts of it was written by ai, even though i literally wrote it on my phone in front of my cousin. likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated.

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“are you completely certain you have everything, sweetheart?” your mother asks for what feels like the hundredth time, her voice tinged with both worry and affection. you can’t help but chuckle softly, rolling your eyes in fond exasperation as you roll two suitcases out through the front door.

behind you, she follows closely, reciting the list of college essentials she helped you pack, while your father lingers not far behind.

“mom, for the tenth time—literally—you packed with me. you know i’ve got everything,” you reply, turning to face her. she frowns slightly, reluctantly folding her list and slipping it into her pocket.

she reaches for your hands and clasps them tightly, as though letting go meant letting you go forever. “i’m sorry, sweetie. i just can’t help but worry. i’m going to miss you so much,” she says, her eyes already glistening with unshed tears.

you felt your heart ache as you pulled her into a hug, wrapping your arms around her as tight as you can. “oh, mom...” you murmured, voice muffled in her hair, “i’m going to miss you, too. and dad. and everyone. but this isn’t goodbye forever, okay? it’s just college—four years, tops. i’ll be back before you even realize i’m gone.” you reassured her while smiling.

“is it my turn now?” came your dad’s voice from behind, cutting through the moment with the kind of comedic timing only he had. you turned to him, confused.

“yes, honey, go ahead,” your mother says with a small smile, eyes still misty.

he cleared his throat, stepped forward like he was preparing a speech, and asked, “are you absolutely certain the place you’re renting is fully furnished?”

you blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the practicality of his concern, but nodded. “yeah, dad. it is. i saw the pictures online, and the landlord sent us updated ones too. you showed them to me, remember?”

“it’s got the basics: a living room, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, a little dining area, even a mini walk-in closet. and a balcony,” you added, lifting your eyebrows as if that would finally put his mind at ease. “some furniture’s getting delivered tomorrow, but other than that, i’m all set.”

still, you know deep down they won’t stop worrying—not really. it’s just what parents do.

so you took their hands, holding them like you were anchoring the three of you in that little moment.

“mom. dad. i know you're worried. i really do. and i get it. but i have to do this—for me. for my future. remember how we talked about this?” you said softly, giving their hands a small swing.

they sighed, looking down at the pavement as if it held some kind of comfort. your mom’s lips trembled as she said, “i just can’t believe my baby girl’s going to college. it feels like just yesterday you were painting rocks in daycare and telling us they were ‘magical artifacts.’”

you laughed as she started to cry again, and without missing a beat, your dad stepped forward, wrapping the both of you in a warm, protective hug. the three of you stood there for a few seconds in silence—breathing each other in like this was the last chance you’d get.

“i promise i’ll visit when i can,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “and if anything happens, i’ll come running back home. always.”

your mom sniffled loudly, then pulled away just enough to cup your cheek. “nothing will happen to you. you hear me? you’re going to be fine. just... don’t stress too much. and don’t let yunjin drag you into too many parties. you know how she is.”

your dad nodded in agreement. “yeah. remember—college is about studying, not setting new records for the number of red cups you can balance.”

you burst into laughter, shaking your head. “you guys are unbelievable. i’m your daughter, remember? i’ve got at least some common sense.”

“barely,” your dad muttered, and you playfully elbowed him in the ribs.

amidst the bittersweet laughter, the sound of a car pulling up interrupts the moment.

“oh! that’s my uber,” you say, adjusting your backpack. “dad, can you help with my suitcases?”

“on it, bud,” he said, already hoisting both bags with that exaggerated dad-strength that never failed to impress you.

he waved to the driver, who rolled up to the curb. the trunk popped open, and your dad loaded everything in then dusted off his hands and turned back. “is that everything?” he asked.

“yes, dad. i’m going to college, not new york fashion week,” you tease, earning amused chuckles from both of them.

they escort you to the car, your mom opening the door for you. but as you settled in, she suddenly tapped gently on your window. you roll it down.

“yes, mom?”

she leaned in. “sir,” she said, addressing the uber driver with a gravity that made you look at her in confusion, “if my daughter says she’s feeling dizzy or needs a break, please pull over.”

“also, you’re going to the right address, yes?” your dad added, stepping in like he was interrogating a suspect.

you let out a groan and sank into your seat, using your backpack as a shield to hide your face. “guys, seriously...”

“and don’t drive too fast or weave between cars,” your mom continued. “please drive safely. she’s very precious cargo.”

“okay mom! dad! i love you both! please let the poor man do his job,” you said quickly, waving goodbye before whispering to the driver, “you can go now. before they make me wear bubble wrap.”

the driver chuckles as the car pulls away. you lean out the window, waving until your parents become small figures in the distance.

“i’ll call when i get there!” you shout back before sinking into your seat, heart full and heavy all at once. you breathe in slowly, gaze drifting out the window.

you can do this. it’s not going to be that hard... right?

⠀

⠀

after what felt like an eternity of winding roads, shifting scenery, and the soft hum of tires against asphalt, you finally arrived. the car rolled to a gentle stop in front of the building that would now be your new home for the next four years of your life.

you turned your head toward the window, eyes tracing the unfamiliar landscape, taking it all in—wide sidewalks dappled in sunlight, joggers weaving between pedestrians, laughter spilling from a group of cyclists, someone playing fetch with a very enthusiastic golden retriever.

the air held a certain freedom you hadn't even realized you'd been craving until now. it smelled like possibility, like the beginning of something beautifully unknown.

“alright, ma’am. we’ve arrived. would you like help with your suitcases?” the driver’s voice interrupted gently, his tone patient, practiced.

you blinked yourself out of your daze, glancing at the man in the rearview mirror before answering, “yes, please. just to the entrance would be great. thank you.”

you stepped out of the car, greeted by the sight of the tall, clean-lined building. you took a breath—deep, grounding—then turned to help the driver with your bags. the two of you wheeled the suitcases together toward the entrance.

you then turned to him, pulling out a small amount of cash. “thank you so much. really. and here—this is a little extra for putting up with my parents earlier.”

he let out a warm laugh as he accepted the tip. “ah, it was nothing. i’ve got kids myself. i know how it feels to watch them grow up.”

you smiled, heart swelling. “well, if they’ve got a dad like you, i’m sure they’re growing up wonderfully.”

“that’s kind of you to say. stay safe, ma’am.”

“you too, please drive safely,” you said with a grateful nod, before turning your attention to the double glass doors ahead of you. “alright... let’s do this.”

you mumbled to yourself as you wrestled your bags inside. the first thing that greeted you was the hum of the lobby’s air conditioner and a wall of metallic lockers neatly lined up to your right.

“oh thank god, elevators,” you sighed, eyeing the silver doors to the side. but before you headed up, you pulled out your phone to reread your landlord’s message, squinting at the little instructions tucked inside a cheerful block of text.

⠀

landlord 🏘️: good day, miss y/n. here are a few instructions before entering your apartment. on the first floor, you’ll see multiple lockers designated for deliveries and mail. please locate locker no.508. that will be your personal locker. inside, you’ll find the keys for all the doors inside your apartment and all necessary passcodes, especially the passcode of your apartment. the passcode to unlock your locker is 0628. thank you again for choosing us. we hope you enjoy your stay, and please don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any questions.

⠀

with a determined nod, you pocketed your phone and made your way through the lobby towards the right where the lockers are. polished silver doors with numbers engraved in neat rows. you scanned quickly until your eyes landed on 508.

you keyed in the code with a quiet click, and the locker door swung open.

inside were all the essentials: a set of keys, neatly labeled passcodes on a printed sheet, a few manuals for the appliances, and a small envelope titled 'welcome to your new home'.

“keys, check. passcodes, check. instructions, check. emotionally prepared? debatable,” you muttered, collecting everything before shutting the locker.

you hauled your bags into the elevator and pressed the button for the fifth floor. the soft hum of the elevator was oddly comforting, a brief moment of stillness.

the doors opened with a quiet chime, revealing an empty, serene corridor lined with identical doors. you walked slowly, counting off the numbers until you reached 508 once again—this time, your door.

you typed in the passcode, heart thudding with an unfamiliar mix of nerves and excitement. a soft beep, a click, and the door opened.

your eyes widen.

“oh god. this is really happening,” you whispered, stepping inside.

the apartment was... perfect. minimal but welcoming, clean lines and cozy corners. the sunlight streamed in from the windows, dancing across the hardwood floors.

you grinned, walking deeper into your new space. “it’s even better in person! it really has everything i—wait... the balcony!” your voice shot up an octave, already halfway to the glass doors.

you threw your backpack aside and stepped out onto the balcony. the breeze kissed your skin as you exhaled slowly, taking in the view. you pulled out your phone and took a handful of photos—one of the scenery, one of the sky, two of your grinning face—ready to send them to your parents with a reassuring caption.

you were about to hit send when you heard a small sound, high and soft.

“meow.”

you froze.

you turn, the sight before you making you gasp. sitting on the next apartment's balcony is the fluffiest calico cat you’ve ever seen. “oh my gosh, hi sweet angel– no, wait! don’t jump–” but it’s too late. with the grace of a furry ninja, she leapt from one balcony to yours, landing with a perfect thud and zero regrets.

you blinked. “well. who am i to reject a royal visit?”

you kneel and gently stroke her fur before completely sitting down on the floor. “what’s your name?” you murmur. as if on cue, the cat shifts, revealing her collar. “yami? aww, what a lovely name.”

she nestled into your lap like you were long-lost friends. you let out a delighted gasp, “oh no. not the cuteness. you’re too powerful,” you whispered, gently running your fingers through her fur, trying not to explode from cuteness aggression. the last thing you wanted was to scare her away.

you had no idea how much time passed. minutes? hours? you didn’t care. it was just you and yami, and the world could wait.

until—

“yami?”

you flinched.

the voice was male. close. way too close. and getting closer.

you got startled, which in turn startled the cat—violating the sacred cat law: if a cat sits on your lap, you don’t move. ever. but you did. and now you felt like an unforgivable criminal.

“yami,” the voice called again, now just on the other side of the glass. “there you are. what are you doing? hanging out on our neighbor’s balcony again?”

you peeked ever so slightly through the curtain. the guy was in a hoodie, the hood over his head, and pajama pants, hair sticking out, probably tousled like he’d just woken up. he also sounded young so he's probably close to your age. he crouched down and scratched yami behind the ears, completely unaware of your presence.

“are you excited to meet our new neighbor?” he asked the cat, who meowed back in response, tail flicking happily.

he laughed to himself and disappeared back into his apartment.

you exhale, not realizing you’d held your breath. ‘why did i even hide?’ you scold yourself. ‘i didn’t do anything wrong.’

shaking the embarrassment away, you pull your suitcases into your bedroom. it’s bare, except for a mattress, blanket, and a few pillows. your furniture will arrive tomorrow.

you sigh and begin to unpack, preparing to shower and change into something more comfortable.

“this is going to be a long month,” you murmur to yourself, unaware that this—this quiet, chaotic beginning—was only the start.

⠀

⠀

taglist⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀ @morganaawriterr @wondoras @mypolka @meowwwon @yoonstqr @in-somnias-world @yjwonsgf @kirijuns @iifrui @momisanalien @vieniee @drunkjazed @hhyvsstuff @readinmidnight @noona-neomu-yeppeo @cutehoons02 @robotinvenus @starfallia (taglist is still open) final note⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀i hope you guys enjoyed, part two will be posted soon. thank you so much for reading.

⠀

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©⠀mæwphoria⠀|⠀all works belong to me. strictly do not plagiarize, copy, translate, paraphrase, rewrite or repost my works on any other platforms. if it's inspiration gained from my work then it's appreciated and i wish you good luck with your own stories. thank you.

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[pxpecxdy]

Here me out on this one but @erwinsvow has put some ideas about cnc with Pope in my head

Tw: mentions of seeking a cnc relationship, no actual smut yet

He's very apprehensive about it. His feelings are too much for him already and it took forever for you and him to be okay having sex on a regular basis. As you slowly get more comfortable with each other, it slips out.

Cuddled up together on the couch, tv hums in the background, both of you half paying attention to it. A more violent sex scene happens. "I want you to do that to me." You mumble, not even sure of what you just said. But he freezes.

Pope's mind is going 110 miles per minute. Everything crashing at once. Was he not enough? Was he doing something wrong? Did you want him to hurt you?

He doesn't like it. And you notice. The way he freezes, his body suddenly fraught with tension. He doesn't say anything and he doesn't have to for you to pick up on it. You know him.

You turn to face him, fingers curling in his hair. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have said that. It's just... I like the idea of you losing control." His jaw clamps down. The wording has made it worse.

"You want me to lose control?" He repeats back. He's tried his best to keep his control the entire time he's known you, ever since he first laid eyes on you. That part of his mind filled with intrusive thoughts always pulling at him, telling him to do something. He's not like that, he doesn't want to be like that, he's not a monster.

He's staring at you again.

You're starting to panic a little. He's not saying anything and every word you speak makes the shovel move faster. The earth could open up and swallow you whole and it would be a relief.

"I mean in a safe way. Like I trust you, Andrew." There's a pause as you try and find the right wording, silently praying that your next sentence doesn't make him run. "I like the idea of you wanting me so bad you can't help yourself. That you need me. Not that you want to hurt me." He doesn't say anything again, his eyes still locked onto yours. He could never hurt you, but he's felt that need before and has shoved it down so deep inside, ruminating on the deep guilt he feels for wanting it. But you want him to want it.

"Just forget it, Andy. It's just a fantasy-" you're cut short by his mouth pressing harshly against yours.

[30somethingautisticteacher]

Since it's 911 finale day and @judymarch15 's birthday I thought we needed some fluff ❤️

****

"Buck, are you sure this is something he wants?" Maddie asked, her voice laced with concern. "Think of Chim and the bachelor party. This needs to be about him, not you. Do you even know how he feels about birthdays?"

Buck felt a twinge of defensiveness, but deep down, he knew Maddie had a point. He just wanted to make Tommy feel special. He wanted to show him how important he was, not just to Buck, but to their entire family.

"I know, Maddie," Buck said, running a hand through his hair. "But Tommy is the best thing that's ever happened to me. He deserves to have the best 40th birthday ever."

Maddie's expression softened at the sincerity in her brother's voice. "I get that, Buck. I really do. But you need to talk to him. No surprises. Promise me."

Buck met his sister's gaze, seeing the wisdom in her words. "I promise," he said earnestly.

After hanging up with Maddie, Buck sat on the couch, lost in thought. He realized he'd been so caught up in planning the perfect celebration that he hadn't stopped to consider what Tommy truly wanted.

Later that evening, when Tommy returned home from his shift, Buck decided to broach the subject.

"Hey, babe," Buck started, as they settled on the couch after dinner. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

Tommy looked at him curiously. "Everything okay?"

Buck nodded, taking Tommy's hand in his. "Yeah, everything's great. I just...I just wanted to ask you about your birthday. Your 40th is a big deal, and I want to make sure we celebrate it in a way that makes you happy."

Tommy's expression was a mix of surprise and appreciation. "That's thoughtful of you, Ev. To be honest, I haven't given it much thought."

"Well," Buck continued, "how do you usually like to celebrate your birthday? Or how would you want to celebrate this one?"

Tommy was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "I haven't really celebrated my birthday in years, to be honest. If I'm on shift, there's usually a cake at work, but I've been alone on my birthday more often than not."

Buck felt his heart constrict at Tommy's words. The idea of Tommy spending his birthdays alone was painful to hear. Tommy deserved to be celebrated, to be surrounded by love and joy on his special day.

Trying to keep his voice steady, Buck asked, "What about your last milestone birthday? What did you do for your 30th?"

Tommy's face clouded over, a mix of pain and regret crossing his features. "I was at the 118 and I was an awful, closeted jerk. Honestly, I went to a gay bar, got drunk and hooked up with a guy. Then, I spent the rest of my birthday hating myself. It wasn't a great moment in my life, and definitely not a great birthday."

Buck reached out to his boyfriend, pulling Tommy into a tight embrace. He could feel the tension in Tommy's body, the pain leftover from those memories.

"I'm so sorry you went through that," Buck murmured, running a soothing hand up and down Tommy's back. "But you know what? That's not who you are anymore. You've come so far, and I'm so proud of you."

Tommy relaxed into Buck's embrace, his voice muffled against Buck's shoulder. "Thanks, baby. It means a lot to hear you say that."

As they held each other, Buck's mind was racing. He wanted more than ever to make this birthday special for Tommy, to create new, happy memories to replace the painful ones.

"Tommy," Buck said softly, pulling back slightly to meet his boyfriend's eyes. "I know you haven't had great birthdays in the past, but what if we changed that? This is your 40th. It's a chance for a fresh start, to create a celebration that truly reflects who you are now - the amazing, strong, out-and-proud man I fell in love with."

Tommy's eyes softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. "That sounds nice, actually. What did you have in mind?"

Buck grinned, his excitement building. "Well, that's what I want us to figure out together. This is your day, and I want it to be exactly what you want. Whether that's a big party with all our friends, a quiet dinner, or even a trip somewhere, whatever would make you happiest."

Tommy smiled, a warmth spreading through him at Buck's enthusiasm. "I guess I need to think about it. What did you do for your 30th?"

"Party with the 118 and then a camping trip with Eddie and Christopher," Buck replied. "It was great, but it was great for me...what would be great for you?" He paused, a new idea forming. "How about this? What was your favorite birthday as a kid?"

Tommy's eyes brightened at that, a nostalgic smile spreading across his face. "I guess it was my 10th birthday. It was before my mom got sick and before my dad started drinking. They woke me up and brought me a birthday cake in bed. Then we went to the go-kart track and then the art museum, just me, mom, dad, and my best friend Justin. Then for dinner, my mom cooked all my favorite foods and my grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins came over."

As Tommy spoke, Buck could see the joy in his eyes, could feel the happiness radiating from him as he recalled this precious memory. It struck Buck that this was perhaps the first time he'd seen Tommy so animated about a childhood memory.

"That sounds amazing, Tommy," Buck said softly, squeezing his hand. "What if we used that as inspiration? We could recreate some of those elements, but with our family now...the 118, my sister, your friends from Harbor. We could do something fun like go-karting, then maybe visit a museum or gallery you've been wanting to see. And for dinner, we could have a big family-style meal with all your favorites."

Tommy's eyes were shining now, a mix of emotion and excitement. "You'd do all that for me?"

Buck leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Tommy's lips. "Of course I would. You deserve to have a birthday that makes you feel as special and loved as you did when you were ten. And I want to be the one to give that to you."

Tommy pulled Buck into a tight hug. "Thank you, Ev. Just...thank you."

As they gazed at each other, both men felt a deep sense of gratitude. Despite only being together for five months, they both knew this was it for them.

"You know," Tommy said softly, his hand cupping Buck's cheek, " I have a feeling this is going to be my best birthday yet."

Buck leaned into Tommy's touch, his heart full. "That's the plan. And it's only the beginning." He paused, excitement bubbling up inside him. "How about we take a look at the calendar and start figuring out the details?"

Tommy nodded, a smile spreading across his face. "Sounds good to me."

Buck reached for his phone, pulling up the calendar app. They huddled close together, heads bent over the screen.

"Okay, so your birthday is on a...Thursday," Buck said, scrolling to the date. "That's only three weeks away. Do you think you can get the day off?"

Tommy nodded. "I should be able to. What about you?"

"I'll make it work," Buck assured him. "Now, for the celebration with everyone else, should we do it on the actual day or maybe the weekend after?"

"It's short notice," Tommy mused, "but I think if we reach out to everyone soon, we might be able to make it work for that Saturday."

Buck nodded. "Great idea. I'll start putting together a group text to check everyone's availability."

As they continued planning, jotting down ideas and making lists, both men felt a surge of excitement.

"So," Buck said with a grin, "go-karts first, or cake in bed?"

Tommy laughed, the sound warm and full of joy. "Definitely cake in bed. But only if you're there to share it with me."

Buck's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Of course, and you know I'd be willing to start off with some other bed stuff too. Birthday boy's choice," he said with a suggestive wink.

As they continued their planning, both men felt grateful for this moment and excited for what was to come.

While Tommy was in the kitchen getting them some water, Buck quickly pulled out his phone to text Maddie.

Buck: "I talked to him Mads. You were so right. I think he's gonna have a great birthday."

Maddie's response came almost immediately.

Maddie: "Well not to say I told ya so but..."

Buck rolled his eyes, but couldn't help smiling as he typed his reply.

Buck: "Yeah, yeah Maddie you're so wise, I should always listen to you."

Maddie: "Damn straight but in all seriousness what did you decide on?"

Buck glanced up as Tommy re-entered the room, a soft smile playing on his lips as he began to type out a response to his sister.

Buck: "We're planning a day that recreates his favorite childhood birthday. Go-karts, art museum, family dinner. It's going to be amazing. Thanks for pushing me to talk to him."

As he hit send, Tommy settled back onto the couch next to him.

"Everything okay?" Tommy asked, noticing Buck's phone.

Buck nodded, putting his phone away. "Just updating Maddie. She's excited to be part of your birthday celebration."

Tommy's eyes softened. "I'm glad she'll be there. I'm glad everyone will be there."

Buck leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Tommy's temple. "Me too. Now, where were we with the planning?"

As they dove back into the details, both men felt a renewed sense of excitement. This birthday wasn't just going to be a celebration of Tommy turning 40, it was going to be a celebration of new beginnings, of the family they'd found in each other and their friends, and of the love that had changed both their lives for the better.

[ysrjune]

what would teen dad scott be like when his pregnant girlfriend experienced morning sickness or other less comfortable and negative pregnancy symptoms ?? i love the way you write him, he’s so secretly sweet but outwardly to her and leo it’s so cute

morning sickness:

at first, when she still lives with her parents at the beginning of her pregnancy, Scott isn't there to comfort her. He sleeps in sort of late (like around 10ish), so he wakes up to a she's feeling.

But once she finally moves in, he's there to take care of her. He always has his trashcan on her side of the bed. When she throws up, he rubs her back and lightly taps it. "Let it all out. You're gonna be fine." He'll sleepily say at 2 in the morning while she's spilling her guts.

—

He massages her tender breasts with his hands. Before she got pregnant, doing that would turn him on and lead to other things, but after a few times of messaging, it didn't do anything. He did it without barley anything sexual running through his mind. He just wanted to make sure you felt better.

His large hands kneed into your breasts firmly to make them feel better. "Does that feel okay? am I being too rough?" He was cautious. More than ever. "It's good." You nod. Scott hums an answer and continues with his head resting just below your growing belly. He eventually falls asleep with his hands still on you.

Dealing with your attitude is one of his least favorite things, but to calm himself down, he tells himself that it's karma for his own attitude. Yours is more ignoring him and having an RBF while his is actually talking back and giving looks. He finds himself whining for you to talk to him instead of 'leaving him on heard.'

Scott was driving to the place where you were hosting the baby shower. His and your parents were already there since they decorated for you. He had rushed you because he didn't want to be late to his/your own party. He always hated people who did that. Your hair didn't turn out exactly the way you wanted it to, so you were pissed.

"Babe, I already said I'm sorry, alright?" He huffs, gazing at you and then back at the road. "Just ask your sister to do your hair at the reception. I know she has her curler or whatever. There's outlets there, it'll be fine." But you didn't answer. He was starting to worry just a little bit. Why did he have to make you mad today of all days. Today was supposed to be special and he was blowing it.

"Say something, please. I don't want us to be mad at each other today. We're supposed to be happy today. You know.. celebrating our baby." He pouts. Still no response. ".. Do you wanna pass by Starbucks and get a drink?" And suddenly you started talking again. "Is the sky blue." You roll your eyes. "That's my girl." Scott smirks and pulls up to the driveway of the store. Everything was great after that.

He hates being at school instead of with you. He knows that you aren't gonna break if you're by yourself, but lately, he's been searching up a bunch of pregnancy stuff on the internet. He has a fear that one day you'll slip and fall on your stomach and something happens to you and the baby, so he texts you literally every hour.

@bxbyysstuff @anakinstwinklebunny @lovethestarrs @valloos @anisangeldust @xo-yaaaaaasxo @anakinca @dollfilmz @alexlovesysrjune @sockiess @sythethecarrot @speaknow-sw @loveamira @alealuvshayden @mvst4far

[detectivestucks]

Marked for You Pt. 5

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Kakashi x F!Reader

Summery: In a heated confrontation, you run away from your feelings for Kakashi and head towards a healthier bond with Jin. Over Kakashi's dead body.

Warnings: Light bondage.

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: The side quest continues but we're getting to the good stuff! Hooray! If you've sent a request, I swear I haven't forgotten about it, I'm just being self-indulgent. Sorry!

Reader Request I Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4

The shouting, the fighting, the heat. You touch your lips for the twentieth time today. Ugh, what is it about Kakashi that sticks to the walls of your mind like chewing gum? The way he pushes your buttons? The way he attempts to own you? Or the way he claims your mouth like a damned god?

You can still feel his fingers in your hair and his chest against your breasts. The memory of his scent and taste linger in your senses. Recalling it brings tingles throughout your body and makes the fabric of your bra extra uncomfortable against your peaks. 

I need a distraction. 

You whip out your phone and tap out a message to ‘Matcha Man’. Despite everything that went wrong this morning, one thing decidedly went right, and that is the cute guy who ordered a cinnamon bun and matcha did in fact see your number on the cup and texted you back. 

It turns out his name is Jin and he too is a recent refugee to the leaf. His city was raided a few weeks after yours and he’s been here at the leaf ever since. Like a high school girl, you text him nonstop between shifts, even going as far as making plans when you get off tomorrow. 

Rolling from your stomach onto your back, you stretch atop the bed allowing your phone to fall on your chest. Unlike Kakashi, who leaves you riddled with anxiety, Jin brings you butterflies. He’s the breath of fresh air you didn’t realize you needed till you got it. 

The next day, after your shift, you dash home and shuck off your black pants and blue bakery t-shirt, trading the ensemble for a white milkmaid dress with jade green floral print adorning the entirety of the fabric. Brown strappy sandals decorate your feet with your dark green painted nails poking out the peek-a-boo toe. Quickly, you pull up your hair, creating an effortless messy bun with plenty of loose curls and face-framing pieces. After admiring yourself in the mirror, you allow yourself to squeal excitedly before clearing your throat and collecting your elegance. You snag a brown clutch purse that matches your sandals and deposit your essentials inside before slipping out the door to head off to your date. 

As you turn the latch to your front door a tiny dog keychain swings into the wooden frame, making you pause. It’s the keychain Kakashi gave you. Naruto said it’s of his ninja hound, Pakkun. Apparently, Naruto has one too. It’s Kakashi’s discreet way of marking the important people in his life. 

With a quick shake of your head you clear your mind of any soulmate talk and head down to the first floor toward an afternoon of romance. Feet flying down the stairs, suddenly an arm swings out and catches you at the waist, hauling you backwards onto the landing. 

“What the-hey!”

“You are not meeting up with another man dressed like that!”

From the labor in his breath, Kakashi is seething with anger. 

“There is nothing wrong with my outfit.”

“Except that every man who looks at you will be eye-fucking you.”

“Ugh, It doesn’t matter what I wear. I could be dressed in a burlap sack and I’m sure some man somewhere would ‘eye-fuck’ me. What’s the point of not allowing myself to wear clothes I actually feel good in?” 

“The point is who you’re wearing them for!”

“As in, not for you.”

“As in for suspicious men who show up to the village only a few weeks ago.”

“Sooo not for you. Got it. And don’t forget I only showed up at the village a few weeks ago. Am I suspicious too?”

“Of course not. You’re my future wife.”

The speed at which you throw a balled-up fist at Kakashi’s face surprises even you. But unfortunately, Kakashi catches the blow and twists your arm behind your back. 

“Cancel the date.”

“No!”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“Make me.”

As high as your heart fluttered only moments ago, your stomach drops an equal amount at the sound of the Copy Ninja’s laugh. You’re whisked away, thrown over his shoulder, kicking and screaming, all the way back to your apartment and to your bedroom where he dumps you on the bed. 

You continue to struggle against him when he pins you down by straddling you. He pulls a wad of rope from his tactical pouch and binds your wrists together before anchoring them to your headboard. 

You writhe against your bonds, kicking wildly when he decides to eliminate your feet's threat by winding rope around each of your ankles and restraining them by the legs of your bed. 

Completely immobilized, Kakashi takes a moment to admire you before fishing through your purse for your cell. The ninja somehow knows your passcode and opens your phone, sending a message to Jin about ‘feeling ill after work.’ 

“You’re a fucking psychopath! You have no right!” You’re fuming from between his legs as you watch him discard your phone, casually dropping it on the bed by your waist. 

“It’s a shame we have to be so hostile towards each other.” He says as his fingers casually trace the sides of your body. The light touch sends sparks flying against your skin. “And here I thought we made progress yesterday.”

“That was a mistake.” You shoot out with venom, your words gaining rebellion the more your insides twist with want at feeling the pressure of him on top of you. The vulnerability of your body tethered below him milks your libido, leaving slick arousal at the base of your folds. Your body once more doing the opposite of what you want. 

His eyes drink you in while his hands openly explore your figure. “You’re so beautiful. You have no idea the restraint it’s taking not to kiss you right now.” The desperation you feel must be evident in your eyes because a small smirk is visible from beneath his mask. “Unless, you want me to kiss you. Am I reading you correctly?” 

His right hand slides up your side again, his thumb brushing over your nipple, which he finds erect. “She does want a kiss. My oh my”

You squirm in your bonds, trying to evade the situation but no amount of mental gymnastics can numb this ache. Continuing to wiggle, your legs are dying to rub together, anything to relieve the sudden need building in your core. 

Kakashi lowers himself, laying down on top of you and slots his hardened manhood against your folds. You sharply inhale and tilt your hips so as to better angle yourself as you mindlessly rut against him. 

His pointer finger tugs at the edge of his mask, pulling it down to reveal his gorgeous face. Your eyes become saucers, absorbing his beauty as he lowers his lips and presses them against yours. An involuntary moan slips into his mouth as you drag yourself against him while tangling his lips with yours. You feel electric and bound to him, circling your hips in pace with your tongue, slowly tugging up the hem of your dress with each drag against his groin. 

His mouth wanders to your neck. Each light, worshiping kiss, has you soaking through your thin underwear, making a mess and smearing it onto Kakashi’s pants. 

His grip on you becomes fierce, his hand traveling lower so he can explore your center and play with your slit. Something you desperately want, except... the invasive touch snaps you back to reality. 

“Wait! Stop!”

Kakashi freezes. 

“We’re not doing this. Let me go.”

He looks at you with so much desire you can nearly see flames in his pupils. “I’ll stop but I can’t let you go.”

“What?!”

“I won’t risk you meeting up with Jin and finishing what we started.”

“Last I checked you were the slut.”

“Last I checked, I hadn’t slept with a woman in over a year.”

“Wait, what? You never…”

“No, I didn’t. Anyways, I’ll be back before your shift to untie you.”

“Wha- hey! WHAT?! YOU’LL BE BACK??? UNTIE ME NOW!”

“See you later, mystery girl.”

“KAKASHI GET BACK HERE NOW!”

You watch as he walks towards the door, longing and mischief both lingering on his features as he slips out. You’re screaming at him the entire time, hurling insults you’re sure he doesn’t hear cause he’s long gone. 

You swear at the empty room and pledge you’re going to get even. Screams of how unacceptable this is wail through the walls. You promise you’ll never be his, especially not after a move like this. 

Unfortunately though, your voice grows hoarse and you quiet down even though your mind doesn’t. Still seething, you wonder what he means by he hasn’t slept with a girl in over a year. Did he not actually go home with Jasmine? Or is he lying? 

It doesn’t matter. You’ll never forgive him this stunt anyways. 

I saw all I could handle today. Just watching the way she smiled as she texted Jin and the happiness in her face as she dolled herself up for some other man was enough to make me sick. Shaking, nauseating, illness. One I feel physically. I can’t imagine the rock in the pit of my stomach had I allowed her to actually go on that date. 

I had to do it. I had to. I know I should feel bad about tying her up but her anger is better than watching her run into Jin’s greedy arms. Plus I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t slightly fun. She’s not going to forgive this one though, even if she did beg me with those beautiful eyes for another kiss. 

I groan just thinking about it. Part of me wonders if I can slip in one more before I release her. If I bring her a little frosting and lick it out of her mouth, will she respond to me the way she did yesterday? 

Probably not. I really screwed over my chances with her this time. I don’t know what comes over me when I’m close to her. I’ve never been this way before. I’ve never cared like this. I’ve never been jealous. I’ve never even been inclined to pursue a relationship until now. What about her makes me respond this way? That soulmark is a power of its own.

I swear the gods did this to me as a test and I am failing on every level. She is all I think about. When I’m between missions I crouch in the tree outside her apartment, watching her through the window. When she’s at work I can’t stop my feet from walking into the little bakery. She has no clue how in control of the situation she is. My rope might physically be knotted around her limbs but even now she has the tighter grip. 

The sun’s low in the sky and it’s time to allow my princess to get ready for her second shift. I let myself into her apartment where she immediately begins yelling at the sound of the latch unlocking. 

“How could you do this to me, Kakashi?! This is SO over the line and I’m going to be late!”

“You’re not going to be late. I’ll make sure you have plenty of time.” 

“If I were anyone else I’d say fuck you”

“I believe you just did.”

“And then I’d go to the police.”

“Are you?”

She looks at me with fire in her eyes. I see the red around her wrists and know she was tugging at her restraints for a long time, silly girl. Casually I walk to her bathroom and grab a tube of ointment before sitting on the edge of the bed and undoing the first tie around her ankle.

Immediately she kicks at me. If it were any other man she might’ve landed the blow, but I’m no ordinary man. Instead, I catch her foot in my grip and pull her it into my lap. Using light pressure, I rub a dollop of ointment into her rope burn and massage the area. Her curses die down but the anger on her face is still there. I undo her other foot and repeat the process, giving both feet a gentle massage before I move to her wrists. 

I lean over her, fingers bracing the knots I made, now tighter from her struggles. “I’m sorry.” I whisper as I work. “I can’t handle the idea of you with someone else. I’m not ready to see that.”

“It’s not up to you when I move on.” Her tone is critical but calm. She seems mildly disarmed by my apology.

“I know. I’ve just never done this before.”

“Clearly.” the bite in her words hits me hard.

“I need you to give this a chance. Please, try. If you hate it, then I’ll leave you alone but I can’t move on until I know we’ve given us a fair shot.”

As her wrists are sprung free, I grasp her hands, sitting her up and pulling her arms into my lap so I may apply the ointment and massage them just like I did her feet. 

While she’s no longer struggling under my touch, she’s still clearly upset. I can’t blame her. 

“That’s not how this works. You can’t force me to move at your pace. You can’t stop me from dating and you certainly can’t tie me up just cause you don’t like my actions.”

“You’ve clearly never tangoed with a former Anbu captain before.”

“Until now.” Her half smile steals my breath. My eyes drops to her lips, so beautiful and full. The pink at their center has me pining in a way I didn’t know was possible. I want to taste them again, feel their warmth. Twice isn’t enough. I want them all the time. I’m not sure there is a way to satiate this thirst that comes everytime I’m near her. 

“You want to kiss me again.”

“Excruciatingly.”

Her hands lift from my grasp. “I need to get ready for work.”

Disappointed, I stand up and head to the kitchen while she slips out of her milkmaid dress and into work attire. While she changes and fixes her bed head, I rummage through her kitchen and pack a lunch for her.  She comes out of her room just as I finish tying the napkin around it.

“What’re you doing?”

“Making sure you’re fed.”

“I could’ve been fed already if you hadn’t tied me up.” She doesn’t shout but her agitation is very evident on her face. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Not truly. I’m positive that you’ll do it to me again the next time I try to go on a date.”

My eye twitches at her statement. 

“Knew it.”

I reach out my hand. “Come on, let’s get you to work.” 

She looks at my palm like it’s diseased and walks to the door, opening it before stepping through. I follow behind her. 

“Seriously, I’m going to be late.”

“Seriously, I’ll make sure you’re not.” 

I lock her door from the outside and scoop her up in my arms before bolting to her job. Her hands are tight around my neck and I can tell she is scared but I know her anxiety about getting to work on time is winning the battle over her hatred for me so I soak in her closeness as long as I can.

 We arrive at the back door of the shop with plenty of time to spare and I set her down. The lunch I made for her is still clutched in her hands and she looks at it with interest, excited to finally grab a bite of something to eat. 

“Kakashi?”

Her accent sounds especially beautiful when she says my name; I hope to hear her say it more. “Yes?”

“Today crossed a line, a big one." she looks at me hesitant, "I need space.”

A sharp pain radiates through my chest and she sees my broken features for what they are. 

“I’m not going to scream and shout cause that doesn’t work with you but I need you to find a way to respect this wish.”

I don’t want to do it. I want to tell her no. I want to force her to stay by my side but maybe honoring this will get her to see I’m serious about her, about us.

“Promise me you’ll come when you’re ready.”

“Wha- I- don’t know if I’ll ever be.”

“Promise anyways.” There’s pain in my eyes, I know it. I can see it reflected in her’s. 

“Fine. I promise.”

It hurts all the same but at least there may be hope. I pull her into a hug, her body stiff against mine. After a few moments she begins to relax, that is, until the sound of another ninja lands next to us.

“Captain.” My hold on her loosens.

“Yamato.”

“Lady Hokage wishes to see you.”

“Understood.”

Then my comrade turns to my girl, “And you ma’am, when you’re done with your shift, she’d like to see you too.”

“Do you know what it’s about?”

“It’s best if she explains it to you. To both of you.”

“Both of us?” I ask. 

In response, Tenzo nods. My gaze darts over to the eyes of my princess then back towards him, my grip on her tightening just the slightest. 

“It’ll be okay” I lie “It’s probably nothing. Have a good shift, I’ll see you after.”

She gives me a half baked smile, “So much for space.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure once we’re done, you can have all the space from me you want.”

She gives me a sideways glance and a laugh. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. It’s unbecoming of a captain.”

“But perfectly in keeping with a ninja.”

She withdrawals from my embrace and I feel noticeably cold, like all the warmth in my body left with the absence of her touch. The pang in my chest comes back but I shove it down and instead look towards my friend. “Okay, let’s go.”

It’s scary. You always assumed Kakashi was easy to read till now. Before your shift he lied to you. You could tell how uneasy he felt about hearing both of you were being summoned to the Hokage’s office but when he turned to you to tell you nothing was wrong, he was so convincing. If Kakashi wanted to, he could completely mislead you. Up until now he’s been transparent with you by choice. He has intentionally not hidden his feelings. Why does this revelation surprise you? He’s a ninja; he probably goes on covert missions all the time. But still, it was unnerving to watch, to see him so blatantly and convincingly dishonest. 

You find yourself lost in thought the rest of your shift, dreading the eventual end where you’d lock up shop and head to the Hokage’s office. At no point had you anticipated going back there. But here you are, pulling the burglar gate shut and striding towards the looming headquarters building in the dark. Each step fills you with unease while your mind runs wild with ideas.

Once inside, you follow the signs towards the circular office you recall from your first day in the village. Last time you were here you felt hope of finding true love, now you feel dread. As your footsteps tread towards the office, you hear whispering voices. Kakashi seems worried and Lady Tsunade seems stern. 

“You’ve made enemies, Kakashi. You killed half of the gang, the remaining members want revenge.”

“Why do they want her?”

“Word of her soulmark made it out of the village. Getting to her is the best way to get to you.”

Unsure, your hand hovers over the doornob, debating at which point to make your entrance, however the wolf can smell your scent from the other side of the door. 

“She’s here.”

Kakashi gently opens the door for you to enter. As he does so, your eyes meet, locking together in silence before you step inside.

“Welcome.” Lady Hokage calls your name and greets you, however, you waste no time with pleasantries as the gravity of what you overheard starts to sink in.

“So I’m a target now!” Sudden panic floods your veins. 

“I’m sorry.” His words are low, the deep tenor of them resonating in your core.

“We’re not even dating! We have nothing to do with each other.” Your eyes dart back and forth between Kakashi and Lady Fifth.

“I know.” Kakashi whispers, he doesn’t hide the sadness in his voice. Why does it cut through you like a knife? Why does it rake you with guilt? He’s the one who tied you up hours ago.

“It seems the Ishikozume don’t care if you’re actually dating. They know the power of a soulmark.”

“This is foolishness! There is no power in a soulmark; it’s just a dumb birthmark!”

Tsunade ignores you, finding your argument unconvincing and unimportant, “Kakashi, you will not leave her side till the last of the Ishikozume are dealt with.”

A rare look of surprise crosses his features. 

“Is that really necessary?!” you complain.

“Lady Fifth, wouldn’t it be best for me to go to the Ishikozume rather than wait for them to come to us?”

“We have a unit from the Foundation that is already dispatched to deal with the remaining trio. In the meantime she needs protection. I’m sure she’d feel better staying with someone she knows over staying with someone she doesn’t.”

You remain quiet, looking at Kakashi while considering her words.

“I hardly doubt she agrees with that.” he says, trying hard to win your favor by respecting your earlier agreement to space.

“Actually I do.”

Both of them fall silent and turn to you.

“I don’t want some stranger standing in my home while I’m asleep. I know you and I trust you… at least enough not to rob me.”

He snorts, “You think that little of me?” You playfully shrug back to which he rolls his eyes. “Fine, but if I’m doing this, I’m doing it fully. I’m not letting you out of my sight. You hear me? I don’t half ass my assignments.”

“Fine.” you turn your attention to Lady Tsunade who is smiling approvingly.

“I’ll send word of any developments. Kakashi, go to your home and pack a bag. You’re staying with her until this business is finished.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Kakashi turns to face you, “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“You’re going to make me walk home alone?”

“You want to come?” the surprise in his voice makes you blush.

“It’s not that I want to…”

“Okay lovebirds, you can finish this conversation elsewhere. It’s Saturday and I want to go. Get out of here”

“We’re not love birds!”

She waives a dismissive hand, “Whatever you are, I need my office back before I leave.”

Annoyed, you march out of her office with Kakashi hot on your heels. “Do you plan on taking me to my own home?”

“No.”

“You sure? You’re walking awfully fast.”

“Like I know where you live.”

“Do you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then mind if I lead?” You come to a stop and allow him to pass. “Thank you.”

There’s a bit of indignation in your gut. Fate is responsible for this, right? It’s trying to force you together but is this really the work of the soulmark or just the actions of men? This is nothing more than a crazy coincidence designed to make you believe in fanciful nonsense.

The two of you walk towards the edge of town. Kakashi’s home is a modest building but much too large for just one man. 

“You live here by yourself?”

“Yes. It belonged to my parents.”

“Where do they live now?”

Kakashi doesn’t answer at first. He turns away and then pivots his chin in the direction of the memorial yard. “In a better place than this.”

Understanding sinks your heart, pulling down on it like a weight. You know what that’s like. Your parents died in a village raid when you were sixteen. The world can be a harsh place. We just have to keep moving forward cause if we don’t, life will consume us.

“I’m sorry. It’s not easy being on your own.”

“No it’s not. but...that’s why we build new families.”

Your head rises, “and you? Have you built a new family?”

“Team 7. They’re my family.”

“Naruto and Sakura?”

“You know them?”

“Well yeah, you know that. Sakura admitted me when I first fled to the Leaf. She’s the one who discovered, you know.” Kakashi nods. “And Naruto is my neighbor, plus he came to my shop almost every day my first week. He calls me the Sweet Lady.”

Your Copy Ninja’s shoulders bounce with laughter. “That sounds like Naruo. You know he calls his Master, ‘Pervy Sage.’”

“He does not!”

“Unfortunately, he does. One of the most respected ninja of all time, reduced to the word Pervy.”

The fit of giggles that overcomes you has you sinking onto the nearby pillow as you take a seat. Maybe it’s the anxiety, maybe it’s actually funny but you can’t stop laughing. The heart that thunders in Kakashi’s chest swells watching you. “You know he even calls Lady Fifth, Grandma Tsunade?”

“Stop! There’s no way that terrifying lady lets a little punk like Naruto get away with that!”

Kakashi can’t remember the last time his lips stretched this wide. Maybe it was when he was messing with his team, pretending to be a photographer, but making you laugh, it’s his new favorite thing. You continue to break out into spontaneous fits of giggles upon each recall of the new information about Naruto while Kakashi packs.

However, anxious to get out of his own home and lock you inside yours, Mr. Hatake quickly gathers spare clothing, and his usual ninja tools. Meanwhile you take the initiative to pack the contents of his fridge and pantry. If he’s going to be living with you, there’s no sense allowing good food to go to waste. You’re both finished within a half hour and are trekking back into town, to your lackluster apartment next to Naruto.

“Here it is, home sweet home.”

“At least your place looks much better than Naruto’s.”

“I should hope so; I keep a tidy home.”

“Fair. Naruto’s been known to store his milk on the kitchen table.”

“Remind me never to eat at his place.”

“My job is to keep you safe. I’d never allow that on my watch.”

You smile at him. He’s funny. Since when is he funny? 

“So, uh, where do you want me to sleep?”

Your smile drops into a scowl. “The couch obviously.” That hopeful little question annoys you, especially after the afternoon you’ve had because of him. “Did you seriously think you could tie me to the bed half the day and then hours later join me in it for the night?”

“Don’t be like that. You can’t seriously blame me for trying.” That smirk under his mask is devilishly handsome making your mood all the more sour.

“I can and I will.”

He approaches you. “Look, I’m sorry. I know you wanted space and now you have the opposite of that. As soon as this gang is dealt with, I’ll give you what you ask.”

“I appreciate that.” the bite is still in your tone however you soften with your next words, “But can I be honest about something?”

“Of course.”

“I’m scared, Kakashi, really scared. These people destroyed my village. I’ve seen what three of them can do to an entire town and now three more are coming after me. How am I supposed to carry on like I’m not a dead woman walking?”

“You're most certainly not a dead woman walking. They’re not going to touch you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you have me.”

“As I recall, you’re the reason I’m in this mess.”

Your guardian visibly shrinks at your honesty, yet it doesn’t stop him from straightening up and rubbing soothing circles around your biceps and shoulders. “This gang is good, but I’m better. I know you’re not familiar with the shinobi world so my qualifications ring hollow to you. But when I tell you my name means something to our enemies, it means something. I’ve already killed three men from this gang single-handedly. I can do it again.”

“Wait, you killed three of them by yourself?”

“Yes, and for you I’d kill twenty more. They’re not getting past me and they’re not touching a hair on your head.”

You stare up at him, focusing on his uncovered eye. The conviction of his words holds your rising panic at bay. Until now you’ve been trying to keep the internal battle of terror and PTSD from exploding out. However, for the first time today, you feel a tinge of comfort and at the hands of Kakashi no less. The way he stares at you has you believing the entire reason for this man's existence is to protect you. He's going to make it his reason for breathing by the looks of it.

“Okay then.” You’re not sure what to follow it up with so you choose to change the subject entirely. “I need to get to bed. I have work at 4 and we’re past my bedtime. Do you need anything before I go shower?”

“Some towels for when I go after you're done?”

“I’ll set some out.” 

“Thank you.”

Your eyes linger on him as you turn towards your bedroom. You want to speak to him, say something, but you’re not sure what. You feel this swirl of emotions inside of you. Today’s been such a confusing day. You still hate him but you’re starting to admit to yourself that he might, possibly, not be that bad…potentially. 

You’re at the bakery when you feel the tremors in the ground. It’s just like last time. Ingredients gyrating off the counter, baking sheets vibrating on the cooling racks, and sirens across the village ring. 

They’re here. But this time they’re here for you. Oh gods, where's Kakashi? How could he leave you alone? He swore to protect you. So what if you got into a stupid fight this morning? Doesn’t he know you don’t mean it when you tell him to go away?

Just as you’re ready to go searching for him a cold hand closes around your throat. 

“Don’t move.”

You gasp, shooting to an upright position. Your hands claw at your neck searching for the phantom fingers as you pant in your bed. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it was a dream, it wasn’t real. You try to get it together but suddenly you don’t feel safe inside your own bedroom so you head out to the living room where Kakashi’s asleep on the couch. 

Your eyes dart up to the door that he’s picked open several times and you notice he had the good sense to barricade it with a chair angled into the knob. Seeing his attention to detail helps soothe your sprinting thoughts but your hand still reaches towards your column, looking for the cold grip of a nonexistent reality. Padding back to your room you grab your pillow and blanket and tred back to the couch where you create a makeshift nest on the floor beside Kakashi’s sleeping silhouette. 

The man rouses slightly from his slumber, enough to brush your hair, which is all the reassurance you need that he’ll wake to save you from an attack. With that knowledge, you close your eyes, your mind finally able to drift back to dreamland but this time, there are no dreams to be had, just nothingness, a welcome relief.

Masterlist I Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4

Tagslist:

@hoohamaru @watasinekoru @blueeclipsepaperstudent @readingcatinacorner @tanyaspartak @liyry @mutsu422 @longlivegojo @jjjbtori @blondenaruto @torasshu-sama

[doctorgirlsblog]

Ghost From The Past (MV x OC!)

Chapter 5: Pain

Note: @kinzy-shelby you asked, and you shall recieve. Hope you like it!

Beatrice arrived at the hospital, her chest tight with anxiety. She rushed to the reception desk, slamming her hand on the polished surface, startling the older nurse seated there. ''Sorry,'' she gasped, her voice rushed and breathless. ''I need to see Max Verstappen. Car accident. I'm his...'' She trailed off, the words hanging in the air. What was she to him now? A friend? A collegue? Ex girlfriend?

She jolted as a warm hand covered hers. The older nurse offered a gentle, sympathetic smile. ''You zoned out, dear. It's alright. Let me take you to him.''

Beatrice let out a shaky breath she hadn't realised she was holding, nodding her head in silent agreement. She followed the nurse, noticing they bypassed the general wards, heading directly towards a set of mechanically sealed doors marked

''No Access: Intensive Care Unit''.

She was guided into a small changing room, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling her nostrils. A green gown was pressed into her trembling hands, and she was instructed to cover her hair with a cap. Her fingers fumbled with the ties, her mind racing with fear.

Finally dressed, the nurse scanned her ID badge, the door hissed open, and Beatrice was lead into a silent, sterile hallway. The silence was heavy.

They stopped before a door with a small sign that read ''Private Patient''. The nurse turned to Beatrice, her expression gentle but grave.

''Before you go in, sweetie, there are a couple of things you should now,'' she said softly. ''He had a very bad crash. Several broken ribs, a punctured left lung. Severe concussion, and we're still running tests for potential brain damage. He is currently on life support, in a coma.''

The words hit her like a train, the hallway spinning around her. Coma. The word echoed in the sudden silence that had fallen within her own mind. Her breath hitched, a sharp, painful intake of air. His image, vibrant and alive, just hours ago in the cafe was about to be shattered by his lifeless figure she was about to see. Her legs felt unsteady, threatening to buckle beneath her. She gripped the nurse's arm for support, her knuckles white against the green fabric. ''Can...can I still see him?'' she managed to whisper, her voice barely audible. The nurse nodded gently, her eyes filled with compassion. ''Of course, dear. Take your time. He can probably hear you, even if he can't respond.'' She placed a reassuring hand on Beatrice's arm. ''Just..be prepared. It can and it will be a shock.''

With a deep breath, Beatrice nodded again, her gaxe fixed on the closed door. The nurse offered a small smile and then gently pushed the door open.

The room was dimly lit, filled with the soft hum and rhythmic beeping of machines. Her eyes immediately fell on the figure lying still in the centre of the bed. He was pale, his face bruised and swollen, an oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose. Wires snaked from his chest and arms, connecting him to the various monitors that displayed flickering numbers and tracing lines.

A wave of nausea washed over her, a mix of shock, guilt and grief. She took a hesitant step into the room, her feet feeling heavy. The nurse followed her in, pointing to the chair beside the bed. ''You can sit here, dear. Stay as long as you need.'' Then she left, leaving Beatrice alone with the silent, still figure of the man who had once been everything, and then nothing, and now..this.

Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out a hand, her fingers trembling as they hovered just above his. She wasn't sure if she should touch him, if she even had the right to.

Finally, she gently brushed her fingertips against the back of his hand. His skin was cold. There was no response, no movement.

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. The carefully constructed walls she had built around her heart after their painful separation finally crumbled completely, shattered by the sight of him lying so fragile and broken.She pulled the chair closer to the bedside and sank into it, her gaze never leaving his still face. ''Max,'' she whispered, her voice shaky. ''Oh, my God.''

She didn't know what to say, what she hoped he might hear. She stayed like that for a long time, just watching him, her hand never leaving his.

The door opened quietly, and a doctor entered, a clipboard with test results in his hand, expression stoic and professional. He approached the bed, his gaze flicking between the monitors and the papers in his hand. ''His condition remains critical,'' he stated, his voice calm. ''The brain trauma is severe. It could be a long time..if he wakes up at all. Chances are low, Miss.''

She fell back into the chair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

''You."

Beatrice's eyes widened, and she quickly wiped the tears away, composing herself with a visible effort before turning around.

"Kelly, hello. I just came to see how he is. I'll leave you two alone now." She stood up, a sad smile playing on her lips, going past Kelly when she felt a sharp hold on her arm.

"Stop pretending. I know everything." Kelly's voice was tight, laced with both a raw, wounded anger that made her hand tremble and a profound sadness, like a girl suddenly betrayed. Beatrice felt her heart skip a painful beat, but she tried not to let it show on her face. "Kelly, I really don't understand."

Kelly gave a short, humorless laugh. "Of course you do. Just a sponsor, no shit. I found the photo." Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. "You two. Looooong time ago." And she slapped the creased picture in question against Beatrice's chest.

Beatrice pulled it up with shaky hands, her gaze flickering nervously towards Kelly before settling on the image. The edges of the print were softened with age and handling, and a familiar crease ran across the middle, a testament to countless anxious unfoldings. On it, undeniably clear to anyone who looked, were Max and Beatrice. He was looking directly into the camera, a bright, carefree smile illuminating his face, his right hand possessively around her waist, as she gazed up at him, her young eyes glinting with happiness. She remembered the warmth of his hand pressing into her side, the sound of his easy laughter just moments before the picture was taken – a silly post-race celebration after a junior victory, the cheap, fizzy champagne they'd shared tasting like pure joy.

"Where did you get this?" she muttered, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes still glued to the captured moment.

"From his bed drawer." Kelly's voice was flat, defeated.

Beatrice felt a sharp pierce in her heart, a sudden, agonizing pang of guilt. A memory flashed through her mind – their conversation from hours ago, when he finally told her the truth and she didn't believe him, leaving, eager to maintain her carefully constructed distance.

He hadn't lied. Max hadn't lied. And she had dismissed him, pushed him away, and now he lay here, unreachable in a coma. Oh God.

Her head snapped towards the bed, her gaze locking onto his still form, tears already welling and rapidly spilling down her face.

"I didn't deserve this. I was only-"

Kelly kept speaking, her words a muffled drone in Beatrice's ears. The blood rushed to her head, a dizzying wave washing over her. She swayed on her feet, the frantic drumming of her heartbeat echoing in her ears. She clutched at the cold metal railing of his bed, her knuckles white as she supported her falling body, taking a ragged, shaky breath.

Max is gone. She had let him go. Max didn't lie to her.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

First it was weeks, then months, then years. They all came and went, blending into the silence of his hospital room.

His 28th birthday, the colorful cards from his friends and colleagues all carefuly arranged on the bedside table, the only sign of color in the otherwise white room. Beatrice had brought a small, unlit birthday candle stuck in a muffin. She sat beside him, her voice a low murmur as she recounted old memories, her fingers interwined with his almost cold hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His 29th, another year gone, marked by the same damned silence. This time, his mom brought a small cake, singing a muted ''Happy Birthday'' with Beatrice. Lily, already big, toddled around his bed, babbling softly. Beatrice watched them, taking photo of Lily reaching for his hand, adding it to the growing collection. Her nanny would gently coax her away after a while. Kelly, though not coming anymore after finding out about the two, ensured Lily's visits, wanting her daughter to know her father, even if in this state.

Beatrice adored Lily. The little girl's wide, innocent blue eyes and soft blonde hair were a carbon copy of Max, reminding her almost every day of what could have been.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three decades. A milestone that should have been marked with celebration, with laughter and fiest. Instead, Beatrice sat alone with him for a long stretch, the single ''30'' baloon beside her. She brought his favourite tiramisu, eating a small bite out of it, feeling a single tear trace a path down her cheek. She spoke to him, about past, present, about the plans that she had. His mother still came when she could, often accompanied by his sister. And Lily, of course, when she wasn't away with her mother.

Yet Beatrice, never missed a single day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Year's Eves were spent with the quiet hum of a melancholic melodies playing in the background, a soft kiss pressed to his still forehead at the stroke of midnight, her fingers tracing the rough stubble on his cheek with a tenderness born of regret and a lingering love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When his 31st birthday arrived, the weight of the lost years finally crashed down on her, and she finally allowed herself to break. The sterile white of the hospital room seemed to amplify her grief, each passing beep of the monitor a stark reminder of his suspended life. She buried her face in his mother's shoulder, the older woman's embrace offering a small measure of comfort as Beatrice mourned someone who still lived, yet felt so irrevocably lost.

"I don't know what to do anymore. I'm just so tired…" she confessed, the words a choked whisper, feeling a fraction of the immense weight on her chest finally lifting in the shared grief.

His mother held her tighter, stroking her hair gently. "You're doing everything you can, my dear. You've never left him. He will find his way back to you."

Will he though?

The silent question hung heavy in the air, unanswered and uncertain.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

As the first snow slowly covered Monaco, painting the world in a soft, silent white, she sat beside Max, reading aloud from one of her favourite books. Suddenly, a subtle change flickered across the monitor displaying his brain activity. A slight spike.

Beatrice froze, the book slipping from her grasp and falling silently to the floor. She starred at the screen, her own heart pounding frantically against her ribs. She pressed the call button, nurses arriving quickly, calling for a doctor as they led her out of the room.

After what seemed like an eternity, the doctor stepped outside, a small, hopeful smile playing on his lips. ''There has been a change,'' he confirmed, his voice low. ''A slight increase in neurological activity. It's still very minimal, but it's ...the beginning.''

She let out a shaky breath. Four years. Could this be the first sign? After all this desperate time, flicker of hope ignited within her, a tiny spark in the long darkness.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

When the last snow melted and the first flowers bloomed, Max squinted his eyes at the sun coming through the open window. There, beside the table, sat a silhouette of a woman, looking outside, her back turned to him. He opened his mouth to say something, but his throat felt tight with soreness. What came out was a single cough, which was enough to make her gaze snap back to him, eyes widening in suprise. She rushed over to him, looking at him with a shcok and a relief. It was first then that Max realised it was Beatrice. Yet, she looked...different, somehow. She couldn't have aged in a couple of days, could she?

She said nothing as she pushed a glass against his lips, allowing him to sip the water and regain his voice.

When he was done, she left before he had a chance to say something, doctors and nurses rushing inside. Max was confused. What happened? Why was everyone looking at him like that?

The last thing he remembered was...a sharp pain, the screech of tires. The accident.

The doctors spoke in hushed tones, their words a jumble of medical jargon that he failed to understand. Coma. Brain trauma. Years. His legs. What? They left as quickly as they came, charts in hands, leaving him even more confused with a growing sense of dread settling in his stomach.

He looked to the door, where she stood hesitantly, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

She took hesitant steps forward, coming to his bedside.

''Max,'' she said softly, her voice a little rough. He tried to speak, but his throat was still sore. He managed a weak, raspy, ''Bea?''

Her eyes welled up. ''Yes, Max. It's me.''

A thousand questions flooded his mind, but the words caught in his throat. He looked around the room, taking in all the cards and flowers with ballons. ''What..what happened?'' he finally managed, his voice barely a whisper.

Beatrice hesitated, her gaze flickering away for a moment before returning to his. ''You were in an accident. A bad one. It's..been a while.''

''How long?'' The question hung in the air.

She took a deep breath. ''Four years, Max.''

Four years. Silence took over the room, pressind down on his chest until he felt like he couldn't breathe at all. He tried to get up, to move away from that damn bed, but his body remained stubbornly still.

''My legs..why can't I move my legs??!!'' he exclaimed, his voice raising in panic. ''What the fuck is going on?!''

Beatrice's face paled, her eyes widening with a fresh wave of distress. She already knew, but she hadn't known how to tell him.

''Max,'' she began, her voice trembling slighlty as she reached for his hand. ''You..you were badly injured. There was a spinal cord damage.''

He kept silent, trying to move his legs again, willing them to respond, but there was nothing.

''No,'' he whispered, his voice raw with disbelief. ''No, that's not..no.'' He squeezed her hand, his grip tightening with a desperate plea for her to deny what she had just said. ''Tell me it's not true, Beatrice.''

Tears streamed down her face now, silent and unstoppable. She held his hand tightly, he own trembling. ''I'm so sorry Max..''

He starred up at the ceiling, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Four years. Four years he had been lying here, his body broken. He will never race again.

A wave of anger, sharp and bitter, washed over him. ''Leave me alone.''

She flinched at his tone, her tears flowing more freely. ''Max..you need time, to adjust..doctors said with time you might walk agai-''

''Adjust to what?!'' he spat out, his voice laced with fury. ''Adjust to being fucking invalid?'' He gestured to his unmoving legs beneath the blanket.

''Now leave. I don't need your damn pity.''

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