#it just all feels so. overwhelming. the idea of messaging anyone even a little

[alien-slushie]

DpxDc Prompt/Idea

I feel like whenever I read "Danny's Bio Dad is Bruce" or "Danny is Bruce's Clone" stories, it always takes place when Danny is a kid or teen[14-16]. From a story/plot standpoint I can understand it, its much easier to have Danny interact with the batfam if hes underage and is more or less forced to interact with them due to not having recourses, thus he has to rely and bond with the only people who wil have him. What I want to see is the family trying to meet and bond with Danny when hes an adult and actually has a choice in the matter.

Actual Prompt Part:

Danny is a collage student or just out of collage. Jack and Maddie didn't react well to the Ghost thing, while they didn't hurt him or anything, its hard for them to wrap their head around and accept, so Danny cut contact with them when he left for collage(paid for by Vlad through blackmail because screw him) in Metropolis(because let's shake it up a little). At 23(ish), he has a job, work friends, neighbors, a dog, and while nothing fancy, his own appartment. Not everything is perfect, but its a life Danny has built for himself and hes proud of it, happy even.

In Gotham, Bruce has no idea of Danny's existence(rather Danny is actually his kid or clone or something is up to you). The only way anyone even finds out about Danny is because Damian's school made all the students do an ancestry assignment. Danny and Jazz had done a similar test a few years prior just for fun, and to see if Danny had any relitives through his doner(/who he was cloned from). No results showed up simply because ancestry tests were so new at the time, so Danny wasn't really surprised and actually forgot about it all together. Damian nor Bruce really expected anything to come from the test, maybe super distant cousins and long since past relatives, never in a million years did they expect to be linked to a random 23 year old in Metropolis of all places, with the website claiming them to be brothers(/father and son due to cloning process, or heck maybe uncle?). Cue the usual bat-stalking.

After getting all the information they could on Danny and his background, they decide to reach out. Through the ancestry website they sent him a message, explaining they matched and would be interested in meeting.

And Danny, well, he was curious in at least meeting these people, so he agreed, taking a week off work, loading up his dog, and finding a partially okay hotel in Gotham. They make plans to meet at a restaurant, just Bruce, Danny, and Damian since they didn't want to overwhelm Danny with the whole brood. After some polite, if awkward, conversation(and Damian snagging some hairs to run some additional, more safisticated tests), they make plans for the rest of the week, ending Danny's trip with a Wayne Family dinner so Danny could meet everyone else.

With Danny's relation to Bruce verified, and Danny seemingly not a threat, Bruce wants to do something for him, and this is where the struggle starts. All of Bruce's kids were adopted when they were young, Bruce was able to house them, raise them, pay for their schooling, and give them almost whever they wanted, Danny was an adult, and didn't want or need any of that. Danny's collage was paid for, he had his own job, his appartment was perfect for where he was currently in his life and he didn't want to buy it nor was he saving for a house yet, and he was a civilian(as far as they knew) so Danny had no interest in vigilantism, and even if he was he lived in Superman's city. Danny was a simple guy, he had everything he wanted/needed. The only thing Danny really wanted from Bruce was a chance to know his family. But for such an emotionally constipated and traumatized family, that may be more than they can handle.

[bakugoswifee]

Bakugo k. hc's losing his girlfriend .

Warning- none

angst, that's mainly it. + Bring tissues .

1. He Becomes Quiet & Withdrawn – The loud, brash, explosive Bakugo everyone knew is gone. He doesn��t yell anymore, doesn’t argue, doesn’t snap at people the way he used to. He just… exists.

2. Stops Hanging Out with Friends – Kirishima, Mina, Denki, and Sero try their best to get him out, but he refuses. When he does show up, he barely talks. Just sits there, eyes unfocused, lost in his own world.

3. Blames Himself – Even if it wasn’t his fault, he convinces himself that he could’ve done something. That if he had just been stronger, faster, better—he could have saved you. It eats him up inside.

4. Still Talks to You – Late at night, when he’s alone, he’ll talk out loud like you’re still there. Telling you about his day, the stupid things his friends did, how much he misses you. He hates how quiet the house is without you.

5. Wears Your Stuff – Keeps one of your hoodies in his closet, still smelling like you. He won’t admit it, but he sleeps in it sometimes. If you had a necklace, bracelet, or ring, he either wears it or keeps it in his pocket.

6. Keeps Your Room/Side of the Bed the Same – He doesn’t change anything. Your clothes stay where you left them, your favorite mug is still in its spot, and he refuses to move your pillow. It’s like he’s waiting for you to come back.

7. Gets Lost in Memories – Sometimes, he catches himself smiling at an old picture of you two before reality crashes down. Other times, he zones out completely, trapped in memories of your laugh, your voice, the way you used to roll your eyes at him.

8. Still Cooks Your Favorite Meal – Every once in a while, he makes your favorite dish, but he never eats it. Just stares at it for a while before pushing it aside. He just wants to feel like you’re still around.

9. Sleeps on the Couch Instead of the Bed – He can’t sleep in your shared bed without you. It’s too big, too empty. So he crashes on the couch most nights, pretending it doesn’t bother him.

10. Loses His Temper in Fights – On the battlefield, he’s reckless. Fighting harder, pushing himself past his limits, because what does it matter anymore? He’s angry—at the world, at himself, at whatever took you away.

11. Can’t Stand Hearing Your Name – If someone brings you up, he tenses. He either shuts down completely or storms off. He wants to talk about you, but it hurts too much.

12. Refuses to Cry in Front of People – He keeps it together around others, acting like he’s fine. But late at night, alone in the dark, the tears come. And he hates himself for it.

13. Talks to Your Grave – Whenever he gets overwhelmed, he visits your grave, sitting there for hours. Sometimes he talks. Sometimes he just sits in silence, staring at your name, gripping the headstone like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

14. Doesn’t Celebrate His Birthday Anymore – He used to love it when you planned surprises for him, made him a cake, gave him your dumb little handmade gifts. Now? He doesn’t even acknowledge it.

15. Keeps His Phone on Do Not Disturb, But Still Scrolls Through Your Messages – He won’t respond to anyone, but he rereads old texts from you, listening to your voice memos over and over again, just to hear you one more time.

16. Doesn’t Know How to Move On – Everyone tells him you’d want him to be happy, to live his life. But he doesn’t know how. Because to him, life without you doesn’t feel like living at all.

Extra :

People just didn’t get it.

No matter how much time passed, no matter how many times his friends told him he should "try to move on," Bakugo couldn’t. He didn’t want to. He already had the love of his life, and the world ripped you away from him.

So when Kirishima—the dumbass—thought it would be a good idea to introduce him to someone new, Bakugo already knew how this was gonna go. "Hey, man, I just want you to meet her," Kirishima said, rubbing the back of his neck. "No pressure, just—" "I ain’t interested.". "You don’t even know her yet!".

"And I don’t need to."

But before he could walk off, the girl was already there, all smiles and nervous energy. "Hi, Bakugo! I’ve heard so much about you." He barely glanced at her. "Tch. Good for you?". Kirishima nudged him hard in the ribs. "Dude, be nice." Bakugo clenched his jaw, his patience already wearing thin. "So," the girl tried again, "your friends tell me you’re a pro-hero. That must be exciting!". He didn’t answer. Just exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. "Uh… I was actually hoping maybe we could—". "Fuck off." The table went dead silent. Kirishima sighed like he knew this was a bad idea. The girl’s face fell, but Bakugo didn’t care. He wasn’t about to sit here and pretend to entertain the idea of someone else.

He turned on his heel and walked off without another word, hands stuffed in his pockets. The ring he still wore on a chain around his neck felt heavy, like it was reminding him who he really belonged to.

It was you. It would always be you.

Dividers! - credits @junabuggy 🤍

Sorry this took so long, I really needed a break and was stressed out. But I hope you enjoyed it!

[chelseaknoo]

Hey! So, imagine it’s the 2000s, and Eminem has this huge crush on a super-famous pop singer. In an interview, the interviewer asks his opinion on her, and he openly admits that he finds her attractive, which gets everyone talking. Then, they end up collaborating on a song together, and the music video they make is super hot. Fans completely lose it because they can totally tell there’s something going on between them!

2000s Eminem x pop singer! Reader

Caution:sexual content <3

During an interview, Eminem was asked about the up-and-coming pop singer Y/N, and he didn’t hold back his admiration. “I think she’s incredibly attractive and makes really good music,” he said, a slight smile hinting at something more. For a while now, Eminem had found himself drawn to her—her beauty was undeniable, but it was her warm, genuine personality that truly captivated him.

Though he’s known for his tough, edgy persona, Eminem couldn’t help but soften when he spoke about her. Y/N was different from anyone he’d encountered in the industry. Her presence was refreshing, a mix of talent and kindness that seemed to come naturally to her. He’d been following her rise to fame, noticing the way her fans adored her and the way her music connected with people. Eminem couldn’t deny it—he was crushing on her, and the thought of a collaboration had even crossed his mind more than once. Little did he know, his candid words in the interview would spark rumors and excitement among fans who couldn’t wait to see what might happen between the rapper and the rising pop star.

When you found out about what Eminem had said about you during the interview, you were completely taken aback. At first, it didn’t seem real—it was hard to process that someone as big as him would openly talk about you like that. The words played over and over in your head: “I think she’s incredibly attractive and makes really good music.”

You were shocked, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth spreading through you. It was flattering, sure, but also a little overwhelming. You’d always admired Eminem’s music, his talent, and his larger-than-life persona, but the idea that he had noticed you, let alone had a genuine crush, sent your heart racing.

You couldn't help but feel a little flustered. His words were unexpected, and the attention was something you weren’t quite used to, especially coming from a major artist like him. You thought about it all day, the weight of his comment sinking in. Was he just being polite, or was there something more behind his words? Either way, it definitely left you with more questions than answers.

A week later, you received a message from none other than Eminem himself. He reached out to ask if you’d be interested in collaborating on a song. The moment you read his message, your heart skipped a beat. You couldn't believe it—Eminem, the legendary rapper you had admired for so long, was asking to work with you.

Without hesitation, you excitedly agreed. You had no doubts, no second thoughts. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and the idea of working with him, especially after everything that had happened with the interview, sent a rush of excitement through you.

You immediately replied, expressing how thrilled you were at the prospect of collaborating with him. The thought of creating something together felt surreal, and you couldn’t wait to dive into the creative process. You knew this was going to be huge—not just for your career, but for you personally.

Our teams met to discuss the creative direction of the collaboration, and the conversation quickly took an intriguing turn. They proposed making the song sensual and centered around the complexities of a relationship—intense, passionate, and unapologetically raw. As they laid out the concept, I felt a warmth rise to my cheeks. I couldn’t help but blush at the idea.

The thought of creating something so intimate, especially with him, was both thrilling and nerve-wracking. It would be a bold step, a departure from anything I’d done before, and the prospect of exploring that kind of connection through music was electrifying. I glanced over at him as the conversation unfolded, trying to gauge his reaction. He seemed unfazed—confident, even—his expression suggesting he was more than ready to dive into the challenge.

After finishing the recording sessions for the song, the next step was to film the highly-anticipated music video. The energy on set was electric, a mix of excitement and nerves hanging in the air. You sat in front of the mirror, makeup artists diligently working to perfect your look. Brushes moved with precision, adding the final touches of shimmer to your eyes and gloss to your lips. The anticipation built with every passing second, and you could feel your heart pounding just a bit faster.

You adjusted the robe draped around you, its fabric soft against your skin. Beneath it, you wore delicate, lacy black lingerie chosen specifically for the shoot—a bold move, but one that fit the sensual vibe of the song. It felt both empowering and a little nerve-wracking to know what was coming next.

One of the makeup artists stepped back, admiring her work. “You look stunning,” she said with a smile, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” you replied, managing a small smile in return. “I just hope I don’t trip over this robe or something,” you joked, trying to shake off the nerves.

The door to the dressing room opened, and he walked in. Eminem, in all his calm, cool confidence, took a quick glance around before his eyes landed on you. There was a spark of something in his gaze—approval, maybe even a hint of surprise. “You ready for this?” he asked, a playful edge to his voice.

You nodded, tightening the belt of the robe instinctively. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough that only you could hear. “It’s gonna be fire. Just do your thing.”

His words sent a jolt of confidence through you. “You too,” you replied, meeting his eyes for a brief moment before he turned and walked out. The weight of the moment sank in. This video was going to be unforgettable, and you were ready to give it everything you had.

You took a deep breath and stood in front of the mirror, taking one last glance at yourself in the lingerie before slowly sliding the robe off your shoulders. The cool air of the room hit your skin, but the heat of anticipation made you feel warm all over. With one final look at your reflection, you stepped toward the door, ready to face what was ahead.

As you opened the door and stepped out, you found Marshall already waiting for you. He was sitting on the bed, his shirt off, his toned chest and arms on full display. His tattoos, which you had noticed before but never fully admired, seemed to tell stories with their intricate designs, each one adding to his raw, unapologetic energy. The way the tattoos stretched over his muscles caught your attention for a moment, and you couldn't help but admire the way he looked.

He glanced up at you, his expression unreadable at first, but as his eyes traveled over you, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You look incredible,” he said, his voice low and almost hushed.

You smiled, sitting down beside him on the soft bed, the sheets rustling under you as you settled into place. The room was charged with an electric tension, and the crew started setting up the cameras, ensuring everything was in place for the shoot. The anticipation in the room grew as you waited, a sense of nervous excitement bubbling up inside you.

Once everything was ready, the cameras began rolling. Without missing a beat, Marshall started rapping, his words flowing effortlessly as he moved closer to you. He didn’t need a microphone—the raw power of his voice was enough to fill the room, his lyrics sharp and intense. As he rapped, he reached out and pulled you closer, his hands confidently guiding your exposed body toward him. The camera captured every movement, every kiss, as he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. His hands roamed, tracing the curves of your body as if the song was meant for this exact moment.

The kiss deepened, and you felt the heat rise between you. His lips moved with yours in perfect sync as the music played on, his touch both tender and commanding. His body pressed against yours, his rhythm matching the intensity of the song, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, lost in the moment. The cameras captured it all—every kiss, every touch, every second of undeniable chemistry.

The atmosphere in the room was palpable, the energy of the shoot merging with the passion of the music. As Marshall continued rapping, you couldn’t help but be swept up in the power of the moment, your body responding to his, and the song taking on a life of its own.

His hands moved lower, tracing the line of your body as the music echoed through the room. The entire world outside the set seemed to fade away as you both got lost in the moment, the only thing that mattered being the connection between you and the music.

You brung your soft manicured hands up to your soft breasts engulfed by a lacy bra and squeezed them to appear more sexier to the camera as Marshall flipped off the camera.

This would most definitely be the thumbnail for the video.

The director called "cut," signaling the end of the scene. You and Marshall both took a step back, the intensity of the moment slowly dissipating as the crew moved in to adjust equipment and set up for the next shot. You exchanged a quiet smile before heading to your designated room to relax for a bit.

After a few hours, you wrapped up your recording, feeling a mix of accomplishment and exhaustion. The excitement of the day was still buzzing in your veins, but now you were looking forward to some downtime. You changed out of your wardrobe, slipping into something more comfortable, and made your way outside to your car.

Just as you reached the door of your vehicle, you heard someone call your name from behind. You turned to see Marshall walking toward you, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Hey," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "So, I was wondering... would you want to grab a drink sometime? Maybe go out... on a date?"

The question caught you off guard, but in the best possible way. His voice had a casual tone, but you could sense there was something genuine beneath it. You paused for a moment, taking in the sincerity of his expression, then smiled back at him.

"A date, huh?" you replied, teasing him slightly. "Are you asking me out, Marshall Mathers?"

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I guess I am. I mean, we’ve spent all this time together on set, and I think you're pretty cool. It’d be nice to get to know you outside of all this craziness."

Your heart skipped a beat, the warmth of his words settling comfortably in your chest. It felt like a simple question, but in that moment, it carried a weight that made everything feel real.

"Alright," you said with a smile, feeling the excitement rise in your chest. "I’d like that."

Marshall grinned, clearly pleased with your answer. "Great," he said. "I’ll text you the details. We’ll figure something out."

As you got into your car, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. Something had shifted between you two, and this date felt like the beginning of something new—something that, at the very least, would be interesting to explore.

When the music video dropped, it immediately sent shockwaves through the entertainment world. The buzz was undeniable, and the media couldn't get enough of it. News outlets were abuzz with headlines discussing the video, focusing on the undeniable chemistry between you and Marshall. The press quickly latched onto the idea that there was more than just a professional collaboration between the two of you. Everyone seemed to think that what they saw on screen was more than just a performance.

Magazines, tabloids, and news articles were all over the story. Some claimed the chemistry between you two was off the charts, while others speculated about a potential romance, pointing to the way your bodies intertwined during the video and the flirtatious energy that seemed to linger between every take. The media was fascinated, and the public couldn't stop talking about it. Fans and critics alike were all over the speculation, analyzing every glance, every touch, and every word exchanged between you both on screen.

Interviews with both you and Marshall quickly followed. Journalists from all over lined up to ask about the video, the song, and, of course, the undeniable tension between the two of you. Everyone wanted to know if it was real—if what they saw in the video was an accurate reflection of what was going on behind the scenes. And while you both kept things light and playful, the questions kept coming, making it nearly impossible to escape the growing rumors.

The attention, both positive and negative, was overwhelming. The video had clearly left a mark, one that many believed was the beginning of something far deeper than just a professional relationship. Whether you were together or not, the world seemed to be entranced by the idea of the two of you.

And of course we decided to keep the people guessing <3

[sunnyjeon]

Call me when you get Hong

with Joshua Hong (another fluff drabble + fake texts!)

Trying something new! This is not proof read, your thoughts are very much appreciated. Thank you for all the love on my recent fics. The duality of Joshua Hong, I swear it's going to drive me crazy!

A Saturday night filled with friends and laughter, you reflect on the overwhelming love you continuously receive. And when Joshua finally makes his way to you, you share a sweet and chaotic reunion. Fluff, humor, and drunk SVT!

It was another Saturday night spent apart—this was normal for you and Joshua. With his ever-busy schedule and continuously succeeding career, and you just beginning to reap the fruits of your own labor, time together had become a luxury.

But tonight marked a shift. You’d finally ruled out late nights at work—your overtime had paid off in the form of a well-earned promotion. One less thing to stress over, you mentally celebrate.

The other? Life itself. That bitch. Between chores, doctor’s appointments, family functions, and personal errands, it all piles up and gets you by your throat.

Still, not once have you ever doubted what you and Joshua share. 

After all, he always goes above and beyond to show you how deeply you’re loved. It’s in the constant messages and FaceTimes across time zones. It’s in the flower arrangements he handpicks and sends to your door. The little gifts, always accompanied by a handwritten note.

It’s in his letters—his words, written with care, that you read in his serene voice in your head. It’s how soft he is with you. How gentle. Sure, he’s like that with everyone—but with you, it’s different. Deeper.

Joshua would drop everything and anyone just to be with you. He rushes to see you the second he lands—no matter where you are. Even if it’s just to wait for you at work, he shows up with your favorite snack and a few sweet kisses. He doesn’t mind doing nothing. To him, simply being in your presence is a blessing.

“-- then she goes and pulls out a fake gun! She’s insane.” 

Playful banter pulls you back to reality. Shaking your head, you smile to yourself—even in a room full of people who love you, you’re thinking of the one who loves you most.

You’re celebrating with friends, in your little flat in the city. Warmth from the alcohol flushes your cheeks and bites a little against the cool night air. Maybe drinking on the patio isn’t the best idea—but it’s alright. It’s beautiful out here.

Spring has arrived. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom. Pink petals sway gently in the wind and fall gracefully to the pavement. It reminds you of Joshua—somehow, he’s everywhere but here. How ironic. How beautiful must someone be for even the mundane to sound poetic when you think of them? 

“Aigoo, our little Y/N-nie is drunk and smiling to herself,” one of your friends teases.

You shrug as your smile deepens. “What? I’m just happy.” 

“I can tell,” she replies, her gaze softening. “And I’m really happy for you.” She tips her glass toward you in a quiet toast. You clink back, letting the bittersweet taste of wine linger on your tongue — a warmth that blooms and settles deep in your chest.

Her words squeeze at your heart in the gentlest way. You glance down, biting your lip as warmth bubbles up in your chest. You can feel it rising—this quiet, overwhelming gratitude. Your cheeks flush, your eyes shimmer, and for a second, the joy is too much to hold.

So you just blink the tears away, smile through it all, and send a silent thank you to the universe.

Another friend chimes in, “Bleurgh, when did y’all get so cheesy?” She dramatically pretends to gag, sending the whole group into laughter. What a night, you think.

The gathering ends with the rest of your group buzzed. Not drunk but tipsy enough to send them all home giggling– just perfect for a Saturday night. You dish your phone out from the kitchen counter, forgetting you left it there while grabbing drinks.

The device blows up with notifications– mainly from your lover. And well, your lover’s lovers. 

“Call me when you get Hong?” you laugh, amused. He must be really drunk to forget you were celebrating at home. Walking to your door, you tap on his contact and hit call. He picks up immediately.

“My love! My heart! My Ynie!” he greets dramatically. “I missed you.”

You bite back a giggle. “Hello to you too.” In the background, chaos unfolds—muffled voices chatter over each other, some clearly on the verge of arguing.

“Where are you?” you ask, straining to hear.

“I’m in the car! I—wait.” There’s a shuffle as he looks around. “Guys, tone it down, please. I’m talking to Ynie,” he shushes loudly.

“Ynie?! Give me the phone! I wanna talk to her!” a drunk Seokmin yells beside him, reaching for the phone.

Joshua holds it out of reach. “Nooo! She’s mine!”

Then comes Mingyu’s voice: “Hyung, give me your phone. Let me talk to her, please.”

“Ya~ get your own! Why are you trying to talk to my girlfriend?” Joshua snaps sassily.

Covering your mouth to hold in your laugh, you lean on your front door as you listen to their banter over the phone. 

“Oh my god, we are never getting home,” Mingyu sighs, completely over it.

“Ynie!” Seungcheol suddenly yells into the background. “If you can hear me, please call me instead. Shua’s too drunk to give directions—we’ve been circling the same street for thirty minutes!” he cries out.

“Or,” Jeonghan offers casually, “we could just drive to my place and have him sleep over.”

You roll your eyes at the idea. It’s silly how Jeonghan jumps at every chance to hog Shua’s space. You really can’t blame him, your man is adorable. 

“I wanna go hooome,” Joshua pouts pitifully. “Baby, can I come over? Please?”

“Of course.” you say, smiling at how eager he sounds.

“That’s what we’ve been trying to do for the last hour, cheesus!” Mingyu groans.

Shua giggles, triumphant. “We’re going home!” he announces, leaning back with both fists in the air like he’s just won a championship.

Seokmin copies him. “Going home!” The chaos only grows louder as they chant it together; “Going home! Going home!” Punching the air like frat boys on a mission.

You hear Jeonghan laughing, while Mingyu lets out the most exhausted sigh of the night. Feeling bad for their poor designated driver, your hands swipe your screen to text Seungcheol your address.  

You shake your head at their silliness. Their monthly meetings are getting more and more chaotic over time. It’s befitting, you’d argue. These boys are the most hardworking people you know and having one day off the calendar to celebrate their hard work feels well deserved.

It wasn’t long until an SUV pulled up in your driveway. Seungcheol parks and Jeonghan gets out of the passenger seat, beelining to you. You hear Mingyu shouting for help as he balances a giggly Joshua in one hand and a passed out Seokmin on the other. Seungcheol rounds the car, opening the car door for him, careful not to splay Seokmin on the ground.

Jeonghan sprints to you, “Hey, you,” he mumbles as he gives you a tight embrace. 

“Hannie,” you greet and return his hug. “Aren’t you going to help them?” pointing to the others.

“I would but my time with you is limited,” he sighs “let me soak in your presence first before someone hogs it–” 

“Baby!” Speak of the devil. You both crane your necks towards an overly excited Shua, wobbly running over to you. Your smile grows impossibly wider at how cute your lover is.

He sports a plain white shirt and jeans. The short sleeves folded, deliciously hugging his defined biceps. The wind—clearly a paid actor—presses his shirt against his skin, tracing the sculpted lines of his torso like it knows exactly what it’s doing. He runs with arms wide open, eyes almost disappearing from his smile. His face– a bright red. He looks a little disheveled but nonetheless, still breathtakingly gorgeous. 

Jeonghan runs a hand on your arm and pulls you back in his embrace, “Ya~ I got her first,” he teases. You roll your eyes and laugh at his antics, never passing up an opportunity to tease and get a rise out of anyone– not even his twin is excluded from this.

Before you get the chance to break free from him, a hand wraps around your waist and pulls you from behind. Your boyfriend’s familiar scent welcomes you along with his  thick arms wrapping around your frame. 

Your back hits his chest, he nuzzles his face on your shoulder and lets out a sigh. “Mine,” his grip tightens. “All mine.” 

No matter how often and openly your boyfriend expresses his devotion, his actions still earn a blush from you. Jeonghan chuckling at your reaction.

“Get a room!” Mingyu shouts and you laugh.

“I’ll see you, love birds.” Jeonghan bids goodbye and makes his way back.

Seungcheol waves at you, “Ynie, we’ll leave you to it!” getting in the car again.

You wave at them– the best that you can with your arms caged in Shua’s, thanking them for taking care of your lover. “Good luck, Ynie!” Mingyu’s voice echoes as they drive away. 

“Baby,” your boyfriend calls out. His voice reverberates on your body, his face still planted on your shoulder. You respond with a sweet hum, your hands caressing his arms as it loosely falls on your hips turning you to look at him. 

He lifts his head and meets your gaze– and as always, time freezes.

The cold that bit your cheeks earlier was replaced with a familiar warmth, Shua’s hand– sliding  up your arms to caress your face. Your hand follows in harmony, leaning into his touch, you rest yours atop his. 

The wind blows but no chills follow. His gaze lay heavy on you, enveloping you like a heated blanket on a stormy day. He smiles, his thumb drawing circles on your cheek. He stares, drowning you with his overflowing adoration. 

Gravity pulls you closer— Joshua leaning in, your foreheads resting on each other. You feel his other hand, laying on the small of your back. Squeezing your shirt, he mutters “God, I missed you so much,”. And closes the gap between you two, kissing you feverishly. Melting you physically, mentally, and emotionally.

You can’t think of anything. In this moment, you just feel. 

You feel his skin on yours, his warmth that defies the cold wind.

You feel his lips on yours, gentle and yearning.

You feel time stopping, yet the world is spinning faster. 

You feel dizzy but still. 

You feel weak but stronger at the same time. 

You feel drunk, and maybe you are. Utterly, hopelessly drunk in love with Joshua Hong.

[bunnygirllover45]

Some words of sincerity and appreciation.

Personal stuff, go ahead and skip if you don't wanna read me being gloomy af. LMFAO. Kinda serious but also not- health complications and stuff.

It's been about 4 hours since I left the hospital and I've been itching to write something in this blog. I've never been the type to share personal stuff online, just because the fear of being perceived often overwhelms me more than I would like to admit. Sometimes life gives you some moments when everything is so fucked you just have to look back (has anyone seen the movie? great stuff.) and appreciate everything you have just to not sulk even more in your misery. When I started to post art here I didn't expect many people to pay attention to what I do or what I have to say, I think sometimes life is like screaming into a void and expecting an answer, and not gonna lie, it feels magical when it replies back. I've met so many wonderful people, received so many beautiful messages, and interacted with endlessly talented people that I still have no idea how they find something in my art when they're also equally if not more talented as I am. God, I still recognize some of the usernames of the people who always like my posts first thing (you'll know who you all are !) and it feels wonderful to see that some people just come back here expecting the next stupid thing I'm gonna do. It might be pointless, it might be just another delirious thought I write down when I'm feverish and confused laying in bed at 4 AM, but you are still here. I don't want to get too parasocial, that's not my objective here, I just want to express that I see you and you see me, and I'm endlessly grateful for it. I've been diagnosed with a brain tumour, it's not the end of the world but it's a little more worrying than we thought at first. My fault for dealing with endless headaches and not taking care of myself, if I had been smarter, I would've realized sooner. I'll need to take proper care of myself, and It's going to be a hard time for both me and the people around me, but I've always been one to be hard to kill. (I can count how many times I smashed my head against the doorframe because my skull is permanently damaged because of it) ((yes, i was a stupid kid.)) I will continue to create because it's what makes me happy, I will continue working with the wonderful people that commissioned me and I'll keep all of you updated, but it's sadly my time to accept that things have to slow down, for my own sake. I need to do it if I want to be to come back at my 100%. I'm writing this for the people who find me important, for the people who find some solace and comfort in my blog or just enjoy what I do. Sorry for keeping you here this long and making you read this innocuous message, but it's my responsibility to just- say thank you for everything. Don't wanna leave without being grateful, opportunities like this don't come twice in a lifetime. Love you all, and keep creating and being wonderful. Don't forget to drink water (GOD KNOWS I DO.)

[devdozes]

To love and be loved.

im sorry, im feeling ina really bad and tired out mood and health is shit too, ily all

It was happening again.

That hollow, crushing weight in your chest, pressing down like an invisible force, making it hard to breathe. Your fingers twitched against your phone screen, scanning over messages that never existed, notifications that never arrived. The group chat was active, laughter spilling through texts and voice notes, but none of it was meant for you.

They never meant for you.

You always knew, didn’t you? That you were just... there. Not chosen. Not loved. Not the first thought in someone’s mind. Not the reason someone’s day brightened. You loved so loudly, so freely, with open arms and warm words, making sure people felt seen, felt understood, felt cared for. And yet, no one did the same for you.

No one ever did.

You felt pathetic, scrolling through old conversations, searching for a time someone reached out first—just once, just to prove yourself wrong. But there was nothing. You always sent the first text, made the first move, extended the first olive branch. And the moment you stopped, silence followed.

Did anyone even notice when you weren’t there? Did anyone miss your presence, your thoughts, your voice?

Your chest tightened, a suffocating ache spreading through your ribs. It wasn’t just loneliness. It was being unwanted, unnoticed. It was knowing that if you disappeared, the world would keep turning, conversations would flow without pause, plans would be made without an empty space where you should be.

Your hands trembled as you reached for your sketchbook—the one place where your emotions spilled freely, where you didn’t have to filter yourself, where you could pour every unsaid word into lines and colors. You flipped through the pages, past unfinished drawings and abandoned ideas, each one proof of something you once loved. But even that felt empty now. No one ever cared enough to ask about your work, to truly see you in it. They praised in passing, but never lingered. Never tried to understand the meaning behind your strokes, your thoughts, your world.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

God, you were tired. Tired of fighting for a place in people’s lives. Tired of making excuses for why they never stayed, why they never chose you. Tired of pretending it didn’t hurt when you saw them effortlessly love others in the way you longed to be loved.

Your breath hitched, and before you could stop it, a choked sob ripped from your throat. The dam broke. Tears spilled, hot and relentless, sliding down your cheeks as silent cries wracked your body. You curled into yourself, as if you could make yourself disappear, as if maybe—just maybe—if you were small enough, you wouldn’t have to feel this anymore.

You just wanted to be loved. Truly, wholly, unconditionally. Was that too much to fucking ask?

Phainon frowned as he glanced at his phone, fingers drumming restlessly against his thigh. Something felt off. He wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions, but the silence from you wasn’t normal. Not for you.

You were the kind of person who always reached out first, who made sure others felt included, who sent the little messages that reminded people they weren’t alone. And now? Now you were the one who had gone quiet.

He hated it.

His cerulean blue eyes flickered to the time. It was late, but that didn’t matter. You mattered. And if something was wrong—no, when something was wrong—he wasn’t going to sit around and wait for you to break apart in silence.

Grabbing his jacket, he stepped outside, the cool air biting against his skin. He knew where you’d be. He always paid attention, even when you thought no one did. He noticed the way you curled into yourself when you were overwhelmed, the way your hands twitched when you were holding back words. He noticed the way you hesitated before speaking sometimes, as if waiting for permission to exist.

It pissed him off.

You didn’t need permission. You deserved the world, and it enraged him that no one had ever made sure you knew that.

His pace quickened. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ The roar of the engine ripped through the night as Phainon tore through the streets, his grip on the handlebars tight enough to make his knuckles ache. He was going too fast—recklessly fast—but he didn’t care. His thoughts were drowning in a sea of worry, panic clawing at his chest like something feral, something desperate.

You were alone right now. Crying, maybe. Curled up, trembling, falling apart in silence because no one ever fucking cared enough to notice.

Except he did.

Phainon’s jaw clenched as the streetlights blurred past him, the wind whipping through his already messy hair. His heart pounded against his ribs, an unrelenting beat that matched the storm brewing inside him. He wasn’t just worried—he was furious. Not at you. Never at you.

At them.

At every person who let you feel this way. At every so-called friend who only remembered you when it was convenient. At every thoughtless comment that chipped away at you over the years, carving the scars he knew you kept hidden behind soft smiles and deflected jokes.

You gave so much of yourself—your time, your love, your patience—only to be met with indifference. And now, you were breaking, and no one was there to catch you.

No one except him.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe, to focus. He needed to get to you. He needed to see you, to wrap his arms around you and pull you into his chest and hold you so tightly you’d have no choice but to feel how much you mattered.

He needed to tell you that you weren’t invisible, that your absence left a gaping hole whether people admitted it or not. That he saw you, truly saw you, in a way no one else ever had.

His fingers flexed on the throttle, his mind racing as fast as his bike. He didn’t care if he was breaking the speed limit. He didn’t care if his phone buzzed with more unanswered texts. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was getting to you before you drowned in that loneliness you tried so hard to hide.

The water is cold.

It clings to your clothes, soaking through fabric, seeping into your skin, curling against your bones. The weight of it drags you down, makes your limbs heavy, makes your chest feel tight. You stare up at the surface, the way the light bends and warps above, refracting in endless, shifting shapes that don’t quite make sense.

You wish you could stay here.

It’s quiet.

No one’s looking. No one’s expecting anything. No one’s demanding that you be something more, something better, something worth noticing.

A deep, aching sigh rumbles from your chest, lost in the water before it can ever reach the air. You shut your eyes. For a moment, just a moment, you let yourself pretend that this is where you belong. That you aren’t meant to be elsewhere. That if you disappeared, no one would notice—because isn’t that the truth?

You always notice. You always care. You always reach out, always make people feel seen. You remember their favorite things, remember the way their voice lilts when they’re excited, the little details that make them who they are. You make space for them in your heart, pour love into every crevice, remind them they matter, that they are loved, that they are wanted.

But when it’s you?

Nothing.

No one.

They forget.They talk over you. They choose someone else. They never say your name first, never think of you the way you think of them. You could disappear, and life would move on like you were never there.

A bitter, sharp ache digs into your chest, spreading through your ribs like vines wrapping tight, constricting, pulling. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, hands curling weakly at your sides, nails digging into your own palms.

Why does it always have to be like this?

Why does no one ever choose you?

Your lungs burn. You open your eyes, and the ceiling light above you looks so distant. Too far away. Too out of reach.

Then, suddenly—

A pair of hands yank you up.

You break the surface with a sharp gasp, water splashing everywhere, your vision blurry and unfocused. Before you can register what’s happening, you’re being pulled against something warm, strong, solid. Someone’s arms wrap around you, holding you tightly as if you’ll disappear if they don’t.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

The voice is familiar. You blink, trying to clear your vision, and you’re met with cerulean blue eyes—wild with panic, anger, something too close to fear. Messy hair falls over his forehead, damp from the water. His grip on you tightens, his brows furrowing as he scans your face, as if trying to make sure you’re real.Phainon.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. What could you even say? That you weren’t trying to drown? That you just wanted to feel weightless, just for a moment? That you’re tired—so, so tired—of feeling like you have to scream just to be heard?

He exhales sharply, his hands trembling slightly as he cups your face, tilting your head up so you can’t look away. "You scare me sometimes, you know that?" His voice wavers, barely above a whisper. "You act like no one cares about you, like no one would notice if you just… faded away. But I do."

Your breath catches.

"I notice when you’re quiet. I notice when you smile but it doesn’t reach your eyes. I notice when you do everything you can to make people feel special but never let anyone do the same for you. And it drives me crazy because you deserve—" He stops, swallows hard, his grip on you tightening just slightly. "You deserve so much more than what people give you. And I swear, I—"

His voice cracks, and it makes something deep inside you tremble. Your hands, still weak, clutch at his shirt, like if you let go, you’ll sink again.

"I see you," he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. "I always have. And I’m not going to let you disappear."

Something breaks inside you. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

You don’t know when you start shaking.

Maybe it’s the cold. Maybe it’s the way his words sink into your chest like an anchor, heavier than anything you’ve ever held. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you—like you’re something fragile, something precious, something he can’t afford to lose. His forehead stays pressed against yours, his breath warm against your damp skin, his grip steady, unwavering.

And it’s too much.

Your throat tightens, a choked sound escaping before you can swallow it down. Phainon’s arms tighten around you instantly, as if sensing the way your body trembles, as if he’s the only thing keeping you from breaking apart entirely.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, voice softer now, laced with something raw. He shifts, adjusting his hold on you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You shake your head. “I’m not.”

The words spill out before you can stop them, hoarse and brittle, years of exhaustion layered beneath them. “I’m not okay, Phainon. I—” Your breath hitches, your fingers gripping his shirt tighter. “I don’t think I ever have been.”

Phainon doesn’t speak right away. He just holds you closer, his heartbeat steady against your ear. Then, after a moment—

“I know.”

Two simple words, yet they unravel you more than anything else. Because he does. He knows. He sees you in a way no one else ever has, in a way no one else has ever bothered to. He’s seen the cracks, the way you try to stitch yourself together with borrowed thread, the way you pour yourself out for others until there’s nothing left.

And he cares anyway.

The realization crashes over you, as overwhelming as the water had been, as suffocating as the silence you’ve endured for so long. Your breath shudders, your body curling into his without thinking. He lets you. He doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away, doesn’t tell you to calm down or to stop crying. He just holds you, his hands firm, grounding you in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

“I just… I try so hard,” you whisper, voice barely audible, as if saying it out loud will make it hurt more. “I try so hard to be enough. To be someone worth staying for. But it never feels like it matters. It never feels like I matter.”

Phainon lets out a sharp breath, his grip on you tightening just slightly. “That’s not true.”

You close your eyes. “It feels true.”

His hands move to cup your face again, tilting it up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. There’s something fierce in his expression, something that burns through the chill in your bones. “Then let me prove you wrong.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. He exhales, resting his forehead against yours again, his thumbs brushing lightly over your cheeks, wiping away the dampness that lingers there.

“You matter to me.”

The words are whispered like a promise, like a vow carved into the fabric of the universe itself. “I notice you. I always have. And I swear, I’m not going to let you fade away.”

A shuddering breath escapes you, something inside you fracturing, something loosening just enough for the weight on your chest to lessen, even if only a little.

The sobs tear through you, raw and jagged, shaking your entire body. The weight of everything—every unnoticed moment, every time you were left behind, every instance of being overlooked—presses down on you all at once. It crashes over you like a wave, suffocating, unbearable. And yet, Phainon doesn’t let go.

His arms stay firm around you, holding you against his chest as if anchoring you to reality. His warmth seeps into you, contrasting the cold that still clings to your skin. His hands, so large and steady, stroke soothing circles along your back, threading through your wet hair, grounding you in the only way he knows how.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, voice low, gentle. “Let it out. I’m here.”

But you shake your head fiercely against his chest. He doesn’t understand. He can’t. “You say that,” you choke out, voice hoarse, “but no one ever stays. No one ever means it.”

His grip tightens. “I do.”

You don’t—can’t—believe him. How could you? When people always say they care but never act like it? When no one remembers you the way you remember them? When you give and give and give, and in return, you are met with nothing?

“They don’t care,” you whisper brokenly. “They never have. No one—no one chooses me. No one ever wants me.” Your throat burns, chest caving in, as the words spill free, the truth you’ve buried so deep finally exposed, laid bare before him.

The words hang in the air between you, raw and exposed, like an open wound. Your breath shudders, your fingers curling into Phainon’s shirt, grasping at fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this moment.

You want to believe him.

You want to believe that someone, anyone, sees you. That someone cares—that someone chooses you, not out of obligation or convenience, but because they want to.

But the belief won’t take root. It withers before it can bloom, strangled by years of being overlooked, forgotten, pushed aside.

You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. “No one ever stays, Phainon,” you whisper, voice barely there, almost swallowed by the silence between your ragged breaths. “They say they care, but they don’t. Not really. They forget. They move on. I’m never—” Your throat tightens, cutting off the words.

You try to pull away, as if distance could protect you from the weight of your own emotions. As if pushing him away first will make it hurt less when he inevitably leaves.

But Phainon doesn’t let you go.

His arms only tighten around you, holding you steady, firm, unyielding. His warmth is steady, his heartbeat a solid, grounding rhythm against your ear. “I don’t know what they’ve done to make you feel like this,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with something you don’t know how to name. “I don’t know why they never see you the way they should. But I do. I always have.”

You want to scream that it’s not true. That it can’t be. That no one ever does. That it’s a lie, because if it’s not—if he’s telling the truth—then that means all the loneliness, all the heartbreak, all the years of feeling unseen were not because you weren’t worth loving, but because they simply chose not to.

And that thought is unbearable.

Your hands tremble against his chest. “You’ll leave too,” you whisper. It’s not a question. It’s a certainty. A truth you’ve learned to accept.

Phainon exhales sharply, his hold on you shifting, just enough to pull back and cup your face in his hands. His fingers are calloused but gentle, thumbs brushing away the remnants of tears from your cheeks. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world. Like you matter.

It’s almost too much to bear.

“I won’t.” His voice is steady, but there’s something fierce beneath it, something angry—not at you, but at the world, at whoever made you feel this way. His cerulean blue eyes burn with frustration, with something close to desperation. “I don’t care how long it takes, or how many times you try to push me away. I see you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You can’t breathe.

Because you want—god, you want—to believe him.

But belief is a dangerous thing. Hope is a dangerous thing.

And you don’t know if you can survive being let down again.

Phainon watches you carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll shatter if he lets go. His hands stay on your face, thumbs brushing lightly over your damp cheeks, grounding you in his warmth. The raw emotion in his eyes—frustration, concern, something deeper you can’t name—makes it hard to look at him.

You don’t know what to say.

You want to believe him. But the weight of every broken promise, every empty reassurance you’ve ever been given, hangs heavy in your chest, making it impossible to accept his words without fear.

Phainon must sense it because he suddenly exhales, long and dramatic, and tilts his head. “You know, I could let you go, but then I’d have to deal with the unbearable heartbreak of you running off again, and frankly, my fragile heart can’t handle that.”

You blink at him.

His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smirk. “I mean, you wouldn’t actually leave me here, right? Wet and abandoned? Cold? Drenched in misery?” He gasps, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. “What if I catch a cold? What if I never recover? What if I waste away, never knowing joy again?”

Despite yourself, your lips twitch. “You’d survive.”

He leans in slightly, grinning. “Would I, though? Would I really? Think about it—six-foot-two man, emotionally devastated, caught in the rain like the tragic protagonist of a sad indie film—doomed to forever wander the earth, lamenting his lost happiness.”

You sniff, trying to glare at him, but he looks so utterly ridiculous—drenched, hair sticking to his forehead, eyes comically wide with fake despair—that a small, broken laugh escapes you before you can stop it.

It’s barely there, but Phainon’s eyes immediately light up like you just handed him the universe.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his tone softer now, real. “There’s my girl.”

Your breath catches. You shake your head, suddenly overwhelmed again, but this time it’s different—less crushing, less suffocating.

Phainon notices, and instead of letting go, he shifts, wrapping you fully in his arms again, resting his chin on the top of your head. He rocks you slightly, slow and soothing, like he’s trying to physically shake the sadness from your bones.

“I meant what I said, you know,” he murmurs. “I’m not leaving. You can try to argue, you can push me away, but I will keep showing up. And, if necessary, I will annoy you into happiness.”

You let out another small, exhausted laugh, but it turns into something softer—a quiet exhale, a weight loosening in your chest, just a little.

Phainon hums, pleased. “See? It’s working already. I’m a genius.”

You roll your eyes, but your hands stay curled into the fabric of his soaked hoodie, holding on. “You’re something, alright.”

He grins. “I’ll take that as a win.”

Phainon keeps you wrapped in his arms for a while longer, letting you take what you need. His warmth seeps into you, steady and constant, like a lifeline pulling you back to shore. He doesn’t let go until your breathing evens out, until the weight on your chest feels a little less unbearable.

Then, with one last squeeze, he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “Alright, I have a very important question for you.”

You blink up at him, still exhausted. “What?”

His expression is far too serious for the words that follow. “Would you rather have soup or something absolutely terrible but made with love?”

You stare. “...What?”

Phainon grins. “Well, the way I see it, I have two options here: I can make you something that actually tastes good, or I can attempt to cook something completely disastrous so you laugh at my pain and suffering. Either way, you’re eating.”

A quiet chuckle escapes you, small but real. “I’d rather not die of food poisoning, thanks.”

“Soup it is, then.” He stands up, stretching, before offering you a hand. “Come on. I have a foolproof recipe. Which is to say, I just throw things into a pot and hope for the best.”

Despite everything, you take his hand. He helps you up gently, making sure you don’t stumble, then leads you to the kitchen. He moves around with ease, talking the whole time—little jokes, casual observations, the occasional exaggerated complaint about cutting vegetables (“Why do onions exist? Who decided pain should be an ingredient?”).

You sit on the counter, watching him, something warm settling in your chest. He’s so unwavering, so present. And even though your mind still fights against it, whispering doubts in the back of your head, a small part of you starts to believe—just a little—that maybe, maybe, you aren’t as invisible as you thought.

By the time the soup is done, you feel lighter. Phainon dramatically serves it with a flourish, making an absolute show of presenting you a bowl like a five-star chef. “For m’lady,” he says, bowing. “Made with love and minimal effort.”

You snort, shaking your head, but take the bowl. It smells good. It’s warm. Just like him.

You eat together, and for the first time in a long while, the silence between you isn’t heavy.

Later that night, when you’re bundled up on his couch, Phainon disappears for a suspiciously long moment before returning with a very specific item.

Two, actually.

Matching shark onesies.

You stare at him. “You’re kidding.”

He waggles his eyebrows, holding them up like they’re a grand treasure. “Oh, I never joke about important things like this.”

“Phainon—”

“Shark onesies,” he repeats dramatically. “With hoods. And tiny fins. And extra softness for maximum coziness.” He winks. “Made just for you and your favorite six-foot-two idiot.”

You press a hand to your face, torn between exasperation and something dangerously close to fondness. “I don’t even have words for this.”

“That’s the exhaustion speaking. Come on.” He holds one out to you, shaking it slightly. “Just accept your fate.”

Despite yourself, you take it.

Not long after, you find yourself standing there in an oversized, absurdly comfortable shark onesie, feeling ridiculous. Phainon, of course, is wearing his own, grinning like an absolute menace.

“You look adorable,” he announces.

You glare. “I look ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously adorable,” he corrects, unbothered.

Before you can argue, he opens his arms in invitation. “Alright, c’mere.”

You hesitate for only a second before exhaustion wins. With a quiet sigh, you step forward and jump into his arms, clinging onto him like a koala.

Phainon catches you easily, laughing as he holds you up. “Well, this is unexpected, but I wholeheartedly approve.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, voice muffled. “Thank you.”

His grip tightens just slightly, warm and secure. “Always.”

And for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe—just maybe—you don’t have to carry everything alone.

[married2avampire]

Hi✨ Could you please write some yandere headcanons with Alucard ( hellsing)? Both sfw & nsfw? Tbh probably not too different from how he already is.

Dragă Mea

Contents: Yandere!Alucard/implied fem!reader, 18+, NSFW (suggestive, really), MDNI, obsessive & possessive behaviors, yandere themes, biting (so) blood mentioned. 

Author’s note: I apologize for this not being in the classic ‘headcannon’ format (And for taking a year to write this). When you guys send in headcanon asks, they’re just so delicious that I’d prefer to write something a little more hefty. I am a fan of thick chapters in books as well as long oneshots. I also have a bad (or good?) habit of going very in-depth in analyses of certain ideas. This one caught my eye! So, I wrote it in oneshot format. Also, a bit of a ramble on yanderes: some people like the super dangerous and threatening yanderes who off their perceived ‘threats’ and keep their darlings tied up in a basement, and hey, that’s alright! More power to you. I am not such a big fan of those types. I suppose you could call my brand of yandere the ‘mostly-civil’ yandere. A bit more gentle, a bit ‘sweeter,’ a bit easier to reason with, and not super duper inclined to off anyone while still feeling vaguely threatening. Yeah, I’m vanilla when it comes to yanderes. You caught me. 

1k words

Alucard seemed normal at first. Well, as normal as an ancient vampire could be. He was sweet to you. Quiet, yet doting. You never felt suffocated with him. Never unpleasantly overwhelmed. Never treated as if you were lower, incompetent, or helpless. He also wasn’t boorish or revoltingly lustful. For all you could tell, he was perfect. Except for that Alucard was a bit… odd. Or… you thought it was odd. You weren’t quite sure what it was. He was just a bit unnerving at times. Nothing that was directed towards you. Never. But in times when you and he were enjoying a day out, he almost seemed to bristle a little. He’d walk beside you just as he always did. But if someone got a little too close or a little too friendly, you’d feel the graze of his fingertips across your spine and the edge of his coat brush your side as he stepped just a little nearer. 

In any other relationship, that would seem beyond tame — perhaps even neglectful. But with Alucard? That was a silent hostility. You knew it well. He wasn’t an outwardly affectionate person in public. He wasn’t one for the boyish theatrics. Kissing for all to see, groping, grabbing. You could practically see his nose wrinkling in distaste at the prospect. He was an ancient vampire who had better ways to send a message while barely lifting a finger. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun with it. You know he’s gotten hostile when he smoothly interjects into a conversation and asks you so sweetly; “Are you feeling cold?” You’re not feeling cold, but you’d answer his question with a smiling ‘yes,’ because you like the pleased smile he gets when he lays his coat over your shoulders and looks on at whoever was getting a bit too friendly. That look in his eyes would make the hairs rise on the back of your neck. You feel lucky that he’d never looked at you that way. Burning with murderous intent. A silent inferno that he kept under tight control. 

He’d burn that energy off with you late when the stars came out. Or… not so much burn, but melt it away, slowly, meticulously. Alucard had all the patience in the world for you, which meant that nothing would be done that wouldn’t be drawn out and savored entirely. Suffer you would for him during the day when a spur of neediness arises. 

“That’s too bad, my dear. Save it for tonight and I will ravish you until you can take no more.” The words are whispered against your temple to keep anyone around you from hearing. It doesn’t stave the needy lurch of your stomach. Alucard was so good at that. So good at making his rejections only spur you on more. 

Further along, you’re worried he’d trained you without words to only feel arousal when the sun sets. When he’d slide into bed with you, lay you back, and savor you like he intended to until the end of your time. To him, you were beautiful. A fantastic thing to behold — the magnificence of a human. A wondrous blip in time like a firework bursting in the dark of an infinite night. Alucard intended to enjoy you in slow motion. To admire every messy gunpowder star you possessed, all to himself, for your eternity. 

You are his, after all, and him yours. You feel it in the way he clutches you to himself late at night, long fingers cradling the back of your head so that your cheek is pressed up against his sternum. No heart beats there, but you feel the press of his chest and the false breath he breathes against you. You feel it in his kisses, gentle, but nipping and consuming. You see it in his eyes. They go wide and crazed when your attention is drawn away to another. He stays silent and unmoving but the air is already tight enough to choke on. 

And rarely. 

Very, rarely; you hear it in his voice. Nuzzling into your throat, grazing his teeth, nipping, biting, drawing a little blood here and there, and licking it clean… that’s when he’ll lean close and whisper into your ear with a voice like a purring beast. 

“Mine alone. Mine to cherish. Mine to love. You’re lost to them. Say it, say you love me.” 

Amidst the mess of limbs — too many limbs — amidst the mess of kisses — too many mouths — you can barely manage your answer between shuddered breaths. 

But you both knew there was no doubting what your answer would be once he let you catch your breath. “I love you.”

[fayelero]

Thinking about Nagi Seishiro who’s a simp for good girls.

In a non sexual way.

Not the loud, showy kind. But the quiet ones—the girls who tuck their hair behind their ears when they concentrate, who say “thank you” to waiters, who put effort into little things no one else notices. Girls who remember birthdays, who tie ribbons neatly, who fold his hoodies and stack them in color order even though he never asked.

You.

Nagi had no idea how someone like you ended up in his life. He wasn’t used to sweetness. Not the real kind—the gentle, heart-piercing kind that you gave so naturally. You didn’t love loudly, but in the way you touched his wrist when you passed him a drink, in the way you looked at him like he was worth loving, like he wasn’t just a genius on the field but something tender and human, too.

At first, he didn’t know what to do with it.

He was used to things being easy. Win the game. Get praise. Sleep. Repeat.

But you weren’t a game. You were effort. You were a lesson in patience, in paying attention. You were the first thing he wanted to understand.

And now? Now it shows in every little way he tries.

Like how he scrolls through your messages three times before replying because he wants to say the right thing. Or how he started sleeping on the side of the bed closer to the door—not because he cared where he slept, but because he read somewhere that men do that to “protect” the one they love, and the idea made him blush for hours.

He doesn’t say much, but when he does, it’s everything.

“Was thinking about you the whole time,” he mumbles, half-asleep, when you greet him after a game. His hair is still damp from the shower, and his fingers are fiddling with the hem of your shirt—not tugging, not pulling, just touching, like he needs to remind himself you’re real.

You smile—soft and a little shy—and he watches it happen like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Because it is.

Your smile is why he does things he never imagined himself doing. Like holding your purse without complaint while you try on clothes. Like learning how to braid hair because you once joked that your arms get tired. Like saving voice notes you leave him, listening to them on the bus when you’re not around, heart thudding when you giggle in the background.

He’s quiet. But his love is loud in the way his hand always finds yours, even in his sleep. It’s loud in how he learns to cook your favorite dish, watching a YouTube video on repeat just to get the sauce right. It’s loud in how he stares at you like you put the stars in the sky, how he looks at your lips when you speak like he’s memorizing your every word.

And when you doubt—when you hesitate, fingers curling nervously around the sleeve of his hoodie—you feel it most. The intensity.

Because he’s suddenly closer, hands cupping your cheeks, thumbs brushing away worries he hasn’t even heard yet.

“You know I love you, right?” His voice is low, barely above a whisper, but his eyes—God, his eyes—are burning with something so deep, so overwhelming you feel it in your chest.

He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re the only one I care about like this. The only one who makes me want to try.”

And it’s true—you can feel it in how gently he holds you, like you’re the most fragile, precious thing he’s ever touched. You can feel it in the quiet way he breathes out, “I don’t want anyone else.”

In that moment, you realize—this boy, who once claimed everything was a pain unless it was easy, loves you with the kind of effort that moves mountains. The kind of love that chooses you again and again, every minute, in every mundane task, in every sleepy morning and game-worn night.

And as you smile—because how could you not—his gaze softens like warm sunlight catching on snow.

“There,” he whispers, “that smile… I think about it all the time.”

And suddenly, being a good girl doesn’t feel so quiet anymore.

Because to Nagi Seishiro, you are everything.

And his love is anything but silent.

a/n : idk :( I have no ideas of writing those times

[sunflowerandsunshinebaby]

Their girl, Part 5

TW: Panic attack, mentions of anxiety

Translations: Malysh & Malysh - baby

Word Count: 5.8K (longest so far!!)

Tags: @cryingatwindermerepeaks (credit for the flower and candle method & keeping me alive through this illness) @aggies-little-duck @helloomimi @kawaiipeacemusic (thank you for everything, keeping me alive through this illness, and credit for the brownie idea and decision making!!)

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt.7 Pt.8

Warning: As a reminder this is a SFW blog and this is a completely SFW series!! If you are NSFW or have MDNI in your bio then let me know if you have an agere side blog. If not please do not interact with my blog or this series!!!

(sorry for the lateness!! I was sick for a few days!!!)

You watch in amusement as Natasha and Wanda move seamlessly around the kitchen setting up the sandwich station. Your phone buzzes a few times so you look away and check it. Its Yelena unsurprisingly typing in all caps ‘WE’RE LINED UP FOR A SECOND DATE 💪.’ You laugh softly down at your screen and Natasha passes by catching a glimpse and rolls her eyes affectionately. You start typing back and stick your tongue out at Natasha “spy” she snorts. “No sandwich for you” she replies and you gasp dramatically, sending the message before setting your phone down. 

“Miss Wanda!” You say and she looks up from where she was slicing cheese. “Yes detka?” She asks and you blink at the new nickname but move on. “Your wife is refusing to feed me” you complain and Natasha flicks the back of your head and you flinch. Both women exchange a glance before Wanda clears her throat “Well thankfully she's not in charge here. Of course you can have a sandwich.” She said, pressing a quick kiss to Natashas cheek.

“What do you mean you’re in charge?” Natasha says mock indignantly “well I do the cooking so maybe you’re cut off hmm?” Wanda replies teasingly. They devolve into playful bickering and you pick your phone back up to see more messages from Yelena and one from your mom that you clear out. You click on Yelenas and see more rambles about the date. You read through them and a heart a few. A goofy grin spreads across your face, happy for your best friend. She deserved this more than anyone you knew. ‘I’m so happy for you ‘lena!!! 💓’ you text back and feel a tap on your shoulder. “Lunchtime” Natasha said simply rubbing your shoulder ever so lightly.

You nod standing up, your eyes widening at the elaborate sandwich set up. You feel overwhelmed by the options simply staring at them. Natasha notices and continues to rub your shoulder “want me to pick your sandwich malysh?” She asked and you nod “yes please ma’am.” Wanda coos softly “what a sweet girl using her manners” she murmurs and you stare at the ground mildly embarrassed. Natasha begins to build your sandwich “I’m putting on some basic sandwich stuff okay? Nothing too elaborate” Natasha says, glancing at you for approval and you give a thumbs up. 

Wanda chuckles and leans over to her wife “smart choice. A lot of little ones are picky” she whispers clearly not meant for you to hear. You blink at this confused “I’m not a child” you grumble and Wanda looks up. “Of course you aren’t what makes you think that hmm?” She says half teasingly “what you said to Miss. Natasha. ‘Little one’” you echo. “We have a nephew named Nathaniel that’s picky and this just reminded us of him for a moment. He’s definitely still a little one” Natasha said with a playful wink.

You nod slowly that matches up in your brain even if Natasha had said it rather hastily. Natasha passed you your sandwich while Wanda began to make her own. You examine it and begin to eat and Wanda looks over and laughs “you look like a chipmunk when you eat” she comments. You open your mouth but Wanda taps a finger against your lips “finish chewing” she says simply and you finish before swallowing. “I am not a chipmunk” you say with a mock scowl and she laughs as she sits down at the table and begins to eat. Natasha sits down next to her with her finished sandwich and grins. 

“Hmm I don’t know” she replies teasingly “we could be housing a secret chipmunk” she says before beginning to eat. Wanda nods faux sagely “a secret chipmunk who starts classes tomorrow correct?” Her green eyes land on yours and you nod “mhm. I have yours and English 101 and I think that’s it.” You reply and Wanda smiles “I’ll drive you then if that’s okay? My first class of the day is yours and then you can hang out in my office till we can leave.” At her proposition you feel an immense wave of relief. Even if you haven’t known them for very long they brought you comfort.

You let out a small yawn somehow still feeling exhausted despite having slept like a log the night before. Natasha and Wanda have matching amused grins but you keep eating resting your chin on your palm. Your head slumps forward a little but you quickly bring it back up not wanting them to think you’re tired. You finish eating and let out a small yawn trying to hide it with a cough. “Hmm nap time?” Natasha suggests and you shake your head “I’m not 2” you point out. “Even big girls take naps” Wanda replies and you sigh. “But-“ Natasha cuts you off “c’mon sweetie you’ve got a big day tomorrow” she says coaxingly.

“A small one” you relent and Natasha smiles “I’ll do the dishes” she says to Wanda holding her wife’s wrist and kissing her hand. Wanda stands up “thank you detka” she affectionately squeezes her waist. “C’mon sweetie nap time” she says with a smile and you hop up passing Natasha your half eaten plate. Natasha frowns at it “I’m all done”

You say quickly and she nods looking unconvinced. 

Wanda puts a hand on your back and guides you back to the guest room. “Why don’t you change into something comfy?” She suggests “then you can hop into bed and I’ll make sure everything is alright okay?” You nod in agreement, slipping into the room and shutting the door behind you. You grab your folded heart pajamas and shimmy out of your day clothes setting them on the nightstand. You tug on the pajamas that are cinched at the ankles and wrist. You hop into bed and Wanda knocks on the door “can I come in?” She asks softly “yes ma’am” you reply snuggling into the blankets.

She smiles leaning against the doorway. “Are you already for your nap?” She asks and you nod “yeah” you mumble feeling tired setting your phone down on top of your clothes. Wanda chuckles “here let me put my number in if that’s okay? And nats too of course.” You nod slowly, grabbing your phone and unlocking it before finding the contacts app and you pass it over. She enters both numbers in and sets the phone back down on the clothes. She then sets down the glass of milk next to them that you hadn’t noticed. “It’s for in case you find it hard to sleep. Natasha and I find it usually works with litt-we find it usually works.” She explains and you nod noticing her slip up but too tired to care.

She reaches over and squeezes your hand “have a good nap sweetie” she murmurs and strides out gently shutting the door. You sit up a little and sip the warm milk feeling another wave of tiredness wash over you. You set the milk back down and stare at the ceiling. You can’t quite tell when you drifted off but the feeling of safety sticks with you throughout your dreams. When you do wake up you check your phone and see it’s about 4 o'clock and blink blearily.

You stumble out of bed shoving your phone into your pajama pocket before heading out. You make your way to the living room and find Wanda on the couch on her computer. “Hi Miss. Wanda” you mumble still sleepy and she looks up with a smile. “Hey sweetie!” She replies and pats the couch cushion next to her. You plop down onto the cushion “where’s Miss Nat?” You ask and Wanda smiles pulling a blanket out of the coffee table passing it over to you. “She’s in her office working on a contract” she replies as you bury yourself into the soft red blanket. 

“Oh” you mutter “no fun” your lower lip juts out slightly and Wanda chuckles. “Why don’t you grab a book from the bookshelf and do some reading?” She suggests and you grin, hopping up and skipping over to the bookshelf. Your eyes land on the regression book again and they stay on it before shaking your head and moving on. Whatever they liked to learn about you wouldn’t judge heck you had 2 year hyper fixation on true crime cases. You find a copy of Matilda and quickly grab it off the shelf walking back over to the couch and settling back in your spot.

You get entranced in the book reading sucked into the world of a little girl and a kind teacher. You only look up when you feel a hand on your head “hey there sweetie. You good to help with dinner?” Natasha says and you tilt your head up and nod. “Yeah one sec” you look around for a bookmark and Wanda passes you the receipt from earlier. You slide it into the book and hop up. “So Wanda and I were thinking we have some frozen lasagna and then you and I could make a salad?” Natasha suggested and you nod.

Natasha preheats the oven and grabs a bowl “can you grab the lettuce and tomatoes for me?” You open the fridge and find both ingredients and set them on the counter. Natasha then grabs cheddar cheese and some red onions. “Can I grate the cheese?” You ask hopefully and Natasha nods, grabbing it for you. “Careful” Wanda calls from her spot on the couch and you stare “how can she..” you trail off and Natasha grins. “Don’t question it” she says simply as you grate the cheese and she puts the lettuce in and begins to slice the tomatoes. Then she puts a few other toppings in and then the cheese. She puts the lid on and passes it to you. 

You grin and shake it happily Natasha and Wanda exchange smiles. You set the salad down and Natasha puts the lasagna into the oven. “Can I go back to reading?” You ask hopefully and Natasha nods “of course malysh” you rush back to the couch picking Matilda back up. You open it and your eyes narrow on the receipt as you land on the price. Immediately a strangled breath leaps into your throat. This was far too much beyond something you could pay back within a month or two. Your hands begin to tremble as your mind spirals. How could you ever get this much money and since there was no way you could, what would happen?!

Would they kick you out then? Or now? Or would they not even give you the courtesy and just abandon you somewhere? Or or or- as your mind spiraled your vision goes blurry and teary. Your breaths are coming far too quick in tiny little bursts. Wanda notices her head snapping up and she’s scrambling over careful to stay a little away. “Sweetie, can I touch you?” She asks and you stare at her with watery eyes before nodding. She wraps her arms around you in an instant dipping her mouth close to your ear as she murmurs sweet nothings in Sokovian. Natasha catches on grabbing the weighted blanket and piling it on top of you. 

Wanda looks around you looking for the trigger and she sees your white knuckles clutching the book with your thumb firmly on the receipt. “Oh…sweetie, was it the price?” She murmured and you gaped up at her it was as if she could read minds. You nod your brain still whirling like a tornado as you consider the possibilities. “Are you gonna kick me out? I…I can’t pay you back” you admit with a croaky voice. Wanda stares at you “oh no sweetie no. Paying back isn’t an issue mkay?” She tilts your chin up but you hide it back into the weighted blanket. “I- but still I feel bad” you protest even as you begin to feel soothed by her and Natasha’s presence.

“It’s nothing to worry about, sweetie, okay? I promise you won’t have to pay us back and if you choose to do so you don’t have to do it in full amounts or anything along those lines.” Natasha reassures as the oven beeps and Wanda hops up to pull it out. You stay burrowed in the weighted blanket, your breathing still quick “what’s your favorite color detka?” She questioned and you blink “red” you answer finally your brain processing slower than usual. 

She quickly pulled up a picture of red roses “can you breathe in the pretty flowers for me y/n?” She asks and you nod, taking a deep breath. She switches tabs to show a red heart shaped candle “and blow out the candle” she requests. You exhale ‘blowing out the candles’ and she smiles. You two repeat this process several times before you’re breathing normally. “Thank you Miss Nat” you say quietly, still completely buried within the blanket. “Dinner time!” Wanda called and you go to wriggle out of the blanket. “You can have that with you at the table sweetie” Nat murmurs and you stand up and stumble to the table. You wrap the blanket around yourself so your arms stick out so you can eat. 

Natasha sits next to you and laughs lightly but serves you a slice of lasagna and a serving of salad. “Is ranch okay sweetie?” She questions and you nod and she pours ranch onto your portion of salad. Wanda watches and sips a glass of wine. The airfryer dings and Wanda hops up pulling out the garlic bread. Your mind was feeling a bit fuzzy but you couldn’t pinpoint why. Wanda comes back with the bread setting it down. Natasha carefully cuts a piece and sets it down on your plate. You quickly go to grab it “no” Natasha says firmly guiding your hand back. “We blow first, okay malysh?” She corrects blowing on her own piece “like you two blew out the candles” Wanda comments blowing on her own.

You nod blowing on your piece, your chin resting on the table. Once you’re done you tap it and grin when it isn’t as hot. You take a bite of the lasagna and enjoy it for a moment but then a texture hits your tongue that you definitely don't enjoy. Your whole face scrunches up and you want to spit the bite out but don't want to be rude so you swallow it and quickly drink some water. You avoid the lasagna by eating your salad which is rather yummy. “Detka, is there something wrong with the lasagna?” Wanda asks, a tinge of worry entering her voice. 

“No” you lie quickly and she raises an eyebrow “are you positive?” she says the worry being slightly overrun by sternness. You squirm in your seat and adjust your blanket “never mind…” you admit. “What's wrong with it hmm?” Wanda asked and you stare at your plate “one of the textures” you mumble. “Do you know which one?” she prompted and you shake your head hiding more in the blanket. Natasha begins to separate a bit of lasagna into the pasta, sauce, and cheese. “Why don’t you try each one and we’ll see which one you don’t like?” She suggests and you stare “thank you Miss Natasha” you say softly. 

You try the pasta which is fine and then the sauce “it’s the cheese” you say poking at it with your fork. Natasha abruptly takes the pasta apart, scrapes all the cheese off and puts it back together. “Thank you so much” you say filled with gratitude for them. You eat the lasagna without protest now while Wanda steals your extra cheese. Then you eat the bread and get some garlic on your face. Wanda tsks softly leaning across the table to tilt your chin up and wipe it off. “There we go all clean!” She says proudly and you smile “this was delicious” you say quietly “thank you both.”

“Thank you for the lovely salad detka” Wanda says as she hands up gathering the dishes. “Nat, love why don’t you get her set up on the couch I think we need a relaxing night?” She asks her wife and she nods and you stand up trudging to the couch where you curl up next to Natasha. Her hand is resting on your back while she pulls up Gravity falls. “This okay?” She asked and you nod snuggling into the weighted blanket Wanda sits down on your other side and Natasha turns on the show. 

You watch the show happily with wide eyes but the panic attack and overall day has made you exhausted despite your earlier nap. By the middle of the first episode your head was dropped onto Wanda’s shoulder, your eyes half open. You let out a sleepy mumble of “that’s cool” as you stare at the screen but soon you’re dead asleep. Wanda leans behind and taps Natasha shoulder tilting her head towards you. Natasha stands up and without another word scoops you up, settling you onto her hip. She walks back to the guest room and when you sleepily mumble something she chuckles stroking your hair. She set you down onto the bed and tucked you in giving you a fond glance.

Wanda walked behind her wife resting her chin on her shoulder “cutie” she said before tugging her out and into their bedroom. As the two get ready for bed Wanda pauses in her routine. “Should we have told her about…everything we’ve been considering?” She asks, looking at Natasha worried. Natasha finishes drying her face and walks over to her wife holding her hands. “She was definitely at least a little bit little tonight…” Wanda adds. “Absolutely. But I think we should at least try and let her get through tomorrow. Okay?” Natasha says and Wanda nods and they exchange a gentle kiss before both women head to bed.

The next morning when you wake up there’s a note on your nightstand written in red pen that says ‘you fell asleep during the show Natasha got you to bed sweetie!’ Then there was a red heart and you smiled at it. You slide out of bed yawning as you stretch before running through your morning routine and picking out your clothes. You still feel kinda fuzzy but shake your head trying to force it out. You bite your lip as you look for clothes before finding the sweatshirt with clouds and smile at it. Just looking at it makes you happy and feeling the texture is even better. Next is the white top and then a pair of jeans and you pull everything on feeling comfy.

You pad out of the room heading to the kitchen where Natasha has already plated pancakes, eggs, bacon, and fruit. You stare “thank you ma’am. I would’ve woken up earlier if I had known there would be a nice breakfast I could have helped with.” You say apologetically and Natasha laughs “you can help with dinner again okay? Leftovers for lunch which should be in between your classes. It’s in the fridge for you okay y/n?” Natasha says grinning at your still slightly awed face. “Yeah that’s fantastic!” You say “can I help?” You ask, feeling antsy.

“Why don’t you grab everyone some water? Wanda’s putting her stuff in the car and when she’s back in we’ll eat.” Natasha says sitting down and you quickly fill up everyone’s cup and Wanda comes back to sit at the table. “Morning sweetie” she says to you while she smiles down at her plate. Natasha digs in and both of you follow and soon all 3 plates are cleared. You stand up grabbing the dishes before either of them can and Natasha laughs softly. You wash them off and Wanda puts them away while Natasha grabs her purse. “Heading out loves” she spins Wanda around and kisses her before squeezing your shoulder and leans in “text me if you need anything alright?” She said and you nod “of course thank you ma’am. Have a good day.” She walks out the door and you catch a glimpse of her car driving away. 

“Go grab your bag alright?” Wanda says patting your back and you go grab your backpack with your English textbook and psych textbook and everything else you needed. Finally you go to the front door and tug on your socks and shoes. “Alright let’s head out. We’ll be there a few minutes early just so I can show you where my office is okay?” Wanda says and you stand up noticing her outfit. She’s in pants and a button up white top with a beige sweater with her own bag slung over her shoulder. She has both your lunches tucked under her arm.

“You look like a psych professor” you tease and she rolls her eyes as she opens the door. “Shocker” she says dryly as you walk out and she follows locking the door behind her. Wanda unlocks the car and you get into the passenger seat and she passes you your lunch. “I already removed the cheese” she added as she buckled in. “Thank you Miss. Maximoff” you reply with a wide smile. “Buckle” she reminded firmly and you avert your eyes quickly buckling. She drives off and turns music back on this time it’s a type of rock band and you stare at her slack jawed. “I got into this stuff when I was a teenager” Wanda says without looking, flitting her eyes to yours amusedly. 

You check your phone to see a text from Natasha that says ‘Have a good day sweet girl’ and you smile at it hearting it. You watch out the window as Wanda enters campus and rest your chin on your hand. “Pretty” you murmur and Wanda chuckles “it is very pretty” she agrees. She finds her parking spot and parks and you hop out grabbing your lunch and putting it in your bag. Wanda begins to walk and you hurry to follow and she guides you to her office and she taps the door. “You can always drop by okay?” She says keeping her eyes trained on yours until you nodded. She then led you to her room and you gape at the large size. “Go pick a seat detka” she said gently, pushing you in. 

You glance around the room seeing about half of the seats filled but you catch a glimpse of a black girl with brown wavy hair. She’s in jeans and a black shirt with a black jacket. You take a deep breath and go sit next to her. She glances up “hey” she says dryly. “Hi, do you mind if I sit here?” You ask tentatively “well you already are so” she shrugs and checks her watch. You drum your fingers on the table feeling a little anxious. Wanda strode in and sat at her desk. MJ glanced up but didn’t sit up as Wanda set her stuff down. You shoot Wanda an anxious glass and she smiles reassuringly back. 

She clears her throat and her presence seems to make the whole class go still. “Hello everyone. This is intro to psychology. If you’ve had me before than you’re waiting for advanced psychology which is later. If you’re not sure what you’re doing in this classroom there’s a map outside the door.” Her tone is firm but warm. She gave everyone a minute and one student looked bewildered and left waving awkwardly. “Now then for everyone who is in this class this is not an easy class. However if you pay attention and put in the effort then I guarantee you will pass.” Wanda announced and MJ nodded nonchalantly.

Wanda continued to talk through the plans for the year and other important questions and explained that your homework was to read the first chapter of the textbook and take notes. When the class is done MJ looks up “you’re cool” she says simply and you stare “we exchanged about 5 words” you point out. “Yeah but the professor clearly likes you already. Plus you seem like an enigma” she wiggles her fingers and you laugh. “Thanks I guess” you say and wave while grabbing your bag. “Well it’s societies instilled time for lunchtime” MJ said “wanna head to the dining hall with me?” She asks and you nod waving at Wanda. 

You follow MJ to the dining hall “you know where you’re going huh?” You say with a small grin “yeah I scoped out the campus earlier” she said simply. You wait in line before warming up your food and then sit with MJ. There’s a lanky blond boy who looks like he could be a ballet dancer sitting across from her. “Hi there!” He says with a smile “hey. My name’s y/n what’s yours?” You ask “I’m Peter Parker” he says and shakes your hand. 

The lunch passes with some conspiracy theory talk, tech talk, classes talk. The topics shifted so quickly and it was exhilarating. Peter was a STEM student but was taking English 101 for fun. Your phone buzzed and you see a text from Wanda ‘your next class starts in 10 minutes sweetie’ you quickly text back a thank you and stand up packing everything back up. Peter comes to and together you get a little lost but find the English 101 class.

“It’s  taught by Professor Barnes” Peter informs as you two walk in together and sit near the back. He seemed intense and Peter seemed a little nervous around him as he walked around giving details for what the semester will be like. You were intimidated by him too but less than you were of Wanda. The class was overwhelming and your hand gripped the table tight.When class ended you and Peter rushed out talking a little but he left for dinner with a friend. Whereas you head to Wanda’s office where she’s meeting with a student. While making some new friends had been nice…the day was overwhelming. 

There had been a lot of bright lights that gave you a headache and you just wanted to leave. The fuzzy and spacey feeling had come back almost ten fold so you were relieved when the student left her office. You dart in and Wanda looks up a little amused, her eyes narrowed but they return to normal after a moment. “Why don’t you take a break and you can do my homework for you at home after dinner? I grabbed Matilda for you” she said with a smile and she grabbed a small red bag. She pulled out Matilda and a container of cheez kts and pases them over. “Thank you ma’am” you murmur curling up and beginning to read while munching on cheez its. 

When she’s done you pack everything up and walk out to the car with her leaning against her a little. “Good first day sweetie?” She asks and you nod wordlessly hopping into the car “Bucky- professor Barnes told me you made another friend hmm?” She said with a proud smile and you nod. She begins to drive and shoots you a concerned look but your mind was far too spacey. When you arrive at the house Natasha’s at the door and she kisses Wanda and wraps you in a hug “did it go okay sweetie?” Sweetie makes your…headspace worse but you nod clearing your throat “yeah it was okay.” Natasha smiles “I ordered Chinese take out. You can go eat while you work little love” she says squeezing your hand. You smile gratefully heading back to your room where a plate piled with take out is sitting on the desk. 

You take out your textbook and laptop and start to eat while you read. All the words seemed too big and too much and it would be far more fun to watch that cartoon with mo-with Wanda and Natasha again. You reread the same page over ten times and rest your head on the textbook and begin to cry. You had wasted almost a full hour already and had achieved barely anything. Your notes had had the word choices of a child and your Chinese food was barely eaten. You continue to cry into the book feeling pathetic and the stupid spacey feeling begins to take over. 

You hear a knock at your door and don’t bother to look up “come in” you groan. Wanda comes in with a plate with a brownie and a scoop of vanilla ice cream on it. She notices you crying and immediately sets it down “oh detka what is it?” She asks crouching down tilting your head towards her. “This stupid textbook! I’ve reread the same page over and over and I don’t understand and my brain is all  fuzzy and spacey” you’re hyperventilating as you talk and Wanda strokes your cheeks. “Okay sweetie shh..shh. That’s a lot of thoughts going on hmm? The notes can be saved for later. Why don’t you and I go out to Miss. Natasha and finish some more dinner and then dessert. Than more of that cartoon from last night?” She suggests her voice going soft and warm and you nod melting. 

“Can I carry you detka?” She asks and you nod slightly dazed. She scoops you up and you hold the Chinese food and she holds the dessert while carrying you to the living room on her hip. Natasha looks up in surprise and mouths ‘little?’ To Wanda and Wanda nods. You don’t notice too busy trying to eat the Chinese without spilling while still on her hip. “I think we can eat on the couch tonight” Wanda says, stroking your hair as she settles down and Natasha sits down next to you. 

“Wanda? Eating on the couch?? You are a special little love” Natasha cooed, kissing your forehead. The spacey feeling transformed into you feeling…small? You felt safe and warm on the inside. You burrow into Wanda and Natasha picked up the fork from the Chinese. “Okay malysh you look exhausted. Would it be okay if I fed you?” You look at her with glossy eyes and open your mouth. She makes whoosh sounds and feeds you like it’s an airplane. You feel completely small and safe now and giggle as she feeds you. Wanda turns on a new show and you furrow your brows “that int gavity falls” you slur with a pout. “You’re right little love but I think that this is much better for you right now okay?” Wanda says and you nod watching happily. Soon the Chinese food was gone and you were absorbed into the show giggling along. “Miss wandaaaa!” You say peeking up at her “bownie plea!!” You beg and she chuckles “cutie pie” she coos grabbing the brownie and ice cream and feeds it to you using ship noises. You pout “aiplane please” you make puppy dog eyes. She chuckles and switches “only cause you asked nicely love bug.”

You beam at her and return to the show “Miss wanna who your favoite?” You ask “hmm probably strawberry she takes care of all her friends!” She replies, scrunching her nose up at you. “Miss ‘tashhh” you turn to her. “Mine is plum pudding malysh” she says with a smile. You nod as if that made perfect sense before returning to the show. “Miss. Wanna?” you yawn sleepily she looks up from her phone, her other arm still wrapped around your middle. 

“Yes?” She asks with a smile “color?” You ask hopefully and she and Natasha exchange a glance. “Well…it’s getting late, baby girl. Tomorrow okay?” She answers finally and you whine your lower lip jutting out. “Bu bu bu!! Pleaaaa” you beg and Wanda firmly shakes her head with the usual sternness entering her voice. “Bedtime lovebug. We’re going to get you changed and then you can sleep with us hmm?” She says and you scowl at her but nod not wanting to get a scolding. And more importantly you desired cuddles.

Wanda cleaned up while Natasha held your hand escorting you to your room. “I spy with my little eye…a little one!” she says and then her hands land on your stomach tickling you relentlessly and you giggle. “MISS TASH!!!!” You squeal, batting at her hands and she lets go with a small laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind for later” she says with a wink and scoops you up putting you on the bed. She rummages through the drawers and find an oversized shirt with an otter on it and a pair of black sweatpants. “Alrighty lovebug let’s get you changed. Is it okay if I help?” She asks and you nod feeling too small to do it yourself. 

You felt as if you were just floating along feeling more like a toddler than your actual age. Natasha  pats your stomach “arms up y/n” she instructs and you lift them above your hands. She removes the sweatshirt and then the shirt. She guides your arms through the otter shirt holes and you giggle. “And here I thought we had a little chipmunk. Maybe we have a little otter who needs to hold mine and Wanda’s hands so she doesn’t drift away!” Natasha coos holding your hands before tugging on your pants. She guides you through the pant holes “and jump” she instructs. You jump and she tugs them up.

“And now that we’ve got a little otter it is their bedtime hmm? But first! Teeth brushing.” Natasha says and you head to the restroom quickly brushing your teeth. Then you giggle before running off to their bedroom. You run smack into Wanda who has to grab you by the back of your shirt to keep you from falling. She sights softly and gives you a firm look “Detka…no running okay? I know you didn’t know so we’ll talk some more about the rules tomorrow.” She says her voice shifting to reassuring and you nod. Natasha comes up behind you and kisses Wanda’s cheek before holding your hand and walking into the bedroom. Wanda follows and when you turn to tell her something gushes over your shirt “oh that is so cute y/n! You’re a little otter!” She kisses your forehead and both she and Natasha head to get changed. 

You crawl into the bed and sit in the middle of it snuggling under the blankets. Wanda and Natasha come out a few moments later. “Can I touch your hair?” Natasha asks her hands hovering over your hair and you nod. She undoes your hair as Wanda lays down wrapping an arm around your middle. Natasha finishes and lays down holding your hand. Wanda grabs your other hand and kisses your cheek “good night little otter” she murmurs and Natasha turns over “don’t float away” she says teasingly and you mumble an affirmation. You felt oh so small and began to drift off to sleep holding both of their hands tight. 

[glowettee]

Hey girly~~

I'm a writer and blogger recently navigating Tumblr. Sometimes I worry that no one will really care what I have to say, or care about my ideas. What's the best thing to focus on when I feel this way? I think I'm just looking for a little encouragement💗. I hope this makes sense!

hey sweetheart, so sorry i've been extremely inactive. finals have been draining, exhausting, and overwhelming!! i'm almost done, but i wanted to answer your question because it made me sooo freaking happy!!!

this question literally touched my heart because i've been exactly where you are!! that feeling when you pour your thoughts and creativity into your writing, hit post, and then wonder if anyone out there is actually connecting with your words? i completely understand that vulnerable feeling, bestie! 

first of all, i want to say how brave it is to create and share your writing in the first place! putting your thoughts out into the world takes so much courage, and the fact that you're doing it already shows how much passion you have. that's something to be proud of regardless of the notes or reblogs!

when those doubts creep in (and trust me, they visit all of us, even people with thousands of followers!), here are some gentle reminders and perspectives that have helped me create my blog:

1. remember why you started writing

   ✧ was it to process your own thoughts?

   ✧ to connect with others who feel the same way?

   ✧ to create something beautiful?

   ✧ to document your journey?

   returning to your original purpose can be so grounding when the external validation feels uncertain. i keep this in mind whenever i'm planning ideas, writing my posts or even when i feel unmotivated to write a bunch of words onto the tumblr word processor. this generally just helps you focus on the purpose for your blog/writing.

2. focus on quality over quantity

   ✧ one genuine connection with a reader who truly resonates with your words is worth more than hundreds of passive scrollers

   ✧ some of my favorite writers and bloggers have smaller but incredibly devoted followers

   ✧ meaningful engagement > follower count (always!!)

3. celebrate the uniqueness of your voice

   ✧ no one else has your exact perspective, experiences, or way of expressing things

   ✧ the internet doesn't need more people trying to sound like everyone else

   ✧ your specific voice is exactly what someone out there is looking for

   ✧ authenticity always shines through and attracts the right people

4. remember that growth takes time

   ✧ most "overnight successes" actually took years of consistent posting

   ✧ tumblr especially works on connections and community building

   ✧ your words might be quietly collecting in someone's bookmarks even if they haven't engaged yet

   ✧ some of my posts that got almost no notes when first published suddenly found their audience months later!

5. create for yourself first

   ✧ write what brings you joy, healing, or clarity

   ✧ if you're excited about your content, that energy will naturally attract others

   ✧ when you love what you create, external validation becomes a bonus rather than a necessity

   ✧ the posts i'm most proud of aren't always my most popular ones!

   ✧ make sure to utilize aesthetics in your post, ones you enjoy are always a bonus, and it's so fun to design your post according to whatever aesthetic/vibe

6. engage with other writers/bloggers and creators

   ✧ leave thoughtful comments on posts you love

   ✧ reblog with your own additions

   ✧ join writing challenges or community events (example: tag games)

   ✧ respond to asks and messages

   ✧ community building is a two-way street! this is my favorrrrittee part of being a girlblogger.

7. trust the timing of your journey

   ✧ some days will be quiet, others will surprise you with connection

   ✧ consistency matters more than immediate results

   ✧ your words might be exactly what someone needs to read tomorrow, or next month, or next year

i also want to remind you that even the most popular writers and bloggers have moments of doubt! it's part of the creative process to sometimes wonder if what you're making matters. but just know your perspective is inherently valuable. your experiences are worth documenting. your creative expression deserves space in this world.

when i first started my blog, i would sometimes post things that got almost no interaction. but then i'd get a single message from someone saying "this was exactly what i needed to read today" and it would remind me why i started in the first place.

keep nurturing your writer's heart, keep showing up for your creativity, and keep sharing your unique voice with the world. the right readers will find you, i promise. and in the meantime, take pride in the courage it takes to create and share in the first place!

sending you all the creative inspiration and confidence vibes!! hope this helps <3

xoxo, mindy 🤍

> submit to the hotline so we can trauma bond: https://bit.ly/glowetteehotline

[mediocre-shark-tales]

My Chosen Family is My Forever Family

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

Yes this has two titles, I couldn't pick one cause both are perfect. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter as I thought it was time for a break from most of the extremely heavy angst style writing and topics. Story Y/n needs a break too right? So enjoy this extra sweet fluffy chapter! (Also I know I said in the update that none of the romance will be described to be a specific driver - but some driver interactions may seem romantic within specific chapters - if its not the driver you want y/n to fall for then pretend the interaction is in a more platonic light than potentially romantic one)

I had fully expected the first week of my mandatory break to be soul-crushingly boring. And not just the kind of “bored scrolling on your phone in bed” boring—no, this was a special kind of frustration. The kind that claws at your skin and makes your chest ache because you know there’s work to be done, training to be completed, sim sessions to suffer through, and races to be run… but you’re stuck. Grounded. Benched.

The doctors told me I’d only miss one race this season, which—on paper—should have brought me some peace. But it didn’t. Because every second I wasn’t behind a wheel felt like I was being peeled away from everything I loved. I couldn’t even enjoy the distractions I normally turned to in moments like this. Reading was hard with my dominant arm injured, playing any of my instruments or sim work was out of the question, and even cooking—something I did just to feel normal—was off the table unless I wanted to risk re-tearing the stitches, popping my shoulder back out before the tendons have healed back over it, or even just put too much stress on the forearm fracture.

I hated it.

I hated relying on others. I hated how slow everything suddenly felt, like the world had pressed pause for me and only me, while everyone else got to keep going. I hated the silence of my apartment. The empty hours. The ache that wasn't just physical but emotional—rooted in the idea that I wasn't useful, wasn’t doing anything. That somehow, this forced pause was proof I wasn’t strong enough to keep up.

And so, when I sent a simple message to the group chat I had with the boys—just something like “If anyone’s around this week, I could use a hand, I guess…”—I didn’t expect anything to really come from it. I’d barely hit send before the notifications started flooding in.

Within an hour, they’d sent me a color-coded schedule. One of them would be with me every day—just to hang out, help when needed, or keep me company. And if by some miracle none of them were available, Nico, my ever-patient manager, would step in for the day.

At first, I dreaded it. I assumed they’d hover, fuss, and treat me like I was made of glass. I thought being babied would make everything feel worse—like I was confirming all the fears that I’d become too fragile to be the version of myself I’d worked so hard to be.

But they surprised me.

They didn’t force help on me. They didn’t smother me in pity. Instead, they came over like it was just another afternoon, acting like nothing had changed unless I asked them to. And somehow, that was what I needed more than anything. It didn’t feel like they were coming to take care of me—it felt like they just wanted to be with me.

And in those moments, I didn’t feel broken anymore.

Each of them brought something different to the table—something comforting, something uniquely them. Little acts of care that didn’t feel overwhelming or patronizing, but thoughtful, effortless, and real.

I didn’t expect to enjoy any of it. But I did.

And now, thinking back on each day of this first week, I can’t help but smile. Because each of the boys gave me a piece of myself back without even realizing it.

Charles was the first one, naturally. He had insisted, texting the group chat three times the night before to make sure no one else would try to swap with him. “I’m going first. Non-negotiable.” It made me laugh more than I had in days, and honestly, knowing it would be him kind of made everything feel… easier. Charles had a calm about him—gentle, warm, grounding. Like a deep breath you didn’t realize you were holding until you let it out.

He showed up right on time, two coffees in hand and a paper bag from my favorite bakery tucked under one arm. “For the champion in recovery,” he said with a soft smile, leaning in to kiss the top of my head before I could even mutter a sarcastic thank you.

From the start, the day felt weirdly domestic in a way that both comforted and unnerved me. Charles moved through my apartment like he’d lived here his whole life—kicking off his shoes by the door, putting the pastries on a plate instead of leaving them in the bag, and checking in on me constantly with soft touches and even softer words.

“Need anything? A pillow? Blanket? Another croissant?”

At some point, I was seated on the couch, cradling the warm mug between my legs while he shuffled through my bathroom cabinet in search of my brush.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” I called, already dreading the answer.

“I know,” he answered simply. “That’s why I’m doing it.”

I heard him walking back before I saw him—his footsteps light but purposeful. When he rounded the corner, brush in hand and a scrunchie looped around his fingers, I gave him my best unimpressed glare.

“You’ve planned this.”

“I might have practiced,” he admitted, crouching beside the couch with a playful grin. “Carlos has long hair too, you know.”

“You practiced brushing Carlos’ hair?”

He winked. “That’s not important.”

I rolled my eyes but turned around, letting him settle onto the couch behind me. My injured arm stayed close to my chest, and I winced slightly trying to shift, but Charles noticed instantly. His hand came to my good shoulder with a tenderness that stole the air from my lungs.

“Relax,” he murmured, voice low and smooth. “I’ve got you.”

And he did.

His fingers threaded into my hair, separating gentle sections before beginning to brush. His touch was delicate, each stroke deliberate and slow, like he was afraid of hurting me or pulling too hard. The brush moved through the tangles patiently, occasionally catching on a stubborn knot, but Charles never tugged. Instead, he used his fingers to work them out, fingertips grazing my scalp just enough to make my eyes flutter shut.

“Feels nice, hmm?” he teased quietly, clearly noticing how still I had gone, how I was just breathing and existing beneath his touch.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because it felt too nice. Too comforting. Too intimate.

And then he laughed—soft and warm, the kind of laugh that made you want to curl up inside it.

“You’re going to fall asleep,” he said. “Then I’ll have to carry you to bed, and you know I’ll complain the whole time about my back.” I turned just enough to shoot him a crooked smirk. “You act like I don’t know you’d gladly carry me anywhere.”

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. The air between us settled—quiet, safe.

He finished brushing with a final little tug and then gently pulled my hair back into a low ponytail, securing it with the scrunchie. His fingers lingered just a second too long against the back of my neck, and I swear I felt the warmth of his breath before he leaned back. “There,” he said softly. “Perfect.”

Later, while I was napping with my legs stretched across his lap and his hand absentmindedly tracing patterns on my shin, I realized something.

He never once treated me like I was broken. Not even for a second. He just made sure I didn’t have to do it all alone. And that meant more than I could ever put into words.

The second morning of recovery started a little differently.

I didn’t wake up to pain, or to the dull frustration of being limited by my injuries. No. I woke up to the faint clatter of pans and the unmistakable scent of something warm and buttery drifting in from the kitchen. My brow furrowed as I blinked awake, arm still tucked securely in its sling, a blanket half-hanging off the bed. It took me a few seconds to remember that no—I hadn’t left the stove on. I hadn’t even cooked in days. I mean, I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

Oscar.

Of course.

I should’ve expected it. He had the spare key from a couple months ago when I struggled with my panic attacks the most and he’d insisted on “emergency access” in case. Plus, the boys had agreed on him hanging out with me today.

I pushed myself up slowly, groaning at the dull ache in my side. My ribs still hated me for breathing too hard, and my forearm protested every time I shifted. I considered calling out to him, but the sounds in the kitchen only got louder—along with what I assumed was him humming softly to himself.

Padding out of the bedroom with one socked foot and the other dragging a blanket behind me, I turned the corner to find Oscar in the middle of what I could only describe as controlled chaos.

The counters were littered with ingredients—half-used eggshells in a bowl, pancake mix in a measuring cup, a bottle of orange juice open and half-poured into a glass, and Oscar standing in the center of it all, wearing one of my aprons like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He hadn’t heard me yet. I watched him lean down to check the skillet, spatula in hand, eyes narrowed in pure concentration. He flipped a pancake with the kind of careful deliberation usually reserved for high-speed turns on a track.

And the best part?

Nothing was burnt.

Yet.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed—a soft, surprised burst of sound that startled him just enough to make him jump and spin toward me.

“You’re not supposed to be up yet!” he exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up. “I was going to surprise you.”

“You did,” I smirked, leaning against the doorway. “Surprised you haven’t set off the fire alarm.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, cheeks dusted a light pink as he returned to the stove. “You’re hilarious. I’m actually doing fine, thank you very much.”

“You’re doing great,” I teased, eyes twinkling. “Even if it looks like a tornado hit my kitchen.”

He gestured dramatically with the spatula. “A small price to pay for gourmet breakfast.”

I walked over slowly, settling into one of the barstools with a wince as I adjusted my arm. Oscar glanced over immediately, eyes scanning me like he could somehow absorb the pain for me if he just stared long enough.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Don’t even think about helping. You just sit there and look pretty, alright?”

I blinked.

The words were said with a teasing lilt, but his eyes held something quieter. Something real. Something sincere and steady.

“I mean it,” he added, softer now, pouring the last of the batter into the pan. “Let me take care of you today.”

I didn’t argue.

Because the truth was, Oscar was one of those people who didn’t need to be loud to make you feel safe. He didn’t hover. He didn’t pity. He just existed beside you, making space for you to breathe without asking anything in return.

Once the pancakes were done, he plated them carefully—fruit on the side, syrup in a little ramekin like he’d seen me do once. Then he brought the plate over like it was a five-star meal, setting it down in front of me with a proud grin.

“You made this?” I asked, trying not to look too impressed.

“Every last slightly-lopsided pancake,” he replied.

I took a bite. It was fluffy, warm, and surprisingly good. My eyes flicked up to his and I nodded once. “Not bad, Piastri.”

“I’ll take that as a Michelin star.”

Later, after we’d eaten and he’d forced me onto the couch with a blanket and another coffee, I caught him washing dishes without being asked, sleeves rolled up, humming again under his breath. Oscar made even the dull ache of healing feel a little bit sweeter.

On the third day, Max arrived like a storm disguised as calm.

No dramatic entrance. No teasing comments or sarcastic remarks like I half-expected. Just a knock on the door, a quiet “It’s me,” and then the gentle thud of his backpack hitting the floor as he stepped inside like he’d done it a thousand times before.

I hadn’t realized how much my body had begun to ache from sitting awkwardly all morning until Max gently guided me back to the couch, fixed the pillows behind me, and placed a blanket over my lap—tucking it in with a care that didn’t match the usual intense persona he carried on race weekends.

“What?” I asked, arching a brow as he stood above me with crossed arms, eyes scanning me like he was memorizing a damage report.

He shrugged. “You look tired. And grumpy. That’s my job, not yours.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Uh huh.” He didn’t look convinced. “Have you taken your meds yet?”

I blinked.

Shit.

He sighed, pulling out his phone and tapping the screen once before showing it to me. “I set alarms. You’re officially on the Max Verstappen Recovery Program.”

“You’re kidding,” I said, eyes widening slightly.

“Nope.” His voice was steady, almost playful, but there was something under it. Something fierce and unwavering. He reached into the side pocket of his bag and pulled out the familiar orange bottle, the one I always seemed to forget in my frustration with being… well, this version of me.

The version that needed help just to function.

“I was gonna take them—”

“Sure you were,” Max said, cutting me off with the smallest quirk of a smile.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he stepped closer, expression softening as he crouched in front of me. His fingers reached up, slow and careful, and tilted my chin gently so I had no choice but to look at him.

His blue eyes—always sharp, always focused—held something different now. Something quiet. Protective. Real.

“No excuses,” he murmured. “You don’t take care of yourself, I’ll do it for you.”

The pill bottle was pressed into my hand, and for a second, I just sat there, stunned into stillness by the tenderness in his voice.

This was Max. Max who never sugar coated. Max who rarely let emotion crack through the armor of being a two-time world champion. And yet here he was, setting alarms to make sure I didn’t forget my meds. Holding my gaze like the sky might fall if I didn’t take care of myself. Acting like my well-being was the only thing that mattered in the world right now.

I swallowed the pills without another word.

“Good girl,” he said softly, before standing and ruffling my hair in the most annoyingly affectionate way possible.

“You’re lucky I can’t punch you right now,” I muttered.

“You’re lucky I know that.”

Later, he sat beside me, our legs tucked under the same blanket as we watched mindless TV. He kept half his focus on the screen and the other half on me, occasionally checking the time or asking if I needed anything. Not hovering—but always there.

Not once did he make me feel like a burden.

Just someone worth showing up for.

And in the safety of that simple, quiet evening, I let myself lean just a little into him—into the warmth, the presence, and the overwhelming peace of being taken care of by someone who rarely let the world see how much he actually cared.

—

The knock on the door came earlier than expected, just as I was halfway through the frustrating, one-handed battle of pulling on my hoodie. The pain in my shoulder had flared up again, throbbing in time with my heartbeat, but I wasn’t about to call for help—not yet. I was stubborn, if nothing else.

“Don’t rush,” Franco’s voice called from the other side of the door, light and teasing. “I come in peace. And with croissants.”

I smiled despite myself.

By the time I shuffled to the door and opened it, he stood there grinning, one brow raised and a paper bag balanced in one hand. His hair was a little windswept, sunglasses still on, as if he’d sprinted over without a second thought.

“Morning,” he greeted, stepping in. “I hear we have a mission today.”

I sighed and tilted my head. “Please don’t tell me Nico sent you with a checklist.”

“Something like that,” he chuckled, setting the croissants on the counter and pulling off his sunglasses. “He wants people to see you. Remind the world that ‘Ghost’ is still very much alive and kicking.”

“Barely kicking,” I muttered, glancing down at my wrapped arm.

Franco didn’t miss a beat. “Barely is still enough.”

He was already moving toward the hallway, grabbing the gear bag I hadn’t even asked him to bring and pulling out my helmet. He held it like it was something sacred, brushing his fingers along the top before turning toward me.

“C’mere,” he said softly. “Let me help.”

I hesitated, but he gave me that warm, patient look—the one that always made me feel safe, even when everything else was chaos. So I stepped forward, and he carefully guided the helmet on, making sure nothing tugged too hard against my injury. His fingers brushed my skin as he adjusted the padding, gentle and deliberate, and I caught the way his eyes softened when he saw me wince.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Just hate feeling like this.”

His hand paused against the side of my jaw, thumb grazing lightly before he pulled back. “You’re allowed to hate it. Just don’t let it convince you that you’re weak.”

Once I was dressed—slowly, awkwardly, with Franco helping me get the shoulder support back on without making a production of it—we headed out to the team headquarters. Just like Nico wanted, everyone got a chance to see that “Ghost” was up, alive, and recovering. Franco stayed by my side the entire time, making it seem natural, like he was just there because he wanted to be. Though I am sure he did want to be with me, just not here where I could easily mess something up in my healing. 

He didn’t treat me like a porcelain doll. He let me lean on him if I needed to, but never hovered or made me feel helpless. Just present. Grounding.

After enough smiling and pretending to be perfectly fine for the cameras and the team, we ducked out early. “You’ve earned the rest of the day off,” he said, nudging me with his shoulder as we got into his car. “What’s next? Grocery run?”

“God, yes. If I eat another instant noodle cup I might scream.”

We wandered the aisles like two university students who barely knew how to shop for real food. He made fun of my oddly specific snack preferences, and I teased him for the fact that he apparently can’t function without a very particular kind of olive oil.

When we got home, we cooked together—well, I supervised while Franco did most of the cooking, reading the instructions with exaggerated concentration. He looked so serious trying to make the sauce just right, even though it was something so simple. I sat at the counter, legs swinging slightly, letting the domesticity of it all sink in.

The soft sound of the simmering pan, Franco humming under his breath, the occasional “Try this and tell me if it’s too salty”—it was the kind of quiet intimacy I didn’t realize I’d been craving. It wasn’t about being cared for, it was just… being with someone who wanted to care.

By the time dinner was done, my arm was aching again and I was half-asleep at the table. Franco cleaned up without asking, humming that same soft tune he’d had going all day.

Before leaving, he leaned down and gently bumped his forehead against mine. “Tomorrow’s Lando's shift, but text me if you need anything. Or if you just want more pasta.”

I didn’t say anything until after the door clicked shut and the apartment returned to stillness.

Then I whispered it to the empty space he left behind: “Thank you.”

And I meant it more than he would ever know.

I had barely rolled out of bed when my phone buzzed. A FaceTime call from Lando. Not a text. Not a “hey, you up?” warning. Just a full-blown, front-camera assault first thing in the morning. I sighed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and accepted the call.

Lando’s face filled the screen instantly—grinning, eyes bright, clearly way too awake for how early it was. “Good morning, sunshine!”

“You are way too chipper for this hour,” I groaned, flopping back into the pillows.

“I’ve got a surprise,” he said, practically bouncing in place. “Nico gave the okay. I got you cleared for something fun today.”

I blinked. “Cleared for what?”

“Quadrant. Video shoot. You and me. Karting track. But—” he raised a finger, “—don’t freak out. You’re not racing. You’re coaching. Like a proper boss. You get to wear your helmet and everything. Total mystery. Maximum ‘Ghost’ vibes.”

My heart fluttered at the thought. It wasn’t racing, not exactly. But it was a toe back in the world I loved. A toe that wouldn’t risk undoing the progress I’d made. A smile crept onto my face despite the dull ache in my shoulder.

“I’m in,” I whispered.

“I knew you’d say yes!” Lando grinned like he’d just won a bet with himself. “Be ready in an hour. I’m picking you up.”

Exactly sixty-two minutes later, Lando was in my apartment—letting himself in with the spare key Oscar had reluctantly given him, armed with a large quadrant hoodie and one of my helmets already polished and tucked under his arm.

“You’re a menace,” I told him as he helped me pull on the hoodie. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m your menace today,” he shot back, grinning as he gently fixed the collar so it wouldn’t irritate the sling. Then, softer, more sincere: “You look badass. Even with one arm fully out of commission and the other only half as bad.”

He helped me with the helmet, adjusting the straps like he’d done it a hundred times. His fingers were careful, brushing under my jaw as he worked.

“There,” he said when he was done, stepping back to admire his work. “Ghost is back.”

The shoot was at a private karting track, nothing too intense, but buzzing with energy. Lando had already worked it out with the Quadrant team: he and I would each coach one half of the group for the day. It wasn’t about speed or competition—it was about chaos, laughter, and low-stakes fun. And somehow, even though I wasn’t driving, it felt like coming home.

Lando stuck close to me but never hovered. He made it look natural, like we were just teammates riffing off each other—his chaotic jokes balancing my deadpan commentary. He made sure I had a stool to sit on whenever I needed, slipped water bottles into my hand without saying a word, and every once in a while, he’d shoot me a look across the track—a grin that asked you okay? without needing the words.

And every time, I’d nod. Because I was.

One of my favorite moments was when a member of his team spun out dramatically and Lando nearly lost his mind laughing. I leaned into his shoulder, laughing just as hard, and he slung his arm around me without hesitation. It was instinctual. Natural. Like it had always been this way.

By the end of the shoot, we were both exhausted but glowing. He helped me out of my helmet and immediately fluffed my hair like a brat.

“You were incredible today,” he said softly, his voice almost lost beneath the fading roar of the track. “You know that, right?”

I nodded, cheeks warm. “It felt good. To just... be seen again. Even if no one really saw me.”

“But I did,” he said, eyes soft. “And you were you. All day.”

We rode home with the windows down, wind tangling our hair, laughter still lingering in the car like an afterglow.

That night, as I lay in bed with the ache in my shoulder reminding me I still had a ways to go, I smiled. Because today, I wasn’t just recovering. I was living. And Lando made sure I didn’t forget what that felt like.

—

When the knock came at the door, I knew it was Ollie before I even peeked through the peephole. There was something about his timing, always perfect without trying. He knew when to give space, and when to break the silence.

I opened the door and he immediately grinned, holding up a bag of pastries like some sort of peace offering.

“I bring sugar and distraction,” he said.

I chuckled and stepped aside to let him in. “That’s my favorite combo.”

He kicked off his shoes at the door and wandered inside like he’d done it a hundred times—which, honestly, he had. My apartment didn’t look like much now that I was practically living on the couch full-time, but it was still my space. My comfort zone. And today, it felt better with him in it.

“I figured we could start looking at places,” he said, setting the pastries on the coffee table and flopping down onto the rug like it was his natural habitat. “Kimi already sent me a voice memo from a mountain he hiked up at 6 a.m. to tell us how much he wants to freeze to death next week.”

“Oh god,” I groaned, easing onto the couch with a soft wince. “If he tries to make me hike, I swear I’ll fake a rib puncture.”

Ollie snorted. “I’m already making the executive decision to veto snow.”

He leaned back on one arm, looking up at me with that lopsided smirk of his, and for a moment, I forgot about the weight in my chest. About the way healing felt more like surviving these days. About how this break was supposed to be a rest, but mostly felt like punishment.

But then we passed the hallway later on our way to grab my laptop, and it all came crashing back. He stopped. I didn’t have to look to know why.

The display shelf by the hallway had always been a quiet little timeline of my career—my first F4 helmet, the one I won my first karting championship in, and a couple others from standout races. But now… now there was another.

My most recent one.

The one from the crash.

Still blackened at the edges. Still scarred by fire and dirt and desperation. I hadn’t touched it since it was returned to me. I didn’t know why I left it there—maybe to remind myself I survived. Maybe because I hadn’t figured out how to hide it.

Ollie stood frozen, staring at it like it had personally insulted him.

I turned to say something, anything to break the tension, but then he spoke—and it hit like a punch to the ribs.

“You kept it like that?” His voice was quiet. Unsteady.

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I... I guess I couldn’t bring myself to clean it. It feels like—like proof that I got out, you know? That I made it.”

He didn’t look at me. “I thought you didn’t.” My breath caught.

His hands were balled into fists again, just like they had been in the medical room.

“You were moving,” he said, voice raw. “I saw you crawling out. I kept telling myself, she’s out, she’s out—she’s gonna be okay. And then it exploded again. I only saw it in my mirrors. Just... flames. You disappeared. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t go back. I didn’t know if you were—”

His voice cracked. I stepped forward, gently placing my good hand on his arm. “Ollie.”

“I couldn’t do anything,” he whispered. “I just kept driving and praying they’d pull you out in time.”

“You don’t have to carry that,” I murmured. “You didn’t leave me. You were racing. You didn’t abandon me.”

He finally turned to look at me, and there it was again—that same look from the hospital. Like part of him still hadn’t let go of the moment he thought I was gone. “I’m here,” I said softly. “I made it. And you’re here, too.”

He didn’t say anything, just let me pull him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around me carefully, holding tight but not too tight, like he didn’t want to cause more damage.

We stood there for a long moment, the silence more healing than any words could’ve been.

When we pulled apart, his eyes were a little glassy, but his voice had steadied. “Okay. No more crash talk for today. We’ve got a vacation to plan.”

“Finally,” I said with a smile, wiping at my cheek. “Something that doesn’t involve ice packs or medical tape.”

Back in the living room, I curled up on the couch with a blanket, and Ollie sat on the floor beside me, laptop open between us. He pulled up a tab with about ten bookmarks already waiting.

“I did some scouting. Don’t worry, I filtered out anything colder than 10 degrees.”

I laughed. “You’re a saint.”

“Obviously,” he said with a grin. “First up: this little seaside villa in Cinque Terre. Gorgeous view, private terrace, walking distance to gelato.”

“Sold.”

“Wait, wait—next one’s even better,” he said, scrolling to a cozy mountain cabin in Switzerland. “Fireplace. Hot tub. Comes with a dog named Muffin, apparently.”

I gasped. “Muffin??”

He grinned. “Now you’re invested.”

We kept flipping through options, laughing and bickering like we weren’t two people who’d almost lost each other. At some point, we ended up side by side on the couch, sharing a pastry and debating which place had the better vibe for “healing, but make it cute.”

By the end of it, we had a list narrowed down and a tentative plan to leave in three days with Kimi.

And for the first time since the crash, I felt something like normal again. Not just alive—but living.

—

I didn’t realize how nice it would be to have Kimi around until he showed up with an armful of empty duffel bags and a determined look in his eyes.

“No offense,” he said, stepping inside and immediately kicking the door shut with his heel, “but your packing system is a crime. This time, we’re doing it properly.”

I blinked at him, leaning against the doorway of my bedroom in an oversized hoodie and a sling. “Hi to you, too.”

“Hi,” he replied, grinning in that boyish way that made it hard to stay annoyed. “Now sit down and point at things. I’ll do the rest.”

And he did.

Without hesitation, Kimi opened drawers, folded clothes, sorted toiletries, and somehow managed to get all my essentials into a suitcase in a way that looked almost... aesthetic? I couldn’t decide if he was just naturally organized or if he’d learned how to be useful from traveling nonstop with F2. Either way, he didn’t need to be asked. He just did things. Quiet, capable, and oddly comforting.

“You’re scarily efficient,” I said as he zipped up the second bag.

He shrugged. “You need comfy clothes, beach things, and at least one outfit in case we go somewhere nice. Everything else is overthinking.”

“I am overthinking,” I muttered.

“I know,” he said, eyes flicking to mine, teasing. “You always do.”

That made me roll my eyes and throw a sock at his head. He caught it without looking, like some kind of casual ninja, and smirked. “Is that your way of saying thank you?”

“Sure. Also, you’re lucky I can’t throw properly right now.”

“I’m lucky either way,” he said quietly, almost too casually—but the way he said it made me freeze for half a second. I opened my mouth, ready with a sarcastic reply, but he was already standing, stretching his arms behind his head like nothing had happened.

“Alright,” he said. “We need food before I start unpacking things out of boredom.”

We ended up ordering our usual takeout from the Chinese place two blocks down. Kimi set up camp on the couch while I shuffled over with the food, and even though I knew I looked like a gremlin in sweatpants and messy hair, he didn’t blink. Just scooted over, fluffed the pillow next to him, and patted it.

“C’mon, your side of the couch looks lonely.”

I plopped down and groaned dramatically as I got comfortable, which earned me a quiet laugh from him.

“You’re so needy,” I joked.

“You love it,” he shot back, unbothered. Then he handed me my drink without even looking. Like he knew exactly which one was mine.

We ate in comfortable silence for a while, trading bites and throwing in the occasional “this is so good” or “okay that chili sauce is illegal.” After eating, Kimi picked up the controllers and waved mine in front of my face.

“I updated your save file. You’re welcome.”

“You what?”

“You were stuck on that one level. I fixed it.”

“Are you trying to one-up Oscar’s breakfast day?” I asked.

“No,” he said, eyes bright with amusement. “I’m trying to make sure you never get rid of me.”

Again, the words landed softer than they should have, sitting somewhere in the back of my mind like a puzzle piece I hadn’t quite figured out.

The night went on like that—lazy and warm and full of inside jokes. We played a few rounds of our favorite co-op game, him carrying us through the boss fights and me screaming every time we nearly died. When the controller finally dropped out of my hand and I leaned my head against the couch in defeat, he just chuckled and tugged a blanket over both of us.

“Movie time,” he said, already scrolling through the streaming options. “You get first pick. But choose wisely, because I will complain the entire time if it sucks.”

“I thought you were supposed to be helping me heal, not raising my blood pressure.”

“Stress builds character,” he deadpanned.

I laughed, sinking deeper into the couch. We eventually settled on an old comfort film, and somewhere between the opening credits and the halfway point, I felt my eyelids growing heavy. Kimi didn’t say anything when I rested my head lightly against his shoulder. He just shifted slightly so I could fit better and kept watching, one arm resting casually along the back of the couch.

He smelled like clean laundry and citrus shampoo and something that was just Kimi—familiar, steady, safe.

As I started drifting off, I heard him say something under his breath.

“Might be my favorite day of break so far.”

I didn’t say anything.

But I smiled.

Masterlist

Taglist: @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp @thatsnotaddy @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @littlesimps-world @dozyisdead @mizzy-pop @lost4lyrics @anunstablefangirl @nikfigueiredo @reiluvr @mymmyrym

[aliceintheworld]

PURE ATTRACTION | JJK | TATTOO ARTIST

Pairing: TattooArtistJungkook X NaiveReader

Summary: "I shouldn’t be watching a man undressing, specially not from the house next door."

Warning: Angst 🥺 conversation about suicide, depression, uncertainty about oneself, Misuk being the best character of all 🫶 Namjoon finally makes an appearance (he appears a little, but then a little more, I promise) Jungkook being an idiot – forgive him, for he doesn't know what he's doing.

A/N: I'm back!! First, I wanted to thank you all for the affection I've been receiving. Thank you so much for the messages and interactions! If you want to send non-anonymous messages, I even prefer it, because I can follow you 🥰 Pure Attraction is a not very elaborate story, I know, but it has become an important part of my life, so I thank you for reading all these chapters, you don't know how much this means. Without further ado, here is the chapter.

P.S.: Later, still today, I will post the next chapter 🤌

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 10

The journey back home has never felt so long. Minutes pass, yet it feels as if the clock's hands are stuck. I try to take a deep breath, but I can't. My head is filled with memories, occasions when I could have done something different. I was so foolish, so stupid. Filled with regret, I can't even look at myself in the reflection of the window. I remember my father, my mother, and I wonder what they would say if they knew I made a mistake with no way to turn back. My eyes fill with tears, almost instantly, for the fourth time today alone. Mrs. Jeon remains silent, looking through the coffee table of her house.

She sighs and gaze at her own hands before locking eyes with me, as if she understands me in some way. But I don’t know if anyone could comprehend what I’m going through at this moment. I feel... used. As if, even with my consent, Jungkook took advantage of me, of my innocence and of my inexperience. At the same time, I can't place all the blame on him. I made a mistake, I should have been more cautious and I let him inside of my life.

"Are you okay?" Misuk asks, almost in a whisper. I try to shake my head and force a smile, but I can't. She sways her hair and clicks her tongue nervously. "I can't believe Jungkook did this to you, dear. He’s my son, but I don’t agree with any of this."

"He’s not the only one to blame," I deny; I barely recognize my own voice, weak and trembling.

The last time I saw myself this way was when, during a difficult year, I didn't want to visit my father's grave, and my mother opposed it. The anguish is different, but equally overwhelming.

"Can you explain how you two got so… close?" she questions. "I mean, it hasn’t been long since he came to Busan. Did you have many opportunities to talk?"

"A few." I shrug. That doesn’t matter now. I’m angry and don’t want to talk to anyone. I want to lock myself in my room and pretend everything was a terrible nightmare. "Sorry, I don't even know where to begin. I feel awful."

"You can talk to me."

"You’re his mother."

"I am." She smiles, placing a hand on mine, gently caressing my skin. I immediately feel a maternal love and care I haven’t experince in years. My crying intensifies as I realize that the person I need right now isn’t with me—my mother. Even if she were here, she wouldn’t help. She would judge me, make me feel bad about my mistakes, just as she has done in the past, and I don't need this right now. "Y/N, I’m Jungkook’s mother, but I understand what you’re going through. You have no idea."

"What do you mean?" I frown, confused. Her dark eyes fill with tears, just like mine.

"When I was around your age, I fell in love with a man. He was two years older, and so handsome. He seemed like a dream, someone so different from me, yet so similar—almost like he was a part of me." She tells me looking ahead, as if she could see the memories playing out before her. "He is Jungkook’s father. He was my first love."

"What do you mean?" I whisper. "Mr. Jeon isn’t Jungkook’s father?"

"He isn’t." She shakes her head. "That’s why I say I understand you. It was the first time I fell in love with someone. It was also the first time my trust was broken. When he found out I was pregnant, he left. I was alone, working a part-time job I didn’t even like, that paid poorly and had no support. Those were the worst years of my life."

"Misuk, I don’t know what to say," I respond, with a knot in my throat. She had never shared this while we talked about the past. But I understand her, in a way. It must be hard to relive those memories, and even harder to confide them to someone.

"You don’t have to say anything. I, after all this time, have moved on. The fear of being abandoned, however, still hasn’t healed, even with twenty-six years gone by." She smiles again, but I know she’s more hurt than she wants to show. "Dear, I care about you. I love you like a daughter, even. You’ve been with me during these days, and we’ve grown so close. I see parts of myself in you. The way my mother treated me, the absence of my father. It’s all so similar. That’s why I say I understand you."

"It all happened so… suddenly." I comment to myself, looking down. The shame of crying, and the shame of what I did, prevent me from looking her in the eyes. "I know I should have been more careful, but I was so happy... I don't get it."

"Jungkook, being more experienced than you, should have talked to you, asked what your expectations were, and told you what his intentions were. If he didn’t want something serious, a commitment, he should have warned you." She argues, not letting me continue. It’s as if she wants to lift the guilt I’m feeling, and I'm really thankful for that.

"Yes, but I was so naive. I was a fool to think he could like me the same way I like him." I groan, covering my face as more tears come. My chest hurts just remembering him. His kisses, his touches. He was so gentle with me, treating me like no one else ever had. He listened to me, and that was enough for me.

"Did you... did you have sex?" Misuk asks, running her hand along my back in a comforting gesture that soothes my pain, at least a little.

"I-I... Misuk..."

"It’s okay. You can trust me. You can open up and tell me." She smiles, without judgment. I just shake my head embarrassed, exposed, somewhat humiliated.

"We did it last night. It was very sudden." I try to explain, even if I don’t have many words to do it.

"Was it your first time? Is that why Eunji thinks you slept at my house? She said that yesterday, and I didn’t understand."

"Yes, but that night was the first time I slept at his apartament and we hadn’t done... you know."

"You hadn’t had sex, just other things." She concludes with a smile, tucking my hair behind my ear.

My cheeks burn, even when I try not to. It’s very difficult to talk about this kind of subject, even with Misuk, because I never had anyone to talk to when I was a teenager. My view of sex always came from books, whether educational or romantic.

"That’s it." I confirm, shaking my head.

"Are you in love?" Mrs. Jeon asks me when a silence falls between us.

I take a moment, reflecting about the question as if it were the most difficult one of my life. What does it mean to be in love? Is it feeling a flutter in your chest every time you see the person? Is it having a wild rush of energy that courses through your body uncontrollably? Is it standing still and feeling your heart race a thousand miles an hour? Is it missing that person and wanting to hear from them every day? If that’s the case, then yes, I’m in love. The realization of this fact hurts me even more. It makes me feel weaker. How could I be so foolish? How could I think someone would be interested in me when no one else had?

A flood of memories overwhelms me. If I had known I’d feel this pain, I would have never gotten close to Jungkook. I would have shut my window the first time I saw him, and never opened up again.

"It’s okay." She reassures me, hugging me. I hug her back, trying to purge the feeling of rejection that’s almost lodged in my chest.

"He just turned his back on me. He didn’t even see me when I left. It’s as if he got what he wanted and then I wasn’t worth the effort anymore." I vent, hurt, too wounded to stop the words pouring out.

"Jungkook is a fool." She shakes her head, pressing her lips together. "At the same time, he’s stuck in this messed-up relationship. I’ve told him millions of times that they’re not good for each other. I told him that true love doesn’t hurt, doesn’t deceive, but he’s stubborn like no one else."

"Does he really talk to his ex?" I ask, hoping it’s not as I imagine. That maybe they talk, but not as much as I’ve put in my head.

"The last time we talked about this was two days ago. He told me Namjoon called him, and they had a conversation for twenty minutes. He’s very deluded." She shakes her head, angry. Two days ago we were texting. I know we had no commitment and hadn’t established anything, but to me it’s worse to know he didn’t respect this moment. That it didn’t mean anything to him. While I melted over our messages and smiled like a fool for his attention, he was with his ex, doing the same with someone else.

"Did Namjoon really cheat on Jungkook? Why does he still try? Why does he still talk to him?"

"Namjoon was his first boyfriend. They were together for almost five years, and at one point, they practically lived together. When Jungkook was alone in Seoul, working in a tattoo studio, he met Namjoon and fell in love almost at first sight. He was very shy, introverted, with few friends in the new city. I think that helped them form a strong connection." Misuk explains. She seems to know a lot about the situation, as if she followed everything in detail, even from a distance.

"Have you ever met him... I mean, have you met Namjoon?" I ask, hesitant. My heart races for some reason. My hands feel cold with anxiety.

"Yes." She nods, sighing. "He’s a great guy, I can’t deny that. He works at a book publishing company, very intelligent and kind. I think that’s why Jungkook fell for him. At the same time, Namjoon is someone who wants more. He wants to achieve other things, and when the relationship got in the way of his goals, he didn’t think twice before stepping on everything they built together. Jungkook was devastated."

"How long ago was that?"

"About three months." She says; her body suddenly tenses. "That’s when I tried to take my own life."

"Mrs. Jeon... Jungkook told me what happened." I say, not really knowing if it’s right to tell her the truth. But it’s the first time she’s opened up about the subject, and I don’t think it’s fair, especially now that she told me so much about her past, to hide this from her. Her eyes widen, and then she smiles awkwardly.

"He really is an idiot. He must have told you to keep an eye on me." She says, shaking her head as if recalling her son’s actions, however she doesn't seen to hold any resentment towards him, regarding this. "He’s always been very careful. Always very protective. Jungkook has his flaws, but I think I understand why you fell for him. He’s stubborn but takes care of those he loves. I feel guilty for, even unknowingly, adding this weight to his shoulders. I’ve been feeling better now."

"Are you really okay?" I ask, somewhat uncertain.

"I am. I’m taking my medication, going to therapy, and visiting support groups once a week. Sometimes when I feel bad, I seek comfort. I know that ending my life isn’t an option. I don’t want to leave my son alone." She states. I search her eyes for any hint of untruth, anything that tells me she’s not okay, but I find nothing. I’m glad to know that, at least she, is evolving and improving. "But you know what’s making me feel better, Y/N?"

"What?" I ask, eager to know the answer. Whatever it is, I need an urgent dose of what is making her feel better.

"You." She smiles; more tears appear in her eyes, this time from happiness. "You’ve made my days better. I want you to know you can count on me. For everything." She confesses. Her voice deepens as I break down again.

"Thank you so much." I say sincerely. I have a friend. I have someone I can count on, and that brings me such a great relief that it feels like I could die.

"It’s okay. No more crying Y/N." She gets up from the couch, smiling. She raises her arms and wipes her face with her shirt. "Dear, tell me. Did you use protection? Did you take precautions?"

"No." I flush at the confession, feeling like a child who has no idea of the consequences of her actions. "He went out to buy a morning-after pill, but you arrived and..."

"It’s fine. Don’t worry." She holds her hands up, as if all of this doesn’t matter. "You don’t need to explain. I know that in the heat of the moment, you don’t think about anything. That’s why I had Jungkook when I was twenty." She laughs, making me feel even more embarrassed. "I’ll buy you a pill. Don’t worry; everything will be fine."

"Mrs. Jeon, you don’t have to. I'm going to do it."

"I don’t want to be a grandma so young, Y/N." She jokes, making me laugh too. "And it’s not a problem at all. I want to see you well, and that’s what matters."

"Thank you." I express my gratitude. Not just for the pill, but for everything. Even though it hurts, being here with her alleviates, at least a little, the torment I’m feeling.

"You don’t need to thank me. Everything will be okay." She assures me, and I accept it. I pray to God that all of this I’m feeling will soon come to an end.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?" I hear a voice behind me. I don’t look right away, afraid to fall.

Since the library shelves are very high, I usually use a mobile ladder to organize the books, so before I make sure who it is, I carefully step down the rungs. When I finally reach the ground, I regret coming down. It’s Hayun, Jungkook’s friend. Not because of her, of course, as I enjoyed meeting her, but because of him, who has kept me awake for the past three days.

"Are you okay? It’s been a while since we last saw each other." She smiles. She approaches and kisses my cheek suddenly. She seems to genuinely like me, and I’m grateful for that. Her outgoing personality couldn’t be better right now. My energy, ever since that argument happened, has been dwindling.

"I’m okay." I say, putting on my best smile. "And you? How have you been?"

"Busier every day. With the move and everything."

"You’re moving?" I ask, curious.

"Yes, didn’t Jungkook tell you?" She asks, and just the mention of his name makes my chest ache. The crying and tears have passed, but I’m far from normal with everything that happened. He hasn’t sent me any messages, and I can’t stop thinking that somehow, I was just a conquest for him. A night of sex that is already forgotten.

"No, he didn’t tell me. We haven’t... talked."

"Seriously? He’s been talking a lot about you." I raise an eyebrow, startled.

"What do you mean? What has he said?" The words fly out of my mouth before I can control myself. Hayun laughs, as if she notices my sudden interest.

"He says random things. That you like to read, or that you’re in college and you cook well. Random stuff like that." She comments, approaching one of the shelves to take a look at a book. "Anyway, I’m moving soon. Me and the guys, we’re all going to Seoul."

"With Jungkook?" I bite my lower lip, intrigued.

"Yeah, I’m from Seoul and wanted to go anyway, but we’ve been talking about everyone moving there for years. We were just waiting for Bora and Taehyung to finish college." She closes the book and puts it back, shrugging. I nod in agreement. Good for them. It feels like I’ll be the only one stuck here, stagnant for the rest of my life. I feel bad. I should make a list of topics I can’t discuss without feeling like a fraud. Damn it.

"That’s great... Hayun, I have to go now. I’m working. But it was nice to see you again." I say sincerely. It’s like seeing her again makes me a little closer to Jungkook. I don’t want to think about him, yet simultaneously, I can’t get enough of him. I’m going to go crazy.

"It was nice to see you too, really." She says, smiling. "I don’t want to bother you or anything, but before you go... I wanted to ask, are you going to the party tonight?"

"What party?" I frown, confused.

"The celebration. The studio opened, and we’re having a party at Yoongi’s house. It’ll be the last one before we move to Seoul. What do you think?" She grabs my arm, full of excitement. I shake my head immediately, flustered. Jungkook probably hasn’t told his friends what happened between us, and I don’t know if I should be sad or happy about that.

"I can’t, really." I respond, trying my best expression.

"Come on! Let’s go, Y/N, it’ll be fun. It’s for Jungkook. It’s important to him."

"It’s precisely because of him I’m not going." I whisper to her, softly. Hayun stops smiling and glares at me intently.

"Did something happen? You can tell me. Did the idiot do something to you?"

"He didn’t do anything." I half-lie, half-try to hide. Him sleeping with me while still talking to his ex isn’t exactly a huge thing. We hadn’t established anything serious yet. Though, in my head, he is wrong in any case.

"If he didn’t do anything, you should go. He’s really happy about the studio. He worked for about four years to save the money he needed."

"Hayun..." I sigh, embarrassed. "Actually, something did happen. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go. It’s to avoid ruining his night that I’m saying no." I finish, somewhat nervously. My body trembles with sadness and bitterness.

"Hey, you can count on me. I won’t tell the idiot anything you say. I’m a jerk, but not a bad friend." She rolls her eyes, clapping her hands together. I chuckle helplessly. She’s funny. I had forgotten this little detail.

"Alright, but I’ll be brief. I really need to get to work." I say. Hayun nods silently in agreement. "Jungkook and I did have a thing."

"I knew it!" She exclaims, in the middle of the hallway. Since it’s a library, her loud voice echoes throughout the place, drawing the attention of the few customers to us. I laugh in despair, covering my mouth with my hand. "Sorry, I spoke too loud. But I knew it! the way he talks about you... he likes you."

"I don’t think he likes me that much." I whisper, losing my smile. "He doesn’t want commitment, and that’s why we drifted apart. He still seems to care a lot about his ex."

"Namjoon." Hayun grunts his name without enthusiasm, rolling her eyes. Her once cheerful face, suddenly tightens. "I know. I liked him until I found out what he did to Jungkook. No one has spoken to him since."

"Yeah. Well. That’s why I think it’s better not to go. I want this to be a good moment for him, anyway. I don’t want to cause any discomfort." I vent, gathering my hands that get sweaty, every time I think about this topic. I have to swallow hard to avoid more tears and appearing like a fool in front of his friend.

"I still think you should go. You won’t ruin anyone’s night; I’m sure of that. And it's Yoongi’s house, it’s not like you can’t go." The brunette argues.

"Even so, the party is for him."

"Y/N, Jungkook won’t be in Busan for long. Don’t you think it’s better for you to talk, whether to end whatever it is you have, so you can both move on without resentment?" She suggests, making me think.

I shake my head for the tenth time in this conversation. I don’t know if it would be a good idea. It’s the first time I’ve ever had feelings for someone, and I don’t know if to end what I feel, I should talk to him. My romantic experiences are based on books, and in books, the heroines are never rejected. Just imagining even for a second, if I go to this party Jungkook will show discomfort or indifference, makes me panic. A strong shiver runs through my whole body with the thought.

"I don’t know if it’s a good idea." I reply, shrugging. Hayun sighs, tapping her boot on the wooden floor.

"Okay. Let’s do this: you’ll go. Stay for five minutes. If you see it’s better not to force things and forget all of this, I’ll take you home myself." She says, putting her hands together as if in prayer.

"You’re quite persistent, huh." I murmur, laughing. I roll my eyes, reflecting. Should I talk to him? Should I give myself a chance to hear him out and maybe understand his side? Even if we don’t end up together, and I end up sad, wouldn’t it be better to finish whatever it is we had, so I can move on?

For the past three days, all I could think about was him. There hasn’t been a single hour where I could relax, read, or watch something like I always did. I sigh, groaning. Then I nod my head, still unsure. My mother is still out of town, and that gives me a little more freedom than usual. Hayun lets out a high-pitched scream and bounces around, hugging me. It’s as if with my decision alone, I’ve made her day happier.

"You’re going to love it! Yoongi’s parties are always so much fun." She assures me with a confidence I don’t have. I went to a party once, and I remember hating everything. Both the music and the people.

"I hope so." I laugh, not very sure about what I’m doing. I want to give up on this idea because it makes no sense, and at the same time, I want to show that I’m brave. That I can face my fears. I don’t want to run away of everything forever.

I can do this!

I can’t do this. I can’t do this!

I look at my outfit and feel like going back outside, running after the taxi I took to get here. My long dress, made of thick fabric, has nothing to do with what these people wear. It’s as if I live on another planet, literally. The music is upbeat, playing from two speakers in the middle of the room. It’s good, considering the bizarre things I’ve heard out there. The lights are all purple, giving the place a sensual and enigmatic look. There are many people, and none of them I know. On one hand, I thank God for not running into Jungkook. On the other, I wish he’d appear before me out of nowhere, just so I could put an end to all of this, once and for all.

But what would I say? You’re a bastard, Jungkook. You didn’t promise me anything, but actions speak louder than words. Your actions didn’t show me you still loved your ex. I could say all of that, but how would it help me? Being honest with myself, I came because I felt afraid that, that morning, three days ago, would be the last time I would see him. The last time I could look into his eyes and feel his presence. I am truly in love, and I don’t want to hold onto another regret in my life.

I look side to side, trying to find Hayun, but in the middle of so many people, it’s hard to recognize anyone. I walk through the room, bumping into a few women. They don’t mind, though. I don’t know the environment very well, but the further I get from the crowd, the more I can enter the open backyard, which has a huge pool. Hayun sent me the address an hour ago; maybe if I called her, I could find her more easily. When I take my phone out of my small bag, determined to complete the call, I spot a red-haired figure that catches my attention. Yoongi. It must be him. I walk slowly towards his group of friends, feeling apprehensive, afraid of accidentally colliding into Jungkook.

"Y/N! Over here!" I confirm my suspicions when Hayun waves her arms in the air, as she recognizes me despite the low light. I smile faintly, walking closer to everyone. They all seem unbelievably beautiful, well-dressed, with an air of excitement that I don’t possess. "You made it! I thought you got lost."

"I took a taxi. It’s just far from where I live." I apologize, shrugging.

"Don’t worry. I haven’t had anything to drink. If you need anything, I’ll take you home, okay?" She smiles, placing her sunglasses on the top of her head. Hayun looks prettier when she does that. "Guys, look who’s here. Y/N!"

I shake my head, greeting them. They seem happy to see me, which relieves 50% of my worries. My stiff and tense shoulders, from imagining scenarios where none of them wanted to see me. I’m relieved to realize that this isn’t happening in reality.

"Y/N, how are you?" Bora kisses my cheek, just like the other girls. Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung nod, sipping something from their cups.

"I’m good." I smile, feeling awkward. I look around for Jungkook, but he’s nowhere in sight. At least not as far as I can see. "It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other."

"Right? What have you been up to, Y/N?" Yoori, Taehyung’s girlfriend, asks. I open my mouth to respond, but I don’t have much to say.

"I’ve been working a lot." I say, honestly. Partly because it’s true, and partly because I don’t know how far I can tell. Do Yoongi, Jimin or Taehyung know that I was with Jungkook? I’m so paranoid about this I can hardly look them in their eyes.

"She works at the Dongseo University bookstore. When I went to pick up some books, I found her there." Hayun circles her arm around my shoulder, smiling. I nod in agreement. "Y/N, Jungkook is around here; he went to get something to drink." She whispers the last part in my ear, trying to keep everyone else from hearing, and with all this noise, it’s not too hard.

My breath catches when I think I might run into him at any moment. My heart beats like it’s going to burst out of my chest, and my legs feel like jelly from so much nervousness. When I think of a mantra to calm me down and finally face things like a normal person, head held high, I see him coming toward his friends, not really seeing them. It’s as if he’s so lost in thought that he can’t see anyone a foot in front of him. Hayun beside me suddenly gasps. She mutters something near me, and I only feel her tense body, because she is pressed against mine. Everyone looks at Jungkook with expressions of discomfort that I can't quite understand.

"Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t... I didn’t know." She says, shaking her head. I frown, confused. What’s happening?

"What’s wrong? Is everything okay?" I ask, anxious, feeling all kinds of emotions at once.

"That guy next to Jungkook." She says, discreetly pointing to a very handsome man, just a few inches taller than him. "That guy is..."

"Namjoon? What’s he doing here?" Jimin questions, crossing his arms over his chest, interrupting his friend. My eyes widen as they approach. My whole body pulls back, and I want to disappear. To be swallowed by the earth and never inhabit this world again. But it’s too late. Jungkook is already here. And his dark, big eyes grow wider when they see me.

"Y/N?" He asks, confused.

Fuck.

"J-Jungkook. Hi." I nod my head. The fear of making any move and embarrassing myself in front of everyone, is overwhelming. The fear that he might just ignore me and pretend I don’t exist, is even greater. I swallow hard, frozen in place. I can’t even greet him properly.

Jungkook doesn’t move either. He stares at me in a static way, and everyone in the group seems to notice. Even Namjoon, his ex-boyfriend. He’s handsome. With his black hair, lean strong body, and a masculine perfume that exudes confidence. My insecurities about myself intensifies. If I had known he would be here, I would have never come. I was a fool to think this would be a good closure. Jungkook hasn’t wanted to talk to me for the past three days. Why would he want to talk to me now? The urge to cry returns, and I’m tired of this situation.

"I didn’t know you’d come, Namjoon." Hayun says beside me, still with her arms around my shoulders. I lower my head, embarrassed.

"I decided at the last minute. I had to come to support Jungkook." He smiles, and he’s even more attractive when he does, forming charming dimples on his cheeks.

"Wonderful." Yoongi grins, but I have the feeling it’s not very sincere. His dark eyes show feelings far from happiness. "I hope you came to stay for a short time. I don’t want certain people in my house."

"Yoongi!" Jungkook scolds his friend, and my throat tightens. Is he defending his ex-boyfriend? Doesn’t he realize the gravity of what Namjoon did? He cheated on him!

"Don’t worry." He places a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and squeezes it with an intimacy that makes me extremely uncomfortable. "I came just to see you; I won’t stay long, anyway."

"He was kidding." Jungkook clarifies to him, his voice somewhat hoarse. Then he lowers his head and looks at me again. His eyes are so intense that I have to take a deep breath, struggling to breathe normally. "Actually, I need to talk to Y/N."

"What?" I ask, surprised. My body tenses up again, stiff. Hayun lets out a small smile that everyone notices, and shakes her hair, almost as if the whole situation were a movie, and she’s the spectator.

"I told you it would be a good idea for you to come." She says, and her voice is so loud that it’s as if she wants everyone to hear, especially Namjoon, who bites his lips and watches me. His gaze is enigmatic. I can’t tell if he feels anger or discomfort. Or neither.

"Hayun, please..." I whisper. "And Jungkook, I was actually leaving."

"You weren’t." Hayun argues, furrowing her brow. "You just got here, and you’re staying. You’re welcome here."

"I don’t know..."

"Please, Y/N, I wanted to talk to you. Stay a little longer." Jungkook whispers, biting his rosy lips. His face looks sad, but I can’t believe it’s because of me. If he liked me, even a little, he wouldn’t be standing next to his ex with almost an intimate proximity. I can’t understand him. Not at all.

"Okay." I agree, uncomfortable with everyone watching us, as if we’re animals in a zoo. I don’t want to imagine what they’re thinking.

"Namjoon, I’ll talk to Y/N. I’ll be back soon." He smiles faintly, looking at the dark-haired man. Namjoon just nods and gaze at me one more time.

"Okay. No problem. I’ll stay here with your friends." He says, and I catch a glimpse of Jimin sighing as he takes a large gulp of his drink.

We move away from the group in silence. His hand approaches the end of my back, but he doesn’t touch me. My brain feels like it’s going to fry. There’s so much I want to say, and at the same time, so much that isn’t worth saying. I feel so bad. The way he said he would return to his ex is one of those reasons. Why does he stay in this relationship? Doesn’t he realize he would be happier if he just distanced himself from Namjoon? But that’s my opinion, and he clearly doesn’t think that way. We approach a tree, further away from the party, in the backyard. I lean my back against it, fearing I won’t have strength in my legs. I can’t even look him in the eyes. I don’t have the courage for that. We stand in silence for a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity.

"Are you okay?" He asks me quietly. If he weren’t so close and we weren’t so far from the music, I wouldn’t be able to hear him.

"I am." I respond, trying to form a smile that isn’t real. "And you?"

"Yeah." He smiles too; he tosses his hair back, closes his eyes and sighs, watching me. "You look very beautiful."

"Thank you." I say, feeling awkward. I don’t feel beautiful; I feel terrible.

"Y/N, I don’t know what to say." He says, placing his hand on the trunk of the tree, behind me. His scent invades my nose whether I like it or not. I have to use all my self-control not to respond to any of his movements. "I haven’t been well since that morning. I don’t feel good."

"You don’t feel good." I repeat his words, finding it amusing. He doesn’t feel good? Seriously?

"You may not believe it, but I had to hold myself back from calling you."

"You could have called." I shrug, speaking. My voice sounds ironic, but I can’t be any different. I’m angry. So angry and sad. It’s as if all the bad feelings are inside my chest right now.

"I could, but I shouldn’t. I wanted to take some time to think, and you needed that too." He argues, furrowing his brow. "I want you to know that Namjoon is here, but I didn’t know he would come. It was a surprise to me too."

"You must have been thrilled." I respond with a not-so-happy smile. Jungkook runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, and tightens his jaw, irritated.

"I wasn’t thrilled. I’m not happy, if that’s what you're saying."

"Jungkook... I get it. You want to be with him. I may be inexperienced, but I can read the situation. You don’t need to explain yourself to me. There’s nothing to explain. I just came because I wanted to say I’m happy for you. To congratulate you. Just that."

"You didn’t come just for that." He says in denial. "I can see it in your eyes."

"You know me so well, don’t you?" I respond ironically, trying to hide the extent to which I’m affected. I want to leave. I shouldn’t have come to this party. I shouldn’t be here with him.

"Y/N, please..."

"Jungkook, what are you doing here with me?" I lose my patience, finally reaching my limit. I push away from the tree, my stomach churning. "Why aren’t you with him? With Namjoon? I’m not important to you, so why are you pretending like I am?!"

"I already told you to stop acting like you know me better than I know myself." He grunts, his face reddening with anger.

"It doesn’t matter what you say. I’ve already told you: actions speak louder than words, and you’ve proven that to me since that morning. You didn’t call me for three days simply because you didn’t want to!"

"Y/N..."

"You don’t want to be with me, and that’s fine. You don’t have to be. I already understand where your limits are; just... just don’t pretend to like me if you don’t care about me!" I finish, trembling. My eyes fill with tears, and I feel so vulnerable, anxious. Jungkook has always brought out the best in me, and now I don’t even recognize myself.

"I care about you." He moves closer, furrowing his brows. His dark eyes grow bright. If it weren’t for the lack of light, I could swear he’s about to cry too. He gets even closer and touches my cheek with his hand, gently caressing my skin, sending chills down my spine. I want to pull away from him, but I can’t. "Y/N, I really like you. I didn’t call because I needed some time."

"Stop..." I plead, in a whisper. Both for his words and for his touches. I wrap my hand around his wrist, but I don’t halt him from continuing. I don’t move, half weak, half uncertain, afraid he’ll stop and nervous he’ll keep going.

"I missed you." Jungkook says softly in my ear. His body almost fully pressed against mine. His breath hits my neck; his strong chest touching my breasts. And I don’t know if it’s his heart or mine, racing a thousand miles an hour, so fast and strong.

"Jungkook, stop." I beg, but I can’t pull away myself. He takes his face away from my neck and looks at me once more. His pupils dilate, and they go straight to my mouth. A shiver runs through my entire body as he moistens his lips with his tongue, with a desire so exposed that I can’t mistake it for anything else. And I let him come closer, so damn slowly, as if we’re in slow motion. When I finally close my eyes, surrendered, hypnotized, I hear someone calling him.

"Jungkook?"

Ask for a TAGLIST in the comments

@joonwater @ane102 @ttipa @kookienooki

[hanasnx]

(the executive dysfunction monster hit me too, i fear. was stuck between babydaddy!red hood and babydaddy!arkham knight, but i settled on red hood bc i'm choosing to gatekeep my ak thoughts)

baby daddy!jason, who you co-parent with in a very civilized way. no joke, the picture of camaraderie between exes. he takes your daughter on the days he's supposed to (which isn't that often, given his occupation) and brings her back on time, always with a little gift for you as well. flowers, chocolates, a little knick-knack reminiscent of when you were together. it's not because he's in love with you or anything; it's just the principle of the matter. "happy wife, happy life," not that you were married or even dating, but he figures the mother of his child should get love sometimes. 

baby daddy!jason, who, the next time he sees you, it's to drop off something your daughter forgot with him, and as he's handing you the bag, he casually asks why you haven't been asking him to take her more often. you had been for a while when you were going on dates weekly, but for some reason, the relationships never went anywhere, so you just gave up. "oh, you know, it just wasn't working out." you say off-handedly, "kept getting ghosted." you sound only marginally disappointed, moreso annoyed. "hm, what a shame, they're really missing out," he says, getting real close to you and taking up your entire field of vision.

baby daddy!jason, who's got your entire calendar memorized and knows that his daughter's not home tonight, and you've got no plans other than watching movies in solitude. he knows you're too stubborn to call him over for company even though you've been giving him fuck me eyes in passing for the past few months, so he figures he just has to take matters into his own hands and corner you until you give in like he knows you want to.

baby daddy!jason who fucks you on damn near every surface in the house, telling you he's just christening the place like he would've already done if you lived together. whispers apologies in your ears about scaring off all of your dates while he's splitting you open, bullying his cock into you while your eyes roll to the back of your head because you haven't been fucked this good in years, not since the last time you'd been with him. your face is deep in some pillows when you realize the memories you had of his dick pale in comparison to the real thing, and you weren't sure you could go back to using your imagination to get off after tonight.

baby daddy!jason, who keeps you up all night until your pussy's red and puffy from how many times it'd come in contact with his hips while he was fucking you. fat tip kissing your cervix until you were clawing at his biceps, begging him to give you some reprieve, tears in your eyes while you babble incoherently, too lost in the feeling of him to make any sense. he admits in the midst of sex that he tried to get over you, he really did, but he just couldn't; just couldn't picture you with another man in any capacity. the thought of someone else touching you, fucking you, loving you, made his stomach turn, filling him with rage and an overwhelming need to claim you as his. 

baby daddy!jason, who's a level-headed, non-fragile ego'd man until it comes to his family, which, contrary to what some would say, did not only consist of his daughter but you too, and any guy who tried to get with you was a threat. he didn't know the intentions of other men, but he knew his own, which was to keep his little family happy as long as he was alive. if that meant putting a gun to the head of anyone who made a move on you and consoling you by stretching you out the way he knew you liked until you just said "fuck it" and let him put another baby in you, then so be it.

-🍃

i have a hard time responding to long inbox messages but i wanted to tell you thank you for indulging me in my idea i loved reading this :)

[kyoshithewriter]

Level the Playing Field.

Warnings: mature themes (18+), angst.

Part two: Closed Doors.

A/n: Nothing to say, read about some awkward girls trying to navigate college life loool. Enjoy?

If Sadé isn’t bad at anything else, she’s really bad at lying. She’s attributed this trait to her religious upbringing; some astrologers claim it may have something to do with her virgo placement somewhere in her chart-whichever one it is, Sadé is a lousy liar- so much so that she has a particular tic when she even tries to. Sitting under the watchful gazes of Celine and Mikayla is making her deeply regret ever revealing that fact about her. Though, it isn’t far- fetched to think they would’ve eventually noticed.

“So let me get this straight, you got us in by writing a paper for one of the players?” Celine’s tone is colored with skepticism. Sadé gives a quick nod of her head while she curls her hands into tight little fists. Both pairs of eyes travel to her clenched fist, gazes narrowing. Don’t click your pinky nail don’t click your pinky nail dont cli-

“Which one? And why did he decide to ask you?”

“Which class do you two even take together?”

Both girls fire the questions at her simultaneously, Sadé is already feeling overwhelmed with being forced to be dishonest and their interrogation isn’t helping her nerves at all.

“Why does it matter?! We’re going to the party later. Isn’t that what you guys wanted? Who cares how it happened?” Sadé immediately begins flipping through her textbook just to have something to keep her hands occupied. It’s one of those rare moments when the weather is good, so the trio, like many other students, decide to take advantage by lounging under one of the trees.

“I guess you’re right…” Celine mutters but her eyes are still narrowed.

Mikayla bolts up from her reclined position on the grass, “Wait. We’re actually going to the party. Holy shit? What will we wear?!”

“Mikky, please don’t start doing that thing you do…”

Sadé warns.

“I’m not going to freak out but this is a big deal, we have to leave a good impression. There’ll be students from MayBerry there too… hot ones I bet.” Mikayla doesn’t say it but Sadé can see the insecurity shining through her eyes. Ryan has been rumored to be ‘dating’ a few women on campus- they don’t know how true these rumors are, but what they’re sure of is how gorgeous the women are. Problem is, Mikayla is having a hard time believing she’s drop- dead gorgeous as well.

“So? You’re hot too? What exactly is your point?” Celine asks, genuinely puzzled.

“If I am so hot how come he hasn’t noticed me before?” Mikayla’s shoulders slump.

“Because we’re all introverts who don’t speak unless spoken to and didn’t try mingling with anyone outside of classes before today?” Sadé answers, arching her left brow.

Celine hums in agreement though clearly distracted. Sadé peeks over at her ipad to see her scrolling pinterest for ‘party outfit’ ideas. She rolls her eyes.

“I think you both are being a tad bit dramatic. It’s a party, most of them are going to be drunk by the time we get there anyway.” Her statement is followed by a loud ping. It’s a text from an unsaved number.

Unknown [10:05 am]: Names for the guest list.

Her heart skips a beat in her chest. It’s Jude, she saves his contact before responding.

Sadé [10:07 am]: Sadé, Mikayla, Celine.

Jude [10:08 am]: ok. No good luck for the game?

She stares blankly at his message for a while, what game is he playing at?

Sadé [10:10 am]: uhh… good luck?

Jude [10:11 am]: find me when you get there later.

Sadé [10:11 am]: why?

He opens her message but he doesn’t respond.

“Who was that?” Celine asks absentmindedly, her full attention still glued to her ipad screen.

“Uh…” Sadé considers her options. If she tells them it’s the same player who apparently got them in they’ll resume their interrogation seeing as they exchanged numbers.

“Just some random guy in class asking for clarification on the topic we did.” She sandwiches her left hand between her thighs as she quietly clicks her thumb and pinky nails together.

************

Erlhedge won the game by a narrow scoreline of two to one. They had been behind until the 80th minute of the game when they equalized and then, to no one’s surprise, Jude scored the winner in the 89th minute. It just had to be him. She wants to roll her eyes imagining all the ways this will stroke his already obviously huge ego but she can’t help but respect it. It makes the silliest part of her mind crave his attention more than ever tonight, so much so that she started stressing about an outfit earlier. The irony. She has been staring at herself in her full length mirror for well over ten minutes, pondering. Is my outfit okay? The jeans shorts are high-waisted but really short. Is that too much? She decides it doesn’t matter because that’s how she likes them. The cropped sweatshirt is dark nude in color and the material is thick enough to keep her warm throughout the night. It’s currently spring, but it rains plenty so the nights are cool and the house is a seven minute walk from campus. She styled her faux locs in a half up- half down with two strands loose in her face. Her makeup is light- she figures it will be hot in the house anyway, but she added some medium length lashes for an extra pop. She finished the look with a few pieces of gold jewelry, including the small stud in her nose and her brown crocs. She likes it, she looks good but in a way that suggests she didn’t try too hard. Or at least she hopes so.

“Sadé! We’re ready!” Celine’s shout is a bit muffled because of her closed door but still carries throughout the house from the kitchen. Celine was the first one ready, she got to their room 20 minutes ago dressed in a black crop top with high- waisted mini denim skirt. She left her long, jet black hair down and went a bit dark with her makeup and cherry red lips.

“Are you trying to alert the entire building?” Mikayla’s voice is higher in pitch as it floats past her door. She knows that means her friend is nervous. Sadé wants to roll her eyes but she’s in the same boat. She grabs her small satchel purse and makes her way to the kitchen.

“Okay, are we ready?” Mikayla asks. Sadé makes a show of wolf-whistling at the mini bodycon black dress that seems to have been custom- made just for her curvy body. Her hair is slicked back in a high ponytail.

“Sadé stop… but I look okay right?” she asks while giving an awkward twirl.

“Okay? Mikky, you’re sexy as sin.” It might sound dramatic but she’s never seen her friend dress anything like this before.

“Okay, let’s go before I throw up all over this floor.” Celine chimes in with her voice tight like she might actually throw up.

“Me too, actually.” Mikayla agrees and Sadé rolls her eyes because she knows it’s going to be a long night.

*************

The bass from the red, brick mansion could be felt from a mile out. Mikayla and Celine huddle closer to her body as they arrive onto the lawn already littered with cups, empty bottles and clearly drunk bodies. Some grinding, some smoking or playing some sort of drinking game. It’s not even 10 yet.

“You know what? This is a bad idea, we should just go back and have a movie night like we do every Friday.” Sadé glares at a trembling Mikayla.

“Nuh uh! I’ve gone through too much to get us here, we’re going in.” It wasn’t really a lot but it does feel like it. Morality is a funny thing, but now is not the time to think about that. She takes a deep inhale, straightening her spine and marches toward the house’s closed front door. There’s a guy idly scrolling on his phone while he leans his body against the frame. He’s about 6’0 with light brown hair. He leisurely looks up at them as they approach the door.

“Who are you?” He drawls cocking his brow.

“Uh, Sadé… and erm, Mikayla and Celine.” Sadé imagines that if her mom was here she would angrily tell her to speak up.

“Ah, special guests, go on in.” It’s followed by a smirk. Sadé’s eyes him skeptically but she steps through the door he opens for them. She knows she’ll have to explain that to her friends later, but for now, all their attention is stolen by the mass of bodies and the loud blaring of some song by central cee. The trio stand frozen in the foyer just taking the scene in. There are already some players she recognizes, both from Erlhedge and MayBerry. A few are shirtless and mingling with women. A round of rowdy shouting and applause comes from her right- the kitchen she realizes, where another shirtless guy stands on the counter chugging what looks like vodka straight from the bottle. Someone comes through the front door and bumps straight into them. The music is loud but judging by the look of pure annoyance on the guy’s face, it’s clear he wants them to move out the foyer and out the way.

“We should go somewhere else!” Sadé tries shouting over the music. Celine nods wordlessly, eyes wide still taking in the scene. Sadé links their arms together, carefully maneuvering them through the crowd. The humidity in the air already has her wishing she wore a thinner top but happy she doubled up on the setting spray. They make it to the huge living room. The music seems to be even louder in here but there’s more room for them to wiggle their way into a small space beneath the stairwell.

“This is already a sensory nightmare.” Mikayla says as she fidgets and tries making herself smaller.

“Well, you wanted a party, here it is.”

“How will I even get to talk to him?” Celine’s dejected voice comes from her right as she scans the room.

Sadé doesn’t respond. Her eyes are also searching for someone. “Find me when you get there” has been ringing in her head all day since she received the message. She had read it over twenty times just to make sure. What could he possibly want? To threaten me again?

“Let’s get something to drink! Loosen up a bit.” She suggests to her friends almost cowering at her side.

“We shouldn-”

“Yes we should! How are w- you going to get anyone’s attention huddling away in a corner? Is that what you got all dressed up for?” Sadé pumps her voice full of faux excitement hoping to get her friends out there shells.

Mikayla gives a doubtful nod then looks over at Celine.

“Okay, one drink.”

It’s on their way to the kitchen that Sadé remembers she doesn’t exactly know how getting a drink at college parties works. Do you pay for it? Or are they just there for people to take? There’s an open igloo on the counter with some sort of punch looking liquid and she knows immediately they’re not getting that. Not when it’s so open and seems to be a self- serving thing. Instead, she steers them toward the igloo on the floor that’s filled with ice and canned beers.

“This should do, right?” Sadé asks while handing a can each to the others.

“Yea, I’m not drinking that contaminated punch.” Mikayla’s face is scrunched in disgust and Sadé can’t help but giggle. Celine is taking a sip from her can when she suddenly chokes, sputtering beer onto her hands and crop top.

“Celine what th-”

Sadé is cut off by her wide frantic eyes. She tries to communicate something by rapidly looking off to her left without turning her head. Sadé’s gaze cuts over her shoulder to the entrance of the kitchen and oh.

Sean walks in but he’s not alone, Ryan, Jude and three other players on the team are close behind. It’s no surprise, they’re mostly always together.

“Oh fuck I need to hide.” Mikayla chokes from somewhere behind her. This is the moment in which Sadé should be the level-headed friend, but she can’t be. How can she? When Jude is there, in a plain black tee that stretches over his muscled chest with black pants to match. When he’s right there, already staring at her. Fuck. Her breath stutters in her chest and she finds herself blindly reaching behind her to grab Mikayla’s hand. Celine is still a wide-eyed statue with her back toward the entrance. The same guy that was chugging vodka on the counter earlier notices their presence and shouts something that she can’t quite hear over the music, but whatever it is, it takes Jude’s attention from her and she exhales in relief.

“Fuck, I can’t be in the same room as Sean right now!”

“I uh… need the bathroom. Don’t move.” She strides out of the room before her friends offer to accompany her. She bumps shoulders with a few people, they yell but she keeps moving. Her skin still tingles, almost as if he’s still staring at her retreating form right now. She doesn’t look back. Sadé takes the stairs two at a time and is relieved to see the hallway upstairs has way fewer people than below. ‘I don’t even know where the bathroom is’ she thinks to herself belatedly. She chooses to try the third door on the right. It’s a bedroom but there’s clearly an adjoining bathroom behind the door to the left. She doesn’t care about that, she doesn’t even need the bathroom-she just cares that the room is blissfully empty. She takes a much needed deep breath, the room cool compared to the stuffy, humid air downstairs. So much better. She decides to stay for a while. The room doesn’t really look lived in, but it’s clean- maybe a guest room. The sheets on the bed are plain white, there’s a small walk-in closet but the doors are open and it’s empty. There’s a small white vanity with a decent sized mirror. Sadé takes the time to look at herself. There’s some perspiration on her forehead but her makeup remains intact. She’s in the middle of giving herself a pep talk in the mirror when she sees the door open. Her feet suddenly feel like lead- stuck, unmovable. She’s not able to see who it is as the ajar door blocks their form from the mirror. Please don’t be the owner to yell at me. But as the door is shut to reveal the tall figure, clad in black, she wishes it was Liam coming to chase her out the room.

Sadé stares at him unblinking, as his long, elegant fingers turn the lock on the knob with a soft click. The sound travels throughout the room despite the muffled bass of the music downstairs. The expression on his face makes her uneasy, just because she can’t figure it out. She can’t figure him out. Why is he here?

“Enjoying the party?” he asks nonchalantly. He ambles over to the bed and leisurely takes a seat. He keeps eye contact with her in the mirror the entire time.

Sadé clears her throat awkwardly, “um, yea? I guess.” He gives a soft smile at her response and it makes her head spin, not just because she’s so smitten by him, but because the smile doesn’t reach his eyes at all. It makes him so much more intimidating.

“You guess?” He cocks his brow.

“Why are you here?” her voice is timid, she hates it.

“What do you mean? It’s a party, we won, did you see?” His tone is cocky, just like the smirk he wears.

Sadé turns to face him, feeling more vulnerable looking at him in the mirror with her back turned.

“Yes, I saw, congratulations. But you know that’s not what I meant.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he makes a show of roaming his eyes over her, from head to foot- then back up again. Eyes lingering over the smooth of her thighs and the skin of her lower belly that’s bare. He suddenly stands again.

“You look nice.” He begins striding forward and Sadé takes three steps back, the back of her thighs bumping into the vanity. He pauses.

“Do I make you nervous?” His voice is tinged with amusement.

“No!” Her pinky and thumb nail subtly clicks behind her back.

“I think you’re lying.” He continues his stride until he’s looming over her.

“Want to know how I know?” She gives a subtle nod of her head, knowing there’s no way he picked up on her habit.

“Turn around and I’ll show you.” The volume of his voice lowers to almost a whisper. She gulps, reluctant. “I won’t hurt you, Sadé. Turn around.”

And how could she say no when he looks like that? When he sounds like that? So she turns. She’s faced with her wide-eyed, flustered reflection and Jude’s composed, penetrating brown eyes. He brings his index finger to her neck, his touch feather-light against her pulse point.

“See?” And Sadé does see it. It flutters wildly just beneath his finger that’s barely touching her skin. Yet she tingles. Fuck, is this what a crush is? It has to be something deeper.

“Why Sadé? Why do I make you nervous?”

Sadé opens and closes her mouth but nothing comes out. She’s tongue tied and maybe a little bit turned on. More than a little. He brings his right hand to her waist, skimming her skin with the tips of his fingers. He keeps his eyes on her in the mirror gauging her reaction. She takes a deep inhale, eyes tracking the movement of his fingers. Hearing no objections, he spans the length of her belly with his palm. The muscles in her lower belly flutter against his palm and judging by the sharp intake of breath by her ear, he feels them too. He takes his unoccupied hand to her neck, moving her hair to the side. He leans down slowly, watching her expression in the mirror as he drops a gentle kiss against her dancing pulse. His lips are soft, plump and cool from whatever he was drinking and oh, so so right. She clutches at his hand against her belly, biting her lip hard enough to bleed to keep the sounds in. A slow, warm flick of his tongue is all it takes for a broken whimper to escape her closed lips. The feel of him, warm and big on her back, the eye contact, it’s too much.

“Have you ever k-” there’s suddenly a series of loud banging on the door and Sadé leaps away from him like he’s suddenly come down with a case of leprosy. He straightens up, eyes blank as he watches her fix her hair back into place. He strides over and opens the door; her heart leaps in her throat when she realizes it’s Annita. Annita, the 5 '6 hispanic beauty with a body Sadé mentally compares to Salma Hayek’s in the 90s. She has full lips, long brown curly hair and pretty doe eyes. Annita is well known in campus gossip as being the girl ‘Jude is most likely to end up dating when he goes pro.’ See Jude is rumored to get around, but she’s the only one he's seen with it multiple times. Word around is that they even go on dates sometimes, not like Sadé cares about his love life or anything.

“I’ve been looking all over for you?! And who’s this?” Annita pins her with a glare full of accusation.

“Noticed her coming in here and figured she was looking for the bathroom. You know how Liam gets when people enter the bedrooms.” He shrugs so nonchalantly it scares her. Lying comes so easy to him.

“And that’s why the door was locked?!”

“She was hyperventilating, something about social anxiety, I locked it to make sure nobody else barged in. I was just making sure she wouldn’t pass out up here by herself.” He reaches over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and Sadé physically sees the girl turn to putty.

“Oh, are you okay now?” This is the first time she’s addressed her since coming in and her tone is so sickly sweet it makes Sadé want to roll her eyes.

She gives a quick nod instead.

“Oh poor thing, maybe parties are just not for you?” She gives a fake pout her way.

“Maybe they aren’t.” Jude agrees. He throws an arm over Annita’s shoulders, fixing her with one last blank look before he steers the pair to exit the room.

********

Sadé manages to make it downstairs without letting a single tear fall from her eyes. She finds Celine and Mikayla right where she left them.

“What the fuck, Sadé?! You le-”

Sadé cuts off Mikayla’s outburst, “I know, I’m sorry but we have to leave. Please.” The tears glittering in her eyes and the desperation in her voice immediately clicks her friends into protective mode. They easily agree and link hands, quickly maneuvering through the crowd that seemed to have thickened. As they pass through the living room she looks up just in time to see Jude with Annita in his lap, lips locked in a heated kiss.

And yea, Sadé agrees that maybe parties are just not for her.

[writeriguess]

I love everything you write, let me say that first, are you tired of writing for Katsuki? You get reqs for him so much! I feel like if I was a writer like you are I would be so burnt out from him specifically

I hope you don't feel obligated to write everything that's asked of you, I really want you to enjoy writing

First of all, thank you so much for this message — for the kindness, the compliments, and honestly, just for thinking about me and taking the time to ask this. It really does mean a lot. I don’t always get the chance to talk about this side of writing, so I appreciate the space you've given me to do that without judgment.

I feel like I’m going to lose half my follower base by admitting this, but... yes. Honestly, yes. I adore Katsuki, I truly do — he’s a character that’s very close to my heart and has been for a long time. But at the same time, I would be lying if I said it hasn’t gotten exhausting. Right now, I have 37 requests sitting in my WIP folder that I haven’t even started yet, and 26 of them are for Katsuki. That’s almost all of them. It’s a lot.

And to be completely honest, whenever I get a non-Katsuki request, I genuinely let out a breath of relief. Not because I hate him — I don’t, not at all — but because it feels like I’m getting a rare break. I know I caused this myself, and I don’t think it would be fair to turn down all the Katsuki requests just because I’m tired. People send them in because they love the way I write him, and that’s such an honor. I would never want anyone to feel bad for requesting him or to think I resent them for it. I really don’t.

But I do wish there were a little more variety sometimes. It’s hard to stay excited and inspired when your inbox feels like it's been set to an auto-loop. Some days it feels less like I’m writing and more like I’m just recycling the same fics over and over. Even when the prompts are totally different, even when the ideas themselves are genuinely cool and creative, it still feels like I’m walking the same path ten different times. And because of that, I haven’t been writing nearly as much as I used to. There are days when opening a WIP with his name attached already feels like a chore, and that’s a really sad feeling when it used to be something that filled me with so much happiness and creativity.

I also recognize that my own love for him has started to fade a little, and that’s maybe the hardest part to admit. I poured so much energy and heart into writing for him that now there’s just... less left. Less excitement, less newness, less joy. It’s not gone, not entirely, but it’s not what it used to be. And it makes me a little afraid that someday I’ll lose that spark for good.

But at the same time, writing — even when it feels repetitive — is something that's keeping me afloat right now. There are some really difficult, really heavy things happening in my real life that I can’t stop or fix, no matter how much I want to. Knowing that I have this little world I can still come back to, where I can create something that makes other people happy, is one of the few things keeping me from sinking. So even if writing for Katsuki sometimes feels tiring, it’s still better than not writing at all. It’s better than giving up this community that’s been so good to me, even when things feel a little lopsided or overwhelming.

I’m committing to it. Because you all — and this community — are worth committing to. And even when I get tired, it’s still something I’m grateful for at the end of the day.

I’m not blaming anyone for sending in Katsuki requests. Truly, please don’t feel bad if you have or were thinking of doing so. It’s not your fault. If anything, it’s just a reflection of how loved he is, and how much people trust me with him. That’s a really beautiful thing. I just want to be honest that I wish there was a little more love sent toward other characters too sometimes. I think it would help me bring better energy, better ideas, better writing to everyone if there was a little more balance.

Thank you again for your message. Seriously. It gave me the chance to be honest in a way I usually don’t allow myself to be. And it means the world to me that you care about how I’m feeling behind the scenes. I hope you’re doing well, too. ♥

[frozenjokes]

cubfan135 vs mumbo jumbo’s monstrous self induced pseudo catholic guilt (and the world)

Mumbo woke with a jolt, nearly a scream, forehead sweating, fingers gripping the sheets, he needed- he needed- this was wrong, this was all wrong, this isn’t what he wanted, this-

Mumbo curled his fingers into his hair, struggling to breathe, the phantom sensation of Cub’s teeth in his neck not helping a bit. He’d lost himself, completely lost himself, he wasn’t- but-

He was fine. He was still here. He still had his head. He.. was fine.

Still hungry. Still starving, undoubtedly still starving, this had not changed, and Mumbo didn’t believe he’d gotten any relief either since he hadn’t really eaten, and if he remembered correctly, Cub hadn’t been very afraid regardless, but..

It.. It was fine. He had killed someone in a human form, and not only had the experience not overwhelmed him, he had kept his sentience. His shadow still yearned for more, but even it had quieted briefly, like that despite not being able to consume Cub properly, the experience of the hunt was enriching enough to settle the monster, at least for now. The ache of starvation still enveloped Mumbo, but he felt.. lighter?

Maybe it was the reciprocal nature of it all. Cub was just as intent on Mumbo's murder as Mumbo was on his, and given the option, both of them would have drawn things out considerably.

But as shock and the wonder of it all began to fade, sitting in bed, Mumbo was left with an ache deeper than the starvation that haunted him day to day. He just.. felt bad. He felt really bad, and had no idea if it was because of killing Cub, but he didn’t think so, the fight was just as mutual as it was violent, Mumbo had no reason to feel so wrong. But he was wrong, he couldn’t shake it, he was deeply, utterly wrong, he was dirty, he’d just done a terrible thing and all the enjoyment he’d taken from the act made him feel sick and depraved. He was blurring the lines between the Good Mumbo, holy and just, versus the shadow, evil and wrong for wanting and taking, and the discrepancy between these two persons was a source of deep distress.

Mumbo hadn’t planned this, he wasn’t ready for this to happen, but it had, and it had been fine, good even, and he was still here, the threat of losing himself to the clinging tar of his shadow proving to not be an issue, at least right now.

This.. This was good. It should have been good. Why couldn’t it just be good?

At least this experience would stay between them. No one else would have to know. Mumbo could work out these issues personally, figure out why he couldn’t just be pleased with himself, and get on with his life. If he dared to be so optimistic, perhaps that life could continue here, on Hermitcraft, if Cub or Scar found a way to permanently curb the hunger, adjust his species, anything.

But right now he felt dirty and lonely and wrong. He considered calling Cub, but Mumbo got the feeling he’d be about as sympathetic as a rock. Honestly though, Mumbo didn’t need someone to spill the details to, he didn’t want anyone to know the details, he just.. most of him just wanted a hug. To feel safe in someone else’s arms, a little less shameful, a little less guilty. Grian was the obvious choice.

But when Mumbo picked up his communicator to give Grian a call, his heart stopped beating altogether.

cubfan135 was slain by Mumbo Jumbo

Mumbo Jumbo was slain by cubfan135

The chat below the death messages had exploded into noise, filled with ??!??!?s and ‘whoa!!s’ and a particularly enthusiastic ‘YAY!!!!’ from Scar, along with questions and teasing and a chat moving so fast it would have knocked Mumbo off his feet if he’d been standing. Mumbo was famous among the hermits for his stance on violence, his vehement straying from all things ending in pvp and death.

And now everyone knew.

…

Cub woke up a little dazed and a little dizzy, as was typical for an expenditure of that much power. The fire of his adrenaline was still simmering down, and honestly he couldn’t say he knew how he died. Sure, having your stomach ripped open from chest to groin wasn’t very good for your health, but Cub hadn’t felt himself slowing down yet. It was just over. Had Mumbo survived? He had definitely been slowing down, hardly fighting back by the time everything went dark for Cub, but who knew. In hindsight, Cub wished he hadn’t gone so hard on the whole ‘trying to kill Mumbo’ thing, it would have made far more sense to let Mumbo take the meal but alas. He was too focused. Too frightened when the dynamic had suddenly flipped, death in Mumbo’s dark eyes where there had been no intention before, where he’d hardly had the energy to fight back, much less chase Cub through the second section of the maze on elongated limbs.

Cub chuckled quietly to himself. Awesome. Yeah. That was awesome.

He figured Mumbo would have probably thought it was something like awesome as well, at least an adjacent feeling; Cub didn’t entirely understand why Mumbo wanted to be eaten in the first place, but even if there didn’t end up being much eating in the end, it seemed like they’d both gotten at least partially what they wanted. This felt like a breakthrough. A win.

He remembered through the daze with a small jolt that he could check the chat, see when Mumbo had died or if he died at all. Somehow, Cub did not expect the explosion of chat messages that greeted him. The attention wasn’t even directed at him, but it was enough to make him feel queasy all the same, having to scroll to find the death messages in the first place. This wasn’t good, no, Cub didn’t think Mumbo would like this at all, not when the topic was so private, so sensitive. He sent a quick message about this being an accident, a thin layer of damage control he refused to elaborate on as he focused on finding the timestamps of their deaths. Two death messages, he’d seen enough to know that, and very few hermits reacted between the first and the second, so Cub doubted there were more than thirty seconds between their mutual ends. Oof. Hermit reactions were bad though. Hurriedly, Cub sent Mumbo a message as well, first asking if he was okay, and then if he was feeling any better. He just needed to make sure. It was too much attention, too much, Cub hadn’t even thought about that, and he doubted Mumbo had either. Before he tried to bite my damn face off at least.

Cub’s mouth hung open just slightly, caught in the memory. Cub seeing, but not understanding until his wrist was clamped in Mumbo’s teeth, Cub’s blood on his lips while Mumbo’s blood was painted on his own, but there was a shift, exhilarating but equally unidentifiable, Cub’s attempts to escape only half hearted when he couldn’t stop looking at Mumbo’s eyes, dying, or perhaps already dead. That look. That would stay with Cub forever. It was.. well, it was making him feel a kind of way, but Mumbo wasn’t there yet, almost certainly not, though if Cub deluded himself enough to chase this.. He nearly groaned at the thought, a hand drifting to his belt, but wait, stop it, silly stupid dog of a brain.

He checked his communicator, looking for confirmation from Mumbo that he was fine. Mumbo had not responded. Well. Cub hadn’t sent the message that long ago. He’d send another, asking Mumbo to confirm, then wait for an answer. Cub could wait. He could! His priorities were perfectly in order here.

Cub stared at his communicator for a while. He set it down, letting his head flop to the pillow. He stared at the ceiling. Shifted his legs a bit. Crossed them. Uncrossed them. Closed his eyes, letting his neck fall back- no, bad idea. He sat back up, mildly irritated, eying his communicator which should have pinged by now; he’d turned the notifications on for this specific message. Cub checked Mumbo’s texts. Mumbo had read them, but not responded.

Probably not a sign of anyone being upset about anything, surely not, said the part of his brain that was still fixated on the way Mumbo had looked at him, no longer seeing a person, but a shrieking meal. How Cub had known, seeing him then, that he was going to die. That he could not stay here because Mumbo, even exhausted as he was, would overpower him. That he had to run. Cub shivered from the memory, the raw emotion of it crystal clear in his mind, and god if he didn’t want to do anything but chase it with his fingers, aided by memories that would never be this fresh again.

Priorities. Priorities. First Cub would hop over to the moth ball and make sure Mumbo was okay. Let him know it was fine, he’d take care of anyone nosing around where they had no business looking, and after fifteen to thirty minutes of alone time, he’d do just that. Take care of it.

Grian was just about the worst person Cub could have met at Mumbo’s base, but ah well. Grian was staring up into the moth ball, face painted in a hearty concern that Cub quite honestly did not want to deal with, so he flew to the top instead, poking a hole in the ceiling to check if Mumbo was there. He wasn’t. Even worse, his patented expert plan of Ignore Grian did not work.

“Cub!” Grian squawked, typical of him when he was feeling particularly strongly, “What happened? Where is Mumbo- Is he okay? What happened!?”

“I don’t know where Mumbo is. I was just looking for him.”

“What-“ Grian did not get to finish, Cub blasting off on his firework rockets toward Mumbo’s mountain-side town. Unfortunately, Grian didn’t seem to get the hint, hot on Cub’s tail when he landed at Big Ron’s. Cub went inside, closing the door on Grian’s face before he could continue pestering. This was not as effective as Cub would have liked.

“Cub.” Grian seethed, feathers at his neck and wings standing on end, “Tell me what happened.”

“It was an accident, Grian, nothing to cry about.”

“You mentioned that.” Grian hissed through gritted teeth, sounding just about as pissed off as Cub was with him, “Can you spare any details? I am worried.”

Cub considered dismissing him, but Grian would not back down on an issue like this, nearly stepping on Cub’s heels as he poked his head into the back room, saw no Mumbo, then started to make his way out of the store. Cub realized a little too late he didn’t have a story prepared.

“He was helping me screw in a lightbulb. Simple as that. He’s tall and I’m on the shorter side, but even he couldn’t reach it, so I got on his shoulders. Fell. Died. Must’ve been low health, I wasn’t paying attention. Focused on the lightbulb.” Cub continued into the next store. Grian stopped where he was, gaping, so Cub took the opportunity to close the establishment door in his face.

Grian half-growled, throwing open the door and stomping inside. “How- Okay, I don’t- How did you both die? And why did the messages say you killed each other?” Grian sounded an awful lot like he didn’t believe Cub, but Cub was more focused on the fact he’d forgotten Mumbo died too. Hm.

“The lightbulb was really high up, Grian.”

“You said.”

“I couldn’t reach it, even on Mumbo’s shoulders. So I was using my kitchen tongs. Have you seen my kitchen tongs, Grian?”

“No. I have not seen your kitchen tongs.” Grian sounded very much like he was losing his patience, so Cub tried to hurry it up.

“They have sharp ends, kinda sharp, that’s why I was asking. So I was using them to screw in the lightbulb, but Mumbo and I lost our balance, and I’m flailing a little, Mumbo is tall, and as I’m falling I get him right through the neck with my tongs, and he- he punched me. Really hard. Then I died. Then he must have also died. Freak accident.”

“I don’t believe you!”

Cub shrugged, not looking back. “That’s a you problem.”

“Cub!”

“Grian. Relax. Mumbo is fine, it was just an accident. He’s done plenty other things a lot closer to murder than dropping me, so I highly doubt he’s any amount upset about it. I mean- he wanted- he agreed to do the lightbulb! He was totally fine with this! Wherever he is, I’d bet anything he’s asleep. We were doing some pretty intense physical labor for a couple hours before the lightbulb incident, so dying might’ve knocked him right out. I’m pretty tired as well. It’s just a matter of finding where he respawned.” Cub left the store pointedly as he spoke, entering another and shutting the door fast behind him, but this time Grian caught it, wrenching it back open and stepping inside.

“If you’re so sure he’s fine, why turn his whole town upside down looking for him?”

“Just looking out for a friend, G.”

“Since when are you two all buddy-buddy anyway? Mumbo’s never said a word about you! You’ve never said a thing about him either.”

“Not to you.”

Grian puffed up, squawking, “What’s that supposed to mean!?”

Cub turned on Grian, his own patience running dangerously thin, “Has anyone ever told you you’re insufferable. This is none of your business, so butt out.”

“I- How dare you! Of course this is my business, Mumbo’s my best friend! If something was wrong with Scar and I knew and refused to tell you, you’d rip my throat out over it!”

“If something this wrong was happening with Scar, I wouldn’t sit back and watch. I won’t do it, not with anyone, even hermits I don’t particularly know very well. But you would. Even Scar would, neither of you want to touch Mumbo’s issues with a twenty foot pole.” Cub took a dangerous step toward Grian, who stood his ground, but Cub saw the twitch of his brow, the crack in his fury, “If you wanted to make this your business, you would have already. But you haven’t. So I did. Cope or die.”

“What- Cub. What did you do.” It was not a question, but Cub didn’t care to answer, pushing past Grian in a forceful shove of his shoulder. To the next building. Cub slammed the door so hard in Grian’s face that he could not catch it.

“Cub!” Grian’s face was furious and red, the door cracking on the doorstop as Grian whipped it back open, “Tell me what happened! Tell me what you did!” Grian grabbed the wrist of Cub’s lab coat to which Cub whirled on him immediately, raking his claws across Grian’s face. Grian screeched, but Cub was not done, Mumbo was not here, and Cub didn’t need anyone tailing him, especially not Grian. Cub lunged, aiming for the throat, but the neck of Grian’s sweater got in the way, tearing under his fingers. Grian screamed, but was too slow, falling shortly to the second blow. Cub produced his sword, ending him quickly. No need to draw out the suffering, not when Cub would be out of here in less than a minute.

Briefly, he checked his communicator. Mumbo had not responded, nor had he said anything in any public chat, and if Grian hadn’t even gotten a message, well.. Cub didn’t believe Mumbo was asleep, that was for sure. If he could avoid any hermits, he’d drop by Mumbo’s shops just to make sure, then he’d start looking elsewhere. Invisibility would be a godsend today. Cub nodded to himself, taking off toward his own base to retrieve a couple potions.

…

Mumbo understood why pigs liked the mud. There was no shortage of it on the Hermitcraft server, especially this season with the rain, but today it was sunny and warm, and the muck was cool and slick and stuck to you like a heavy hug. The pigs were a little less pleasant. Mumbo had never met a pig that didn’t want to put any part of him in its mouth at all times, which, whatever. Mumbo couldn’t say he cared very much, and given he’d been here for a while, most of them were ignoring him by now.

Pigs were not soft or particularly comforting animals, but they were sweet, if not a little dramatic, squealing and screaming at most inconveniences (reminding him of Grian and Scar, sometimes), though he supposed the pig still trapped in his arms had a reason to be shrieking; if it was any other day, that would have meant certain death, but today Mumbo was just looking for a companion. Not that the pig was still squealing; it had stilled eventually when it realized Mumbo wasn’t trying to hurt it, but the quiet was almost worse, leaving him alone with his own thoughts. He didn’t much like it. Maybe he should get another pig to spoon.

A new batch of them had come around just recently, curiosity apparently renewed as they sniffed and snorted and stepped on Mumbo like he wasn’t even there. He was a little annoyed with them, but that was better than thinking about himself, so all in all, he accepted these next few minutes as they were, covered in muck and mildly uncomfortable with a massive sow cradled in his arms and snorting contentedly.

“Dude, this sucks.”

Mumbo shrieked, dropping his pig and making Cub jump up in turn, more startled than Mumbo had ever seen him.

“What?” Cub looked around a little wild eyed, like he was not the problem here, “What’s wrong?”

“You- You- Where did you come from!?”

“I’ve been here for a while now!” Cub matched Mumbo’s volume, but alarm was shifting more to bafflement, “It’s- I thought you knew-“ Cub stopped, looking at his communicator, “It’s been twenty minutes. You looked directly at me I thought- Do you sleep with your eyes open?”

“Not- Not usually-“ Mumbo’s heart still raced, but he was starting to calm down, confusion overtaking his terror. Slowly, he latched back onto his pig, who had apparently fallen asleep. “Goodness gracious me.”

“Yeah. That.” Cub laid back down, kicking absently at a pig who was stubbornly chewing on his pant leg. He was quiet, but only for a moment. “Did I say that this sucks yet? Why are you doing this.”

“I can’t go home.”

“Is this about the death messages?” Cub grimaced, inhaling guiltily through his teeth, “Yeah, I really didn’t think that one through. Not that things went entirely as planned, but oh well. It’s okay though, I’ve got it under control. If anyone bothers you about it, you can send them right to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Mumbo felt his voice crack, and his entire heart and soul split in two. No pigs could have drowned out the weight of his shame, not with Cub right there, not with the extremity of his starvation slamming back into him in the presence of the person he didn’t survive long enough to take. But he wanted it, he still wanted it more intensely than he did before, and maybe the worst thing was that Cub was just fine with that- How was it that he could be so okay while Mumbo was still being crushed under the weight of his own fear and guilt.

Cub sat up, brow furrowing in confusion. “About.. about what? It’s fine, Mumbo, whatever it is. You don’t have to be so upset, not about anything. With the death messages, I’ll take care of it. I promise I will.”

“I know you don’t care!” Mumbo felt wretched, a horrid sob wracking his entire body, “I know it doesn’t matter to you. I know you don’t care. But I care. I care so much, and I can’t stop caring. I didn’t even get to eat, I hurt you and I couldn’t even take it, and you didn’t even care, it would have made a terrible meal, but I’m still- I can’t stop hating it. Hating me. I know there’s not a single reason I should feel this miserable and that’s worse! And everyone-“ Mumbo’s breath caught in his throat and he choked on it, burying his head into his pig, who snorted absently, “Everyone is going to know. It doesn’t matter what you say. How you explain it off. If I have to eat, then they’ll all know. They’ll- they won’t hate me-“ Mumbo’s voice dropped to a strangled whisper, hardly having the strength to push out the words, “They won’t hate me. But if they’re smart they’ll be wary. They’ll be afraid. They’ll know what I’m going to do to them, and they’ll be afraid. They’d be right for it, and I’ll be miserable. Just miserable. And I- I think I’d deserve it. It’s just like you said, isn’t it? It’s such a selfish thing I’m doing, holding on to sentience. To live like this, knowing exactly what I’ll do in the end.”

“I- I don’t remember saying that-“ Cub stumbled over his words, looking like a man severely out of his depth, “Oh dear.”

“Yeah.” Mumbo muttered, somewhat snide as he side eyed Cub from where his face was buried in his pig. He couldn’t help it, the bitterness that crept through his tone. It didn’t really matter what Cub said or did, he had started this. He was the one all but forcing Mumbo to eat, to try it, to hold onto some sort of faux hope that this could work, keep him sentient, only at the cost of doing exactly the thing he so desperately wanted to avoid. Hurting people, his people. Taking advantage of every fear and frenzy, using them to hold on to his own unraveling humanity. Cub would not find a cure in those woodland mansion libraries, nor would Scar, they couldn’t read the language, and Mumbo did not believe any amount of old magic could fix him anyway. He was older than the oldest magic. He was too broken. Evil was too integral to his ever-shifting design.

Cub looked like he was staring down a lion’s den.

“You’re not human, Mumbo,” Cub spoke slowly, cautiously, like he knew whatever he was going to say wouldn’t be helpful, but he didn’t know what else to do, “You’re a predator, you’re hungry, and it’s not wrong of you to eat.”

“It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter, Cub! It doesn’t matter what I do, it always ends with me being miserable. I can’t even spare the world from my existence, I can’t die, I just live on, hunting and spreading my wretchedness everywhere I go. I’m doomed to hurt and be hurt.”

Mumbo could not read minds, but he knew well enough that the stark fear that was pulsing off Cub in heavy waves was not due in any part to the impending destruction of the server, or Cub’s potential role as a rat to a snake. Cub didn't know what to do because there was no reasoning with Hurt. Cub was looking for a way out like a rabbit cornered by a salivating dog, and boy was Mumbo ever, the patch of skin where he held the sow tight to his face wet with his own saliva. God, that pissed him off. That Cub was more afraid of him right now than he’d ever been.

“That- That’s not-“ Cub looked distinctly like he was waging a great internal battle, every single muscle in his body strained, “It’s not true. That you’re only- You’re not only hurting people.”

“Is it not? What do you call this then, Cub? Wiping out whole servers and then having to face what I’ve done before moving on. Worse, befriending the server’s inhabitants before I tear them all to shreds. It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter if I’m not a human, if I deserve to eat, or even if technically it’s not morally unsound to do any of the things I’m doing. It doesn’t matter. Because I, human Mumbo Jumbo, will still feel like shit.”

“No- Not that, not that..” Cub trailed off, and Mumbo was willing to bet he was more fidgety than he’d ever been in his entire life, “You’re not only hurting people because.. I- Some- Some people, just throwing this out there, haha..” Cub stopped, staring so blatantly at Mumbo for any sort of reaction or change, but Mumbo remained stony, glaring daggers right back, “..Some people might find that whole endeavor, uh, kind of attractive.”

…

“Not me though, haha. Not.. I’ll see myself out. But like. If there was a case that this was the case and someone did find these encounters to be some kind of net positive, then you would be wrong. So you wouldn’t have to be sad about it. Because someone. Not.. naming names or anything.. Someone might be very pleased about it.” Cub paused, fiercely anxious, then as if Mumbo didn’t understand, clarified, “Like. In the jerking off about it kinda way. This world is full of freaks, Mumbo. You gotta- you gotta be careful-“ Cub scrambled to his knees, tripping over the pig that was still after his pant leg, “I’ll go. I’ll go.” Cub seemed to hit the height of his terror, seeing an out, desperately trying to leave, and at the back of Mumbo’s mind, he and his shadow both seemed to agree that if ever there was a time to seize a meal, it would be now.

For the first time in his entire existence, Mumbo killed Cub instantly when his back was turned, because any other method would have lost precious amounts of that sweet terror.

And just like the first time, his first human murder, the feeling was all encompassing, but unlike then, in his state of extreme hunger, all Mumbo felt was deep, deep relief.

He took everything.

And afterwards he stumbled away, sluggish and dizzy in the wake of his first satisfying meal in ages, and he laid down in the grass outside of the pig pen. Maybe the craziest part, the most baffling, striking thing about this, was that he did not feel emotionally bad. Maybe he couldn’t feel bad, not in the afterglow of a meal so intense, but this hadn’t.. None of this was engineered. Mumbo was upset, very upset, and he still might be? He couldn’t tell, not now, but Cub had gotten worked up all on his own.

It was different. Distinctly different, but the outcome was still the same.

Mumbo didn’t have the mind to think much longer, about the implications of what this could mean for him or anything else. He was still so tired, from the respawn and the events before, and his limbs were heavy and heart slow, his body seeming to shut itself down as sometimes happened after a particularly good meal.

…

Mumbo was disoriented when he woke up at home. At first he was frightened; he’d been tucked so firmly under the blankets of his bed that he could barely move. He’d wondered if he’d died, but dead people don’t wake up under the sheets. Had he dreamed…? Mumbo tried to go over the events of the past day in his head, and all of it was so certifiably insane that it very well could have been a figment of his imagination, especially the part where he’d killed but not gotten to eat Cub in the labyrinth, hunger dreams were a bitch, but he- quite honestly, he couldn’t get over the bed! He did not trap himself in bed like this, someone else had done it, and they’d done it like they never wanted Mumbo to get out of bed again.

There was something on his forehead.

Wriggling, Mumbo managed to get one arm out of his blanket prison. He plucked the sticky note off his forehead, reading it through bleary eyes.

‘I am so sorry’

Mumbo stared, blinking slowly. That must be from Cub, that’s the only person who could have left it. That’s the only person who could have brought him back here, too, unless he told someone, which sparked a moment of fear in Mumbo that he quickly dismissed. He very much doubted Cub would tell anyone; for all his nonchalance, Cub at least seemed to be protective of this secret. Well. To anyone but Scar, maybe. Still, Mumbo was pretty sure this was Cub’s doing.

Mumbo wrestled against his blankets, finally breaking free with much effort, then sitting up in bed, heaving a long breath. It was almost shocking how much air he could take. In the depths of his starvation, anxiety was one of his worst enemies, and it was always a small shock to remember the feeling of a full chest of air. Mumbo closed his eyes. His head still ached, and badly at that, but it was different. His health was not good, one meal would never fix him so completely, but the voice at the back of his head was just a little bit quieter. He felt satisfied for the first time in so, so long. Not sated, no, never sated. But satisfied. Mumbo let a small smile cross his face, slow, but genuine, and sighed, reveling in a good mood he hadn’t experienced naturally on his own for a long, long while. Maybe this could work. It was truly astonishing how rapidly he’d gone from wretchedly depressed to.. well, maybe hopeful was a strong word. This just.. didn’t seem so impossible anymore.

Mumbo looked back down, squinting at the sticky note.

…

Why was Cub sorry again?