#I might’ve changed but that hasn’t | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

trashogram · 1 month

Text

He Chose You (Pt. 9)

Lucifer/Reader: Lucifer chooses you to be the mother of his child. Rated Explicit.

Warning: Character Death, and minor details of childbirth.

“You’re glowing!”

You’d scoffed while watching as your body literally began to illuminate from the inside out.

“Well of course.” You’d snickered, looking from your hands to Lucifer. “Every mother does.”

Your hand came up to clasp your mouth shut, but the Freudian slip was already out there. Lucifer stared at you and you stared back.

Your lips wobbled and torso trembled until you could no longer hold it in and burst into laughter. Elation ran its course, and Lucifer joined you — laughing so hard that he slapped his knee.

When you fell into his arms and let yourself be held, you imagined it would only be for a little while. This bizarro pregnancy had you on some kind of high, and all the worries and doubts that had been building up disappeared.

—

You can’t remember for how long you’ve been walking but there’s discomfort in the soles of your feet. The landscape changes as soon as you truly behold it.

The endless field of tall grass and the trees so tall they could touch the sky had been replaced by golden sand. You could feel its gentle heat on the ends of your toes. Beyond the sand is a gently rolling ocean, lilac beneath a honey gold sky as the sun has only just set. The sound of rhythmic, rushing water is so real and so close that you’re immediately calm.

Memories flood your mind like a sneaker wave. You’re a child again, running away from the water as it laps at you. The shock of the cold water goes away quickly and you want to follow the pebbles and seashells that drift back out with the retreating tide.

You look back, away from the sea, and see the blonde woman behind you. You grin.

She’s wistful.

It stamps down on your joy. The air is salty and wet blowing through your hair and inhaled through your nostrils. You want to speak, but you can’t think of a thing to say.

“I wish this was goodbye.” Her voice carries above the waves, muffling them until they’re nothing but a dull roar.

—

You awoke to the sensation of falling and seized in your bed. Lucifer startled beside you. He’d been sleeping wrapped around your belly; a compromise to laying perpendicular to you so that he could continue talking to the soccer-player in your stomach.

He or she had not stopped moving since they decided to make it known that they were, in fact, not dead.

(You’d chided the baby for that, and for doubling in size in less than two week’s time, much to Lou’s amazement:

“Hell isn’t ready to be ruled by two speed demons.” You’d deadpanned.)

“Huh?” He grabbed you without thought. “What—”

Movement erupted from deep down in your core, muscles clenching and unclenching quickly, forcing you to seize again.

“I think I’m — ugh!” You gritted your teeth. “—I’m going into labor.”

Lucifer doesn’t do anything for a long moment.

Then he flew into a panic before you could say ‘Jesus Christ!’.

—

The hallway outside illuminated with the sheer brilliance of your body, literally glowing. It hadn’t stopped since it started, only a few weeks ago. Fortunately, the glow was tied to an almost paralyzing euphoria. It was the kind of delight that turned your blood into gold while racing through your body. The kind that kept you from complaining that you’d become Tinkerbell.

“Steady. I’ve got you!” Lucifer assured whilst trudging over the carpet with you in his arms.

An influx of pain rippled through you for the first time, providing distraction from the mortification you might’ve felt in that position. It hasn’t escaped your notice that the Prince of Darkness was a shortstack. Your brain had a hard time accepting that for as small as he appeared, Lucifer was capable of unimaginable feats of strength and endurance.

So, you didn’t think about it. Instead you focused on breathing in and out deeply as your partner kicked at the front door of your neighbors’ apartment with the toe of his boot.

As if waiting at the door, Warren Farrow appeared from behind the polished wood. His expression was of minute surprise, but within seconds he was turning back and calling for his wife.

Lucifer managed to pivot the two of you into the Farrow home. Warren guided you with an unusual vigor in his step, as though he were a man decades younger.

“We’ve had it set up for weeks now, Sir.” Warren said gravely.

Through the convulsions, you observed the inlet that Lucifer had taken you into. It was like a roomy closet, covered in tapestries and littered with candles of all shapes and colors.

Warren’s wife was flitting about, quickly lighting the pitch-black surroundings until you could see the mere outline of things.

You were drawn to the center of the crowded room, where a humble white cot covered in white towels contrasted everything else.

It occurred to you then that this entire pregnancy had been a shit show, not the least bit because you’d never gone to any OB. You hadn’t checked in with any hospital, or stepped foot in one — how could you?

Therefore, any and all “check-ups” you’d had had come from your creepy neighbors with their tea and their scrutinizing questions and their buzzard-like stares.

You’d consoled yourself throughout with the brief, semi-serious talk with Mrs. Farrow three months into gestation.

“What? Were you a midwife or something?” You asked incredulously.

“Yes, honey.” Cass had patted your hand like you were a simpleton. “I helped deliver babies for over 15 years. I was younger than you were when I first started!”

You had stared. ‘Oh god, how many crazy cultists are actually nurses in disguise?’

“Here we go, all set. You can lay her down here.” Cassie came over brusquely, smoothing over the wrinkles in the cot before Lucifer put you down.

He laid you on the sheets, light as a feather, jarring as you felt your belly weigh you down. The King didn’t go far, reluctant to let go of your hand. You held on like a vice as well, gripping and squeezing with each contraction.

You felt pinches in and around your abdomen, but the pain was… off. It came not from true agony, but the overworking of your internal organs in contrast to the pleasantness that you embodied post-glow stick phase.

Hearing childbirth horror stories all your life, and just the horrors of raising children in general, you expected to be screaming and thrashing.

This wasn’t as bad as some of your past periods had been. What’s worse than that, however, is the unnecessary guilt you feel for how troublesome it isn’t.

—

Lucifer struggled to remain in one spot as the urge to pace up and down the cramped little birthing room ate at him.

He didn’t want to leave you — not that his two hosts would dare make him, regardless of tradition — but old habits die hard. He was fidgeting, putting all his weight on one foot then the other.

You were his exact opposite, laying placid and relaxed on the birthing bed, eyeing the little room. Microexpressions flitted across your face, some of confusion and some of hurt, but aside from your firm grasp on his hand, and the occasional grunt, you may as well have been dozing off.

Eventually you glanced at him.

“Do you wanna sit down?” You asked calmly.

Lucifer tried to laugh but it came out like a strangled wheeze. “Nahhh, this is fine. I’m fine. Are you fine? I mean I know you’re not fine, but can I do something? Whatever you need, I can get it for you!”

His rambling ends with you bopping him between the eyes teasingly. “You’re silly.”

It’s inexplicable, but Lucifer’s mood lightened at your mellow admonishment. He meets your warm, drowsy expression with an adoring smile of his own.

“I am.” He kissed your forehead. “You’re an angel to put up with it.”

A too-loud rasp interrupted the soft moment of nothing but affection and kisses. Cass was standing at the foot of your cot, hands on each of your knees as she kept your legs apart.

“Get ready, honey. You’re on your way.” She hailed.

–

A cry split through the air and it went straight to your heart.

You gulp down air (Lucifer mimicking you without meaning to) with sweat pouring from your hairline. The lack of pain hadn’t meant a lack of effort, and you still felt like you’d run a marathon just to pass the little being currently wailing in Mrs. Farrow’s arms.

“It’s a girl.” Mrs. Farrow declared.

There was no attempt to hide the sidelong glance she gave Mr. Farrow. The lines and grooves on the elderly man’s face deepened until he resembled a gnarled tree trunk.

“Hmm.” Was his reply, deep baritone rolling like thunder in the tiny room.

Vehement indignance blazed to life inside your mind when the old man looked at you, critical and disappointed. You felt like tearing him and the rest of this old, tacky room to shreds. Yet, exhaustion had planted its roots deep inside of you, and all you could do was glare at the old couple from your makeshift bed.

‘Why does it fucking matter?’

“Gimme my kid.” You growled.

As if to piss you off further, Cass ignored you in favor of wiping the baby clean before passing her off to Lucifer. The old bat presented her to the King like she was a fallen bannerman’s sword, even curtsying while doing it.

It was so weird that it brought you out of your anger for a second.

Lucifer was clearly apprehensive, and his insecurity made the grand gesture stranger. He swallowed visibly, making eye contact with you when he couldn’t break away from the internal turmoil he was struggling with.

“Bring her to me.” You demanded. Lucifer nodded vigorously, cocking a head toward you.

It was fucking nonsensical, but at last Cass obeyed and brought you a bundle wrapped in silky black.

The baby’s wailing tapered off as soon as she’d made contact with you. And like a child on Christmas morning, you shifted to sit up as much as you could and pry open the swaddling cloth.

You sniffled.

All at once, the breath caught in your throat and your eyes welled up with tears.

The newborn was as flagrant as her father in terms of skin tone and hair. She hadn’t yet opened her eyes but already you could see none other than a spitting image of Lucifer himself. Right down to the rosy apple cheeks that made up her pudgy little face.

You were a little surprised to see that she had a nose. A little black smudge, puppy-like - anomalous like the little growths on her forehead and the itty bitty spade on the tip of her wagging tail.

She was perfect.

“I think she’s a Charlotte.” You manage to tear your eyes away from the miraculous hellspawn in your arms just long enough to search Lucifer’s golden gaze. “What do you think?”

His Majesty is a whimpering mess beside you. “Y-yeah. That’s perfect.”

Peeling the blanket back just that much more, you lean toward him. It takes a little coaxing, but sure enough Lucifer traces a delicate claw over the child’s tiny brow.

“Hello Charlotte.” He whispered. “We’re so happy you’re here.”

Adoration overwhelmed you, nigh on visible like the air was tinged with its color, its scent, its warmth cocooning the three of you.

Daddy, Mommy and baby. A strange but happy little family.

Lou embraced the two of you, hiding his face, and subsequent weeping, in the side of your neck while your baby cooed.

The background chants of ‘Hail Princess Charlotte’ and ‘Hail King Lucifer’ were, thankfully, not enough to ruin the moment.

Nothing could. Until.

It doesn’t dawn on you that anything is wrong when the glow has faded. It’s only the incidental look at your fingers, with Charlotte’s tail curled around them, that freezes you. Numbness then began to crawl up your body, as if waiting for the moment that you’re brain would connect the dots. The copper scent of blood made your nostrils flare and heart hammer.

Fear clutched at you in an instant. “Take her. Take the baby.”

Your desperate hiss and barely-there shuffle to push Charlotte into Lucifer’s arms fully had his face falling.

“W-wai-wh-What’s happening?” He asked, panic rising.

Mrs. Farrow is prompt, crone’s face scrunched and nose prominent as if she could sniff out the issue. She’s stood at the end of the bed, already lifting the sheets off your body before you can seek her out.

A stiff hand appears over the covers, covered in shiny dark claret. “She’s bleedin’ too much.”

Lucifer’s eyes blazed from where he hovered. “Why?”

The elderly woman was ready to shrug, but she stalled. Perhaps out of fear. “It happens, your Grace. Birthing a baby takes a toll on the mother, sometimes it’s too much.”

“Then why are you just standing there?”Lucifer bared his fangs, ivory in the lowlight. His eyes were a haze of vermillion, so opaque that you couldn’t find his pupils or the soul inside. “Help her!”

The truly demonic scrape of his vocal chords frightened you, as did the sudden appearance of tusk-like horns protruding from his skull and the fire coming to life between them. His beautiful skin marred and stretched and cracked as if his form were a prison barely containing the true beast within.

Energy crackled in the air, heat rising to blow back your hair and dry the air from your lungs like a flung-open kiln. The breath was stolen from your lungs as ivory wings shot out and overtook what little space was left in the alcove.

Reality was literally distorting around Lucifer’s warped rage.

Mr. Farrow, for all his reticence, reached for his wife’s shoulder from within your line of sight.

“Lucifer.” You hissed, bearing the brunt of his inhuman stare when he turned to you. It took real energy to speak. “I need you… the baby…”

It didn’t take anymore prodding for the blond to intercept your daughter once your desperation got through to him. The Devil slowly shifted back, revealing the depth of his fear in the cloudless turn of his gaze. He met you halfway - finally - and pulled Charlotte close to his chest.

A pang of thankfulness made laughter bubble up from your diaphragm. It hurt. Everything hurt again.

“Stop. Wait.” Lucifer begged, voice turned to ice. Fragile, cracking. His natural white glow had dimmed significantly like a cooling star. “This isn’t— I promised you this wouldn’t happen! This can’t happen!”

A shudder ran through you.

“Hey.” You lifted a hand and placed it on his pale cheek, thumb brushing over where white met red. “Nothing… for it now.”

“No, don’t, that’s… No.” His agony was so palpable, as his fury had been.

“You’re gonna be a great dad.” You murmured.

Lucifer bowed over the side of the bed with Charlotte snug against him. You could feel the warmth of his breath, and then the splash of his tears against your cheek as he broke down. You felt it deep in your bones, and the lump in your throat that choked you.

“Not without you.” He said. “I can’t do this without you.”

A pained smile was your response. Vision a-blur. Cotton tongue.

“You… will.”

Lucifer shook his head fiercely. “I promised you. I swore I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. I can’t… I can’t...”

“Please. Please don’t — ” Anguish turned Lucifer’s once melodic voice into broken notes. “Don’t leave us. Please, please, please.”

His sobs intermingled with Charlotte’s whimpering. She fussed as she was woken from her doze by the growing, tangible urgency. You wished you could calm both of them. Take them in your arms and make it all go away, promise that you weren’t going anywhere.

“Please. Please. Please.” The word fell from the Devil’s mouth like a prayer.

You wondered if he really was praying. Praying to his Father.

It broke your heart.

The candlelight around you was getting brighter as the rest of your surroundings grew dark. Lucifer, as brilliant as he was, lingered somewhere in between. You squinted when his features began to fuse together in your mind. It did little to help, as large, dark shadows blotted out the corners of your sight.

Charlotte was bawling and you fought to open your eyes again. You hadn’t realized they’d closed.

You were so tired. The will to rise up and comfort your baby was dwindling. Everything had succumbed to a thin stream of light in a sea of darkness.

With a breath, and another Herculean effort, you opened your eyes again.

White blinded you.

And then you were nothing.

***

Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision, @marydragneell, @lafy-taffy, @fandom-imagines1, @loquacious-libra, @glowymxxn, @avadakadabra93, @froggybich, @hamthepan, @ukor02, @adaizel, @boogiemansbitch, @vinillies, @lbcreations-blog, @thesoundresoundsecho, @serenity-loves-red, @alientee, @aquaamythest96, @0strawberrysorbet0, @fluffy-koalala, @washeduphazbin

#lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer

483 notes · View notes

hells-wasabii · 3 months

Note

Hey!! I had an Adam request for Hazbin Hotel. If possible, could it be a mixture of headcanon and drabble? If not, just drabble, please!!

So imagine if Adam had escaped before being killed by Nifty, and is still incredibly hurt. The angels had left, thinking he had died, leaving him behind. Then demon reader finds him bleeding out, and despite knowing who he is and what he's done to their kind, they still help him and let him stay at their apartment to heal properly, and hopefully tries to change his mind on Hell and other demons.

Gn reader would be great, if you could please! - 🍋

Howdy hey! I'm really glad you asked for a half and half, I don't think i'd be able to delve into this request proper. Also, adam is seriously growing on me. I got to work on my requests today later than i would've liked though, so I'll try to make up for lost time

Character: Adam

Type: Headcanons+Drabble (injured!Adam x sinner!reader, Angst, Fluff)

Adam, despite what you might think, fully understands the severity of the situation. He knows that he's royally fucked, especially if he happens across the wrong demon. He also knows that heaven’s not coming for him. The fact that what was left of his army had retreated was testament enough that they believed him to be dead.

Yeah, he might’ve escaped with his life but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Could you imagine what could happen if he ran into somebody with a grudge against him specifically? It wasn't like he was subtle about his identity at the moment, covered in golden blood, oh, and of course, the wings were a dead giveaway.

So when the very first man collapsed in some dirty alley way he thought he was done for. That was where he met you. You were an anomaly to Adam. Why would you, a sinner, help him of all people? He figured that you just didn’t know who he was as you took him back to your home to help him heal. That assumption didn’t last long, though, you called him by his name so you definitely knew who he was.

When you’re helping him heal, offering up your apartment as a place for him to recuperate, he’s gonna be bitching about it the whole time. You knew who he was, so now there was no way he’d let you forget he was the first man and how absurd it was that he was left like this. He’d complain about any little thing too, he’s used to a life of comfort, used to getting what he wants when he wants it. And you’d best believe you’re going to hear about how he hasn’t gotten laid since getting stuck down in hell.

Adam couldn’t believe it as he stared at the calendar hung on the wall of your dingy apartment. Despite all the slack he’s given you, the first man had long since decided that maybe you weren’t so bad for some loser sinner. The last of his wounds were healed now, something he had you to thank for. Bones were set properly, and he’d even been able to stave off infections under your care.

The angel was grateful. He really was. And as uncommon as it was, he wanted to show you just how grateful he was. You had gone off somewhere, work you said, but he wasn’t sure what you did for work now that he thought about it. You had probably mentioned it early on in his stay, but at that point, he didn’t really listen to much of what you said.

So, he decided to make you something to eat, you should be back in an hour anyway.

Simple enough, right? There was some pasta in the cupboards, he’d start with that.

Oh, you were gonna be so impressed! After all, you were going to eat a meal prepared by the first man here! This surprise totally-not-a-date-even-though-he-maybe-wanted-it-to-be dinner was going to rock!

...

In his defense, he had been left alone. You were pretty lucky to have gotten home when you did, or you were sure your kitchen would've been burnt down. You sighed, turning to the angel who was making a rather convincing impression of a kicked puppy. Instead of scolding him, you offer a small smile. "Why don't we just get takeout?"

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin headcanons #hazbin imagine #adam x reader #adam hazbin hotel

444 notes · View notes

lemonlover1110 · 6 months

Text

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 7] First Ultrasound

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist - Next Chapter →

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

On what you’re assuming is the start of the third month of your pregnancy, you finally manage to make an appointment for your first ultrasound. You debate if you want to tell Toji or not. Would he want to come? You’re not too sure if you’re being honest. He’s told you that he wants to be the best possible father for your child, but you don’t trust him. Given his track record, you can’t exactly trust him.

“I’m just here to drop off your money.” Toji can easily transfer money through the bank monthly, but he chooses to give it to you. Every two weeks he’s at your door with your money. You agreed to quit your second job and take his money; you still have your second job, but the nights that you know he’s coming, you take off. Toji invites himself in even if he’s just handing you an envelope. He never comes just to give you that.

“How’s work?” You ask, closing the door when he enters your apartment. You find it ironic that you talk more now than when you were married. He actually engages in conversation now, and he tries to talk to you as well, asking how you’re doing.

“Exhausting.” He answers. You can tell that he’s been working more lately, or at the very least he’s not getting proper sleep. There’s visible bags under his eyes, and he’s slowly letting himself go, at least he doesn’t give the proper care since he has a bit of a stubble; he’s also due for a haircut. “How about you? How are you holding up?”

“I’m doing okay… I’ve been dealing with a bit of morning sickness but nothing crazy.” You answer. You leave out any other of your symptoms. How your breasts are sore, you’re extremely tired (which can also be alluded back to your second job), how you’ve suddenly been having the weirdest cravings. Sure, you’re talking, but you don’t want him to know more than necessary. You try to change the topic since you don’t like having the spotlight on you, “How’s Megumi doing?”

“He’s doing fine… He has a baseball game next Thursday, if you want to come.” He informs you and you take a note of it. You’ll try to go since you have a soft spot for Megumi, but you’re not certain that you’ll make it.

“I’ll try. Hope I’m doing better then.” You respond. He slowly nods in response, and he tries to think of something to talk about, but nothing comes to mind so he begins to walk to the door. He won’t try to waste both of your time. Before his hand wraps around the doorknob, you speak up,

“Toji…” He completely stops. Not a single breath comes from him until you speak again, “I know that you’re busy so, I’m just inviting you to be courteous… I have my first ultrasound tomorrow, if you want to join me.”

“What time?” He asks, and you tell him. At noon. He nods, and tells you, “I’ll come pick you up.”

He stands still for a moment, wondering what to do next. Wondering if you’re going to do something else. You stand in completely awkward silence for a minute before Toji realizes that nothing else will happen, so he walks out. He doesn’t say goodbye, although you don’t mind it because he never does.

Toji hasn’t been a man that’s usually punctual, so you’re surprised when he’s early. You might’ve told him that the appointment was earlier than it actually is so you wouldn’t be late, but there’s not much you can do when he’s right in front of you, thirty minutes before your appointment. The place isn’t even a twenty minute drive.

“Hi.” You awkwardly smile at him. You notice how he’s finally shaved the stubble, and you’re curious if he did so last night or this morning. “So… I might’ve– The appointment was pushed back to twelve thirty.”

“Oh– Okay.” He answers. You almost tell him the truth, but it might incite an argument so it’s best if you ignore it and tell a little white lie. He won’t question much, he never does, so you’re safe. “Did you eat something already? Do you want to grab something to eat?”

“I don’t have much of an appetite.” You respond, and he nods his head. He isn’t going to argue with you that you should eat something regardless, you’re pregnant and you have to keep yourself healthy for the baby– He isn’t your father nor your husband, you’re old enough to make your own decisions. And while Toji wishes he could say he was worried about this pregnancy, he simply isn’t. As fucked up it is to even think about it, he’s more worried about you than the child you carry.

“What do you want to do then? Do you just want to head out and wait?” He asks, and you nod your head in response, if you get lucky, your appointment will start earlier. You disappear out of his sight for a moment to grab your purse, but you’re back quickly. You exit the apartment and you begin to walk to his car.

The car ride is silent, you don’t have much to talk about. You don’t sense him being as excited… Or excited at all about this so you’re quiet. You don’t pay him any mind. You’re over the moon at the thought of looking at your baby for the first time. You’re in disbelief that you’re about to become a mother. Finally.

You get to the place and check in. Waiting feels interminable as you sit next to Toji. He simply looks around, while you begin to play a game on your phone. Toji finds himself bored, and since he doesn’t have anything interesting to do, he chooses to try and talk to you. He clears his throat, and speaks up, “So how far along are you anyway?”

“Hm… I think, maybe three months along? I do have a bit of a bump.” You share, and Toji’s brows raise, he looks over at you, but your shirt is baggy which doesn’t let him really figure anything out. His eyes keep staring, and he finds himself frustrated at the fact he doesn’t know. If you lived with him he’d see your body better, and he’d notice every small change. At least that’s what he thinks.

Your name is called and you stand up, following the woman to the ultrasound room. Toji follows behind, walking much slower, trying to see if he does notice a bit of a bump. The previous night you were wearing a tank top– He didn’t notice anything then. He isn’t all too observant anyway so maybe he missed it.

Toji watches as you lay down, and you begin to talk to the technician. He doesn’t pay much attention to what’s going on between you two. Until you finally lift up your shirt, and he does see a bit of a bump. It’s nothing that’s really noticeable but it’s there when you lift up your shirt, it’s definitely something he would’ve noticed if you lived together.

You squeal as the cold gel is poured on your abdomen, and the transducer is then pressed on your skin. Your eyes then fall on the monitor, and an immediate smile comes to your lips. A little kidney bean. Your eyes well up with tears as the technician points out their little head.

“It’s just one baby, right?” Toji asks, and the technician assures him that it’s just one baby. It makes him breathe a sigh of relief. He notices you stick out your bottom lip, and he rolls his eyes. You seriously didn’t want twins, did you?

You look over at Toji, trying to see if there’s a bit of excitement behind his eyes when he looks at the ultrasound, and while it’s not clearly written on his face, you see a spark in his eyes as he looks at the monitor. He perks up when he hears the sound of the baby’s heartbeats. It’s in that moment that Toji realizes just how big this is–

He’s a father, he knows the birth of a baby is a big deal. Toji would give up his life for Megumi. But your pregnancy… The beginning of it didn’t excite him the way that his first wife’s did. Maybe it’s because he was set on not being a father again, or maybe it’s because you’re separated. Perhaps it’s because even though he wanted to use your pregnancy as a means for you to stay, you still left. He’s just focused on you and your relationship, not the fact that he’s actually becoming a father again. Doing it all over again.

He isn’t sure if he’s ready to do it all over again; but he feels the excitement slowly grow by looking at his baby and listening to their heartbeat. It’s nothing too crazy though.

When the technician finishes up, you’re handed a napkin to wipe off the gel. You do so, and you’re told to wait for the doctor. You’re smiling foolishly, thinking that you’re becoming a mother even though you had given up on that dream a while ago. Given that dream up for the man that’s waiting next to you.

“You seem really excited.” Toji comments when you’re left alone. He watches your hand go to your lower abdomen as you look up at him.

“I am. I can’t wait to meet my baby.” You answer. Toji chuckles, your excitement radiating and infectious. “Do you want a baby boy or a girl?”

“Hmm… A baby boy since I already know how to deal with boys. I have no idea how I’d raise a girl.” He responds. “How about you? Do you want a girl or a boy?”

“I don’t have a preference, I just want a healthy baby. Boy or girl.” You reply, and Toji wonders if that’s how he should’ve responded. Would that have gotten him positive points with you? Did his response fuck everything up a little more?

The doctor walks in, and she tells you what you want to hear. The baby is healthy, and growing the way they should be. You’re around fourteen weeks along– Which means you’ll be due around December, and that you’re further along than what you assumed. Your baby wasn’t conceived the night that you told Toji you’d be leaving him.

You get your ultrasound pictures, and Toji takes two, even though he tries to act like he isn’t excited.

#toji x y/n #toji zenin #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro #daddy toji #fushiguro toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #toji x reader #toji x you #dilf toji #toji fushiguro x you #toji fanfic #toji fic

986 notes · View notes

chryblossomjjk · 1 year

Text

the weekend | jjk

⇢ PAIRING: dilf!jk x babysitter reader

⇢ RATING/GENRE: m/18+ | fwb, sm*t, angst

⇢ WC: 13.8k

⇢ WARNINGS: alright boyz strap in bc it's a doozy lmao, protected s*x, multiple org*sms (m & f), or*l s*x (m receiving), face f*ck, f*ngering, rough s*x, face slapping, sp*nking, exh*bitionism, sir k*nk, t*tty f*ck, t*tty sucking (duh), body piercings (n*pples), age gap (reader is 23 and jk is like 30), infid*lity (reader is the other woman), ch*king, overst*mulation, sp*tting, man handling, finger s*cking, d*m jk, brief mentions of past add*ction, implied passing of a bby (mainly subtext w no details given), maybe unrequited love, maybe not (EVIL CACKLE), some dark thoughts discussed (nothing too graphic or detailed), fighting n yelling n crying yikes, all of these characters are v flawed (except for yul duh), cute bby moments!!, oc is v immature n naive n contradicts herself a lot, she maybe has a thing for older guys bc of that, some bl*od (just a scrape on the knee but ik bl*od can be triggering), this relationship is extremely toxic and not meant to be desired!!!, one homage to trixie mattel lmao

⇢ SUMMARY: every weekend, you give jungkook a little taste of something he’s missing monday through friday.

⇢ NOTES: so after months and months of planning this fic (i literally posted the teaser in JANUARY UM??), it's finally here. i think this is my fav thing i've written thus far and i worked v hard on this! would love to know ur thoughts, feedback is always appreciated!! ty @/taegularities for betaing!! (for whatever reason, this fic refuses to show up in tags n it sucks n nothing i do fixes it so i shall leave it be lol)

You can't tell what��s louder—the crunch of dewy, end-of-summer grass pricking the soft skin of your thighs like angry thorns, or the cracking of bones as your body thumps to the ground from your bedroom window.

“Ah-” the whine is quickly stifled by a sharp hiss as you remember your dad’s sleeping figure is just behind the wall next to you. “Ouch,” you whimper, praying that the crash hasn’t reached his watchful ears. Carefully, you climb to your feet, brushing the dirt off your bare legs. You spot a fresh crimson scrape on your knee.

Fucking great.

Finally, after days of longing and waiting, the weekend has arrived. Today, in particular, is a fantastic day. You were trying to look sexy, and blood isn't exactly the sexiest accessory. Bringing your wrist up to your nose, you inhale the candy-scented liquid you had doused yourself in before leaving.

Perfume still in check, thank fuck.

Goosebumps form on your skin as you take long, dutiful strides, cool night mist gliding through the thin material of your long silk shirt. You’ve committed this path to memory—out the window, usually in a more graceful manner, through the neighbor’s yard, and then straight down the sidewalk to the black Mercedes Benz waiting for you at the end of the road.

If you hadn’t done this a million and one times already, you might’ve missed the vehicle, so dark that it blends into the night seamlessly. You can’t help but wonder if that’s his goal entirely.

Still, the excitement of it all makes you walk a little faster.

“Hey, Jungkook,” you smile as you slide into his black leather passenger seat, leaning over the center console to give his cheek a gentle peck. Maybe you’ve overstepped a boundary and muddied the lines in the sand of your… relationship, but you can’t help yourself. Seeing Jungkook was always a treat, one you looked forward to every Friday night for the past five months.

“Hi,” he says impassively, eyes darting over your figure. A loose strand of hair dangles in front of his eyes, teasing you. “You’re wearing makeup?”

“Oh, um…” You’re at a loss for words; surprised he noticed such a slight change in your appearance. Although his perceptiveness was something you noted shortly after you began working for him, you can’t help but feel flustered. “Yeah, I… wanted to look nice tonight. Totally busted my ass climbing out the window,” you laugh.

“Did you get hurt?” His straight brows furrow slightly, silver piercing reflecting the moonlight.

“Just a scratch.” You lift your leg to show him the red mark on your knee. “Didn’t break anything, though, so that’s a plus.”

Wordlessly, Jungkook reaches over, popping open the glove compartment before you and pulling out the first aid kit he keeps there for emergencies. The scent of clean linen wafts over you from his daily cologne. His scent. Only his. You try your best to subdue the possessive smirk forming. “You should be more careful.”

“I’m okay.”

“Be more careful,” he commands, peering up at you with an icy gaze. “Got it?”

Whether it’s the seven-year age gap between the two of you or the tone of his voice, you know better than to argue. “Yes,” you wince as he rubs Neosporin onto the open wound. “Besides, I wouldn’t have gotten hurt if my dad wasn’t so… overprotective.”

“Well,” he continues, sticking a pink Baby Shark bandaid to your skin before putting the box back, “as a father, I understand.”

“Yul is two, though,” you laugh, “I’m in my twenties.”

“Being in your early twenties hardly makes you an adult,” he mutters. "Besides, it doesn't matter. The need to protect your children always stays the same.”

“Poor Bunny,” you pout jokingly as you click your seatbelt on. “She’s going to be just like me when she’s older. Sneaking out of a window to see a boy because her daddy is a big grizzly bear.”

The comment has his nose twitching in irritation. “I’m done with this conversation, __.”

You freeze. Have you struck a nerve?

“Jungkook, I’m sorry,” you peep. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Stop.” His voice is flat, but your heart thumps. “It’s fine.”

All the excitement you feel suddenly morphs into an uncomfortable ache as you slump into your seat. It’s different than it was last weekend, positioned much closer to the dashboard than you would ever put it. There’s a claustrophobic sting in your chest as you realize someone else has been in this very spot.

You know they have, and you know who.

The deafening sound of the bulky silver band on his finger, tapping against the steering wheel as he begins driving to the hotel you frequent, is a sick reminder.

You swear there’s even a musky floral scent lingering in the air. Deeper and more mature than yours. It could be paranoia, or guilt, making you imagine things. Still, you hope your perfume finds its way into every fiber of his leather seats.

“How was your day?” Jungkook asks, interrupting any rational thought or doubt, luring you back into the vicious cycle.

“A bit stressful,” you sigh. “I applied for school today.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, pretty sure I messed up on the financial aid paperwork, though. It was super confusing; I didn’t understand any of it.”

“You should’ve brought it over. I could’ve helped you.”

Jungkook does have a master’s degree in finance. He could’ve been your Rosetta Stone, helping you decipher convoluted questions about taxes and deductions. However, you weren’t sure how he would’ve reacted to you pulling out your laptop post-sex, asking for assistance on something completely unrelated to your normal routine. “That’s not the type of thing we usually do when we’re together,” you shrug, “you know?”

Your response has him shifting in his spot, pierced bottom lip curling inwards like the words made him queasy. He was the one who encouraged you to go back to school in the first place. “I wouldn’t have minded,” Jungkook mumbles before quickly redirecting the dialogue, something he does whenever he’s frustrated or uncomfortable. “So, what’s the special occasion?”

“Huh?”

“What’s got you all dolled up?”

Oh, right. That special occasion. The one you’ve been anticipating since you were made aware of its existence.

“Happy three years sober!” You announce with a cheesy smile, throwing your arms up eagerly.

“Ah,” he huffs in recognition. His eyes are fixed on the road, but there’s the tiniest hint of a smirk on his face. Success. It takes everything in you not to physically rejoice. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

“What do you mean?” You ask with a pout. “How could I forget?”

“I don’t know.” Just like that, the flicker of happiness wisps away like a flame in the wind as his expression turns emotionless and stoic again. “It’s not really a big deal.”

You frown. Must he always be so… cold?

‘It’s okay to smile; you deserve it,’ is what you want to tell him. It's not your place, though. You opt for: “It’s a huge deal, Jungkook,” instead. Reaching over, you gently tuck the stray strand of hair behind his decorated ear.

A somber aura hangs around him like a dark, dreary rain cloud, and in moments like this, when it’s so visible, you just… need to touch him.

It’s stupid to think that you’re the special one; that you’ll be the girl to turn the rain into a rainbow and save him from himself, but you can’t refrain from trying.

“Did you celebrate?”

He shakes his head. “Went to work.”

You can tell from his outfit—a sleek black blazer resting neatly on top of an even darker button-up and tie. His long hair is slicked back, but gravity, and his ten-hour long shift took their toll, making the strands hang slack, short undercut peaking through. He looks so incredibly sexy. Maybe, you can comfort him in the only way you know how…

“Well, there’s still time.” You point to the clock on his touchscreen stereo: 11:12 p.m. You throw your hair over your shoulder before slowly undoing the top two buttons of your shirt, revealing the skimpy black lingerie set you splurged on just for tonight. Just for him. “We can celebrate…”

“Yeah?” His cheek bubbles, tongue poking at the inside of his mouth, eyebrow jumping at your suggestion. “How so?”

You bite your lip, contemplating your next move. Hastily, you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean over the center console. It’s reckless, but so is being with a man like Jungkook. When you finally get to have him the way you want, you’re incapable of rationality.

One night of him isn’t enough. What kind of tease is that? You need at least six more to be satisfied…

“__,” he warns, arching his head away from your sneaky lips. “Put your seatbelt on. Wait until we get to the hotel.”

“Where’s the fun in that, though?” You pout, cupping his cheek in your hand and batting your eyelashes innocently. Jungkook doesn’t take the bait, giving the desolate road ahead his unwavering attention. Despite his nonchalant demeanor, you can tell you’re getting to him. Below you, his slacks tighten around his thick, tensed thighs. He’s playing right into your hands. Needily, you tongue the little silver hoops dangling from his ear.

“If I have to pull over, you’re in trouble.”

“Maybe I-”

A hushed ‘fuck’ cuts you off as the car comes to a screeching halt. Jungkook slams on the brakes, coming too close to the slower vehicle in front of you for comfort. Luckily, his dad reflexes kick in. His strong hand grips your waist tightly, preventing you from barreling forward. You brace yourself by clutching his shoulders, and when the adrenaline rush fades, you finally look at him. His nostrils are flared, and his jaw is clenched painfully tight. He’s pissed.

You know you should apologize, or be a little shaken up, but the blinking of the turn signal as he pulls to the side of the dark highway has your mouth watering. This is just what you wanted.

Jungkook sighs in frustration, tilting his head back against the headrest. The movement is counterintuitive, exposing the inked canvas of his neck that you’re desperate to paint red and purple.

A hand fists your tangled hair, pulling you off with a harsh yank before you have the chance to sink your teeth in. The silver ring on his finger digs into your scalp like a knife. “Do not fucking mark me.”

The feeling of the frigid metal is agonizing. Not physically—his grip loosens immediately after the initial tug—but emotionally. You know why he doesn’t want you to mark him. Any evidence of you, other than your weekly babysitting duties, would unravel the entire life he’s built for himself.

Jungkook is an intelligent man, though. You don’t have to tell him that it’s all a façade, and everything’s already been undone.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice comes out frail and shaky. “I just want you.”

And like some cruel joke, his phone rings.

The contact image would typically make you swoon. It’s a picture of him and his daughter from her first birthday party; her sticky, strawberry ice cream covered hands holding his cheeks as he stares at her with scrunched eyes and a big smile. You think that picture is the only time you’ve ever seen him genuinely happy.

The bold, white font at the top of the screen makes you sick to your stomach.

‘Wife.’

Jungkook releases your hair and places a finger over his mouth, signaling you to shut up, before answering.

“Yes, Seulgi?”

“Your daughter would like to speak to you.”

Her voice makes you want to curl into yourself. Whenever you talk to Seulgi regarding Yul, you’re able to compartmentalize and detach that part of yourself from this one. The one that’s sleeping with her husband. Hearing her in this compromised setting makes you feel absolutely repulsive.

After some rustling and tiny sniffles, Yul answers. “Da-” She only manages a syllable before breaking into a cry-induced coughing fit. You cringe, poor Bunny. “Daddy!”

“What’s wrong with my baby?”

You don’t mean to giggle, especially when the little girl you’ve grown to love so much is clearly distressed, but the intimidating, grumpy, tattooed businessman beside you, talking in full-on pout, tickles your brain just right.

“I don’t wanna sleep alone!” Yul screeches in the most anguished, high-pitched tone.

“Bunny…” With the way his hands scrub down his face, you can tell the tears on the other end are physically affecting him. “Take a deep breath, please.”

There’s a shaky inhale, and a sad whine of an exhale as she tries to steady her respirations.

“Thank you, good job,” he affirms. “Yul, daddy is…” Dark pupils flicker over to you, his face scowled to match. He eyes you like you’re an annoying stain on his leather seat. A dirty little secret that’s keeping him from his daughter. The gesture sends a dagger through your chest. Usually, Jungkook tells his wife he’s working overtime, but he can’t bring himself to lie to his only daughter. “Busy.”

“B-B-But.” The wails have simmered down to a blubber. “Scared.”

“You have mommy, though, don’t you?” He counters exasperatedly, cogs turning at maximum speed to conjure up a solution. “And Ruru?”

Yul is a persistent girl. You’ve seen the two-and-a-half-year-old deadpan Jungkook with a ‘you can have them, then,’ when he tried to convince her that vegetables were delicious and totally not an abomination to tastebuds. “Jeon Ruru is scared, too.”

After a few months of dedication and trust building, Yul finally initiated you into her inner circle of squishmallows, all of which shared the surname, Jeon, followed by whatever random title her baby brain bestowed them. Jeon Ruru, a glass of strawberry milk, was her favorite. You coo in remembrance.

“What about Ado?” Jungkook suggests, exhausting all his options.

“Ado?” She peeps curiously, and you can almost see her doe eyes scanning the room for her runner-up, an avocado squishmallow you gifted her. “Ado’s sleepin’.”

“Can you go get him?”

There’s a long pause of contemplation before the pitter-patter of tiny feet on wood fills the speakers. “Jeon Ado!” She calls out, voice becoming distant as she runs to her bedroom, “daddy wantsa’ talk to you!” You make out a quiet ‘I’ll tuck you in’ when Seulgi helps her to bed. “Okay,” Yul huffs, breathless from her scurry down the long corridor, “he’s here.”

“Jeon Ado.” You rarely see this side of him, and it takes all of your strength to suppress the smile that’s creeping up. “Can you keep Yul safe while I’m away?” He even leans forward a bit, turning his ear towards the speaker as if he’s actually waiting for the stuffed avocado to answer, subconsciously playing along with his daughter despite being miles apart. The scene puts your overwhelmingly sweet perfume to shame. “Uh, Yul, he said yes. So can you sleep in your big girl bed tonight?”

Reluctantly, Yul grumbles in agreement.

“Alright baby, goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

Again, she answers with a little grunt and a yawn.

“I love you.”

“Love youuu!” She extends the vowel for emphasis.

“I love you more.”

There’s a beat of silence before the sleepy girl simply responds ‘yep,’ not even attempting to argue. He glances at you, this time with a wholesome smile, eyes warm with burning stars. It’s moments like this that keep you hooked, you think. Like always, the feeling is short-lived. When Seulgi mumbles a sweet goodnight to her daughter, their daughter, you’re reminded that you shouldn’t even be observing this domestic interaction.

“You know,” the man begins, turning his attention to his wife, “if you had given her a warm bottle, she would’ve gone down without a hitch.”

“Jungkook, she’s too old for a bottle.” And just like that, the fire between them ignites. You’ve never actually witnessed the pair fighting, only felt the uncomfortable heat between them in passing. “And she’s too old to be co-sleeping. She never had an issue sleeping alone beforehand.”

“Alright,” he asserts, “if Yul’s okay, then we’re done here.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little unfair?” Despite his warning, she continues. “Getting her used to sleeping with you and then not being here?”

There were many things about having a daughter that Jungkook wasn’t prepared for.

It’s not that he didn’t do his research, and Yul certainly wasn’t an accident. He had wanted her more than anything. Especially after the…

Incident.

A baby-sized hole was left in Jungkook’s chest. Every day, it grew bigger and bigger until, eventually, that bitter emptiness would’ve swallowed him alive.

Jungkook needed Yul.

Still, there were certain things that parenting books and videos hadn’t warned him about, like the worry in his stomach whenever his daughter refuses her lunch, or the ache in his heart when he drops her off at daycare and she watches him leave through the window with a sad wave and tears rolling down her cheeks as if he’s just abandoned her forever. As if he or his wife aren’t going to pick her up in a mere four hours like they do every Tuesday and Thursday. His readings haven’t prepared him for the even stronger ache that consumes his entire body whenever he leaves for work too early and comes home too late, with barely any time to spend with his favorite person in the world.

Before Yul was even born, Jungkook and Seulgi had decided that co-sleeping was out of the question. Their room was for them, and he stood firm on that principle for a while. However, as time passed, their room became Seulgi’s, and the empty bedroom downstairs became his.

Jungkook couldn’t stand that room.

One night, after a particularly grueling shift, Jungkook trudges up the stairs for a late shower. Without finance talk or Yul’s babbles, he’s left to his own thoughts. Usually, under the scalding water, he wondered how his life turned out this way, or more so, why? This time, Jungkook wonders if there is even a reason to keep going at all.

He catches his reflection while brushing his teeth. His eyes are dark, cold, distant. Those same eyes belong to his daughter, but all he sees when looking into hers is love, innocence, and everything good in life.

Maybe, just maybe, there’s hope for him.

Taking a detour to Yul’s room, Jungkook does his best to quietly tip-toe around squishmallows and discarded markers. Underneath the pink blanket is a little ball of fluffy black hair. She’s got her thumb in her mouth—a bad habit he and Seulgi had been trying to nip in the bud—with her chubby cheeks squished against her pillow. There were few things he hated more than waking her up, especially when she was sleeping so peacefully, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t stop himself.

Tiny, confused cries fill the room as Jungkook scoops her up.

“Shh,” he hushes, smoothing his palm over her onesie-clad back. “It’s just me.”

“Da- ddy?” Immediately, she relaxes at the familiar sound of his voice, words slurred as she rubs the sleep out of her eyes with a little fist before peering up at him with big marble eyes.

“How was daycare, Bunny?”

“Scared,” she whimpers, slumping into his chest for comfort. “Scaredy cat.”

“Scaredy cat?” Jungkook repeats, trying to make sense of the phrase. “Who’s a scaredy cat?”

“Jeon Yul.”

Typically, Jungkook finds it adorable when Yul refers to herself in the third person. The way she says it this time makes him frown. “Jeon Yul is not a scaredy cat. Jeon Yul is a baby, that’s all.” Realizing that she’d probably heard the unfavorable title at daycare, his chest tightens. With a heavy sigh, he rests his chin on top of her round head, swaying back and forth. Her hair smells like green apples from her baby soap. “Why were you scared, sweetheart?”

“No color…”

On his lunch break, Seulgi informed him that she was picking Yul up early. In an attempt to encourage her to engage with other children, the teacher took away Yul’s crayons, sending her into a full-blown tantrum. Jungkook knew his daughter well, a spitting image of him in every capacity. The crayons weren’t the problem; it was that crippling shyness that made her afraid of socializing with nearly anyone other than you and her parents.

Her back ripples with tiny hiccups as she recounts the events. Jungkook decides it’s best to change the subject, not wanting to upset his two-year-old anymore—especially this late at night.

“Guess what?”

Yul grunts an inquisitive noise.

“Daddy got you Baby Shark coloring books.”

Her wispy bedhead bounces as she glances side to side, inspecting her room for any sign of new Pinkfong merchandise. Jungkook was genuinely amazed at her ability to keep track of it all, considering how much he and his wife loved to spoil her rotten. However, the word ‘rotten’ doesn’t even come close to describing his baby. “Where?”

“In my car,” he laughs, slicking her choppy bangs out of her eyes. “We’ll color tomorrow., okay?”

“I like Baby Shark,” Yul says, completely ignoring his question. The teeniest, tiniest, most precious yawn slips out, two little front teeth on full display before her lips smack together sleepily. Truly living up to her nickname.

“I know you do.” He’s still rocking her gently, buying some time before she falls back into sleep’s arms and out of his. “I missed you so much today.”

“Why?”

As of late, ‘why’ seems to be Yul’s favorite word.

Why is the sky blue?

Why do vegetables taste yucky?

Why is daddy’s nose so big?

He’d be lying if he said that last, brutally honest question hadn’t caught him off guard when she first uttered it on his hip at the grocery store.

“Because I love you.” It’s the most effortless sentence he’s ever spoken. The most natural feeling he’s ever felt.

“Why?”

“Because,” his eye roll is disconnected from his growing smile, “you’re so cute!” If they weren’t enclosed by the four pink walls of Yul’s bedroom, Jungkook would be embarrassed at the squeakiness of his usual monotone voice. Leaning down, Jungkook blows a raspberry against her doughy cheek, a tried and true method of making her laugh. “Do you want to sleep in my room?”

It’s against his better judgment and the ground rules he had agreed to, but he just… really needs to spend time with her tonight. The small nod against his chest seals the deal. Before he gets to the door, Yul stops him with an exaggerated gasp.

“Daddy, Ruru!”

“Ruru?”

She grunts, frustrated at her father’s confusion, frantically pointing at her partner in crime, the strawberry milk squishmallow lying neatly underneath her comforter. Just how she left it.

“Yul,” Jungkook starts, taking a few steps backward and bending at the waist, allowing her to take the oversized stuffie into her arms. “Isn’t this Mimi?” As far as Jungkook knows, the pink milk carton with a face had always been Mimi; a name Yul had dubbed it since he brought it home a couple months back.

“Ruru,” she states affirmatively.

And ever since then, Yul’s been a co-sleeper.

Jungkook prided himself on knowing his daughter like the back of his tattooed hand. Whether it’s a sixth sense, some innate father’s instinct that the parenting videos mentioned, or his own attention to detail, he could read her like a book. However, sharing a bed with the tiny human taught him something he had been blissfully unaware of:

Yul sleeps wild.

More often than not, Jungkook was awoken by a tiny foot kicking his back, or by his own reflexes as he was somehow pushed to the very corner of the bed by his twenty-pound baby. There were even a few times when a harsh tug on his hair acted as an alarm clock. When he turned around to confront the culprit, however, she was fast asleep, arm slung over one of the many squishmallows that had worked their way into his room.

Having her with him was worth all bald spots and bruises, though. It’s bad, he knows it, and night by night, Yul becomes more attached. Getting her acclimated to daycare had been hell, to say the least. He knows co-sleeping has possibly made her more reluctant to socialize than she already was.

Still, Jungkook can’t help but wonder who’s more dependent on the other. When he thinks about it, undoubtedly, the answer is him. Because as long as he wakes up to a little foot in his back, a fist in his hair, and the smell of green apple baby soap, he has a reason to keep going.

“Don’t you think she deserves better?”

Her sharp words swipe through the air like a blade. Even you feel the cut, cautiously eyeing Jungkook. You can’t read his expression, but something about it makes you rub a comforting hand over his shoulder. He doesn’t react to your touch at all.

There’s a sullen pause before he finally answers. “I think Yul deserves everything.”

“Right… Goodnight, Jungkook.” She hangs up before he has the chance to respond. Seulgi always struck you as a level-headed person, albeit a bit aloof, but never unfair or cruel. You assume she’s just being spiteful, because anyone who knows Jungkook would never question his dedication to his daughter. That ugly, bitter, jealous side of you thinks maybe she just doesn’t know him the way you do.

“Are you okay?” You whisper as if approaching a wounded animal, ready to attack.

“On Fridays,” he starts, eyes shamefully dropping to his fidgeting hands. “Yul spends the day with my parents.”

His incessant need to defend his parenting makes your heart ache. “Hey, I-”

“She’s usually asleep by the time I leave work.”

“Kook,” you interrupt his rambling. “You don’t have to explain; I understand... I think you’re an amazing father.”

Lifting his head, Jungkook looks you directly in the eyes. His are glassy and gentle now, but the fingers that hook into your lace bra, right between the cups, are rough and abrasive. “C’mere,” he gruffs, pulling you over the center console until you’re uncomfortably sandwiched between his solid chest and the steering wheel. There’s no effort to make room for you; he doesn’t slide his seat back. He doesn’t compromise any of his space for you. You accept it, steadying yourself on his shoulders with a grunt.

Sometimes, you question what your presence in his life truly is. Are you an escape or a punching bag? Are you merely something he can sink his nails and teeth into when angry? Something he can break without consequence? The sound of thread ripping and buttons popping fills the car as he slides the silk off your shoulders, letting the delicate material fall to the floor without a care in the world.

“You wore this for me?” A fingertip lightly traces the petite swell of your breasts, barely bulging over the frilly black cups of your push-up. The sensation sets your skin ablaze.

“Mhm,” you confirm, “I wanted today to be special.”

“You care about me?” Moonlight cuts through the dewy window, beaming against the side of his face, highlighting the taut pull in his features. His question seems genuine, but the answer is obvious, isn’t it? Simply being here with him makes the entire foundation of your soul, all of your morals and beliefs, crumble to pieces. Against your better judgment, you’re still here.

Yearning. Trying. Fighting.

You swipe a thumb over his thick brows, trying to ease the angry crinkle that’s become a permanent fixture on his beautiful face. You comb through his hair. It’s a little knotted, a little crunchy from old gel.

The answer should be obvious, but you don’t think Jungkook could internalize love if it was right in front of him.

“I care about you,” you say truthfully, “a lot.”

The stars in his eyes gleam for a moment, glowing bright and vibrant, before they’re engulfed by the suffocating blackness of his pupils.

“You poor thing,” Jungkook tuts, trailing his fingers up your neck before grasping your jaw with a single hand. The baby fat of your cheeks mushes together from the force. “You're gonna let me do whatever I want to you, aren't you?”

The tone of his voice has your heart fluttering and your stomach churning with thick hot desire. Gripping his wrist with both hands, you moan out a ‘yes,’ unconsciously grinding down onto his slack-covered bulge. He’s barely touched you yet and your cunt is leaking, making a mess of your itty bitty thong and his work suit.

“Right, of course.” With the same hand holding you, Jungkook taps his index finger against your glossy pout, “open.” Just barely parting your lips, you let the thick digit slide between them. Immediately, he presses down against your tongue, trying to coax a gag out of you. “What if I want to fuck this pretty little mouth until you cry? How does that sound? Would you like that?”

Inhaling deeply, you nod. That sounds absolutely perfect.

“I don’t know if you can handle it, though,” he lulls, retracting his finger before plunging it back in, all the up to his inked knuckle. You squint in defiance. He’s teasing, but you can’t fight the tinge of anger in your chest. If there’s one thing you can do, it’s suck a mean dick. Looking him directly in the eyes, you swirl your tongue against his palm with ease, not choking once. You feel his cock twitch against the supple flesh of your inner thigh.

Unamused by your antics, Jungkook yanks his hand back angrily, making a string of saliva drip down your chin. Maybe a full face of makeup wasn’t the best idea. “Get in the backseat,” he orders huskily, wiping the damp skin on his blazer. Biting back a smirk, you climb off his lap and wriggle over the center console. You situate yourself on the cool leather, laying down and assuming face-fuck position.

The yellow glow of headlights swims across the ceiling as a passing car drifts down the misty highway. This is the first time in five months that you and Jungkook are out in the open, blissfully oblivious to the possibility of getting caught. It’s childish, but you hope someone sees. For a moment in time—in a wandering eye’s glimpse of reality—you’re his and he's yours.

“Couldn’t wait until we got to the hotel, huh?” Jungkook huffs when he opens the door. Giddily, you lean your head back over the edge of the seat, coming face to face with the tent in his pants. His hands frantically work to unbuckle his belt, desperate to bury himself inside of you. His favorite escape. “Well, since you want to act like a fucking whore-” his pants fall to his knees with a clang when he unbuttons them, “-I’ll treat you like one.”

“Please,” you whimper, noting the wet spot on his gray Calvin Kleins. Reaching up, you lightly drag your nails across it, teasingly pinching the head of his cock before he tugs his boxers down. A big greedy smile spreads across your face as his semi springs out.

The sight makes your lips part. It’s so pretty. Something about how the moonlight catches the glowy pink tip, peeking out from under his foreskin. The light accentuates every ridge and vein on his girthy shaft. So yummy it has you drooling-

Jungkook’s right. You’re a complete and utter whore.

“Is this what you wanted?” He peers down at you over his prominent nose, one hand clutching the roof of his Mercedes. The other wraps around his thick shaft, giving it a few languid pumps, getting himself fully erect for you. Teasingly, he taps the head against your plump lips. Unable to resist, you press a sweet peck and a kitten lick to his silky frenulum. “Uh-uh,” he chuckles, raising his delicious cock just beyond your reach. “You know better than that. Ask for permission.”

“Wanna suck it,” you pout, squirming impatiently. “Please?”

Suddenly, his heavy cock slaps your cheek with a wet thud.

“Please, what?”

“Please, sir?”

“Good girl.” The praise is contradicted by another light smack to your face, this time with an open palm. Taking the hint, you open your mouth wide, tongue sticking out in anticipation. Jungkook watches you intently with furrowed brows and a slack jaw as he feeds you the first few inches. As soon as the salty flavor of his arousal hits your tastebuds, you moan obnoxiously, back arching off the leather beneath you.

He starts slowly, using your breathing to guide his movements—pausing on the exhales and giving you a bit more on the inhales. He does this until the entirety of his length is shoved down your warm, wet mouth.

The hem of his black dress shirt flows over you, obstructing his view. He places it between his teeth with an annoyed groan, wanting to watch the swell in your neck as you swallow him like a snake. “You take it so well,” he grunts over the material, “the best I’ve ever had.”

Tears clinging to your lashes finally lose grip, trickling down your skin until they get lost in the thick, dark swoops of your dangling hair. For once, you mean something more to him than she does. It’s insignificant and shameful, but at least it's something.

“Are you okay, __?” Jungkook asks, sensing the shift as your soul splays before him like your half-naked body. Stepping back, he gives you some reprieve.

With red eyes and drool bubbling at the corners of your lips, you moan out an implied ‘yes.’ His confession has you on cloud nine.

“Do you remember the sign?”

Again, you hum.

“Can you show me?”

Lazily, you tap his outer thigh three times, a hard ‘stop’ symbol you had agreed upon months ago while hanging off the edge of a hotel bed, preparing for Jungkook to fuck your mouth for the very first time.

“Good girl,” he says before rutting his entire length into you again. He’s so deep that the soft skin of his scrotum nudges against the tip of your nose, and the dense patch of trimmed hair on his pubic bone tickles your chin. Reaching down, Jungkook grips your neck, reveling in the feeling of it stretching against his palm as he moves in and out steadily.

Eventually, he hunches over, hands wandering down and holding your temples for better leverage. Despite the harsh digs of his hips, his delicate fingers brush away a few strands of hair stuck to your damp cheeks. The sweet gesture makes you whimper around him in pure ecstasy, moving your head to meet his thrusts for extra stimulation, circling your flat tongue around the base.

The whistles of the midnight breeze and the murmur of passing cars fade, and all you hear is Jungkook. The melodic, venomous praises pouring out of him poison your mind with optimism. He takes one last plunge, so powerful it sends you sliding back against the seat. To steady yourself, you grip his legs, attempting to ease your triggered gag reflex. He holds you there, cock stuffed to the brim as he slams a hand against the black steel of his car, shirt falling from his teeth as he moans ardently. You gasp when he finally pulls out, leaking tip still connected to you by a bridge of spit and precum.

“Why-” Cough. “Why did you stop?”

Your question is met with only the sound of rustling fabric and the chime of his hanging belt buckle as he removes his suit jacket and throws it into the passenger seat. Grabbing you by the band of your lingerie, Jungkook hauls your frame closer.

He snaps your taut bra strap against your shoulder with a single finger. “Take this off.”

“O-Okay,” you stutter, still trying to catch your breath as you sit up at the waist and unclip your bra. A shiver runs down your spine as the cool night air licks your exposed chest. This time when you lie down, you’re positioned under his spread legs. He stands over you with such authority and dominance. The underside view of his hard cock looks absolutely menacing.

“These,” Jungkook’s large palms grab at your tits, jiggling them, “I wanna fuck ‘em.”

“There isn’t anything for you to fuck,” you giggle.

After years of insecurity, and crying over vengeful comments from dumb boys you had broken things off with, you finally came to terms with your appearance. Your tits are small, and that’s okay. Plus, the cute little nipple piercings you had gotten a while back were definitely a confidence booster. There wasn’t an ounce of self-hatred in your comment.

Jungkook doesn’t take it that way, though.

“Shut up.” With a huff, he steps back and hunches, reaching down to deliver a harsh swat to your cheek. It was a little rougher than usual, and you wince upon impact. Instantly, he soothes the skin with a gentle pet. “Your tits are… perfect.”

Perfect? Your cheeks and aching pussy heat up at the compliment.

Squeezing your chest, Jungkook brushes his thumbs over your pebbled nipples. He pays extra attention to the silver barbells, decorated with little sparkly peaches at the ends. “These are new,” he notes, tugging on the jewelry. You let out a breathy moan, legs clenching together, inner thighs embarrassingly wet. “Sheesh,” he laughs, “someone’s sensitive.”

“Yeah… keep going.”

“I like them. They’re cute on you.”

Throughout your acquaintances, Jungkook was rarely this vocal. Maybe some praise sprinkled in here and there, but seldom anything substantial. Tonight, however, he’s been dishing out sweet talk like candy. You can’t pinpoint precisely what, but something’s changed.

Whatever it is, it fills you with awful, wishful hope.

Jungkook shuffles closer, teasing the teat of your pierced bud with his sticky tip. The dreamy sensation has your eyes rolling back into your skull. A glob of spit drops between the valley of your breasts before he spreads the wetness over your skin with his shaft. He has to use a death grip to force your tits into a soft plushness, perfect for him to slot himself into. Again, you feel that fucking ring embedding itself into your skin like a nasty tick.

Cautiously, he guides his pulsing cock between your constrained breasts. A beautiful symphony of groans lulls out as he throws his head back in pleasure, long locks dancing along his clammy neck.

“You like that?” You hum, taunting him. “Tell me how it feels.”

It takes him a minute to collect his thoughts, eyes trained on your tits pillowing around him, focusing on the dewy sheen of your nipples and chest as his oozing cock spills onto your skin. “It feels-” his hips stutter, “-so fucking good.”

The way his teeth snarl around the hushed curse makes you smile, eyes closing as you relish in his pleasure. Maybe you’re too horny, or perhaps the blood rushing to your head from being upside down for so long is making you crazy, but you wish you could live in this moment forever. Wallowing in the darkness, frozen in time with him. Yeah, you think, that would be wonderful.

“You can touch yourself,” he comments, spotting your clenched legs, desperate for some pressure.

“S’okay,” you mumble, reaching around to caress his balls. His thighs tremble a bit against your arms. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

“Can you-” he grunts, stomach clenching as he begins to feel that familiar pooling in the base of his thick shaft. “Hold them for me. I’ll take care of you after, just- let me cum.”

Obliging, you replace his hands with your own, squishing your tits together for him. The visual of you lying under him, complacent and willing, sends him spiraling. A guttural roar echoes throughout the empty road as he speeds up. “Tighter,” he orders; you listen. The saliva and precum are beginning to rub off, making the friction of his chaotic thrusts sting your skin. He notices, letting another string of spit fall from his mouth onto your flesh. “Be good and take it. I’m almost there.”

By now, Jungkook should know you’d endure any pain to be with him.

The darkest parts of your brain tell you he’s well aware of that fact.

After a few more humps and lulled words of encouragement, he’s bursting at the seams. Just before he blows, Jungkook steps back, tight fist jerking himself frantically as he spills his seed onto your chest. Your eyes dart from his angry cock to his fucked out expressions. The moonlight shines behind him like a glowing aura as he finishes with a scrunched nose and his tongue between his teeth. He looks angelic. You moan under him, flinching when a stray spurt lands on your chin.

Fucked out and dazed, he laughs softly, running a hand through his hair as his chest heaves. Collecting the liquid with his finger, he brings it to your giggling lips. The taste makes you hum as you lazily begin rubbing his cum all over your tits.

“Really?” He asks with a raised eyebrow. “You’re already starting?”

“Starting what?” You pout, batting your lashes at him and circling your nipple lightly with the tip of your nail, trying your best to look oblivious and innocent. Well, as innocent as you possibly can while literally covered in sperm.

“Don’t play dumb. You know what you’re doing.”

See, in many ways, Jungkook is different from any other guy you’ve been with prior. For one, you didn’t meet via horny messages on Tinder at 1 a.m. For two, he’s older, meaning he’s much more intelligent and much more experienced. After years and years of honing in on his craft, he just knows how to fuck. Jungkook is one of the rare few penis-havers in the world who can orgasm back to back; no refractory period necessary. Truly a hidden gem.

To put it simply, the man is a fucking faucet—one that you can turn off and on whenever you want.

As if on cue, Jungkook twirls his inked finger, indicating for you to turn around. The other hand squeezes his cock just below the crown to cut off circulation, keeping himself erect. With that, your white converses are planted flat onto the sparse grass as you bend over the back seat, leaning your weight on your elbows.

It's like whiplash when Jungkook's aggressive persona drops, and he's running his hands all over your body. Up your thighs, over your back, down your arms. He blooms petal-soft kisses on your bare shoulder before whispering in your ear. “Can I go in like this? Or do you need some foreplay?”

“This is fine,” you murmur, jarred by his sudden tenderness. “Perfect, actually.”

With a hushed ‘alright,’ Jungkook reaches over you to rummage through the pocket of his discarded blazer. A heavy sigh escapes your lips as he pulls out a square foil packet. Condoms were an unwavering constant in your weekend escapades. Jungkook always wears condoms. Normally, that would be a great thing; however, in this situation, it’s like a stab to the heart…

Because if he’s adamant about using protection with you, then that means he’s still sleeping with her, doesn’t it? And it’s not like you can even ask or scold him about it. She’s his wife, after all. You’re the outsider.

Jungkook hooks his thumb into your panties and pulls them aside. Your glistening folds are on full display, waiting to get pounded mercilessly right on the side of the road. He shoves three digits into your mouth, letting your drool on them a bit before pressing them to your wet cunt. Opening your folds with his index and ring fingers, he lightly dips the middle inside you. He collects some arousal and spreads it to your clit in feathery flicking motions. You cry out, feeling the shocks of a blossoming orgasm.

“Already dripping, I see.” You can practically hear his cocky, satisfied grin as he stands straight and rolls the condom down his length. “Always so sensitive.”

“Mhm,” you nod frantically, “I always get like this with you.”

“I know you do.” Pulling a cheek to the side, Jungkook cards his sheathed tip through your entrance, making sure to nudge under your clitoral hood with every swipe. Lewd wet sounds ring in your ears as he tortures your hole relentlessly.

“Kook,” you huff, reaching back to dig your manicured, almond-shaped nails into his skin. “Just put it in!”

Suddenly, Jungkook slams your torso onto the leather. In one swift motion, he’s catching your wrists, pinning them both to your lower back with a single hand.

“I’ll give you what you want just-” releasing the back of your neck, he spanks you so hard you recoil, “be patient.”

Despite his words, you wait no longer than a minute before he’s guiding his dreamy member right where you want it. Jungkook always gives in quickly. How could he not when you’re ass up, face down, and practically begging? As he sinks into you, and you feel that familiar burn from the initial stretch, your eyes roll back, mouth opening around a silent scream.

Usually, Jungkook likes to overwhelm you with his entire length all at once. There’s some hesitation this time as he slides in only halfway before stopping. Too much hesitation for your liking. You’re confident he’s testing you. Your assumption is verified when he speaks in that annoying, condescending voice.

“If you want it so bad, come get it.”

“You’re so,” breaking free from his grasp, you press your palms into the seat and lift yourself up with a grumble, “infuriating.”

He hums halfheartedly, head dropping to watch you work yourself onto him. Only a single stroke in, and he can already see you coating him in a shiny, milky dew. “So fucking wet…”

“Can’t help it,” you peep, taking him to the hilt and circling your hips, trying to savor the feeling. You’re no stranger to his cock; how good it makes you feel. You spend every Friday night bathing in that pleasure, forgoing parties and hangouts with your best friends for a romp in the five-star hotel sheets with Jungkook. Still, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to commit his touch to memory. Perhaps, despite your denial, you recognize that this is temporary. Deep down, you know that someday, all you’ll have left of him is a tragic echo. “I love the way you make me feel.”

“Me too,” he gasps, guiding your movements as his fingers dig into your hips. Clearly interpreting your admission differently than you had meant it. “Your pussy’s like heaven.”

High on praise and drunk on the sounds you’re coaxing out of him, you whine, dragging your cunt up every inch of his throbbing length before slamming back. Hopefully, the dense forest behind you is enough to insulate the pornographic wails ripping through you. Even if someone somewhere hears, you can’t bring yourself to give a damn. Not when heady pleasure and adrenaline course through your veins like blood.

Just when you’re about to collapse, arms giving out underneath you, Jungkook grabs you by the neck and holds you flush against his toned chest. “Don’t you run,” he chuckles. The low baritone rumble goes straight to your clit. His warm breath gusts over your skin, contrasting the chilly night air. “Don’t give up on me.”

He’s pounding into you now, choking you tighter than he ever has, but he pecks you so delicately. Lips barely ghosting over the shell of your ear. So gentle and tender. As tears stream down your cheeks for the second time tonight, you can’t help but feel there’s a hidden meaning behind his words.

“What’s wrong?” He smirks, tilting your face, wanting you to look him in the eye as you fall apart. The visual nearly makes you combust. His stringy hair is sticking to his cheeks, flushed from exertion. Even the tattoos littering the expanse of his neck are splotched pink and red. Twisting in his hold, you grab a fistful of his damp waves, fingers tickling his short undercut. “What do you want, baby?”

“Cum…”

“You wanna cum?”

“Please, please, please.” Weak whimpers punch out of you in tandem with his brutal thrusts.

“What do you say?”

“Please, sir?”

“Good girl,” he rewards you with a smack to your sensitive clit, “you can cum. I’ve got you.”

And with his permission, you’re cumming. Your legs shake violently as you’re overcome with blinding, electric gratification. If it wasn’t for Jungkook’s strong arms supporting you, you would’ve toppled face-first into the seat. He fucks you through the height of your orgasm; hips never ceasing, even when everything becomes so intense and sensitive that your body instinctively tries to push him away. He watches your face intently, reading your expressions to ensure he’s milked every last drop of your orgasm before he lets you fall onto the leather.

Even in your hazy state, you catch the breathy string of curses, a telltale sign of his own impending orgasm. “Fuck!” He groans, removing the condom to paint your ass and lower back in hot, white ropes.

It’s funny, really.

He refuses to cum with you or inside you, something so intimate and special, but he has no qualms cumming on you. It’s almost like he’s marking you, burning himself into your flesh. Consuming a piece of you every time your bodies come together as one.

And all the while, his mind is somewhere else as his body swallows you alive.

“Look at you,” Jungkook laughs, smoothing a palm up and down your spine, rubbing his semen into your skin the same way you had earlier. “I’ve made a mess out of you.”

That’s true in more ways than one…

Lost in post-nut clarity, your brain barely registers Jungkook maneuvering you both into the car. Closing the door behind him, he moves you onto his lap, your back pressed against his sweaty button-up. Peering down, you see his slacks and boxers still around his ankles, black dress shoes poking out underneath. You’re in only a thong and sneakers, and your makeup is definitely melted. The two of you must look like the biggest sluts ever.

“What’s so funny?” Jungkook mutters, noticing your delirious giggles.

“Oh, nothing,” you hum, leaning into him. Habitually, he wraps both of his inked arms around your middle. You despise how incredibly natural and serendipitous it feels, almost like you’re meant to be in them.

God __, get your head out of the clouds and return to Earth.

Life isn’t a romance novel, and you’re not a child anymore. You shouldn’t see the world as quartz-colored and magical. The man is seven years older than you. He has a wife and child. Logistically, it could never, ever work…

But if soulmates exist as they do in the books, you wish on every falling star that Jungkook is yours.

“What are you thinking about?” You coo softly, turning your head to stare into the abyss of his infinite eyes.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, he can’t resist lowering his sinful hand to your most private area, cupping your sex unabashedly. “I want more.”

“You always want more.”

“So do you,” he laughs, pointing out the way you grind into his touch. Nuzzling into your shoulder, he nips your skin and then soothes his tongue over it like an insincere apology. “Just one more time, okay?”

You nod, head leaning back on his shoulder as you succumb to his skilled fingers, rubbing your clit in tight circles. Jungkook pauses in contemplation before popping his glistening fingers into his mouth. When the taste hits his tongue, his face contorts. He even moans dreamily like you’re the most delicious dessert he’s experienced. The scene has your own brows furrowing, lips parting at just how hot and bothered he’s got you.

Sensually, he trails the wet pads down, ghosting over a nipple, teasing you on their treacherous journey to your waiting core. He slides them in your wet cunt seamlessly, curling right into your g-spot. They move in a dip and wave that drives you wild, a wet suction noise sounding in the enclosed space. Turned on by your purrs and mewls, Jungkook subtly ruts against you, his plumping cock sliding between your cheeks.

“You’re already close, aren’t you?” He tuts patronizingly. “Gonna cum around my fingers, sweetheart?”

“No…”

“No?”

“Wanna cum with you…”

He stops, realizing what you’re alluding to, before pulling his fingers out and tapping your clit gently. “There’s another condom in my pocket. Can you hand it to me?”

“We don’t need it.”

“Yes, we do. Don’t be foolish.”

“... I’m on the pill,” you suggest hesitantly. Once again, you’re nothing but stupid and irresponsible when it comes to Jungkook. You just want to be with him, that’s all.

“__,” he starts, voice shadowed with sternness, “give me the condom.”

Realizing he won’t budge, you do as he asks and fish it from his blazer, watching idly as he goes through all the steps—stroking himself to full mass, rolling on a barrier, and then positioning you between his spread legs as he guides you down onto his length with a hand on your hip.

Cyclical.

Like clockwork, your jaw drops, eyes screwing shut as you let him invade your space and infiltrate your mind. You don’t believe the two of you have ever tried this position before, but it feels so fucking good. His cock is so deep you can feel it in your fucking stomach. It’s obvious from his groaning and the aggressive spank he gives you that the unexplored angle is affecting him too.

Outside, light rain begins chiming against the steel roof of his car as you take the first shallow rise of your hips.

Scratch everything you’ve said about this not being a romance novel.

Distracted by the calming sound, you thoroughly miscalculate how much space you have in his sleek Mercedes Benz and bonk your head on the ceiling.

“Ow,” you wince with an embarrassed giggle.

Hissing at the impact, Jungkook clutches your head, massaging the area gently. “Are you okay?” His voice is muffled, and you can tell he’s trying his best not to laugh.

“It’s not funny!” You shout playfully, slapping his knee.

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry.” Chuckling, he moves your hair and places a gentle kiss between your shoulder blades. “You’re cute, that's all.”

Cute? You swoon.

“Alright baby, keep going. Don’t stop,” Jungkook orders, the heel of his calloused palms pushing at your ass, encouraging you to bounce on his needy cock. A fucked-out sigh escapes him, head falling back for a split second before it jerks back up again, not wanting to miss the view of your perky cheeks rippling as they collide with his solid pelvis. “This position is so sexy.” Overwhelmed, he doesn’t know where to put his hands. He chokes you for a moment, plays with your tits, swats them, grabs your hips, and then finally settles on your clit, flicking it like a light switch.

“Jungkook!” You wail, knees knocking together as you brace yourself. Men you’ve dated in the past struggled to get you off. Sure, they made you feel good, but they couldn’t quite bring you to the edge. It only ever took Jungkook a matter of minutes to have you whimpering and shaking, begging for release. “I can’t take so much! I can’t!”

Ignoring your pleas, Jungkook pilots your right arm around his shoulder, sending you flush against his frame once more. Dipping his head, he sucks the closest nipple into his mouth. Caught off guard, you’re so overstimulated that your hips come to a grinding halt.

“Move,” he commands with his lips sealed around your piercing, sending dizzying vibrations to your sensitive bud.

“I can’t,” you whimper, back arching off his chest as you try to calm all five tingling senses.

“Yes, you can.”

“No…”

Jeon Jungkook was never one to take no for an answer.

Scooting further down the seat, his large hands clasp behind your knees. He lifts your legs until the heels of your white sneakers are on either side of the driver’s headrest. In this new position, he’s able to pound up into you freely, relentlessly beating into clenching walls. Hitting every single delicious spot inside of you. “Jungkook, please!”

“Please, what?” Honestly, you have no clue what you’re begging for. All you know is that his mushroom tip rigorously stimulating your g-spot is going to have you gushing at any moment. His guttural, sensual groaning does nothing to slow your approaching orgasm. “You want more?”

As if you weren’t already gasping for air, Jungkook raises your legs to your head, knees locked onto his inner elbows. His fingers intertwine behind your neck, thumbs pressing into the base of your throat as he folds you in half.

A full fucking nelson.

“Watch me fuck it.” With a stern grip, he forces your gaze to his thick shaft, sliding in and out of your sopping cunt. Your vision is watery, but you can clearly see just how turned on you are, creamy juices coating his entire shaft. “Open it, baby. Watch what I do to you.”

Reaching both hands under your thighs, you spread your lips, getting a better look at him completely destroying you.

“Isn’t it so pretty?” Jungkook grunts, speech slurred as his arousal lulls him into a delirious, catatonic state. “Tell me what you see, baby.”

“So pretty, Kook.” You’re simply playing into his dirty talk, but the sight of your bodies connecting, becoming one, is profoundly gorgeous. “So wet…”

“Yeah? Who’s pussy is this?”

“Yours.”

That sends him into a frenzy, thrusts becoming so punctuated and violent that his cock accidentally slips out.

“Put it back in, put it back in!” You chant, frantically shoving his length into you. The yelp you chortle out is accompanied by the sound of your hand smacking against the foggy car window as your climax engulfs you. “I love it!”

“I love yo-”

He quickly cuts himself off, but everything stops when the sentence fragment hits the air.

Is your brain playing sick, twisted jokes on you… or was he really just about to say he loved you?

Before you can even process what’s happening, your biological responses take over, sending through the most earth-shattering, world-bending, mind-boggling orgasm you’ve ever had. Everything goes blank. Your eyes cloud with splotches and stars. Your ears ring with static and white noise, blurring the sound of Jungkook cumming underneath you, and the pouring rain outside, splashing against concrete.

This time, he doesn’t pull out, just works through both of your orgasms with gentle ruts and vulnerable whimpers.

After you’ve both calmed down and your heaves have diminished to a slow, even pattern, he pulls out, crumpling the used condom into a loose napkin he found in the center console. Still on his lap and in his arms, you watch intently as Jungkook leans his head back, eyes closing as he inhales deeply. To you, he looks almost… peaceful.

The moon trickles in through the thin streams on the window, reflecting on his face like stained glass—something that was once so clear and pure now jaded with somber shades of blue. Sad, but still beautiful, you think.

Delicately, you trace a finger over the black ink decorating his skin. You sit silently for a while, basking in the comfortable aura, simply enjoying one another’s company, before you finally speak.

“Why this?” You peep, pointing to the dainty letters at the base of his neck.

“It’s my daughter’s name.” He counters playfully, the faintest hint of a smile on his pierced lips.

“Well, duh, I know that,” you roll your eyes with a giggle, “but why here?”

“Yul is like air to me.”

Humming in contemplation, you continue your journey over the endless swirls and loops. During sex, the first three buttons of his shirt popped open, exposing the canvas of his chest. You feel a thick, dark cloud loom over you when you reach a certain tattoo, the one that’s plagued your mind ever since you first saw it.

Another name is engraved right above his heart in the same delicate font as Yul’s:

Seol.

“Yul, please. Enough.” If Jungkook had a dollar for every time he's said that in the last twenty-two minutes, he’d be nearly as rich as his boss, sitting directly in front of him on a very important Zoom call. “Daddy is working.”

Jumping at the sudden inflection of his voice, the little girl on his lap pulls her tiny hand away. For the most part, Yul was well-behaved. However, working from home proved to be an obstacle that he and his clingy toddler have yet to overcome.

She’s interrupted his meeting three times already. First, cutting off his proposal with the Baby Shark theme song, blaring from her Pinkfong tablet that he’d forgotten to mute. Second, peeking above his desk with her space buns and doe eyes to show his colleagues the latest addition to her squishmallow collection. The last straw was when she squeezed his nose.

With watery eyes and warbled lips, Yul blinks at Jungkook, heartbroken and confused as to why he didn’t make that funny noise she loves so much. Quickly, her gaze averts to her chunky legs, swinging aimlessly as she attempts to hold back the tears.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Jungkook sighs, tacking on an apology before turning his screen off. “Bunny,” he lifts her chin with his index finger, another palm flat on her protruding tummy, “please, don’t cry. You’re not in trouble. Daddy just-”

The ring of a doorbell interrupts him.

“__?” Jungkook questions, baby at his hip as he stands in the doorway before you. “What are you doing here?”

You gulp. You weren’t expecting to see him.

Usually, you spoke to Seulgi. You’ve only ever seen Jungkook in passing, sparing quick greetings before he’s out the door. It worked in your favor, really, because for whatever reason, you felt extremely awkward around him.

Almost like that gross nervousness you get when you’re around someone you find so incredibly attractive it makes you uncomfortable…

Maybe it’s because he’s covered in tattoos and piercings. Maybe it’s because he’s a dad. Your group of fellow horny twenty-something-year-old friends have told you mythical stories and fantasies about older men. Freshly turned thirty-year-old men. Men like Jungkook. Dilfs. Something about that potent dad nut… Like, you know it works.

It’s inappropriate; you know it is. You’ve always tried your best to ignore the feral thoughts.

Today seems to be putting your mental strength to the test because Jungkook is dressed in baggy gray sweats, long dark hair slicked back into a ponytail. A few loose strands dangle devilishly in front of his eyes, taunting you.

“I-It’s 10… I’m supposed to be babysitting.”

“I’m working from home today. My wife didn’t tell you?”

With wide eyes and hot cheeks, you shake your head. “I’m sorry for bothering you,” you stutter, stepping back and preparing to make a mad dash to your hand-me-down Honda Civic. “I’ll just… be on my way then.”

“Actually.” An icy grip on your wrist stops you. “I could use some help. This one-” he nods his head towards Yul, stuck to him like velcro, “-is being a bit needy today.”

One look at her turns your flustered gape into a smile. The past month with her has been more difficult than you’d imagined. Yul was incredibly sweet and intuitive, but unbearably shy. Building a relationship with the girl was challenging, but you were determined to overcome it. “No way,” you frown animatedly, tickling her leg with the tip of your finger, “Yul would never.”

A giggle or two had been the goal. Instead, she buries her face into her father’s shoulder.

“Don’t take it personally,” Jungkook orders, noticing the defeated slump in your shoulders. “She’s always like this with new people.”

Seulgi had warned you that Yul would take a while to come around. Hopefully, it’ll happen organically. But for now, a little gift or two wouldn’t hurt your efforts, you supposed last night while running errands. Reaching into your purse, you pull out a bottle of non-toxic, baby-friendly nail polish. “Yul, look what I have!”

“Wow,” Jungkook plays along, gently nudging her head out of his neck. “Bunny, look!”

He calls her Bunny?

You’re in for it now.

Plump fingers wrap around the plastic, taking it out of your own with an awe-stricken stare. She holds it up right in front of Jungkook’s nose. “Pink.”

“Mhm, that’s right,” he confirms, pecking her temple. “Now, Daddy has to get back to work. Can you stay with __ for a bit?”

She looks at him, then at you, then at him again, then back at you, and finally, landing on the nail polish, giving her father a reluctant nod. You knew it would come in handy. Despite her agreeance, Yul still stretches the neck of his shirt with her tiny fists as she’s transferred into your arms.

Somehow, you managed to survive that painfully awkward encounter…

Only to be thrown into another one immediately after.

See, you’ve always known Yul was a daddy’s girl. On good days, the toddler would grab you by the hand and guide you around the house, giving you a tour of everything that belonged to her father. His shoes at the door. His coat on the hook. Even taking you into the bathroom to show you his shampoo bottle. But that fact was never more apparent than now, as Yul stands in the middle of the living room on the verge of tears.

“Daddy?”

“He’s working, sweetheart. Remember?” You coo on your knees in front of her. You’re quick to redirect her. “I like your shoes.”

The sniffles stop as she glances down at her white sneakers. “Mine…” she takes a hesitant step back, mistaking your compliment as an attempt to swindle her out of them.

“That’s right,” you laugh, “they’re so pretty, just like you.”

She blinks at you for a moment, and then begins stomping her little foot: heel first. When she’s finally able to kick off her left shoe, she bends all the way over, pressing her palms flat against the hardwood floor. It’s the most uncoordinated way you’ve ever seen anyone pick something up.

Without warning, Yul throws the shoe across the room. Well, that had been her intention, you assume. She had cocked her arm back too far and released too early, making it land behind her.

Oh no, she hates you.

With an excited grunt and a bounce, Yul points to the sneaker—its clear sole sparkling pink and purple.

“Oh,” you sigh in relief. “They light up?”

“Yesh.” Plopping right onto her butt, she takes the other one off, repeating the process. “Like this!” Her arms stretch out and she clenches her two little front teeth, executing the most stellar charade of a light you’ve ever seen.

It’s a small breakthrough, but you’ll take it.

Then you paint her nails, just like you said you would. She’s as patient as a toddler could be, but her tiny toe keeps curling under the tickle of the brush, making pink polish bleed outside of the lines.

“My goodness,” you groan, admiring the messy, albeit adorable, result. “You’re so cute! Wait until your dad sees you.”

Yul shrieks wildly, smacking both hands over her mouth as she hobbles to her feet. You watch with confused giggles as the milk-drunk baby stumbles down the corridor. You figure out where she's going too late.

Yul stands on her tippy toes, jumping to click open the door to Jungkook’s office with a loud creak.

“Yul!” You whisper-shout. “Don’t-”

“Daddy!” She calls, stepping a single foot into the room, showing off the fresh paint job. “So cute!”

Literally, your only job today was to keep Yul preoccupied while Jungkook worked, and you failed. Your breath catches in your throat, awaiting his response.

“So pretty,” he gasps, “now go play, baby. I’m almost done.”

A relieved exhale flies past your lips.

Something you’ve picked up on from years of babysitting is that little girls aren’t allowed to compliment themselves. They’re always told it’s rude or conceited. Jungkook does neither, and you find that so refreshing.

“Close the door, please,” he orders before she runs away, “gently.” Yul does her very best to shut the door quietly and then sprints back to you.

The next few hours go smoothly. You discovered that the green-hating toddler has an affinity for avocados after giving her a bite of your toast. “Mmm!” She had hummed, looking at you with wide eyes. With a full belly and squishmallow in hand, Yul went out like a light for her afternoon nap, giving you time to catch up on some reading.

“How was she?” You didn’t even hear him come out of his office, so the deep voice makes you jump, eyes tracking the sound. He’s leaning against a kitchen counter, one tattooed hand stuffed in his pocket and the other wrapped around a water bottle. It’s a thick one too, and his fingers still touch.

“Better,” you cough, “she’s sleeping now.”

He hums halfheartedly, dark irises boring into you as he takes a sip. Without Yul to soften the edges, Jungkook is… intimidating, to say the least. “What are you reading?”

“The Catcher in the Rye…” you peep, quickly closing it. “I know, it’s kinda lame.”

“No, not lame at all. Anyone who thinks that is lying to themselves… or is just being a contrarian.” He leans his elbows against the dark granite island, fingers crossing as he stares at you. You’re sitting idle across the room, but his presence looms over you. He has this way of making you feel like he’s in your head, listening to everything you’re thinking.

You pray he’s not. If he is, you'll definitely be fired.

“I can’t tell which one you are yet.”

You can’t tell if he’s joking or not, but the ‘yet’ makes you come clean, shifting in your spot on the leather couch. “... Both.”

“Right,” he smirks, tongue fiddling with his lip ring, almost like he’s taunting you. “That’s one of my favorite books, actually. I relate to it in many ways.”

Your fingers dance across the red cover, concealing hundreds of pages of isolation, emptiness, and the heavy dread of passing time. What an awful thing to relate to. Sometimes, when you get too engrossed in the text, glimmers of yourself bleed within the lines too.

“You’re an English major, right?”

“Oh, um, I’m not in school at the moment… I just read for fun.”

“Well, you have an Associate’s degree.” Him knowing that information about you makes you think he asked the previous question with the intention of baiting you into this conversation. “Why not get your Bachelor’s?”

“I don’t know. It’s… complicated.”

Why is he interrogating you? What does he want? For you to confess that the fear of becoming a full-fledged adult makes you not want to go back to college?

“Life is complicated. You’d be ridiculous to not go back.” The audacity should make you mad, but he speaks with so much authority that you’re dumbfounded. His head tilts, eyes squinting as they shift to the ceiling, debating something. His tongue clicks when he finally makes his decision. “Follow me; I have something I want to show you.”

With the curl of two thick fingers, Jungkook calls you to follow him down the hallway. You blink for a moment, gushing at the suggestive motion of his hand. Shaking your head at the evil, intrusive thought, you rise to your feet.

Just like a child, you have to skip to catch up to his long strides. Your gaze trails along white walls; there are pictures of him and Yul, Yul and Seulgi, but not a single one of them all together.

Now that you think about it, any affection you’ve ever seen in the household was reserved for Yul and Yul only. Seems like trouble in paradise…

You shouldn’t speculate.

The heavy wooden door creaks as Jungkook holds it open for you. You’re not sure what you expected his room to look like, but it certainly wasn’t this. The rest of the house is pretty modern, consisting of sleek blacks, whites, and woods. Countertops designed with icy swirled marble. Everything has this cold, impersonal vibe, but this room is the total opposite. The walls are baby blue, decorated top to bottom with dreamy clouds. You spot a chubby yellow star peeking out from underneath one of them, adorned with a hand-painted smiley face. On his nightstand, there’s a pastel purple foldable record player. Standing behind it is a single vinyl: Beautiful Boy by John Lennon.

“Since you like to read,” Jungkook coughs, turning your attention to a sleek bookcase, stuffed to the brim with hundreds of titles you’ve never even heard of. “I figured you’d appreciate my collection.”

“Yeah, it’s…” The words trail off as you step forward. On a whim, your finger extends, tracing the delicate spine of a well-loved book. A low chuckle brings you back to reality; you peep, cheeks heating up in embarrassment as you yank your hand away. “It’s… really cool.”

“You can borrow something if you’d like. Does anything catch your eye?” Plopping down onto the computer chair, Jungkook rummages through his desk drawer and pulls out a tiny black case. You didn’t even know he wore glasses, and when he nudges them comfily onto the bridge of his nose, you nearly melt. As if he could get any more attractive.

“N-No,” you stutter as he wheels closer. Even though you’re towering over him, you still feel so small in his presence. You pray to God he can’t sense how incredibly nervous he makes you. “Not really.”

“You wear your heart on your sleeve, you know,” he hums, low and sly. “Do I make you nervous?”

“No!” You peep in shock. Is the man a fucking mindreader?

“Right.” Jungkook peers over the rim of his lenses, dark eyes glimmering in the whimsical glow of the room. “So __, what do you want to be?”

“A teacher,” you say, playing with your fingers.

“My wife wanted to be a teacher, too.” He shoots you the softest, gentlest smile. “She ended up doing business instead.”

“Why?” You ask, gnawing on your bottom lip. You don’t mean to pry, but this is the first time you’ve ever actually talked to him in a meaningful way. Something about him intrigues you, like a puzzle you’re determined to find all the pieces to.

“Ah, well,” he sighs, inked fingers scratching at the back of his neck. “We figured it’d be best for our family if we both pursued more lucrative career paths. I switched my major from English to finance.” You light up at the confession, the similarity putting you at ease. “I’m sorry if I was abrasive earlier,” he frowns, “I settled down young and had to sacrifice a lot, so I encourage you to go for something that fulfills you.” With his elbows on his knees, he leans closer to you. “I think you’d be a fantastic teacher. You take care of my daughter well.”

“Thank you,” you peep, cheeks heating up at the compliment. “I mean… you didn’t have Yul that young.” He tried to comfort you, so it’s only fair you do the same, right? “I think your late twenties are a great time to have children.”

Almost immediately, his face drops, eyes glazing over with something so raw. So… longing. You’ve never seen anything like it before. The corners of his nose twitch before he composes himself. “Yeah, I suppose they are.” His pink tongue toys with his lip ring, swiftly changing the subject. “You seem surprised.”

“I guess I just wasn’t expecting all this.”

“Expecting what?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh clumsily, “books.” You mentally curse yourself as soon as the answer comes out. Really, __? Books?

“What?” He starts, raising a brow at you. “You thought I couldn’t read?”

Thankfully, Jungkook takes your comment playfully.

“Maybe,” you respond in the same lighthearted manner, feeling a bit more comfortable in his presence, “I also didn’t expect your room to look like a little boy’s room.”

All of the cheerfulness in the air evaporates as Jungkook glares at you with a clenched jaw and flared nostrils. Cleary irate. You’ve triggered a landmine.

“Jungkook, I’m-”

“Stop talking.” He raises a hand, cutting you off before you finish the sentence. Turning his back to you, he wheels over to his desk. “You can leave. You’re done for the day.”

Looking back, you know why he was so upset that day. You had put the puzzle pieces together a while ago. You’re unsure of the details, and asking for them feels wrong. Silence feels wrong, too, though. Until now, you’ve never dared to speak up.

You have no idea how to navigate something of this magnitude, but you just want him to know that you’re here. That you’re trying.

Cautiously, with your hand still on the tattoo, you whisper: “He must’ve been so beautiful, Jungkook…”

The thumb that had been drawing soft shapes into your side comes to an eerie pause as he freezes under you. When you look at him, your heart shatters. His chin is caved in with little dents, eyes glazed over with so much emotion. You’ve never seen a human being look so broken.

“Get off me.”

You frown at the shift in his demeanor. “Why?”

Remaining tight-lipped, Jungkook physically removes you from his lap, dumping you onto the seat next to him.

“Why can’t we ever talk about anything serious?”

He remains quiet as he slides his underwear up, not sparing you a single glance. When he speaks, his tone is painfully detached. “Like what?”

“Like what you said,” you answer curtly.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

Shaking his head with a cynical chuckle, he begins buttoning his pants, pretending you don’t exist. Like you’re not right beside him, falling to pieces.

Your eyes dart to the ceiling, lashes fluttering rapidly as you mull over what to say next. You guess now would be an appropriate time to ask him what you’ve wanted for weeks. Blinking does nothing to combat your unshed tears when you realize that his answer has the potential to destroy everything you’ve been dreaming about. Everything you’ve hoped for. “When are you going to leave her?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous, Jungkook!” Shaking your head furiously, you feel the first hints of anger in your chest, tears threatening to spill at any moment. “I’m not! I see the way you look at me!”

“What the fuck did you think was going to happen? Huh?” Finally, he’s paying attention to you, just not in the way you hoped. His face is beet red as he leans closer. “Don’t tell me you actually thought we were going to end up together, __. Seriously? You’re my babysitter! You’re seven years younger than me! This isn’t some fucking fairytale; it’s life! There’s no such thing as happily-ever-afters—grow up and stop acting like a damn child!”

“No, Jungkook,” you croak, fully sobbing as you push an angry finger into his chest. “You’re the one who’s acting childish! I may not be the most mature person, but at least I know how to accept love!”

“So let’s say I divorce my wife, then what? Huh?” He seethes. “I get partial custody? I only see Yul on weekends? Every other week? She grows up in a broken home? I refuse to ruin my daughter’s life like that.”

You take a shaky breath, eyes shifting to the car floor, the air fresher on his mirror, the window. Anywhere but him. The way Jungkook explains your make-believe future together is nothing how you envisioned it. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he’s just a fucking asshole. Neither thought process eases the pain.

“But you’re okay with ruining mine?”

For a moment, his features soften, and you see a glimmer of guilt wash over him. It fizzles out just as fast as it came. “You’re being dramatic.” Jungkook steps outside, tucking his shirt into his pants. “Get dressed.”

With jittery hands and blurry eyes, you grab your discarded lace bra, the one you had bought just for tonight, and slide it on your shoulders. When you pick your shirt up, you see that it’s ripped and tattered. Completely destroyed.

“Here,” Jungkook mumbles, tossing you his blazer as he watches you in the rearview.

Once you’re dressed, you awkwardly slide into the passenger seat. The scent of his cologne makes your head pound and your stomach flip.

“I want to go home.”

His lips part, preparing to persuade you otherwise. The hotel room he booked is ready and waiting, just as it is every Friday. He decides against it, simply murmuring an ‘okay’ before putting the keys in the ignition and starting the engine.

“Do you want to get something to eat before I drop you off?”

You just want your dad.

“I just want to go home.”

Other than the whoosh of splashing puddles and your soft sniffles, the ride to your house is painfully silent. Leaning your head against the window, you watch the moon. For miles and miles, it never changes. It’s stagnant, frozen in time, surrounded by nothing but endless blackness.

“Stop crying! I can’t stand it anymore!” Jungkook shouts, hitting the steering wheel with his open palm, finally growing uncomfortable from your non-stop tears. The sudden outburst makes you flinch. Sighing heavily, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. Just… stop crying, please.”

You sink further into your seat, curling your lips into your mouth to suppress a sob.

“I’m not worth your tears, __.”

You feel nothing but relief when he finally turns onto your street, stopping all the way at the end, concealed by the night and the shadows of overhanging trees.

“Am I picking you up next Friday?” He asks just before you leave.

With raw cheeks and a scowl, you slam the door in his face.

Your feet are so heavy that the sidewalk sinks under you like quicksand. No matter how many steps you take, the comfort of your house seems out of reach. Too far gone. Confusion weighs on your shoulders. You should feel proud, empowered even, but that voice in the back of your mind smothers any sense of relief.

Deep down, you know this isn’t going to be the last weekend you spend with Jungkook.

#bts #bts smut #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #jungkook angst #btshoneyhive

2K notes · View notes

ilguna · 7 months

Note

Could I please get #1 from the 2nd list with finnick? Maybe it could be him leaving his SO in 13 while he goes to the capitol but this time he lives?

☼ broken promise (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, death, death mention, ehh gore, gun use.

wc; 2.6k

prompt; 1. "Just close your eyes. I will be here when you open them again."

—

A scream lodges in your throat, waking you, rocketing you into an upright position so that you can breathe. With one hand, you grab your throat, gasping for the air that’s been deprived of you, heart beating wildly in your chest. The other is reaching out to his side of the bed to make sure that he’s still there, that he hasn’t left you like the nightmare led you to believe.

Your fingers come into contact with his thigh, you slide your hand over his skin, fingers slowly digging in. You close your eyes, and try to remind yourself that it wasn’t real, and Finnick’s not going to slip through your fingers. He’s here, he’s right next to you.

“(Y/n)?”

You look over at Finnick, finding his eyes on you. His head is turned over his shoulder, one eye closed and the other one barely open to keep himself awake. You loosen your grip on his leg, most likely the cause of his wake.

“Sorry, Finn.” You murmur.

“What’s the matter?” He mumbles, beginning to roll over to face you.

“I’m fine.” You brush his hair out of his face. It’s getting long, he hasn’t cut it since the reaping.

“You’re not.” He says, voice raspy but sounding more awake. He grabs your arm, tugging at it slightly. “Come here.”

“It was just a nightmare, Finnick.” You tell him.

“I don’t care.” He says, pulling again.

You sigh, but scoot down in the bed, anyway. Finnick lifts the blanket up, arms out to make it easier for you to lay in them. He’s got his eyes closed, waiting for you. As soon as you’re as close as humanly possible, he drops the blanket and pulls you closer, chin on top of your head.

He’s warm, the exhaustion returns to your body slowly. It’s one of the curses of sleeping in the same bed as him. There will be times where he’s tired and needs a nap, but you’re fully rested. He’ll force you to cuddle him, and the next thing you know, the whole day has been wasted away because his body heat has made you drowsy.

However, this time, it’s different. It doesn’t take long for you to get to the brink of sleep, yet you never fall over the edge fully. Each time Finnick adjusts, you’re jolted awake. There’s something keeping you from reaching bliss, and you know exactly what it is.

How are you supposed to sleep when you’re afraid that Finnick’s going to join that stupid Capitol mission? You heard him talking about it with Haymitch a few days ago, and when you asked about it, Finnick told you that it was nothing to worry about. Except, you’re not that stupid.

You might have been caught up in your own problems here in District Thirteen, but that doesn’t mean you hadn’t noticed his schedule changed a couple weeks ago. He’s not where he’s supposed to be during the day. You did a little prying, some sneaking around, collected the clues and had it put together by his own best friend.

Johanna admitted to you that they had been training the entire time. They found out about a rebel mission to storm the Capitol and seize President Snow’s mansion. It turns out that Finnick isn’t the only one that has been getting ready for this. Katniss, Johanna and Gale have been, too.

Only, Johanna can’t go because she failed the final test. Finnick passed.

You didn’t know how to react to the information she told you, besides standing there and staring into her eyes. She knows how much Finnick means to you—what the two of you have been through to get to this point. She didn’t think, throughout all these weeks, that it might’ve been smart to give you a head’s up that your fiance would be leaving on a suicide mission?

Is he ever going to tell you, himself?

Johanna knew you were mad, and she didn’t have any defense. She simply told you that she had advised Finnick to let you in on it, but the conversation never went on any further than that. Since then, you’ve been waiting for him to tell you. Especially since the hovercraft should be leaving any day now.

“You’re not sleeping.” Finnick suddenly mutters, you jerk slightly at the sound of his voice. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it, my love?”

You press your lips together. “Promise me you’re not going to leave me, Finnick.”

“What makes you think that I’d leave you?” He asks, pulling you closer into his body. “I would never want that.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You whisper. “I want you to promise that you’re not going to leave this bunker to go on that mission, Finnick. And then I want you to keep it.”

“I promise I’m not going to go on the mission.” He says without hesitating. You can feel his fingers combing through your hair. “Just close your eyes, baby. I will be here when you open them again.”

The heavy feeling in your chest keeps you from believing him.

–

You cross your arms over your chest, teeth tightly grit together to keep from saying anything that might get you in trouble. Although, no words need to be said. The hard glare you’re giving Haymitch speaks a thousand words.

“Oh, (Y/n), what a pleasure.” Plutarch says, coming through an adjacent door. Behind him is President Coin, hair neatly straightened, eyes landing on you when Plutarch moves out of the way. “How are you?”

You give him a sarcastic smile. “The pleasure is all mine, Plutarch, really. It’s always fantastic to be around you. You simply have the best and most charming personality in this entire cement coffin, you know that?”

“(Y/n).” Haymitch warns.

“And I’m doing great, actually. I would be doing better if someone explained to me why the hell my fiance was allowed to get on a hovercraft to District Two.”

“I don’t believe you have clearance to be in here.” Coin says, coming down the steps.

“I should.” You tell her. “I don’t see a reason why you’d want to keep me out of here. Oh right, how else would you then go behind my back after everything I’ve done for you?”

“Who let you in this room?” Coin asks.

“I did.” Haymitch says. “She’s got a point. Why was Finnick allowed to train and she wasn’t?”

“That’s because Katniss and Johanna found out about the program we have, and then told Finnick about it. We didn’t have anything to do with him joining.” Coin stops a few feet away from you. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Miss (L/n).”

“And it didn’t occur to you once to let me in on something like that?” You ask her, not moving from where your feet are planted.

“If it helps any, Peeta wasn’t allowed to, either.” Plutarch says.

You press your lips together into an angry smile. “No, that doesn’t help.”

“We can’t do anything for you.” Coin has her hand outstretched toward the door.

Your jaw goes slack. “Is that right?” She doesn’t say anything. “Get Finnick Odair on the next hovercraft back here, now.”

“That’s not possible, (Y/n), and there’s no need to.” Plutarch tells you. “Finnick is part of a group called the Star Squad. They’ve already traveled to the main camp outside of the Capitol, it’ll take a full day for him to get back to District Two. Their jobs aren’t to fight, though, they’ll be traveling behind the main rebel lines. They won’t be put into any direct danger.”

“You better hope not.” You tell Plutarch. “If anything happens to him, I’ll make sure it haunts you for the rest of your fucking life.”

—

“Let me see!” You shout, slamming through the Command room’s doors. “I want to see it for myself!”

Several heads swivel in your direction, daring to remove their eyes from the screen in front of them to see who’s intruding. When they’re met with you, they look away, uninterested.

No one makes a move to escort you out of the room, despite the fact that Coin made it very clear that you weren’t going to be allowed into Command ever again. The doors swing shut behind you, locking you inside.

You drag your feet forward a couple of steps, watching a replay of what’s just taken place in the Capitol. It’s a video of the Star Squad, the group that you were told wouldn’t be put into any danger. There’s a voiceover from the Capitol, explaining to you what’s happening.

They had been trying to film a propo, when they set off a bomb in the middle of the colorful apartment’s courtyard. It blows off the squad leader’s legs, and you watch as they all scramble to regroup, and descend into chaos when black gel shoots from the street.

They make a run for it, trying to get into an apartment before the oil gets to them. A previously level-headed Peeta turns rabid, trying to kill Katniss. One of the trained squad members tries to save her, and in return, he gets kicked into another pod, where barbed wire strings him up above the street.

From there, it takes two people to get a hold of Peeta, where they drag him inside. You catch sight of Finnick, carrying someone over his shoulder, alive. Then, everyone else files in, except for Gale, who tries to shoot the soldier down from the wire. This is the last glimpse you get of the situation, before the camera goes black.

The Capitol reporter is able to identify Gale, Finnick, Peeta, Cressida, Katniss and a man named Boggs, by first name.

You watch in horror as the next clip begins to play. Peacekeepers line up on the roof of the building across from the one the squad ran into. Bombs are launched into the row of apartments, setting off a chain of explosions, and then the building collapses in on itself.

You can feel your heart drop.

It cuts away to a reporter, standing on the same roof the Peacekeepers were. Behind her, the apartment building is aflame. The firefighters work hard to control the flames. The reporter pronounces each person that was inside of that building, dead.

“Oh my god.” You breathe, hand clutching at your chest, beginning to hyperventilate.

They play this scene over and over, proud of their victory. The only time they stop is when a montage of Katniss begins. They talk of her rise to rebel power, and then proceed to tear her down, claiming that she deserved such a violent end.

The room begins to spin around you, an icy feeling spreads from your head down your chest and back, reaching for your legs. You try to hold back the tears that build in your eyes, but once the first one falls, it’s over. A loud sob escapes you as you take a step forward toward the screen.

You quickly change direction, stumbling to a desk with a computer and keyboard on it. You’re barely able to pull the trash can out from underneath it, before you’re vomiting up your entire breakfast and lunch. You can’t breathe. Between the hyperventilating, the tears, and the puke, you struggle to get more than a breath of air in you at a single time.

You sink to your knees, hands coming into contact with the cold cement. You cry for a few seconds, until it dissolves into a coughing fit, that has you gagging.

He’s dead. Your fiance is dead, and it’s been less than a week since he left for the Capitol.

The doors to Command open behind you. The sounds of boots scuffing on the ground is hardly audible over your sniffling. You tilt your head back, letting the tears roll down your chin, to your neck.

“(Y/n).” Someone says, coming to crouch next to you. A hand is placed on your back, between your shoulders, rubbing gently. You think it’s Haymitch. “You have to get out before Coin gets here.”

“I don’t care.” You whimper, “Let her. It doesn’t matter anymore. None of it matters to me without him.”

—

Finnick survived.

He’s in the Capitol, waiting for your hovercraft to land so that he can be the first person you see when you step off. From what you’ve heard, he’s not even significantly hurt from his time navigating the streets and the sewers.

When they had first told you that he wasn’t dead and he’d successfully made it to the mansion alongside Katniss, about twelve hours ago, you thought they were playing a cruel joke on you. It wasn’t until they pulled up pictures of him in the aftermath, helping navigate the wounded around him, did you believe them.

There was no question about it, Coin didn’t even bother to put up a fight against you. You, Johanna and Haymitch were put on the first hovercraft that would be traveling to the Capitol. And you haven’t been able to sit still in your seat the entire time. It’s driven Johanna crazy enough to have Haymitch switch seats with her.

You reach for your engagement ring, twisting it on your finger. You should be landing any minute now. It’s only been a week or so since Finnick left you in Thirteen, but it’s felt like months. You went from having him, to losing him, and getting him back only a couple days later.

The hovercraft jerks suddenly as you land. Your fingers fly to the belt they advised for you to have on during the landing. You pull it off, getting to your feet. The pilots shout for you to stay back while they open the rear door. Nothing happens for the longest second, and then the door begins to creak and groan, sunlight flooding in through the cracks.

You start forward, eyes adjusting to the sunlight. When it’s about halfway down, you’re able to get your first glimpse of the hovercraft runway, and the people coming toward you. His bronze hair is shining in the sunlight, and he’s changed into street clothes, instead of wearing the bulky armor that he’d been pictured in.

The second the door touches the concrete, and the pilots tell you it’s safe to leave, you’re out the door and running in his direction. The people he’s with move away, expecting a large impact, while Finnick opens his arms widely, ready to embrace everything you have for him.

You slam into his body, feeling his arms wrap around you, pulling you against him so tightly, that you’re sure you’ll become one person. Finnick presses kisses on your forehead, temple, cheek, neck—anywhere he can touch skin. When you tilt your head back, he seizes your lips in a long kiss, that you have to force yourself to break apart from.

His face twists, eyebrows drawn in, about to ask you why you’ve pulled away like that, but you’ve already grabbed a hold of the front of his shirt, beginning to shake him. He grabs your arms, eyes widening.

“If you ever do that to me again, Finnick, I’ll leave you!” You shout at him, jerking his shoulders. “Do you understand? I will leave and never come back!”

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n).” Finnick says, holding onto you. “I’m so—”

“How could you do that to me?” You sob, “You could’ve died!”

“I know.” He tells you, “It won’t happen again, honey. I promise you. And I’m going to keep it this time.”

You cup his face, pressing your lips to his.

414 notes · View notes

pelova4president · 1 day

Text

Focus II

Salma Paralluelo x Reader

focus I

summary~ You move on, she doesn’t. spoiler, you don’t really move on.

your new normal was everything but fulfilling. This pointlessness cycle of living was eating you alive.

Driving to training, kicking a ball for a few hours and eating with teammates that didn’t even trust you with the ball. You didn’t have a place in the starting line-up anymore and everyone ignored you. You were becoming invisible, a nobody.

Days were especially hard when you were free. You didn’t go outside and no one was contacting you. You felt loneliness on a whole new level. When you had broken up with Salma, there were still people around you but now you’d scared them off. They didn’t know what to do with you anymore.

Real Madrid has been your home for far too long, and somewhere you knew that. Deep down knew you needed an extreme change. But you held on to this ideal idea with a firm grip.

Real Madrid wasn’t your home anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time now. And the team made that clear when they sat you down.

“Look, we just think you need a different challenge, a fresh start.” Olga said, a warm smile on her lips. “It’ll be better for you.” Misa rubbed your back soothingly.

You rolled you eyes at that and scoffed. “It’ll be better for us all.” Misa corrected herself this time. You heard agreement across the room. Clearly they had wanted this for a while now.

You were already out of their lives in their heads, they just needed you completely gone. Out of sight out of mind.

So you moved, it wasn’t like you had a choice in this. Man City was running low on defenders and payed the biggest transfer fee. From your sunny Spain to the rainy Manchester weather.

Stepping out of that warm sticky plane you felt your warm sweat turning your heated body cold. Refreshing. You needed to see this new chapter as a new beginning, another chance.

When Salma heard you left Real she was puzzled. No way you would’ve left your dream club just like that, with no fight. And what she had expected was confirmed.

The striker heard Lucy and Ona talk about the transfer. “Why did she leave? She loved Real with her whole heart, that was her home.” Lucy asked.

Ona sighed, “We all know it wasn’t going her way there, she was stuck. I think she might’ve just left because there wasn’t anyone to keep her here anymore, in Spain.” she explained.

It was silent for a moment before Lucy spoke again. “She was head over heals for her, wasn’t she.”

“I know, she still is. I spoke to Olga earlier, she said that she just wasn’t functioning anymore. She had to leave Spain.” the Spaniard said quietly.

Salma wasn’t aware of this. Why would you break up with her if you still loved her?

She wanted to talk to you. Tell you that she had wanted to keep your relationship more private, out of the spotlights. That she wanted you just for herself. But then you cut her off, you told her it was over. That you were done.

The days in Manchester went by just the same. It was hard and tough. Atleast you knew your team back in Spain, you barely know anyone here.

Salma kept being on your mind, it was hard to forget her. How could anyone forget her. She had a sparkle you hadn’t seen in anyone before. She lit up any room when she walked in and brought out the best in you.

So instead of hurting and torturing yourself any more you focused. Your mind was set. Football was it. Manchester City had an amazing season and you were ready to destroy the Champions League. This was your year.

And you held yourself onto that. You got through the groupstages. Ajax, Wolfsburg and Juventus were all beaten.

The first leg of the Quarter-Finals away had ended up in a 1-2 for your team. And at home you won with 3-0 against Bayern.

This meant a Semi Final against the prize holders, FC Barcelona Femení.

And somehow Salma was still wondering through your mind. She was still there and you were giving up on forgetting her, so you ignored her. Every single sign of her.

Salma wasn’t though. She had you in her mind for the last few weeks. The striker wanted to know what was going on. Why did you leave her. What did you see. What did you think. She just wanted to know.

Salma knew you weren’t going to answer if she called, so she didn’t. She wanted you to see her, to hear her.

That’s how you found her, drenched infront of your doorstep. A cocky smirk finding it’s place on her face.

“Couldn’t you just move to a warmer country.” she laughed.

The smile you had on before you opened the door had dropped. “Or just don’t go to England.” you said, tone flat. When Salma didn’t respond you sighed and rolled your eyes. “Well, see you tomorrow i guess.” you told her before closing your door.

“-wait. Mi amor, wait.” Salma reacted.

“Don’t call me ‘mi amor’. I’m not your love, Ona is.” you said coldly.

Salma’s face fell. “Wait.. what- she isn’t.” Your eyebrows furrowed at that. “Ona isn’t my girlfriend. Where did you hear th- no..” your lovers face was puzzled, she was thinking. “Mi vida, is that why you broke this off. You thought i cheated on you?” she asked you with a broken voice.

“Salma, it was all over the news. You texted me, you wanted to break up.” you told her.

“Amor i didn’t want to break up. I just wanted you. I wanted to keep our relationship out of the spotlight, to keep it to ourselves. I just wanted you.” Her voice had completely broken down to a soft whisper. “I wanted you just to myself.” she stepped towards you.

“Salma, i- i don’t know.” you sighed.

“Please, i just want to see you.” Salma breathed.

You let her in. There wasn’t much you had to say to her. She said she didn’t cheat and you had to take her on her word.

Maybe it was the hope in you. Or the desperation. But you believed her. You wanted to believe her, so so badly.

And when the game came around the next day, Salma had already disappeared. The morning flew by and you were sat in the dressingroom. The music was playing through the room and there were players dancing, singing, braiding hair and drawing, whatever kept them cool.

You checked your shoes, like always. Put your hair in a bun, like normal. You walked through the tunnel, like you had done all of your games. You looked at your opponent, as usual. You were playing a game against Barcelona, against the best, against Salma, like you had done a million times.

The game was hard, honestly any game was at this level. But the feelings were your biggest concern. This didn’t end well last time.

You got your confidence back when you passed a ball to Casparij, who gave a deep one back. You made a run for goal and shot. The ball flew through the air, and even with the best efforts of Paños, it went in. In the corner of your eye you saw the ball crossing the white line.

Your teammates ran towards you and you were attacked from all sides. It was chaos and it was the most at home you’ve felt since you joined the blue club.

But the game wasn’t over, Barça wasn’t done.

Aitana made a dangerous tackle, passed to ball to Graham. Caroline was unstoppable, everyone knew it. When she dribbled past a City defender and made a cross it was over. The ball landed perfectly onto the right foot of Paralluelo and into Keating’s goal.

She celebrated like she had done many times before, but only on El Clásico’s. She kissed her wrist, for you.

“Nunca hemos terminado, mi vida.” Salma winked.

A/N my next fic will be domestic because i love little love families 🤭 who should i write for?

#woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #barca femeni #man city women #salma paralluelo x reader #salma paralluelo #ona batlle #barca women #barca femini x reader

150 notes · View notes

dearharriet · 3 months

Note

a steve with fem reader fix might just cure me. maybe inspired by the song in agreement by lizzy mcalpine? i love your writing :)

ty sm!! sorry this took me a bit, i’m planning a trip for this summer n i’m so so stressed 😭

(1.5K) (cw: fem!r, mentions of sex)

“What’s his name?”

The bed squeaks as you roll over onto your stomach, pushing down a smile

“Steve,” you say, your voice tellingly sticky and sweet.

“Steve who?”

“What, are you gonna find him in the phone book, mom?” She wouldn’t have to. She knows Steve Harrington as well as the rest of Hawkins.

“Maybe I would,” she teases, but you think she’s half serious.

You consider spilling your guts. Your mom has heard very little of your love life before now, mostly because you weren’t dating guys you would ever take home. Steve, though…

You want to. Take him home. Not even as a pride thing (a little bit as a pride thing), but because you think he’s great, and your mom is great, and you know they’d love each other.

It all felt so exclusive, though. Girls take their boyfriends home to meet the family. Steve isn’t your boyfriend. You don’t even know why you’re telling your mom at all.

Sensing your discomfort, your mom changes her angle.

“Well, at least tell me about him. Is he nice?”

The velocity of your answer lodges in your throat and turns into a laugh.

“Um,” you giggle, “is grass green?”

Foamy chittering pours out of the landline.

“O-kay, message received,” your mom jokes. You wrap the phone cord around your finger, smiling.

“He’s so nice, mom. It’s almost irritating. He makes me sandwiches with the crusts cut off.”

“I think I’m gonna like this boyfriend of yours.” She’s obviously smiling, too. You can hear it in her voice. “He sounds wonderful.”

“Well he’s—“ you hesitate. “We aren’t exclusive.”

There’s a puzzled silence.

“He hasn’t asked?” A speck of disappointment seeps into the question. You roll back over, splaying yourself out in shame.

“Oh, he asked. Twice, but I told him no.”

A gasp. “You didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did,” you confirm, wincing.

“Well, what’s the holdup?”

“Ugh.“ The ceiling looms over you, and you track the afternoon light refracted by your mirror, thinking. “I dunno. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Have you guys—” A tea kettle screams over the line. “Hold on.”

Staticky shuffles and your mother’s humming serenade you while you think about her question. What’s the holdup?

It’s not Steve. When you first said no, his face had sunken so severely you almost changed your mind, because you knew he would put the whole thing on himself. The second time around, you might’ve been more surprised than he was that your answer hadn’t changed. It was just…

The sound of the receiver being picked up, and your mom’s voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Have you had sex yet?”

“Oh my god, mom.”

“What? I can’t ask?”

Shoving your face into your pillows, you teeter between laughing and screaming. You’re suddenly glad you kept all your past boyfriends a secret. You pick your head back up and press the receiver to your ear, red-faced.

“No, we haven’t,” you lie. “Steve said he wants to wait until we make it official.”

It’s not totally untrue, Steve did say that. You just leave out the part where he caved two days later.

Gone is your flush by the time your mom replies, having paused so long you thought the call dropped. A serenity coats her voice, like silk sheets after a shower—everything as it should be.

“I hope you keep Steve. I’d like to meet him.”

You both leave it at that, turning over other stones for another half an hour, until your call is interrupted by a handsome devil sneaking through your door.

“Oh—hey, mom I—I gotta go, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow?” Sunny brown eyes watch you from the threshold as you say this, enjoying your casual sprawl, your sweet pajama set. Steve soaks in the privilege of seeing you, of being invited over, and of being a call-ending arrival. The phone is barely back on the hook before he rolls over you and manhandles you on top of him. You shriek but don’t fight it.

“Hi, pretty.” Steve rubs your back in big, long sweeps, melting you.

“Mmph, ‘ey,” you mumble, face smooshed into his chest. Steve is like a furnace, constantly hot, and it’s like laying on sun-warmed sand. When he laughs, it vibrates in his ribs.

“What happened to you, baby, hm? Tired?” You nod. “What’d you do all day?”

You regale the day with minimal words, all the way up to the moment he found you.

“—‘n then called mom, cause we hadn’t talked in awhile.”

“Mm-hm, I heard,” he says, not unkindly. His fingers knead the back of your neck. You close your eyes. “You didn’t have to hang up ‘causa me, yknow?”

Nodding minutely, you slur something incoherent. Steve chuckles.

“Feels good?”

More nodding. Steve kisses the top of your head.

“Talked t’my mom ‘bout you,” you spit out, too blissed to think.

Steve stills for a split second, and then doubles down his ministrations.

“Yeah?” There’s a giddy earnestness in his voice that makes you smile.

“Mm-hm,” you hum. “I told her about the sandwiches.”

An amused rumble.

“Anything else?” He asks, and if he’s trying to disguise his anticipation he’s not succeeding.

“Mmm, yeh.” A dopey smile splits your face as Steve slips a hand under your pajama shirt to scratch your back.

“Yeah? Like what, pretty girl?” Steve knows he has you limp and pliable in his lap, and he’s trying to get as much information as possible.

“Ummm, like, how we haven’t had sex—“

“We haven’t?”

You shake your head, and then it quickly devolves into rubbing your cheek on his thick polo.

“We haven’t.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees blindly.

“B’cause we aren’t official, remember?” You look up just as Steve bites back a flinch.

“Hard to forget,” he murmurs, but he pets your baby hairs back gently despite it all. “What else did you tell her?”

“That’s all,” you tell him.

Something about Steve’s sorry eyes makes you regret not telling your mom his last name. Are you ashamed of him? Do you think he isn’t worth defending? It lights a fire, burning you from the inside out. It’s so typical of you, to have one foot in and one foot out, always ready to run away. Always afraid to emotionally invest.

That’s the damn holdup.

In a self-afflicted fury, you pull yourself back together to sit up. Steve places cautious hands on your legs, gauging your mood. Knees on either side of his hips, you fist his shirt in your hands and steady your voice.

“Would you want to meet her sometime? My mom?”

Steve’s mouth drops open. He sits up, hands gripping your thighs firmly.

“Really?”

Softening, you nod. “Really.”

“‘Course I want to. Yes,” he says, breathless. “When?”

“Well…,” you sigh. Gazing at the ceiling, you pretend to think. “I’d need you to fill out some paperwork first.”

Steve raised a dubious brow.

“What, like, an NDA?”

“Ha-ha. No, not that kind of paperwork. I was thinking some kind of…certificate of exclusivity?”

Steve blinks. “I’m so not following.”

Shifting closer on Steve’s lap, you place a chaste kiss on his lips. You can hardly contain a smile as you continue, kissing between your words.

“I dunno—“ Kiss. “—just something that—“ Kiss. “—proves—“ Kiss. “—that you’re my boyfriend.”

You seal the words with a final kiss, and then hesitantly pull back to see Steve’s reaction.

Awe-stricken, Steve is playing with the hem of your pajama shorts, a thoughtful look on his face.

“You mean it?”

When you nod, Steve’s hands come up and around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

“What made you change your mind?” His hands caress your back like he’s not sure if this is real, like he’s afraid to break the illusion. You shrug, nose bumping his.

“Time, I guess. I wasn’t convinced you knew what you were asking for.”

Steve kisses the corner of your mouth, and then your cheek; Moves down to nip at your neck.

“Think I came on too strong,” he agonizes into your jaw. “But you’re so good for me. I didn’t want ya t’ think I wasn’t all in.”

Golden brown hair slips around your fingers as you massage his temples.

“I am, too,” you assure him. “All in.”

Steve grins.

“Can I get that in writing?”

thank you for reading! 🦢

masterlist

#steve harrington #request #stranger things #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x reader #reqs open #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #fanfic #stranger things fanfiction

400 notes · View notes

itsnotgray · 1 month

Text

until forever falls apart | nico hischier

same drill as the cole one, i asked @fantillisdaylight for a player, and this is what became of it. decided this one hurt too good not to share with the masses.

nico and his little childhood girlfriend that start dating at 15, thinking it’s them against the world.

the girlfriend who moves away to canada at 16, promises of forever exchanged amidst the careful kisses they press to each other’s lips.

nico joining her in canada, and for a year, it’s perfect. they’re reunited, and filled with we laugh belief that they may actually make it. they made it when she was in canada, snd he in switzerland, so what can truly part them, if not an ocean?

the nico gets drafted, and still, reality hasn’t hit. “we made it with over 3000 miles between us, 800 is nothing.”

he goes to the show the very next season, headed to new jersey bright eyed and full of hope- hope for a long-lasting relationship, as well as a long-lasting career.

very quickly, nico is swept up in the nhl chaos. the media is more chaotic than ever, swarming through latest number one draft pick, eager to see how he’d perform against the very best.

and somewhere along the way, those 800 miles begin to feel like 3000 again. and suddenly there’s an ocean between them again. and suddenly, it’s like nico isn’t even living in the same stratosphere.

“you haven’t called in weeks nico! i’m lucky to even get a goodnight text. what’s happened to us?”

and nico absorbs the question, searching for answer within himself. “what did happen to us?” he asks himself.

and truthfully, he knew. it was a mixture of things, truly, but there was a primary cause: himself. he brought these problems upon them, and he knew it.

“i’m- “ “nico don’t apologize. i know you. i know how you’re mind works. it’s- it’s not your fault. i just think- i swore we were going to make it. but i think- i think we might’ve been wrong.”

and his heart breaks, but he knows it’s the truth. “‘m sorry,” he croaks out, the breaking of his heart audible, even with some 800 odd miles between them.

“me too,” she sobs back, covering her mouth to try and keep her wails in the confines of her mind, at least until they ended the call.

they didn’t end the call. they stayed on the phone all night, exchanging sobs and apologies, two shattered hearts trying to soothe one another.

at the all star break, nico flys back to halifax, needing one last moment together, not accepting anything less than ending their relationship in an embrace.

he knocked on her door, (the door of the apartment she had moved into at the start of school- nico missed that. he missed a lot. it made his heart hurt thinking about just how much he missed), fully expecting to have to sleep outside her door (but he’d do that, he thought. he’d do it for her. it’s the least she deserved), but to his surprise, she opened the door.

upon her door opening, he was greeted with a sight that made his heart ache in so many unexplainable ways.

she was there, perfect as ever. hair was a little ruffled, but she was perfect. it was like nothing had changed, but it reality, everything had.

“nico,” she sighed out, tears rushing to her eyes at the sight of the boy who had occupied her heart for so long now (but not forever, a voice taunted her inside- that was over now.)

in a blink of an eye, he crossed the threshold of her apartment (that smelt like her favorite candle, he noted inside his head. oh how’d he miss that smell), wrapping her in his arms. at the feeling of his familiar arms encasing her, she broke, sobs wracking her body once again.

“i guess forever wasn’t ours,” he croaked out, a sob cutting him off from continuing his sentence.

“i guess-“ she started, a sob interrupting her sentence. “i guess not,” she finished, tears soaking the fabric of nico’s hoodie (not one of his old ones, she noted. she knew those fabrics. this- this was new. she didn’t like that. it was just a symbol of the distance between them, literally and figuratively).

a while later, after the couple had calmed down, they sat huddled together on the couch, arms still embracing one another.

“it was good, right?” she hesitantly questioned, afraid of the answer he’d respond with.

“the best,” the boy replied.

and with that, it was like the string that tied them together snapped. the feeling was gut wrenching, that much was true. but over time, their hearts would heal. they’d move on, and one day, could hopefully look back on their time together and smile.

but for now, they’d simply remember each other by the ache deep in their chests, the longing that weighed down their bones, and the broken promises of forever in their hearts.

#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl fics #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #new jersey devils imagine #hockey oneshot #gray writes #nhl fic

172 notes · View notes

slut4thebroken · 8 months

Text

That Night.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jason Todd x Wayne!reader

Summary | Jason missed yet another date, but this time it was your breaking point.

Warnings | angsttt, emotional neglect?, break ups, Jay is just a lil stupid but we love him, fluff, comfort, Dick is the older brother I wish I had smh

Words | 3k

Notes | Not saying I wrote this because of a personal thing I’ve been going through with a friend… but I wrote this because of a personal thing I’ve been going through with a friend.

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

You sighed and dropped your purse onto the couch, then flopped down beside it. This was the third date night he’s missed in a row. What makes it infinitely worse is that this was your anniversary dinner.

A year. An entire year you’ve been understanding, supportive… but all that’s done is make him realize that you’ll tolerate that behavior. So it got worse and worse. It started with showing up late to things, or having to cancel but getting you flowers and promising to make it up to you. Now though, half the time he doesn’t even remember that he forgot.

With a heavy breath, you bent down to unclasp your heels and toss them to the side. You felt stupid. The original plan was to meet there, rather than both of you leaving together, since he needed to do something beforehand. That should’ve been your first warning. But you still had faith he'd show up. In fact, you had faith for about 45 minutes before paying for your wine and leaving, getting looks of pity from staff and customers alike on your way out.

He also hasn’t planned anything for the past couple of months. It was always you. Honestly, part of you thought he’d forget he even had a girlfriend if it weren’t for you trying to plan dates or dinners or just spending time together. But on the off chance that he could actually show up, he usually had to leave early.

You’ve been trying so hard to make this work, but you’re getting tired. You missed the boyfriend you had a year ago— the one who made you a priority, who took you on a date at least once a week. And you know that if it were earlier in the relationship, you would’ve left by now. But you love him more than anything so you tried to fight and make it work. But it was only you trying, so it was doomed from the start.

Breaking up on our anniversary would be pretty poetic, you reasoned, trying to make the terrifying thought a little less scary. You got up to get another glass of wine, then sat back down on the couch, thinking.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before the front door was opening and closing quietly, but your glass was long empty by now and if you weren’t so anxious, you would’ve fallen asleep.

“What are you still doing up?” He asked, looking at you in surprise since you’re usually in bed when he gets home.

“I need to talk to you.” You said quietly, clearing your throat and adjusting your position on the couch.

“Okay… That sounds awfully ominous.” He chuckled nervously, taking a seat next to you. “Why are you so dressed up?” Any doubts you might’ve had instantly disappeared because of that one innocent question. You swallowed thickly and looked at your lap, trying to wait until after you at least said it to start crying.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You did your best to speak clearly, even as your voice started trembling.

“What?” You’ve never heard him sound so caught off guard.

“I- I’m breaking up with you.” You forced out, taking a deep breath. But the worst of it wasn't done yet.

“Baby,” He reached for your hands but you gently pulled them away.

“Please don’t make this harder for me, Jason.” Not Jay. Just Jason.

“I don’t understand.” He said quietly, hands going back to his own lap. “Can you please look at me?” You bit your lip and took a deep breath, trying to prepare yourself to see his face so that you wouldn’t change your mind. When you looked up, his brows were furrowed as he examined you.

“Can you at least tell me why?” A tear escaped your waterline when you heard the way his voice quavered.

“Seriously?” You scoffed in disbelief. “Why do you think?”

“I don’t know! I-“ He cut himself off when his gaze focused on your dress and then on your heels near your feet. “Fuck- oh fuck. Baby, I- I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s just repetition compulsion.” You offered a rueful shrug. “Dating a vigilante with no time for a personal life was my own fault, I should’ve realized it would’ve been the same as being Batman’s daughter.”

“No- no, princess, please. Just- let me make it up to you. Please.”

“Jay, please don’t.” You whispered.

“Baby, c’mon, please let me try.”

“Do you even remember why we were going on a date tonight?” You snapped, eyes filling with more and more tears the longer he remained silent. “It was our anniversary.” You said quietly, brushing away the tears falling down your cheeks. “I’ve put up with this for almost a year because I loved you and I wanted this to work so badly, but I can’t do it anymore.” You all but whimpered, averting your gaze.

“Loved?” He said through a breath, making you sigh. “You don’t love me anymore?”

“I— I don’t know…” You do still love him. But admitting that would make it harder to walk away.

“Oh.” You chanced a glance at him and watched the way he rapidly wiped the tears from his cheeks, trying to keep his composure. “And there’s nothing I can do to fix this?” He croaked, not able to look at you.

“You’re not going to give up the mask anytime soon, so no, Jason.” You said quietly.

He was the one who left that night, saying he was going to stay at Roy’s to give you space. He didn’t come home the next day either though. You spent the entirety of that time either crying or sleeping. The amount of messages on your phone— that made your heart break just a little bit more every time you realized it wasn’t from Jason— was getting overwhelming so you turned it off, just wanting to be sad in peace. But that peace was interrupted on the second day after that night.

You groaned at the knock on your door and continued laying on the couch, hoping they’d leave. But they knocked again, more urgently this time. Letting out a heavy sigh you forced yourself to get up and open the door.

Dick’s expression went from irritation to confusion to complete pity in a matter of seconds.

“Can I come in?” He asked and you just shrugged in response, then walked back to the couch, letting him close the door. “I was going to ask if something happened with Jason but based on your general appearance and the state of your apartment, I’m guessing the answer is yes.”

“What do you want, Grayson?” You sighed, watching him sit down next to you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked softly.

“We broke up. Is that what you want to hear?” You snapped, looking away from him as you bit the inside of your cheek.

“That makes sense actually. Are you okay?”

“What do you mean that makes sense?” You asked, looking back at him with furrowed brows.

“…Red Hood,” He almost seemed hesitant to say his name, “has been significantly more… violent, the past two days. Bruce and I thought something might’ve happened. We didn’t think it’d be this though.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“Of course he is.” You spat bitterly. It always used to hurt knowing how much harder he fights for his reputation and the people for Gotham, than for you. You felt like the other woman most of the time. “Will you let my dad know I’m probably going to stay at the manor for a couple weeks until I can get a new apartment?” At least he wouldn’t ask as many questions as Dick. You weren’t looking forward to Alfred’s unwanted, but very accurate, input and guidance on the situation though.

“Sure… So it’s really done then?” He asked tentatively, testing the waters.

“I’ve put up with this kind of behavior enough from my dad. But at least he never forgot any important dates. So yes, it’s really done.” He was silent for a moment, probably trying to piece together what date Jason forgot.

“Anniversary?”

“A year.” You confirmed, almost apathetically.

“Jesus.”

“Yep. I’m the one who planned the dinner and made the reservation, which he forgot about. He also didn’t get a gift, like we both decided we’d do.”

“I’m sorry, kid.” He frowned, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s fine. It’s been like this for a while. That night was just the final straw for me.” You shrugged, trying not to give into your emotions. His hand remained on your shoulder and you bit your lip as it started trembling.

Why does this have to hurt so fucking bad? Maybe you should just get back together because at least that pain was better than this. This pain made you want to cut your heart out of your chest to get a break from the constant ache you were feeling.

You let out a choked sob and Dick pulled you into him, letting you bury your face in his chest as you cried. You clutched onto his shirt and tried to calm yourself down, to focus on his warmth and the way he was lightly rubbing your back. But it all reminded you of Jason. The way that he used to hold you when he was actually home for longer than ten hours a day.

“Is it me?” You whimpered, trying to take a deep breath, but having it waver as you let out another sob.

“What?”

“Am I— am I just not as important as the rest of Gotham?” You choked out, making him pull back to look at you.

“Hey, don’t say that. Bruce never really got the hang of the family-vigilante balance. Even right now with Tim he’s still struggling. And as for Jason…” He reached up to lightly brush the tears from your face as he frowned. “It’s a learned behavior. Trust me, I only unlearned it after Kory threatened to fly me into space because of it.” You let out a quiet chuckle, the feeling of humor feeling weird mixed with the heartbreak you’ve become accustomed to. “And even then, I still struggle with it. My point is, he loves you so much. I’m sure if you threaten to fly him into space he’d try to fix it.”

“I don’t know… I’ve been trying so hard for months, Dick, and I’m so tired… I just can’t.”

“You’re not the one who needs to try.” Right. You didn’t think about that. Would it really be worth it though? Old habits die hard after all. “Look, you don’t have to take my advice, but I’d give him another chance. The second he starts slipping back into his old ways though, it’s done. But at least let him try to fix it. You might be surprised.” You let out a heavy sigh and looked down, playing with a loose thread on the sleeve of your hoodie.

“You’re probably right. I’m just scared, Dick.” You said quietly.

“I’ll make you a deal. If I’m wrong and he fucks it up again, I’ll take your place at any charity galas or events Bruce hosts for a year.”

“A year?” You asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“A year.” He nodded.

“You know that’s like at least five right?” You smiled.

“That’s how confident I am.”

“Fine. But only because I want to get out of all those events.” You both knew that you were hoping for the opposite outcome though. You wanted him to try— to be better. You wanted to be important enough for him to want to change.

Pls come home when you can.

Causal enough. But your heart was fucking racing.

You cleaned up around the apartment, then took a shower and changed into some clean clothes before texting him. Part of you was absolutely terrified. What if he doesn’t even want to try? What if you make a fool out of yourself? The only pro would be getting out of going to events for a whole year, which was enough for you to just send the text anyway.

You were sitting on the couch when the front door quietly opened, the scene feeling eerily similar to that night. The door closed softly and his footsteps were even softer. He stood in the living room, hands in his pants pockets, and you studied him, frowning at the darkness of his under eyes.

“Do you want to sit?” You asked, when he just stood there. He nodded and tentatively moved to sit on the couch as far away from you as possible.

“I’m not sure where this is going so I don’t exactly know what I should say…” He admitted sheepishly.

“I don’t want to stay broken up.”

“You don’t?” He asked with wide eyes.

“No. But if we get back together, things need to change. I’ve felt second to Gotham my entire life, I don’t need that in a relationship too. I’m not asking you to give it up completely, but I’m tired of being the second priority.”

“I’ll give it up.” He said suddenly. “If you want me to, I will… I just need you. Without you, I need the mask and I don’t want to be that way. I like who I am with you— you make me better.”

“You don’t need to do that, Jay.” You said softly, trying not to let the butterflies in your stomach consume you.

“Maybe not, but I would.” He moved closed, then hesitantly reached for your hands, waiting for you to pull them back again, but you never did. “With you, I’m not the angry little kid using this to escape my emotions or the angry, traumatized zombie hell bent on revenge. I’m just Jason— just Jay.”

“Did Roy help you rehearse that?” You chuckled, trying to bring the attention away from your blushing cheeks and flustered demeanor.

“He called me crazy when I practiced it— made a bet that I wouldn’t be able to last a week without it.” He laughed quietly with you, then brought your hand up to softly kiss your knuckles. “But these two days were the worst pain I’ve ever felt— I’d honestly take a crowbar over this any day.”

“Oh my god- don’t say that.” You giggled, lightly slapping his arm, your blush intensifying.

“It’s true though. Every word. You want to settle down, get a nice little house in the suburbs with a white picket fence, maybe a dog and some kids? I’m game. I just need to be with you.”

“Woah there, cowboy. You need to propose before you start talking to me about being a suburban family with a dog.”

“Is that your way of saying that if I proposed, you’d say yes?” He teased, but you could tell he was trying to play it off and not seem like he was genuinely asking.

“Probably, to be honest.” You shrugged, nonchalant. The answer was yes though. If he proposed, you’d say yes before he could even finish asking.

“Good to know. I’m not getting your father’s blessing though. I’d say it’s out of respect for you as an autonomous woman in the 21st century, but it’s more just out of spite.”

“I figured.” You chuckled. “But seriously, Jason, I’m not asking you to give that up. If we do decide to settle down and have kids, that’s a different story— there’s not a chance in hell I’m continuing the cycle of an emotionally and physically absent father, so you better be ready to drop it all in a heartbeat.”

“What about… guys night once a month where Roy and I get together and beat the shit out of some bad guys for old times sake?” You narrowed your eyes at him, but couldn’t hide your smile.

“You drive a hard bargain… but fine. Guys night once a month and that’s it.”

“Yes ma’am.” He grabbed you and effortlessly placed you onto his lap. “I love you.” He murmured, placing a soft kiss on your neck to hide his blushing face. “More than anything. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You said quietly, wrapping your hands around him and placing one on the back of his head to play with his hair.

“It’s not okay though.” He said, pulling back. “Part of the reason I love being with you is because you never put up with any of my shit. You always used to call me out, never let me walk all over you.” He reached up and lightly pushed your hair behind your ear. “So I- I didn’t realize that anything was wrong— I’m not trying to make excuses and it shouldn’t be your burden alone to tell me to get my act together, but every once in a while, if you’re noticing a pattern you don’t like, please don’t just put up with it.” He cupped your cheek as his eyes bored into yours in an almost hypnotizing way.

“I love you so much and I’d do anything for you. You deserve so much more than being someone’s second priority and I’m sorry that I haven’t acted like it.” You gave him a small smile, trying not to get nervous and distant because of the affection— another thing you have your dad to thank for.

“I love you too.” You said quietly. “Thank you for the apology, I appreciate it.” The corners of his lips turned up and he leaned forward to give you a quick kiss. And to think, only yesterday you were content to wallow in self pity and sadness, accepting the fact that you tried as hard as you could, but somethings just aren’t meant to be.

“Dick was right.” You suddenly realized, making his expression turn into one of confusion. “God- he’s going to hold this over my head for the rest of my life.” You groaned, leaning forward so your head was in the crook of his neck.

“What was Dick right about?” He asked, trying to sound amused, but the confusion was clear in his tone.

“That you’d change and just need me to threaten to fly you into space to remind you to keep your act together.” He snorted a laugh, but you could tell he was still very confused.

“Yeah that sounds like Dick. I can’t say I’m too upset about it though, since he got you to change your mind.”

“Don’t ever tell him that.” You warned. “His ego does not need to get any bigger.”

“Trust me, princess. That’s the last thing I want.” The chuckled, placing his hands on your hips.

me 🤝 not knowing how to end one shots

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd angst #jason todd fluff #angst #fluff #comfort

552 notes · View notes