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icallhimjoey · 5 hours

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Reinvent Love

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Joe are treading new waters. You’re no longer flatmates, but still close. More than friends, but nothing defined. Nothing labeled. Determined to not lose what you have, though. But, can you?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, jealousy, accusations, soft fluff, lil smutty, reader has hair long enough to tie up, season 3 of my flatmate!joe

Author’s note: oohhh big changes! we are TALKING! with our MOUTHS! what a time. This is the last part of flatmate!Joe - for real this time. I truly hope you've enjoyed what is still my most plotless (imo) bit of writing, lmk your thoughts <3

Wordcount: 4.4K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

There was something living inside of your chest.

It was only small, but definitely there. Soft. Vulnerable. Silently shrinking. It had gotten hurt and was wearing its bruises on the outside. When it got poked, you could feel the shooting pains as it curled in on itself more. It would find the safest spots to squeeze its eyes shut and you’d mentally tell it, it’s okay. You’re okay.

It wasn’t okay.

Maybe therapy wasn’t an insane suggestion, anymore, at this point. You felt like you were protecting a child to the point where you couldn’t let it see the light of day. Couldn’t let it go outside and play. Couldn’t let it have friends – let it meet Joe. Couldn’t let it experience anything joyful, because if you did, it’d probably experience more hurt too.

But it was hurting anyway.

And now it was only pain it got to feel. Never joy. Just bruises and cuts. Scrapes that slowly formed thick drops of blood that hardened into scabs which pulled at your skin and eventually turned into scars.

You wished you’d known that before you locked it up inside.

There was something living inside of your chest, and it carefully wished it could speak up and be heard.

When you’d walked out of your bedroom and into the living room, a surprised Josh raised his eyebrows at you. He was leaning back into the sofa and had an acoustic guitar in his lap that he was absentmindedly playing whilst he was watching TV on a low volume. The guitar playing stopped when he saw you and didn’t pick back up as he watched you walk over, pillow in hand, facial expression drained.

“Hey, what’s up?” the guitar got moved onto the floor.

You didn’t answer when you put your pillow down on the opposite end of the sofa and took the blanket you’d slept under before. You curled up, ignored Josh who tried to ask if you were okay a couple of times as you stared at the TV. He asked if you wanted to talk about it. Said you probably should talk about it if you didn’t want Josh to think about this all night.

“It’s going to keep me up if I don’t know if you’re okay.”

You ignored it all, didn’t give a shit if Josh was going to get a good night’s sleep, and eventually turned over and faced the back of the sofa. It sent the message it needed to. It took just another moment before Josh turned off the TV, and then the lights as he left you alone.

This was stupid.

But you were stubborn.

You were stubborn and were going to go to sleep on your sofa, even though you were the one that lived here, and maybe Joe should be the one to sleep on the sofa.

Or actually, he could go home. To his own flat. Where all things were his, and the only things that felt like they were yours were the plants you’d brought in and the toothbrush you’d left by his sink.

Yea.

Joe could just leave.

You didn’t care that he was still paying rent.

But you didn’t actually get up to go and tell him that. Of course not. You just wallowed in thought. In all the would-dos and would-says. Shivered because this new stupid blanket Josh got wasn’t thick enough to keep you warm throughout the night.

You made yourself cry inside of that soup of goopy misery. Felt what lived inside of your chest as it drowned and mentally apologised to it when, after three hours of not being able to actually go to sleep, after three hours of anger that turned into fragile neediness, you decided to get up and make your way back.

Find Joe.

Because, and fuck him for this, Joe always knew how to fucking fix it.

And there was something so silly about walking down the hallway of your flat with tears staining your cheeks to sneak into Joe’s old bedroom. To find Joe inside of the bed there, the lay-out of the room still the same. Joe’s side of the bed still the same.

The click of the door closing made Joe lift his head up in an attempt to see into the dark.

He hadn’t expected you at all, so for a second, he thought that maybe you’d just walked in to get something. Your phone. Or your charger. But then you walked around to your side of the bed and got under the covers. It was too dark to see your face, but you found Joe’s warm body and snuggled up. Pressed your forehead to his jaw and hummed through a sigh and Joe didn’t need to see your face to hug you closer. Didn’t need to see if you’d been crying to wrap arms around, and to tangle legs, and to press a small kiss into your hair.

You wiggled as you settled and sighed as you sunk deeper into the mattress. You could deal with the disappointment within yourself in the morning.

“I’m sorry.” Joe whispered into the dark, and you decided you could also deal with your disappointment in Joe in the morning, so you softly whined and said, “Pause.”

“Pause?”

“Mhm.”

Everything could just be paused. Postponed. Just for a few hours. You just needed to get some sleep.

Joe wasn’t in a position to not accept that. His heart felt full with the nostalgia he unexpectedly found with you sneaking into this room in order to get some sleep. It used to be like this. He was in the same location. In the exact same spot. Just, everything was yours now.

Me too, Joe thought.

Everything was yours now, including Joe. Whether you wanted him or not.

He squeezed you tighter and saw that you got to sleep. Traced finger tips across skin that warmed under the covers, and tickled into your hair by the nape of your neck, and he could feel how you were drifting off and, fuck off, he was yours.

He’d tell you in the morning.

Joe was going to tell you in the morning.

He would.

When Joe woke up, you were gone.

Fucking figures, Joe thought.

The private moment of waking up together that would’ve granted him the security and comfortability to say whatever needed saying was gone now.

Joe rubbed both hands over his face and scolded himself for not waking up as you had gotten out.

But it was fine.

There’d be another moment for it, he’d make sure.

Venturing out of your bedroom, you weren’t in the bathroom. Nor in the living area. He did, however, find Josh in the kitchen.

After awkward but polite good mornings shared, there was some uncomfortable shuffling around. Joe had made breakfast thousands of times in this kitchen, and he was already reaching to open the fridge when he realised that, actually, that was a weird thing to do. He no longer lived there. He couldn’t just go into cupboards and find the food that he knew was there – he knew exactly where the oatmeal went. He knew exactly where to find the cinnamon to sprinkle on top. How the coffee machine worked. Which cupboard to open to find the mugs.

Joe opted to busy himself making a coffee first. The machine was right there on the counter – less weird to reach for it and prepare himself a morning brew.

And Josh was cool about it. Opened a cupboard for him to fetch him a mug. It was a bit of an awkward dance, but a friendly one, tight smiles shared as Josh prepared his own breakfast.

It wasn’t until the loud noise of coffee beans being ground up that Joe decided to just… ask.

Might as well act like last night actually happened.

“Sorry about last night, mate,”

“Oh yea, no worries, I didn’t…” Josh frowned and shook his head as he scraped some butter onto his toast. He didn’t finish his sentence. Didn’t need to. Took a bite before buttering the second piece.

“Have you seen her?” Joe tried sounding as casual as he could, but failed miserably.

It was as honest and vulnerable of a question he was ever going to ask Josh. It revealed he had no idea where the fuck you’d gone, which in and of itself revealed that there was probably a reason you hadn’t told him.

But Josh was relaxed about it.

“Yea. Morning run. You just missed her, I think.”

And it took all within Joe to pretend that didn’t surprise him as much as it did. He just nodded. Pretended like that was a normal thing to hear about. Morning run. Sure. Miss be-useful-first-thing, what the fuck? When had you picked up that habit?

The coffee machine stopped whirring, and Joe took his coffee. Went for a sip immediately and instantly burnt his tongue. Rookie move.

“Is um… is everything okay? I don’t want to pry, but,” Josh asked as Joe moved around the island to sit down.

“Ah, well… you know,”

No, actually, Josh didn’t know.

Which was good.

Joe didn’t really want him to know.

Joe didn’t really want to explain.

Couldn’t really explain.

Where the fuck would he even begin?

“Hmm, yea,” Josh accepted the non-answer easily. “She seemed upset, but wouldn’t really say anything.”

Joe had to suppress a smile.

Of course you hadn’t fucking said anything.

“I asked like fifty times if she was okay, but she… I don’t know, she fully ignored me I guess. Kind of went catatonic on me a little.”

Joe drank his coffee and nodded.

“To be fair though,” Josh made big eyes at himself, “I was being really fucking annoying. I would’ve rolled over and ignored me too, I think.”

Both men let huffs of air escape them in silent laughter.

Then a moment of silence followed where Joe drank his coffee and Josh ate his toast. Joe realised he didn’t like how Josh knew things about you that he didn’t, but the upside was that it was incredibly useful, actually.

Josh talked where you... well, you did not.

“Did she cry?”

He wanted to know.

“No, she just… watched TV for a bit. I don’t know, she seemed tired so I went to bed shortly after to make sure she could get some sleep.”

That meant that, if you’d cried, you had waited for Josh to leave the room. Joe didn’t know if that was a comforting thought or not.

It didn’t take much longer for Josh to finish his toast and to casually suggest for Joe to make his own breakfast. Mentioned that everything on the bottom shelves of the fridge was yours before he walked out, and this morning was just full of surprises.

You split the fridge?!

What kind of sensible flatmate behaviour was this?!

When it was you and Joe, your stuff would just be thrown in wherever. None of it sorted. Joe would end up having your oatmilk in his coffee and you’d end up using his cheese in your omelettes.

Actually, he remembered how this had been the source of bickering for more than once. More than a couple of times. You would fall out over Joe having your food all the time, if he really thought about it. But it was always playful. Always something fun about it. A reason to swear at him until you made yourself laugh, and a reason for him to shut you up with poking fingers in your sides. The back and forth had never prompted you to split the fridge.

Had you and Joe ever been normal flatmates?

Probably not, he guessed.

Joe decided against breakfast in the end and just finished his coffee. Waited until you got back from your morning run, which he still had a hard time wrapping his head around, and when he eventually heard the front door open, he got up to make you a drink.

You knew Joe was still there by his coat that was hung up by the front door.

Fine.

It was fine.

You were sweaty and sticky and hot and you could feel your heartbeat in your face, but it was fine.

Walking into the kitchen, you were welcomed by Joe in jeans and a T-shirt, bare feet, hair stupid, already holding out a glass of juice for you.

You took it and refrained from talking as you had a sip. Looked at him over the glass though, and you hoped that what Joe would see was determination. Strength. That he saw someone who wasn’t going to take bullshit, because you weren’t.

You’d just gone for your very first morning run for fuck’s sake.

For a moment Joe just looked right back at you. Watched you have the drink he poured for you. You had bits of hair stuck to your flushed neck and had to breathe through flared nostrils. It was wildly attractive, if you asked him.

“Morning run?”

You caught a small smirk from Joe that you turned away from. Couldn’t look at him be cute when you were supposed to be mad at him still.

Then, in a rogue move, Joe opened the freezer and took a single look inside to find a frozen pizza he took out and tossed onto the counter.

That was meant to mean something.

You gave it a blank stare as Joe looked at you and you sighed.

“Hey,” Joe tried getting your attention back on him, but instead, you put the glass down and turned around. Walked out. Went to your bedroom.

Joe followed.

“Hey,” Joe tried again, stood in your doorway, watching you collect an outfit. “Talk to me.”

It went ignored.

This was the worst part of not having an ensuite; having to take just enough clothes into the bathroom to change in there. You and Josh weren’t exactly on a just-a-towel level yet. Bathrobe felt scandalous too, somehow, even for the five steps it took to get from your bedroom into the bathroom.

Josh could see you in clothes or not see you at all.

Joe easily moved aside when you walked past him, out of your room, and you looked at him as you did.

“Come on. Tell me what you’re thinking.” Joe tried again.

It didn’t feel like you were fully ignoring him, but you weren’t answering him either.

You were thinking Joe was being an idiot.

You were trying, had been trying really hard to meet him where he wanted to be met, and then he just went and let you know he didn’t trust… you? Your flatmate? The situation he’d created with his own two hands?

Felt unfair.

You didn’t say any of that though. Just walked into the bathroom, and then left the door open.

Joe would get the hint, you thought.

He did, but only when you started peeling off your sweat-soaked top with the door wide open, still.

Joe moved quick. Sort of scrambled to get into the bathroom, to lock the door behind him, and then to help you get your top over your head as you struggled with the damp fabric around your shoulders.

You undressed, and Joe helped, and you made eye-contact the whole time.

You could see how he was searching. Trying to find whatever you weren’t saying in your eyes, his chin tucked in, his eyes pleading, all soft and rounded.

Joe tried.

He really tried.

You were getting naked right in front of him, body flushed and glistening with sweat and he got a good look as you stretched your body over the bath to turn the shower on and then you kept staring right at him as you removed more clothes and you were doing something with your eyes and Jesus fucking Christ, Joe was trying.

Trying to not grab you by the shoulders and give you a good shake.

Trying not to let his eyes skirt downward because you’d just removed your sports bra and, oof, man, that was a lot of skin on show.

Joe was trying not to hold you by the face and trying not to get real close and trying not to whisper words into your mouth in hopes of coaxing out some of your own. Which… he failed. Because he did get your face into both his hands just after you’d reached up to untie your hair. He did get real close. And he did ask you once more to just talk to him, please.

You handled the close eye-contact fine.

Handled the cupping of your face fine.

And Joe couldn’t stop searching your face.

Was there truly no budging?

Was this… was this it?

Had he just gone and fucked it all up for himself? Had the big plan behind his move imploded because he couldn’t deal with the fact that you were now… no longer in his flat with him? Joe’s mind tried to make sense of it, but all he could really come up with, was that you probably didn’t even consider the two of you to be together.

You’d never talked about that.

Had never mentioned it.

Hadn’t labeled it.

You were just close flatmates that weren’t actually flatmates anymore, and… and now what?

He just wanted you to talk.

You were just in your underwear now, stood in a small bathroom and Joe ticked off all boxes in his mind: you were alone, check. You were close, check. You were in your safe space, check.

The shower was hot now, slowly filling the room with warm steam and, fuck, if you would just fucking talk.

Joe was about to repeat himself. Was about to say it again. But then he saw it.

Something changed.

Your eyes softened and your mouth tightened as you tried to keep your lips wobbling. As you tried to not let what was living inside of your chest get out. When you started blinking more rapidly as your eyes stung with tears, you also began avoiding eye-contact and, good. This was good. Joe let you go then, and watched as you got out of your last piece of clothing before you stepped into the shower.

You left the shower curtain open, and Joe thought he’d never undressed quite so fast.

You’d never shared a shower before.

Something about it felt really momentous, but you didn’t have the opportunity to think about it for too long. The thought vanished just as quickly as it had crossed your mind, because when Joe stepped into the bath behind you and held you by the shoulders before curling his arms around to hold you close, you decided that, actually, you were going to talk.

“You left,” you started, voice far thinner than you wanted it to be.

“I know.”

“You left and you’re making me feel bad about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not fair. It’s not my fault you moved out,” you reached up to hold onto Joe’s arm across your front and you felt how your eyebrows knitted together when you softly followed with, “Is it?”

And, fuck.

Something snapped into Joe’s chest.

Something swelled and popped.

He didn’t know what that was, all he knew was that it hurt.

“No!” Joe tightened his arms before he let you go enough to turn around. “No, baby, of course not, is that– do you think I left because of you?”

You looked at each other, and for a moment, Joe didn’t know if he was looking at shower water or tears that were running down your face.

You gave a small shrug before Joe lifted his hands to your face to wipe at your cheeks. If they were tears, they had no business being there, so he needed them gone.

“I didn’t leave this place because of you. Hey,” you avoided eye-contact, so he grabbed hold of you by the face again where both your of your hands found his wrists. “Look at me. Look– I did not move out because of you, all right?”

Well, he did… but, it was nuanced. He moved out for the both of you. He had to be careful. He couldn’t say the wrong thing and ruin what already felt ruined enough.

You gave a tiny nod that he could feel more than he could see, and you looked so fucking sad, Joe couldn’t help but move in to try and kiss some of it from your face.

He hoped you believed him.

You were naked in a shower together, of which Joe was getting none of the stream, and you were trembling because of things Joe had said and done and all he could think to do was hold you.

So he did.

It was a terrible waste of water, but it felt so incredibly necessary for him to not pull back until you did. Let you take the lead. Curl an arm around your head, the other around your waist, and follow your pace.

Joe felt how you were trying to control your breathing, and, you were right. He wasn’t allowed to be the cause.

He was the reason why you were feeling the way you were feeling and he realised he had been, for a while, probably.

Joe pushed you.

Joe had been pushing you.

He shouldn’t have.

He shouldn’t have left and he shouldn’t have tried with all his might to keep you as close to him as you had been before and he shouldn’t have taken his jealousy out on you and he shouldn’t have repeatedly asked you to talk to him because look! Look what all of it had lead to?

Your lead.

Your time.

Your pace.

No more making you meet him halfway.

Joe was going to wait for you.

He would.

It didn’t fucking matter how long it was going to take you, or if you’d even get there at all. He was going to wait. If that meant actually befriending Josh like a normal person, then he was just going to have to befriend Josh like a normal person.

Joe held you close until your finger tips stopped digging into his skin so much, and then he softly said, “I’ll wait.”

That made you look up at him.

“I’ll wait for you. I can be patient.”

And, you frowned. Because what the fuck was Joe talking about.

“But…” you started, and you felt it then. You could feel whatever was inside of your chest collect every little speck of bravery it could find within your body. It pulled it from the muscles in your legs and from the bones in your arms. Found some hidden inside the beating of your heart and then some more in the humid shower air inside your lungs. And then, it said it.

“I’m right here.”

Joe blinked at you. Didn’t get it.

“I’m right– Joe, what do you mean, you’ll wait. Have we not been– is this not what we’ve been…” you furrowed your brow at how words seemed to escape you. All bravery gone.

Joe saw.

Heard what you were saying and, before you even fucking knew what was happening, Joe had both his arms around your waist and lifted you up, effectively pressing his face right into your tits as he scared the living daylights out of you because you were in the bath.

“Joe–” you shrieked, but were quickly shut up by his mouth that pressed to yours before your feet had even properly touched down again.

“I love you.” Joe squeezed it from his own mouth right into yours. Barely got the words out normal as he didn’t want to stop kissing. Didn’t want to break contact, lips and hands doing the most.

“Joe,” you laughed, giving his shoulders a light push before you felt something against your hip, and– oh.

“No, I’m sorry. Ignore that. I love you. Did you hear me? I love you. I said I love–”

“I love you too.”

Joe froze before he groaned with both eyes squeezed shut, and you looked down to see how hard that had made him.

“I love you too,” you repeated yourself and saw it jump, leaking already, and Jesus, that was quick. This was a fun game actually. Talking suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

“Hey, I love you. Did you hear me? I said I lovemmpf–” Joe got a hand over your mouth just for the sheer agony of what it was doing to him.

You took your shot and bit right into his fingers.

“Stop it, you’ve got to– you can’t–”

And, yea, you could actually. You shut Joe up with kisses of your own this time.

You were sharing your first shower together, and it felt sort of momentous.

It felt momentous because you’d shared words that had been stuck in the back of your throat for a while now.

It felt momentous because Joe just told you that he loved you.

It felt momentous because you said it right back and everything about it felt right.

It felt momentous because you were going to have loud shower sex and Josh was likely going to hear you and you actually didn’t care about it. You cared more about the pizza that was slowly defrosting on the kitchen counter which actually sounded like the perfect breakfast food, if you were being honest.

You and Joe were just flatmates, but not.

Were just close, but more.

Were in love. Had said the words now, for the other to hear with their ears, and wasn’t that a shocking turn of events after last night?

Joe couldn’t explain it if he tried.

Didn’t really want to either.

As long as you knew. As long as you understood.

And you did. The proof was in the pudding.

Something felt alive in Joe’s chest. And in yours too.

Maybe someday, they could meet.

Have a chat.

Talk things through.

Or not.

They could also just look at each other. Sit on the sofa. Curl into each other and eat pizza. Watch the first ten minutes of films before they’d doze off together. Make fun of plants that got overwatered in a desperate attempt to keep them alive because they were buddies with yours and Joe could never be responsible for the death of plants that had friends, were you joking?

They’d call you idiots.

And, yea you were.

But it was fine.

You were just close. In love. Together. And that didn’t need explaining. As long as you knew and understood, that was all that mattered.

You were all that mattered.

Your lead.

Your time.

Your pace.

Your love.

the end

---

The Taglisted

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@choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn,

@dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee,

@figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4,

@hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke,

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taglist currently full, sorry

#joseph quinn #joe quinn #joseph quinn x you #joe quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn x reader #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn fanfic #joseph quinn fanfiction #reinvent love #define close #explain us

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wing-ed-thing · 1 day

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Foul Creature (Tobirama x Reader) Chapter VIII

Synopsis: The territory between the Uchiha and the Senju dwindles by the day. And in an era where social lines have been blurred, and new clan heads have been chosen, you're stuck between a scorned lover and a man who relentlessly pursues your hand in marriage. You don't have much time before you're forced to confront the sins of your past.

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags/Warnings: Warning for dark themes ahead, including graphic violence. Fem!Uchiha!Reader. Please consult AO3 for more specific warnings.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII

Notes: For those of you who have been saying "wow! I wonder what's going to happen next!"... me too.

Following the last Senju raid, which had nearly decimated the Uchiha village in its entirety, the reconfiguration of the land shifted. The newly appointed clan head, Madara, led your clan up the mountains to higher ground as the Senju more than doubled their already sizeable territory, spreading across the sprawling forests.

One of many wooded mountains in the range that bisected the Land of Fire, the one that the Uchiha chose to call home was the largest and was appropriately dubbed the “Grandfather Summit,” which boasted three great peaks. The smaller outer two were called the “Guardian Shoulders,” while the peak in the center was simply called the “Crown.”

You supposed that some ancestors long ago had thought the sizeable structure to be anthropomorphic enough to be a golem or perhaps a god. You could see it, although the shape took on little more than what you thought a child could draw. Madara never believed that the Grandfather Summit looked much like a man at all.

“It is a large pile of stone and nothing more,” he would frown and perhaps cross his arms with a tilt of his head. But his unimpressed notion of the Grandfather Summit didn’t stop him from relocating what was left of his friends and family up the mass of rock following the most destructive blow on the Uchiha tribe in recent history.

You couldn’t believe that Madara had been able to set his pride aside for such a move. While all the clans in the Land of Fire bordered on nomadic in some way or another, a clan as large as the Uchiha typically opted to stake its claim in a sizeable plot of fertile land. After all, a clan’s ability to keep their territory was a marker of status in and of itself.

But in the end, Madara moved you away from the patch of forest you had called home for all of your life in pursuit of the Grandfather Summit. You were almost certain the remaining elders were unabashed in sharing their thoughts before they were forced to submit under Madara’s domineering presence. And you knew just as certainly that if the previous clan heads were alive, they would have given him an earful.

“They are buried so deep, the earth fills their mouths too much for chatter,” Madara would surely say.

He hardly followed rigid tradition, even when it mattered, so you weren’t surprised when protests fell on deaf ears. Madara’s changes were apparent, even from the distance you hid yourself. Only strong young men filled the war room, with no wrinkled brow or shaky joint to be seen. Just like Madara, they were all chosen through combat.

Madara took his place in the center of the room, stroking his chin gravely as he studied the map. Izuna stood at his side, both wrists folded and resting on the hilt of his sheathed katana. Four stones sat each corner of the table, holding down the corners and pulling the artisanal paper taut as the band of Uchiha warriors took turns gesturing and poking at the depictions drawn below.

The Uchiha settlement sat between the Crown and the southern shoulder, which offered the most fertile and settleable land. Although despite resting on the lower of the collection of peaks, the southern shoulder still undoubtedly offered the highest ground compared to the land in the surrounding radius. The current positioning of the Uchiha compound was second only to the treacherous northern shoulder and the Crown itself, which reached the clouds in the heavens above.

It was no wonder the Senju were beginning to close in from the north.

At least, it made sense to you. You were no military strategist.

“It would be impossible.” One of Madara’s councilmen scoffed. You saw the flippant wave of a hand through the crack between the windowsill and the closed shutters. “Say the Senju manage the northern Guardian. The chances of their warriors taking on the Crown are slim to none in and of itself. There is too much to lose in an attempt to ambush us from the skies.”

“Nay, save such speculative talk, for we are far past speculation.” Another flippant wave. “The Senju have already sunk their claws deep into the northern shoulder. Farther than we could have ever anticipated. Perhaps your words would be true if we had only heard rumors of their traveling north, but it was only a sennight ago that my brother carried a Senju crest back with him from patrols.”

“An ambush from the highest peak of the Grandfather himself?” A third voice scoffed. A shadow teetered back and forth, swiping across your eyes from where you hid, wavering in the candlelight. “What must Hashirama Senju be thinking? He is certainly out of his own head! He thinks himself a god!”

“He thinks himself nothing.” Madara’s voice was low and raspy, churning in his chest like a beastly growl. His nose scrunched to the side, contrasting the nonchalant bob of his brow and shrug of his shoulder. He rested his elbow on his knee, allowing his forehead to rest in the area between his index finger and thumb. Madara took a deep breath, letting another growl-like rumble resound in his chest. “He thinks himself nothing.”

The light from the candles that lit the room flickered, casting shallow shadows across the warriors gathered. They littered the room silently; all turned toward their clan head with watchful eyes.

No one dared speak but Izuna.

He leaned down, bowing at the waist, to speak directly into his brother’s ear. Madara quirked an attentive brow.

The red pattern of your already ignited sharingan swirled in your irises as you watched from your hiding place. Your breathing slowed to steady streams of hot air, and all of your attention focused on Izuna’s lips.

“It is worth considering that the Senju…” A curtain of hair fell over the side of his face, obscuring your view. He continued to whisper as you tried to track the movements of his mouth from behind strands of hair.

A chill came over you. Goosebumps began to pop up across your skin. A shiver worked its way down your body in a wave, starting from your shoulders and ending at your thighs. It was only then that you met Madara’s eye.

He peered directly at you, straight through the tiny slit between where the window and the shudders were supposed to meet. Your breath hitched in your throat, everything around you slowing as you felt the hairs on your arms rise.

And with the slightest breeze, you were whisked away like smoke in the cool summer air.

***

The meeting didn’t adjourn until late into the night, and it was only when the candles were snuffed out that the soldiers began to head home. The moon shone brightly overhead, appearing more prominent in the sky than it had during any of the previous seasons. Even without lanterns, the entire Uchiha compound remained well-lit. Madara and his forces trickled out of the meeting building’s doors, exchanging formal nods with each other as they set off onto the moonlit paths.

Madara paused before the wooden steps, eyes focused on the trees that swayed gently in the evening breeze. Izuna stood on the porch behind him, silently following his brother’s gaze from the trees back to Madara.

He lingered on the Uchiha clan head for a moment before making his way down the steps. Izuna approached him with certainty, placing a firm hand on Madara’s shoulder. Only through touch did Madara snap out of his trance, blinking a few times as he tried to conceal his acute surprise. Izuna returned his hand to his other in their usual resting place at the hilt of his katana, offering his brother a knowing nod.

Madara wordlessly understood, making his way down the dark path toward home.

Izuna loitered in the middle of the dirt road. His shoulders relaxed under his robes, and his hands never once left their slack position across his weapon as he watched Madara disappear farther and farther into the distance.

Only when Madara disappeared over the small dirt hill in the distance did Izuna set his sights on the trees. He peered at the spot where Madara had been fixated on, slowly pivoting himself in the earth to face the patch of dark forest.

“Reveal yourself,” he commanded. His gentle voice carried a great sternness.

He stood patiently in the open, ever so sure of himself and not in need to prove it.

You respected a man’s ability to manage his seriousness devoid of aggression. That was likely why you obeyed him, moving out of the shadows to step into the moonlit patch of road not too far of a distance in front of him.

If it were up to you, Izuna would be clan head.

Not that you had any power to make those decisions in the first place.

Izuna eyed you with mild incredulousness. You expected no less from him.

“I told you to reveal yourself,” he repeated, voice ever-neutral. You sighed softly, bowing your head as the double before Izuna melted into the atmosphere. Your true body emerged from behind a nearby tree a distance away. Izuna continued to eye you wordlessly.

“I deemed it worth an attempt,” you said, clearing your throat. Izuna didn’t humor you.

“You forget yourself.”

Quiet overtook the night once again. You dared to venture farther from your hiding spot, stepping through the grass toward the ever-still Izuna. Your limbs protested, your instincts locking your joints like those of a wooden doll. You stopped at the edge of the path, protected by the shallow shadows of the trees and feet still planted in the line of the forest.

You could see the tension build in his neck. Having already been lost in thought with the Senju affairs, you were sure your woman’s trick hadn’t been the most well-thought-out plan in the face of Izuna’s clear vexation. Quite a few Uchiha women were known to unlock their ocular abilities, but unlike their male counterparts who were expected to partake in battle, the Uchiha women’s sharingan techniques were almost entirely passive.

Most of them centered on making illusions, for an image of a beautiful, vulnerable woman alone in the woods may distract enemy warriors long enough for a mother to escape with her children. The mother often taught these techniques to the young in her home for similar survival reasons.

You waited for Izuna to speak again. It was best to wait, as unlike Madara’s explosive, violent fits of predictable rage, Izuna kept his rage artfully, dangerously restrained. Like storm clouds slowly rolling in to cover the sky above, you knew that Izuna’s thunder could crack at any moment.

“I will have no more of your nonsense, and neither will Madara,” Izuna harshly proclaimed. He slowly turned away from you, hands never moving from where they sat on the hilt of his swords. The skin of his nose crinkled a bit as if he were holding back a bitter snarl. “You know not what you involve yourself with. A woman knows nothing of the matters of men, nor should she be as involved as my brother has allowed you to be. If I were clan head, an apprentice would have replaced you as apothecary long ago.”

You stared at him as he tried to fight off the bitter look that threatened to contort his face. The redness of your sharingan had long extinguished, but you hardly needed the enhancement to study the man before you.

“There is none more knowledgeable at the present. Makihara was… Makihara was far too liberal in his ideologies. And with the war effort, we cannot afford a lesser medicine maker.” His stoic exterior faltered for a moment with a dip of his lip. Izuna gazed somewhere in the distance, lost in an anger caused by something greater than you. “But above all, Madara wishes not to take more from you than has already been stripped of you by the Senju.”

Izuna drew his attention from the ground to the moonlit sky overhead. A full moon peaked from behind the thin clouds, illuminating the road in a silver sheen. He pivoted a foot as he regarded you, the cracks in his exterior beginning to sink back into his cold exterior.

“Then, it is not in your control,” The gentle evening breeze carried your level voice. It was soft and undaunted, like an Uchiha woman should be. “Nor is it in mine.”

“Why do you stay?” he asked in an even tone. “I ask myself why you forget yourself so, and why has fate encouraged you?” Izuna gazed up once again at the sky.

You stood in the darkness, shrouded by the forest.

Izuna stood elevated in the light, blanketed by the glow of the night.

“An Uchiha, yes,” he continued coldly as if the words he recited were nothing less than factual. “But you boast no living blood. You, a woman— you have no interest in the value of tradition. Instead, you busy yourself with matters that do not concern you.” Izuna’s gaze sharpened but didn’t narrow. “Your heart is easily swayed. Your flesh is soft and bleeds when it is struck. You consider not what is done on your behalf; I implore you to consider it.”

Izuna’s sword drew from his hip in a flash, and the tip of his katana drove into the ground. The polished metal sunk a few inches before stopping.

He finally breathed. He hadn’t realized that he had begun to heave or that his sword had been pulled from its sheath. Izuna stared at the hilt for a moment; hand still gripped around the woven handle.

“I advise you to retreat from this place,” he muttered, heaving another deep breath as he removed his weapon and slid it back into its usual place by his hip. Izuna turned once more, squaring his shoulders back as if the mere act of speaking to you angered him to the core. His robes snapped with the motion, flowing in the air as he stormed off, ever-militant. “Our world as we know it thrives on deception, and you are no different. Retreat before your illusion fades like the fog before a flame.”

He stalked off down the path, leaving you where you stood in the darkness. Your form remained shaken but undaunted.

***

The Uchiha’s most formidable forces were venturing off to defend the northern shoulder. It was the talk of the village from as early as daybreak, and the entire compound bustled with life as everyone made preparations.

The journey that the warriors were to be making was most perilous. Due to the incline, there was no better way to reach the northern shoulder than to pass around the Crown summit. If Madara were to lead them upward, the warrior party would encounter a few narrow routes that led directly north. If only a few warriors were leaving, the journey might have only taken about a day or so, but with a battalion the size that Madara selected, you anticipated that it would take them a few days to reach the northern shoulder.

Women carried back firewood and prepared provisions. Children ran across the village, delivering messages and small amounts of raw materials. Metal on metal sounded from the forge. The ovens churned the scent of bread products into the air. And just shy of the center of town sat your apothecary.

You propped the door with a large rock and tied the shudders open that morning. Warm natural light trickled into the main chamber, where you stood, slaving over a mortar and pestle at the counter.

The apothecary didn’t appear too dissimilar to your old workspace. Made of mostly wood, it stood on giant tree trunk supports. Five wooden stairs led up to the entrance, and a small patio housed a few pots of herbs.

Large cabinets lined the walls, reaching about hip height with sturdy shelving just above to house a tall arrangement of medicinal goods. A half counter bisected the room, separating the entrance lined with goods from the back of the building, which flared out a short distance on either side. Heavier jars and handling tools were stored in this section farther into the apothecary, leaving room on the extended countertops for you to use as a workspace.

In the very back stood a winding wooden staircase. At the top sat a loft with a small library, and at the bottom was a door out the back into the small plot of land you called your medicinal garden.

Madara’s warpath kept your counters as messy as ever. To your left, you kept trays of various herbs and mixtures laid out, ready for the adolescent soldiers to pack into bags to put into field kits.

“You should be able to administer the wound ointment.” You frowned, stopping your work to hold up the two halves of your concoction. “First, you are to place the powder—”

“I am aware of the ways in which to administer medicine,” Madara groaned, letting his head tilt back. He rolled it from shoulder to shoulder, gazing off toward the ceiling as if that would make you stop talking. “I have not the time to learn your convoluted experiment. Where are the items I requested from you? Izuna should have notified you.”

Madara leaned over your counter, and you met his gaze. If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought he was bored, but the mischievous glint in his eyes was unmistakable. With you behind the counter and Madara imposing himself onto your workspace, it was almost as if you were sixteen again.

“Some things never change,” you sighed. You turned to grab a small bowl from an eye-level shelf and placed it down on the counter with a huff. Madara caught your eye again, but despite the glimmer of curiosity that continued to swim in his dark irises, you knew better than to test him like you would have just a few years prior. “I insist that we try the deep-wound treatment first. The fibrous characteristics of the vallestinia, in combination with some moisture and the accelerant-type factors of the lamortens grand, can quite plainly sew tissue together with chakra in a matter of moments—”

“Unnecessary.” Madara placed his entire hand into the bowl, scooping up a palmful of pills. He let them slip through his fingers, falling back into the pile as he considered them. “The Senju will not allow us any time to spare to make use of lengthy healing processes.”

“But you wanted me to create these,” you posed, holding your tongue from making more than an implied criticism.

The last of the pills fell back into the bowl. Madara stared at the small compilation.

“I do not doubt that Hashirama Senju will be present on the northern shoulder,” Madara drawled, pausing between phrases. “The surrounding clans grow weary of battle, and I must admit that I have grown… tired of the state of affairs.”

“You?” you hummed an amused laugh behind tight lips. “The grand Madara fatigued of battle?”

“Fatigued from the act of burial,” he swiftly corrected. The corners of his lips twitched upward for only a moment. “Fatigued from my home being disturbed.” His words drifted off into a growl, a soft, bored rumbling in his chest. Madara often let his voice stall in his throat, the noises turning over as they churned into a low rumble.

“This is why I implore you to bring my latest ointment. There are but a few of them—”

“The Senju do not climb upon the Grandfather Summit to entertain prisoners. Should a warrior of the Uchiha sustain a fatal blow, he should take it upon himself to give his life in a suicide attack. It should be an honor for the final act of a soldier to be making his enemy pay.” He rose to his full height from his leaning position, glancing from the trays of herbs to the pile of pills on the counter. “Are these all you have crafted?”

“There are several more jars in storage. The herbs consist of a standard selection for minor wounds… for the journey home, of course.”

“Very good.” Madara nodded, not sparing you a second glance as he exited.

You wouldn’t see him again until the battalion departed. After a few short days of preparation, the gathering of some of Uchiha’s best warriors and other volunteers left before daybreak. You watched them go from the porch of your apothecary. Madara led them out of the compound, donning his infamous red battle armor and gunbai. Izuna followed close next to his brother. He didn’t look back at you either.

There was much fanfare, but it was soon over, and the Uchiha compound was left in peaceful stillness.

You busied yourself with foraging in the woods near the compound, enjoying the time you were left undisturbed. The doors and windows to your apothecary remained open so you could enjoy the cool summer air. Despite the sun, which shone brightly overhead, the temperature remained comfortable.

Something about the stillness didn’t feel right.

***

The Uchiha never made it to the northern shoulder.

The Senju made their approach toward the Crown, and both clans clashed on the rocky terrain that plateaued between the two summits as you tended to your garden at home. Madara and Hashirama engaged in combat, as they had for years, clearing out a massive section of the battlefield for their duel. The blistering heat from the sun beat down on the unforgiving field, leaving little but hot stone and wilted grass.

Not a far distance away, Tobirama’s sword clashed with Izuna’s. Their weapons crossed, shaking with the sheer force of their strikes as the two came face to face. Izuna flashed his sharingan, the deadly crimson pattern swirling to life in the heat of battle. Tobirama quickly closed his eyes, and Izuna used the opportunity to strike.

Tobirama tumbled back, slamming his back against a nearby boulder. A strangled noise tore from his throat at the impact. He wasted little time readying his hand signs, completing his jutsu before his eyes reopened in time to counter Izuna’s great fireball jutsu.

Steam filled the battlefield.

Not one to underestimate his life-long rival, Izuna held the reds of his irises at the ready, scanning the rock for signs of movement. Kunai flew toward him from the front. He hummed to himself, unamused at the feeble attempt.

And for a moment, he considered himself blessed to have been blessed with the sharingan eye.

“Flying Raijin Slice!”

At home, one of your flower pots fell from the railing on the apothecary patio. The sound of shattering clay startled a flock of crows, which flew overhead from a gathering of nearby trees. You stood just at the top of the wooden steps, staring down at the pile of shards, dirt, and upheaved roots.

You could feel it.

Something was terribly wrong.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: The last chapter, this one, and perhaps part of the next are a bit Uchiha-centric in order to set up for what I have planned. You know, I didn't even intend for Madara to have this much of an impact on the story nor did I even consider writing any Izuna, but here we are... I knew I had to kill him before I posted this.

Sorry for keeping everyone waiting. It's been really cool seeing the Foul Creature notifications roll in all the time. Especially when it's someone starting from Chapter 1. Always feel free to chat; I know my posts are few and far between.

@gracefulbumblebee @norasincubi @rahatake

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII

#Tobirama x reader #Madara x reader #izuna x reader #naruto x reader #naruto reader insert #naruto #naruto fanfic #naruto fanfiction #izuna uchiha #madara uchiha #hashirama senju #tobirama senju #x reader #x you #reader insert #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #x naruto #fic: foul creature

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shysuccubusstuff · 2 days

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obssessed! childe pt. 1

Content: Female anatomy, obssession, dubcon (the reader does love Childe, and Childe loves reader, I just love writing yandere males).

Note: The potion that Childe uses is more like a "tell the truth potion", meaning the person will act/say whatever they actually think abt the person, if they do not say it they will start to feel light/mild effects, these effects vary from each person.

Note 2: I was planning on doing a single part but the text was getting too long and I've been cooking this for way too much time cause i have no time to write...

I don't think you are able to understand the surprise Childe felt when he arrived to Inazuma, all with the objective of analyzing a little the situation of Inazuma (while also keeping an eye on Scaramouche), just a small and fast trip, then he would be able to go back to Snezhnaya, rest a little while waiting for the next quest given by the Tsaritsa. While at his stay, he found the different posters that talked about the rock festival that was being planned, and despite this did not catch his interest at first, he received some letters from the Tsaritsa, explaining to him how this would be a good opportunity to check how the people of Inazuma actually felt after the whole "now-we-are-mostly-free" situation. So he agreed, waiting patiently until the even finally took place, he decided to take a walk around Inazuma, just checking the different restaurants and small stalls that were sitting around the streets. He was checking some of the newest items added to the menu when he saw something, well, more like someone. There you were, as pretty as he remembered, you hair shinning thanks to the sun rays that were falling on top of your head. You were smiling...maybe more like laughing, which made you even prettier to be honest. While he stood there, menu still in his hand, he noticed another person, a huge man with long white hair, marks all over his body, he seemed to be quite strong, but taking into account that there was a huge ball of some kind of dessert in front of his feet, he did not seem to be the most brilliant persons that you had been able to meet. While analyzing this man, you suddenly hit him on his shoulder, your body being unable to keep still due to the huge laugh that you were trying to contain (this was useless, as you can see). He threw out what was left of the dessert and started to tickle you, making your own dessert fall to the floor. Now, what the heck was up with that? You barely allowed him to touch you, always saying "Childe, I still don't trust you fully" but a completely new man was able to do so? Yeah, he may have tried to drown you (and the whole city of Liyue) but weren't you being unfair? He stated his reasons and tried to be as kind as possible, giving you as much money as you wanted and even talking to his family about you (the pretty traveller with a fierce heart and a great attitute) but while he was doing that you went around meeting new men?

He quickly left the menu somewhere around the stall, going to where you stanted in a fast pace, but just as he was about to snap at the random man he composed himself, his friendly (yet dangerous) smile was back in his lips, he suddenly put one of his hands on your shoulder, causing you to suddenly jump. The other man slowly stopped, his red eyes looking to his blue eyes, even the expression that was in his face made him look like a complete dork, you changed him for some dull white-haired man? He may not be the most sane person, and yes, he may have a little problem with fighting you, but didn't you two have something? God, he was starting to get furious once again, but he kept the act, face as cool as a cucumber and a relaxed body language. "Hey traveller, long time no see, how have you been?" He only kept his eyes fixated on you, ignoring the existance of Itto for a moment. "I've been missing you like crazy, Teucer has been asking me about you and he was so sad that we have not been able to meet for such a long time!" Your expression got a little ankward, you knew Childe was doing it on purpose, turning his back while not allowing him to enter the conversation. "Oh hey... I didn't know you were going to come here to Inazuma, I've been fine, I was able to make some good friends here in Inazuma, this is Itto, he is the best at onikabuto fights!" Itto seemed to pump his chest, probably full of proud as for that... achivement? Childe smiled, the vein at his neck still pumped, cause what did he expect when he left you alone? All those dirty men probably tried to get to your pretty head with their dumb tactics, yeah, this dude may seem more innocent, but of course he was just like all the others.

Once again, he tried to compose himself, carefully getting his hand around your waist, Itto's eyes did notice, and as he felt how the pressure was getting bigger, he suddenly shifted his eyes, looking at some vague point. "Oh uhm... I forgot I just have this meeting... yeah, the one with the gang you know? Oh shoot, how could I forget? I gotta get going, see ya around compadre!" Itto left like the wind, running as fast as possible to get further away from that strange man who kept looking at him like some kind of prey.

"Oh, lady, why did your friend leave? I was about to invite him to some of the most beautiful places I was able to find... But I would first invite you to the great cuisine at some of the restaurants from Inazuma!" Childe smiled brightly, his enemy was no longer at sight, so of course he should try to keep his act of the "good guy". So he did, he invited to Inazuma's cuisine, even being so good as to get up himself and bringing your food to the table, even adding a special potion created in Mondstadt and carefully mixing it between your food. As he did not enjoy some unfair sparring, he did mix that potion with his own food, after all, if it did have some kind of harmful effects he should also be the one facing them. "Sorry for taking so long, I found some issues with the plate, so I had to ask them to change it!" He carefully explained, leaving each of the plates in the sides, together with the rest of plates that had already been served, just when you finally took a bite of all the food was he finally happy, smile shining as bright as the sun. When the dinner finally ended, he carefully took your hand, leading to the residence that you had been staying at, it was quite old for his liking, but he did find it enchanting, it was the place where you slept after all.

It took him some time to get you to bed, as the potion only seemed to make you drunk in some way body hot and tembling hands. He carefully laid you in bed, tucking you in with a lot of care and leaving a soft kiss on your forehead. He was kind of dissapointed with the drink, but he supposed that this was better than having some bad reaction to it. Just as he was about to leave the bedroom and head to his hotel, he felt a soft pull, your hand was around his wrist, your eyes looked just like a puppy, begging for him to not leave. At first he was quite hesitant, you were not in your right mind, and despite how much he would love to give you the thing you begged so much, he did have some moral compass. But your pretty eyes were melting him, and the sweet things that were leaving your lips did not help him either, so he gave in.

His body starting to burn up, was it because of the potion? It seemed that the potion did have a slower effect in him, as he was ok just a few minutes ago. His mind was starting to get a little fuzzy, so he slowly laid on bed, allowing you to get on top of him. "Ojou-chan...never did I think I would be able to have such a beautiful woman on top of me, not only beautiful, but a woman strong enough to defeat me..." His cocky smile on his lip only caused you to feel even stronger the urge to shut him up with a kiss, so you did, lips on top of each other and hands all over his body, playful hands going under his shirt, body hot to the touch due to the hot temperature of Inazuma at that time. "Aren't you been a little too cocky, lady?" You smile, still being completely under the effects of the potion. You pull away from him, looking at his flusthered face and getting closer to him, bitting and kissing his neck and hearing him let some breathy moans out of his pretty lips. "I'm trying to go easy on you, lady... But you have seen to learn some pretty mischiveous tactics while we were far apart..." He still had that cocky expression, even despite the fact that he was in a much worse state than you. He once again smiled, carefully putting his hands around your hips and massaging that place. He slowly kissed your face, peppering soft lips all around your cheeks and nose. "You're so naughty today, traveller..." Despite his lustful eyes, he kept treating you soft, something completely opposite to how he usually acted, all high and confident, being unafraid of being too rough when you fought each other. Childe's hands slowly moved upwards, pulling out the soft clothes that were covering your body, your skin shinning thanks to the moonlight that entered through the window in the room. "You're so pretty... so so pretty... I wish I could just hide you in my pocket,,, I want my family to meet you as soon as possible..." He kept peppering kisses all over your body, from your shoulders to your tummy, what was up with him? "Ajax... what is going on?..." He simply looked at you like a small puppy, kissing your lips and giving no answer to your question. He slowly got rid of his own clothes, leaving both of you completely naked, slowly analyzing all and each of your gaps and pretty features.

"I'm sorry, lady... I am at my limit and I don't think I can keep much longer... didn't think that the stuff that that damn old man gave me would be so strong..." The creepy face of the other member of the Fatuis almost caused him to flinch, but he just chose to focus on the moment, lowkey thanking him for the chance of such a "dashing" encounter with his dear rival (lover as well).

#childe #genshin smut #smut #ajax x reader #x reader #fanfic #genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #tartaglia #genshin #childe tartaglia ajax #fanfiction #genshin x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin imagines

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memoiich · 2 days

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Obi wan Headcanons my lord? feed the poor

God, I have a lot of them .I'm going to split this up in a few parts just because it makes sense . Strap in !!!

Part 0: baby obi wan

His parents noticed that he was a surprisingly bright child, and since they were farmers from stewjon, they weren’t well off. When they had their second child (a son) they brought obi wan to a near by testing unit on the neighbour planet Klommet , in hopes of giving both him and his brother a better chance at survival.

Obi wan was tested at the age 1 and a half. He was clearly gifted but nothing special.

He used to cry a lot when he first got to the jedi temple. Most jedi got rather annoyed at the younglings crying, except one ,qui gon jin .

Qui gon voluntured a lot at the creshe , he believed that crying children needed confort not a lecture. Obi wan got attached to qui gon rather quickly as a 2 year old ( qui gon looks a bit like his late dad)

As he grew up , he got along well with the other children and formed close friendships with them ( po ,kit ,quinlan) . Seeing this, qui gon went back to helping the new kids.

Part 1 : padawan years

Obi wan is rather talented at most things, not on a “ WOW YOU’RE THE BEST “ way but more like a “…that shouldn’t go so easily “ . He picks things up quickly, which causes him to be rather inpatient. Not impulsive, he doesn’t rush he simply hates waiting. That's why he hates meditating. He doesn’t understand it.

He doesn’t know it but when discussing who would get which apprentice , his name fell quite a few times . Obi wan likes to learn and so many suspect that he would be a nice well behaved padawan.

He was so happy when they informed him that qui gon would be his master . Qui gon had always stood out as the nicest jedi , not that the others weren’t but he had seemed to understand obi wan a bit more.

The first thing qui gon asked of him was to meditate. Obi wan started stressing immediately, and it went pretty bad in the beginning. Qui gon thought it was hilarious how quickly he was distracted. “ the wall paper does not need your attention right now “ he would quip or “ breathe through your nose and dont rush it” . It took obi Wan's a year to truly be able to meditate properly.

Luckily time wasn’t wasted because his fight skills and knowledge were unmatched.

Piloting took some getting used to. Not only was he scared of heights , but he also wasn’t a fan of rollercoasters. Qui gon always noted how slow he was . “ If you keep flying like this, we won't get there before im 60 “ or “ we can always walk , it might be faster” . But his master did help him, he would go to more desserted planets with obi wan . The planets that even if he would fly faster, he couldn’t hit anything . Obi wan got his red piloting bead 5 months later with the promise to let go a little.

He picks up quickly with missions , like i said he’s a natural . His first mission was a bit stressful but after that hes pretty much set . Also when they get back to their ship , qui gon cooks a home cooked meal because hes not going to let obi wan live on war rashens and blue milk.

He also teaches him how to cook

Obi wan starts feeling a bit quilty because he starts thinking of qui gon as his dad since well he is a little. But the jedi code says no attachments and he will follow that . Until he has a nervous breakdown because if qui gon is a jedi master that follows the jedi code he probably doesn’t care about him , he ends up getting in quite a lot of danger on a mission because of this . When he confesses to qui gon why he did all that he doesn’t respond,he just pulls his padawan into a hug . “ you are my kid obi wan “

When he turns 20 , he starts to really push qui gonn to let him take his trials. He just wants to be a jedi master.

That all changes a bit when he meets the dutches of mandelore Satine . He falls inlove quickly but he’s a real coward about it ( Satine notices) . Satine ends up pulling him into a kiss 2 months later at a gala she had to attend. They had a night together……

Qui gonn knows 100% . He finds it hilarious how his bumbling fool of a padawan got himsel into this mess . He prepares for the inevitable “ im leaving the order “ not that he wants him to . Obi wan is just that kinda kid .

When he sees obi wan the next morning, he looks like he cried acts rather somber and asks when they are leaving . Qui gon figures out what happened but doesn’t say anything. They leave and he gives him some space .

For the next 2 years it all goes smoothly until…

Part 2: early Anakin years

Obi wan isn’t too happy with the orphan. They are on a dangerous mission in the middle of who knows where with the queen of a planet that’s about to die . And now they have Ani , he wasn't going to lie it was a sweet child . But why now.

Obi wan has a quiet panic attack when qui gon says he will take anakin as his apprentice . He doesn’t feel ready to take the trials since his self esteem plummeted a bit after the Satine debacle and no one helped him take care of that ( fuck the jedi council) .

During the flight back to Naboo, padme went to her room and qui gon had a call with the council, leaving obi Wan to babysit ani . The child would yap non stop “ Did you make your own lightsaber?” “Yes” “can i hold it?” “No” “ when do i get mine?” “ When you're ready” “ but i am ready” “ no you’re not “ “yes i am “ “ no you’re not “ “ Did you choose THAT color?” “ Yes, i did” “ It's kinda ugly” “…” . A true test of patience but strangly lovable.

About 2 hours later was when the child fell asleep next to obi Wan . Anakin was still shivering , tattooine was a warm planet, something the ship heaters couldn’t compete with. Obi wan draped his long outer coat over the boy in hopes of giving him some warmth . Seeing the child peacefully asleep, Obi wan realised why his master liked him.

It took 48 hours to get to Naboo . It also took 48 hours for Obi wan to look at Anakin as his little brother.

When he first sees Maul he’s scared . He doesn’t want to be, but he simply is . Back in school him and his friends would joke about the sith and how cool it would be to defeat one . Right now , face to face with the first sith in ages , he’s horrified, and the red zebrak seems to kick on it

All he hears are the red force feels buzzing . He doesn’t hear his own scream or the blood dripping from his master . He feels an immense amount of pain, but the moment those shields lay down, he's up . He only focuses on gett to his master in time .And when he’s hanging in the hole , he snaps back into his jedi mind. The sith shows a new hubris, and he sees his chance. He wins

When qui gonn tells him his final wish , he can only lie to him . He doesn’t feel fit to be a master ,he might be the only jedi who pased the old trials ( to kill a sith ), but he feels like a fraud to weak to safe his master. Qui gon passes in his arms and obi wans let the tears fall.

He sees Anakin after he returns from his “trip” and he almost wants to cry again . Anakin looks so confused “ where’s qui gon ?” “ he passed away , anakin” The tears start to well in the little boys eyes, and all that obi can do is pull him into a hug .

The next weeks are quite hard , anakin becomes his padawan, and he becomes a jedi master. They attend qui gons' funeral, and anakins enters the academy since he needs to do both his padawan ship and the basic training. He is a bit pissy about it , but obi Wan cheers him up with home cooked meals .

They are not allowed to go on mission yet together just obi wan alone, and its extremely hard breaking to leave anakin alone .

When they are home together, obi wan pampers the little guy rotten. He brushes and braids anakins hair he buys him miniatuur planes in hopes of getting a better piolet than he is . He helps him with his homework, and he is just a total single dad .

When about a year has passed obi wan realised that he didn't know his birthday so he asked ani and he didn’t know either . They chose marche 5th because its a week from then and obi Wan can plan his birthday.Ani loved it.

Anakin doesn't make a lot of friends in school or anywhere. Which bothers obi Wan greatly , he thinks anakin is a great kid who can do no wrong. It all escalated when a child calls Anakin a slave ( obi wan does not know how they got here )

Obi wan threatens to destroy him to the boys face . He ends up crying, and Anakin isn’t bothered ever again. ( the jedi council was not happy )

And so it pretty much continues for a few years

Part 3: late anakin years

Anakin is now 20 years old, which is double the age he was when obi Wan met him .

Many people think that obi Wan is past his prime, but this man is absolutely ribbed. He has perfect physique, he’s just covered in robes and coats and stuff

He keeps extra kyber crystals around because Anakin keeps losing/breaking his lightsaber

Anakin requested black robes, and the council wouldn’t let him because of the association with the sith, and obi wan was like “ No , let my padawan express himself . Plus, I killed the last sith years ago “ so they let him because nothing is scarier than getting on obi wans' bad side

When they meet padmé again, obi Wan is almost laughing at how bad anakin is hiding his feelings for her . He also realises that he will have to talk to his padawn about it .

Obi wan gets a little stricter over the last year since anakin definitely doesn't think before he does anything

When the council decided to let Anakin go with Padme , he couldn't help but warn anakin once again. He reminds him of the problems that might occur or the heartbreak ( he's definitely not projecting)

When shmi dies, he tries his best to support anakin best he can . He doesn’t remember his parents, but he assumes it's like losing Qui gon, so he does everything he needed back then . Home cooked meals ,hugs ,pep talks, pulling him out of mission….

He noticed from the moment they set foot into the arena that they were together. On the one hand, he was extremely nervous about it, and on the other, he was a bit proud of his boy.

ALSO, he gets that shiver down his spine because he realises that qui gon knew about him and Satine, and he's a bit embarrassed about it .

He doesn't tell it to anakin because just like his master he thinks that it might be better to give them space .

He gets really offended that he wasn't invited to the wedding. He knows it was supposed to be undercover, but please

Padme and anakin will sometimes invite him for dinner as if they aren't dating, and he truly enjoys those evenings together.

He likes padme immensely . She helps to calm anakin down, and she's all around a great person .

She's also the first out of her and anakin to realise that obi Wan knows . Sadly, this happens after the wedding, so now it's like a shared secret.

Now that anakin left the nest , he gets to enjoy hobbies. He starts experimenting with cooking until Kit , Quinlan and Po are so done with it that they start ordering out . Then he gets a pet a feathered veractyle he names boga , when the planet he’s visiting allows it she will be his transport . He also keeps a variety of plants ( they remind him of qui gon) and books .he collects golden trinkets. Anakin jokes that it all goes against the jedi code, but he likes it .

HE ALSO LOVES TO GOSSIP with his clones anakin padme kit po anyone that wants to listen.

Talking about his clones , he loves them dearly not as much as anakin but like coby is one of his closest friends.

212 has tried to give him nicknames before, but it never sticks , they do like saying the negotiator in funny voices .

Obi wan thinks that his clones are the best clones, but it seems that every jedi thinks that.

He is now a jedi council member, and he still has that off feeling that he doesn’t deserve it . His ideas dont link with the others, and he feels that he doesn't have a lot of influence on it . Qui gon was never part of it, and he understands why more and more. He loves being a jedi master but kinda hates the council.

That also makes it really hard for him to help Anakin with his dissatisfaction with his position rn . Being on the council but not a master feels like the worst-case scenario, but he has to help anakin not be pissy, so he does . It is a great honor to be on the council.

He didn't know about padmé being pregnant. So he just thought anakin was so stressed out about his career and the jedi order . After everything happened as it did , he felt that he didn’t support anakin correctly.

Obi wan objected when they wanted anakin to spy on Palpetine . He doesn’t want his boy near any danger and definitely not in the front line . He yells and fights for it until it goes to a vote, just as his seat on the council, obi Wan would leave the council immediately if it meant that Anakin was 100% safe . In the end , the vote goes for the spying and obi wans demands to tell anakin himself. It doesn’t go well, obi Wan feels like he's betraying his brother.

In the coming weeks, he will see the loveable orphan of tatooine change to a traumatized war veteran, and he's not happy about it. He tries to calm him down and speak to him just like he did when shmi died . Sadly, this time, it doesn’t seem to work.

When his clones betray him , he feels fear for the first time since the deul of the faiths . Not only is he in danger, but they are in danger , anakin might be in danger . He feels his life falling from betw his fingers . Boga and some of his dear clones die when he gets back to his ship . He calls to anakin, but he doesn’t pick up . He flies to the temple.

When yoda and him visit the temple, dread fills his mind. He still didn’t receive anything from anakin and was really worried about it . They see the temple lithered with death children, and all he sees are small Anakin's death on the floor . Then they see the footage of the night before, and the world falls beneath him . Anakin is a murderer, a sith, and still his brother . Obi wan chooses to go alone to face him ….

{that one deleted scene }

The deul with anakin is the worst moment of his life. Nothing compares to it . He tries to enter with an open mind and the little voice in the back of his mind telling him to redeem anakin . Sadly hes to far gone. The deul ends with his dying friend near the fire , obi wans whole life in pieces and a almost death padme.

The birth of Luke and leia is a small piece of hope, but padmé passes away . Obi wan has no one anymore.

He's extremely happy with the organas asking to adopt leia, and he himself asks to adopt Luke, but that did not happen because of the circumstances. If the sith starts hunting jedi , Obi wan will be at the top of the list

In the end, he lives near Luke until he grows to be a jedi .

He tries to meditate, but his bond to the force is pretty much broken .

Part 4: obi wan alone

Since moving to Tatooine, he has got some new dreams . He gets flashbacks to his childhood before being a jedi, but the worst once are the anakin once . They all start the same , meeting ani quick flashes through their years together and then Mustafar .

He believes that he killed anakin and that he burnt to death .

He has mixed feelings towards his actions. On the one hand, he as a jedi had to kill him, but as his brother, he is simply broken.

He doesn’t think of himself as a jedi anymore. Over the years, he has come to question the jedi order . For how they treated anakin and ahsoka even padme . He promised to himself that he wouldn’t teach Luke to throw away his emotions.

When darth maul shows up on tattooin, he's in some strange way. Sorry for him . They were both just children raised for war , he wished partly that they could have got Maul out before Naboo or that he wouldn’t hold the anger he had towards him for the death of his father . He took a deep breath and let it go . In the end, Maul died in his arms , the same way he had hoped he would have pulled anakin up after their duel.

He tries to meditate again in hopes of connecting to qui gons' spirit or anakins . He hopes to apologise to anakin to pet his hair and tell him it's alright to get one last evening diner with padmé and Anakin . From qui gon, he just wants comfort a long hug or a smile that shows him he’s proud of his padawan, even a home cooked meal .

He starts working as a butcher for sand whales . In the beginning, he used to walk there, but then lars pointed out that that was really suspicious for the other people in town . So he went shopping for a transport that was nice and easy to maintain . That's how he ends up with his eopie Akkani .

Akkani is a bit of a lazy animal , she just wants to eat and walk and eat again. He's happy he has a pet, tho because he gets a bit lonely.

He keeps all of his jedi things in a chest in his gave , including his own lightsaber and 2 sets of beads . One set is his own padawan braid beads, and the other are anakins . He also has some other stuff such as qui gon' s old kitchen knife and some pictures of his clones scrabs of r2d2 when he needed repairs a feather of boga some model airplanes anakin used to play with and so on. ( NO BURYING IN THE DESSERT I HATE THAT)

He really wants to train Luke, but Lars won’t let him . Which hurts obi Wan a lot . He wouldn’t push Luke to be a soldier like the once before , he would connect him to the force just like qui gon wanted with Anakin .

That's why he started reading up on the ancient scripts about the jedi . He loves the Yawa sellers just because he can buy his books without the empire noticing.

He will wait forever in hopes of setting the universe back to balance for the mistake he made on Mustafar.

This took so long and its not even all of it .( i left out the kenobi series because i didn’t want to rewrite it and i couldn’t figure out how to add to it without rewriting it srry)

Also i wrote a little obi wan reacting to ahsoka being Anakins padawn not that long ago ( link below )

And i left his later relationship with satine and maul out because it might be a bit long . If you want that you can always ask in my requests ( i do have some thoughts about those)

#this took so long #im fighting demons #writer block #star wars #obi wan kenobi #darth maul #help #writing #headcanon #yippee #qui gon jinn #qui gon and obi wan #anakin skywalker #anakin and obi wan #obi wan x reader #obi wan x you

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prettysweetprettysweet · 2 months

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boy there is so much to unpack based on what Karan's sister said to her mom about how Karan was raised. its so crazy that his parents reinforced what they valued and what they didn't value by withholding reactions/not engaging with Karan if they didn't like or approve of what he was doing (and up until the present part of the story, didn't think this was harmful??). i don't know if the writers meant for it to be so profoundly sad, but the thought of a queer child who already felt deeply conflicted about his identity trying to express himself, find out who he is, and share his excitement about cool things he finds in the world only to get nothing from his caretakers to acknowledge it is heartbreaking. his flames burned out because he was doing it in a cold empty vacuum. she said he would pursue those things until it "got boring" but really what that means is he pursued those things/expressed himself in certain ways until the lack of interaction from his parents made him feel so insecure, self-conscious, and lonely that he phased it out. and then when he started getting engagement from his parents again, he would internalize that he shouldn't go where his instincts/pleasures/interests guide him because they're the makeup of an unacceptable person.

so Karan's historical self-deprecation in regards to his queerness and his uncontrollable, tear-filled reaction to hearing his mother indicate that she does want to support and engage with he and Achi, makes all the sense in the world. when he confessed his feelings to Achi he apologized multiple times essentially for letting the real Karan take over and control what his brain and heart were doing, ruining things between them. i love that Achi's immediate reaction to that was "you're sorry???" because its so bewildering that Karan would apologize for being himself, feeling his feelings, or thinking his thoughts. but he has been trained his whole life not to indulge or engage with his authentic self, so he feels like a failure when he does. he built his life around models of perfection and ways of carrying himself that were molded by other people.

Karan asking his mother "are you disappointed" that I'm gay/in love with a man really gets to the heart of it. like, if his mother had a choice, if his mother had the ability to change things about her son to fit her image of a better person, what parts of Karan would she remove or swap out? this is something he has had to consider, if not on a conscious level then definitely on a subconscious one, for his whole life: what parts of me are scraps, what parts of me are unwanted?

its such a relief that Achi stated that for him, caring for Karan means supporting him in doing the things that he likes and that bring him pleasure (like cooking and spending money on things that he and Achi can do together). Karan had asked Achi to "bear with" him but its clear that Achi isn't bearing anything. Achi takes pride in his charge of caring for Karan -- and helping him indulge his wants, abandon the constant grind for perfection, and reconnect with himself is a huge part of that.

#karan crying after hearing his mom's change of heart and asking about disappointment is so rough #bc the unfortunate truth is that for a lot of queer ppl -the answer from their parent is 'yes' even if they can't say it out loud.#and if they were able to change that part of their child - they would #cherry magic #cherry magic thailand #cherry magic th #yo mismo

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nanaslutt · 6 months

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What do u think of Gojo begging you to give him a handjob and promising he wont cum during NNN but surprise surprise he fails so u ruin his orgasm 🤯

I think YES???? this was insanely fun to write, tysm for the ask nonnie<33

tell me why i forgot nnn was a thing LOLLL

contains: fem reader, crack, handjobs, whiney!satoru, established relationship, cumming handsfree, ruined orgasm, failed edging, begging, gojo calls you 'ma'am ' once as a joke, 'baby' and 'princess' used for reader

2k words :p

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

"Baby pleeeeease." gojo whines, laying his head on your knees from where he sits between your legs on the carpeted floor,

"Satoru, you were just begging me last month to not let you cum during November no matter what." you sighed, he does this every year, making you swear up and down that you'll hold him accountable and not let him lose NNN, hearing from geto that if you last the whole month, the orgasm on December first was mind-numbing

of course, he wouldn't know, becasue every year he came crawling to you about how stupid this challenge was, barely a week into the challenge, and he was dragging you to the nearest surface and fucking you against it, filling your guts with his cum,

but not this time, miraculously he had held out this long, only eight days before the challenge was over. he of course had you to thank for thank, deep down you knew he really did want to complete this challenge, and thats why he was so insistant every time the dreaded month came around.

but Satoru was a slut for pleasure, especially for the kind of pleasure he got from you. Whether it was your hands, mouth, cunt, he could get off using any part of your body and he would be the happiest man on earth

"I won't cum, swear, just miss your hands on me baby pleeeease," he practically cried, hugging onto your knees, turning his face into your skin whining and groaning like a spoiled child,

"Toru, you and I both know you do not have enough self-restraint to just edge yourself," knowing him better than himself

together, you guys have tried edging, Satoru never being able to make it past the first time you stopped right before he came, once again saying how stupid this was, quickly fucking his cock back into you and bringing himself to the brink of orgasm using your body, cumming with no restraint, even though he was once again the one who brought the idea to you,

"I'm starting to think you might have commitment issues," you mumble under your breath, his fake cries and obnoxious pouting pulling you out of your thoughts, phone dropping by your side, looking down at him with a huff,

"Please, all you gotta do is rub my cock a little, just for a second please," he drags out the please once more, lip sticking out in a pout as he looks up through his snowy lashes at you, "jus wanna feel you please, it's been so long, need it, baby, please."

shutting your eyes and sighing once again, unable to deny him any longer with him being so persistent, especially when he asks you so nicely, looking up at you with those beautiful eyes of his,

"oh my goddd Satoru, okay, fine." you shake your head, slapping your hand over your face, and he perks up, immediately abandoning his spoiled rich kid act, leaving fat kisses all over your knees, "yes yes yes thank you, baby, promise I won't let you down,"

he stands up and you peek through the cracks in your fingers, hand still on your face and your jaw practically drops at the sight, he is already sporting a huge tent in the crotch of his grey sweats, smile stretching from ear to ear while he looks down at you,

"you're already hard?" you exclaim, disbelief plastered on your face, "feelin' on ur legs made me hard," he says nonchalantly, the expression on your face not changing, "now up you go!" leaning down he scoops you up from under your arms and throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, "woah! toru!" you exclaim, caught off guard as he takes long strides to your bedroom

strong hold on the underside of your knees as he hums, making his way through the hallway, finally reaching his destination and plopping you down in front of him on the hard floor, "how do ya want me your majesty?" he smirks, hands in his pockets waiting for your direction, "jus' go lay down on the bed you freak," pushing his solid chest back towards the king mattress,

putting on a show as he faux stumbles backward, flopping back on the bed, fluffy white hair on the pillows, putting one hand behind his head, the other coming down to rub himself over his sweats, "don't leave me waiting princess" biting his lip, lips corners of his lips curling up into a flirty smile,

"stop fucking touching yourself," you sigh, "gonna cum before I even get my hands on you." You're feeling undeniably aroused yourself, you and Gojo have a very active sex life, never going weeks without touching each other unless he is away on a mission. since he made quite the effort with the challenge this time around (largely thanks to you) you've been feeling pretty antsy, participation in the challenge yourself as a way of supporting him,

though there's no real pressure on you, if you wanted you could rub one out at any time. the only downside is that getting off on your own never felt as good as it did with Satoru,

he whistles, giving himself one last grope before his heavy hand joins the other behind his head, "yes ma'am" he says slightly teasing tone lacing his voice,

you crawled on top of him, resting your ass right above his knees, "remember Satoru, you're not going to cu-" he cuts you off, waving his hand in front of you, rolling his eyes, "yeah yeah, not gunna cum, I got it," he says snarkily, a little too snarky for someone who was quite literally on his knees begging you to touch his stupid cock, but you digress,

narrowing your eyes at him before sliding your slender fingers over his upper thighs, over his hips, teasing his lower stomach, barely grazing his twitching clothed cock on the way back down, repeating the process a couple of times, sometimes opting to skip over running your fingers over his cock altogether

his jaw is slightly slack, watching your hands intently, "cmon, don't be a tease baby," he sighs, pushing his hips off the bed towards you, "You're in no place to make demands right now," staring into his intimidating eyes challengingly,

he bites his lip, shutting his mouth, awaiting your move, pushing his shirt up, resting right under his pecs as you tease your fingers on the short white hairs of his happy trail, right above the hem of his pants,

smile now off his face, looking concentrated as he bites his lip harshly, eyes darting back between your fingers and pretty face, looking so concentrated on what you were doing,

your cunt was aching to feel him inside you, trying to push your own needs out of your brain, feeling nearly impossible as you exposed more and more of his happy trail the more you teased down his pelvis,

finally grabbing the fabric of his pants and sliding them down his incredibly toned thighs, he lifted his hips, aiding you in undressing him, his breathing started to pick up when you looked closely at his cock straining under his boxers

staring at a dark spot where his pre was leaking from his tip under his briefs, trying not to roll your eyes back when he made his cock jump. taking your index finger and rubbing it on the wet patch on the head of his dick, drawing little circles around it, his breath hitching, breathing picking up slightly watching you pull your finger back slowly, a string of cum connecting the two of you,

giving his boxers the same treatment, slipping your fingers underneath the hem and sliding them down, his hips raising again to make your job easier, and he's grinning so hard when your jaw drops open, watching his flushed cock slap back against his tummy, flexing the appendage again, putting on a show for you,

"your cock is so pretty Toru," you marvel, squeezing your thighs together so you can focus on the task at hand, "ur leaking so much," finger tapping his angry head a couple of times, proving your point as the cum makes little 'plap' 'plap' sounds when your finger comes in contact with him,

"There's so much it looks like you already came," you tease, finally wrapping your hand around his warm tip, hips leaving the bed once more to slide into your hand, "hips on the bed please Satoru," you correct, muscles in his thighs and abs flexing as you feel him connect his ankles together behind you,

starting to give him steady shallow pumps and his jaw is slack, eyes rolling back when you twist your wrist over the head of his neglected dick, "fuuuuck baby, just what I needed," he breathily laughs out a smile, "a little faster please," he requests, both hands leaving their place behind his head to grip the sheets by his sides,

"let me know when you feel close," you instruct, waiting to see him nod in acknowledgment before pumping your hand a little faster, sliding effortlessly up and down his cock with vulgar wet sounds thanks to his leaky cock,

"yesyesyes s-shit, squeeze harder," breaths entering and leaving his lungs rapidly as he tips his head back into the pillows, when you follow his instructions he lets out a long groan, abs clenching more frequently, your body jolting a bit every time he fidgeted his legs around the sheets behind you,

breathing heavily yourself, free hand coming down to press against the heat between your thighs, a temporary relief as you tried to memorize his every reaction he gives you,

"you close Satoru?" you question, noticing his breath come in shorter pants, warm cock twitching and straining against your hands, his thighs. tensing and unsensing more frequently, all telltale signs of his impending orgasm, "I asked you a question," you emphasized with a strong squeeze at the base of his lengthy cock, "n-no, not close yet, promise," he bites his lip, keeping his eyes screwed shut, sheets between his fingers practically ripping before you continue,

choosing to believe him you keep up the previous pace, squeezing your fingers tight around the tip of his cock on the downstroke and that's when you notice one of his hands abandoning his grip on the poor sheets to cover his mouth, his moans reaching a crescendo, and you know exactly whats happening

He's going to cum, and he lied to you about it

jerking your hand up his cock once more before you let go completely, anticipating his moves when he shoots his head up, hands reaching for his cock and you catch his wrists, pining them above his head, if he had half a mind he would break out of your grip with ease, but he was milliseconds from cumming, not having his usual strength coursing through his body,

"no! Nononono," he's protesting when his back arches, curling in on itself, legs thrashing under your weight as his cock dribbles out long spurts of cum, twitching and throbbing with every string, "Fuuuuck nooo, no, ughhh," he groans at you for ruining his orgasm, whole body twitching,

dick starting to soften in his own mess against his lower abs,

"you seriously thought you were gonna get away with that? you asked in an incredulous tone, hes pouting, letting out a long groan of your name before tipping his head forward and making eye contact with you,

"That was sooo mean" he pouts, "ive been saving that load..." he whines out, cock still twitching in the aftershocks,

"what was mean, is when I asked if you were gonna cum and you lied straight to my face," you spat, laughing in disbelief, swinging your legs off his torso while his eyes follow your figure, watching you wipe your hands using a tissue from the box you keep on the bedside table, he groans out your name again, "I'm sorryyyy, was feeling sooo good," he tries to justify

giving him a look that screams are you actually serious right now, as you start towards the door, "sounds like you need a pussyban to me," you deadpan, walking through the doorframe out into the hallway,

"WOAH!! woah, woahwoahwoah," practically teleporting his feet on the floor, hastily pulling up his pants as he chases you out of the room, hot on your trail, "baby! baby, haha, let's not do anything drastic now, kay?" he baffles in disbelief, worry laced in his voice.

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euphorajeon · 10 days

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trippin' over, gettin' lost on you | jjk (m)

— pairing: jk x f. reader

— genre: fluff, smut | college au, slight coffee shop au (?)

— word count: 12.4k

— warnings: pov change after the first part (its kinda obvious.. i hope), sleeveless jk, jealous jk, like really jealous, side character yoongi, cameo jimin and hoseok, they work tgt in a coffee shop, boxer!jk is back to his nature (he's boxing again, at last), cocky jk (but he's hot so its ok), usual banter between jk and oc, also banter between oc and jimin, mentions of cuts and bruises from boxing, references to the movie Real Steel, uhh what else i dont rmb anything else this thing is GIANT for me, smut in the form of: kissing, marking (hickeys), making out, an attempt at dirty talk, dry humping, cumming in pants, hint at unprotected penetrative sex at the end (don't do this!). [pls lmk if i missed smth]

— summary: a visit to the coffee shop you work at rewards jeongguk not only with a cup of coffee and a plate of brownie, but also with something else simmering deep in his veins. a challenge is issued, and all hell breaks loose.

— author's note: okay first of all full disclosure i started this in sept 2022 and just finished it today ^_^ i tried to edit it as best as i could, so if you see any mistakes, pls kindly... ignore... thank you... ^_^ that aside, i also feel the need to disclose that this is only my second time attempting to write smut so pls.. be kind.. hehe. okay! i hope you enjoy this absolute giant baby of mine!!

masterlist | boxer!gguk masterlist

There’s an advantage to knowing someone for years. Jeon Jeongguk can attest to this fact from first-hand experiences he’d had with you throughout the many years you both have known each other. He’s seen you cry after you almost drowned when you were ten and you’ve seen him throw up his breakfast after drinking skimmed milk when he was twelve, where both life-threatening experiences had been deemed not serious by young-you and young-Jeongguk who used both experiences as means to roast each other. (Though growing up, your hands automatically grabbed the whole milk carton when grocery shopping with him and he’s never let you go within a five-meter radius of a swimming pool without his supervision.)

Years of friendship with you has also given him the advantage of being familiar with your likes and dislikes, from trivial ones like how you don’t drink coffee because it upsets your stomach to more serious ones like the type of boys you would date in your teen years. He’s never had a problem with the former, instead using it as another mean to annoy you (“You can’t drink coffee? What are you? A child?”), but the latter had always bugged him for reasons unknown prior to his big epiphany a little over a year ago. (Spoiler alert: it was the first time he came home with piercings on his eyebrow and lower lip, when he tempted you into kissing him stupid.)

Now he’s confident that the type of a boy you’d date would be someone who is handsome, tall, has a great smile and tattooed bulging biceps on the side. Add a lip piercing (and a fake tongue one!) as well and he’s sure you’re never going to look at other boys ever again. If you do, well, he’d just make the piercing on his tongue a permanent one, even though that means he wouldn’t be able to kiss you for weeks after. But as said earlier, he’s confident that you only have eyes for him alone.

With that same confidence, Jeongguk struts through the glass door of the coffee shop you’re working at for the summer, going up to the counter with a grin painted on his features. Said grin goes unnoticed by you, though, as you’re busy taking the order of the person in front of him. His lips stay tilted upwards as he watches you work, writing the customer’s name on the cup with your big, round, cute handwriting. Only when you’re done taking the order and the customer’s cup has been given to your coworker do you notice his presence, eyes lighting up at the sight of him.

“Hi, what can I get you today?” you greet him in your customer-service voice and smile like you do any other customer that has come before him. Jeongguk gives you an amused smile, making you chuckle as you key in his order even before he says it himself. He eyes the small screen in front of him that displays his usual choice of beverage, making a sound to stop you from ringing him up.

“Actually,” he says when you hum in question, “could you add milk to that? Make it a latte?”

“You want a latte?” you emphasize the last word, making sure you didn’t hear him wrong. “Like, with milk and foam on top?”

“Uh-huh,” Jeongguk confirms, leaning his elbows on the counter to stare at you as you change his order from an americano to a latte. “Can I also order you on the side? Look too good not to be devoured,” he adds, a sleazy smirk on his lips.

You scrunch up your face at his innuendo, his words hard to believe when you’re wearing a murky brown apron and a matching cap on your head. “I’m adding a brownie,” you deadpan. “That would be seven dollars.”

“You don’t want anything?” Jeongguk asks as he straightens up, hand reaching for his wallet to take out his credit card. “No coffee though, babe.”

“Nope, I’m good,” you answer as you accept the card Jeongguk hands you, swiping it through the card reader. “Yoongi said I can try the new menu in large for free! I’m saving calories for that so no sugar allowed for now.”

His forehead creases upon hearing the new name. “Yoongi? Who’s Yoongi?”

“Him,” you tilt your head towards a mint-haired guy who’s busy making all the drinks, hands skillfully moving from one cup to another. It’s a wonder how he doesn’t spill even a drop of liquid. “I’ll introduce you later but now you have to move, there’s a line. Shoo.”

Jeongguk gives you a playful pout as a protest but complies with your request to move, sliding down to the pick up counter as you greet the next customer in line. There are two people lined up after him, barely a line like you made it sound like, but he figures because it’s an hour before closing that you consider any amount above one person a line. He also notices that you and the mint guy (Yoongi, was it?) are the only ones manning the counter, so it’s not like you have any spare time to deal with him given the amount of work that has to be done.

“An iced latte and brownie for Jeongguk!” Mint guy shouts as he slides the drink and dessert on the counter, lingering for a second when he sees Jeongguk’s hands reaching for his order. Mint guy’s gaze trails up his arms to his face, eyes meeting Jeongguk’s confused ones. Recognition bleeds into his cat-like eyes as his mouth forms into an O shape.

“Kiddo’s boyfriend?”

The low baritone of his voice is unexpected, though that’s not the only thing throwing Jeongguk for a loop. ‘Kiddo’? He has a nickname for you??

Mint guy—Yoongi!—doesn’t take his lack of response personally, instead opting to turn around and talk to you who have just finished taking orders from the customers. Jeongguk can’t hear what words you and Yoongi are throwing around, but from the way you glance at him, it looks like the mint-haired guy is just trying to confirm the answer to his two-worded question directed at Jeongguk earlier.

Your response to Yoongi’s inquiry makes the guy give you double pats on your cap-covered head, triggering a laugh to come out of both of you. While Yoongi’s laugh looks like he’s teasing you good-naturedly, yours looks like a shy one if the pink dusting your cheeks are any indication. It prompts a scowl to appear on Jeongguk’s handsome visage, furrowed brows and clenched jaw. It is not in your nature to get shy.

As much as he wants to stay rooted to the pick-up counter to keep you and Yoongi in his close watch, he has to move his ass somewhere less crowded to avoid getting eye-fucked by the girl next to him who has been staring at his tattoos for the past five minutes. Prior to dating you, anyone who displays interest in his tattoos would make pride swell in his chest, an ego-booster guaranteed to make his day a thousand times better. He used to subtly flex whenever he caught someone looking at his sleeve tattoos, an equally subtle wink on the side if that someone is a girl he found attractive. But after dating you, he realizes that the only attention he wants (and matters) is yours. Now anyone staring at his tattoos with the intention of flirting or getting in his pants just makes him shiver in disgust.

Though, in this particular instance, Jeongguk admits it’s his own fault by showing up to the coffee shop in a sleeveless shirt. It wasn’t intentional, he just grabbed anything within reach when he packed for the gym earlier in the day, but the way he left his hoodie in the car is definitely intentional. He thought he would give you a distraction surprise by baring his sleeve when you’re working, but you seemed unaffected even when he leaned on the counter to flex his muscles. Which is weird, considering you never missed any chance to ogle his inked bicep whenever he’s boxing.

As Jeongguk plops a small piece of brownie into his mouth, he just realizes that your roles are reversed now, with you doing your thing and him doing the staring. His eyes never leave your figure as you ring up three more customers since he sat down, transferring plastic cups onto Yoongi’s never-ending queue of orders. He watches as you take the last two cups by yourself, re-reading the order before moving to grab the ingredients needed for the drink. Your hands don’t work as fast as Yoongi’s, the muscle memory not yet settling in, but Jeongguk can tell that your help is appreciated by the way the mint guy smiles at you while patting your shoulder.

When the orders are all done, you go up to the glass door to flip the sign so it shows the Sorry, we’re closed! side. A glance at the clock tells him that it is thirty minutes until closing time, meaning thirty minutes until you can get out from behind the cashier and into his waiting arms. He hasn’t seen you all day today and all he wants to do is kiss you breathless the second you get rid of that horrendous apron and cap. Jeongguk starts counting down from the thirty-minute mark, hoping time would tick by faster.

Behind the counter, Yoongi is still busy making one more drink while refusing your offer to help. It’s weird seeing your kindness being offered to someone that isn’t him, but Jeongguk supposes this time it’s strictly work-related as he knows Yoongi has been making all the drinks (except the last two that you did) ever since he sat down with his order. Though, it seems like the drink in his hand is not an order at all, because he gives the plastic cup to you instead of putting it on the counter for a customer to take. There’s an almost childish grin on your face as you sip on the drink, eyes lighting up as you shoot Yoongi a thumbs up. After you exchange some more words with Yoongi, Jeongguk watches as you skip happily to his table with your drink in hand.

You place said drink next to his cup of latte on the table before your hand reaches for his drink to steal a sip. “I just have to clean up and wait for everyone to leave, then we’re good to go.” You steal two more sips of the latte just because you can.

“Okay, babe, but I still want my latte, you can put it down now,” Jeongguk chuckles, watching you do as he says with a guilty smile on your face. But then your hand takes the little spoon that came with the brownie to cut a sizable chunk from his half-eaten treat, quickly plopping it into your mouth. “Finish your brownie so I can take the plate away to wash it.”

“Are you just here to steal all of my food?” Jeongguk jokes, no menace behind his words as he reaches up to thumb away a stray piece of brownie from the corner of your lips. “And you said you didn’t want anything when I offered earlier.”

“I didn’t,” you confirm, “stealing from you is just too hard to resist.”

Jeongguk would’ve continued the banter if not for Yoongi calling your nickname from behind the counter, signalling for you to get back to your job.

“Boss calls,” you say, sneakily stuffing some more brownie into your mouth. “Should get back. Bye!”

“He’s your boss?” Jeongguk asks incredulously, glancing at the mint-haired guy who’s still busy moving around behind the counter. “That young guy is your boss??”

“Yeah, I’ll explain later,” you wave your hand dismissively, turning to leave. “Don’t steal my drink!”

In true Jeongguk fashion, of course he steals a sip from your drink. He does it just to be petty that you won’t explain anything about Yoongi, but he’s also curious what the new menu tastes like. He doesn’t remember seeing any banner for a new menu when he entered the shop earlier, so he’s guessing it hasn’t gone on sale yet.

He scrunches up his face the moment the drink touches his taste buds, tasting the bitterness of coffee among the layers of other flavors. It’s not as strong as the americano he usually has, but he can still feel it linger even after he swallowed the drink. Definitely not the type of drink you’d order on your own, though, so why were you so excited to try this new menu?

Looking around the shop, Jeongguk’s gaze falls on Yoongi. You did say he was your boss, didn’t you? Could it be that this free drink is just a plot to use you as a guinea pig for his experimental weird recipes, knowing that you can’t refuse your boss? Was that why he refused your help earlier? So he could make the drink taste as bizarre as it is right now?

His eyes continue following your and Yoongi’s figures behind the counter, squinting them in distaste whenever he sees you laughing at something the mint-haired guy said. Your smile, your lowered gaze, your shy demeanor, all remind him of a feeling he thought he had buried a long time ago—the same feeling he got whenever you got a boyfriend in your adolescent years. Suddenly, Jeongguk feels fifteen all over again—a clueless doe-eyed boy who donned t-shirts in every color of the rainbow every day of the week and strutted like he owned the school just so you can see that he was cool, only for you to deny him of a Sunday together.

Those years have become a core memory for him that it inspired him to get one of his tattoos: Rather be dead than cool, because he realized the way to your attention was not by being cool, it was by just being himself. (Yes, the ‘him’ who showed up unannounced at your doorstep after two years and ended the day with you on his lap stealing all the breath straight from his lungs.)

Anyways, all of that doesn’t matter because currently, your eyes are not on him but on your mint-haired boss who’s busy grinning while washing some equipment. Why are you both smiling so much around each other? Do you have some kind of inside joke that’s so funny you can’t stop laughing? What is so pleasing about Yoongi’s presence that you keep beaming at him?

Jeongguk chews the straw of your drink in anger, not realizing that he has inhaled almost half of the cup’s content despite claiming that he hates the taste. Sipping on your drink has become an afterthought as he was busy analyzing how wide your smiles are while working with Yoongi and how friendly the shoulder and head pats you give each other are. It’s sickening.

Eventually, everyone else in the coffee shop left and you’re in front of him once again to get rid of the brownie plate from his table, whining when you see the half-empty cup in Jeongguk’s hand even as you’re chewing the rest of his brownie in your mouth. Fair trade, he says as you walk away with the plate and spoon in hand.

Not even five minutes has passed since you left his table, yet Jeongguk feels tired of being patient, taking your and his coffee cups in each hand before coming up to the counter. It seems like Yoongi senses his presence, because he looks up from the calculator app on the tablet in front of him to give Jeongguk a curious glance. Their eyes meet for a split second before Jeongguk moves his gaze past Yoongi’s shoulder to you, who’s still busy wiping down the counter. A knowing smile curves on Yoongi’s lips.

“Hey, Kiddo,” Yoongi turns towards you, the nickname still irritating to Jeongguk’s ears. “I’ll finish closing up, you can go. Great work today.”

“No it’s okay, I can help you mop the floor after I’m finished with the counter.” You don’t even look up as you wave him off, oblivious to Jeongguk’s presence and his increasing impatience in front of your boss. He clears his throat comically loud, making you turn around to see a frown etched on your boyfriend’s face and Yoongi tilting his head towards him with a small, almost teasing smile on his face.

“Oh.” You pull your lips into a thin line. “Okay then. Sorry about him, Yoongi.”

“No worries, Kiddo.”

Yoongi’s nonchalant response is laced with a chuckle, which for some reason, upsets Jeongguk even more than the nickname he keeps calling you by. Is Yoongi not scared of him? Of his tattoos, of his muscles? Is he not intimidating? Can’t he feel the piercing stare Jeongguk keeps giving him ever since he walked into the coffee shop?

“You.” Your stern voice tears his hot gaze away from the mint-haired guy, whose focus is back on the calculator on his tablet to count the sales they made today. “I’ll clock out first then we can go. Please don’t do anything weird in the five minutes that I don’t have my eyes on you.”

Jeongguk follows your figure with his eyes until you disappear into the backroom, leaving him alone with Yoongi. Yoongi, the guy with the mint hair, whose surname he doesn’t even know, who is your boss that strangely have an endearing nickname for you. Things that stream steady questions into his head, about your initial meeting with Yoongi to the extent of your relationship with him. It’s the nickname he can’t seem to shake off of his mind, the way it rolls easily off Yoongi’s tongue, as if he’s been calling you that for years. Has he known you for years like Jeongguk has? Been through near-death experiences with you like Jeongguk has? Has he deserved the right to call you by a nickname like Jeongguk has?

“You can stop shooting daggers at my head, you know,” Yoongi’s low drawl almost makes Jeongguk think that he’s talking to himself, but the sentence is clearly directed at him. The older guy finally looks up from his tablet to look at Jeongguk in the eyes for longer than a second, no coffee orders to complete to interrupt their interaction this time. “Kiddo’s boyfriend, Jeongguk, right?”

As Jeongguk gives a nod to confirm Yoongi’s question, a hand is extended towards him to complete the introduction. “I’m Yoongi, Kiddo’s coworker-slash-boss.”

Jeongguk grips Yoongi’s hand with more strength than necessary, unintentionally flexing his muscles too. He thought that would be enough to tell Yoongi that Jeongguk is your boyfriend and he has no business being so friendly with you, but Yoongi only glances at his tattooed arm before letting go of his hand with a comment about how strong his grip is.

“Thanks, I do boxing,” Jeongguk mutters curtly, upset at the degree of nonchalance Yoongi is showing. He starts glancing at the door to the backroom where you currently are, wishing you would emerge right this second so he can go and doesn’t need to face Yoongi’s mint hair ever again.

“Yeah, Kiddo might have mentioned that a few times, just like she won’t shut up about your sleeve tattoos,” Yoongi says, going back to his tablet. “I used to box too, by the way.”

If you asked Jeongguk what Yoongi used to do, he wouldn’t be able to answer at all as he chooses to focus on the part where Yoongi said you won’t shut up about his sleeve tattoos and tune out the rest of his sentence. “My tattoos? What about them?”

“She said you have tons. Shoulder to fingertips. That’s how I recognized you when giving your order,” Yoongi answers lightly, which piqued Jeongguk’s interest even further. Wouldn’t it be fun to use this coworker-slash-boss of yours to get information about what you’ve been saying about him at work? What else does Yoongi know about him other than he does boxing and has a sleeve tattoo?

“Really? Does she gush about how hot they are to you, too?”

It’s not a question meant to be answered, its sole purpose to show off that you indeed gush to him about how hot his tattoos are. Though, if one thinks about it, why would Jeongguk need to boast to Yoongi about the compliments you give him about the strokes of ink on his arm? What business does Yoongi have knowing about it?

Yoongi seems to be unaware of Jeongguk’s inner dilemma as his face breaks out into a grin. “I think she’d be mad at me if I told you half the things she gushes to me about you.”

So you do gush about how hot his tattoos are to Yoongi. Interesting.

The fact that Yoongi insinuates there’s more to that is both endearing and terrifying to Jeongguk, because while he’s giddy that you talk about him with other people with so much enthusiasm, too much of it could end up in you sharing something about him that you should not have. Not to mention you’re sharing it with your boss, someone you should keep at an arm’s length when it comes to sharing about your significant others. One wrong move and he could use it against you.

Jeongguk is just about to ask Yoongi to elaborate further on his statement when you step out of the backroom, now out of the murky brown cap and apron and in a white t-shirt that looks like it belongs to Jeongguk. All thoughts of Yoongi knowing all sort of things about him evaporates right away, his mind focusing on how cute you look instead. If only Jeongguk doesn’t know basic human decency, he’d pull you by the waist to taste the mouth he’s been deprived of for the whole day, not giving an ounce of care about your boss watching the whole thing.

No, he’s a good boyfriend so he opts to pull you by the shoulders instead, letting your arms go around his waist before squeezing you in his arms. The kiss he drops on your cheek is chaste yet lingering, like he wants to let you know just how much he missed you. You tighten your arms around him in return, wordlessly saying the same thing back.

“Ready to go?” Jeongguk mumbles into your hair, not yet letting go of the hug.

“Ye—oh, wait!” You pull your face away from its initial position on Jeongguk’s chest. “You haven’t met Yoongi yet.”

“We did, Kiddo,” Yoongi waves you off. “You’re free to go. Your boyfriend here has been waiting long enough.”

“No,” you say, pulling away from Jeongguk’s hold. “I mean I haven’t introduced you two properly.” You gesture to the both of them back and forth as you say their names. “Yoongi, meet my boyfriend, Jeon Jeongguk. Jeongguk, meet my boss, Min Yoongi. His family owns this coffee shop.”

“That’s what you mean by proper?” Jeongguk says to you as he takes Yoongi’s hand for the second time that day, regular grip this time because you’re watching his every move like a hawk. “I didn’t know you own the shop. Nice place,” he nods to the older guy, releasing his hand.

“Thanks. It’s my dad’s, though. I just help from time to time,” Yoongi shrugs.

“You ‘just help from time to time’ but willing to dye your hair mint in honor of the new menu.” You nudge his elbow playfully. “Speaking of the new menu, did you finish the whole cup, Jeongguk? I’ve only had a few sips.” You frown as you bring the cup to your eye level, examining just how much of it is left. It’s an exaggeration, obviously, as the cup in your hand is still half-filled. But Jeongguk plays along, saying the reason why he inhaled your drink is because he’s tired from having just gone back from boxing.

“You have your own latte,” you point out, finally taking a much-deserved sip from your free drink. It still tastes okay, so you stop grilling Jeongguk about stealing your drink (even though you kinda stole his too, in the middle of your shift nonetheless.) “Oh, and did you know Yoongi also—”

Yoongi clears his throat loudly before you can finish your sentence. You look up from your drink, alarmed, afraid you might have said something wrong. Your eyes meet Yoongi’s and he gives you a tiny shake of his head, one Jeongguk doesn’t notice because he’s busy taking sips from his own cup of latte. (And because he’s more focused on you than Yoongi.)

“He knows, I told him I used to box too,” Yoongi says.

“You did? I didn’t catch it,” Jeongguk averts his eyes from you, turning to look at Yoongi. “Wanna have a match? I could use an opponent for my session tomorrow.”

“I said I used to, Kid,” Yoongi re-emphasizes on the two words. “I have a shoulder injury. It’s healing, but I still shouldn’t do too much to it.”

“Oh come on, I’ll go easy on you.”

“Jeongguk!” A slap lands on his bicep courtesy of you.

“What? He said it’s healing!”

It’s only now that Jeongguk witnesses the exchange between you and Yoongi using only your eyes, yours looking frantic while Yoongi’s looking as cool as a cucumber. Maybe he should dye his hair a shade of green resembling a cucumber rather than a mint.

After watching you and Yoongi have a silent conversation for a minute, Jeongguk lets out a sigh as he takes the final sip from his latte. “It’s okay, babe, I was just kidding. It’s fine if Yoongi doesn’t want to have a match with me.” He throws the empty cup into a trashcan nearby. “It just means that he backs down easily from a challenge.”

You physically face-palm at his sentence, missing the way Jeongguk throws a challenging smirk Yoongi’s way. The older doesn’t seem fazed at all, instead letting a small smirk take over his features as well. “That’s not a really nice thing to say to someone you’ve just met,” he drawls.

Jeongguk shrugs. “Just stating the truth.”

“Jeongguk, please stop,” you whine from behind your hands, still facepalming because you don’t want to become a witness in case this coffee shop becomes a crime scene.

“Alright, I’ll have a match with you,” Yoongi says finally, tone resolute. You peek out from the cocoon of your hands, glancing back and forth between your coworker-slash-boss and your boyfriend who are having a staring contest, both refusing to back down. “Tomorrow after my shift works? Kiddo here can take the same shift so she can watch us too.”

“Sure,” Jeongguk agrees without a pause. “It ends at three, right?”

“Yep.”

“Cool. See you then.”

Then Jeongguk puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you away from the counter to finally go take you home as it’s the reason he came here in the first place. You hastily give your coworker a wave goodbye over your shoulder, getting a wave back accompanied with a laugh. Jeongguk uses the opportunity to steal yet another sip from your drink.

“Stop it! You’re gonna finish it all!”

“What even is it? It tastes really weird.” Jeongguk scrunches up his face.

“It’s mint mochaccino, you ass.” You pull the cup away from him, who chases the straw with his mouth while grinning wide. “Stop or I won’t kiss you until tomorrow morning.”

“Always withdrawing kisses when I need them the most,” he pouts, retreating from your drink to let you finally finish the cup yourself. “Can I kiss you in the car or should I wait until we get home?”

(Does not matter what you answer is, because he grips the back of your neck in the car to make out with you for five minutes, and then finish what he started in the safety of his room, under the blankets.)

“Are you sure you want to fight with Yoongi later?”

You and Jeongguk are back in his car, on the way to the coffee shop for you to start your shift and for Jeongguk to get his americano to kick off the day. His nod to your question is firm.

“Yeah. My coach said it’s good to train with an opponent sometimes.”

“You could’ve fought with your coach instead, then,” you point out.

“True, but—” Jeongguk tilts his head, sucking in a breath. “He’s the one who trained me, so he knows my fighting style and pattern. It’s good indeed, but it’s missing that element of fun.” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “Besides, I want to know what your Yoongi is made of.” He casts a glance at you to see your reaction.

“What ‘my’ Yoongi, what are you talking about …” You heave a sigh, massaging your temple. It’s not even 9 AM yet but you can already feel a headache coming. Sometimes you wonder why you’re willing to date this childhood friend of yours, knowing all of his flaws and bad habits like this. Though it’s given you the advantage of being able to read between the lines of his actions, often you wish he’d just say things outright without you having to dig it out of him.

“You know, the Yoongi you work with? The Yoongi who gives you head pats? The Yoongi who has a nickname for you?” Jeongguk’s tone gets more annoying near the end of his sentence, almost as if he’s trying to get a certain reaction out of you.

“The Yoongi who owns the cafe I work at, which is the sole source of income I have?” you reply instead, refusing to give in to Jeongguk’s silent provocation. “Also, the Yoongi who used to box. I think you should keep that in mind when you fight him later.”

“Yeah, yeah. Bet he wasn’t even that good.”

You manage to arrive at the cafe unscathed, only losing a tiny piece of sanity because your boyfriend couldn’t keep his mouth shut about Yoongi and his non-existent boxing skills (Jeongguk’s words, not yours.) It doesn’t help that the Yoongi in question is already standing behind the register, greeting you with a smile and throwing a lopsided smirk your boyfriend’s way. You don’t like the thick tension between them at all so you quickly slip into the backroom to let Jeongguk be a big boy for once and order his own americano for the day.

Stepping out of the backroom in your mandatory work apron and cap, you’re kind of relieved when you see the shop is still intact, not thrown upside down courtesy of your boyfriend and his inability to control his strength (and emotion) in the face of a threat (read: Yoongi.) Upon seeing you, Jeongguk pushes himself off the counter he’s leaning against before reaching for your waist despite your boss standing just a few feet away. The cup of americano on the counter tells you that you took too long in the breakroom, which if anyone asks, you’d justify with adjusting your work attire. In reality, you just don’t want to face your boyfriend and the sour look he has whenever he so much as glances at your boss.

“You can always cancel the fight with Yoongi, you know,” you murmur, biting your bottom lip in worry. “You could hurt him, he could hurt you … it’s not ideal.”

“Hmm.” Jeongguk purses his lips. “What’s not ideal is your boss having a nickname for you.” There he goes again, always having something to say about Yoongi. “Aside from it being highly unprofessional, it’s also inappropriate since you have a boyfriend and that is me. Jeon Jeongguk. I am your boyfriend.”

“Jeongguk, he knows,” you groan, fed up with the back-and-forth about this whole Yoongi thing. You don’t even know why your boyfriend is so threatened by the older guy when he’s a whole lifetime ahead of him. “It’s not even a nickname. You’re just seeing what you want to see.”

Jeongguk’s reply never makes it out of his mouth as he’s interrupted by Yoongi clearing his throat, making you both look at him tapping on his wrist to signal the time. It’s a reminder that you’re here to work, not to continue the argument that sparked in the car. Your boyfriend rolls his eyes at your boss, sharing a hard stare with him before deciding to do something one should not do in front of their boss: dip down to kiss you, using your surprised gasp as a way to slide his tongue inside your mouth. In the five seconds he manages to tangle his tongue with yours, you completely missed the sound of the glass doors opening and the low whistle that came after, along with Yoongi’s chuckle and greeting to the person who just came in.

Shoving Jeongguk away by your hand on his chest, you try to cover your burning face with your other hand as an attempt to save your dignity in front of Yoongi, though you doubt it’s working at all. Jeongguk licks his lips then winks at you, squeezing your waist in his grip before stepping back to grab his cup of americano, now full of condensation sliding off the plastic cup. He takes a sip to taste test before scrunching up his nose.

“Could’ve been better,” he sneers, making you glare. “Alright, I’ll let you get to work. See you later, babe.” Then, after a second, turns to Yoongi to add: “you too.”

When Jeongguk disappears into his car, you put your head in your hands and let out the loudest groan known to man. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”

The mint-haired guy only gives you a gummy laugh, eyes turning into crescents as he shakes his head. “Your boyfriend is really something, Kiddo,” he muses. “A really … fun early morning entertainment, you could say.”

“Entertaining it was!” You hear the voice first before you see the person, the one who must’ve come in when you were rather preoccupied with your boyfriend. Park Jimin, your other coworker, slides behind the counter in a brown apron identical to yours and Yoongi’s, just minus the cap. Good, that means he doesn’t have a bad hair day today and can take the position at the register instead of you. You could use some more time to learn to make the drinks, anyway.

“Didn’t know you and your boyfriend were such exhibitionists, Kim,” Jimin taunts you, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively. “Although, if my boyfriend were that hot, I would have wanted to exhibit him too…” He purses his lips in an exaggerated manner of faux thinking, obviously trying to rile you up. “Lucky you, Kim.”

“Shut up, Park,” you seethe through your teeth, slapping him with a dish rag while he cackles happily. “We’re not exhibitionists. You just have terrible timing.”

“Oh, it was perfect I’d say, just in time to catch sight of his tongue going into your mouth—”

“JIMIN!”

When Jimin continues making fun of you by making gross kissing sounds, you turn to Yoongi for help. As the oldest amongst you three, he must have a sound solution to get Jimin to stop making those awful sounds and put you out of your misery. Although, your trust in him is probably misplaced as Yoongi just chuckles and tells you something your own mom would tell you whenever you’re telling on Jeongguk: “Just ignore him, Kiddo.” The sacred word of ignore. “Go prepare the breakfast pastries now.”

So much for sound solution.

You go about your shift as usual, with Jimin manning the register like you planned to. Time goes by quickly when you’re busy working (and when your coworker is Park Jimin) that you didn’t realize it’s almost time for your shift to end. You glance at the line in front of Jimin and see that there are still three more people he needs to serve, while you and Yoongi still have about five tickets to finish before you can clock out and leave. Scratch that, might be eight tickets to go considering the workers who have their shift after you aren’t here yet. It’s gonna be a while before you can see your boyfriend and be a witness to an unnecessary fight between him and Yoongi.

“Hey, Kim, where’s your boyfriend? Didn’t you say he was gonna pick you up from work?” Jimin nudges your elbow when he finishes taking one customer’s order, sliding a plastic cup into the queue in front of you. “I want to see just how hot he really is,” he continues while wiggling his eyebrows.

Before you can slap the guy with your dish rag again—it’s looking more like your weapon rather than a cleaning tool at this point—Yoongi pipes up from his position in front of the sink. “Just look for someone with a tattoo sleeve. He loves brandishing it.”

“Ooh, a hot guy with tattoos,” Jimin whistles. “Add some piercings and I might steal him away from you.”

“Jimin, quit drooling over my boyfriend,” you sigh, taking the next cup in line as your coworker turns back to the register. He’s already starting to greet the next customer when you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine, sliding next to him to brew the espresso needed for the order you’re making. “He has one on his lip, but he’s mine. Note that, Park,” you whisper to him while he’s keying in an order, earning a light chuckle from the man.

“He’s just messing with you, Kiddo, don’t mind him,” Yoongi chuckles from beside you, eyeing Jimin whose focus is currently on the cup he’s scribbling a customer’s name on. “He has his eyes set on someone else already.”

“Gossiping, aren’t we?” Jimin turns to you and Yoongi with a sleazy smile. “Careful now, unless you want Hoseok to know about your hot boyfriend too, Kim.” He gestures to the glass doors, where Hoseok from the next shift just walked through. He’s a great guy, but you’ve only shared a couple shifts with him, so you think you haven’t got to the point of sharing about significant others.

With the mention of Hoseok, you and Yoongi move to finish the orders you have left before handing over the shift to the aforementioned man. When all your orders are done and you’re ready to head to the backroom, you turn to ask Jimin to go with you only to find him still rooted in front of the register. “Jimin, you’re not going?”

“Oh, I’m actually covering for Eunbi.” Jimin shrugs, sliding a cup into Hoseok’s line of orders. “Go, Kim. Have fun with your boyfriend,” he grins, sending you a teasing wink.

Hoseok, a clueless witness, looks at the both of you with a scandalous stare. “What, what, what did I miss? Why are you winking like that, Park Jimin?” he says, urging Jimin to elaborate while pouring drinks into a plastic cup.

“You should ask her, Hobi,” Jimin snickers into his hand as he turns to greet a customer. Hoseok turns to you, his expression hopeful that you will shed light on the reason behind Jimin’s wink.

“My boyfriend is about to fight with our boss and I don’t know how to talk him out of it,” you say through your teeth, giving an overly-sweet smile to a confused Hoseok. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet him and make sure he’s not gonna bite Yoongi’s head off.”

“Bye, Kim,” Jimin sing-songs, waving his hand to you. “Say hi to your boyfriend for me!”

You’re already walking away, turning to tell Jimin off when you bump into Yoongi who’s just came out of the backroom, void of his work apron and ready to go. He grabs your shoulders to turn you around, pushing you into the backroom to prevent anymore banter between you and Jimin. “Let it go, Kiddo.”

In the backroom, you catch a text from Jeongguk saying that he’s already in the coffee shop, ready to go when you are. You emerge from the room after clocking out, moving your feet to the dining area of the cafe while waving to Jimin and Hoseok behind the counter. Scanning the room, you search for a familiar mop of black hair that belongs to your boyfriend.

It’s easy to spot Yoongi’s mint hair amongst the sea of other natural-colored hairs. What’s not easy is believing your eyes when you see the person sitting in front of Yoongi waving wildly at you, grinning like a mad man. It’s your boyfriend, the person you’re supposed to see after work, the person you’re supposed to supervise when he fights your boss later, alright, that part you know. The part that you don’t know and have a hard time believing is:

Jeongguk’s hair is mint.

Not black, not brown, not the experimental half-half he tried in high school. Mint.

The exact same shade as Yoongi’s.

It feels like you’re on autopilot when your feet carry you to their table, jaw on the floor while your eyes are stuck on Jeongguk’s freshly-dyed strands.

“Hi, babe,” your boyfriend has the audacity to say, lips stretching impossibly wider. He reaches up to run his fingers through his mint hair, an act so deliberate even Yoongi sighs at the sight of it, but it makes your heart skip a bit nonetheless. “Do you like my new hair?”

The light green strands previously tangled with his fingers fall back to cover his forehead and frame his face perfectly, the light hue somehow blending well with Jeongguk’s skin tone. It also accentuates his jaw more, making it appear sharper when the grin on his lips morphs into a smirk once he notices that you can’t stop staring. Oh, that smirk. Usually hot with his previously black hair, it is now lethal with his mint hair, toeing the line of playful and dangerous at the same time.

You want to scream at the obvious and cheesy question.

Yoongi, the third person who’s been watching the entire interaction unfold before his eyes, clears his throat. “If you’re done eye-fucking your boyfriend, can we go now? I have somewhere else to be after this.”

“Yoongi!” you whisper-shout, half scandalized, half disbelieving that your boss can say something so crude in the middle of his own buzzing coffee shop. Maybe he’s been hanging out with Park Jimin too much. (Or maybe he’s just sick of you drooling over your boyfriend time and time again … yeah, maybe that.)

“Can’t wait to lose to me, Min?” Jeongguk snickers, taking your hand in his as he follows Yoongi—who pointedly ignores his taunting question—towards the glass door of the coffee shop.

You catch Jimin’s eyes as you’re stepping out, his eyes rounding in surprise before a sly smile takes over his features. Have fun! he mouths, giving you a wink. Ugh, you’re gonna face a lot more questions the next time you have a shift together with him.

After another futile attempt at talking Jeongguk out of fighting with Yoongi, you’re seated where you usually are, on the sidelines of Jeongguk’s gym, this time with heightened anxiety out of fear that your boyfriend and your boss could hurt each other. You’re worried less about the physical part—boxing is a very physical sport, after all—and more about the mental part.

Boys are full of pride, full of ego. They pride themselves on their ability to box, delivering punch after punch until their knuckles bruise. They pride themselves on their muscles, bulging biceps that took years to build and maintain. They pride themselves on their strength, how they are able to hold you up against the wall when you’re busy sucking air off each other’s lungs.

Oh, and in case it’s not clear, by boys you mean Jeongguk.

You have a lot of faith in your boyfriend, of course, but knowing Yoongi’s boxing skills, no matter how long ago it was, the outcome of the fight today could just be the one that would hurt Jeongguk’s pride. The possibility of it happening is so high that you’re already preparing yourself for when Jeongguk comes back to you with his ego bruised. God, you can only hope Yoongi won’t hit too hard.

You’re too busy thinking of the many possible outcomes of this fight that you don’t realize when Jeongguk is back from putting his gloves on and warming up, now standing in front of you. “Wish me luck?” he says, along with a toothy grin your way.

“Yeah, good luck, Ggukie,” you reply, lacking your usual sarcastic bite. Jeongguk seems to pay no mind to it, though, ducking down to peck your lips before turning around to face his opponent for the day.

You catch Yoongi’s eyes when Jeongguk has his back to you, quickly mouthing don’t hurt him! to your boss, which he only responds with a smirk. All the blood drains from your face. Looks like your worries about someone getting his ego bruised won’t be just worries after all.

When the fight has started (Jeongguk’s coach started it—you’re grateful he’s there because then you don’t have to worry too much about Jeongguk and Yoongi beating each other to a pulp), you can’t help but watch. You just realize, in the years you’ve known Jeongguk and watched him box, you’ve never actually seen him fight anyone else other than his coach. He’s said before that he only took boxing as a way to work out, not to actually fight, so you guess that makes sense.

You don’t watch boxing matches a lot (actually, you don’t watch them at all), your only knowledge of boxing you get from watching Real Steel, a movie about boxing matches for robots, set in the far future when human boxing is not interesting anymore due to the limited brutality. You’re not sure how much information you retained from the movie, and how accurate they are, but you’re pretty sure you don’t need much boxing knowledge to know that right now, Yoongi is playing defensive while Jeongguk is playing offensive.

Alright, you admit, you have no idea if the terms you’re using are right, but it’s the simplest ones you can use to describe the sight in front of you. Since the start of the fight, Jeongguk has been throwing punches continuously, while Yoongi has had his gloved hands covering his face the entire time. Okay, not the entire time, but he’s only thrown one punch compared to Jeongguk’s one hundred ones.

As the fight goes on, Yoongi starts throwing punches here and there while still dodging Jeongguk’s aggressive fists. You’ve never seen Yoongi move this much in the entire time you’ve known him, and it surprises you how agile he is. The way he ducks under Jeongguk’s arm and throws him off balance is admirable, sometimes a little bit funny (just a bit, you promise) because it shows just how calm he is compared to Jeongguk’s aggressive, almost-angry boxing style.

When Jeongguk’s coach declares a break, your boyfriend walks back to you with his brows furrowed, tearing off one of his gloves so he can remove his mouth guard and grab his water bottle. After chugging down half of its content, Jeongguk heaves a frustrated sigh.

“I can’t grasp his fighting style,” he grumbles to himself. His eyes are set on Yoongi, who’s on the other side of the room, drinking from his own water bottle. “Who the fuck ducks all the time while boxing?”

“Maybe it’s because you keep throwing angry punches at him, babe,” you say, initially to keep his frustration at bay, but instead it makes him raise his eyebrow at you in a duh way. You backtrack immediately. “Okay, okay. But it’s just your first time fighting him, isn’t it? Be patient, Jeongguk, and maybe let up your punches a little bit?”

“Baby, it’s boxing,” he says exasperatedly. “Someone has to throw some punches.”

“I know, but you just seem so … angry. Yoongi’s only ducking to dodge that. I’m saying maybe you can tone it down so he could stop dodging, so then you can see his fighting style better.” You’re saying this while gripping his biceps, hoping your words can go through his seemingly-clouded mind. “When you see his fighting style, won’t it be easier to figure out a way you can beat him? Isn’t that what you taunted him with at the cafe?”

You know it’s not even remotely possible to learn one’s boxing style just from a single fight, let alone “figure out a way to beat him”. Somewhere in his fogged mind, you believe Jeongguk stores this fact as well, he’s just currently too deep in frustration to place it in the front of his mind. You’re not even sure your suggestion to learn Yoongi’s fighting style is registered well in his head, considering your boyfriend is now back to eyeing your boss with fire in his gaze.

“Jeongguk?” You give his shoulder a firm grip as he puts his mouth guard back on. “Tone it down. Yoongi could just be waiting to punch back. You don’t want that.”

Jeongguk parts ways with you with an absent-minded nod and two pats to your head with his heavy gloved-hand. On the other side of the room, Yoongi looks ready to go back into his fighting stance. You sigh internally. Jeongguk is so going to punch him aggressively, again.

The next thirty minutes of the fight goes like a blur in front of your eyes. Jeongguk throws a hook that Yoongi dodges, Yoongi retaliates with a jab to Jeongguk’s side which makes you wince, rinse and repeat. Maybe you’re wrong about your boyfriend for once, you think, seeing his calmer fighting style now. With the way he left your conversation minutes prior, you really thought he was gonna continue raining punches on any part of Yoongi’s body he could reach. You’re relieved that that’s not the case.

Although, perhaps your relief came too soon because a boxing match isn’t over until it’s over.

Watching Jeongguk fight with Yoongi is like watching a cartoon character with an energy meter atop his head, except for Jeongguk, it measures his patience instead. As the minutes went on, you feel like you could see the patience meter above his head depleting until it’s all gone, and that’s the moment he went back to his initial fighting style: aggressive and angry. You almost pull your hair out in frustration because you just know that this is what Yoongi has been waiting for ever since the fight started.

The next thing that happens reminds you a lot of one fighting scene in Real Steel, where Atom was waiting for his opponent to run out of energy so he can fight back. In the movie, Atom knocked the other robot down with a final uppercut, gaining him a win and advancing him to the next round. Well, uh, in this case, just replace Atom with Yoongi and the other robot with Jeongguk.

Yoongi’s clean uppercut wiped your boyfriend out, who’s now lying on the ground clutching his face—which you’re sure is beginning to swell right now. Despite already knocking Jeongguk down, Yoongi is still in his fighting stance, never lowering his guard even as Jeongguk’s coach counts to ten. Your boyfriend remains immobile, though, and the second the count is up you’re running towards Jeongguk’s limp body.

“Gguk, are you okay? Baby, look at me,” you say hurriedly as you try to pry his arms away from his face. He doesn’t budge, and for a second, you’re scared that Yoongi has maimed your boyfriend for life. “At least let me know you’re alive,” you continue when his silence becomes concerning.

“Hmmph,” Jeongguk grunts. You heave a huge sigh of relief.

“Okay, good.” You run your fingers through his sweaty hair, trying to offer some comfort even though you know he had this coming. Gigantic ego, big talk, cocky as shit? Yeah, you understand that Yoongi would want to knock him down a few pegs. But now is not the time to launch into an ‘I told you so’ spiel, not when Jeongguk is still freshly bruised—both his body and his ego.

So instead, you lash out at your boss.

“I told you not to hurt him, Yoongi,” you snap-slash-whine, a frown on your lips. You thought, as the oldest among all of you, Yoongi could be trusted to knock some sense into Jeongguk’s mind without physically hurting him like this. As it turns out, all boys are the same.

The older guy just shrugs. “Probably wouldn’t get my point across if he weren’t knocked down.” He shakes the sweat out of his hair as he starts taking off his boxing gloves. When he sees you’re not impressed, he chuckles. “Relax, Kiddo, I didn’t even hit him that hard. He’ll be okay.”

“Really, Yoongi?” You roll your eyes. “You gave my boyfriend an uppercut just to prove a point!”

Yoongi just continues laughing as he chugs from his water bottle. His nonchalance about this is starting to piss you off. Maybe it’s your turn to put on the boxing gloves and sock him in the face, give him a taste of his own medicine. You scoff to yourself, picturing your own body lying next to Jeongguk if you really did that.

“Just tell your boyfriend here that there’s no need to be jealous of me, Kiddo,” Yoongi says, picking up his bag. Just then, Jeongguk’s coach appears with an ice pack in his hand, offering it to you so you can place it against Jeongguk’s swollen jaw. Despite your attempt to coax him out of his arm cocoon, he still refuses to move.

“Yoongi, look at him, you really broke him.” You’re flat-out whining now, kicking your feet like a child. It doesn’t even occur to your mind that you’re all still in the middle of a public boxing gym, with other people around you, being witness to this ridiculous scene.

“Oh my God,” Yoongi laughs before crouching down at Jeongguk’s legs. “Hey, Jeongguk, you hear that? Your girlfriend is worried about you,” he says, nudging Jeongguk’s leg lightly. “She only has eyes for you and your tattoos, too, you don’t need to be jealous at all.” You smack him on the shoulder for that.

Jeongguk finally removes his arms from his face at Yoongi’s words, his doe eyes menacing. “Go away,” he grits out at the older male, his scratchy voice making him sound less threatening than he intended. Despite that, Yoongi still holds his hands up in surrender.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Yoongi relents, standing up while adjusting the hold he has on his bag. “Was gonna go anyway, I have a date to get ready for,” he throws a grin your way. “Alright, I’ll be going first. Take care of your boyfriend, Kiddo.”

Yoongi retreats with a wave towards you both.

Jeongguk lets out a groan, shifting your attention away from your boss who’s already backing his car out of the parking lot. “Quit your job tomorrow,” he says. “I hate your boss.”

“Stop moving around!”

“It hurts!”

You’re both back at Jeongguk’s house now, with you sitting atop his outstretched legs on the bed, attempting to take care of his battle wounds courtesy of his fight with Yoongi. Aside from the swollen jaw, Jeongguk has a cut on his eyebrow and a split bottom lip. For a boxing match, you’d say these are minor injuries—proving Yoongi’s words right, he didn’t hit Jeongguk that hard—but your boyfriend is acting like a baby. He keeps jerking his head away every time the alcohol swab comes in contact with either of his cuts, it irritates you to no end.

“You have a goddamn full sleeve of tattoo and a lip piercing, quit acting like this hurts more,” you hiss, pressing the cotton in your hand to the cut on his lip as Jeongguk hiss back in response.

“At least when I got my tattoos and piercing, the artist didn’t do it while yapping my ear off,” he lisps through the cotton. “What happened to the caring girlfriend at the gym? Did she go away too, alongside Yoongi?”

“Oh, shut up, if I yapped back there Yoongi would’ve stomped on your ego more than he already did, do you want that, Jeongguk? Huh?” Your words are harsh, but you try hard for your hands to be the opposite, gentle as they cover the cut on his eyebrow with a band-aid. Jeongguk’s forehead is still damp from his quick shower earlier, beads of mint clinging to his skin. He might look smoking hot with his newly dyed hair, but the way the color rubs off on anything is starting to get onto your nerves. You wipe lightly at the color to make sure the band-aid sticks to his skin and does not come off the second he jumps around again.

“My ego is fine, you don’t need to protect it like this,” Jeongguk grumbles, adjusting the ice pack he’s holding to his jaw as you press a new cotton ball on his lip, discarding the one stained crimson red to his bedside table. “Maybe if you care about me as much as you care about my ego, everything would’ve been better.”

The way he’s rambling like he got his sense knocked out of his head as well makes you roll your eyes to the back of your head. “Don’t test me, Jeon. If I didn’t care about you I wouldn’t be here sitting on your thighs patching your minuscule injuries like they’re fucking wounds from a war.”

“Maybe,” Jeongguk half-agrees, a pout on his lips. “But you haven’t kissed me even once ever since the fight ended. Do I not deserve a kiss because I lost? Do you not want to kiss me ever again because I can’t beat Yoongi in boxing? Do you think Yoongi is way better than me now? Do you want him to be your boyfriend instead of me?”

With every nonsensical question, his pout deepens, and his eyes droop to stare blankly at nothing.

“Hah, ‘my ego is fine’ my ass,” you mumble, mostly to yourself as you turn the gears in your head on how to stop the bleeding on Jeongguk’s lip. It keeps gushing out blood, and you can’t exactly stick a band-aid to it like you did his eyebrow. At last, you just hold a cotton ball against it and hope it stops bleeding soon.

“Yoongi was right, you know,” you say clearly now, the tumble of Yoongi’s name out of your lips making Jeongguk glance up and focus his sight on your face. “You don’t need to be jealous of him at all. Heck, you don’t need to be jealous of anyone, Jeongguk. I’m your girlfriend and will always stay your girlfriend, no matter what. You don’t need to beat anyone in boxing or dye your hair the exact same shade as anyone for me to stay. You, Jeon Jeongguk, are enough.”

Jeongguk’s eyes, gazing into yours, are glassy with unshed tears. You don’t know if they are there because he’s touched by your words or are leftovers from crying over his bruised ego from the fight with Yoongi. Either way, it throws you off balance. Next thing you know, you’re being tugged down by the nape for a kiss.

Jeongguk’s lips are warm, like usual, but the tinge of metal you taste on your tongue is making you worry. Before you lose yourself in his kiss, you pull away to thumb at his lip lightly, seeing streaks of red on your skin. You’re about to continue pressing the cotton ball in your hand to his lips and stop all forms of kissing immediately, but your boyfriend has a mind of his own as he instead sucks your thumb into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the digit delicately as he holds eye contact with you.

Gone is the trace of any tears from his eyes, now replaced by something you can only identify as lust. As flattered as you are that Jeongguk finds you desirable in your current situation, it also makes you confused. He’s hurt and the only thing in his mind is getting his dick wet? Unbelievable.

The ice-cold feeling on your waist tears your attention away from Jeongguk’s dark eyes as you yelp, hand instinctively prying the cold thing away. The ‘thing’ turns out to be his hand, which was previously holding the ice pack to his swollen jaw. He’s sneaked his fucking cold hand under your shirt to hold your waist when he should’ve kept holding the ice pack to his jaw—his swollen jaw!

Your boyfriend has a swollen jaw, a busted lip and a cut eyebrow. This is not the time to be screwing around.

Pulling away your thumb out of Jeongguk’s mouth at the speed of light, you attempt to climb off his lap, but he’s read your mind even before they are conjured up in your own brain. His hands are back on your waist—yes, the cold one too—and they hold you firm in place. The side of Jeongguk’s lips turn up into a sickeningly sweet smile, before he tugs your body towards his, making your hips come in contact with his crotch. He’s hard. Oh, fuck.

“You know, I never really understood why you’re so bratty whenever you’re horny and I can’t tend to you right away, but I think I get it now,” he says right by your ear, making a shiver run down your spine. “I’ve been trying to will away my boner ever since you sat on my lap, but your weight on it is so damn distracting, it’s hard.”

“So,” he punctuates the word with a kiss on your neck, “I started saying anything to get my mind off it, but the way you care for me just … turns me on even more, if that was even possible.” He noses his way down your throat, coming to a stop at your collarbone. “And then all that talk about how I am enough … holy shit, I lost it. All I could think about was how I want to kiss you and fuck you into next week on this very bed.”

You can barely hear the last few words Jeongguk is saying, because he’s mumbling them into your skin as he peppers kisses and nips there. His fingers are now pressing into your back, pulling you closer and closer to him until there is no space left between you. You crane your neck so he can have more room to splash reds and purples onto your skin, sighing to the top of his mint head.

“You know, for someone claiming to be horny, you’re doing a terrible job at dirty talk,” you jab at your boyfriend, earning you a bite on your neck and a tightened grip on your body, making you close your eyes with stuttered breath.

“Easy, babe,” Jeongguk chuckles. “You talk as if you won’t be a moaning mess by the end of this,” he continues with much confidence. “But also, my lip is still kinda bleeding and my sides are still throbbing from the bruises. Kinda debating should we continue or just go to sleep.”

“Jeon Jeongguk I swear to God if you leave me high and dry—”

“Maybe you should kiss them better,” he cuts you off with a suggestion, his lips still trailing butterfly kisses on your neck and collarbone. The hands still on your back sneakily climb up and up until they’re reaching for the clasp of your bra, easily opening it to free your breasts from its confines. Your sound of protest gets stuck in your throat as a strangled moan comes out instead when Jeongguk massages your breasts tenderly with his fingers.

“Maybe I would—fuck—if you get rid of your shirt,” you say, tugging on the offending piece of fabric still covering your boyfriend’s gorgeous body. It’s not fair that he’s got you half naked already and he’s still fully clothed.

Jeongguk parts himself from your body long enough to tug his t-shirt off from the back of his neck in one smooth motion, exposing the golden expanse of his skin to your hungry eyes. If you thought his mint hair was smoking hot with his shirt on, it’s literally burning a flame of desire deep in your belly with his shirt off. You’re tongue-tied as you marvel at the sight in front of you, you almost jump when your own shirt and bra are taken off your body.

Now both bare from the waist up, Jeongguk wastes no time leaning back in for a kiss on the mouth, this time open-mouthed so he can slide his tongue inside. You keen happily, slipping a sigh in between as he slowly lowers you to the bed. Jeongguk anchors his hands on your hips, teasing at the waistband of your sweatpants as he keeps your mouth busy with his own. In contrast, your hands are everywhere, from his broad shoulder to his firm back, from his bulging biceps to his rock-hard abs. You even tease your fingers past his waistband, grabbing onto his ass and squeezing, making him groan hotly into your mouth. It’s only when your fingers brush against his sides that he winces, reminding you of his earlier request.

“Flip around,” you whisper against his lips, “so I can kiss your bruises better.”

“Hmm?” Jeongguk hums, your words a murmur in his head. “But I like having you like this. Under me, naked, panting, wet,” he says, slipping his hand beyond your sweatpants to prove his words right—you’ve soaked through your panties. He drags a finger slowly up your center. You shudder.

“Yeah? I can be naked, panting, and wet on top of you as well.”

“Ooh, tempting.” Jeongguk licks his lips. He flicks your clit with a cheeky smile dancing on his lips, before settling his hands back on your waist. “Alright, I’ll flip over.”

The next second, you’re staring at him from up top, admiring how his mint hair looks against his dark grey bed sheets. Although, his hair is the least of your concern right now, as you’re tugged back down for another bruising kiss. Now that you’re on top, Jeongguk takes the opportunity to return the favor that is slipping his hand into your pants to squeeze your ass, but his version involves pulling your hips down while his thrusts up, creating a delicious friction between your body that makes you exhale a moan into his mouth.

You move away from his lips, down to his jaw where you take care to land a kiss light as a feather, before moving to his neck and collarbone where you have your own share of bites and licks. Aside from your infatuation with his tattoos and biceps, you actually have another one with his collarbone, this one you keep secret from him lest he goes around the house shirtless more often just to brandish his clavicle. But maybe he’s already noticed from the way you always make sure to cover that body part of his in blooms of red and purple, taking care to trace each and every bite mark slowly with the tip of your tongue.

While you’re busy with his collarbone, Jeongguk keeps dragging your crotch steadily over his, like he can’t get enough of the feeling and wants to keep chasing it. The delicious pressure on your center is a bit distracting, so you smooth your palm across his chest to pinch at his nipple in warning. Jeongguk lets out a broken whine from his throat.

“Stop humping into me, do you want to cream your pants?” you chide, fingers still giving tiny pinches to his nipple to keep him on his toes.

“Was trying to get you to cream your pants,” Jeongguk grins guiltily, his hips snapping up yet again to collide with yours. Even if you roll your eyes at his antics, you still continue your journey of kissing down his body, making sure to suck and lick on his sensitive nipples. You love the moans and groans that slip out of his throat every time you do things to his nipples. He likes it so much that his hips keep chanting up, searching for friction, that you have to pin them down so you can slide down to pepper kisses on his abs and waist.

Jeongguk works really hard to maintain the body he has, clearly evident in the eight pack he’s sporting on his stomach and the tiny, minuscule waist that’s way too slutty for a man to have. Sometimes you’re jealous of how nice his body looks, how firm it is to touch. You told him this one time, along with your regret that you couldn’t give him a similar experience, but he’d only laughed and said that admiring and appreciating him was enough, before proceeding to show you how he admires and appreciates your soft body (he kept biting into your inner thigh as he was eating you out, coaxing you into four orgasms back to back that day.)

And so, you admire his body by kissing the taut muscle one by one, tracing the lines outlining them with your hot tongue, caressing his bruised waist with the pillow of your lips and the feather of your touch. You know he’s hurt, but you can’t hold yourself from nipping on his slutty waist, gifting him another bruise that’s not a result of a punch. From the choked sob that rips out of his throat and the jump of his dick somewhere on your stomach, you take it he likes the bite.

“So,” you say as you mouth at the seam of his waistband, hand massaging his hard cock through his pants. “Do you want to cum in your pants, in my hand, in my mouth, or—?”

“Fuck, in you, please,” Jeongguk begs, eyes glassy from your ministrations. “But can we go back to dry humping for a while? Kinda like the friction on my sweatpants,” he breathes.

“Like this?” You move your hand up and down his cock, dragging the material of his sweatpants with it, paying special attention to the head. With every rub of the sweatpants against his head, a bead of precum comes out, with Jeongguk throwing his head back in silent pleasure. “Yeah, fuuck, that feels good.”

“But babe, want you, on top,” he demands, making grabby hands at you. “Was serious when I said I wanted you to cum first,” he continues, sighs in content when you oblige, resuming your position on top of him and lining your clothed crotch with his. He starts dragging your hips against his, building the pleasure up the faster he goes. “Want to fuck your swollen pussy, dripping with cum. Oh, I’ll slide right in, no problem, so wet, warm … fuuuck.”

The grip Jeongguk has on your hips is bruising, you have no choice but to let your body be manhandled by him. Slowly but surely, the band inside your stomach begins to tighten as your hold on his shoulders does as well. You’re so close, just one more move to tip you over the edge. When Jeongguk sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, the band inside you snaps and you come with a jerk of your hips and a whine from your throat.

Jeongguk slows down his move, taking care not to cum before being inside you, before stopping altogether and wrapping his arms around you to bring the both of you into a sitting position. Your limbs feel like jelly, still trying to come down from your high, when Jeongguk pecks your cheek before carefully lying you back down on the bed with your face down. He then maneuvers himself behind you, lifting your hips off the bed. You’re starting to have an idea what position he wants you in when he spreads your knees and slowly peels back your pants and panties to reveal your bare ass and pussy.

He takes his time caressing the globe of your ass, inching his fingers towards your pussy lips before spreading them apart, tearing a low whine from your chest. You guess he’s admiring the way cum still drips out of your cunt, because he’s silent, immobile for almost a minute.

“Gguk…” you whisper out. “You gonna fuck me or not?”

Jeongguk scrambles to get his pants off. “Fuck, yes, of course, baby, you just look so beautiful like this, I want to stare all day long,” he breathes, lining up his dick with your entrance.

God, I’m so thankful you’re mine, is his last warning before he slides home in one thrust.

Later, when you’re both freshly showered and cuddling on Jeongguk’s bed—with blue bed sheets this time, because you forced him to change the sheets as the grey ones smelled gross after your activities—you ask him a question.

“Are you still jealous of Yoongi?”

There’s a three second pause before Jeongguk’s answer comes. “Maybe a tiny bit,” he says, nearly connecting his thumb and forefinger together in a ‘tiny’ motion. “Of his boxing skills only. Amazing how he could still move like that with an injured shoulder. I want to be like that too.”

“You want to injure your shoulder?”

He gives you a flat look. You giggle.

“His shoulder is actually healed, you know, so he’s still actively boxing until now. He trains the boxing club at my campus whenever our coach can't, that’s where I know him from and how I’d gotten the job at his cafe.”

Jeongguk purses his lips. “So he lied to me.”

“Hmm,” you agree. “I figured it was to ‘teach you a lesson’, that’s why I asked him not to hurt you before your fight. Did you, though? Learn your lesson?”

“What? To not be jealous of him?”

You pinch his waist. “To knock your ego down a peg and stop feeling insecure whenever I interact with other men?”

“Baby, the guy had a nickname for you. My insecurities were valid!”

“You mean the ‘Kiddo’ one?” you ask. Jeongguk nods. “He calls Jimin Kiddo. He calls Eunbi Kiddo. He calls you Kiddo. He calls everyone younger than him, Kiddo.”

More silence ensues.

“So … my jealousy was for nothing?”

“Yes! What I’ve been saying!”

Jeongguk giggles. Then he kisses you. Then he giggles again, while still kissing you.

“How about an apology?” he offers.

“In what form?” you challenge.

“Round three?”

“No.”

Well, at least he’s not jealous anymore.

a/n: thank you for reading!! please let me know what you think of this, i literally almost cried in the process of writing it and when i finally finished it :') and yes this started because of that one mint jeongguk in memories 2020/2021, i think? the one with him in a black sleeveless and a pair of sunglasses, hahah. wish he'd dye his hair mint again (he looks rly good in it ugh)

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animeficsworld · 4 months

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The Caged Beast

Itadori Yuji x Reader / Sukuna Ryomen x Reader

There was a curse living inside your husband.

The strongest curse was only able to stay alive inside Itadori.

Rather than choosing death, Sukuna decided to stay in Yuji.

As the years passed, many things happened.

Yuji changed, grew into a man, met you and got married.

You were a kind soul.

Someone even Sukuna looked at with suspicion.

Kind yet deadly, is the correct description.

You could be smiling, baking cookies in one second and in the next, you could be slaying curses left and right.

Sukuna had to admit, that Yuji chose well. He approved of you.

And now, after three years of marriage, you were pregnant.

Your first child and Sukuna knew it would be a girl.

A little girl indeed.

A beautiful and healthy little girl.

A true princess.

Yuji helped you every second of your pregnancy and even now with your baby.

He helped when he didn't have to go to fight.

Like now, Yuji was out with Megumi while you gave a bath to your daughter.

Yui, lovingly named after his father, was a rather calm baby. She liked to sleep and babble when she was awake.

Yui adored her father and you. She wanted to be held at all times.

A true princess.

You soon dried her with a soft towel and got her into her fluffy pyjamas.

Placing her on your chest you started to watch a show on TV.

The front door opened, but you were too immersed in the show to care.

"Food is on the table, I'm watching this, I hope the lady wins!" you said not looking away but you did notice your husband walk into the room. He moved over and got Yui from your chest, placing it on his as he sat down next to you on the couch.

His silence should have alarmed you.

It truly should have.

But it didn't.

Instead, you didn't even notice that Yuji didn't say a word until the show was long finished.

Then you felt it, the change, but it didn't scare you.

"Nice to see you from time to time. What prompted your visit?" you turned and looked at Ryomen.

His eyes locked with yours.

"I just wanted to see my Princess." he said as he ran his hand down Yui's back.

"She is Yuji's Princess." you said as you reached for your cup of tea and started to drink.

"I live inside this idiot. You made sure I would never leave. At least, let me have an hour with her."

You found it strange how Ryomen liked your daughter so much.

"You can have your hour. Just making sure you know she is not yours."

"She is My Princess. The only being on this world worth being in this idiot's body."

"Ouch. So it is not worth living for me? And here I thought we had a thing."

"I would have made you my bride. You are way too powerful for me to ignore." you nodded and began to look for something on the TV.

Yui slowly began to stir.

"She must be hungry," you said. "Her bottle is on the counter." you pointed behind yourself, not looking away from the TV.

"Are you joking?"

"It is part of your hour, go feed her."

Sukuna mumbled something under his breath before leaving to get the bottle.

As he sat in her room, feeding and burping her, Sukuna wondered if he should tell you.

Since he became a part of Itadori's body, when you bonded their souls during a fight, technically this was as much as his body as it was Itadori's. So technically, the child sleeping in his arms was as much his as it was Itadori's.

Yuji asked you during a very intense fight to bond Sukuna to his body. Destroy the rest of his fingers and kill him.

But you couldn't do it.

You love Yuji too much to hurt him, instead, you bonded Sukuna to his soul, using Yuji as a cage to hold the beast.

You didn't know but by doing so, you got Sukuna's blood mixed with Yuji's. You didn't know or rather you chose to ignore the fact.

Sukuna was sure you didn't know but had suspicions.

You were a smart woman after all.

But you loved Yuji. Sukuna was just a plus one in the mix, one no one asked for or needed. But he was there.

Yui is Yuji's daughter. And you will never let anyone tell you otherwise.

---

You looked up as he exited the room, it was Yuji this time.

You smiled at him as you rushed to hug him.

"Did you put her to sleep?"

"Yup. Weird, I can't remember coming home."

"You are too tired, let's go to bed."

Yuji smiled and you both moved to the bedroom.

You quickly fell asleep when Ryomen decided that he still had 10 minutes of his hour.

He looked at you sleeping beside him, it was strange. He only ever cared about power.

He lived to see the fear in people.

And yet, you never feared him, he feared you.

Your fierce attitude, your power and that look... is that what they call a mother's look? You could make the entire room shut up with just one look of yours.

Fierce and powerful. Yuji didn't deserve you in his eyes, he did.

But he was okay with getting just an hour with you and Yui... for now.

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mo0nfairy · 10 months

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ THIS IS A LIFE, PART ONE !

summary :: in every universe, spiderman will inevitably lose the one thing that matters most to him: y/n l/n. miguel o'hara, peter parker, and hobie brown have all suffered through this story. they soon discover another version of you is alive, bound to fall in love with miles morales and to die abruptly. with the prospect of a second chance and a newfound obsession, these four men will do anything to keep you at their side.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 7.5k

content warnings :: yandere!miguel, yandere!miles, yandere!noir, yandere!hobie, reader death, gore/violence, murder, electrocution, fire, guns, alcohol, cigarettes, suicidal tendencies, kidnapping, stalking, physical restraint, child abuse/neglect, allusions to a child's death, physically abusive ex-boyfriend, infidelity, & torture.

──── October 17th, 2099 — Miguel O'Hara remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. August 24th, 1934 — Peter Parker remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. July 3rd, 2020 — Hobie Brown remembers the day the same way he will never forget you.

Y/N L/N. Miguel O'Hara, Peter Parker, and Hobie Brown will never forget them the same way they will never forget how it felt to lose them.

The inevitable fate of your demise is a cannon event for all spider-people. To love this person with every shred of their being only to live the rest of their lives without them; to love this person with all the might their body can contain only to let go of their hand in the end. It crushes their soul. Countless people are forced to live with the consequences of being bitten by a spider, not one had suspected it would be so detrimental.

Not when it is your life that has been taken.

Written in the stars is this destiny. How they will never love another again, but vow to be a hero and refrain a similar fate from falling onto anyone else. Many have been able to crawl out of the bottomless pit that is grief, but others have succumbed to the unforgiving anguish and let their life escape them. Just the way yours had. After all, what is life if you are not present? What is the point of living if there is no one there to patch up their scars and praise them for their heroic acts? There is no point, which leaves these three particular spider-people here. Their body is stuck in the past, reliving each moment with you up until they lost you forever.

October 17th, 2099. It was all his fault. Maybe if he hadn't let his violent tendencies toward anyone who isn't you slip through the seams, maybe if he had been more persistent in his reminders of how loved you are. Maybe if he had tried harder, Miguel O'Hara would still have you here at his side.

Miguel's attempts to make this sudden transition in your life as easy as possible turned out to be disastrous. He is not stupid; he knows this upbringing into this new lifestyle you claim to be "kidnapping" was blunt. He knew this, yet still, his plans on easing you through this change had collapsed right before him. Time had passed, and he naively assumed your fear had depleted, far too caught up in the sheer delight that came from holding you in his arms. Days and nights spent trailing his fingers down the expanse of your skin and kissing away the bruises his fangs had left upon your lips. This is a dream, Miguel always catches himself thinking.

And his sweet daughter, Gabriella. How she adored you so much. Even more so than her own father, he often joked. Coming home to find you both brushing the hair of her numerous dolls, baking treats that were rich with far too much sugar, or fast asleep on the couch while some whiny kids show plays on the television. His heart hammers like a fluttering hummingbird at the sight of you so soft and calm with his daughter. However, your guard then builds itself back up, brick-by-brick, faster than a gust of wind when he makes his presence known. In a way, Miguel found himself... jealous of Gabriella. That gentle and loving nature of yours, why couldn't he have it for himself? Why couldn't you give him some of that attention, even just a blink? What could that crybaby brat possibly have done to deserve such an amazing thing!?

No matter what kind of thoughts suffocate his mind, Miguel always tried to keep himself composed in front of you. With his tall, muscular physique, it makes sense why you are so intimidated by his appearance. If he were to ever let this satiating envy bleed through the bandaids, however, you'd certainly never open your heart to him. The prospect alone makes his chest tighten with dread.

And he had been so negligent towards his daughter, it only makes sense why she would turn to you. With how breathtaking, elegant, brilliant, electrifying you are, Miguel can understand why she loves you so much. Still, this does not refrain him from tightening his jaw whenever his daughter does something as trivial as hug you. That should be me with Y/N. Let me hold them, let me hold them, let me hold them like that.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his envy through sharp gazes, a towering frame, and muffled shouts through the thin walls. It's his fault he never assured you these ugly emotions were never your fault, since you could never do any wrong in his eyes, after all. It's his fault he didn't drown you in even more heaps of affection, to further remind you of just how much he needs you.

It is his fault you are dead.

Overcome with drowsiness, Miguel heedlessly packs his daughters lunch for school that day. Despite how you are usually the one who does this task, since you have always adored looking after the little one, you needed your rest. And he was insistent on treating you with even more intensive care, all to prove that he is the right one for you. No one else. Meanwhile, Gabriella sits at the kitchen table with her backpack on, swinging her short legs back and forth. She is bright with full energy that contradicts her father's state in a comical manner.

"Y/N/N always cuts my food into cool shapes! Yesterday, they made my sandwich star-shaped!" Gabriella exclaims to her father with admiration.

The mere mention of your name from someone else makes Miguel freeze. A sudden surge of anger wraps around his lungs like a sheen layer of morning dew resting on Spring grass. You treat her with such attentive care, why can't he get any of that? What is so special about her that he doesn't have? What does he need to change about himself in order to get you to love him the way you so fatuously love her? Miguel casts his gaze across the counter and finds several bottles of cleaning products you must have forgotten to put away. So endearing, so adorable. An idea then sparks. While Gabriella continues to babble about how cool and amazing you are, Miguel finds himself considering something he will never be able to take back.

Just a dash of some drain cleaner in her sandwich and this problem will fade away.

"Y/N/N!" The sound of your nickname shouts through the air upon your arrival. Gabriella is more than elated to greet you, but your eyes remain locked on Miguel. In other circumstances, he'd be thanking the heavens above for this bit of attention you have given him. At this moment, however, there is a disturbed gleam of horror in your expression that makes his stomach twist with apprehension.

The energy is not directed towards Gabriella, as you caress her cheek and gift her that smile of yours that rivals sunlight. Miguel inadvertently rolls his eyes at the sight, envious as ever. As she continues to ramble to you about her success at a recent soccer game, you retrieve all the cleaning products and return them to their respective place underneath the sink. Not without shooting a burning glare at Miguel, however. Had he made his intentions that obvious? You wave him aside from his stance at the pink, glittery lunchbox and he obeys. Pretending to finish up his original efforts, you examine every snack inside for anything this crazed man may have tampered with.

"Good morning, button..." The nervous tremble in Miguel's voice doesn't tarnish the sheer adoration that seeps from his tone.

Your short response of "'morning" could barely be heard over the thunderous sound of his heart shattering. Yet again, you have broken his heart. And still, he will crawl back to you every time, aching for any inkling of your regard. Soon, you're saying your goodbyes to Gabriella and wishing her a wonderful day at school. Planting a quick peck to her cheek, Miguel's talons grow and dig crevices into the steering wheel while he waits for his daughter to join him in the vehicle. Oh, if only you could give him the same act of affection, he would never ask the universe for anything ever again.

And if only he had known how the rest of the morning would play out, he never would have left the house.

When Miguel finally pulls out of the driveway, giving you a quick wave that is not reciprocated, you let your guard down. You almost watched this man murder his daughter. Tears begin to form in your eyes as the revelation simmers like boiling water. With more time here, who knows what lengths he'll travel to?

Fortunately for you, with how occupied he was with his daughter and his own inner turmoil, he had entirely forgotten to lock the door to his office. The one place neither you nor his daughter were allowed to venture into. You were unaware of what is within the room or how anything inside could aid you in your attempts to escape. What you were aware of, however, is how paranoid he was in his efforts to keep you out of there. Peeling back the curtain and taking a fearful glance out the window, just to ensure this psychopath who claimed to be your soulmate wasn't lurking, you embark on your journey into uncharted territory.

Miguel had mentioned several times in his late-night talks with you about his job at Alchemax. His boring explanations about the technology he was working on there did wonders in lulling you to sleep. Now, seeing the scatterings of machinery that littered the room made you gasp from their futuristic appearance. One contraption had caught your attention, however. It seemed to be a current project, evident in the numerous tools and papers inked with equations littered around. Upon stepping closer to the contraption, a holographic screen sputters to life. You find several distorted, glitching files that all attain to you in some shape or form. Y/N's wish list, Y/N's checking account, and Y/N's security camera footage. Curiosity does spark, but with how swiftly Miguel is able to drop his daughter off and speed home to return to you, the time you had was not versatile.

If I can piece together how this gadget works, I may be able to call for help and get Gabriella and I as far away from this man as possible, you think to yourself.

The machine continues to stammer pathetically as if it were desperately chasing its own life. Trying to peruse through the technology to find anything useful, its poor performance prevented you from any fruition. In a fit of frustration, you pull your hand back and deliver a harsh smack! to the side of the machine. With how little time you have, you can feel your opportunity for freedom begin to fade away with every glitch that erupts. With one final, violent slam to the machinery, the metal borders protecting the numerous open wires inside fall, and a sudden wave of electricity surges through you. Your entire body goes rigid before you splat harshly against the ground. You are now left entirely lifeless, except for the electric shocks that cause your stiff form to twitch in response.

With that, your life was over. October 17th, 2099 — the day Miguel O'Hara inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

August 24th, 1934. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had stayed with you more and neglected the city, maybe if he hadn't been so careless with expressing his love for you. Maybe if he had tried harder, Peter Parker would still have you here at his side.

Peter, too, attempted vigorously to make your transition to this new life with him as smooth as possible. At the very beginning of this new adjustment, hope had still plagued your mind. As days turned into weeks, soon months, the forest fire that was your persistence had slowly been snuffed out like an old candle. Now, all you can do is sit at the window seat of his apartment and just pray that someone will recognize your face. From the numerous missing persons' posters that were now left behind in dumpsters and rain puddles, you could feel your luck grow thin. Everyday looked like this, all with this lovesick maniac at your beck-and-call, deluded enough to believe this fantasy of being your doting partner to be reality. The amount of egg-creams you've drank is bound to make you vomit at some point.

At the end of the day, you had gotten what you had wished for. You were once a journalist, putting all your time into unmasking the famous Spiderman. The truth of his identity was now in the palm of your hands. However, there were far more consequences to this wish than you had originally anticipated. And Peter is overcome with guilt when he thinks back to how disastrous his efforts to give you his heart turned out.

It's his fault he had so carelessly exposed his acts of heroism through the stench of gunpowder and chunks of blood beneath his fingernails. It's his fault he didn't spend more time showering you in the affection you truly deserved. It's his fault he never assured you the inevitable fate of the bastards that hurt you was never your fault, just so you can realize that everything he does, no matter how calamitous, was all for your benefit.

It is his fault you are dead.

Slow dancing with you in the gentle haze of the moonlight peaking through the window, swaying along to some romantic melody echoing from the saloon across the street, amorous words that you'd hear from the lips of a poet whispered into your ear — this is where heaven is. This is all that he has ever dreamed of; this is all he has ever wanted for the two of you. This is what makes him happy.

"My heart is bleeding in your hands, dollface. It's all yours, I'm all yours." Peter's breath tickles your neck, the infatuation-stained harangue finally coming to an end as he continues to sway you along to the harmonies outside.

You often joke to yourself that you could stab Peter in the heart, give him even just a sliver of the turmoil he has forced into your life, and he would still give you a smile with blood painting his teeth and that revolting gleam of pure, unadulterated devotion in his eyes. With this devotion, however, comes dark, dark side effects. This was not a surprise to you, considering how you've been locked up like a bad dog for these past several months. Still, when you inhale and the sharp odor of iron poorly masked with bleach overwhelms your senses, you find yourself taken aback.

The clamoring sound of the bolts to your prison cell your captor claims to be your love den being unlocked brings you out of your thoughts. When the door opens and Peter walks in, all you see is a euphoric, hopelessly-besotted partner. With the sudden stench that is still heavy in the air, however, you feel a new, sudden sense of dread with his presence. He is elated to see you, as he always is. An impassioned kiss to your lips and an ardent compliment are essential to your everyday encounter with the man you thought once to be a superhero. Sometimes, a gift of fresh, blood-red roses may accompany him in his attempts to woo you further, as well.

Through the whiff of cigarettes sitting on his trench coat when he envelops you in a much-needed embrace after his long day of work, you sense something else. The tang you had inhaled from outside the bedroom is now stuck to his form, nestled beneath the aroma of late-night brume and smoke. You force a gag down your throat and reciprocate the affection, trying to push your suspicions to the back burner in your mind. The rest of the evening is like any other: listening to some tunes from the radio as the two of you play a card game, all that Peter deems as a "romantic date". Your winning strike against him (he always lets you win, but he won't tell you this) falters when your brain can't help but wonder what he was so occupied with outside that door.

As devastating and exhausting as the truth is, coming to terms with reality is the only chance you have of returning to the life you once had. Hoping he'll wake from his delusions and let you off your leash is nothing more than a pipe dream, you realize. If you want freedom, you'll have to take it by the neck and claim it as yours. So, as the hours of the night fade into dawn, you conjure a plan in your head while the man beside you snores in a deep slumber (not without a few sleepy mumbles of flattery for you, though).

The scheme you had so flawlessly crafted was quick, simple, and easy. You would do something you have never done before: initiate affection with Peter.

This was your ploy: fulfill all the fantasies his lovesick brain was infested with and watch with a newfound sense of hope as he forgets to lock the door, too dazed from the pleasure your sweet attitude had brought him. And it worked marvelously. Not only did this man forget to lock the bedroom door, he had entirely forgotten to lock the front door of the apartment altogether. The prospect of this mistake being a test of your loyalty lingers, but when you watch through the window as he swings away from building to building, you let out a roar of laughter.

After your fit of hysterics, a smile sits on your face as you tread to the front door. Something stops you in your tracks when your hand hovers over the doorknob. When you leave, you will have nothing but months of memories to defend yourself with. Who are the authorities going to believe — you, a mischievous journalist, prone to bending the rules for a good headline, or Peter, the famous superhero, notorious for his restless efforts to save the city? Despite the freedom you have dreamed of being right in your palms, you step away from the door. Instead, you look around for any evidence deemed beneficial. Whatever can put him under the negative limelight is satisfactory to you.

No stone was left unturned in the apartment, all besides a single door at the end of a long corridor. The night before, Peter had been so frantic with his time inside (all in order to get back to you sooner) that he was sloppy with his efforts in cleaning his mess. The spilled bleach he had accidentally knocked over was still lying in a puddle; the nauseating scent of fresh blood still satiated through the air like a fragrance. And lastly, the latch on the door had been left unlocked.

Without so much as a second thought, you enter the room and let your curious eyes soak in the sheer horror that resides within.

A metal chair rests in the middle of the room, leather straps tightened around a body that sits motionless. Two tables are located on the sides of the room where all sorts of gut-wrenching tools reside. And there is blood everywhere. What was once a second bedroom for buyers of the apartment has now been morphed into a torture chamber of sorts.

The person restrained in the chair, you weren't sure if they were even alive. Everything is drowned in so much heaps of red, attempting to use your mere first-aid knowledge is impossible. What is most perceptible, however, is the way their eye had been forcefully torn from its socket. It resembles a runny egg how it causes bodily fluids to cascade down their face. The amount of flesh on their body that had been torn asunder, the gag in their mouth that was oozing with tears and saliva, the gushing blood that continues to hastily seep from infected wounds. Everything makes your eyes blur and your stomach churn with nauseau.

With the career you once had as a journalist, you've seen some disgusting sights. Sneaking onto crime scenes from a brawly saloon fight gone too far or snapping pictures of the result of Spiderman's "heroic" acts to save citizens, you've become desensitized to gory scenes. But, this. This wasn't like anything you have ever seen.

"Y/N?" You hadn't realized how deafening the silence was until the poor victim is able to speak out.

With one eye practically staring daggers into you, the revelation hits you like a train. That voice, that eye. This is no other than the man you had called your boyfriend before this mess had snuck into your life. Or, ex-boyfriend, as you'd prefer to refer to him as. The status of your relationship was left a mystery after the night he had come to your home drunk and reeking of someone's perfume. Your insistent demands for him to sober up and inform you of his recent whereabouts earned you a harsh slap across the face. With a loud shout of how much of a “shitty partner” and "piece of cityside trash" you are, the person you thought to be the love of your life storms out of your home. Never to be seen again.

Hastily, you unclasp the restraints that left his skin numb and bruised. With how malnourished he had become from his time spent here, it was fairly easy to support his weight. You swing his battered arm around your shoulder and help him stand on his emaciated legs. After only two steps, he pushes you off of him harshly with what little strength his body was able to garner. His attempts served well, as you feel your stomach hit a table adorned with blood-stained utensils that make you sick to imagine how they were used.

"You... How could you...?" As his weak voice fills the air, you feel your stomach fold into itself. Does he think you did this?

Opening your mouth to begin stammering your way through what you intended to be a thorough explanation, a loud bang! then pervades the air. Without a second to process his actions, the man grasped the pistol left on the table and pulled the trigger. A stream of smoke now stems from the barrel. The betrayal, the aversion, and the debility in his expression tell you everything you need to know. You were so close to the finish line that would grant you freedom, but when you shift your gaze down, you're devastated to find a bullet hole protruding through your chest. You then slump to the ground and your killer falls not long after you, the act of merely standing too much for his abused body.

With that, your life was over. August 24th, 1934 — the day Peter Parker inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

July 3rd, 2020. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had been more attentive to your safety, maybe if he hadn't exposed how soul-crushing the love he has for you is. Maybe if he had tried harder, Hobie Brown would still have you here at his side.

As opposed to the others, Hobie did little to ease you into this new life with him. The transition was curt, violent. With you as a bartender, drunken customers are most certainly not a rare sight. However, when you rejected a man who had one too many drinks and he reacted with violence, it caught you off-guard. And Hobie, the lead singer of the band that consistently played at your bar, had become blind with rage. Through the mess of the blood on your head when the beer bottle shattered against you and the apple-red matter staining Hobie's guitar as he smashes it relentlessly into the man's skull, these events somehow landed you where you are now.

An abandoned building on the outskirts of town, that's where you had woken up. The debris around the room was masked with string lights and band posters adorning the walls, as well as a rickety bed frame scarcely supporting a lone mattress. With bleary vision and an even fuzzier head, you gain consciousness abruptly. You find yourself on the bed with thick, itchy blankets draped around you, clothes that certainly do not belong to you on your body, and spiky belts used to restrain your limbs. Barbed wires and decaying planks of wood board the windows; the lack of passing cars and loud pedestrians outside cause you to worry about how far you are from the lively city you called home.

A lanky figure makes their presence known, dressed in those all-too-familiar garbs. Spider-Punk, the man you'd always see performing at your penurious bar, despite how widespread their band was. Much to your shock, his large hand finds the trim of his mask before tearing the garment off. Beneath is a gorgeous face embellished with piercings and a wild head full of hair. Large, wet eyes overwhelm you. And there is only one discernible trait you could read clearly through his expression: desire.

The way your plump body pools from the hems of the small clothing he dressed you in from his closet, fuck. Hobie has thought of this moment plenty of times — finally being able to take you away, just the two of you. He swore up and down he'd keep his fervid cravings at bay. But, when you're truly here in front of him, looking like that. He has to dig his long nails into his palms to physically restrain himself from lunging for you like a feral animal in heat. God, you look too fucking good.

From here on out, the relationship you have with Hobie sprouted into something only you would call treacherous, something only he would call rapturous. Being trapped within the small expanse of this grimy room, your new life has shown how perceptibly different your reactions are from one another. You are entirely dumbfounded at these new circumstances you've been forcefully thrust into. Meanwhile, Hobie attempts to put space between you both to avoid giving into his irresistible hunger. Though, it doesn't take a genius to notice how his hands always find their way to your naked skin and how his eyes linger on the intimate parts of your body. And it most certainly doesn't take a genius to notice the sheer terror and confusion stuck to your expression.

The discomfort the residence brings does little to ease you, as well. How your body is restricted against the firm mattress has your limbs aching with cramps. Your neck throbs from no support, considering the lack of pillows. But, Hobie always remarked that his chest is more comfortable to lay on, anyway. His clothing reeks of alcohol from the numerous bars and parties he’s attended, but also from the expensive perfumes, lotions, as well as the skin and hair products he received from his time being a runway model. The scent now clinging to your skin fails to bring you any of the tranquility he wished you would feel. Meals shared between you two were often dowsed in grease and cheap in flavor. Your captor never put much effort into making your dinnertime together anything reminiscent of a romantic date in Italy or something along those themes. He would much rather eat something else for dinner, after all.

This is what life looked like for the next several months. Records spinning and filling the air with headache-inducing songs he says he had written about you; Polaroid pictures scattered around the room that display different variations of the same scene: you sitting pretty with Hobie's hands and lips all over you. Never, never, has this man ever felt so much bliss in his entire life. He has always preached about how the idea of "love" is nothing more than propaganda meant to earn greedy, capitalistic companies more money with their cheesy movies and Valentine's Day garbage. When you entered his life in all your glory, however, he was ashamed to put his pride aside and admit those irritating pop songs may have been correct.

"I don’t need nothin’ else. 'Long as I have you here, birdie." He fidgets with the necklace he had given you that was currently draped upon your neck. His lucky guitar chip is swung upon the chain, since it always belonged to you, anyway. You will always be his muse.

With how carelessly he let himself be swathed in the warm blankets of love, how carelessly Hobie had let you slip from his fingertips.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his protective nature through blood-stained bar floors and constricting arms encompassing your body. It's his fault he never assured you these conflicts weren’t your fault, it was only the monsters outside who wished to separate true love. It's his fault he had disciplined himself so heavily for his big heart, fearful of losing self-control with the love of his life.

It is his fault you are dead.

You regret not tallying the days you've spent locked up in this birdcage. Carving lines into the deteriorating walls to represent the slashes this new life has left in your sanity. It feels as if lifetimes have tread by you, the same day repeating itself like your own personal nightmare. Mere months have gone by and unbeknownst to you, the sweet escape you so despairingly crave is sitting upon the horizon. The circumstances of your freedom were the absolute last thing you had wished for, however.

Hobie’s history of being a heartthrob and heartbreaker were no secret to you, but his newfound loyalty to the innocent person he had taken from their previous life was even more evident. All the possessive, delusional fans that were convinced they'd marry their favorite singer, it was just so easy for Hobie to indulge in some casual fun before leaving them behind in his dust. As the story of all Spider-People goes, however, Y/N L/N is the tool that throws this man into a whirlpool of enamoring disarray. Embracing this newfound happiness was exhilarating for him, but Hobie was so dazed from it, he never had thought that karma would slither itself between you two.

A certain groupie, wholly convinced she and Spider-Punk are soulmates, was devastated to see how carelessly the love of her life abandoned her. Her mind had sprinted to all sorts of gut-wrenching conclusions. Am I not enough? Is he moving on? Is there someone else? Her worst nightmare materializes into reality when she stalks behind his tall figure and follows him to a building one late night, an odd pep in his step as he enters. What she assumes is just another exclusive club location with more taboo forms of partying, she is left stunned when she catches sight of what sights lie within.

The man of her dreams is found in the depths of infidelity. Through the crack of a rickety door coated with locks, there he was. Chest pressed against the back of someone else, who was sound asleep beneath an array of blankets like a baby in a crib. With his arms locked around them like a lifeline, Spider-Punk presses long, intimate kisses to their face. The words she had begged to hear from him, he was so frivolously drowning this stranger in such, despite their unconscious state. Every syllable was dripping with lust and smitten-induced hysteria. Tears brim in her eyes from how desperately she covets to be you in this moment.

With a shattered heart and a festering rage, she comes to the conclusion of what she must do. She will take him back, no matter what it takes.

Rarely did Hobie ever leave the expanse of your room, he wanted to stay with you forever. When he did, however, it was for some quick cash at yet another gig he and his bandmates had landed. Singing his lungs out, knowing every lyric revolves around the one waiting for him back home — you have brought him ecstasy he still cannot fathom the sheer weight of. A Friday night like no other, Hobie would spend the evening beneath the blinding spotlights, drinking the hours away, before returning home and cuddling with the only reason he chooses to live.

Through the barricaded windows and doors, a sudden stench of what appears to be smoke invades your senses. A big city like this, something along these lines is nothing out of the ordinary. After all, you were so thrilled to finally be granted a night to yourself, anything that would jeopardize this gift from the universe is seen as insignificant. When the heavy smell becomes more perceptible and the unmistakable sound of fire cracking gets louder, you feel dread tickle down your spine. The fear settles into your bones before you can think of a logical way to escape. Hobie did everything to ensure you wouldn’t leave his side, after all.

Air soon becomes precious, your lungs begin to squeeze, your skin is burning with scorching pain. It brings you the hell you had carelessly thought you felt before. A final cry of help into the suffocating air and you feel your life begin to fade. Meanwhile, the lost groupie stands near the entrance, holding back a satisfied smile. An onslaught of concerned pedestrians and firefighters accompany her. And Hobie was still far away, alcohol heavy in his system and the joy of returning to you seeping through his body like a drug. So blissfully unaware of what awaits him when he comes back to the place he had called home only with you.

With that, your life was over. July 3rd, 2020 — the day Hobie Brown inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

The effects your departure has left on these men are all nothing short of disastrous. No longer do they have the vibrant, loving souls they once held. Day by day, they are dragging the dead carcass that is their own body, suffering through every second and hoping it will be their last. The paths your death have led these three are unique from one another, but they all find themselves in one specific space. Spider-HQ, within Nueva York on Earth-928. The story the multiverse has written for them had so selfishly taken their happiness away from them. Taking the pen for themselves and creating the most beautiful fairytale where you are alive and back in their embrace is the only purpose they now have.

Now, Miguel O'Hara stands at the office he earned from becoming the leader of this society. Upon the various monitors displayed around him are scenes taken from numerous different universes. Lethargy sits like bags of bricks beneath his eyes, slowly blinking as he ensures no minor mistake is present. If the multiverse were to crumble, his sole objection to save the only important person in Spiderman's life will fall with it. When he verifies all is well on Earth-1610, something perceptible then catches his gaze and he does a double-take. Any sign of fatigue within him is snatched out of his body, leaving him more awake than ever before.

Within this universe, Miguel finds you.

Before, these universes have only displayed the effects your death has left on all the spider-people. Today, however, is the first time he has seen you alive since the day he lost you. Lyla snickers and accuses him of having a cute, teenage-like crush when she takes notice of the sheer captivation in his expression. Little does she know how much history lies in your mere face. It is heart-crushing, how much the simple sight of you enjoying a cup of coffee (with one too many sugars, as he knows you've always preferred) has such catastrophic effects on him.

Piles of schoolwork are scattered around your desk, covered in information adhering to your current college major. Even with your lack of sleep, school-induced annoyance, and general exhaustion over everything in your life, Miguel has never seen something quite as breathtaking as you in this moment. An epiphany sprouts in his brain as quickly as the sight of you caused his soul to blossom, just like it did all those years ago.

Maybe he can stop it. Maybe he can get you back.

Your death is inevitable, and even though Miguel was aware of this, dread still pervades his stomach at the prospect and churns with his breakfast. What really makes him shudder is when he reads through the cannon events assigned to you. A flare of jealousy ignites within him when he finds an unfamiliar name in the midst of your story.

Miles Morales, the Spiderman you are meant to fall in love with. What good is he? He's just some stupid kid, what more could he possibly do that Miguel can't? Why would you choose this loser when he can give you everything you have ever wanted!? In a sudden fit of rage, he grasps hold of whatever matter was closest to him and uses all the strength within his muscular arms to hurl it across the room. His chest heaves with infuriated huffs; his claws slice into the meat of his palms. He is enraged, yes, but he is mostly devastated that the beautiful face on his screen will soon meet their inescapable demise.

Not only will he do everything in his power to stop your death, but Miguel also vows to put his blood, sweat, and tears into ensuring you do not fall for this boy. Additionally, he will formulate a plan to bring you back into his arms without destroying the multiverse as a whole. With that being said, this does not change how reality on Earth-1610 continues to play out in front of him. It’s like a television show; a show he'd give a 1-star rating out of sheer pettiness.

In his last year of high school, Miles Morales' life was thrown into a tornado when his parents enrolled him in a new school to finish his last semester. And the 18-year-old boy absolutely dreaded this. New people, new location, new clothes that poke and jut at his skin uncomfortably. With the hefty responsibility of being Brooklyn's sole hero and hiding this truth from his loved ones, this sudden alteration in his environment does not relieve any stress. Swiftly, Miles conjures a plan to convince his parents to send him back to the way his life once was. Slack off, play dumb, and bring home report cards that are absolutely atrocious and his parents will have no choice but to give their son what he wants.

However, this is not what happened. Much to Miles' dismay, the grand idea his parents had was to not let him continue his education comfortably. Instead, they hired a tutor to aid him through his final months of high school.

Rio and Jeff had invited this tutor for dinner at their home, which Miles had flaked on entirely. Mostly due to his duty as Spiderman, but partially from how sour he was about the state of affairs. When he returned home, their anger was practically palpable. However, this disappointment soon shifted into a long, insufferable tangent about how marvelously smart, mannerly, and kind this tutor was and how embarrassed they were because of him. That Saturday, he was expected to join this tutor in the school's library or his parents may consider grounding him once again. Miles has to refrain from rolling his eyes at their never-ending lecture.

March 11th, 2023. It will be all his fault. This day is the day Miles Morales will inevitably meet the only thing that will ever matter to him.

To earn some extra support through your time in college, you had decided to take up tutoring in your free time. The myriad of students you had met all possessed the same attitude — the kind of attitude you'd expect from teenagers whose parents forced them to do schoolwork in their free time. Miles fit this category well, at first. And how your situation developed, it was oddly refreshing to finally meet someone who isn't repudiating every second with you.

15 minutes late, open backpack spilling with paper, tie loose around his neck, the student most certainly made his presence known when he stumbled into the silent library. Attempting to fix his untied shoelaces, you rush over to help him and save him from any further embarrassment he was already enduring. You are able to catch the folder that had tumbled out of his bag before it hit the ground, to where he mumbles a quick "thanks" in response. His gaze is still locked to the strings of his shoes he was attempting to tie together as swiftly as possible. Nearly tripping, Miles makes it to the table you had once organized thoroughly, but was now cluttered with everything this boy had thrown onto the surface.

Oblivious to you, the boy whose parents described as having a "heart of gold," was doing everything in his power to appear as rude and ill-mannered as possible. Deliberately arriving late, making a fool of the two of you, messing up the neat array of lesson plans and pencils you arranged. Anything to convince his parents to send him away from the nightmare that is this school. This plan of his was seized from his mind like a rug pulled out beneath his feet when he finally turns his shoulder and shifts his attention to you. What Miles expected would be the slowest, drawn-out hour he's ever experienced would actually be the most exciting, life-beaming 60 minutes he’s ever experienced.

Your voice sounds like honey as you introduce yourself to him. And that heart-stuttering smile of yours works wonders on him. Miles had already known your name, but hearing it from your mouth made him think he was listening to a symphony of angels. Since the last few stages of high school are stressful for everyone, you decided to cut him some slack and offer a kind hand for him to shake. All thoughts of his old school and the comfort it brought are all eradicated as he stares into your soul with those wide, bambi-brown eyes. After months in this new environment, you must be a gift the universe sent to compensate for all the misery he has endured. And fervently, Miles accepts you as the best gift he has ever received.

"I'm Spiderman." His mouth moves before his brain can compute. Your brows furrow in response, scrutinizing the confession for some sort of punchline.

“I mean- shit, uh… I mean, I’m Miles... You-You know, like- kilometers, yards, feet. Except, it's Miles this time... Y-... Y'know?"

His relentless stammering to try and prove himself worthy of your time while also acknowledging he accidentally told you his deepest secret earns him a quick giggle. And the sound bouncing from your lips is nothing short of paradisiacal, especially when he is the cause. A sudden wave of silence then rests between you both. You, laughing nervously to lighten the awkward tension. Miles, entirely flabbergasted at how he could have ever wanted to miss out on something as profoundly magnificent as this. His mind runs rampant while his wide eyes remain locked on your averting ones. Do it, do it, do it. Just do it already, Miles!

He pulls his hands up, your eyebrows furrowing once more trying to consider his intentions. He then lands his touch upon your shoulder.

"Hey..." Miles' voice drops several octaves, a fiddly excuse of a smirk forms on his lips, and he squints his twitching eyes that still hold the same crazed wonder they've had since they first landed on you.

"Hi...?" Your response expresses nothing but sheer confusion, not your face burning from the attention like Miles had initially strived for.

Wrapping your hand around his, your mere physical touch sends flares of electricity down his skin. Goosebumps bloom across his arms and his entire body halts in place, tense with shock and nerves. In an attempt to forcefully remove his hold on you, you're startled to find how he is now stuck to your hand. As if he had lathered his hand in heaps of glue before touching you, the efforts you took to get this boy off of you only resulted in your skin painfully stretching.

So enveloped in the way his heart lurches from holding your hand, a sudden, hushed whimper of "you're hurting me!" and Miles feels a gasp involuntarily escape his throat. Attempting to pull away from you, as much as he wishes not to, only intensifies your pain. What had Peter told him to do when this happened? Oh yeah, just relax! But, how on Earth can he possibly relax when your hand is in his!?

People are staring, exclaiming in annoyed distress over their interrupted study time. You're trying to piece together how Miles had managed to cement his hand to yours and why he refuses to let go of you. Meanwhile, Miles is apologizing profusely for inadvertently harming you, while also soaking in how rhapsodic it is to have your hand in his. He knows he has fully fallen into oblivion when the prospect of letting go of you hurts him more than the relentless pull and twist of his flesh.

So much for first impressions, right?

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ MANY LIVES THAT COULD HAVE

BEEN ENTANGLED FOR ETERNITY . . . ❞

gif credits :: miguel, miles, peter, & hobie.

tag list :: @honey-beeuwu, @hex-touchstarved, @thel0v3hashira143, @cailey1011, @mickxxstxvxns-blog, @flaming-vulpix, @puthypirate42069, @dolliemoons, @mikalovesnoodles, @explosiongamora, @thegalacticnacho091, @brinleighsstuff, @shinsou-hoetoshi, @uselessbutinteresting, @amortentor, @fried-milkfish, @officiallypoopoo, @lu-lupe, @belladonnashifter, @forgottenbynature, @marooseshawnash, @gothika-spacech1k, @funtimefoxybae, @ethnicbratz, @painpainflyaway, @shadepelt4673, @vivacioussaint, @palepettycharmer, @rqdior, @clownwiki, @clever-username96, @bisoudoll, @darlingdontwe, @naiomiwinchester, @weskennedysgirl, @chubbuart, @simpfo, @neytirisarrow, @leilani04, @lizzymizzy-blogg, @sublimesoulmagazine, @minimari415, @hcmay, @jinuaei, @altusha, @daisygirlll, @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @islandgyal06, @the-hufflebird-girl, @laucoeurs, @nepherawinchester18307, @tiredao3reader, @decadentlawyerapricotcowboy, @kitisb0red, @gabiacee, @reneuv, @letmegetthestrap, @krentkova19, @ayupfrogg, @vita-nire, @emmbny, & @realifezompire

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

Text

Netflix wants to chop down your family tree

Netflix has unveiled the details of its new anti-password-sharing policy, detailing a suite of complex gymnastics that customers will be expected to undergo if their living arrangements trigger Netflix’s automated enforcement mechanisms:

https://thestreamable.com/news/confirmed-netflix-unveils-first-details-of-new-anti-password-sharing-measures

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/02/nonbinary-families/#red-envelopes

Netflix says that its new policy allows members of the same “household” to share an account. This policy comes with an assumption: that there is a commonly understood, universal meaning of “household,” and that software can determine who is and is not a member of your household.

This is a very old corporate delusion in the world of technology. In the early 2000s, I spent years trying to bring some balance to an effort at DVB, whose digital television standards are used in most of the world (but not the USA) when they rolled out CPCM, a DRM system that was supposed to limit video-sharing to a single household.

Their term of art for this was the “authorized domain”: a software-defined family unit whose borders were privately negotiated by corporate executives from media companies, broadcasters, tech and consumer electronics companies in closed-door sessions all around the world, with no public minutes or proceedings.

https://onezero.medium.com/the-internet-heist-part-iii-8561f6d5a4dc

These guys (they were nearly all guys) were proud of how much “flexibility” they’d built into their definition of “household.” For example, if you owned a houseboat, or a luxury car with seatback displays, or a summer villa in another country, the Authorized Domain would be able to figure out how to get the video onto all those screens.

But what about other kinds of families? I suggested that one of our test cases should be a family based in Manila: where the dad travels to remote provinces to do agricultural labor; the daughter is a nanny in California; and the son is doing construction work in the UAE. This suggestion was roundly rejected as an “edge case.”

Of course, this isn’t an edge case. There are orders of magnitude more people whose family looks like this than there are people whose family owns a villa in another country. Owning a houseboat or a luxury car makes you an outlier. Having an itinerant agricultural breadwinner in your family does not.

But everyone who is in the room when a cartel draws up a standard definition of what constitutes a household is almost certainly drawn from a pool that is more likely to have a summer villa than a child doing domestic work or construction labor half a world away. These weirdos, so dissimilar from the global majority, get to define the boxes that computers will shove the rest of the world into. If your family doesn’t look like their family, that’s tough: “Computer says no.”

One day at a CPCM meeting, we got to talking about the problem of “content laundering” and how the way to prevent it would be to put limits on how often someone could leave a household and join another one. No one, they argued, would ever have to change households every week.

I put my hand up and said, “What about a child whose divorced parents share custody of her? She’s absolutely going to change households every week.” They thought about it for a moment, then the rep from a giant IT company that had recently been convicted of criminal antitrust violations said, “Oh, we can solve that: we’ll give her a toll-free number to call when she gets locked out of her account.”

That was the solution they went with. If you are a child coping with the dissolution of your parents’ marriage, you will have the obligation to call up a media company every month — or more often — and explain that Mummy and Daddy don’t love each other any more, but can I please have my TV back?

I never forgot that day. I even wrote a science fiction story about it called (what else?) “Authorized Domain”:

https://craphound.com/news/2011/10/31/authorised-domain/

I think everyone understood that this was an absurd “solution,” but they had already decided that they were going to complete the seemingly straightforward business of defining a category like “household” using software, and once that train left the station, nothing was going to stop it.

This is a recurring form of techno-hubris: the idea that baseline concepts like “family” have crisp definitions and that any exceptions are outliers that would never swallow the rule. It’s such a common misstep that there’s a whole enre* called “Falsehoods Programmers Believe About ______”:

https://github.com/kdeldycke/awesome-falsehood

In that list: names, time, currency, birthdays, timezones, email addresses, national borders, nations, biometrics, gender, language, alphabets, phone numbers, addresses, systems of measurement, and, of course, families. These categories are touchstones in our everyday life, and we think we know what they mean — but then we try to define them, and the list of exceptions spirals out into a hairy, fractal infinity.

Historically, these fuzzy categorical edges didn’t matter so much, because they were usually interpreted by humans using common sense. My grandfather was born “Avrom Doctorovitch” (or at least, that’s one way to transliterate his name, which was spelled in a different alphabet, but which was also transliterating his first name from yet another alphabet). When he came to Canada as a refugee, his surname was anglicized to “Doctorow.” Other cousins are “Doctorov,” “Doctoroff,” and “Doktorovitch.”

Naturally, his first name could have been “Abraham” or “Abe,” but his first employer (a fellow Eastern European emigre) decided that was too ethnic and in sincere effort to help him fit in, he called my grandfather “Bill.” When my grandfather attained citizenship, his papers read “Abraham William Doctorow.” He went by “Abe,” “Billy,” “Bill,” “William,” “Abraham” and “Avrom.”

Practically, it didn’t matter that variations on all of these appeared on various forms of ID, contracts, and paperwork. His reparations check from the German government had a different variation from the name on the papers he used to open his bank account, but the bank still let him deposit it.

All of my relatives from his generation have more than one name. Another grandfather of mine was born “Aleksander,” and called “Sasha” by friends, but had his name changed to “Seymour” when he got to Canada. His ID was also a mismatched grab-bag of variations on that theme.

None of this mattered to him, either. Airlines would sell him tickets and border guards would stamp his passport and rental agencies would let him drive away in cars despite the minor variations on all his ID.

But after 9/11, all that changed, for everyone who had blithely trundled along with semi-matching names across their official papers and database entries. Suddenly, it was “computer says no” everywhere you turned, unless everything matched perfectly. There was a global rush for legal name-changes after 9/11 — not because people changed their names, but because people needed to perform the bureaucratic ritual necessary to have the name they’d used all along be recognized in these new, brittle, ambiguity-incinerating machines.

For important categories, ambiguity is a feature, not a bug. The fact that you can write anything on an envelope (including a direction to deliver the letter to the granny flat over the garage, not the front door) means that we don’t have to define “address” — we can leave it usefully hairy around the edges.

Once the database schema is formalized, then “address” gets defined too — the number of lines it can have, the number of characters each line can have, the kinds of characters and even words (woe betide anyone who lives in Scunthorpe).

If you have a “real” address, a “real” name, a “real” date of birth, all of this might seem distant to you. These “edge” cases — seasonal agricultural workers, refugees with randomly assigned “English” names — are very far from your experience.

That’s true — for now (but not forever). The “Shitty Technology Adoption Curve” describes the process by which abusive technologies work their way up the privilege gradient. Every bad technological idea is first rolled out on poor people, refugees, prisoners, kids, mental patients and other people who can’t push back.

Their bodies are used to sand the rough edges and sharp corners off the technology, to normalize it so that it can climb up through the social ranks, imposed on people with more and more power and influence. 20 years ago, if you ate your dinner under an always-on #CCTV, it was because you were in a supermax prison. Today, it’s because you bought a premium home surveillance system from Google, Amazon or Apple.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/29/impunity-corrodes/#arise-ye-prisoners

The Netflix anti-sharing tools are designed for rich people. If you travel for business and stay in the kind of hotel where the TV has its own Netflix client that you can plug your username and password into, Netflix will give you a seven-day temporary code to use.

But for the most hardcore road-warriors, Netflix has thin gruel. Unless you connect to your home wifi network every 31 days and stream a show, Netflix will lock out your devices. Once blocked, you have to “contact Netflix” (laughs in Big Tech customer service).

Why is Netflix putting the screws to its customers? It’s part of the enshittification cycle, where platform companies first allocate surpluses to their customers, luring them in and using them as bait for business customers. Once they turn up, the companies reallocate surpluses to businesses, lavishing them with low commissions and lots of revenue opportunities. And once they’re locked in, the company starts to claw back the surpluses for itself.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

Remember when Netflix was in the business of mailing red envelopes full of DVDs around the country? That was allocating surpluses to users. The movie companies hated this, viewed it as theft — a proposition that was at least as valid as Netflix’s complaints about password sharing, but every pirate wants to be an admiral, and when Netflix did it to the studios, that was “progress,” but when you do it to Netflix, that’s theft.

Then, once Netflix had users locked in and migrated to the web (and later, apps), it shifted surpluses to studios, paying fat licensing fees to stream their movies and connect them to a huge audience.

Finally, once the studios were locked in, Netflix started to harvest the surplus for its shareholders: raising prices, lowering streaming rates, knocking off other studios’ best performing shows with in-house clones, etc. Users’ surpluses are also on the menu: the password “sharing” that let you define a household according to your family’s own idiosyncratic contours is unilaterally abolished in a quest to punish feckless Gen Z kids for buying avocado toast instead of their own Netflix subscriptions.

Netflix was able to ignore the studios’ outraged howls when it built a business by nonconsenually distributing their products in red envelopes. But now that Netflix has come for your family, don’t even think about giving Netfix some of what it gave to the MPAA.

As a technical matter, it’s not really that hard to modify Netflix’s app so that every stream you pull seems to come from your house, no matter where you are. But doing so would require reverse-engineering Netflix’s app, and that would violate Section 1201 of the DMCA, the CFAA, and eleventy-seven other horrible laws. Netflix’s lawyers would nuke you until the rubble bounced.

When Netflix was getting started, it could freely interoperate with the DVDs that the studios had put on the market. It could repurpose those DVDs in ways that the studios strenuously objected to. In other words, Netfix used adversarial interoperability (AKA Competitive Compatibility or ComCom) to launch its business:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

Today, Netflix is on the vanguard of the war to abolish adversarial interop. They helped lead the charge to pervert W3C web-standards, creating a DRM video standard called EME that made it a crime to build a full-featured browser without getting permission from media companies and restricting its functionality to their specifications:

https://blog.samuelmaddock.com/posts/the-end-of-indie-web-browsers/

When they used adversarial interoperability to build a multi-billion-dollar global company using the movie studios’ products in ways the studios hated, that was progress. When you define “family” in ways that makes Netflix less money, that’s felony contempt of business model.

[Image ID: A Victorian family tree template populated by tintypes of old-timey people. In the foreground stands a menacing, chainsaw-wielding figure, his face obscured by a hoodie. The blade of the chainsaw is poised to chop down the family tree. A Netflix 'N' logo has been superimposed over the man's face.]

#pluralistic #enshittification #shitty technology adoption curve #cpcm #interoperabiltiy #comcom #adversarial interoperability #interop #netflix #family #ambiguity #digitizatio #nym wars #authorized domain #dvb #dvds #password sharing

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bunnyhugs77 · 5 months

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Daddy Daycare

Pairing: Technician! Jungkook x Teacher's Assistant! Reader

Word Count: 7k

Part: 1, 2, 3

Series Content: daycare au, suggestive themes, love at first sight? dilf jk, mentions of antidepressants, mint jk and blonde jk, jk cant sleep, sexual themes, he's so whipped, toxic ex, minor baby mama drama, gold diggers, mentions of death, complicated family history, cute kid cameos, reader can't drive, jk is good with his hands, mentions of abusive relationships, so much fluff.

Other Series Content: soft dom! jk, muscle kink, pussy puts his ass to sleep, unprotected sex (just don't), oral sex (f! and m! receiving), brief choking, minor breeding kink, hickeys, brief dom! reader, reader makes him wait, intimate cuddling, praise.

"Ready for a new year, Y/n?"

Your nose was filled with the smell of fresh paint and scotch tape as you and your co-worker Vanessa who goes by Ms. Powell when the class is swarming with bright and bustling four-year-old's.

The loud sound of ripping tape rang through your ears as you pasted the pieces onto the back of the welcome sign. The sun was hardly out as the two of you arranged to arrive at your new classroom bright and early at 5 am to finish off the decorations for the classroom.

"I can't believe the summer is finished already." You say with a rejuvenated smile. "I can only imagine how fast the time flies when you're travelling Europe." She reminds you of your two-week-long travels across the south of Europe.

Standing to your feet for what feels like the first time ever after hours of crouching and kneeling to finish up the decorations. "I think that's the last of it," with a puff of air and a pair of hands on your hips you smile to yourself, satisfied with the lively environment the two of you managed to create.

"I think we're ready," Vanessa says, cracking open a fresh whiteboard marker to sign your names on the board in a warm welcome.

With a quick glance down to your watch. "-and just in time too,".

The sun had peaked over the horizon no more than thirty minutes ago which means that theatrical parents would be rolling in any minute now to send off their kids to what could possibly be their first day away from them.

You both took the last few minutes to run down the hall and get changed, making sure you both looked ready to take on 22 pre-schoolers. Although you weren't the head teacher, you still had just as much of a responsibility as Vanessa did and it wasn't always easy.

The scar on your upper arm which was victim to the shark-like teeth of an ambitious little boy last year can attest to that.

You smiled warmly to some parents who passed by you in the halls on your way back to the classroom. Some familiar faces, some new, although based on the direction they were walking, they weren't any kids in your class.

By the time you returned to yours, there were already two parents bidding their farewells with their energetic offspring who were already reaching for the crayons you'd left on each table.

You slowly made your way to the front with Vanessa as the two of you prepared to introduce yourselves to the large crowd of parents and students that situated themselves around the room.

The energy was high, you could practically feel some of the anxiety and excitement from the crowd.

"Hello everyone!" Vanessa starts, clasping her hands together, "On behalf of Sunshine Circles Daycare, we want to give you all a warm welcome to our class."

Vanessa introduces herself professionally before briefly gesturing to you, cueing your smile, "And this is Ms. Hill, she will be assisting both me and the students around the classroom. I wouldn't be able to do this without her." You nod along, preparing yourself to speak.

"Yes, so if ever Ms. Powell is unavailable, don't be afraid to share any questions or concerns with me that you have about the class or your child." Out of sight, somewhere in the crowd a pair shuffled through the large group of bodies and made their way to the front.

"We're looking forward to-" You paused, your eyes meeting the eyes of the man who just emerged from the crowd while holding the small hand of who you presumed was his son, he looked a little younger than the rest of the parents, and significantly buffer if you must add.

You could see peaks of his soft blue hair sticking out from underneath his black beanie that matched his black wife beater. He flashes you a coy smile, so innocent and handsome to the point he'd made you forget your train of thought and completely forget what you were in the middle of saying.

"I think what Ms. Hill was about to say was that we're looking forward to having a wonderful year full of learning and fun." Vanessa fills in your blanks and all you could utter was a small 'mhm!'.

With that said, the parents that'd been here since the very beginning had naturally begun to take their leave, not without a tight hug and reassuring kiss to their child's forehead of course.

"Sorry we're late," You turn around, and it's as if the air was sucked out of your lungs. The man was even more stunning up close, but that was something you vowed you would never acknowledge again. He's the guardian of one of your students, it would be unprofessional.

"That's no problem at all, life happens," you chirp, almost too happily. "Isn't that the truth, Ryan here couldn't seem to find his favourite shoes and refused to wear anything but." The man smiles, and wow, even his smile was attractive.

If you thought his smile was contagious you just couldn't stop yourself from beaming when you finally looked down to meet Ryan's big grin. "Look! It's lightning McQueen!" He shouts, stomping his feet at one hundred miles a minute, the base of his sneakers flashing red and white as he does so.

"Your shoes are awesome! I wish mine could do that." You return his big energy with a bit of a softer tone, oblivious to the way the man is watching you intently. All of a sudden Ryan was hopping up and down, tugging on his dad's arm, "Can I colour?!" He points to the table full of markers and blank papers.

"Well, you're going to have to ask Ms. Hill first, okay buddy?" The man looks at you with a damn near glow in his gaze, "Of course it's okay. Use as many colours as you'd like." Before you could even finish your sentence, Ryan was long gone, only the flashes of his sneakers were proof that he hadn't teleported.

"Have you been teaching here long?" He asks, prompting you to shake your head. "This is actually only my second year teaching here," subconsciously his plump bottom lip found itself victim between his teeth. "Ah," he sighs.

There was a brief pause in your conversation. As if it were planned, both of your gazes dropped down to analyze the other's left hand, looking for any signs of that metallic band wrapped around the ring finger.

Seems like you were both in the clear, for now.

Your conversation resumed as if the ring inspection never even happened and soon the both of you were finally making introductions. "The kids call me Ms. Hill, but you're more than welcome to call me Y/n." That lip ring was taunting you as it sat so comfortably in his plush pink lips that stretched into a soft smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Y/n, I'm Jungkook."

"Goddamn it." You mutter. Giving the projector another hard hit in the back as it flickered and failed to turn on. It had been giving you a hard time all week.

You're at least grateful it let you have a successful first week of the year but now it was acting up more than ever. Kids would be coming any minute and Vanessa was stuck in traffic, so you would somehow need to find a way to fix this and supervise all before--

"Good morning Ms. Hill," Never mind you think, giving the projector one last frustrated tap. Disregarding it as if it never happened and focusing on Jungkook and Ryan who just walked in.

Ryan shouts a cheery good morning of his own before getting his hands on the toy car he's grown fond of over the last week. Unspokenly declaring it as his own.

"I couldn't help but notice.. and hear your frustrations with the projector from down the hall. Something wrong?" He takes two confident strides towards the equipment with you trailing along.

"Yeah, it's been breaking down all week. I was hoping to show the kids a video today, but it seems I may have to improvise." He didn't respond with anything more than his warm smile as he laid his hand down on the top of the projector giving it a once over.

His brows furrow ever so slightly before he lets out a little laugh.

"What's so funny?" your arms cross instinctively, eyes never leaving his lean frame as he practically struts over to the outlet and properly plugs in the cord, the graphics now displaying perfectly on the screen.

"In all of my years working in tech, that may have been one of the hardest cases to solve." He teases and you subconsciously let your tongue poke the inside of your cheek, failing to hide an embarrassed smile.

You waved to the parents who were dropping off more students, "If you ever have any more technical issues, I'd be happy to help." He reaches into his back pocket and places one of his business cards in your hand. "I will, thank you."

You shook off whatever the hell it was that was bubbling in your stomach, and reminded yourself things were strictly professional and he was only offering to be nice, nothing more.

The weeks were flying by without you realizing it until Thanksgiving was mere weeks around the corner. Which meant today was show and tell. Vanessa instructed everyone to sit on the carpet in a big circle.

Yesterday you reminded parents to help their child to find something they loved at home so they could bring it to show and tell.

"Thanksgiving is a special day of the year where we-" Vanessa was in the middle of explaining from where she sat crisscrossed on the carpet in the circle while you picked up the abandoned crayons and papers on the desk.

"Eat lots of food," cute giggles filled the room from Carly's outburst. "Yes, that's right. We eat lots of food on Thanksgiving and it's a day to be grateful for everything you have. Can anyone tell me what it means to be grateful for something?"

The class had never been so quiet, full of scrunched brows and blank stares. "It means to be happy with what you have. How many of you have toys at home?" Almost all hands shot up at once, you were afraid someone would lose an eye.

"Do you like your toys,? The room filled with lots of loud and affirmative responses, "To be grateful for something like your toys means showing them extra love and saying thank you to your parents who bought them."

By the time you'd finished cleaning up and joined the circle, they were about halfway through the circle for show and tell, everyone getting a chance to say what they brought and why they loved it along with passing it around the circle.

"Thank you for sharing Ms. Cuddlepuff with us Riley."

"Ryan, what did you bring?" He practically lights up when his turn finally comes around. He introduced his favourite blue race car, and described it as fast and shiny, even holding it while he spun the wheels for us.

"What an amazing car! Do you want to pass it around?" He shakes his head. You tried to be gentle understanding why he wouldn't want to share, "Don't you want your friends to be able to see your amazing car too?" He shakes his head, hugging his toy close to his chest and scooting further back, removing himself from the circle.

"Ryan-" Vanessa tries to reason but he starts to yell, "I don't want to share! It's mine!" He stomps his feet, the lights on his shoes flashing red, a similar shade to his furious expression.

You looked over to Vanessa, the both of you deciding you weren't going to fight him on it.

"Okay Jamie, what did you bring today?" He shakes his head as if he is mimicking Ryan's behaviour. "I don't want to share either."

Oh boy.

Finding a way to get the rest of the class to share their objects had taken all of your willpower and the rest of the day, right until parents were walking in, ready for pick up.

"Hey," You smile as you watched Jungkook walk in wearing his typical white collared shirt with the top button open giving you only the slightest peak of the silver chain beneath that sat atop his honey-kissed skin--

"Daddy!" Ryan squeaked, running off to grab his coat and shoes.

"How was he today?" You tried to hide your regret but he noticed it, no matter how fast it flashed across your features. "What is it?" His voice was soft, welcoming any feedback.

"He had a bit of a hard time sharing during the show and tell. He didn't want his classmates to touch his car, which I understand but we try to encourage the students to be kind and share." Your heart was pounding, you always hated these kinds of talks.

You felt that it was just criticism, but in reality, it was just one rainy in comparison to one hundred sunny ones. Jungkook exhaled heavily. "I don't know what is with him and this car, he won't even let me hold it."

As if on cue, Ryan comes running back to his father with his jacket on and car in hand. His dad ruffles his hair playfully while the boy wraps his arms around his father's legs.

"I'm sorry about what happened. We're working on it, I promise." Nothing but sincerity rolled off his tongue as he looked down at the child who clung to his jeans.

"Come on buddy, let's go. Say bye to Ms. Hill."

"Bye, Ms. Hill!" He waves back to you before walking out the door.

As the clock rolled closer the 4:30, all the kids had gone home and it was just you and Vanessa going through the schedules for tomorrow.

"So how long are you gonna keep flirting with Ryan's dad." maybe you'd put on too much lotion earlier, it was pure coincidence that your pencil had immediately fallen from your hand.

She laughs as if something were hilarious. "I am so not flirting with him." She rolls her eyes, "Oh please, I have never seen you spend nearly half as much time talking to the other parents as much as you talk to him. Not to mention the hearts in your eyes."

You let your head fall into your hands out of sheer embarrassment, "I don't know what to do!" You almost shriek into your sweaty palms.

"A word of advice, save yourself the trouble and don't get involved. I don't believe that he's married but that doesn't mean there are no strings attached either. Believe me, I've been there, things can get messy and it's just not something you want."

Vanessa was bout seven years older than you, somewhere around 32 so you always took her advice to heart. "But didn't you end up marrying them, and then have two children?" She goes silent. "Yeah, well life is unpredictable."

You groan, letting your body fall back onto the carpet.

"Attention passengers, This is your driver speaking. I regret to inform you that we are currently experiencing a mechanical issue, and the bus has broken down. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause."

Your head rolled back and hit the wall behind you. This is fantastic. It was supposed to be a great day today. It's Friday today. Specifically the last day before your three-day long weekend before the long weekend with Thanksgiving falling on the Monday.

You checked the time, 7:45. You should be there in 10 minutes, and honestly, you considered getting off the bus and walking but there were about 4 inches of freshly fallen snow from last night covering the city and it was far too cold to embark on such a journey at this time of day.

You wouldn't be there until 9 at the earliest.

Meanwhile,

"Have a great day Ryno. Daddy loves you." Jungkook places a quick peck on Ryan's forehead watching him join his friends. He couldn't help himself from scanning the class for you, wondering where you were.

In the meantime he approached Vanessa, handing her a small gift box. "I know Ryan has such a big personality, so here's a little something to help you get through the day." He smiles, "Happy Thanksgiving."

She was shocked to be receiving a gift for Thanksgiving, she usually only expected them around the holidays. It was a $50 gift card to her favourite coffee shop, she has their signature cup of coffee on her desk every morning. "Thank you, Mr. Jeon, this is incredibly thoughtful, and Ryan is such a delight to teach."

"I also have something for Ms. Hill, but I haven't seen her. Is she away today?" Vanessa's brows scrunched, realizing that you would usually be there by now. Her phone begins to ring, "Oh- This is her calling now." Jungkook didn't know whether to stay and listen but he couldn't bring himself to walk away.

"Your bus broke down? Where?"

"East of Park Avenue? That's 30 minutes away." Jungkook's brain was doing summersaults around a mental map he was programming in his head trying to locate where you were based on the information he was hearing.

The conversation continued for a minute more until it ended with Vanessa reminding you to 'stay warm'. "God, that's terrible. It's freezing outside." Jungkook frets and Vanessa manages to contain her thoughts from expressing themselves on her face, suppressing the smirk and opting for a head nod instead.

No less than 5 minutes had passed when Jungkook found himself behind the wheel driving towards your location. The minutes passed like seconds when he spotted the bus sitting on the side of the road.

Parking right behind it, he stepped out of the car and walked along the sides of it trying to spot you, but you saw him first. At first, you couldn't believe it but once you saw that ring tucked into his bottom lip, all doubts were gone.

You grabbed your bag and stepped off the bus, meeting him there at the steps. Looking down at him as the snow gently fell on his beanie, neither of you spoke. Your eyes seemed to be doing all the talking.

"Er-hem." Someone cleared their throat behind you, letting you know that they also wanted to get off and you were blocking the way. Apologizing you stepped off and to the side.

"What are you doing here?"

"I heard about what had happened and I couldn't stand there and do nothing. It's freezing out here." You could hardly look at him, he was just too cute, his nose and cheeks were beginning to turn a little rosy from the cold breeze that swept the snow across the sky.

"You came all this way just to give me a ride?" There were puffs of condensation with every breath and he nodded slowly, a little afraid he was coming off as a creep. "Y-yeah, I hope that's alright with you."

"That's perfectly fine with me, let's go before I lose feeling in my fingers for good." he snickers as you practically run towards the car that he'd unlocked.

You were so relieved to be sitting in a warm car with heated seats.

It was no time before Jungkook pulled out and began the careful drive back to the daycare.

The silence was comfortable and it gave you time to focus on regaining feelings in your limbs.

"I never knew that you took the bus," Jungkook starts, turning your face away from the flurries that fall outside the window and landing on the side of his face as he feigns concentration on the road.

"It's my only option since I don't drive," Jungkook's jaw fell open. He tried to catch it in time but it was too late, "Yeah yeah I know. I'm 25 and I don't drive." He takes advantage of the red light to face you, "There's no shame in that. I didn't mean to come off as judgy I was just surprised."

"No, I know. I'm not mad, I'm actually used to it. " The silence resumes, "Is there a reason why you don't drive?" He immediately regretted asking, he felt like he was prying and didn't want to make you uncomfortable. You were already in his car for god's sake.

"You don't have to-"

"I was 19."

Never mind, he thinks. You seemed more than ready to share.

"I was coming home from school, I had just finished my first exam of many, the roads were dark and I was tired. I thought I saw something run across the street but I told myself I was seeing things. Suddenly there was a thud. My car rocked over and over again, so finally, I stopped. I got out and I was terrified to see the trail of blood that ran behind my wheel. There was a black cat that got caught on my tires and kept getting dragged and rolled around for 20 yards."

Jungkook's hand had somehow found its way cupped over his mouth throughout your story, nothing could have prepared him for a story like that.

"I'm a monster. I know. I've never driven since that day. It's best for the world If I simply don't drive." Now resuming his driving, he took one hand off the wheel to place on your shoulder. "Don't talk like that. You're not a monster. It's not your fault. It's not like you did it on purpose. I'm sure the cat forgives you."

You shake your head, "It doesn't change what I did."

Somehow the conversation had taken a brighter turn to the long weekend. "What are your plans for the weekend?" You ask him as he turns into the parking lot of the daycare.

"Same as always, Ryan and I will probably watch movies, cook and do some crafts." Your heart warmed at the engaged weekend he had ahead of him. "That sounds so sweet. I'm sure you guys have loads of fun." He nods, "How about you?"

You laugh sadly, "My parents decided to ditch the cold weather this year and headed to Florida a few weeks ago, so I'll be thankful for wool socks and gossip girl." he laughs.

"You know, It'd be a shame to spend the holidays on your own. You're more than welcome to join our festivities." you looked out the window, not in disinterest but so that he couldn't see the way your cheeks tinted pink.

He parks, "No I wouldn't want to impose on-"

"I insist. You wouldn't be doing anything of the sort. it would be nice to have you." You smile. "Okay, I'll be there,"

The hours flew by faster than you could even realize. Practically startled to see a parent walking into the classroom ready to pick up their child, and just like that, the day was over.

There were no more than a handful of kids left, but no more than the usual 5 or 6 whose parents had signed them up for aftercare due to their schedules, including Ryan who you just watched offer his crayons to his classmate Lia.

Vanessa was quick to acknowledge his kindness and gave him a sticker, you would have loved to have been part of the moment but unfortunately, you were just pulled into the hall by another teacher being asked to supervise another class while she used the bathroom.

By the time you returned, you saw Jungkook and Ryan packing up the last of their things getting ready to go, but he seemed almost relieved to see you.

"I never got the chance to give this to you earlier this morning," He hands you a small bag. You were stunned at what was inside. "In the spirit of thanksgiving, I wanted to show you my gratitude." He smiles.

You pry the bag open delicately moving over the tissue paper to see a hardcover novel. You knew the cover anywhere. "I've been trying to get my hands on this book for months! It's been sold out everywhere how did you get it?"

A sly grin slowly works its way across his features but he doesn't say. "How did you even know I wanted this?" You were trying your best to resist the urge to hug him. "I'd only seen you with the previous book laying on your desk wide open a dozen times, and all the sticky notes you'd have sticking out. It was a lucky guess that you were a fan of the series."

Stunned to silence, you let your smile speak for itself. "I love it. Thank you so much." His hand raises to his chest as a sign of relief but it is actually him trying to calm his racing heart. He was afraid you wouldn't like it; but what was there not to like?

How couldn't you like it?

Why couldn't you find anything you liked? Nearly half your closet was on your bed, quickly falling to the floor over time as you searched high and low for something to wear. This would be the first time Jungkook would see you outside of your workloads so you wanted to look good, but not too good of course.

You didn't want to seem like you were trying too hard. Being effortlessly flawless was the look you were trying to go for but you fear you've passed that point as you started to break a sweat a few minutes ago.

Unsure of how much time has passed, feeling stuck in the endless fashion time warp continuum. The pit in your stomach suddenly grew three times larger once you'd realized you had no more than 30 minutes to get ready if you wanted to catch your bus.

Begrudgingly, you finally picked something to wear. A minimalistic brown crew neck with your black Lulu leggings and beige wool socks that would match perfectly with your Uggs. You wanted to look cute but still put together, so you decided to slick your hair up into a neat bun.

Scrambling to grab your bag and your house keys before you paced your way down the street to the bus stop.

Watching the apartment buildings slowly become more narrow and shorter as you saw more and more modern condos. Only 20 minutes had passed on your commute until it was time to begin your 7-minute walk to your destination.

With one last sneak peek into your bag to make sure the desserts you'd brought were still in order and weren't dishevelled at some point during your journey.

Looking back up to the door, ringing the bell and waiting no more than 10 seconds before an over-eager Ryan swung the door open, out of sight but not out of earshot, you could still hear Jungkook's sweet voice scolding his son.

"Ryan, what did I tell you about opening the door?" Finally, he comes into sight from around a bend inside revealing an entirely new Jungkook.

He looked, good. Better than good. He looked hot.

Wearing an army green Essentials hoodie paired with beige cargos and a silver chain that hung around his neck.

Oh, and his hair was blonde.

Surprised that your eyes hadn't fallen out of their sockets at the sight of his freshly bleached locks with his naturally dark roots. God, he was so fine.

"Hey! Come in, come in. " He steps to the side and Ryan is gently nudged over by his dad's leg to make room for you and your things as you step inside.

Your senses are immediately welcomed by the scent of mahogany, carefully chosen as it mingles with the comforting aromas of a Thanksgiving feast in the making.

"Hi, Ms. Hill!" Ryan shouts, loud enough for you to hear from 50 feet away. He was just the cutest, "Hi, Ryan!"

Jungkook smiled, "I'm glad you could make it," instinctively reaching out to take the bag from your hands so you could focus on taking off your shoes and jacket. "I brought this for you guys." You say, prompting Jungkook to peek into the bad, grinning at the sight of the mini chocolate cupcakes.

"I can't guarantee these will make it to tomorrow."

Once your boots were off and sat neatly near the door, Jungkook offered to take your jacket from you, entrusting Ryan with the duty of holding the bag with the desserts and sending him off to place them somewhere in the kitchen.

"Your hair." You finally say, giving your neck a minor strain as you look up to the man as he leads you further into the house. Everything was styled so neatly.

The colour palette consists of soft whites and beige with a splash of greens and turquoise. The fireplace was lit, emanating a gentle warmth throughout the open concept. It gave the living room a cozy feel along with the brown fleece throw blanket that was placed carefully over his sectional couch.

"Yeah, I got pretty sick of the blue, I thought it was time for a change." With a mind of their own, his hands run through his hair before he gives it a shake. "Do you like it?" He knew the answer, you're sure he did.

It's like a demi-god asking if they were attractive, the answer was obvious. "It would be a lie if I said I didn't." You leaned onto the kitchen island, your line of sight landing on the four-year-old who busied himself with the pile of crayons and paper on the carpet.

You hated how easily the two of you fell into natural conversation almost forgetting that it was Thanksgiving if it weren't for the sudden waft of a delicious meal in the making hitting your nose. "Something smells delicious." Your nose twitched cutely as you sniffed; your curious brown eyes watching Jungkook as he rounded the island closer to you to check on the food in the oven.

"Hmmm... It'll be about another hour or so, I hope that's alright?" You'd decided to finally plant yourself down somewhere, inwardly unable to decide where since there were so many options, the big comfy couch, the table or the barstool chair that you finally decided to go with.

"In the meantime, do you want anything to drink? I have water, champagne, white wine, red wine, apple cider, coffee, milk- oh! and Apple juice." you can't help but giggle into your hand as he lists off what seems to be a never-ending list of beverages.

"Apple juice is fine, thanks." Or at least you thought it was the safe choice until you heard a loud objection bubble out of Ryan's throat. His voice was absolutely enraged. "No! That's mine!" His little steps quicken over to your feet, reaching for the juice box from your hand.

"Ryan. What did I tell you about sharing?" He doesn't listen, his face becoming more and more frustrated the longer he goes without your (his) juice box in his hands. His small hands reach out for you.

One could blame it on your background of teaching when you had an idea. Reaching for the child-sized cup on the counter as you popped open the juice box.

"Is it okay if we share it? You can have some and I can have some." He still didn't seem entirely convinced but he calmed down a little watching you squeeze half of the box into his cup before handing it down to him.

Holding the cup securely with his two hands he looks down into the cup with an inquisitive look, as if questioning your motives behind your generosity. "What do you say to Ms. Hill for being so nice and sharing?" He looks up at you, with no emotion on his face for an uncomforting amount of time, scanning you.

"Thank you, Ms. Hill!" He beams with a big smile and scuttles back to his drawing station, but Jungkook can't risk the little adventurer ruining his carpet and orders him to drink it in the kitchen. At least that way any spills can be wiped away from the tile.

Jungkook couldn't get over how patient you were, but he supposed it to be expected. You worked with dozens of kids every day for a living. You must be a saint. He's sure he would've lost it.

Jungkook groans, letting his head fall onto his arms as he leans onto the counter with a long sigh, one that lifts a bit of exhaustion from within him. "Everything alright?"

He nods, "'Jus' never thought being a single father would be this difficult. Every day it's eat sleep work repeat, on top of being a dad to a child who just can't seem to share with others, and it makes me wonder if it's my fault."

Maybe it was the hazy scented candles getting to your brain, the toasty fireplace nearby giving you warm fuzzies or maybe the apple juice had a little kick to it but you took a leap of boldness to place your hand on his shoulder.

Watching his eyes trail from your short manicured nails to your big brown eyes that looked at him with the utmost sincerity. Like a pool chocolate kindness. "He's a great kid, Jungkook. Every child goes through a rebellious stage at some point, it's practically inevitable. I've seen this over a thousand times, it doesn't take away from how special he is, just look at him."

The two of you observe the preschooler as he hums the tune to an incomprehensible song with his tongue slightly poking out as he coloured his papers passionately. "Thank you, Y/n." Your head whips around at the warm contact of his hand on yours, it didn't feel alarming at all, it was nice if anything.

"Wow. I don't think I could eat another bite, that may just be the best meal I've ever had." You groan, a limp hand on your stomach as you lean back in your chair, sitting across from Ryan whose placemat was covered in various foods and sauces that he was told to stop playing with half through dinner.

Jungkook grins from ear to ear, "Thanks, it's nice to hear." You sigh, "No seriously, where did you learn to cook like that? And more importantly, when can you teach me?" His head falls back as he laughs right from his chest. You couldn't help but think how much you were enjoying yourself.

"Funny you should say that," Jungkook picks up the empty plates from the table, putting them in the sink before walking out of view briefly leaving you with Ryan who stared at you with a grin.

"Where did your dad go?" His smile grew even wider if possible before bringing his gravy-covered index finger to his lips making a 'shush' noise. No more than 5 seconds passed before Jungkook returned with a pumpkin about the size of your head.

"Who wants to make pumpkin pie?" You laugh, unable to take him seriously.

"No I can't Jungkook- NO!" You shout, afraid you'd collapse from the lack of oxygen that was reaching your lungs from so much laughter as Jungkook was currently holding your hand trying to get you to scoop out some of the pumpkin seeds.

"You can do it, Ms. Hill!" Ryan cheers you on as your fingers make contact with the guts against your will. They were slimy, and soft, and triggered your sensory issues in every way imaginable. You gagged while Ryan laughed until his face was red.

Scooping out the last of them and placing them into the bag that Jungkook would dump into the compost later.

The three of you popped the pumpkin pie into the oven together and transitioned into your next set of activities. Soon the three of you made your own custom turkeys out of construction paper and googly eyes.

Which led you to now. The three of you snuggled up under the big brown blanket that was once just decoration but now provided warmth along with the crackling fireplace.

Now halfway into the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving movie, you looked into your side where Ryan had nestled himself comfortably, soft snores leaving his mouth with each breath.

"He's just the cutest." You say, moving one of his hairs out of his face, watching him while Jungkook watched you. Nothing is more appealing to him than watching you care for Ryan. "When did you know you wanted to start working with kids?" Jungkook asks, prompting you to think endlessly but you couldn't come to a conclusion.

"I don't know honestly. Maybe it's because I grew up in a pretty big family. Even though my immediate family is just me and my parents I was always the unspoken babysitter at family events, watching over all my younger cousins all the time."

"Well if no one has told you, let me be the first to say you're amazing." You turn to him, it was long past sunset, leaving the living room with a darker ambiance than when you'd first arrived but the warm glow of the flames on the side of Jungkook's face paired with that look in his eyes tempting you.

He leaned in ever so slightly but you looked towards the boy that was stirring uncomfortably in his sleep as if you were bothering him. With his still closed he flipped around to lay his head on the couch cushions instead.

It was impossible to contain your soft giggles at his sass even when he was sleeping. "You want something to drink?" Jungkook offers, "Please." you chuckle, unravelling yourself from the tangle of blankets and following him to the kitchen.

He poured you both a glass of wine, resuming your previous conversation from where you stood in the corner of the kitchen against the counter near the oven that radiated a glorious smell of pumpkin spice and cinnamon.

The tension could be cut with a knife. The way the two of you were looking at each other, practically stripping the other down with your eyes. Before you knew it, Jungkook was leaning into you and this time you definitely could blame it on the wine.

Placing your glass down on the counter behind you without thought and pulling his face to yours before finally pressing your lips against his own. Putting your heart into it before he pulled away, looking minorly dishevelled and flustered, "I-I was just reaching for my phone," He points weakly, his joints feeling as though they could fail him any second.

Your head rotates in horror to see his phone was in fact behind you and buzzing-- "Oh my god--" You held your red face in utter embarrassment, turning to walk away from him in shame but Jungkook would never allow that. Instantly grabbing you by the arm and pulling you back into him.

Your hips pressed flush against each other as he initiated a deep kiss, the kind you see at the end of a romance movie, nothing but passion and pent-up feelings. Feelings that he's held for you since the day he saw you.

He backed you up into the counter, your hands scrambling to brace yourself on his firm chest and he groaned softly into your mouth causing your knees to go weak. The kiss lasted longer than you thought you could hold your breath for, never wanting it to end.

"Wow-" you puff out a breath of air after the best kiss of your life. "A great cook and an even better kisser-- What can't you do?" For the first time, Jungkook's cheeks tint a rosy shade of pink but there's no time to respond as he hears Ryan complain.

"Daddy, I'm tired." You see his little head pop up from behind the couch with a bedhead of hair as he rubs his eye. "Yeah? You wanna get ready for bed little man? Come on let's go." Jungkook urges, turning to you with apologetic eyes, "I'll be right back, keep an eye on the pie for me?" You smile and nod.

Watching him disappear down the hall almost in a trace. A trance that was interrupted by the ceaseless buzzing of his phone. Buzz after Buzz after Buzz.

You shouldn't.

But the buzzing wouldn't stop.

What if it was an emergency?

You peeked at the screen.

Hana

-Where are you?

-I can't stop thinking about our night together.

-Pick up, I want to talk to you.

-When will I see you again? :(

Your stomach twisted, and you were certain it wasn't because of the wine. The oven timer goes off. How comedic. You shake it off, using the oven mitts to place the pie on the stove but ultimately deciding you wouldn't be able to stay any longer.

You didn't want to be the other woman, or the 'main' woman for that matter. You wanted nothing to do with someone who was possibly seeing two people at once.

Quietly you grabbed your things and made your way towards the door. Slipping into your Uggs and slinging your side bag over your shoulder when Jungkook sees you about to leave.

"Wait, Y/n. Where are you going? What's wrong?" Nothing but concern and confusion was written all over his face.

"I had a really great time tonight, Jungkook, Thank you. But I should really get going." Already twisting the door open and stepping through it, letting the frosty air nip at your cheeks and sweep by Jungkook's feet.

"it's dark and it's freezing outside, let me give you a ride." You object, "It's fine, it's only a 15-minute bus. I'll be fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

Like a whirlwind, you spun his world around and by the time he blinked you were gone.

Thanks for Reading!!

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roosterforme · 1 month

Text

The Younger Kind Part 56 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley finally gets word about a return date, he has no idea what he's about to walk into at home. You tried your best to take care of things by yourself, but your visit to the hospital shows you how much you need someone with you for physical help as well as emotional support.

Warnings: mentions of blood, pregnancy topics, hospitals, mentions of miscarriage, swearing, angst, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

You managed to get in the car even though Natasha was protesting. "What's wrong?" she asked at least a dozen times as she tried to call an ambulance for you. But you just told her you could drive yourself to the hospital to be checked out. You thought you said the word pregnant to her at some point, but you weren't really sure. Nothing was making very much sense right now.

There was traffic on every road as dinnertime approached. Everyone else was going out for the night, perhaps for a family meal at a restaurant. You saw kids walking along the sidewalks with their parents, and you started crying. You didn't like leaving Noah to wake up from his nap with Natasha suddenly there instead of you. She would take care of him, of course, but it might confuse him. You didn't see what choice you had in the matter though, as your mind was flooding with worst case scenarios.

What was happening to the baby?

You sobbed as you ran through a yellow light to try to get there faster. What if it was already too late? You were educated enough to know that there were about a million different things that could be going on right now, and they ranged from innocuous to horrifying. Maybe you did something to cause some minor bleeding. Or maybe the baby was already gone.

"Please, no," you gasped as you parked at the hospital and walked quickly through the increasingly dreary weather to the emergency entrance. Your phone was vibrating in the pocket of your sweatpants as you headed right for the desk and blurted out, "I'm pregnant, and I'm bleeding."

The exhausted looking nurse looked up at you and said, "Please have a seat in the waiting area, and I'll come get you when I'm ready for you."

You blinked at her. "I'm bleeding," you repeated in a harsh whisper. "And I'm pregnant."

"Yes," she replied with a nod. "I'll be with you in just a minute."

You took a seat and cried, afraid to use the bathroom in the waiting area, terrified to see more blood when you wiped yourself. Anytime patients came to see Dr. Kelly, you made sure you took care of them right away, especially if they were bleeding or upset. You couldn't stand the tears that would well up in a child's eyes along with uncertainty and fear.

But then you got it. It only took you a minute to understand that if there truly was something wrong with the baby, then there was nothing they would be able to do at this point.

Your phone was ringing again, and it was Natasha. As the nurse came to retrieve you from your seat, you texted her and let her know you made it to the hospital and to focus her attention on Noah. You were shaking again as the nurse took your temperature and blood pressure, and you wanted to scream at her to do something more than check your vitals. You needed an ultrasound. You needed a doctor. You needed someone to focus on why you were bleeding.

She handed you off to another nurse, and at least he smiled sympathetically at you and said, "We'll get you checked out in no time." But you could barely walk, and you felt his hand wrap around your bicep to keep you upright as he guided you into one of the many rooms in the emergency medicine corridor. "I'll get a doctor right in here, okay?"

His voice was calm, emulating what you tried to do at your own job, and he left you a gown to change into. Once he was gone, you put it on, afraid to check your underwear as you settled onto the narrow bed. The room smelled sterile, and the fluorescent lights were making you nauseous, but he was true to his word. You started counting to yourself, trying to keep track of how much time had passed without panicking, and a few minutes later, a doctor appeared in the doorway.

She spoke your name, and when you nodded, she introduced herself. "You're pregnant?" she asked you evenly as she reached for some latex gloves. She reminded you a bit of Dr. Kelly, and you immediately felt a little bit calmer.

"Yes. About thirteen weeks along, and I just started bleeding like an hour ago." Your voice broke on your words, but you tried to keep it together. "I'm a pediatric nurse, so I'm not completely proficient in obstetrics, but can you give me an ultrasound and check? I need to know if the baby is okay."

"Lay back so I can see what's going on here." You did exactly as you were told as your heart pounded and panic rose within you. The baby was already so loved; you and Bradley were both looking forward to the due date. Sure, you'd been a little scared of the unknown, but the idea of miscarrying had you sick with worry.

If Bradley were here right now, you knew you'd feel so much safer, but if the baby was gone, your preference would be to deal with this yourself. The disappointment on his face would be too much to bear. You'd rather never look at him again then have to see how sad he was going to be when you told him. If you had to tell him.

You ran your thumb along the band of your engagement ring as the doctor gave you a quick examination. "Have you had vaginal intercourse in the last forty-eight hours?"

"N-No," you sputtered. "My fiancé is deployed. He's in Japan."

"Did you masturbate?"

You shook your head; you were so tired, you could barely clean up after dinner each day, let alone get yourself off. "No."

She pulled the gown down again and said, "It's most likely just your cervical tissue reacting to something, but let's get you taken back for an ultrasound to be sure."

"Thanks," you sobbed, letting your palm come to rest on your belly as you closed your eyes and tried to stay afloat in your own terrible thoughts. "I just want to know if I'm still pregnant."

------------------------

"Finally," Bradley muttered, running his fingers through his hair as he walked through the hangar with his helmet in his hand. Six weeks was a long time to be away from you right now. Too long, really. He had kind of fallen in love with flying Shadowhawk, but nothing compared to sharing a bed with you and reading bedtime stories to Noah. And he was itching to see the newest ultrasound photos.

He'd been confined to the Naval base at Yokosuka except for one day when the weather was too unsafe to let him fly. He took a short trip back into the city, chaperoned of course, but he was allowed to visit a bookstore. He ended up buying eight books for Noah and the baby, and he couldn't wait to show them to you. And he'd be able to do that soon, because he finally had a return date. If he did his math right, he'd be home in time to take Noah out to get candy on Halloween, as long as he wasn't delayed.

With just a few days left flying Shadowhawk, he really let the throttle tilt. He could hear Admiral Palmer warning him about his speed over the crystal clear comms, and he smiled before he responded. "Yes, sir. I'll ease off." But he didn't until he made a beautiful loop through the air. He was getting used to the ridiculous pressure on his body now, and when he got to San Diego and switched back to his Super Hornet, he was going to miss this feeling. He couldn't wait to try to describe it to you.

He knew what was coming. He was anticipating hours spent looking at his own flight data with the officers, but when the time came, he just felt antsy. The sixth-generation fighter had been moved back into the hangar for storage. He'd taken his last flight. His bags were packed, and he was ready to go home, but he had to pretend to be interested in what came next: at least fifty admirals sifting through data before anything would be determined. Bradley hoped these jets would eventually come to find a home with the US Navy, but it would be years from now if they did. He had done his part, and he wanted to be let loose again.

When he woke up on the day of his departure, he signed a final set of privacy forms before his phone was returned to him as he was ushered out to a car waiting to take him to the airport. He couldn't leave soon enough at this point. All he could picture was your face and Noah's, happy to see him home again. He could practically feel your body in his hands, and it was the only thing he wanted.

Once he settled in for the short ride, he turned his phone on to find that he only had a tiny bit of battery left. Without even checking to see what time it was at home, he called you. He'd let his phone die talking to you right now if need be, and then he could charge it later. But you didn't answer. That was okay.

"Princess, I'm coming home. I'm on my way to the airport in Tokyo right now, and it's a ten hour flight. I think I'll be landing after midnight, so don't worry about getting Noah out of bed to come pick me up. I'll get an Uber or a taxi. I can't wait to see you, Baby. I love you."

He ended the call, and as soon as he started to investigate all of his missed text messages, the phone died. He was dropped off at the airport with barely half an hour to spare before his flight was scheduled to leave, and that's when he realized he didn't even have his phone charger with him.

"Fuck," he muttered, rooting around in his bag but coming up with nothing. Maybe it got lost in his room in the barracks when he dumped his bag out? Maybe it was in his duffle which he checked at the airline desk. Regardless, he didn't have time to try to buy a new one, because his flight was already boarding by the time he found the gate. After questioning the flight attendants as to whether or not they had the type of charger he needed, he gave up hope, tossed his phone into his bag and tried to sleep for as much of the ten hour flight as he possibly could. He would be home with his family soon enough.

------------------------

You played the voicemail message from Bradley over and over again, but you could barely understand a word that he said. It sounded garbled and fuzzy, and it kept cutting out. He said something about being in Tokyo and something about Noah, and then he told you he loved you, but that's all you could figure out for sure.

"Can you understand what he's saying?" you asked softly, holding up the phone for Natasha to listen to it pretty much as soon as she walked through your front door in her uniform. "I've been trying to decipher this all day."

She took it from your hand and listened to it on speakerphone and then listened again with it pressed to her ear as she made a face. "Hang on," she muttered, playing it a third time.

She'd been staying at the house with you since your overnight visit to the emergency room. She had essentially been doing everything for you and Noah so you barely had to lift a finger after work each day. You wouldn't have been able to do it on your own, but every time you tried to thank her, she told you it was no big deal and that Bradley was her best friend. You were afraid you were eating into her time with Javy, but she just rolled her eyes and said, "Hoes before bros."

She listened to the message one more time before she said, "It kind of sounds like he's coming home? And he's going to arrive after midnight? And he's getting an Uber from the airport?"

Your heart beat faster. "Do you think he means tonight?"

Noah came running into the living room with a coloring sheet in each hand and Skittles bounding after him. "Aunt Natasha!"

"Hey squirt," she said, picking him up and flying him around the room. She turned back to you and said, "Hopefully it means he'll be back tonight. Let's just leave the porch light on after dinner in case." Then she hauled Noah off to the kitchen where she started cooking while you took a shower.

Dr. Kelly had immediately cut your hours back for which you were so thankful. She was very understanding when you talked to her. Tomorrow was Halloween, and it was Saturday. The plan was for Natasha to wear the costume you originally bought for Bradley, but if he arrived home tonight and was able to function tomorrow, maybe he'd want to go out to collect candy himself. You were just aching to see him at this point, and now your skin was tingling with the anticipation of him holding you.

After you ate, you tried to clean, but Natasha said, "I'll clean up after Noah's in bed." And then she sent you to the couch with a blanket while she and Noah took Skittles for a long walk down to the beach. You fell asleep there shortly after they left, and you weren't surprised that you ended up in your bed even before Noah was in his for the night.

You let Natasha take care of everything while you tried to text Bradley again. You'd been trying all day, but he hadn't responded to a single one of them. You checked to see which flights were currently on their way from Tokyo to San Diego, and three of them were arriving late tonight. Honestly, the garbled voicemail had you on edge all day long, making you more exhausted than usual. You fell asleep hoping that he was on one of the flights and that he would be home soon.

And then you woke up to a loud voice coming from the living room. You jolted in bed, throwing the covers off of you in alarm before you realized that the voice was familiar.

"Princess? Baby, it's me! It's Bradley. I didn't want to scare you."

"Bradley," you gasped, jumping out of bed and grabbing at your nightstand until you could get your footing. "Bradley!" you called out a little louder.

"It's me, Baby," he answered. "Is Nat here? Why is her SUV in the driveway?"

You nearly collided with his best friend in the dark hallway, and when you both made it out to the dimly lit living room, you saw him standing there. Tears filled your eyes as you raced for him, and he picked you up into his arms and cradled you against his big body while Skittles whimpered at his feet.

"Daddy," you whispered, aware that Natasha was standing right behind you. "I missed you so much."

He kissed along your neck and your cheek and all of the parts of your face that he could reach as he said, "I love you. I love you so much. I missed you and Noah and the baby." He ran his nose along the shell of your ear and said, "Hey, Nat. What are you doing here? And why are you holding my mom's antique lamp?"

You turned to glance at her over your shoulder where she was indeed standing with the lamp in her hand at her side in her ratty old shirt and lounge pants. "I was making sure you were really you and not an intruder."

He laughed. "You were going to beat the shit out of me with a lamp?"

"Absolutely," she said with a yawn. "Welcome home." Then she turned and went back to the extra bedroom leaving the two of you alone.

Bradley's lips were on yours immediately, and even though you knew you had so much to tell him, you let yourself enjoy the indulgence of his kisses. You whimpered against his mouth and brushed your fingers softly through his hair. "I'm assuming we need to talk," he murmured. "You wanna tell me why she's here?"

You nodded and whispered, "Let's go to the bedroom."

He left his bags on the floor and carried you there immediately, setting you on the unmade bed and dropping down next to you. The room was pretty dark, and you curled up against his body, getting as close to him as you could. You inhaled his scent and soaked up his warmth, finally feeling better than you had in over a month. All of the fear seemed to wash away as he said, "I'm sorry I only left you that one message, but my phone died, and I can't find my charger. Nobody on my flight had the right one either, because apparently my phone is as ancient as I am."

You laughed softly. "I like vintage things, remember?"

"I do recall that," he replied easily. "Is tonight the first night Nat slept here?"

You took a deep breath and whispered, "No. She's been staying here for about a week to help out. Ever since I started... bleeding."

"Bleeding?" he echoed, his arm wrapping around you a little tighter as you nodded against his neck and tried to gather your thoughts. "Princess, what happened?"

His voice was alert and strong yet worried and cautious, and you told him, "I went to the bathroom last week, and when I wiped I was bleeding." His sharp intake of breath had you scrambling as you said, "The baby is okay."

"Are you okay?" he asked, gently rolling you onto your back to get a better look at your face. "Fuck. I should have never agreed to go away." He ran his big hand across your forehead and down your cheek. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," you promised as you cried for what seemed like the hundredth time. "I was just so scared," you admitted, your voice barely a squeak. "I was so scared the baby was gone."

You realized Bradley's fingertips were rubbing soothing circles against your side as he whispered, "I'm sorry I left. I'm so sorry I wasn't here to take care of everything. Please, tell me what happened. Tell me everything."

--------------------------

Bradley got you cuddled under the covers, and he turned the lamp on so he could better see your face. You looked beautiful if not exhausted, and he was so grateful for his best friend being there for you. "I guess I overdid it a little bit," you admitted. "I took some extra hours at work and started getting the bedroom ready for the baby. I just wanted the weeks to pass quickly, you know? When I started bleeding, I called Natasha, and she came right over. She's basically been here since then."

He kissed your nose. "What did the doctors do?"

You closed your eyes and whispered, "They checked me over. Every inch. And they found that I needed progesterone shots. They caught it just in time, so maybe it was good that I ended up there."

Bradley felt like an idiot, but it didn't matter as long as you were okay. "What's the progesterone for exactly?"

You smiled as you snuggled closer to him. "It'll make my uterus better for the baby. Safer. The injections are pretty common, and I only need to get them a few more times. But I'm tired of all the needles, and now I can kind of understand how some of my own patients feel."

Bradley laced his finger with yours and asked, "And you're sure you're okay? Perfectly safe and healthy?"

"Yes. The baby is, too."

He kissed your forehead as he realized he was crying. "Just as long as you're okay, Princess. I love you." You nodded as you fell asleep, and he knew how badly you needed to rest. After he turned the light off, he held you against his chest and tried to make sense of everything.

You and the baby were okay. Your doctor and the staff from the emergency room were monitoring your blood work every week now. You were getting injections in your thigh which were making your leg sore and bruised, but it was helping the baby. As much as he'd loved flying Shadowhawk, he regretted his time away from home a little bit more now.

When you rolled away from him around six o'clock, he had barely slept. Carefully, he extracted himself from the bed, and Skittles came trotting right over to him. He picked her up and straightened out the wrinkled clothing he had been wearing for way too long, but when he walked out to his kitchen, he found Nat was already there. She turned to face him as Skittles started licking his face, and he walked right into her arms for a hug.

"Thank you," he whispered, letting her hold him while he cried. "Is she really okay? She told me she's fine."

She rubbed his back and said, "Mostly. I think. She is stubborn, Bradley. When I got here, she drove herself to the emergency room before I even had a full grasp of the fact that she was pregnant. She told me to stay with Noah until she came home, and when I told her I'd get Javy to come stay here while I met her at the hospital, she yelled at me."

"That tracks," he said softly. He thought about how you stood up for him and Noah and fought alongside him for custody. Even after you got hurt. Even after he hurt you.

"She was terrified that you'd be upset about a potential miscarriage."

Bradley felt like she slapped him in the face. "Shit," he grunted as she released him from the hug. It wasn't like that kind of thing could usually be prevented. He would have been sad, yeah, but only because he was so excited. He wouldn't have been upset with you though. Not at all. "I'll talk to her more about that when she wakes up." He scratched his head and set Skittles down. "Did you clean my kitchen?"

"Yes," she replied evenly as she switched on the coffee maker. "And if you try to thank me for anything I did, I swear to god, I will fucking key your Bronco. I did it for her, because she needed help."

He caught himself before he could thank her again, too afraid to find out if she was telling the truth. She probably was. "I'll make sure she's getting all the rest she needs. She will not be lifting a finger around here."

"That's what I like to hear," she said, patting him on the chest. "Now, I'm going to take one of your travel mugs full of your overpriced coffee from your fancy machine and head back to my place. I'll call you later, and I'll stop by tonight to hand out candy to your trick-or-treaters while you take Noah around the neighborhood."

"Shit, I guess I need to go out and buy candy and costumes and everything."

As her coffee brewed, Nat said, "It's all been taken care of. The bags of candy are on top of the fridge."

Bradley glanced in that direction and said, "You have to let me repay you, Nat."

She grabbed the travel mug and pulled her keys out of her pocket, brandishing them in his face. "Fuck around and find out, Bradshaw. You will not thank me, and you will not pay me back. You'll just let me come over and play with Noah at least once a week now while you take care of your wife-to-be. Those are my terms. Have a nice day."

"Okay," he called out, following her to the door to make sure her key went directly into her own ignition where it belonged. Then he got to work, pulling up some recipes on his phone; he was going to attempt to be the best dad and almost husband in the entire world, because that's what his family needed.

------------------------

If you have been through any of this kind of shit like I have, I'm sending you a hug. It's stressful and scary, and not something you should have to deal with alone. Bradley is home and ready to be the absolute best. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 57

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