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kookslastbutton · 11 months

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Too Late to Dream ༓ jjk (m) || ch.I

✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader

AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 4,187

Warnings: 8-year age gap, mentions of professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), flirty banter, fighting, jk has a bit of a temper, pent-up issues/desires, jk has daddy issues

Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, Heaven+

A/N: Okay I have been having such baby fever for last few years no joke. I wanna be mom or aunty but my sister won’t have kids yet! So i write this lame series to cope even though it's lowkey sad? lmao. Enjoy!! 🥰

༓ ch. II >> | series masterlist

You’re not exactly sure when it happened but one minute you’re crouched over, sketching in your journal and the next, a child with big brown eyes comes up beside you to watch over your shoulder. He’s a cute little fella, you note. Can't be more than four years old. His hair is ink-black and on the longer side. He’s got on a pair of black and white checkered pants, navy blue sweatshirt, and a toy snug under one arm. At first glance, you struggle to make out the toy but it looks like an elephant.

“Hi…” His hand reaches for you. It tugs the edge of your dress sleeve before reaching down to latch onto a few fingers. You smile up at the child, warmth immediately beaming through your heart.

“Hi sweetheart,” you say. “What’s your name?” You wait for the boy to answer but he doesn’t. Instead, he shuffles down next to you on the grass and points to your drawing. His delicate eyebrows knit together in an inquisitive manner. “What is this?” he asks.

You look down at your drawing, examining it from various angles. It's unfinished but you're working on a sketch of the pond nearby. You've managed to capture the sun-kissed water but the sky needs more work. Being the weekend, you couldn't give up the rare opportunity to indulge in your favorite hobby. “It’s the pond with all the colorful leaves,” you reply.

Blank face, the child thinks before speaking again. “Who taught you?”

Now that's an interesting question. Drawing had always been in your blood since a child. You fell in love with the ability to let your imagination run wild on paper whether it be on the back of your homework or even cardboard. To you, drawing was freedom and discovery. It allowed you to express emotion, memories, abstract thoughts, and to recreate the real world. You typically preferred sketching with drawing pencils but occasionally dabbled with watercolors. You had a gift for it–a natural gift.

By the time high school rolled around, you tended to hole up in the art room, sketching for as long as you could. Your art teacher suggested you go to school for it come senior year which gave you enough push to bring it up to your parents. Determined, you spoke to your parents about it but it was null–art could only be a hobby, it couldn’t support your future. They suggested you go to school for economics or finance instead. You nearly hurled at the idea but you eventually agreed, knowing they’d never pay for you to go to art school. Drawing, as you found out, had to be on the side.

"I had a teacher once in school," you say. "But I mostly learned myself."

The child tilts his head to the side, a puzzled look on his face. “You?”, he says.

You nod your head in affirmation.

“No way! Even I have art teacher.”

You chuckle lightly and move to stand up from the grass, needing to stretch due to your crouched position. He follows suit, still clinging to your hand. “Where you going, Eomma?”

Eomma...That's a name you don't get called often. You're not used to being seen as the mom type. In fact, when you tied the knot with Jungkook, the two of you agreed that having a family was a grey area. You both liked kids, sure, but being parents? That was a subject neither of you seriously considered. “I’m sorry sweetheart,” you coo. “I’m not your Eomma. But, let’s find her together, okay?”

The child shakes his head, refusing to budge. "Mm no," he says, clinging to your leg. "Wanna stay with you." Your heart skips a beat. Children don't typically take to you like this. It causes something inside of you to want to lunge down and pick up the child in a tight embrace. But you nip that thought in the bud when you catch sight of a woman roughly your age jogging toward you. She looks like the child’s mother.

“Si-woo!” She gives a wave. "Si-woo come here!"

“Eomma!” The child’s cheeks rise into a big grin as he watches his mom approach nearer. He lets go of your leg but his hand remains locked in your own. You end up squeezing Si-woo’s tiny hand but then, like a bitter aftertaste, you remember– he doesn’t belong to you. You loosen your grip and allow him to run back to his mom.

“It was nice meeting you Si-woo!” There’s a hint of sadness in your tone but you do your best to brush it off. You only knew Si-woo for a short while and now he’s back with his real mom. You should be happy but when Si-woo’s mom lifts her son, she gives you a scowl. She doesn’t even come up to say anything to you but turns around and carries her son back to their picnic area. You frown realizing you were merely a stranger who little kids are told not to talk to.

You sigh and glance at your unfinished drawing. Suddenly, you don’t feel like drawing anymore. You pack up your belongings in your bag and head to your car, the event replaying in your mind.

You can’t blame Si-woo’s mom for being a little rigid, you think. You’d share a similar reaction with your own kids if you had any–if you had any. You repeat the phrase unexpectedly. Were you warming up to the idea? Your marriage did recently surpass the two-year mark, perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to consider having…no, you mentally stop yourself. Yes, Si-woo was cute but it likely wouldn't happen. You toss your bag of art supplies in the back seat and drive home.

“Jungkook! You here?” You step into your shared apartment and drop your bag on the kitchen counter. The smell of burnt wax mixed with vanilla bean hits you as soon as you walk into the living room. “Jungkook you better be home or these candles are going in the trash!” You really didn’t mind the candles but your husband had a nasty habit of keeping them lit even when you were both out of the house. He didn’t do it on purpose, of course, it was accidental but it was too much of a fire hazard to ignore.

“Kook!” you holler again, but no reply. These damn candles. You snuff them out one by one before venturing into the bedroom. Thankfully none were lit in there. You reach behind your back and unzip your dress, letting it pile around your feet. It's a beautiful dress but you were dying to get into a pair of sweat shorts and a t-shirt.

“Hey honey,” Jungkook says, emerging from the bathroom with damp hair and a towel tied around his waist. You let out a yelp before making eye contact. You've always been easily startled. “How was the park?”

Mentally, you bite your lip. This man was getting sexier every day, especially with that gold band wrapped around his fourth finger. You toss a t-shirt over your head. “Absolutely wonderful. Been a while since I’ve been able to really focus and draw. I loved every second." Should you mention the child? You pause, briefly contemplating the thought. Why not? "A really cute kid came up to watch me draw too…’til his mother took him away.” You don't notice but you nearly spat the last part.

Jungkook lets out a small snort, amused by your sudden irritation. There were many things he knew you could put up with, a resilient woman you were. But whoever this kid’s mother was must have gotten under your skin in the most unusual way. “It’s great you had a good time but you sound borderline offended about whoever this kid’s mother is.”

“It’s nothing really.” You shrug. “The kid came up to me and grabbed my hand. We had a nice talk but then his mom showed up. She didn’t even say hi to me. She just picked up her son and scowled at me like I took him or something. Believe me, I get it. But I didn’t do anything!”

“Don’t think about it too much __. She was probably just worried about getting her son back. I’m sure she did mean anything.”

“I guess. But do I really look that harmful?” You face your husband, hands perfectly poised on your hips.

Jungkook strides over to you and strokes down your arms until your hands relax to your sides. He gives you a quick peck on the lips. “Yes.”

Surprised, your mouth falls open. How dare he?! You give a pout, one that Jungkook finds especially irresistible. “Then you can keep your hands and lips off me for the rest of the night, Mr. Jeon.” You wiggle out of his grasp.

“That’s what I’ve been telling you for the past four years Ms. y/l/n. But you couldn’t stay away, could you? Just had to marry your hot professor, you naughty girl.” Jungkook grabs you again, pressing himself against your torso. You squeal at the contact. Married for two years and you’re still a blushing mess, get it together __!

“I wasn’t the one who was grabbing my student’s ass after class halfway through the first semester,” you quip, gripping his biceps. “I’m innocent.”

“Oh honey, nonono. You don’t get to play the role of a shy little angel who got eaten by her big bad wolf of a professor day one of university. You were already a master's student when we met. You knew what you were getting into when you started wearing tight little skirts to my class.”

You roll your eyes. “C’mon I had leggings underneath and I wore sweaters. If you’re accusing me of seducing you through my wardrobe then you have a very odd way of getting turned on.”

“Honey, how long have you known me? Sure tits and ass are cool and I won’t say no if you wanna show me.” You give a light shove on his shoulder at that, Jungkook chuckles. “But I have a doctorate in economics. Nothing catches my interest more than a studious individual like yourself studying all the angles of supply and demand. Plus, I liked your sweaters. Made me curious what you were hiding.”

“Oh stop it!” You end up giggling at your husband’s beyond-cheesy explanations. “How am I supposed to know my economics professor was ogling my teddy bear sweater for fuck sake?”

Jungkook throws his head back, feigning frustration. “It wasn’t a teddy bear sweatshirt. It was a bunny and it was very cute!”

“Whatever. Point is, I’m not the one to blame. I was a good student getting her master’s like her parents wanted until she found out her professor was sculpted from the gods themselves. Your shirts were barely fitting you. I swore they were going to bust one of those class periods.” You imagine the horrified look your peers would give. Not you though, you'd probably start drawing him. Shameless, really.

“As I recall that shirt-busting happened many times by your claws. I had to replace a dozen shirts in a month from how many you destroyed.” A pair of manly hands sensually trace down your sides. Jungkook leans forward, lips near your ear. “Seems like you had a lot of pent-up energy.” He nips your ear before peppering small kisses down your neck.

“You have no idea.“ You close your eyes, a moan escaping from you. "Professor–"

Jungkook grunts, suddenly suckling on the sensitive skin. “Mmm you haven’t called me that in a while. Kinda missed it”, he says, backing you up against the dresser. You were about to hop on top when your ass hit the edge but a rude, obnoxious ringing pulled Jungkook off you.

“Hey man!” Your husband answers the phone, a little too joyous in your opinion. You knew exactly who it was on the phone–Park Jimin. You bite your cheek, doing your best to keep down a sour face.

“Yeah let me ask __. Hold on.” Jungkook looks at you. “Honey, Jimin wants us to go out to dinner with the guys. You wanna go or stay in?”

Maybe, you think. You love Jimin but his dinners are usually quite elaborate. He always makes reservations to the fanciest restaurants in Seoul, and he required everyone to be dressed to the hills. It was fun now and then but did you have the energy for that tonight? Eh. What the hell. “Sure. What time?”

Jungkook passes on your inquiry before looking at you again. “6 p.m.” You nod in consent and walk to your closet, rummaging through your clothes for something Jimin-worthy. “Alright man, we’ll see you there. Yeah got it, k bye.” Jungkook hangs up the phone and watches you pull out dress shirts, pants, blazers, literally all your work clothes. “Found anything?” he pipes up.

You pull out a dark green dress, above knee-length, and gorgeously hemmed. “I’m pretty sure I wore this last time but–“

“Next," Jungkook interrupts. "Jimin will notice and you know how he gets when people wear the same outfit twice in a row.” your husband fiddles with through his own dresser drawers, yanking out an oversized t-shirt. You groan knowing all too well how tight Jimin ran this operation. One time Namjoon came in the same maroon dress shirt as before causing Jimin to have an absolute fit. He even made the man go home and change. Dinner was late that night.

“Yeah, you’re right.” You rummage through your closet again hoping to find something tucked in the back. There’s bound to be something. “Damnit, I thought I had more than this,” you grunt, finding nothing.

“Do we need to go on a last-minute shopping trip?” Jungkook throws on a pair of cargo pants.

You groan internally. Shopping isn't your favorite activity. It always took so long, and nothing was to your liking. You prefer online shopping but with only three hours until dinner and apparently nothing in your wardrobe, you suppose it's inescapable.

“Come on, honey.” Jungkook combs through his hair with a few fingers and grabs his wallet from the nightstand. “This is for Jimin."

"Alright, let me put some jeans on.” Jimin, you bougie little punk.

You view yourself in the dressing room mirror, a plum-colored dress adorning your body. This is the tenth dress you've tried on and to be honest, you feel pretty good in it. Nothing feels itchy, too snug, or out of place. The dress was a simple, strapless sheath dress and it fit you like a glove.

"__." Jungkook taps on the door. "You're not gonna like what I have to say but it's inevitable…there's been a change of plans."

"Okay," you reply with strain. "What is it?" You unlock the door to find your husband glancing down at his phone. It's a text from Jimin, you notice.

"Sorry for this but we're not going out for dinner tonight. Seokjin's daughter isn't feeling well so they're going to stay home. Yoongi also hasn't been able to get much time with his kids and wife lately so he's not coming either." Jungkook continues reading Jimin's text aloud. "I don't think we should go out without the whole party so I'm thinking about canceling our reservations."

Damn.

"You look beautiful," he says, catching your half-disappointed expression. "I'm sorry."

"It's no big deal," you sigh. "We'll eat in." From Jungkook's point of view, you were upset about wasting an hour and a half on shopping. He knew you'd much rather be back with your drawing pencils or watching a drama. He felt bad. The real reason, the one you think best to keep to yourself, however, is that hearing Jimin's text reminded you of Si-woo again. Further, it reminded you that nearly everyone in your friend group had at least one kid except you and Jungkook. Normally it didn't affect you though, so why did it today? Had the little kid from earlier really stuck with you that much?

"__? Everything alright?," Jungkook says. "I know we had plans and we've been shopping for a while but if you like the dress you should still get it. Jimin will have his dinner again and there will be other times you'll need it."

It takes you a moment but you reply, forcing a fake smile the best you can. "Oh yeah, yeah I'm good. I dazed off for a second there. I'll–I'll put the dress back actually."

Seeing through your facade, Jungkook lightly grips your arms. "If there's something you're not telling me I'd like to know, please?"

His endearing facial expression both soothes you and creates coils of nervousness in the pit of your stomach. You want to tell him what's up. You also want to pop the question that you've both been sweeping under the rug for the last two years. But how? Maybe you shouldn't. Maybe you're just in a mood today.

"Have–" You start but the rest of the words don't come out.

Jungkook waits for you to finish the sentence. "Have you thought of any ideas for dinner?" You stutter out. "'Cause I was thinking it’d be easier to order takeout tonight."

Eyes narrowing, your husband stares into your eyes. He's searching for any hint that you're bluffing–shifty eyes and such. You think he's caught onto you until his shoulders relax and eyebrows soften. "I was thinking the same thing. But also, I'm buying you this dress even if you don't. It's gorgeous on you and I know you want it. Now take it off and let's go find something to eat."

You manage to chuckle a "thank you" and slip back into the stall to change into your normal clothes. You feel a slight pang of guilt in your gut for not coming clean to him but you weren't sure if you were ready to tell him the truth no more than he'd be ready to hear it.

“Seriously honey.” Jungkook’s voice carries over the stall. “Are you really alright? Do you need anything?” You swallow hard at his persistence.

“I’m perfectly fine,” you reply. “Maybe a little hungry.” One day at a time __, you think.

You end up placing a dinner order at a local favorite nearby. You and Jungkook take it back to the apartment, curl up on the couch, and put a movie on. You nearly fall asleep after the first forty minutes because the plot is so utterly dry and quite frankly, boring. Jungkook seems to be enjoying it though so the movie plays the entire way through.

Still hardly paying attention, your mind drifts off to other affairs. You think about your upcoming work week, what to get for your best friend's birthday in the following few weeks, and the cute dog you saw yesterday, and of course, you loop back to the same lingering topic–your brief afternoon with Si-woo. Part of you wanted to take him home but Jungkook would have a fit, as well as you know...Si-woo's mother. You snort at how interested you've become in entertaining thoughts about children and taking care of them. As you've covered before, you aren't the mom type.

Si-woo and his mother looked very similar though. They shared the same hair color, eyes, and face shape. You wonder what his father looked. Did he have long hair too? Did he share the same lips? Before you can stop yourself from going further you wonder how identical your own child might be to you and Jungkook. Would your child love the arts like you or the social sciences like your husband? You suppose it could be a blend since you technically have a master's in economics yourself. You'd much rather be owning and operating an art museum or being a studio art professor but that's beside the point. Your child would be free to venture down their own path. That is if you have any.

You shift your eyes to Jungkook who's concentrating heavily on the movie. He's a wonderful husband, you sigh, full of love. No doubt he'd make a great father but did he want to? Jungkook never really mentioned it before and neither did you. When you first start dating you had a brief talk about children and building a family but you were still in school then and Jungkook was swamped with his teaching responsibilities. Children weren't something that either of you felt like you could handle at the time. After you'd gotten married there was an opportunity to discuss it again but you were both quite comfortable with it being just the two of you. Today is the first day you've shown any serious aversion to your comfortable lifestyle–you want a baby.

Once the credit scenes appear Jungkook feels your eyes burn through him from your lounged position. "You're making that face again," he says.

"There's no face."

"Yes there is."

"I don't think so."

Patience running thin, the tone in your husband's voice gets firmer. He's not angry but it's clear his temper is rising. You and Jungkook haven't had a spat in a while and you really don't want to start now. "I can see that there's something on your mind. It's the same one you had from the dressing room and I'm pretty sure it isn't about food this time."

"I don't know what you want me to say," you mumble tiredly. You sit up straight. "My face is my face."

"Honey, I know there's something going on that you're not telling me. Is this about that kid's mother from earlier? Because I'm certain it wasn't personal."

"No, it's not about that at all. It's just been a long week and I'm exhausted," you lie, yawning as if on queue. Jungkook grips the couch arm in agitation. He isn't sure what's going on but he isn't letting you go to bed without getting to the bottom of it.

"You're not having second thoughts about our marriage are you?" He throws the idea out there, hoping its obvious inaccuracy will push you to tell him the truth. You grimace at the guess.

"That's ridiculous!" You sneer. "How could you think that?"

"Well maybe because you're not telling me anything else?" Jungkook tosses his hands up. "I mean who knows, it could be anything. Was it the movie? Shopping? Are you horny? What the fuck is it?!" You jump at his sudden outburst.

"No it's none of those–"

"Look," Jungkook cuts shortly. "Will you just tell me so we can deal with it?!" You throw him a nasty look.

"Just deal with it? Like it's some kind of nuisance of an issue that needs treatment?" You jump up from the couch and head to your bedroom in a fury, your husband hot on your trail.

"I don't mean to be pissing you off, sweetheart but I know something's up." He follows you into the bathroom, watching you reach for your toothbrush. "Can you please slow down and talk to me?" He grabs the toothpaste before you can, forcing you to stop in your tracks. You feel your body starting to shake, eyes tearing up. You friggin' hate fighting and you hate being so unsure about telling him the truth–that you want a family. You're scared of his response most. What if he says no?

Realizing your nervous state, Jungkook takes a deep breath and softens his tone. He hates seeing you cry and he hates it even more when he's the one causing it. "I'm sorry honey." He steps towards you but you flinch away. You're not ready to be touched yet.

"I–I want...I want to be a mom. I want a baby." You wait for your husband's reaction and when it comes you instantly start bawling.

"A baby? What do you mean you want a baby?" Jungkook feels everything inside of him panicking. There's a reason he teaches economics to college students and not high schoolers or below. He doesn't do children, he isn't cut out for it. He'll babysit of his hyung's kids from time to time but at the end of the day, they aren't coming back home with him. Jungkook was sure his wife felt the same way but now? Now she's tearing up in front of him, scared to tell him she wants a child–one that will be his.

Jungkook takes you into his arms, his thumb wipes off some of your tears. "Honey, I'm sorry I didn't know. When you came home from the park I didn't realize that little boy meant so much to you." You try blinking back your tears but they keep running down your face. He's being gentle with you and you appreciate that but his choice of words tells you his answer is no. It's quiet, subtle, and cuts like a knife.

You break away from him to splash cold water on your face. The coolness calms your nerves. “He didn’t. Never–never mind what I said, sorry. I’m tired and I’m probably not thinking straight.” You leave the bathroom, leaving Jungkook scrambling for his thoughts.

A/N: Lmk what you think, tysm for stopping by 💞

Masterlist

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

#btshoneyhive #bangtanbathhouse #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts au #fic:toolatetodream #kookslastbutton

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hey-august · 4 months

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Word count: Just under 1k Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, buggy x GN!reader, no use of Y/N, mentions of masturbation, sex, and oral.

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Buggy who is surprisingly good at drawing.

Buggy who doodles all the time. Ugly little caricatures of people who piss him off. Goofy scribbles of bits that make him laugh. Potential skits.

Buggy who scrawls on the margins of paper, the corner of napkins, anywhere he can relieve the itch in his hands.

Buggy who designs costumes for his crew. Colored pencils and oil pastels bring the flashy couture to life.

Buggy who carries a small sketchbook in his coat. Deckle edged paper wrapped in leather, perfect for practicing pencil sketches and graphite drawings as he observes the crew.

Buggy who doesn’t share the drawings in his sketchbook, though. Some had to learn the hard way not to look over his shoulder.

Buggy who realizes too late that you are overtaking his personal pages. What started as small forms to study pose and movement grew larger, capturing more of your essence.

Buggy who becomes obsessed with capturing the small details. How your nose crinkles when you laugh. The sneer in your lips when you’re pissed. The way you rake your fingers through your hair when you try to calm yourself.

Buggy who gets curious late one night. Curious and desperate.

Buggy who draws you from memory and fueled by his filthy imagination. The soft sound of pencil scraping along the paper is comforting.

Buggy who fills a page with you in compromising positions. The lewd expressions you might wear. What he thinks you’d look like split on his cock. Or mouth open, begging to have your face fucked. His hands gripping your plush thighs.

Buggy who fucks himself to the hand-drawn porn and cums all over the page.

Buggy who feels guilty and burns the soggy drawings, as best he can. It takes a few frustrating tries and he panics, even though no one is around.

Buggy who tries to ignore those feelings. Trying to draw anything except you. But everything looks like shit now. Proportions are off. He presses too hard when sketching, unable to erase the stark lines. Even his doodles lack life.

Buggy who gives in and scribbles you in the corner of his sketchbook before moving on to something else. And it works. His movements flow better. A weight is lifted off his chest.

Buggy who eventually caves to the nighttime muse once more. Filling another perverted page with the obscene images flooding his mind. This time, he doesn’t ruin the drawings with jizz or fire.

Buggy who revisits that page frequently. Adds to that page. Convinces himself that it’s okay, it’s not hurting anyone. In fact, it helps him by taking away other urges.

Buggy who eventually manages to misplace his sketchbook. He fucking lost it.

Buggy who doesn’t want to bring attention to his lost treasure. If he says it’s missing, some freaks might find it and look through the pages. They’ll realize what a pathetic loser he is.

Buggy who frantically retraces his footsteps, barking orders to keep everyone away from him.

Buggy who finally finds it in the hallway just outside his room. The book must have fallen out of his pocket and laid mostly out of sight with the brown leather blending into the wooden floor.

Buggy who is relieved. It doesn’t look like the book had been touched or moved. Even the leather string is still wound around the sketchbook tightly.

Buggy who needs to get back to other duties after sloughing them off most of the day. He’s still on edge, reading into everyone’s interactions. No one acts differently, adding to the relief that no one knows about his perversions.

Buggy who doesn’t open the sketchbook until the end of a very long day. Who waits until he’s alone and in his room.

Buggy whose stomach lurches at the note peeking out of one of the pages. A page devoted to your smile. A note with your handwriting. “This is so impressive! I look so happy”

Buggy who slams the sketchbook shut and starts to pace around the room. Fuck. Did you find it first? Did you look through it? Why? What else did you see? What else did you see?

Buggy who freezes at the thought. Who stares at the awful book, as if it would pipe up and tell him in a fluttery voice.

Buggy who grabs the book and roughly throws it into a drawer, ready to lock up his feelings. Ready to deal with his unhealthy actions with more unhealthy actions.

Buggy who tries to go to bed but can’t sleep. He lays in bed surrounded by a carousel of thoughts. Of fear. And anxiety.

Buggy who sends over a hand to retrieve the damn book. He has to know. He’ll die if he doesn’t find out.

Buggy who can feel his hands shake with each heartbeat as he thumbs through the book, looking for more notes.

Buggy who feels both calmed and excited as he finds your commentary on a few more innocuous pages. Praises for his skill and appreciation for scenes he captured.

Buggy who finally flips to the page. That one.

Buggy who’s afraid to read the note you left there. But he does. “Want to collaborate one day?”

Buggy whose stomach and heart are in knots.

Buggy who keeps reading. “I’d like to see what you look like too.”

Buggy who shows up at your door, panting and red faced. Sketchbook in hand.

Buggy who trails his fingers along your face as he fucks into you, commiting each detail to memory. The shape of your mouth with each moan. Your lust-filled eyes. The little teeth marks left after you bite your lips.

Buggy who can’t help but stare at your sex-tired body. Chest heaving. Glistening.

Buggy who still wants to taste you. To taste himself on you. Who uses his mouth and tongue to memorize more of your body.

Buggy who is surprisingly good at drawing and collaborating.

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A/N: Just want to highlight this line bc I love it "This time, he doesn’t ruin the drawings with jizz or fire."

#buggy smut #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #buggy the clown #buggy the clown smut #one piece smut #buggy x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader

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rosytintedlights · 1 month

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RZ!Micahel x Nurse!Reader Headcannons

- Michael and Reader met because Reader was the only nurse brave enough (or stupid enough) to work directly with Michael after the last nurse quit. Though Reader has other responsibilities (like helping chart for other patients or helping pass out medications with the other nurses), they always make sure to carve out time to at least sit next to Michael while he’s got free time.

- Michael refuses to acknowledge Reader if he’s having a bad day, like if Dr. Loomis was particularly pushy with him or if patients that were a little more absent in the head tried to touch his art supplies. But Reader will still take the time and effort to sit next to him, whether they just sit and work or provide small conversation for him.

- Dr. Loomis is consistently baffled and blown away that Michael has yet to lash out against Reader. He is especially baffled when Michael actually pays attention and listens to Reader’s suggestions and requests. There was definitely one time when Reader sat with Michael after they finished charting and asked to make a mask with him, and Michael not only agreed (He mostly just glared at their annoyingly bright and happy smile then passed over a couple of crayons and paper for them to start with), but he also would ‘assist’ (interfere when Reader did it wrong in his eyes) with making the mask.

- The two have an understanding that if Reader will sharpen his colored pencils (and blunt the tip because Michael definitely doesn’t need anything too sharp), then Michael will mostly behave for them.

(After Michael breaks out)

- Michael will absolutely follow Reader around when Laurie isn’t accessible

- He will break into Reader’s house when they aren’t home or while they’re sleeping to learn more about them outside of what he’d learned about them as a Nurse.

- Reader already had a feeling Michael was following them around, then they confirmed it when Michael had taken the biggest knife out of their knife block

- Dr. Loomis showed up on Readers doorstep insisting they were in danger and to take extra precaution when they were home alone. Reader was almost never home alone at this point because Michael was almost always planted on their couch staring at the tv.

- Reader covers for Michael’s ass all the time when cops come patrolling through the neighborhood. More often than not, Reader has to pretend they didn’t realize he hadn’t been caught yet.

- The two definitely fight over giving Michael a bath or shower. He doesn’t want to because he thinks there is a better use for his time. Michael finally relents after he gets a nasty rat in his hair. Reader gives him all the nice hair care products to use, including some real nice conditioner, and helps him brush out his hair so it’s nice and clean. Michael ends up with the nicest and softest hair, like he’s straight up has ‘maybe he’s born with it, maybe its Maybelinne’ hair

A/N: Tumblr formatting is so weird >_< anyway, I definitely have more headcannons, but i wanted to start small!

#slashers #slashers x reader #michael myers #michael myers x reader #rz michael myers #rz halloween #rz!michael myers x reader

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blacktabbygames · 2 months

Note

Hi there I was wondering if the art in slay the princess is mostly drawn traditionally or digitally? If it’s digitally I would love to know what art program & brushes we used, because they look super real.

pencil and paper, with minimal colors + extra shading added digitally in photoshop

#slay the princess

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phoenixblaze1412 · 3 months

Note

i-i-i-i-i-i wantttt another father dottore content 😢😢😢 may i ask for a child!reader cursing in front of our father? maybe a segment cursed in front of us and we just.. copy that curse word lmaoaoa. thank you in advance!

-🧊

No-no Word.

Now, Zandik established a rule among the rest of his segments that no one is allowed to cuss whenever you're in the room.

The no-no words. That's what your father calls it. Every single cuss or swear word that exists within his and his segments' vocabulary is not allowed to be said within your hearing range.

"But why am I not allowed to say these no-no words, papa?"

"Because, my sweet, these words can only be used by adults. You are still too young to say these and I don't want your innocence of the world to be tainted with bad things."

Yes, the segments follow the rules.

But sometimes, they just can't seem to keep their mouths shut.

Mostly Iota, Theta, Beta, Gamma, and Delta.

How lucky of you that they will be taking care of you for the whole day while your father is being called to a meeting with the rest of the harbingers.

The segments agreed on how many hours they each will take when watching over you.

-----

With Iota:

You were in your father's office, busying yourself as you you doodled on a piece of paper with a pencil that Iota handed you. Iota, on the other hand, was organising each reports based on their importance.

He was already annoyed at how incompetent his fellow clones are. Not even sorting out the reports they handed to him in the proper order. Even their writings are hard to understand!

With a huff, he went to rewrite the reports of the others to something much more readable for Zandik to understand. Moving his arm a bit, he didn't notice he knocked over the ink bottle. Said bottle toppled over a few documents, ink spilling down and staining the reports.

"Fuck!"

Iota cursed out as he quickly picked the ink bottle up and went to quickly fix the mess that was created. He knew he would be scolded if Zandik found out about his mistake.

Once the mess on the desk has been cleaned, aside from the ink stained reports, Iota let out a relieved sigh. It's okay if the reports are smudged a lot as long as there isn't any ink stain on the harbinger's desk then he is okay.

"Fuck!"

Iota quickly turned around to face you when he heard your voice say that one word. His eyes widening in shock as he quickly went over to you and placed his hands on your shoulders.

"No no no! You must not say that, mutt!"

"Fuck!"

Ah shit..

-----

With Gamma and Delta:

You were immediately dropped off at the laboratory by Iota. You heard the segment saying something along the lines of 'if it's not with me then it's not my problem anymore'.

Gamma was the first one to notice your presence as he grinned before quickly picking you up in his arms and lightly pinching your cheek.

"Little flame! You're just in time. Come now, let's put a lab coat on you so you won't get any chemicals spilled on your fragile self."

You were sat upon a stool, safety goggles placed upon your eyes as you watched the chemicals in the beaker bubbling from the hotplate. Delta was taking notes of the chemicals while Gamma stood beside you with a bored look.

"Delta, can we heighten the flames to make this thing go faster? Or maybe add more fire? Fire is good."

"No. Too much heat pressure can cause something bad."

"But we've been waiting for an hour already! (Y/n) is already bored!"

Not really. You were too busy staring at how pretty the liquid in the beaker was, liking the color.

"No, Gamma. We have to wait for two more hours. That's what the instructions said."

Letting out a huff of annoyance, Delta turned around and went to check on the supplies, leaving you and Gamma for a while. With Delta away from you two, Gamma grinned in delight before glancing at you and placing a finger to his lips to be quiet. You nodded in understanding, placing a finger to your own lips as a sign that you're quiet.

You watched as Gamma turned the heat to the highest level. The chemicals beginning to form bubbles at a very alarming speed as the beaker began to shake and move around the hotplate. Both you and Gamma stared curiously at the beaker, wondering why it's rattling too much until you both heard Delta come back.

"Gamma, what the fuck did you do--"

Before Delta could finish his sentence, a large explosion erupted in the lab. Gamma had you in his arms, shielding you away from the glass shards of the beaker. Delta quickly went to turn on the air vents to quickly remove the smoke that clouded inside the room. Once the smoke disappeared, Delta was glaring at Gamma with his arms crossed.

"You pyromaniac fuck! I told you to leave the heat on its current state!"

"It's your fault for choosing something so boring to do!"

"Me?! This was literally fucking assigned to us!"

"Fuck!"

You like saying the new word. It feels like a catchphrase the segments would say. But Delta and Gamma were not having it.

"No! Bad (Y/n)! Don't repeat that!"

"My sweet little firecracker please don't say that!"

"Fuck!"

The two segments could only stare at each other in pure horror. Knowing it was futile to stop you from repeating that word.

"We are so dead."

"Not me, you were the one cursing a lot, Delta."

"Fu-- shut it!"

-----

With Theta and Beta:

You were eating your favourite sweets, courtesy of Epsilon, with Theta and Beta sitting on the floor in front of you. Both of them were already done with their assigned tasks so what else could they be doing but cause mischief instead?

"Alright, dumbass. Have you been cursing well?"

"Must you call the little angel a dumbass, Theta?"

"Meh, not my fault they ate a tomato and thought it was an apple."

Theta could only snicker as he glanced in your direction, pulling you over to his lap and poking your cheek.

"Now. Repeat after me. Say fuck."

"Fuck!"

"Good. Looks like you can already say that well. Now, what does that word mean?"

"When I had a very happy and good time."

Beta handed you another sweet as a prize, a grin spread across his face.

"You know, the others were panicking because the little angel has been saying 'fuck' the whole day."

"Well they're a bunch of idiots. Alright, kid. Say 'shit'."

"Sheeeet?"

"Close enough, kid."

"Lord Harbinger is going to be very upset if he finds out his child started cursing at a young age, Theta."

"Don't worry, Beta. We'll just blame it on the others."

-----

"Papa! You were taking too long!"

You ran towards your father, your arms reaching out to him as you were picked up right away. The other segments talking amongst themselves, relieved that their tasks for the day were done and they could do whatever they wish.

"Forgive me, little one. The Jester has a lot of thinngs to discuss about. How was your day while I was busy, hm?"

"It was good! I had fuck!"

The sound of glass shattering to the floor could be heard throughout the room as your father, and the rest of the segments could only stare at you in shock. You could only tilt your head to the side, wondering why everyone is suddenly staring at you as if you did something wrong.

"Where did you learn that word, little one?"

"I heard it from the others!"

From that sentence alone, Zandik immediately turned to his segments and glared at each and every one of then.

"You incompetent fools! I gave one simple rule to follow and you lot can't even follow it?!"

"Eh? Why are you angry papa? Doesn't fuck mean you're having a good and happy time? Theta and Beta said it's like fun but with more pizzazz."

At the mention of the two segments' names, everyone's eyes turned to said clones. Beta could only laugh nervously while Theta rubbed the nape of his neck and looking away. Zandik clicked his tongue in annoyance as he looked at you and gave you a small smile.

"I suppose but promise me not to say that word again, little one. That is a no-no word."

You could only cover your mouth in shame, not knowing you had been saying a bad word the whole day and thought it was just another term for fun. You immediately nodded your head to your father's words, promising not to say such things again.

"Good. Now run along to your room. I'll have to deal with something before I tuck you to bed, alright?"

"Okay papa!"

With that, you immediately left the office and back to your room, leaving the others to themselves. A scowl immediately appeared on Zandik's face as he glared at Theta and Beta.

"You two have some explaining to do."

"Run Beta, run!"

"Get back here!"

"We are so sorry!!"

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #dottore #dottore x reader #zandik x reader #il dottore #female reader #gender neutral reader #il dottore x reader #child reader

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cloudysleepingzone · 3 months

Note

Heya^^ could we possibly get some romantic hcs about dazai, atsushi, and possibly fyodor with a artist s/o, they sometimes doodle on unimportant papers when the meetings are way too boring for them , and sometimes when they have free time they draw their lover in their sketchbook, maybe a painting or two of their lover <3 anyways love your writing and don't forget to hydrate! Have a wonderful day or night!!

BSD with an Artist S/O

Decided to add Chuuya and Tecchou due to a very similar request!

Contents : Dazai, Atsushi, Fyodor, Chuuya and Tecchou x Reader (separate), gender neutral reader (they/them used), fluff, suggestive for Dazai's part and sorta Tecchuu? Not really. Pet Names.

Dazai Osamu

Doesn't matter what your drawing, he's watching.

Can you blame him though? He just loves watching his lover just doing something they enjoy!

If you draw him he will start acting like a dramatic prince for a solid 10 minutes.

"(Name), draw me like one of your French girls~"

You sit quietly at your desk, the surface covered with your sketchbook and a handful of pencils and pens. "Belllaaa~!" Though your peace is interrupted by your loving boyfriend trying to get out of doing his job again. "What are you drawing beautiful?" He leans over you, his arms wrapping around you from behind as he props his chin on your shoulder. The sketchbook page had small doodles of the two of you, mostly just small cute doodles of holding hands, Dazai tilts his head slight to the side, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. "You know, if you need any ideas you could always draw us with less clothes~"

Atsushi Nakajima

Our sweet boy

He's so supportive of your work he loves seeing the look on your face when you make something your proud of

You draw him? Oh boy...he can't even form words

"You're getting even better sweetheart, you keep improving!"

Your a mess, your finger tips covered in different shades of blue and grey, just like the tip of your paintbrush. Atsushi was behind the canvas, laying comfortably on your shared bed with a soft smile on his lips. "Am I doing alright? I'm not moving too much?" He was doing an amazing job. A perfect job. "Your doing good sweetheart, I'm almost done". You've drawn him from memory plenty of times before, but it feels so much more romantic with him right in front of you. "You look really pretty when your focused..." He mumbles under his breath, even if your the one painting him, he's the one doing the most admiring <3

Fyodor Dostoevsky

To a non familiar eye he seems completely uninterested or even annoyed at your interests. But that's far from true

He adores your work though he sucks at showing it

Got a piece you're really proud of? Yep he's putting it in a fancy frame

You? Drawing him? Aren't you just a sweetheart...

It was already late at night, the curtains had been drawn and you were currently in the shower. Meanwhile your husband Fyodor was already dressed in something more comfortable and was waiting for his dear. Fyodors finger tips gently run over the cover of your current sketch book, which laid on top of a desk in your shared bedroom. He picks up the sketchbook, flipping through the pages slowly before a certain page catches his eye, a page seemingly dedicated to just him. His normally cold and hard gaze softens a bit at the sight, some being full line art and color and others being simple messy doodles. His admiring is interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening. "Sweetheart what are you doing?". Your husband gently closes your sketchbook, setting it down onto the expensive hard work surface. "Just admiring your work my dear..."

Chuuya Nakahara

New art supplies? He's buying it. You want a new set of expensive as hell paint brushes? Pfft, pocket change.

If you even mention getting into a new form of art he's already handing you his credit card without another question.

"It looks pretty already doll, make sure to show me when it's done yea?"

Like Fyodor, he puts his favorite pieces in fancy frames <3

You walk into Chuuya's at home office, not bothering to knock (not like he minds) "Chuuya, I finished that painting you wanted to see!" He slowly turns his chair around, a small smirk on his face, completely ignoring his task of sorting through files for now. "Let me see it babe". You turn the canvas around, showing him your paintwork you've spent a few weeks on. He stand from his seat, walking up to you and placing a gloved hand on your cheek, planting a loving kiss on the other. "It looks beautiful sweetheart, just like you. I'll be hanging it up." Chuuya had already started a small selection of your art that was displayed in fancy gold and silver frames over a fireplace, in the style as if they were million dollar paintings. To him they may as well be, to him your art is priceless. Your priceless.

Tecchou Suehiro

You could make something weird and he'll like it

He will just silently watch you draw whatever, doesn't matter what.

"That looks good sweetheart"

Drawing him? God I don't know if his heart can take something so sweet!

Here you are, sitting on your boyfriend's back while he does sit ups. It was actually pretty normal at this point. The only sounds in the room was the huffs coming from Tecchuu throat and the sounds of pencil scratching against paper. "Hm...maybe I should draw you like this, it would be pretty good anatomy practice" you quickly sketch up some messy line art you can fix later, shifting slightly to show Tecchuu. "Huff Looks good" Despite the slight strain in his muscles he's able to respond pretty easily. I get up from your seat on his back, letting him get up with a groan before stretching his arms. Moving your pencil back to the paper, you continue to look from your boyfriend to the paper back and forth. "This is a bit better" you your sketch book around, it was just a simple sketch of his muscular figure but it was like fine art in his eyes. "You've been improving a lot haven't you?"

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actual-changeling · 1 year

Text

ellie learns how to draw, and, if she might say so herself, gets pretty damn good at it, especially faces. it helps her ground herself to see happy memories physically stare back at her from her sketch book, her walls, the fridge, and wherever else joel puts up her drawings. he loves all of them, even the very first ones that aren't much more than vaguely human scribbles.

the first year in jackson is a pain, and she spends most of it holed up in their house, drawing, painting (she has no idea where joel gets all the paint from and he refuses to tell her), and once they make it through their first winter together, she feels comfortable enough to show them to other people, too. mostly tommy and maria, and in a weak moment she even gifts them a drawing she made of them and their baby.

she's over at their house a lot, it's a lot more lived in and settled than theirs but they're working on it, and notices some actual pictures, the kind you take with a camera, decorating the living room. it's obvious that they're prized possessions, framed and front and center on the walls. a handful of them show maria and what must have been her family before the outbreak, others are newer. jackson does have some cameras saved for special events, and there are two pictures of them on their wedding day, and even one from a few days after the baby was born.

she doesn't think much of it until their second summer in jackson when she notices the way joel stares at the baby pictures and realizes that all he has to remember sarah by is the broken watch on his wrist. the only tangible memory and it's one of pain and death.

ellie mulls over it a lot, it keeps her up at night and while joel picks up on it, he doesn't press the issue when she refuses to talk about it, though she assures him she's fine.

it takes her another two weeks after her realization to catch tommy alone one afternoon with joel safely away on patrol, oddly nervous and unsure how to phrase what she wants to ask. eventually she manages to explain her idea and the positively soft, distantly heartbroken look he gives her makes her breath catch in her throat.

do you think he would be okay with it?

i think he would love it, sweetheart.

they sit together for hours in his kitchen, ellie is determined to make it look exactly right and urges tommy to not hold back his criticism if something isn't accurate, and by the end, they have missed dinner and her wrist hurts like hell, fingers stained with pencil lead and color, but her chest is brimming with a warm sense of accomplishment.

tommy gives her a frame and she wraps it as well as she knows how to. he insists that she gives it to him alone, but ellie draws him into an uncharacteristically tight hug before she leaves and hides her smile in his chest when he presses a hesitant kiss to her hair. family, she realizes, is pretty damn great.

the waiting is the hardest part. she puts her gift on the coffee table and paces the living room for at least half an hour while she waits for joel to return from his patrol, switching between chewing her lips and biting her nails. by the time he finally walks through the door, she has almost convinced herself to abandon the whole thing and just pretend it never happened, but then joel's there, gaze immediately softening when he sees her, and suddenly she can't wait to give it to him. it's a pretty big frame and the best paper she owns, rivaling some of her larger paintings on actual canvas, and joel has to sit down to open it without running the risk of accidentally dropping it.

i hope you like it.

the quiet tremor in her voice makes him stop halfway through unwrapping it, but she just gestures for him to continue, rocking on her feet.

tommy helped.

when the last of the paper falls away and joel sees her work for the very first time, they both hold their breath at once, even the summer breeze stilling, air brimming with something neither of them have the words for.

joel is looking at a vibrant water color painting of sarah, face at a soft angle as she wonders at a small purple butterfly resting on her finger, hand raised in front of her, eyes and smile shining brighter than the sun, hair a shimmering cloud of brown and gold. a frozen moment in time, sarah forever fourteen, capturing the love ellie feels pouring out of joel whenever he talks about her, a wave of affection and distilled joy that makes her miss a person she has never known.

i thought you might want a happy memory of her to look at, too.

ellie points at his watch, broken glass fracturing the light falling in, hand shaking.

i hope it's okay that i- if you don't want it-

joel's arms are around her before she can finish, cutting off her stuttered attempts, frame safe on the table as he hugs her so tightly her feet lift off the floor and she clings to his neck, relief bringing air back to her lungs. he holds her with his face buried in her hair, and ellie only notices he is crying when she can feel a few stray tears run down her neck. when he sets her down again, eyes glassy even after he dries his cheeks, her knees buckle under his gaze. they're both bad with feelings, bad with words, love shown through touch and gestures, through don't forget to eat, i'll stay with you until you fall asleep, fresh cups of coffee left on his nightstand before she leaves for school, hands searching for each other in the crowd again and again and again, never letting go.

love brought to life by a painting of the daughter that taught him how to be a father, made by the one that helped him find his way back to the light.

thank you, ellie.

they both know it means i love you, too, sarah immortalized on their living room wall where the morning sun illuminates her face with every sunrise.

more rambles in the tags

#alex writes tlou #the last of us #tlou #joel and ellie #joel and sarah #joel miller #ellie williams #tlou fluff #sarah miller #tommy miller #ellie and tommy #this got so much longer than i planned help this is like half a fic synopsis #this started out as ellie draws sarah for joel #and turned into whatever this is #so so so tempted to turn this into a full fic #but also listen listen i cannot draw i wish i could because i want to capture the image of that painting so desperately #blanket permission to everyone who wants to do that i will literally give you my first born #gonna sleep on the highway tonight this is killing me #this is an apology for the tommy's baby looks like sarah post #and a peace offering for all the angst to come in my fic #fr though im almost tempted to literally pay someone to draw this i am mentally ill #also ellie and tommy bonding as a bonus because i am still obsessed with that too #ellie is sarahs sister and while neither of them will every say it like that they both know its true #theyre just emotionally repressed its ok they communicate in their own way #anyway gonna try and not die now and actually get stuff done but also pls talk to me about them i am vibrating hard enough to shatter glass

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ghostgorlsworld · 5 months

Text

Johnny Boy Part 3 (werewolf!Soap x reader)

Johnny meets his daughter, part one is here

Once upon a time, you would've done anything for John Mctavish. He had been your older brother's cool best friend, and you were always desperate for him to see you as more--until one fateful night that ends up with you pregnant and him...gone. Fast forward six years and you've made a good life for yourself with your daughter Emma, with Johnny none the wiser. Until he decides to knock on your door.

Part 3

Johnny knocked on the door at 8:15, carrying two pounds of bacon and a book about whales.

The bastard. Tom must have told him that whales were Emma’s weakness.

“Hi, Kitty,” Johnny said, smiling. He twitched like he wanted to lean in and kiss your cheek, but managed to restrain himself.

“John,” you said. You were dressed more appropriately this time, a Black Sabbath tee and sweats, your work clothes of pencil skirts, trousers, and wool sweaters currently drying on the laundry lines in the backyard.

Emma touched the back of your leg, peering out at Johnny with a kind of fascinated dislike. “You’re taller than I thought you were,” she said, her tone disapproving.

You smiled then, suddenly full of warm affection for your daughter. “Let the man come inside, bear, it’s freezing out there.”

Johnny stepped inside your house and something inside of you clenched, forcing yourself to step back and allow Johnny his moment with your daughter.

They looked at each other. Father to daughter, their eyes so alike, their hair the same color, all the missing pieces falling into place.

Johnny crouched, going eye-level with her. “Hi, Emma,” he said, his voice hoarse as he attempted to smile. “My name’s Johnny.” Emma smiled, her first missing tooth winking at him.

You looked away. And so it began.

Within an hour she was perched up in his lap, prattling about whales and her friends from school. “Ms. Thornton said we had to make it out of paper maché and the best whale would win a prize. So Mum stayed up with me all night making the biggest blue whale, with a spout’n tail’n everything.” Johnny was captivated, his eyes brighter than you had ever seen them, his accent tangling his words even thicker than usual. “Aye? Did you win then?”

“Of course, we have ‘im hung up in the living room with little strings, right next to Grandpa Jack’s chair.” It was true. A paper mache blue whale hung from your ceiling in the place of honor, a tiny Christmas hat perched on his head for the upcoming holidays.

You had to look away from them, focusing on pouring Emma her usual glass of milk and Johnny a coffee. He despised tea.

“Drink,” you said, pushing the glass towards her. “It’s good for your brain.” Emma two-handed it, just like you tell her to. It seemed she was trying to be on her best behavior, the little traitor. “How’d you know it’s good for my brain?” She asked, sniffing Johnny’s coffee as you placed it before him.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, trying to meet your eyes but failing when you turned back to their breakfast, a mess of eggs and bacon and raw deer. “I looked it up on the internet, bear. Good fats are good for your brain.” “That’s what she says when she wants me to eat something, Johnny,” Emma said. “That it’s good for my brain. She’s always reading books on what to feed me so I can get taller.”

“I was an itty-bitty sprite when I was your age, lass, I’m sure it’ll kick in with a few more years,” Johnny said, his hand stroking her soft hair as if he couldn’t believe she was real.

It went on like this until you put food in front of them, taking a seat across from Emma with your coffee and toast. You were never hungry this early, mostly because you were usually handling raw liver or beef tongue at eight in the morning and that sent your appetite right down the drain.

Johnny noticed. “Not even gonna have bacon, kitty?” “She never eats breakfast,” Emma the tattletale said, spooning up a bit of deer. “She doesn’t like anything raw.” Johnny smiled, as if remembering some fond memory. “She was always a wee bit squeamish, your ma.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, scraping a pat of butter over your toast.

It dragged on longer than you had planned, Johnny standing to help you clear away the plates while Emma yawned, blinking sleepily at the couch in the living room. She was past the age of scheduled naps but on the weekends you were lax with her, letting her pass out on the sofa while you caught up on work or reading.

Johnny seemed to understand that he was overstaying his welcome, though his eyes followed your daughter in that wide-eyed yearning look that got him anything he wanted when you were children. “Right then, Emma,” he said, ruffling her hair. “I’ll leave you to a nap, yeah?” “What are you gonna do all day, Johnny?” Emma asked, already curling up in her favorite woolen blanket.

Johnny shrugged, brushing her cheek with his thumb. “I dunno, lass. I’m off work for the month.” “You should go to the park,” Emma said sleepily. “The park’s nice. Mum likes to read there.” “That’s a grand idea, lass,” he said gently. “It was lovely t’meet you, Emma.” She mumbled something else, tucking her nose deeper into the blankets as she began to snore. Something in your chest squeezed when Johnny tucked the blanket around Emma’s skinny arms, more gentle than you had ever seen him.

He looked at you then, his eyes all blue and warm. “Thank ye, kitty.”

You nodded. “You’re welcome. But you should go now.” You didn’t want him to linger, didn’t want him in your house while Emma was asleep, because that meant his attention was on you.

Johnny stood, towering over you. “Of course, kitty.”

You walked him to the door, your arms crossed protectively over your chest.

He paused on the doorstep. “Can I…Can I come again?” You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying no, to stop this cycle before it began. You didn’t want Emma getting used to a father that was gone eighty percent of the year.

Johnny gripped the porch, as if preparing himself for your refusal. It was that gesture that made you sigh, looking out at the empty, icy street.

“Tomorrow. I walk her home from school on my lunch break from work to Juliene’s house,” you pointed out a red brick cottage with sweet-faced woman gardening in the front. “She’s a godsend, she watches her until five now that Jack…Jack’s gone. Then I get home from work and make supper. Come then.” Meals would be easier, there was something for you to do while Johnny spent time with Emma, so you wouldn’t have to look at him constantly proving your teenage dreams right of him being a good father.

Johnny smiled, just like he used to, all teeth and excitement. “I don’t know how to tell ye how much this means t’me,” he said, stepping into your space again. You wondered how long he had been without human interactions for him to ignore societal rules like personal space.

“I don’t deserve the chance you’ve given me, kitty,” Johnny said, the warmth of his body so close to yours oppressive. “God knows we have some unresolved words between us, but you’re the best mother I could’ve hoped for, considering that she’s…well, she’s like me.”

Johnny was raised by a human mother that treated him vaguely like a lapdog. Susan didn’t know what to do with a little boy that chewed on the furniture and got sick when she didn’t let him eat raw meat.

It took Susan a long time to see the error in her ways, but still. You don’t let her watch Emma.

“I would be a monster to keep her from you,” you said dully, stepping back to regain your space. “She was already waiting for you.” Something shifted in his eyes. You didn’t like that look, it was the dark, possessive look he would give other kids whenever they tried to tease Tommy and you out of playing with him.

Call it paranoia, but it seemed like he was already thinking of your little family as his.

***

Emma waited for you next to the school doors, wearing a Winnie-the-Pooh sweater and her favorite dark blue jeans. Her friend Sasha was beside her, playing dolls with the little yarn princesses you had gotten them both last Christmas.

“Girls,” you greeted, smiling. “Sasha, are you walking home with us today?” Emma flew into your arms with a yip, barely restraining herself from licking your face.

It had taken a few years but she eventually learned that licking people’s faces, even her mother’s, was bad manners and generally unpleasant for the person involved.

Sasha nodded, “Mum asked me to ask if you would. Daddy wouldn’t leave work.” Sasha was another case of a single mother and deadbeat father, and you had told her mother that you were willing to help with her any way you could. After all, it took a village for you to get stable with Emma, it’s worse when you don’t have anyone at all.

“C’mon, then,” you said, digging into your purse. “I brought snacks.”

Sasha and Emma brightened at the sight of two paper-wrapped biscuits, guilt-gifts from Tommy.

The library was only a short walk to her school, and your home was only a short walk to the library, so you had just given up on the expense of having a car, borrowing Tom’s whenever you needed to drive to the city. You ushered the girls onto the sidewalk, making each of them hold your hand.

“Tell me about your day, girls,” you said. “What did you learn?”

That began a river of chatter that you could get comfortably lost in, tales of poem books and origami and cheese sandwiches for lunch.

You liked Sasha, she was a sweet girl that didn’t mind your daughter’s wolfish tendencies, and they had been friends for practically half their lives. Sasha made you think about one day having another kid, maybe with a husband and a bigger house.

The thought was easier when Johnny wasn’t around. He wouldn’t like any other man acting like a father to Emma, though you doubted it would bother him if you found a man to marry. He probably spent the majority of his leave at bars with pretty, childless women, while you were just a slightly sour memory of the girl he knew growing up.

And Johnny would be gone soon. A month, he had said? You doubted it, they always called him back earlier.

“Is Johnny coming back?” Emma asked, breaking you out of your thoughts. Sasha smiled at her–they had obviously discussed the mysterious appearance of Emma’s father.

“Yes,” you said. “He’s going to have dinner with us tonight.” “Is he your boyfriend?” Sasha asked curiously. “My mum has a new boyfriend.” The thought of dating Johnny made you want to vomit. “No, of course not,” you said quickly, before the idea could take root in Emma. “He’s Emma’s father, and honestly, we don’t know each other very well anymore. He’s just here to spend time with you, bear.” Sasha clearly didn’t believe you, while Emma just nodded distantly, the cogs in her little brain churning.

You dropped Sasha off at her mother Lisa’s bakery. Lisa waved, mouthing thank you.

“Did you like Johnny once?” Emma asked. “Like how Judy likes Tobin in school?” And there it was. Emma was not going to let this go.

“Once,” you said. “But then he left for a long time. We don’t like each other like that anymore, bear, he’s just here for you.” That disappointed her, and you hated disappointing her. She had probably built up an image of having a mother and a father, happy and in love just like the movies.

“Oh, come on, bear,” you said, squeezing your shoulder. “You get to see him tonight, and maybe if you ask nicely I’ll stop at the store on my way home for ice cream.” That cheered her up a bit. Just like Johnny, she had a raging sweet tooth.

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