#like the little lisp and everything

[nextgenfoals]

Cosmos (Discord's ex in the comics) x Ditzy Doo!

Half Scarlet Kingsnake, half albino hyena, and all demigod of malice, one could reasonably assume Collateral is a malevolent creature… but he’s really not. It’s swoops in, speaks exclusively in tongue twisters, breaks a couple laws of physics, and then leaves. He doesn’t take anything seriously, but he’s only mildly annoying at worst.

~ Mod Ace ♥️

[carterinwanderlust]

Putrice and Rancilda what a display of women I have ever seen

[racingmiku2018]

hm. im kinda annoying huh

[eccentricallygothic]

Divorced Dad!Captain Syverson who experiences a real time brain short-circuit when he sees how well you get along with his kids during your first meeting with them… 

Warning(s): Breeding kink, size kink, old man!Sy, age gap, manhandling, groping, fluff, boob play, unprotected p-in-v, I added plot to it TT. MDNI.

. . . 

After the messy divorce that followed his turbulent marriage, Sy was not looking forward to any relations with the opposite sex, if possible. With his former profession a constant hurdle to his life as part of a unionized pair and marital bliss, what had started as a promising relationship had turned out to be one of those unfortunate marriages where children were sought as a last resort to perhaps save the remnants of the already rotten love between man and wife. Though being someone from a background that held family in the highest esteem and always having been fond of the idea of his own lot, Sy loved his children more than life itself and there was not a thing in the world he would trade for them. And that was the reason why he had preferred to opt for an early retirement so custody would not be an issue between him and his ex-wife who was more than eager to shed off everything affiliated with the name Syverson like an illness.

You, on the other hand, though not much experienced with the opposite sex were not too warm to the idea of children. Being a student in her last year of higher education and only so old as you were, your attitude hardly deserved to be subjected to scrutiny. That, and the fact that you hadn't really had many young ones around you while growing up as an only child, calling you a foreigner to the scene would not qualify as an exaggeration and hence it can be said that it is more indifference than contempt on your part. 

So naturally, when it happened, it was strictly unplanned. And very fateful. With a rather traumatized Sy in a sort of an emotional limbo who had more than enough reason to keep to himself, and a stressed with soon approaching future endeavors as well as disillusioned with the opposite sex you, the night you had bumped into each other outside the bar restrooms where Sy had been dragged to cheer up by his friends and you to loosen up by yours, the rather fast yet steady rate at which the two of you had woven into each other had been unexpected to say the least. 

But now, as Sy fires up the grill in his backyard to begin the little BBQ he has planned for today when you meet his children for the first time, the prided and much experienced grill expert nearly burns his hand because he is so busy inwardly fawning over how quickly his rugrats have warmed up to you. And you, Sy will swear on anything that you are just the most perfect woman— person alive. Everything is just right with you. Even on days when the world seems to press down on him, your mere presence is there to help his spirits back up and elate as well as support him in every sense.

Though he had been honest about his condition since the beginning, after his initial reluctance to get with you as you were so much younger and inexperienced compared to him, children weren't peculiarly a topic that came up between the two of you except occasions where Sy wanted to share a little victory or rant with you. So as you keep his toddler on one hip with a protective arm around her, your perfect body -Sy's words- clad in a bonny bright coloured sundress, and hold the hand of his 5 year old who excitedly shows you around the mini patio of the modern farmhouse, memories of his own mother scarce if any, your making conversation with the boy and giggling along to his lisp droning flutters Sy's heart in a way that he thought he had outgrown. 

It also excites him with a kind of boyish heat that the former military Captain had thought he had shed off with his adolescent youth.

And so he just has to have you by yielding to a similar impatience and desperation, the musical sound of your giggles faintly fluttering its melodies upon his flush and thumping ears as he gets to it.

“God, Sy!” The huff in your words fires him up even more and he cannot hold back any longer. “You’re such a brute!” His coarse and scarred paws heavily pull at your dress with a crazed desperation to help you find the restroom, as he had told one of the farm hands that he had left the children under. “Oof!” The whine you let out before instinctively craning your head to try and ease the way his thick beard tickles the tender skin of the curve of your neck makes him growl into your carotid pulse that he worships with his hot lips, the pressure of your pressing your face into his as well as the soft pants you let out, your chest bumping into his with each heave of your lungs, only lithifies his bulging erection even more. 

“Gon' fatten up your pretty lil’ pussy with my cum, baby” Sy's breaths scorch your clammy skin with their burning weight. His hands grope and expose you everywhere they can reach, and they can do so everywhere because of how much smaller hence ragdoll-like you are compared to him. “Wouldja like that, angel?” Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he boosts your thighs up his tall legs and around his waist, the fat and leaking tip of his cock grazing against your holes from how he is kissing you everywhere he can reach. “Me stuffing that cute tummy full of siblings for Tim and Bethy, huh?” You know he would never actually do something as serious so callously without a prior discussion so you breathlessly nod, pushing your oral muscles to gulp down the thick bile in your throat and tip your head against the wall to prepare yourself to withstand his intrusion of your pussy that thanks to his girth always feels like not only your first time with him but your very deflowering in general.

 “Yes” your mouth falls open as he reaches below the hold with which he has your whole body propped up. “Yes, please~” his balmy tip finds its destination in the tiny, drenched and quivering closed up band that leads to your reproductive cavern. “Please fimme with your babies, Sy~” when the stretch makes your tiny hole burn around his girth, your mouth lets loose all the obscene words of vulgar desire. 

“Yeah, baby?” Sy's fingers flex over your ass and caress their way up your side before coming down and repeating the action, his thumb stealing strokes of your nipples as he does. “Wanna make me a Daddy, yeah?” A hiss leaves your mouth and your back arches at the feeling of your walls sheathing him deep within themselves. His breathtaking urgency nearly puts a dent in your innards. “Want me to make you all round and heavy here?” Your pussy clenches around the hilt of his cock when he suddenly gropes your naval into a greedy handful.

“Yes, please, Sy!” Your whole form bounces up in the air when the man gives you a thrust so powerful that has you mewling and digging your nails in his shoulders. “Wanna make you a Daddy so bad, Sy!” His dick has always had a hypnotic effect on you, for the minute it's in the vicinity of any of your holes, you become a brain dead parrot for him. 

“Atta girl~” he cooes, tossing your body further up with a strong stab of his hips so he can clamp his teeth down on one of your boobs.

MASTERLIST

. . . 

I am MAD for this man. Like I am not even hot on kids. WHAT—

[luveline]

hellooo!! im not sure if your requests are open so feel free to ignore this but i was wondering if you could write for tasm!peter where the reader just got her wisdom teeth removed and she’s all loopy on anesthetics and forgets peter is her boyfriend? i saw this video where this girl got her wisdom teeth pulled and forgot she was dating her boyfriend and fell in love with him all over again😭😭

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPR7sGQo5/

thank you for your request! ♡ fem, 1k

"Here she is," the nurse says gently, walking you out with his arm behind your back. "Alright, say hi to Peter." 

"Hi, Peter," you mumble, eyes on the floor. 

Peter grins at you, worry warm at the back of his throat. "Hey. Is that everything?" he asks, nodding at the nurses paper bag of aftercare. 

"Everything you'll need." The nurse helps Peter take over, hoisting your arm over his shoulders before stepping away. "Alright, feel better, okay? And don't hesitate to call if something comes up. We're here to look after you." 

You seem appreciative in your fog, but it's hard to tell. Peter curls his arm around your hip and gives it a soft rub as he leads you to the stairs. Whoever devised the floor plan here had murder on their mind —the second floor is completely inaccessible. Luckily, Peter has a lot of strength at his disposal. 

You can feel it. "Woh, you're strong," you murmur. 

"You know that already." His grip on you tightens, pretty much carrying you down the tight staircase. 

"Do I?" you ask. You make a sound like you're hurting, a squeak. 

"I'd hope so." At the end of the staircase, he sits you down, worried you're not feeling well. "You okay? I can princess carry you if you need me to." 

You look at him with wide eyes. He turns to check there's no one standing behind him, but you're really looking at him. "What?" he asks, touching your knee, imploring. "You look like you've seen a ghost." 

"You're Peter?" you ask. 

Ah, the amnesiac effect of anaesthetic. His touch turns comforting, stroking your thigh with as much care as he can drive into his palm alone. "That's me. Hey, if you're forgetting me, does that mean you're not mad at me for last Friday anymore? 'Cos I know you said you forgive me but I can tell it still pisses you off–" 

Your eyes fall to his hand. "Why would I be mad at you?" you ask. 

"I finished the milk and put the carton back in the fridge, even though I promised I'd stop doing it. You see the jug and think there's milk left. We were gonna have macaroni and cheese..." He nudges your fingers with his. "Are you okay? You don't look like yourself."

"What do I usually look like?" 

"Not so, you know. Daunted." 

"You're really handsome," you whisper, refusing to meet his eye. 

"Oh, you think so?" 

You nod like your head is too heavy. You're embarrassed, you sweetheart, oh my god Peter could cry into your lap. 

"Let's get you to the car, baby." 

"Where are we going?" The gauze gives you the world's most adorable lisp, and it turns your gasp into a hum as Peter stands you up. 

"Home." 

"Together?" 

"Yeah, we live together. It's a nice place, and you're a great decorator, you know? It's cozy." 

"Thank you," you say shyly. 

You're not not shy with him, but it's been a long time since you got so quiet over a practically innocuous comment. He wants to see how you'll react to real compliments, over the top stuff that he one hundred percent means. It's a little mean, but when will you ever be like this again? 

He helps you out past the desk and onto the street to your car where it's parked a half a block down. "Don't worry about all this, okay? I'm gonna take such good care of you, sweetheart. There's an ice pack and a brand new comforter with your name on it waiting at home." Peter smiles at your starry eyes as they flash to his, amazed at his simple plans. "How does that sound, beautiful? Is there anything you want before we head home? Anything that would make you feel better?" 

"You're gonna take care of me?" you ask breathlessly. 

"That's my job. That's my number one boyfriend duty." 

"You're my boyfriend?" 

"I am!" he says happily, laughing as he speaks. "For a while. I've been trying to take things further but you're always really shy about getting married–" 

"You want to get married? To me?" 

Peter presses a soft kiss to your cheek. "You're the only person I'd ever want to get married to. We already picked the flowers–" 

"We did?" 

He laughs again, all your questions. He loves regular you but loopy you is especially endearing. "Last time I got super drunk, yeah. You never let me forget it." 

"So you love me?" you ask, stopping short.

"I love you so much," he says immediately, hugging you into his side. He dots another kiss against the top of your head. "You should remember that even if you don't remember me." 

"I love you," you say quietly. 

Peter doesn't know if that's your memory returning, or if you've fallen in love with him in the last fifteen minutes. He could easily fall in love with you that quickly, and yet he's still amazed at your confession. 

"That's good. That's great. Thank you, sweetheart," he says, desperate to hold your face in his hands but weary of causing you future pain. "There's your car," —he points, lowering his head to yours to make sure you can see it, hand now protectively held between your shoulder blades— "let's go home now. Yeah?" 

You start walking again at his requests. He can pretty much see the steam rising off of your face, giddy with happiness at these revelations. You're together, you're in love, and you think he's handsome. He wonders what you'll have to say about his biceps in this state of delirium; you go crazy for his arms sober. 

Which reminds him. 

"I totally have another secret to tell you," he says, unlocking the car as you approach and helping you into the passenger seat. 

"What is it?" you ask. 

Peter closes you in and skirts around the door, climbing into the driver's seat. He's glad that New York is as ridiculously loud as ever, because not even the closed doors or your sodden gauze can smother the way you shriek.

"My boyfriend is Spider-Man?!" 

[enwoso]

Alessia Russo (who is 18) and Reader (who is 18) sneaking around to kiss. Alessia sneaking into readers room by climbing a tree. To kiss (make out) with her. On readers bed, making out she hears her mum coming. Alessia being clumsy falls off the bed but then quickly rolls underneath it.

impossible | alessia russo

masterlist

the summer air was thick and humid, clinging to alessia's skin as she climbed the old oak tree outside of your bedroom window.

was it reckless, yes. was it maybe a little stupid, yes. but she didn't care. you'd told her not to come. that it was too risky. your parents home and it being too late for you to have people over, alessia promised you she wouldn't turn up.

but a stubborn eighteen year old alessia wasn't bothered about rules and she'd made a bigger promise to you at the start of summer that she would see you as much as she could before she left for the states in just a few weeks time.

the blondes excuse being you had to make up for the time you would loose when she was in the states.

alessia reached for the window, bracing herself against the sturdy branch, as she tapped lightly on the glass. a few agonising seconds passed before the curtain rustled, revealing your wide, panicked eyes.

you hesitated before scrambling to unlatch the window, grabbing a bit of alessia's hoodie before you help to pull her through the window.

the second her feet hit the floor, a dopey smile on the blondes face as you spun towards her whispering furiously, "are you stupid? i told you not to, you could—"

alessia cut you off, placing her lips on yours. it was soft at first, tentative as if she was asking for forgiveness but when you sighed against her lips, gripping the front of her hoodie pulling her closer. the kiss deepened.

alessia loved you. loved the way you leaned into her, like you belonged there. loved the way your breath hitched when she would slide her hands under the hem of your top, tracing slow circles against your waist.

you pulled away just enough to whisper against her lisp, "your impossible, do you know that?"

alessia grinned, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth, "you love it!" you couldn't argue, could the blonde spoke nothing but straight facts. you loved everything about her.

instead you pulled alessia towards your bed, tumbling back into the mattress with her. your legs tangled as your bodies slotted together as alessia kissed you again. this time it was deeper, slow and needing.

you would have stayed there forever if you could have but- BANG.

there was a loud thump against your wooden floor. you barely had time to react before realisation struck, alessia had rolled straight off the bed and for a split second you just stared at each other, wide eyes. then, footsteps. heavy and quick footsteps at that.

your mum.

"oh my god, oh my god-" alessia scrambled to roll under your bed managing to just hide the edge of her foot as your bedroom door swung open.

you quickly grabbing a book from your bedside table and slamming it into your lap, your heart hammering against your ribs.

your mum stood in the doorway, brows furrowing. "what was that noise?"

you forced a yawn, rubbing your eyes. "oh i- dropped my book."

your mum glanced around the room suspiciously, clearly not fully convinced, "really? it sounded a lot bigger than that."

your foot accidentally nudging alessia under the bed as she let slip a muffled grunt, "it was a heavy book," you added quickly hoping your mum would pick up on the other noise.

your mum hummed as she took a slow step into your room as your could feel your chest tightening with each step, "are you okay? you look a little.. flustered."

your pulse quickened, as you brought the book up to your face, pretending to read it. "it's just warm in here." you mumbled, "you know with it being summer and all."

your mum giving small little comments of small talk and for a minute you thought she may never leave your room. but as her eyes swept over the room landing in the open window, which alessia had climbed through less than an hour ago.

your stomach dropped just that little bit more.

"you should keep that closed," your mum said, "you don't want bugs getting in, especially with how you are with spiders"

that earned a little chuckle from your mum as you nodded quickly, "yep, i will, i just- wanted some air.."

your mum lingered just that little bit more as she took one more glance around your room before sighing, "alright, keep it down though, it's late but i'm downstairs if you need anything."

you nodded again, glancing between your book and your mum making it look somewhat convincing that you were reading it, "i will, night mum."

finally after what felt like an eternity, your mum spun on her heel and shut the door. the second her footsteps faded down the hall. you exhaled, your lungs finally feeling free as your entire body sagged in relief.

then, from under your bed— "ow, your bony little foot was digging right in my ribs"

you groaned putting your book to one side, "your the one that fell off the bed."

alessia wriggled out from underneath your bed, dusting herself off. her hair a mess, her hoodie askew but that familiar cheeky and mischievous grin was still on her lips.

"was worth it though"

you playfully rolled your eyes but you could help but smile no matter how hard you try to downplay it.

alessia crawled back onto the bed, hovering over you again, her hoodie straight hanging low as alessia's fingers brushed slightly over your flushed cheeks

"now," alessia whispered, her lips just inches from yours, "where were we?"

you exhaled, your hands sliding up the front of alessia's hoodie to pull her back down into a kiss. your lips meeting for a slow and meaningful kiss.

she really was impossible. and you wouldn't have it any other way.

[taegularities]

candles & flames: downpour | jjk (m)

bonus chapter II: downpour

Summary: One knock at your door — that’s all it takes for the clouds to burst. Because when it rains, it pours.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: established relationship, royal!au; angst!!, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: ok ok – rain metaphors, mention of a traumatic past, daddy issues?, illegitimate child plot, backstories, mention of mentally abusive relationship, cheating (not between jk and oc), jk kinda a homewrecker, lies, tears, breakdowns, panic, fears, abandonment issues, craving/pining sigh, arguments and fighting, very sweet kids, dad!jk <3; explicit sexual content: oral (m. receiving, super brief f.), fingering, teasing, kissing/making out, manhandling, biting, big dick jk, soft dom jk, soft/hard sex, unprotected sex (shhh, they're married), he spills on her ass, cmnf for a bit, some aftercare; hm… the ending. ➳ wc: 31.8k ➳ a/n: alright. i courageously fought through the pain; not sure how this will go for you. we've waited quite a while for this, and all your support for this series really pushed me to no end <3 i hope this is all you guys expected it to be. take it easy with this one; love y'all sm and as always, let me know what you think 🤍 ➳ a/n2: this is a bonus chapter for my mini-series candles & flames. reading the rest of the story helps!! find the mpost below <3 and the collaborative playlist here!

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

It’s fall.

Orange-red, beloved, drizzling fall.

And everything falls with its emergence. The leaves, the temperature, the warmth.

You’re bummed, experiencing the prior season coming to an end again; the colours are fading and the flowers disappearing. The trees are empty; pretty but a little eerie, too.

Hana insisted on a stroll since the sun still graced you this noon; by now, it’s gone again, hidden behind grey, monochrome clouds. It looks much later than it already is; great call to march outside since you were still able to pick leftover flowers in the garden with her.

In the middle of the drawing room, Hana leafs through the basket. Jungkook is largely free today, but he’s still busying himself with papers of some guest he’s expecting tomorrow. The man wishes to open a bar in the village and asked for an appointment with the town’s royal to discuss the profitability of the idea.

Jungkook is lost in thoughts, thick eyebrows furrowed, but your eyes are scurrying across the room, settling on your daughter. She’s carefully inspecting each flower, remaining on her favourites a little longer; kneeling with pursed lips.

She resembles her father down to each smileless dimple. She’s staring down, the same shape and arch of her lips, eyes big. Whenever she finds a particularly good flower, she jumps to her little feet, walking up to Jungkook to present her choices for him to admire.

Once she reaches her last favourite, she holds it up to him with a tongue sticking out, proud and childishly joyous as she says, “This is for you.”

“For me?” he drops the papers to the table, mouth open; cautiously takes the daisy between his fingers. “Gorgeous. I thought I was not allowed to have one?”

“You can have this,” she mumbles, lisping here and now, “I have many.”

“Right. Let’s see.” He lays it onto the documents he inspected, stretching out his palms for her. Obliging, she lets him pick her up and place her on his lap, immediately pumped when he asks, “Where did you find it? Want to tell me about it?”

And she does, with sheer enthusiasm so, explaining the spot and the colours vaguely. You know Jungkook still isn’t any smarter, probably not quite remembering where the daisies grow. He prefers the field in the distance over the garden.

Concluding her story, she soon tells him, “Can you keep this? Until I am big like you?”

“Oh…” You tilt your head. Your cheeks are hot like the summer that passed, watching him blush, melting with her in his arms. “Of course! Do you want to tell me why I am getting this one?”

“It’s pretty.”

“Ah. Like you then. You’re pretty.”

And Hana, aware and oh-so-humble, responds with her eyes on her fingers, nodding, “Yes.”

They do this sometimes. Exchange pretty things. She enjoys sharing her food or her collections with him, stuff she loves. She’s learned to show affection like this; makes him and you a part of herself this way. It’s a slightly different dynamic with the others in the room, though.

Because the moment her tremendous eyes look up, they darken a shade, displeased with the little body crawling to her basket, close to reaching in. Hana wriggles and jumps off Jungkook’s lap, her voice high-pitched when she starts whining, “Nooo! Not you!”

Right. There’s that, too.

The miniscule hand almost knocking over the basket, the same eyes as his sister’s, but the expressions a lot closer to yours. The surprise in his gaze is similar to the one you see right behind him, belonging to the partner in crime.

You rush to lift the near-accomplice before Hana can reprimand them both. And he looks just like you when he stares at you in shock, not minding the warmth, hands close to his body before they settle right on your clavicles.

He averts his gaze, following the drama on the ground. And the other twin, the one he’d been hurrying to, looks like your occasionally whining self, too, when Hana reaches him.

Jungkook might have enjoyed a copy of himself in her for years now, but you got two boys with your features instead. They clutch at you at all times, much as Hana sticks to her father.

Jaehoon, clever and thoughtful, secure in your arms, and then Jaehyuk, usually radiant, on the floor. Only right now, he isn’t as cheerful anymore.

Rather devastated, startled as Hana opens the small fist crushing a flower. He ogles around with wide eyes, already breathing towards crying, and then, finally — juts out his lower lip. Seeks your attention; and when he catches your tilted, worried look, he starts weeping.

As if your presence permitted his breakdown. You sigh.

His fist is closed tight, but when Hana sharply orders again, “Let go!”, he does, scrabbling away from her. She collects her possessions with a grunt; you inch closer to her the same moment Jungkook rises from his seat on the diwan.

Lifting the crying Jaehyuk in his arms, he plants a soft kiss onto the child’s temple, shushing him with a gentle, “It is alright. Look, nothing happened.”

But Jaehyuk still buries his face in Jungkook’s chest, crying harder, actual tears this time around. Jungkook squats down to Hana with a scolding look in his eyes, one eyebrow cocked as he explains, “Suhana, it is good to share.”

She doesn’t quite look at him; throws the remainders of the demolished flower into the basket, grazing the petals. Sulking, she defends, “But he destroyed them.”

“He is little. You did this as well when you were small.”

Hana shakes her head, convinced, “I do not think that I did.”

“Ah… really?”

“I don’t destroy pretty things!”

Jungkook mimics your sigh, kneeling down, and you shift your eyes for just a moment to check on the baby in your arms. He’s the calmest in the room, observing the rest of his family with curiosity. You smile a little; he’s beautiful, so innocent, so clueless.

So empathetic.

Worried when he sees his brother still crying, not imitating his sobs, but pointing to his other half before he looks at you as if you understood. Awaiting your answer.

You did understand, actually; you often do. So you nod, telling him, “I know. Jaehyuk is a little sad.”

Jaehoon points again, and then suddenly leans forwards. You hold him tight, walking closer to the rest, and he relaxes. Happy you obliged, a finger in his mouth. You set him on the ground when Jungkook does the same with Jaehyuk, listening in as your husband tries again—

“Look. You gave me a nice flower, so give him one, too. He’s your brother, right?”

Hana hesitates. Then, “Yes.”

“Don’t you love him, too?” You hum at his words, enforcing the message. “You should give nice things to people you love.”

“Yes. But he is annoying…”

She grants her siblings a look, a little calmer when Jaehyuk sniffles. Jaehoon shifts closer to his disheartened brother, touching his hand, knees close. They can finally sit on their own now, and they use the ability to keep themselves glued to the other.

A second passes before Hana adds, “Alright, he should have one. He is too small to get his own.”

You agree, “That’s right.”

Holding two different flowers towards the now far calmer Jaehyuk — Jaehoon’s presence seems to help — she inquires, “Good, which one do you like better?”

Her voice is authoritative, the classic older sister. It affects the twins for just a moment as they blink at her; but then, Jaehyuk regards the choices presented to him — though his eyes settle on the marigold quickly.

Opting to grab it, he hits the void when Hana pulls back, shaking her head. You’re about to nag again, seated on the ground next to Jungkook, much like royals should as your sister would jest, but then hold back when Hana speaks again.

“No. Grab it from here, yes?” She hands him the stem, and he listens, takes it as carefully as a baby can. “Yes, like this.”

And then he’s raising it to his cheek, fascinated by it, touching the petals after all. Jaehoon watches quietly before his beseeching eyes drift to his sister. His plea is soundless, but she understands; says, “You can have this, Jaehoonie.”

The daisy he receives is from the same spot she plucked Jungkook’s from. Pretty things for her pretty brother. He’s not sure what to do with it, though, but he imitates the way Jaehyuk plays with it so tenderly, more than happy to accept.

You catch the smile spreading on Hana’s countenance, balanced out by her sassy little, “But you have to work for more. These are mine.”

You laugh, content, “This is good enough.” You reach out to her cheek, caressing for a moment. “Be nice to each other. They love you a lot.”

She only nods, yet baffled when Jaehoon suddenly opts for her, climbing half onto her lap. She gives in, though she can barely properly hold them yet; so she reshifts him as well as she can, placing him in front of her, between her legs.

Like this, they look through the basket; he’s kind and soft, so he doesn’t do much anyway. Just stares while Jaehyuk busies himself with the flower until he gets bored and targets the toy he abandoned minutes ago.

They’re cooing and conversing, Hana speaking, Jaehoon incoherently babbling. You’ve heard this is good, talking to your kids; apparently, they’re vocal much more later on.

But the room is filled with noises and a stack of papers, so you turn to Jungkook and suggest, “I can take them somewhere else. You’re working, so I reckoned…”

“It’s alright,” he, however, assures, “I am already done. This is rewarding, actually.”

“Isn’t it tiring?” You regard the scattered children, full of love for them, but brimming with fatigue, too. “I am so… exhausted.”

“I know. I understand that you are,” he says, grasping your hand, knuckles to his lips, “which is probably why I should stay, too.”

He gets it. You know he truly does, never just says it.

Ever since the birth of your twins, stress, anxiety and restless nights came together to an undesired mix. Barely sleeping makes you prone to headaches and mood swings; one child was already difficult to manage, but three…

You haven’t rested in years. Your skin and your eyes have changed. More tired, more sensitive, your heart a little more feeble.

And the birth wasn’t easy, either. You lost a ton of blood again, another source of Jungkook’s resurfaced panic; but this time because there were two kids at once. You feel grateful, you do — but the days and weeks after they were born were hell on Earth.

You didn’t quite feel like yourself for so long.

But their warmth and Jungkook helped. Honestly, you can’t anyhow fabricate a world without him and his support even just in theory. And beware, such love isn’t given; you’ve seen friends and relatives wade through terrible experiences.

Jungkook is a man they don’t place in every corner of the world, so you’re thankful beyond imagination.

Because you survived due to him. You live because of the humble personalities in this brightly lit room, dimmed only by the grey afternoon sky. It’s a cruel world at times; some pasts are an accumulation of everything bad. Jungkook’s more than anyone’s you know.

Looking at him now, you can hardly believe he was once the sad boy stranded in the rain.

That crying, sobbing mess, freezing, seeking peace when he was inundated by misery. But…

Things came together well, right? The world is less terrifying like this.

You guess the warmth might fall outside all the time, but it never does in these rooms.

“And?”

The answer echoes less than it did a moment ago. The peeking head is retracting just slowly, still frozen between the open door and its frame. You don’t think his eyes are spying much of concern, and he confirms it when he shakes his head, responds—

“Nothing.”

“This should be good enough then.”

“Hm, yes. I don’t know. It took hours last time, as well.”

Without a piece of context, it’s a hilarious picture. Somehow, it even is with context; so you can’t help the quiet chuckle, silencing quickly to avoid waking up the tiny bundle slumbering in your arms.

You reprimand your husband, “But you can’t keep standing there for hours.”

The sigh you receive is deep and long. You understand his worries.

It hasn’t been long anyway — the night transpired just a while ago. Still in the back of your mind since Hana waddled to your room, knocking with the might that her fist could possibly conjure; you barely heard it, but you did.

You have been a light sleeper since she was born, so you were shaken awake rather fast. You welcomed her in with softness, veiling the horror in your voice. You were devastated when you saw her feet bare, standing in the dark hallway.

Luckily, the moment turned out not quite frightening — she couldn’t sleep. That was it. So you pulled her into your arms and off the ground, stroking her back and her head, planting kisses in her hair.

It took a while to lull her to sleep; to be certain, you kept her right next to you for the remainder of the nightly hours, even though her room was next door. She’d mumbled something about a poor bird, and you’d understand only minutes after her silence that she had seen a dead pigeon in the garden that day.

The nightmare this scene called forth prevented her from sleeping comfortably in her chamber for some days to come.

Jungkook had come to bed late that time, so he was long knocked out when Hana came. The regret doubled the next morning when you told him about the occurrence, and Jungkook blamed himself for the coming hours — only, the guilt extended. Still prominent.

Because he’s still glancing out, fearing she’ll come and knock again; fearing it might go unnoticed once more.

“I would hear it,” you reassure, “I always will.”

“What if you don’t?”

“I will,” you try again; you keep your voice low, soft, understanding his string of thoughts. But you miss him next to you, and you want the door to close. You insist, “I will, love. Don’t blame yourself for not hearing it, yes? You were tired.”

Jaehoon moves in your arms, a small fist loosening. He’s fast asleep, but you still wait before you speak again, assuring that he won’t wake up again. Jungkook must be thinking the same, because only once you sigh a breath of relief, he says, “You are tired, too. Don’t undermine your importance here—”

“Just come to bed, darling.”

Interrupted, his lips morph into a pout, round eyes regarding you for a moment. But it seems you render him at least a little delicate, aware of your effect on him, tilting your head by a few degrees. Your smile must be jarring; because the second you flash it, he gives in.

The door shuts behind him, and he offers an upward twitch of his mouth in response before he asks, “Would you reckon she’s too young to have her own room?”

“Perhaps… I don’t always feel very comfortable with her absence at night either. We have gotten too used to her, haven’t we?” You shake your head as he steps towards your side of the bed. “But she wanted this so bad.”

“Hmm… good thing she spends half of all her nights here anyway.”

“True. She got too used to us, as well,” you say before sitting up, eliciting a brief groan as you prepare yourself to put Jaehoon back in his crib. You can barely stand up; your body is exhausted, begs to stay in the resting state for now. “Alright then…”

But by then Jungkook’s helping hands are already reaching out, his back arching, bowing forwards. Carefully, sweetly, he mutters a little, “No, let me—” before he’s sheltering his son in his hold, slow and gentle as he tackles the task for you.

For a minute, he remains there, standing over the crib, gazing at the babies so peacefully dreaming away. He does this sometimes — lose himself in the sight. This is a fairytale for him. When he read all those books on parenting years ago, he didn’t think it’d come this easily to him.

Not that parenting has ever been particularly easy. Tears and arguments were frequent at points in time, but so were sacrifices and compromises. You knew what such a change did to a vulnerable heart and mind, so you fought through the difficulties with courage.

And it was worth it every single time. All in all, you don’t regret a thing; you’d repeat it all if you could. Jungkook is your dream; this life is your dream.

Never ceased to be.

Even now, as he returns to the bed and jumps under the blanket, you register an odd, sparkly feeling in your tummy. It always existed underneath, never diminished or decreased. Ever-so-present, you still cherish its intensity, even after all these years. Or perhaps because of the time that has passed.

Such passion isn’t a matter of fact. You know it isn’t.

Triggered by the funny, pleasant feeling in your body, your smile grows a little. Softer and more loving when he kisses your shoulder as if to greet you. Proceeds to place his head on your chest as his arms snake around your body, settling in his very own safe space.

“Are you feeling well?” his drowsy voice questions, just a little muffled as the lips graze your gown’s cotton.

“I am. You?”

“Just cold. I need a bit more of this,” he cuddles in, kissing underneath your breasts, right above your ribs. “It has been raining so much.”

“It has been indeed.”

“But,” he shifts, closer to you, “I’ve learned to appreciate it now.”

You chuckle. Time steadily passes, but some memories stay right at their assigned spots, like an immovable anchor. You’re proud, having replaced his terrifying images of nature’s showers with fond ones. And ever since, the rain has felt closer to you, too.

“That is something, then,” you say, “I’m just sad for the kids… they can’t stay out too long without feeling under the weather. If I could, I’d show them the sky all the time, too.”

“And how we’re connected to it?”

You laugh again; you wonder if he’s feeling warmer now. You’re inundated with the heat, at least. “Yes, this.”

His grip tightens just a little, a fragile attempt to draw you deeper into him. This is all the laws of physics allow — no gap left for him to close. Yet, he tries. His kiss wanders up as he raises his head, lips missing your clavicles by a bit; thumb stroking the side of your mounds.

“Love,” he calls quietly; when your eyes move to his, you see a change in them. They’re fog-shrouded and somehow questioning. “Do you feel tired?”

You’re surprised; you expected something else. The question doesn’t match his expression.

For a moment, you assume that your answer might serve a bigger purpose, so you weigh it back and forth before you decide on a straightforward, “Less than usual. It’s been so long since we fell asleep together.”

Maybe that’s what’s keeping you awake. Maybe that’s what he wants to hear.

Because he nods fervently against your breasts, cheek pressing against them, and agrees, “It has been. Yet, do you know it has been only three days in reality?”

Oh. Dang. You guess there is no true limit to your mutual obsession. You shrug, “Feels much longer.”

“Well, in that sense…” Warm digits touch your arm, circling your elbow and then travelling up your skin. “There is one good thing about Hana sleeping in the other room, yes? We’re alone for once.”

“Unless she once again catches us in the middle of—”

“Don’t remind me.”

You giggle, but the sound dies when he pushes his palm under your short gown sleeve, caressing your shoulder and then the lower part of your neck. Angling your head, you close your eyes, somehow spitting, “Are you planning something, Sir?”

His leg moves further over your own; there’s a growing firmness between them that you can’t ignore. He teases, “Sir? Now, that is new.”

“Mmh, do you like it?”

“Admittedly, it is somewhat odd, but… it’s still something.”

“Then, what is going on now?”

“Well, it’s… very boring to talk about it. Lemme just—”

The palm covering your tits is sudden, but the mouth exploring them isn’t. You felt the touch from miles away, satisfied and alight when his teeth graze over your perked nipple. His hand, restless, works on pushing down your nightgown to bare one side, and he’s…

Impatient, as you’ve known.

His tongue is hot and soft, the tip of it merely teasingly brushing over the freed nipple as his hand pushes your tit up, further into his face and towards his mouth. You sigh. He sets fire to your nerves; you feel each of the licks affecting your body.

Then, amidst the comfortable, sweet journey, he suddenly bites.

You gasp, followed by a tiny exclaim of an, “Ouch,” and work on playfully escaping his advances — to no avail. He laughs against your bud, his hands stronger than your dishonest attempt as they pin your arms to the mattress.

His eyes are evil, an eyebrow cocked, lips parted as he breathes, “What?”

“You’re about to lose it again. I can see it!”

“Ah… do you— do you not want me to?” He’s still in a daze, his words mumbled. He moves back just a little, wondering if you’re not quite where he is tonight. But you shake your head the moment he suggests, “I’ll hold myself back if I need t—”

“Oh, can you?”

You’re smiling, so he’s quickly encouraged to offer a grin of his own; honestly admits, “No… but I will for you.”

“You will for me?” The everlasting beam on your face is inevitable; how could you keep your cool, pretend you’re not thoroughly warmed when he says things like these? “While I appreciate how thoughtful you are… I’m not a fool.”

Not a fool. I won’t decline.

“Then… May I kiss you?”

“You’re asking so politely, how could I—”

There’s no time to reject, even if you wanted to. His kiss is abrupt and hard, though his lips still refrain from any aggression just yet. He lifts his hands from next to your head to above it, dragging your captive arms with them.

As his head tilts, deeper in the kiss, his tongue mingles with yours with a tempting hum so unique to his voice — as if he’s tasting a delicatesse. Your mouths are in main action, but both your bodies are reacting in their entirety, too.

In constant motion, winding, closing in.

His upper body urges you down until you’re flat on your back; the nightgown settles back over your tits again as you move, but he grabs your flesh above the clothing, kneading. Clumsily, with his eyes still shut, he attempts to unlace the front of your gown.

You wait for his intention to manifest into reality, readily letting his palm brush over your hot skin, your neck, your jaw. But once he opts to undress you fully, your patience dwindles, and you let him know, “I don’t want to wait this time.”

“Ah, alright, alright… This is how we’re doing things tonight?”

Your poor dress will be wrinkled up by the morning; you know by the way he’s hiking it up your leg this time, stopping at your waist, force of habit. There’s a satisfying, delighted smile on his face, mixing with a pleased sound when he discovers you’re bare underneath the gown—

And it seems it motivates him more rapidly to tug at his own trousers. You nod as if to encourage him further, hands seeking out the hem of his pyjamas. But you’re as useless from this angle as can be.

So he sits upright, slipping out of it, pushing it down his thighs until it’s wrapped around his knees. He’s no better, really; just as naked, just as uncovered underneath the trousers, as if the two of you planned this, or hoped for this.

Kneeling, he pushes your legs apart, spreading until your flexibility stops. He settles between them properly, leaning down, and uses the position to kick off the rest of his disruptive trousers. The length of his cock, as unbelievable as ever and quickly hardening, presses against your damp cunt — bliss for the moment, but torture for the next.

The way his cock dips between your folds and rubs along your pussy’s growing dampness feels almost deliberate. As if he’s tormenting you, demonstrating his power over you, stiff past your hole and up your tiny clit without ever diving in.

But you won’t lie — you could probably come from this alone. It’s embarrassing, being so weak in his presence. And the filthy sounds, wet and inappropriate, don’t help a bit.

So you’re not sure whether you’re relieved or agitated when the touch finally vanishes but his mischievous smile doesn’t. It’s somewhat weak, hindered by the lust clouding his brain, but it’s insane and misbehaved either way.

He’ll kill you one day; or you might kill him. You don’t know who might end up asserting the more hazardous dominance.

For now, it’s you who’s surrendering. How could you not, considering he’s conjuring his own battle plan right above you, hand reaching between his and your legs and underneath the blanket to—

Damn the tip of the digits against your clenching cunt. He’s not even inside, but you react immediately. Know to bite your lower lip when he circles your clit a little, the position and the spread legs keeping you from shutting your thighs.

Your head falls to the side; Jungkook considers it an opportunity. He plays around your nub further, testing the waters, and when you moan out, he closes the gap between the two of you, latching onto your neck to suck and kiss and bite.

“Fuck,” you curse, incessantly hoping the kids are deeply asleep and won’t have to witness their mother’s foul language this early on. “Fuck, start already—”

He knows you aren’t talking about his fingers; they’re already in action, tapping your clit, drawing over it. Then moving down, slipping along your wetness, already drenched when he decides to ram a finger in.

Yet, he understands you’re still referring to the member standing tall, anticipating and urging for you but holding back either way. No, instead he chooses to drive you crazy first, using a free hand to grab your chin and turn your head back to him, going for another messy kiss.

And you can’t do more than give yourself to him so willingly, wincing and whimpering as he finger-fucks you as well as the position allows. It’s not ideal like this, and to your chagrin, he can’t use his skills fully, but the fact that he can turn your thoughts this incoherent speaks volumes already.

You can’t wait… can’t wait for him to bury himself in you.

Half hovering over you, he soon loses the strength to keep himself afloat, dipping and retracting his fingers to lead his cock there instead; still, once again, without fucking you dumb yet. You’re drifting, but still too sane for your liking.

Your wetness helps him toy with you some more; he keeps pumping with his hand as he humps you once, twice, and you mutter his name and a couple mumbled pleas — but he remains as wicked as ever.

But when the dam breaks and your mind explodes, you exclaim his name again in pure desperation, half your brain gone when he pushes just his tip inside you and continues jerking off to make himself as hard as he can.

Eventually, you demand, “Put it in!”

The shake of his head is vile. Your eyebrows furrow at the man, and you try to grind up into him — he doesn’t let you. Only the head remains inside you, and he keeps doing his thing, not leading it in or out, just drenching himself.

You reprimand, “You’re being impossible tonight.”

“Aren’t I?” he responds, like a naughty child who’s caught and proud of its sins. He presses another peck to your lips, his words breathy when he reveals his true thoughts, “No, sweetheart, it is just that— you aren’t ready. That’s it.”

You aren’t ready? You feel like you’re overflowing. But you understand; there’s no room for impatience after all. It’s happened before — him pushing in, only to realise it was too early, that it pained you instead of pleasuring you.

“Well…” you start, dumbfounded. He noticed and you didn’t — the ultimate proof that he knows you inside out. “You could’ve said this earlier. Put it in my mouth then.”

“Huh?”

“Right now. This will help, too.”

“Oh… yes? I— I won’t reject the offer.”

Of course he won’t. In fact, he climbs up the bed quickly, lifting, caging your body between his knees. The sight is incredible; thighs as wide as your face, muscular. You hold onto them, bask in the sight of the dangling package, harder by the moment.

With effort, he says, “Just for a second.” The tip taps against your mouth, hot as he pushes it inside. Thick and heavy on your tongue, his cock twitches, affected by the swirl of the wet muscle and the hollowing of your cheeks. “Yes… not long, no—”

He must be talking to himself. Keeping himself from thrusting and fucking your mouth all the way to the end. And when you bop your head up and down, lightly touching his balls and the parts of the length you can’t swallow, he restates, “I really do not want to wait.”

You let go for a moment with a slurping sound, agreeing, “Fine by me,” before you come back to go in harder. Giving him all you can, crossing your legs, seeking reprieve.

And you think you’d quickly overflow, by virtue of his enticing reactions, if the moment wasn’t so short lived.

Because it seems he reaches a limit when your drool starts flowing down the side of your face, nasty and warm, your throat still working full time on not gagging. On staying quiet. It’s become a task by now.

And for the first time tonight, Jungkook doesn’t serve the devil, but pulls back.

While it’s a pity — why didn’t he finish in your mouth? — you won’t deny your selfish part. The one that craves and awaits, glad when his body disappears beneath the sheets again, his head with it.

What—

Won’t he start? You didn’t expect him to fall out of your sight entirely. And there’s not much guessing needed until you understand that he’s aiming for his favourite spot, his tongue lapping up your juices a moment later.

He kisses your cunt just once, slides a stripe between your folds, and you’re certain his goal is much more profound. Normally, you’d be fully down for this, but you’ve reached a limit you can’t bear anymore.

So you whisper, “You don’t need to.”

He doesn’t register it right away, spitting and feasting further; more kisses, more tongue, untamed until you grip his hair and raise his head off of you. He obliges surprisingly easily when you pull him back to your lips, reiterating, “I don’t want to fucking wait. Just…”

“I know,” he says, peck after peck, in between each word, “I know. I have had enough, too, I have—”

His arm steals your breath when he twines it around your body like a vine, arching your back, lifting you by mere inches. Both his hands are busy; caressing your sides or your face; he’s confident about the touch, about the eagerness the two of you harbour for each other.

Which is why he doesn’t even guide his length towards your pleading heat anymore, gliding up and down; hard enough to stand tall against it, poking as if knocking. The thought makes you laugh for only a moment before your lungs suddenly empty—

Part of his cock slips in effortlessly; there’s no resistance, no struggle, no need to glance down and complicate matters. You welcome him easily; match his smirk, proud and unsurprised about your keen craze when he says, “Wasn’t supposed to happen already. I wanted another moment to—”

You vigorously shake your head. “Too late. Too damn late—”

The last word comes out strained as your body comes in motion, moving against him. And he matches your pace and fervour, shoving himself in harder. Unable to resist anymore, all the teasing vanishes along with his patience.

Instead, he bottoms out at once, and you yelp, an unintentional volume that he immediately shuts with a hand over your mouth and a chuckle. Jungkook enjoys playing the beast when he’s with you like this, but he can’t suppress his amusement when he shushes you.

“Are y-you trying to wake the mansion, huh?”

But his words are nothing but a breath, airy and quiet. Such a whistling whisper that it, much as your noise, might just be enough to wake everybody, too. The irony is comical.

You shake your head and his hand with it, relying on your nose to breathe the oxygen still left in the room. Your neck feels hot, your face and body burning up. Not quite sure whether it’s the way he’s handling you or whether your leg is actually trembling like this.

His strokes, slowly starting, shake up your body at least. The friction drives you insane; his length, reaching a mind-boggling depth, renders you so stupid each time. Thick against your walls, leaving no gap, no spot untouched. 

You’re boiling under his hand, somehow glad about the muffled sound. Because if he didn’t silence you like this, you’d be wreaking havoc right here, an unbridled mess wrapped in your husband’s body.

They say love and passion fade sometimes; that affection lessens when you get used to it, bored of it. But the two of you haven’t reached that stage yet — you doubt you ever will.

Because the flames that have surrounded you ever since you fell into these depths for the other… they don’t ever seem to dim. Who would’ve thought that a candle could turn into an inferno?

No, your body signals more than enough; this isn’t boredom. This isn’t a reduction in adoration. You feel the devouring and the worship in each thrust and touch and kiss and gaze.

In each curse and movement, how he shifts you and you wind. Dancing in the sheets and shivering under the goosebumps as he hears your stifled moans drowned out by his palm. If he could, he’d listen all day; if the circumstances allowed…

He rams into you hard but slowly and only raises the pace gradually; once he’s gotten used to the effect, however, and seeks to possess you more, he sends your body up the sheets. Each time, over and over again, restraint thrown overboard.

You mewl with a raised head and tightly shut eyes; his hand drops just a little, and you, in your misty moment, dig your teeth into the finger still covering your lower lip. The sound he lets out suggests pain here, but then again… lust there.

His voice is feathery, mellow; as if he’s softly charmed, seduced rather than achingly bitten.

Lips apart and eyes hooded, he relocates his hand just a little, twisting it until the thumb grazes your chin, hand laying on your cheek as the forefinger dips into your mouth. It’s difficult to focus; what does he look at?

The way his digit is gently trapped between your teeth, the tip of it teased by your tongue? The arch of your mouth and how his finger presses against the lower lip? Or the heat that grows under his palm, the rise of your chin, the eyes rolling back before shutting?

A feral urge expands in him, growing like a well-watered seed; he doesn’t know how you do it, but you encapsulate all his beginnings and ends in a moment, now and always.

Your hair is a mess by the time he removes his other hand from it, not quite sure when he grabbed a patch at all. He pins one of your legs to the side, angling it, and you breathe unsteadily, mumbling a tiny, “Oh— Kook—”

“Yes.”

It’s not quite a dialogue, but neither of you cares for it. There isn’t much to say at all. And neither any calls of his or your name, nor his quiet, “I love you so much,” do the emotion bubbling in his stomach justice.

In all honesty, he could explode just looking at you. You’re a wonder of nature, aren’t you? You pump relief and craze and comfort and insanity into him, one after another and all at once.

“Baby,” you call out the moment his teeth drag your damn gown down your tits again, kissing them, nibbling at your nipple. “I think I might already— soon…”

You don’t know whether it’s because it’s been so long, or because Jungkook knows just well how to fuck you right, but you’re nearly bursting. Or is it the mental picture of the movements he’s granting you?

Elegant yet beastly thrusts, hips and ass and upper body swaying up and down steadily; slow, then fast, then soft, then hard… rhythmic and then stuttering—

He wipes the hair off your forehead, and then whispers warm and close to your ear, “Hey, do you… know how obsessed I am with you?” A peck to your earlobe, and you wind, ticklish and pleased. He shifts to your lips, the kiss an inch away. “You—you’re all I’ll ever need.”

You can’t serve as much of a smooth and rational answer as him, but you still tell him all lost, “Then— be with me… me, always, yes?”

He chuckles; you’re not sure why. Perhaps this is such a matter-of-fact for him that he doesn’t need it spelled out. “Yes… yes. What else? Where else would I go?”

Away from you — even for a moment, even just a bit. Right now, you can’t bear the thought of a hint of a distance between the two of you. You want him close, closer, part of your heart, thawing with you in cool falls and cold winters.

“You’re pretty,” he then proceeds, tugging at your lip, “don’t know where to touch you. So pretty.”

“Everywhere. Just don’t stop— touching me,” you begin, every now and then interrupted by an exhausted kiss, “at all.”

“Right.” And still, he backs away out of the blue, all touch gone except the gentle rub along your hip, and you stare up at him with big eyes, body so empty before he orders, “Turn around.” He’s acting tough, but you see the madness in his eyes the moment he says it. “Quickly.”

Quickly.

You know what he’s thinking without him vocalising any of it. Know what he’ll do before he does it.

With quivering limbs, you oblige, helped by his hands as he hauls the gown easily over your body, crumpling it up and placing it next to the pillow. Within a moment, you’re bare, head to toe.

He keeps you on your knees, reluctant to wait a second before he enters you again. His hand lands on your ass, pulling apart to see better, and once all in, he starts moving again.

You don’t need to glance back to know that the muscles of his back and his ass are flexing, tanned and golden. The veins of his arms are probably protruding, his abs and chest damp, latter heaving. You know he probably resembles some textbook God, and maybe that’s what topples you over the edge.

That and… the hand on your clit.

Softly circling, the nub immensely sensitive, limbs buckling and weak. You require all your might to not fall and close your legs and sob.

But the tears are inescapable; one or two tip over your waterline when you finally come to an end. His prior teasing and the anticipation already drove you too close to the peak, and it seems that now you’re surrendering eventually.

You shake, your arms more so than the rest of your body. Wobbly, you try to keep yourself upright, but as the blur covers your vision and the waves crash over your pelvis and stomach, you let your cheek fall to the pillow. Hands clutch the sheets.

The tremor is out of control.

And you’re still riding out that high, aided by his continuing shoves and hammering. He’s generous when he pushes you all the way down, a hand on the small of your back as he says, “Take your time— I’m almost there, fu—”

Take your time with what? You don’t know; the chances are high he doesn’t either. Or is he talking to himself again?

To no avail, though, because he’s manic, uncurbed. Your cheek digs into the pillow, the bed moving more than it has during these moments lately. He’s chasing ecstasy, calling your name and little words, such as, “Love, sweetheart, darling,” over and over again like it’s his sole vocabulary.

His lips move over your shoulder and to your back, featherlight as opposed to how he’s fucking you. The care with which he kisses your skin leaves you gasping, affects you whole, and you feel the shiver down your spine, along your arms.

You want to stay awake all night. Want this to keep going.

Funny, how this very thought is followed by a question you neither expect nor grasp, “Have I… kissed you too much already? Are you sick of it?”

You think your eyebrows furrow, or perhaps you imagine it, because there is no way your facial muscles still have that much energy left. But he must be out of his mind, daring such questions. Is there such a thing as getting sick of him?

“Why—”

This man never lets you finish. There is an art to interrupting without irritating, and he’s mastered it — because you can barely complain when his hand wraps around your neck, cautiously lifting and turning your head to make out with you again.

The tongue sneaks into your mouth right away; the kiss is barely a kiss, too filthy and chaotic to be called such. Rather, you’re eating each other up, mixing your moans, crazed by his drilling until his breaths turn laboured and his sounds hoarse.

They come straight out of his throat, sweet in your ears. And before you know it, he’s getting to his knees and rapidly pulling out; you feel vulnerable and tender, thoroughly worn out. The heat is blistering and your mind gone — but you still notice the ropes landing on your ass.

Sticky and hot and plenty. Scattered over your flesh; you contribute some, too, moving your ass left and right just a little, and it seems he’s enjoying it. Groans as he pumps on; when you look back at him, eyes halfway closed, you give him the rest.

And a couple seconds later, tongue poking the corner of his lips, he’s done.

Panting, whispering something you can’t understand, weak… but done. Close to falling onto you until he realises he probably shouldn’t.

Instead, he lays down next to you. Your eyes are closed, but you immediately feel a loving brush over your cheek, ridding it of the strands sticking to your face.

You shake your head — or at least, you think you do. It’s probably more of an attempt, just a slight movement before you playfully scold, “Great… what do we do about this now?”

Jungkook swallows, calming down as he responds, “Over there— there’s a jug of water on the table still.”

“…And?”

“I will go and find a cloth?”

The careful question in his tone is so sweet. You’re not sure if he intended to stain your skin like this before the lust took over him. What a fool for you. Enough to barely ever think of the consequences, be they big or small.

In this sense, you could say that falling for you happened without a single thought for him, too, didn’t it?

He was chasing a different plan. Didn’t fathom that he was losing himself in you. And when he did, he didn’t consider the aftereffects and the risks of what his uncle had come up with; Jungkook didn’t care much about anything at all but being with you.

He’s told you many times.

Back when you hid in that room, or touched in the carriage — in those fleeting moments, the future didn’t consist of what his relatives needed, but of what he could give to you. Who he could be to you.

In hindsight, he was so in love with you. Looking at your relationship, you can’t compare the affection you started out with for each other with the overload of passion now, but… goddamn, he was so in love with you. You know.

And the truth is that no matter what obstacles life may place on your road ahead, neither of you will love the other less than the minute before.

You laugh when you meet his big, brown eyes, asking, “Is there any cloth in this room?”

“I… I think I brought one before. Should be on the table…”

“Might be good enough.”

“Or I can get one from the kitchen.”

You scoff. “You want to sneak around the mansion now? Really?” You lift your upper body, balancing it on your arms, catching him as he licks his lips at the sight of your bouncing tits. You nod towards the table. “That will do. Go and free me from your stuff.”

“Tsk. Good.”

You were right; his idea sufficed. And the kids are still asleep — a double win for you. In theory, you’re ready to crash for the night, succumbing to fatigue. But the truth is that only your body feels spent; your brain doesn’t just yet.

So as Jungkook wipes over the flesh of your ass, you confess, “I’m still not tired enough.”

“Mmmh, me neither.”

“…So what now?”

He falls back to his side with another grunt, throwing the dirty cloth to the floor. You reach out, grazing his chest, playing with the cotton he’s still sporting. He probably knows what you’re hinting at, despite being already battered, but he ignores your advances just to—

“Mh-mh,” he rejects, “I want to talk. I just… I need to hear your voice for a bit.” He stops the finger on his chest, raising your hand to his lips, and kisses each knuckle. Dramatically, he adds, “What would I do without your voice?”

You ponder. Then jest, “Still hear it in your mind somewhere.”

“Yes, very true. I still always do in the office.”

You laugh, so gripped by the emotions stuck to your heart. “So, what would you like me to say?” He shrugs, an indicator for, “Anything.” So you ask, “Would you like me to tell you a story?”

“Yes… story. Yes, tell me one.”

“I can think of one right away. Sort of a lullaby.”

“So it’s got to be a good one,” he says as he covers you with the thick blanket. An arm over you pulls you closer to him. “Right?”

Your eyes drift to the window. You’re lucky, sleeping in a bedroom with a view. Jungkook’s office has one, too, but Hana’s room, while next door, doesn’t. You’re at the far end of the corridor and this mansion’s wing, risking much, so exposed.

Perhaps you’ll move your room to a safer place in the mansion soon. But for now, you’re grateful for the sky, the stars, the moon. The pouring cloudburst.

Jungkook might have caught your distraction; because he wraps one of your hair strands around his finger, inquiring, “May I guess?… Is it a story about the fall and the rain?”

Your lips twitch upward to a smile. Flooded by past pictures, you refuse to end the night, preparing for a concluding tale as you say—

“How did you know?”

When it knocks at your chamber door the next sunrise, you could swear you haven’t slept more than a handful of hours. The exhaustion weighs on your eyes and muscles, body limp as you stir awake. Your voice is still hoarse.

So you’re startled.

Not just because it’s early or because of the interrupted, peaceful slumber; and not just because there’s a knock at the grand, adorned door, either. In reality, it occurs regularly — for Jungkook and his work, or to remind you of your children’s riding and violin lessons, or to inform you of the arrival of guests.

This time it’s the latter. Yet, you’re alarmed, not even because of the guest, but because it’s Sunday, and you don’t usually expect a visitor on Sundays — unless, perhaps, something is transpiring down in the village that needs your urgent assistance.

But — these things are rare. People here regard it as their rest day, too. It’s why you wake up drowsy and confused, ready to sleep the fatigue off and hoping it’s nothing too grave. Squinting an eye shut, you glance at the longcase clock in the corner of your room.

Seven in the morning.

You register a mumble of a voice next to you, low and gravelly, welcoming the staff inside who, a second later, informs, “Visitor for you, Lord Jeon.”

Jungkook sighs. A hand emerges from under the heavy, floral blanket, rubbing his tired, puffy eyes. He hums in gratitude, telling the informant he’d be downstairs in a minute; and when the young man has stepped away, Jungkook half turns to you.

His voice is still husky and half asleep when he gently wipes a strand behind your ear and says, “Go back to sleep. Might be Byun for the boxing ring. I should be back in a little.”

You only nod, moving his cradling hand with it. You can barely speak, fighting the urge to yawn. Frankly, you wouldn’t know what you’d be uttering anyway, though your mind is still present enough to understand that he’s kissing your knuckles and then leaving his side empty.

Falling back into the mattress, you once again hope for a speedy get-together on the floor down below; but when you awake again, the clock indicates the passing of over a full hour. The bed is still half vacant.

You wonder what’s going on, gradually cracking your eyes open to the ceiling until your brain fathoms well enough that a meeting this early shouldn’t take so long, and that anyway, there’s no reason for a business visitor to come by this soon into the day.

So you clear your throat, sitting up at the edge of the bed. You wrap yourself in your gown and your silk coat, arms folded as if to protect yourself. It’s just cold; a chill autumn day.

And as you walk down the staircase, you hear faint chattering from the main hall, like a tiny whisper from here. There’s only some staff in the welcoming hallway, but they’re guarding the parlour. That’s where the voices are coming from.

Nobody hinders you from entering the room when you do. Of course not; there’s no reason to.

But the atmosphere is still oddly charged when you step in, meeting Jungkook’s pale face from afar. You blame it on the sleepless night, just as much as the somewhat dark circles under his eyes.

Still, it gets weirder as you near; because he’s looking at somebody who has their back turned to you. A woman with long black hair, gazing down; and when Jungkook detects you, he looks terrified.

Uprighting himself, blinking, drawing a breath too deep to not worry.

You automatically assume the worst; bad news from the city? Some issues in the village? Or a girl trying her charm on your husband? Wouldn’t be the first time.

You round the chair she made herself comfortable on; and your surprise increases, skyrocketing when you notice that she didn’t come alone. There’s a child next to her. Proper and sweet, certainly older than Hana.

His hands are neatly folded in his lap, hair combed back. He’s just listening, it seems, to whatever they spoke about. And his face… his face looks familiar somehow; as does the girl’s, yet in an entirely different way.

“Good morning,” you greet the woman and she responds with a nod. “Is everything alright?” you finally ask, turning to Jungkook, a hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t come back.”

But Jungkook doesn’t answer. Your heart grows a little more wary. Because, why is he so speechless? Why does he look scared, eyes wide, chest risen, as if he’s holding his breath? Blinking faster.

The woman is back to staring at her legs, shifting her hand to grip the little one next to her; and the boy looks like he doesn’t want to be here at all. At the same time, however, he starts to admire the fancy interior of your mansion.

The lustre, the floor, the table, the chairs. Everything you’ve grown used to.

“What is wrong?” you try again. Panic watered by Jungkook’s lack of response, you gulp, but still steady yourself and remain polite. “May I ask… who are you?”

You’re looking at the woman again. She glances up to you. She’s gorgeous — full and curved lips, light brown eyes, pitch black hair. Looks young; about your age. She doesn’t answer, but Jungkook’s quivering voice does.

“This is Jihyo, darling.”

Well, alright. Doesn’t tell you much. You’ve seen her, maybe even heard the name, you think. Is she from your town? But you can’t assign her any significance…

“What does this mean?” you inquire.

“She… She wanted to talk to me,” he explains, “she came all the way from a village close to our hometown.”

“Ah. To say what, exactly?”

You don’t want to sound agitated; but the suspense is growing unnecessarily, and you want whatever truth out. And honestly—

The tension forms a little something in your head. Not enough time has passed for him to properly answer, but you still repeat, “To say what?!”

You feel like you have a hunch… you’re starting to come up with theories. And the worst of them dizzy you, make you want to yell and throw up, tempting you to smash a nearby vase.

Did he… could he do this to you…

No. 

“Jihyo and I knew each other… way before you and I got married. Way before.”

He echoes the last two words as if to reassure you; like the verbal equivalent of a soft hand on your back, rubbing you in comfort. But… the tactic doesn’t quite bear fruits. Your chest tightens more; the fatigue of the morning eventually fades.

“And?” you prompt, regarding her. “Why aren’t you saying anything then?”

“I have… to him. I—I do not quite know if it is my place to—”

“No, it is not,” you interrupt, “maybe you’re right. My husband should explain, no?”

But he’s stuttering as much as her. You don’t lose your patience often with him, or with people for that matter. You’re a cheerful person, fuelled by the miracles of the world. But…

This is pulling out your worst self.

“I—” he starts.

Terrified. What the hell is going on? You wait — wait more as he swallows. And then, when he drops the explanation, your heart falls with it. Bursts, plummeting from such a height.

“Jihyo and I met for a while and… she just came and told me that this… he’s—”

You understand.

You understand immediately because your guts warned you the moment you saw his expression. You look back and forth between him, her and the child, realising the similarities once and for all, well aware from experience why similarities are a thing in a family and…

You can barely hear yourself emit the words once they tumble out; like your voice isn’t your voice, and your thoughts aren’t your thoughts, “This… is your son?”

Like you’re living somebody else’s day who’s about to trudge through a life-changing, agonising event. Because this can’t be happening to you. Actually, it’s not sinking in at all; you’re fantasising, and you refuse to believe reality. 

“Jihyo says he is my son,” he paraphrases, as if he doesn’t really believe her, either, “he’s uhm. He’s six years old.”

Your mind begins to calculate immediately. Sudden dread fills you — because wait. Weren’t you together at that time? Did Jungkook hide from you, lingering in the dark, and yet another past is catching up to the two of you?

No. Hold on once more.

You got married to him five years ago. Were engaged and together for a year before. That makes six. You curl in the fingers in your mind, keeping up your math.

It’s been wrong all along, so you need to be correct this time.

Okay, so, if her — no, his, their son was born six years ago, it’d mean that Jungkook had been with her not too long before you. That’s not way before you got married, is it?

Your breath hitches. You blink the way he did before — not sure what to do or say. Your eyes move over to the rosy cheeks of the child again. He looks so innocent, still clueless, even though he perfectly understands what Jungkook just said.

Who the man is to him.

Of course. Same doe eyes, button nose, shape of face; like a damn copy. Not that the truth hurts enough, no — it had to be accompanied by another of his faces. Not in your own sons, somewhat in your daughter, but in him.

But you guess everybody is confused.

Even Jungkook. Most of all Jungkook, right?

Jihyo says he is my son.

Why? Does he not realise it?

That must mean he didn’t know, did he? And the child didn’t know either.

Jeon Jungkook, your husband of half a decade, has a son he never knew of. Older than Hana. Predating all of your history with him, alive and a toddler already back when you so profoundly believed that you were the first to share this very bond with this man.

To be the first for him at least once. But…

You’re not.

“Say something,” you hear him plead.

His voice is a little farther away. Your eyes drift back to him; he looks miserable, a hand reaching out. His fingers graze the tip of yours, but you retract in time. He sighs in absolute sorrow, face falling, as if his chest is surrendering.

You barely whisper when you answer, “What do you want me to say?”

It’s him and you; the woman is quiet, and you’re shattering. She can’t do anything anyway. Only contorts her face in pure guilt when Jungkook, defeated to the core, begs, “Anything.”

“As you wish.” Another glance at her. She’s looking at you, too. “Why are you here now?”

Her eyebrows raise; she’s caught off guard, but she still has an answer ready. Of course; Jungkook heard all of it minutes before you are, so it must be easy.

“I… I haven’t been doing well. The man I was supposed to marry left when he found out I carried somebody else’s child… even— even before that, actually.” Jungkook breathes air through his lips as she explains; you can’t tell why. “And I need help. Any help.”

“I see… And you couldn’t come years earlier, I assume? When I didn’t have three children of my own?” You lift the corresponding number; your cheeks are fiery hot. “When there was nobody I’d have to explain this to? How…”

You shake your head, disgusted with your attitude, but more devastated by the situation. So you spit, “How selfish are you?”

Her mesmerising eyes are so big; with her and Jungkook’s lives combined, their son could only end up with these grossly sweet eyes, pupils fracturing your heart. She’s looking at you as if you’re about to eat her.

Then she apologises, “I’m sorry… I tried to get by for as long as I could.”

“Didn’t you know we have a family?!”

“I knew! I— Of course I knew.”

Jungkook is royalty; people in your city know the two of you. Know your story. You wonder what this will do to you both.

“And,” you continue, “you still thought it’d be a good idea to bring chaos to our home.”

“I did not wish for this at all,” she defends, “I felt terrible all the while, and… I was so desperate, please try to understand. I need something, anything and… If his father can provide any of it in any way…” 

His father… his father…

You might spiral. The same thoughts circle your head at a pace that might make you faint.

This woman. This child. And his father.

You can’t breathe.

So you don’t respond to the sheer idiocy she just uttered, still in disbelief; the denial will be over in a minute. But for now, it hurts and you’re confused and absolutely out of touch with reality, and… fuck, your stomach—

You put a palm to your chest; the rise and fall is heavy. And just as he calls your name, you bolt away.

Just a second before you once again feel his fleeting digits miss your wrist, a lingering ghost touch as you run.

The first instinct your feet follow leads you to Jungkook’s office.

Somewhere in a corner of the mansion, you have your own chamber, dedicated to your time and your moments; but somehow, you still land in a room drenched in the scent you’re fleeing from.

And it’s counterproductive, the way you’re moving. Fast enough to dim his calls, but slow enough for him to catch up, too. Like you want him to follow. You know he’d find you even if he wasn’t hot on your trail, because you like to hide there.

But on other days, it’s you finding solace in him, not away from him.

You’re dizzy, deeply breathing when you shut the door behind you, both palms on the heavy door. You keep them there as if they could guard you from the disaster outside. But they don’t. None of it might.

Because he’s still right there, busting your glass heart when you hear steps outside, nearing; closer, too close, the corresponding voice hesitating for not a moment—

“Open… open, please.”

And suddenly, you’re crying.

There is no warning, no quiet tear falling, no steady progress. The stream of shock and grief is immediate, and it leaves your eyes, passes your cheeks, collects at your chin so fast that you barely notice the door blurring.

You’re sobbing; your forehead collides with the cold of the door, the carvings unpleasant against your skin. Where are your kids? They must still be asleep. Or maybe somebody is already — hopefully — taking care of them.

Jaehyuk gets all moody when Jungkook or you stay away for too long. You don’t think he should be this attached to you, to not learn to trust others. But trust is fragile and the child seems to know and… and… you know as well. You wish you could be as oblivious as him, though.

The world doesn’t work that way. No, it’s cruel and painful and everything good spoils someday, becomes rotten.

Doesn’t it?

Why does the voice on the other side cut you in pieces?

God. You want to return to your children. You want back to what you had last night; you crave their warmth, and his warmth. Of your children, his children.

But wouldn’t it remind you again? That the number isn’t uneven as you thought. That there’s more out there; he has more pieces out there that you’re not part of and… fuck. Fuck.

“I d-do not want to,” you finally reply, stuttering, words cut.

He silences. Maybe because he can hear you weeping. But he tries again, “Please… open.”

You shake your head against the door, but you know such a choice won’t lead anywhere. He’ll stay right there and you’ll keep telling him to leave, and despite his guest downstairs, he’ll persist.

So your hands sneak to the handle, weakened by the shaking. Jungkook doesn’t barge in until the door cracks open a slit; and when he steps into the room, you tumble back, out of his reach.

You don’t want his embrace. You don’t need his arms.

No, that’s a lie.

You do, but you can’t brave them right now. Body weightless, you rely on your voice, stating, “You never told me.”

His face is fallen, cheeks rounder when he looks to his feet. They’re flushed; the hue is so different from what you’re used to seeing. It’s always accompanied by a smile and crinkles around his eyes, sometimes shy, sometimes delighted.

This time it’s something else. Embarrassment and guilt and pain.

There’s a crease between his eyebrows, smoother due to your quiet tone; but it’s still there, distressed. Pained when he admits, “I didn’t know. I didn’t know a thing.”

“Who is she?”

He knows that, at least. You need to move away from pointless questions and throw those that you’re certain he possesses knowledge about.

He says, “She’s somebody I knew… so long ago.”

A thought after another creeps into your head, like a parasite, feeding on your sanity. You feel crazy and sick when a horrifying idea makes its way through, but you can’t resist the question regardless of the answer.

“Was she… was she one of the people you tried things with? To escape town…”

“No… she wasn’t part of any of this.”

And you cannot say if this is better or worse than what you expected. He wasn’t as terrible as to try with this many women. But if she wasn’t part of that stupid plot, and you were, does this place her higher in worth than you?

You weren’t good enough to be approached without a deal. To be fallen in love with unintentionally. But she was something else. It seems there was something, right?

But he’s with you. He chose you. You’re his wife, the woman he spends his days with, the only thought in his head. He’s loved you throughout the years; he’s devoted to you like the moon to the stars, not to her.

And he’s standing here, his eyes begging, his fingers quivering. You’re the subject of his desire and the name in his heart; he never even mentioned her. Fuck, he breathes for you… but you can’t seem to breathe.

You’re the mother of his children, yes. But so is she.

“Did you… did you get with my sister or me to forget about her?”

Fuck, you’re breathless. Why are you breaking like this? Why does the moment feel like this? When is it going to be over? Will you wake up easier?

“No…” he says, shaking his head immediately, “no. You know how it started. It had nothing to do with her, just with him…”

“So what?!” you spit, unable to contain yourself, somehow not affected enough by the big, sad eyes, pleading and fearing. “Who was she?”

It hurts. It hurts not only because of the obvious circumstances but — your love was born out of a facade, out of a lie. Even if he loves you genuinely now, even if you’d die for him without hesitation — the two of you happened as part of a different purpose.

But she never did.

She was real. Whatever he had with her or felt for her, it stemmed out of something authentic.

Your face heats up when you inquire, “…Did you love her?”

“I…” He hesitates. Fucking hesitates. But then says, “I didn’t.”

“You’re lying.”

You don’t know if he is. You can usually tell; this seems a little more complicated. One, you’re clouded by your own judgement. Second, the situation isn’t easy; Jihyo so obviously belongs to parts of his history.

Jungkook insists again, “I didn’t love her.”

“But you felt something.”

“I don’t know,” comes back, and something inside you falls, even if it shouldn’t, even if you had nothing to do with whatever was before you came along. You hate it, but you can’t stop yourself from plummeting face-forward into pain when he says, “But she was nowhere close to where you are now. Or where you were even back then.”

Can you believe this? The but pierces through you, repeating in your mind, as if saying, “No, she was less than you, but still something.” How do you know none of it will return with a child present in his life?

“But she was enough for a child,” you retort, “and… I don’t know how careful you were with others, too…”

“I was. I was careful.”

“But not with her!”

He doesn’t respond. This isn’t you; you don’t make others feel bad. You endorse empathy and joy. No, this isn’t you and it frightens you. If you had it in you right now, you’d take him into your arms. He’d deserve it, considering that he’s as surprised as you, falling as much as you.

Suffering like you.

But your thoughts are going haywire, and they keep falling out, “I thought I was the first one. I wanted our children to be our first—”

“I thought so, too,” he defends, “it’s what I would have preferred, baby, I… If I could just…” He gulps; it’s as if you can hear it from afar, in this quiet, empty room. There’s a pause between his words before he steps closer, whispering, “Please, I love you—”

“No, I…” You back away again. Shield yourself. You can’t take a single touch right now.

“Can we mend this?” Jungkook asks; the question splits you in half.

Because what could you do, really? This very real fact looms over you, might do so forever.

“Mend what?” you echo. “That you have a child with another woman? What is there to mend? This is reality and you cannot undo it.”

When you look closely enough, his eyes shimmer with tears, too. The sparse sunlight seeping through the windows for the first time in hours upon hours highlights the glimmer, but there’s nothing soft about it. You recognise dread in it.

Jungkook has been abandoned before, and ever since he married you, he’s been just as afraid, too. It took months and years for the two of you to find a remedy, to decrease the terror. To make him trust your presence entirely. To help him understand that you’re here.

Now, by the looks of it, it seems he isn’t sure anymore.

He tries again, desperate, out of his mind, “Just somehow. Somehow, we can fix this, right?”

“Fix what, Jungkook…?”

“Please.”

You’re moving in circles. He keeps imploring you to reconsider, and you remain clueless about what exactly he’s begging for. You just want to know where this is going. Who she is. Who she was. 

“Please what…” you whisper, eyes drifting to the ground. “What are we going to do about it, Jungkook? It’s important to think about, right…? Who was she to you?”

Who she was?

Jungkook’s memory is fragmented.

Pieces of what she really used to be to him evaporated long ago, just when he turned to look at her properly for the very last time on that warm early summer night. Back then, her smile was fake, apologetic, as if she’d committed an unforgivable crime.

As if sorry for wasting his time, for hurting him, for watching him leave when she wished for him to stay a little longer.

A similarly sad smile, yet so different in nature, appeared when she greeted him so gently in the hallway today. He was frozen in the staircase, stuck on that damn smile that haunted him for weeks and months back then, trying to understand whether she was actually here.

Wondered how he could make her disappear again. It wouldn’t fare well with how he lives his life with you now, he already knew. She was interfering.

And… the familiar smile told him she wasn’t here to deliver any good news. And even though he doesn’t remember it all anymore, he hated how the expression brought back the flood of past images.

The first fuzzy image was of a smile, too, albeit incredibly faded. More optimistic, tender. Enthusiastic, craving the solace and joy of the night as much as Jungkook had.

She stood on the far opposite side of the spacious hall back then; even through the dancing couples, he could see her gleaming, absorbed in a conversation with her dearest friends.

Jungkook had seen her before; perhaps once or twice, but he could barely remember her face. It was as if he was actually looking at her for the first time that night. He didn’t think she generally attended too many parties; and when they’d crossed paths before, they’d probably been a little younger.

He just…

He couldn’t remember her being this striking.

He couldn’t recall the dimples or the vibrant smile or the sparkle in her large eyes. Far away in the room, Jungkook lightly bit his lip as he observed, cocking an eyebrow when she gasped to something her friend had said.

As if he was standing next to her and hearing it, too. Mimicking her reaction, caught in a bubble.

And it took her a little to notice him, too. But when she did, her friends’ eyes followed, an immediate elbow teasing her sides as much as their words. Jungkook could only imagine what they were saying.

What are you looking at?

Is it your turn already? With him, yes?

Oh, and the season has barely begun!

He could read parts of it off their lips. Lifted his ego a little. But he averted his eyes nevertheless, despite the resistance in his movements, only to shift back every now and then.

To his chagrin, the night didn’t offer too many opportunities to near where she stood, but as the event snuck to its end, at least a sliver of hope twinkled, even for just a minute. Approaching the carriages at the same time, he found her waiting not too far from him.

Her family was missing just like his; but he was comfortable here, staring at the sky, breathing in the late spring breeze. But her gown, while heavy, wasn’t accompanied by a shawl, her arms bare.

He used the chance to ask, “Aren’t you cold?”

She stared up in surprise, not quite expecting a conversation. Yet, smoothly, and either bold or courageous or sweet, she answered with a confidence so enticing, “Hmmm, no. I guess I felt warmed enough throughout the night.”

Interesting. So very interesting.

Jungkook’s lips twitched upwards, an enthralled smile; his voice sounded somewhat different when he asked, “Is that so?”

“Mhm. I’ll thank you another day, though.”

Behind her, her folks neared, and he looked ahead and then down, smile still plastered to his face. Even when she’d left, the sparkle remained in his eyes.

That was it for now.

Jungkook’s and Jihyo’s paths crossed again merely a week later. He understood in that time apart that the tiny interaction had caught him somehow; he was relieved when he saw her again at the next party.

Brave, he joined her where she stood, scanning the finger food before settling on some tartelettes. He’d been hopeful throughout these days, yes, but Jihyo didn’t show her face too often; so he didn’t lie when he confessed, “I didn’t expect you here.”

“Well…” she answered, “I hoped to see you. I told you I’d want to thank you.”

“Mhhh, I’m still not sure what for, though.”

She shrugged her shoulders, smile so vibrant. “It was a pleasant night. I felt warm throughout.”

She’d said the same thing last time, waiting at the carriage, moonlit and breathtaking. He smirked a little, satisfied by the flow of the dialogue; then argued, “But it is the summer season. Heat is all that is ahead.”

“…Isn’t it?”

Something stirred in Jungkook. He wouldn’t analyse her words on other days, but her expression was telling. Made him fearless, whirling his mind as he asked, “Have you explored this place yet?”

“No. I never get to do so much. But,” she said enthusiastically, licking cream off her snack. Jungkook couldn’t look away. “I wouldn’t mind walking around. It is hotter inside anyway.”

And matching her fierce response from before, Jungkook added, “…I doubt it.”

He was right. She’d prove it quick minutes later. In the backyard, stopping in the middle of their walk, he felt the warmth, the heat when she pushed him into an empty corner, lips crashing against his.

Jungkook’s blood scorched indeed; the outside wasn’t cooler. In fact, it burned. He burned. And she burned, too. Her skin, her shoulder, the mounds of her breasts underneath the dress that he pulled down.

There wasn’t any room or chance to proceed too far, but somehow, Jungkook was content with this.

It made him crave harder; and he enjoyed the feeling. The temptation. The yearning for all he hadn’t yet seen, yet felt. He hungered for her; she was the opposite of what the world held, brought him excitement.

Today, he doesn’t know if it was this very exhilaration or the need for distraction or something else that dragged him back to her over and over again. He recalls his heart nervously jumping, but he can’t recall it blooming. Never the way it did with you. Never.

But she still evoked something different. Reprieve from his days, his sorrows, the grief in his big, old home.

He never told her any of this, but he assumes she saw. Sometimes, she’d raise his chin when they met in private, mouth breathing close to his, asking if something was wrong. He’d deny. He’d dive into her eyes and lips instead, forget about it all, enjoy her empathy.

She’d somehow worry, he thought, and then kiss him, tell him it was alright, no matter what it was. That she was there. And he’d appreciate it. Would like the warmth, the care.

And still, he’d go home to tears, suffer all over again. But when he fell asleep, he’d think of her, forbidding the last thought of the night to be anything dreadful, anything but the same pretty smile.

She offered madness. She offered humour, sweetness, and most of all, relief.

Jihyo always refused to walk around town. She never hesitated to decline his offers.

Jungkook was alright with this; didn’t question her rejection at first; he didn’t know what the two of them were, anyway. There were fuzzy feelings somewhere, something twinkling in his mind and his guts and his chest.

He didn’t think love felt this way, however.

He regarded love as a much stronger sentiment than what they had. What was it that they indulged in anyway? Ablaze days and nights, baring themselves behind locked doors, lips on her skin, her sides, her waist, her flesh. Hands on, under, between her legs.

The digits would dig into her hips and remain; his tongue tasted her up, up and down, in and out. Taking in her scent, lapping her up, showing her new things. Body against body. Buried in her, glued to her — could that be love? No.

It was just that, wasn’t it? Yes, he’d stopped meeting other women. Yes, he’d be distracted at events.

He would spend his time with his boys, but let his mind and eyes travel far from them; even the presences hiding in those halls that he’d usually mock or annoy or disregard, projecting his own insecurities onto them, dulled.

Jihyo was beautiful. Jihyo captured focus. And he called Jihyo’s name until he even muttered it when alone; she breathed it until he could only hear his own name in her voice.

But.

It wasn’t love. Even today, he knows it never was.

Yet, even then, he could imagine this for a while. If he couldn’t love her now, he thought, maybe he could love her some day. He couldn’t tell, but he could imagine it. Who knew? 

Then again, it seemed he would never find out, anyway.

Some days, some time later, Jungkook eventually started thinking how odd it was that Jihyo never wanted to go out. To tell somebody about them; would it be so bad?

He presumed it was because she didn’t want others to know. He understood, truly; at an age where people would pressure one into obligations just when they saw others together, he didn’t want them to rumour yet.

Then again, Jihyo and he were connected somehow; sometimes he thought that was enough, too. Deep under the sheets so often, sharing stories sometimes, and perhaps they weren’t for the public to hear.

And there was something mysterious about them that nobody would understand, anyway. He couldn’t wrap his finger around the mystical nature of the two of them, but he started to understand she had him good.

Yet…

Yet. Something was wrong with her. So entirely wrong when she’d keep him hidden in rented rooms or in the dead dark of the night.

When she’d refuse his offer to promenade through the park, be fully against his invitations on some days without a proper reason at all. Or, when she’d skip events that she promised to attend, and then told him she hadn’t been sick — just not in the mood.

And one day, he decided to ask.

A very futile intention; the urge to ask was quickly overshadowed by kisses too intense. He already wanted to see her again even before the evening was over, no matter what she’d answer. He was already dreaming of her body, despite towering over it right now.

Would these dreams ever stop?

His nights were sleepless anyway, just like this approaching one. Hands on his own skin, today replaced by her, pumping and fondling. All over him when he climbed onto her and pushed in again.

He couldn’t free himself of the itch she caused just yet; kept scratching. Then again, he was so clueless about who she was at this very moment. Fond of her, but confused, too.

Aware of how much he thought of her, but having no issues retorting things snarkily, like when she mumbled underneath him, “You can’t live without me,” and he effortlessly rose from her neck, swollen lips answering, “Oh, I can.”

And he could. They were confusing in nature, but he knew that he could.

Because she was veiling something that he thought might distance her from him, so he started keeping himself mentally distanced either way. Even though it proved harder these days.

But the two of them were still something. They got along; there was humour in this, attraction and fire. And he felt heavenly inside her every damn time.

In the midst of it, he told her, “We could try harder.”

Perhaps she misunderstood; perhaps she couldn’t read his eyes and his tone yet, because she pulled him closer, deeper. He let her. Wouldn’t voice these thoughts properly again until he dropped next to her and said, “I like spending time with you. And I want to try more.”

He didn’t notice right away — her hesitation, her silence.

It took a second to even look at her; and when he did, he recognised the sudden guilt in her eyes instantly. Remorse, pain. Like he’d just broken something with his idea that she’d kept whole. Only now, she couldn’t save it anymore.

He didn’t know what it was, so he wondered, “What is it?”

“I…”

Then again, it wasn’t hard to figure out anyway. He deduced, “…You don’t want it.”

“It’s… not that I don’t want it.”

“I mean. It’s alright, you see? We aren’t this far, so if you want to reject this, I do understand. I will live.”

“I might have to reject it… you, Jungkook,” she confessed, and he had to admit that he wasn’t overly enjoying what he was hearing, “not because I want to, but it’s…”

And the universe had cruel ways of interrupting. Always.

Because her words halted somewhere between him and her and then vanished into thin air. Cut by strong, arhythmic knocks at the door. The sudden interjection startled them, dropped the quiet hearts into the pit of their stomachs.

As the door worked on being unlocked, she whispered a tiny, anxious, “Please… you might get hurt.”

And Jungkook understood; jumped off the bed, slipping into his trousers within seconds before dashing to the back. The wardrobe was empty, ideal to hide; it’s what he knew she wanted, for him to stay anonymous.

Jihyo, still bare, sat up on the bed, and Jungkook, in the dark with only a gap to observe the outside happenings, waited. Waited until the door opened. Until a man, more or less a stranger to him, only minimally familiar, stormed in with furious eyes.

He didn’t stall a second before his anger ambushed her. Jungkook’s fingers tingled to crash the door of the wardrobe open; even from here, it was abundantly clear that the man struggled to not hurt her.

But right now, he relied on the fury in his tone; Jungkook assumed it was a brother or friend raging about her indecent behaviour. But it soon became all too obvious that he wasn’t. Somebody of such a relationship doesn’t snap like this.

No, Jungkook understood. Knew what the issue was when the man asked, “So you’ve started getting naked for others? Is that it now? That’s what you whore have been doing?”

For others…

She tried, “Listen, I—”

But he cut her off, “No! I promised you everything. Why do you despise me so much? You couldn’t wait for us to be wed, but needed to satisfy your needs elsewhere? Why do you despise me, huh?”

Jihyo didn’t hear much of what he said, zeroing in on specific statements, and whispered, “You do not give me everything. Not even close.”

Fuck.

If it wasn’t clear already… Jungkook’s mind spun.

Jihyo was promised to somebody else and was using Jungkook with a purpose and intention, as a means of fulfilling whatever she needed to fulfil. And he— he was the homewrecker, the third wheel, not her focus the way she was his focus.

Despite the mistakes he’d ever made, despite his damn flaws, he never wanted this.

What was he? A placeholder? Thrown aside the moment she’d marry him? Why was it that Jungkook’s existence was regarded as something so low, stomped beneath people’s feet, like he was nothing at all?

Who knew? There wasn’t even a second to think about it, to ask about it.

Priorities shifted, inquiries shoved away; when the man reached low, snatching a patch of her hair to pull her off the bed, sirens chimed in Jungkook’s head. It still mattered to him, not seeing her hurt; but his instincts were deep-rooted.

Nobody, including Jihyo, should have to experience this.

So Jungkook pushed the door open, met with a gasp, surprise and wrath. The man didn’t need to ask who he was or what he was doing here; he knew immediately, more than cognisant of the wretched situation.

Jungkook was ready to throw some insult onto him, words already on his lips, arms reaching out to defend her. But he didn’t need to; the guy had already let her go, taking a swing within a second before his fist landed on Jungkook’s jaw.

It could’ve been worse; he could’ve broken it. Jungkook knew right away that the damage wasn’t as terrible as it had the potential to be.

But his tongue still felt warm, tasted metallic. He took a deep breath through his nose, dizzy for a moment, still sane enough to hear the stranger say, “You can have the slut.”

There was another blob of disgust landing on Jungkook’s face; no doubt that the man bid him farewell with one last literal spit on Jungkook’s cheek. Then, the door fell into its lock, and it got quiet again.

Or… not quite.

Jungkook lacked words; there was nothing to say anyway. He was the culprit after all.

Worried hands settled on his body; he didn’t notice how much he’d sunk to the ground, one knee hitting the floor. But when the exploring fingers touched his waist, up to his armpits and his elbows, he stood tall again.

She was trying to lift him. To check for wounds, despite the clear drops of scarlet red he was leaving on this rented room’s floor. Eyes shutting for a second, he slapped the concerned palm off his arm, dodging it when she came back with a quiet, “Jungkook…”

“Shut up.”

“Please listen—”

“Listen to fucking what? You’re…”

There was no ending to the sentence. He didn’t know what she was. A fraud, maybe. But he didn’t have it in him to insult her somehow; perhaps because she, too, was already in enough pain as it was.

When his eyes opened, they glared. To his feet, to the side, into her wet gaze. She was nearly hiccuping, but he couldn’t get himself to give into the empathy entirely; the anger simmered in the pit of his stomach, threatened to come to a full boil.

Yet, he registered when she said, “He doesn’t treat me well, he— he���s controlling. And emotionally abusive, he— please,” she grabbed his hand, but he pulled out of her grip, “I can’t marry him, not if— not if I’m scared he might raise his hand at me.”

“Then don’t fucking marry him. You have this choice,” Jungkook said, spitting into the corner; the colour was disgusting. “Controlling and abusive, however? You sound perfect for him.”

“I don’t… I can’t. I can’t stay with him, but I— I could stay with you. I would.”

Jungkook scoffed. She had to be joking. Undoubtedly; there was nothing in him capable of believing she meant this. Not when she’d refused just this idea mere minutes ago.

He shook his head; he wouldn’t have any of this. Even if she left this man… even then…

He couldn’t do this because she made him do something so easily that he abhorred. He’d seen the love between his father and his mother before, and then witnessed the hatred between her and his uncle.

After all these years of affliction, he knew the difference between love and despise.

Knew where affection could grow, where it would wilt. Where it’d be replaced with hostility.

She wasn’t made for him; he wasn’t in the mindset for her. And he was wrong after all; he didn’t love her and he never could have.

“Please, don’t go,” she begged as he picked up his clothes, wiping his mouth on the bed sheet, ready to leave. “Please, I—”

She followed him all the way to the door; Jungkook resisted each push and pull, charging towards the exit with resolution. And when she blocked the door for too long, sobbing onto her body, he fletched his teeth, sharpened his jaw, clasped her wrist before he turned her around.

Arm pinned to her back, cheek pressing into the door, she kept crying, and then, finally, sighed. She gulped; then lowered her face, forehead to the cold of the wood, and too courageously as always pleaded, “Be with me one last time. Just… just once.”

And her tone… her voice… her curling fingers…

They tempted him. Something about this, something about her tugged him in again, like an invisible force. And for the tiniest moment, he hated himself for thinking this way. But deep inside he knew the truth.

That he still craved her. Still wanted to feel her once more. Still hungered to bury himself in deep, leaving scars and marks as if to punish her just once. But…

But he remembered. She’d turned him into somebody he wasn’t. So he couldn’t. He’d carry the regret to his grave.

So he let her go, using the moment of weakness, shoving her away slightly — she let him. She understood to give up. And he, with a coat over his shoulder, left.

A hand over the bleeding wound, and the other over his injured mouth.

If he wakes up now, you won’t be able to take it.

It was already difficult, breathing through every second of the rest of the day. Overthinking, but never quite processing the information you received. From the very moment you woke up to the story Jungkook narrated and everything that followed, the seconds have been hell.

Everything… everything—

The remaining conversations. With her, with the village bartender he expected. You don’t know how he survived any of it, functioned at all; using his brain at full capacity, reading through papers when you were sure the letters were blurring in front of his very eyes.

And how he looked at you after he was done and returned to you, reaching for your limp hand…

The hurt was prominent, your heart still reluctant, but you let him; what good would it have done to send him away? He kept coming back. Sat there for an hour until you told him to tend to his guest, to discuss whatever he needed to.

Truth was, you didn’t want him to go… but you didn’t want him near, either.

Your mind kept circling around a hundred and thousands of things. The woman sitting downstairs, fiddling and nervous, the child still next to her. Possibly bored. She’s aware of her past as much as you are, of the role she played. Of the hurt she caused.

The more you think about it, the more it pains. The more it seems like a tragedy, like an anti-fairytale. Fabricated.

So unreal.

It’s as though thinking it senseless could make it less real. You’re married to him now, but you still feel small, shrinking, insecure and hurt and unable to make any of this coherent.

You needed silence today. You wanted your mind to divert, conjure different, more pleasant thoughts, memories of better times. But this proved worse; so somehow, you ended up overthinking the situation to death.

You don’t want the children to wake up again. Hana is fast asleep, Jaehyuk dozing. It was Jaehoon’s subtle whimpering that finally shifted your attention twenty minutes ago; your arms were too weightless to carry him, but you did, swayed him, blended out your brain with his sounds.

By now, he’s already drooling over you again. You hope he stays just like this; hope Jaehyuk doesn’t notice the empty side of their crib. 

There’s something about this, the twin intuition. You had heard about it before, but it is truly fascinating, the way they communicate. You’re still baffled that Jaehyuk stayed as unmoving as he did when you pulled his brother towards you, comforting yourself with his warmth.

But you have to admit…

You’re exhausted. More so mentally than physically. Your body yearns to drop. The up and down pacing only drains you further.

You should set him into his crib again. He’s fast asleep anyway; everybody is. Just you aren’t. And your husband isn’t.

In fact, he’s not even in this room with you. Heart palpitating and chest paining, you’ve been waiting. He slipped in and out of the rooms you were in for hours, and you kept sending him away, sickened by the apologies, not even certain what exactly he was apogising for.

For having a child? For once tending to secret meetings with a woman you don’t know, ambiguous about what he felt for her? You don’t know.

And…

Honestly — your heart isn’t splintering because he made a mistake, really, did he? You and him were nothing back then. No. You’re fractured because of your own damn expectations. And because you wanted life to lead somewhere else.

You didn’t want somebody to become such a part of your love and marriage like this.

You sigh to breathe out the ache, deep from your stomach, hoping it’ll lighten the load. But it doesn’t really. Not even Jaehoon’s little hand over your chest does, his head on your shoulder, the scent of his baby hair.

And once the door to the bedchamber creaks open, you don’t feel relieved, either. Your heart stirs more, if anything. Scared your son might hear or notice, you hurry to put him down again, draping a blanket over his little body before you shut your silken robe.

Jungkook appears as if he’s lived a dozen lives in a day. His pupils have shrunk, shoulders low, hair as uncombed as in the morning. He didn’t bother; as little as you. He halts when he sees you standing in the middle of the room, surprised about the random spot you chose.

Endless affection flashes across his face, transparent yearning, as though he hasn’t seen you in days. Within a moment, the expression calms a little, and he pulls himself together enough to ask, “You are still awake, darling?”

You hold yourself tight, as if binding your body together. Clearing your throat, you say, “It’s… I don’t know if I will be able to sleep tonight.”

“…Me neither.”

“What happened?”

You gesture to the ground, referring to the parlour. She’s probably not even there anymore. She was all day; and she journeyed. She must be tired.

Jungkook explains, as if reading your mind, “Jihyo… she’s in one of the guest rooms.” You nod. He cards through his hair, continuing, “She said the guy she was supposed to marry never told anyone what had happened that night… I— I don’t know why. He never came back at all, but I figured that bit. She didn’t want him to, and I told her he shouldn’t have either way.”

He sighs; so do you. Feelings or not, you guess Jungkook has never been a bad person. It still feels odd. He then says, “And then she was abandoned by her family when they learned of her pregnancy and she wouldn’t tell anybody who the father was…”

Of course not. Somewhere, she must have cared.

“They sent her to some faraway aunt who was apparently a tyrant… and she ran away when her boy was a year old.”

Your dropped chin lifts, an immediate response forming in your mind. Your boy. Your boy, too. But you don’t spill it. In truth, you don’t even need to. As if written all over your face in big, bold letters, Jungkook sees right through you.

He halts, gives himself a moment to be sure it’s what you’re stuck on, and then tells you, “…I know but… I have no connection to him. She does. I have none at all.”

“She does, and now she’s here… actually here…”

“She’s here because it was nearly impossible to survive for her,” he insists, the tone of defence sharp and clear, “but somehow she still did. It’s gotten more difficult now, however, and—” He’s struggling more now; while some words pour out, others are whispered. Like, “As the father of her child… she says it is both our responsibility to ensure he is well. But…”

As the father of her child, as the parents of their child.

He’s not wrong; and you guess that if it wasn’t happening in your own household, you’d be much more lenient about this. You’d be nodding along, agreeing that a father should be present, that a child deserves it.

You’ve been part of an orphanage filled with lonely kids for too long to think otherwise.

But it surely is different in moments like these. You feel like a hypocrite.

“But?” you prod.

“She understands if I say no, too. I have my own family now.”

Yeah…

Did she need to tell him that? Did he know by himself; are these her or his words? You wonder…

“You say she always struggled,” you draw back to again, “why did she never reach out when she knew she was with child already?”

He rubs his eyes. Tired, his body somewhat more worn out than ever. Barely looks active; the shoulders are in an entirely new position. Or no… not new. You’ve seen it before — it’s just been years now.

“She thought I wouldn’t bother,” he says, “she thought… I’d abandoned her once and for all. Which I reckon I did.”

“And…” You’re scared to ask. You swallow. “Would you have aided her? If you’d known.”

He quietens. You’re not too fond of the hesitation loudening the silence. You know he’s thinking, eyes unfocused, imagining the scenario you narrated without probably really wanting to. You brought this to yourself, so you’ll need to be patient.

And you are, until he finally concludes, “I would have… I— I would have felt like I owed this to my child. I can’t— sweetheart, it’s not my nature, please understand. I wouldn’t leave a woman alone with this if I was anyhow part of it and—”

“And… If you’d known… we wouldn’t even have happened, right?”

Jungkook shakes his head again, the movements even lazier now. You’re afraid he might drop and faint. But he breathes in, then out, uprights himself, “It doesn’t matter what would have or could have happened. I did approach you and I did fall in love with you and we did happen. Isn’t… isn’t that enough?”

You blink; then blink more. A shaky breath escapes your lips to keep your voice as steady as doable. “Yes… I assume…”

Another pause. More stalling until the thoughts previously forming in your head become less of a tangled, messy garn and get clearer. You just do not know how to voice them; to keep the man who brought stars down to the ground to you whole.

You don’t want to hurt him. But you don’t understand how to handle the next few days any other way.

But you don’t say it yet. You wait. Listen as he begs, “Please tell me… tell me what you’re thinking. I don’t know what to do.”

You lie, “I don’t know, either, Jungkook.”

His strong hands get ahold of tufts of his hair again, butchering his mane more. The gesture isn’t aggressive, but he still looks so out of his goddamn mind. Desperately, he steps closer, breathing, “You know that I love you, yes?”

…You’ve seen needles at your seamstress’ place before. They always strike you as effective, professional. Sharp. The sting you feel reminds you of when her needle digs into fabric. Perhaps worse.

Perhaps it’ll turn into a sword in a moment.

“Only you,” he adds, but then halts, a shake of his head correcting himself before he tries again, “no. Only you and them.” His eyes briefly dart to the crib, a reminder to lower his voice, even though the shudder makes it hard. “I haven’t thought about her in yea—”

No…

“You haven’t thought about her once?” you interrupt. It’s one of the things your derailing mind tried to convince you of today. That she never really disappeared. “The woman you were involved with like this… you never ever thought of her or regarded her important enough to tell me about her? To think about her?”

And now he’s confused. Why do you keep asking questions? You’re your own worst enemy, really. Then again, how does one stop this toxic curiosity from overflowing in a moment like this?

“I don’t know,” he admits. Not a needle anymore… “She might have crossed my mind as somebody who once existed in my life. Not in a romantic manner. Nor in a yearning manner. I did not miss her, you see?”

He moves closer, hands lifting. You only now see how pale he is, his skin so close, eyes nearly lifeless, but not quite. They’re still filled with so much emotion and pain as he continues, “And I certainly did not care enough to prioritise her over you anyhow.”

Palms cradle your face. Usually so warm and comforting, they’re icy today, as if his blood has frozen in his veins. And he sounds so utterly dehydrated when he says, “She was never important enough, no…”

“I— I see.”

He waits. His breath falls on your face before he runs his tongue between his lips nervously. His waterline is damp, but holding back. You wonder when he last ate, when he last drank.

You guess he’s not as concerned about himself when he requests, “Tell me what you are thinking.”

A lot. Too much to condense into one single thought. But you still pick out one of the million swirling around and throw it out, “I am wondering… about what you will do now. I will assume you will help.”

You see how much he hates to admit it; you nearly take it back before he, however, tells you again, “I may have to.”

“And… if you do. What will it look like? Will you— I do not know. Will you meet her regularly, send her money, see the child? Build a bond? Have… have two families on either side?”

“I d-don’t think it will be like this, I—”

“How will it be then?”

His hands drop. He shuts his eyes, but opens them again a minute later. “I will provide… I might get to know him. But I do not plan on making them an integral, main part of my life. I don’t want this to come between us or have the children think wrong of me, and… you’re my priority.”

You know…

As the wife of somebody like Jungkook, you have seen the hardships that come with a traumatised mind. One that so deeply fears he will step into his family’s shoes, mimicking the misery he once experienced.

He’s been afraid of passing on generational trauma for years, and he battled the fear… you know he doesn’t want to start at zero. You don’t want it either. And you genuinely do not perceive him as a bad father; quite the opposite.

Jeon Jungkook gives his all. He loves with his all. He worships with his all.

But you still think this needs time and patience.

So you confess, “I believe you… I do. I just. I think this will change things. I cannot stop thinking about you moving back and forth, nurturing two families, and yes, I am selfish, but… I always assumed I was the only one.”

Not before. Not long ago. But now.

You would’ve been content with somebody like her being out there and never finding out about it. For the very first time in your life, you’re selfish, and it hurts, it burns, and you loathe that you cannot turn it off.

“I did, as well…” he confirms. “But you’re the only one that matters.”

“What about your son? Do you have it in you to not care?”

“He’s a child I never spoke to!” he argues, voice rising by an octave. “I just… fuck, I do not know. Baby, I… I don’t want to be a pendulum. I’m not swinging between two spaces… I will never perceive anyone as more important than you.”

“I see.”

Pause. Then, “…Please look at me.”

You feel another clump rise to your throat. It’s more dense this time, inevitable, and it affects your speech. Accompanied by something lifting to your head and making it heavier. You tell him, “I can't.”

“…Why?”

“I just can’t.”

“You ca—” He shifts, eager to bring you back to him; you’re already miles away and he knows. “Baby… Do you still love me?”

You could scoff. But you don’t; instead, you feel the liquid starting to pour. Like the rain these days, less comforting now, it drops out of your eyes. You somehow very well expected it, but the amount of the drops still surprises you.

Like a grey sky indicating a gloomy day, yet not a reliable preparation for a downpour.

Your inhale is sharp, cuts the air, and your eyebrows painfully furrow when the tears collect. You answer, “Of course I love you, I— Fuck, of course I do. It’s why this hurts so much!”

“I… I know.”

His gaze is similarly wet, suddenly an ocean, but he blinks the despair away before he crushes you in a hug. Jungkook is never afraid to cry, but restraining himself is something he’s practised for the kids… and even for you, it seems.

Shit, but— you’ve told him so many times. So many times to not hold back for you. You don’t either. You don’t either, right?

“I know,” he repeats, “I— I don’t know why these things happen, I’m—”

You shake your head against his chest, sogging his clothes as you mumble, “I can’t blame you, can I? It was your past, yes, but I wasn’t part of it, and… it’s still so much.”

“For me, too… for me as well, darling—”

“I just— I think I need distance, Jungkook.”

Wait… 

Wha—

That’s when the world stops spinning, frozen like his blood. The heart he has so gently guarded so far detaches from the rest of what lies beneath his ribs, and jumps into his throat, pounds in his ears.

The profound hope that he misheard you is needless, he already knows. He’s been hyper aware of your every movement and word today; he knows what you said and he knows he’ll have to let you. But…

“…What?”

The decision still leaves him stranded on an island. Away from this house and you and his children. Desolated, he as its lone habitant. And the image is surreal.

“I need to go away,” you elaborate again, digging deeper into the wound. Can he rewind the morning? No. You add, “Just until you have this sorted out with her and it’s done, and—”

“I have,” he carefully voices, convinced, so, so convinced, “there is nothing more to say.”

But you’re not with him just yet; you argue, “But she should stay for a little, shouldn’t she? I… I am not too fond of the scenario, but from an empathetic perspective, you should know about your son. Be in the loop…”

Yes, you do hate the idea. Yes, it contradicts your distaste for the image of him walking to and fro between families, providing and keeping her in his life. But, after all is said and done, his son will still be his son.

And you are only heartbroken, not heartless.

“I just…” you continue, gulping. “I can’t be here while she is. And I don’t want you to send her away already, either. Her journey seems to have been long and… she’s just trying to live.”

“Where… where do you want to go?”

“Home.”

The resolute tone you decide on hurts. Not because he’s against your family or your place back in the city, but because you seem to have thought it out already. That you want to leave. That you want to be away from him.

The woman that latches onto him the moment he crawls into bed after work; from the man who clutches your body throughout the night, wakes up delirious from your scent.

It stings. It burns.

“Just for a little,” you say, as if to cure the injury. “I… I need to be away.”

Jungkook’s throat is knotted up and dry. He almost doesn’t dare to ask, but he knows he’ll keep wondering when you’re gone. So he spits, “And then?”

“And then… I will see.”

Doesn’t matter anyway. He guesses that the wondering part won’t change, no matter what he inquires, no matter what you respond.

“…Why does this sound like a possible goodbye?”

He might faint. He doesn’t know how long he’ll have to be awake without you. Doesn’t know what’ll follow this disaster. Doesn’t know anything. Most of his life, he’s been haunted by this uncertainty, and he hates the return of it.

And you’re not saying anything; the moment gets worse as you close your eyes for a bit, staring down, unable to answer because you probably don’t know, either.

But…

“Please say something,” he urges, abandoning questions and pleas, diving straight into statements as if this could make them definitely true, “you… you will come back. You won’t leave after this.”

There’s agitation in your voice, merged with desperation when you speak again, “Jungkook, I can only think so far right now—”

“No, please…”

“What do you mean, pl—”

“I can’t lose you, no matter what.”

“But right now, I can’t take this either, Jungkook!” you snap. Perhaps it’s his big eyes throwing you off guard or the unknown future or the fresh hurt. Something in you breaks as your voice starts to vibrate, eyes watery. “I don’t want to be— another. And I can’t fully make you abandon them either, and… I still don’t know how to live with such a change and—”

And. And. And.

The list goes on. That’s the problem. It’s an overwhelming mess, a never ending string of thoughts. 

As the light in your eyes dims, usually so blindingly bright on other days, Jungkook’s eyes overflow. First a single drop of a tear, then half a dozen. He blinks them away, but suddenly there’s a river across his cheek, collecting to a sea at the chin.

And you look similar.

Shattered like glass. Your broken pieces are tiny; they resemble dust. God, albeit without a single intention, Jungkook has hurt the wrong person.

Desperation at the front of his tongue, he doesn’t know what to say. Nothing more to do but to revert back to pathetic begging—

“Please… don’t go.” His voice quivers, the sigh even shakier; his soft hands, the ones that held you just last night, rub his face in anger towards himself. “It’s who I used to be… I didn’t know.”

“Yes, it’s what used to happen, b–but it doesn’t hurt any less, fuck, and…”  Breathing is as hard as speaking. Your tears run again when you add, “And what if there are more? What if more of them come knocking at our door and we don’t know yet?”

His chest is rising high, falling low. Lower lip never still. You know panic is growing beneath his chest, and you want to wrap your arms around him, keep his pure heart from breaking. But what can you do?

Yours is splitting, too.

Worse when all he whispers again is, “Please don’t go.”

It’s a hopeless attempt. You know; you hear it. He’s still trying but he’s not truly expecting you to change what you decided on. Yet, you ask, “Please understand.”

He’s still not moving; but you think he understands indeed. Because he nods. Doesn’t look at you anymore. The sniffles are familiar, painful as he questions, “What about the children?”

You feared this question. The delivery of it proves harder than you thought; your tongue nearly gets tied, “I… I will leave the twins here. Travelling might be difficult with both of them when I am alone.” You look to the wall; to the little beds on the other side of the room. “Can I take Hana with me?”

You know it’s killing him as much as it is messing with you. You know what it means when he breathes in, but doesn’t argue with you as he nods again. Jeon Jungkook loves you; he loves you to every end of the universe.

And you’ll love Jeon Jungkook for the rest of your life, too, despite it all.

But this is needed.

He asks, “How long will you be away?”

“I don’t know…” you admit. “Hopefully not long.”

“I see.”

“I am sorry.”

All grand arguments end in silence or insults or apologies. There are no more words to utter. Jungkook is at a loss for hope, at the far end of a tunnel. If he could still convince you, he would; but your decision sits.

So all he manages is—

“I am, too.”

There’s a nod. Your tired eyes. You looking to the side, then to the bed, approaching it a moment later with a body falling so weightlessly. When he joins minutes later, you’re turned to the side, and he watches the back of your head, the mane falling, urging to touch it just a little.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he turns away, too. 

Until you fall asleep and for the rest of the night, you don’t feel a touch on you as you do on other days; but relying on your remaining senses, you do hear the sniffle. Do register the movements next to you.

One more time for a little, approaching while.

The place is empty when Jungkook wakes up. He’s woken up three days in a row now, and he’s never wanted to — every damn time, the place would be empty.

And he can’t breathe.

Ever since she stepped over the threshold and re-entered his life and you chose the sheer opposite, he hasn’t drawn a proper breath. This isn’t how things should be. They’re switched up, plainly wrong.

The room is empty; it has been this vacant before, but the void is yawning now, tormenting. Feels like it might never end.

A couple sunrises ago, you left with a lasting, gnawing touch. Before you stepped down the porch, your palm lay in his for a minute; despite the hurt, you still seemed to want to leave remnants of what he means to you.

Your hand was warm in his; and your eyes, albeit filled with some sort of cold distance, still carried some of the warmth, too, your gaze glassy. You were pulling yourself together so well. For him, yourself, the confused child clinging to you.

Hana thought you were visiting the grandparents out of nostalgic longing. She thought she’d be away from him for a fleeting moment. She’s too young to understand the passing of time, after all.

So she didn’t complain, but she looked dissatisfied. Unwilling to embark on this little vacation. Pouted at her father, but listened to her mother.

For her, he was keeping himself whole, too — but when your fingers slipped away from his, the heat still lingered. Like a red scald, as if he’d held his palm into a flame. Perhaps that’s what set him off.

Perhaps just as much as when the hole between your bodies widened bit by bit, and you disappeared in the distance after the carriage had engulfed you. The impulse to run after you grew consistently and rapidly, but his feet were cemented to the spot, legs stiff.

When the carriage turned, however, and only then, they carried him down. There was a faint sound in the background, like the whispering breeze of autumn, and Jungkook barely understood what it was until he realised his lips were moving.

It was him, not the wind.

Him, in a quick downward spiral, bedazzled by the lunacy and the tears obscuring the world; repeating something he knew you were already too far away to hear. You wouldn’t register any of it anymore; he hoped you’d feel it somehow.

“Please, don’t leave,” it was, wasn’t it? A desperate, “Why would you leave?”

The echoes in the mansion were suddenly much more prominent. Not just of his steps; his own voice in his head had an echo, too, but it was a lot louder, pure torture. Pressed against his ears, as if he was falling from the clouds and into burning hell.

The sounds were blocked by nothing but the wind.

This has been feeling neverending ever since. So infinite.

And maybe it’s this very horrendous fear that disables his lungs; that he might end up like this, without your touch, without your smile, without the future he drew in his mind every single day. It always, always contained you.

He loves you; he’s told you so many times, but it’s never been this apparent. And it’s drying him out, the goddamn loneliness. Blocking his throat. Shit, this place he settled on for you and his family, to give you the best life possible — its vast size is backfiring.

Because—

Fuck. Fuck. What is a spacious room good for if he can’t fucking breathe?

There isn’t anybody in here to hear him panting, surviving; he forbid it. But the loneliness dawns on him again, and he chants with tears dropping on the ground, not making any particular sense, over and over again, “Don’t leave. Please. Please don’t leave—”

As if his brain got stuck here the moment you left, playing the pleas on loop to drive him insane. His own brain is driving him insane. The betrayal is beyond belief.

He’s losing his mind; he’s well aware of this. Pondering, thinking whether the empty rooms in this mansion compete with the vacancy in his mind. Maybe not.

Because the mental rooms are plenty; his hand trembles to push down any handle on his way. There’s this long corridor, leading to these rooms, and whenever he does find the courage to open one, he finds himself in a void.

And he opens them every day, all the time. When he’s asleep. When he’s eating. When he’s wandering around, downing yet another bottle. Always hoping there are scenarios where you’re still with him, in his arms, leaving the pain behind to steer towards the same eternal love you’d been targeting before you left.

But he comes out hopeless each time. And it’s cruel, how vast the corridor is. As if his mind is deceiving him, making him believe there’s a future somewhere that you’re in… but your absence says differently.

He understands; the rooms in the mansion are empty because you’re physically gone, but the ones in his mind inhabit only him because the joyful hopes faded the moment you stepped into the carriage.

Now they’re filled with darkness and fear. What if you don’t come back? What if you do, only to deliver words he doesn’t want to hear, and then to depart again?

He hears nothing but his own voice in those rooms, and it keeps convincing him of his own barely-there worth, and that he always fucks up and that people leave and that they stay away. Convincing him that this is it.

This is how his life was supposed to go. To lift him up, but then to throw him into purgatory again  because somehow, this is what he deserves. Karmic payback.

The times he ever stops hearing these accusations and destructive statements is when other sounds interrupt them. Which has been rare, since he’s avoided conversations and social touch, except for when it was necessary and the village demanded it.

Luckily, this hasn’t been the case, and he’s been able to wither in peace.

There are still exceptions. He still has his children. He remembers; he tries. But his body is frail. Attempts its best to keep him a good father, like now.

Now, when it reacts to the incoherent call. It’s a quiet cry, a sign of waking up; Jungkook can’t remember arriving in his bedroom, but he knows exactly he’s here when he hears the sound.

Ah… right. He told the maid to get them to sleep and then bring them to their crib only ten minutes ago. He did, right? There’s been plenty his imagination has been conjuring, but the conversation feels real.

Even in a state like this, he doesn’t think he’d ever leave his children alone in this room, if he could prevent it. Sometimes, staff is around. Sometimes, he is. Sometimes, you are.

Were.

Right. Right. You might not return. But then again, you will, won’t you?

You love your children as much as he does; you’ve given all of you to the boys as much as you did to him and Hana. They have captured possibly bigger pieces of your heart than he has. You will return, even if just for them.

And then…

What if you take them with you? Or, what if you leave them here? What if, either way, he has to live a life without you?

These little pieces of him would remind him of you, too. They’re part of you, they’re half of you — but he’d see the entirety of you in them. He does even now as he walks over, watching Jaehyuk stir and Jaehoon weeping.

He hasn’t woken up his brother, but he surely has shot an intense ache into Jungkook’s chest.

Looks like you when you cry. Is this odd? Is it even possible, comparing such round, young features to your more defined ones? He doesn’t know, but he can’t unsee it either way.

And his hands burn and pain, his eyes on fire when he lifts him up, whispering Jaehoon’s name with a shush. There’s a change in behaviour immediately, but it’s not enough. The sobbing turns into quieter cries when he sees his father, but…

There’s something else Jungkook interprets.

Your scent is still everywhere. And for those few days, their way of feeding has been slightly different, too. They’re probably noticing the sudden shift. And yes, Jungkook offers comfort, but your absence lingers, and they understand it as well as he does.

“I’m here…” Jungkook whispers, standing in the middle of the room. For a second, Jaehoon grips the strings of his father’s white cotton shirt, but then his lips arch downwards again. “I know. But I am here, you see?”

As Jaehoon’s sorrow doesn’t lessen, Jungkook sniffles, too, lifting his head for a moment to prevent the tears from falling onto his boy. He takes a couple steps back until he plops back on the bed. Offers a hand to Jaehoon who wraps his tiny fingers around one of Jungkook’s.

Jungkook shakes his head, his sigh tired, and then opts for a nod instead as he repeats, “I know. I don’t think it’s enough either, me being here.” He gulps. “And her being away.”

His throat clogs up. He clears it, the tremble coming back to his lower lip as he asks in his son’s direction, “You miss Mama, don’t you?”

And as if aware, Jaehoon cries harder again, winding in Jungkook’s arms. He doesn’t know what to do to calm the tantrum, doesn’t know how you do what you do that he’s not able to do. He doesn’t think he’s failed as a father. He doesn’t think of himself as incompetent.

But he’s helpless without you. The two of you operated as a unit so far, as one big part of this universe. With half of it gone, he feels like he’s lacking half a brain, not quite functioning.

So he adds, “I do, too. Believe me, I miss her so much, too…” Ongoing crying. “I know.” Ongoing crying from both sides. The adult and the child, hurting the same. “I am sorry, sweetheart.”

And he’s not sure who he’s saying it to. To Jaehoon; to Jaehyuk. To Hana. To you.

To the hurting child he used to be, and the longing young adult that craved for too much. He’s apologising to everyone and over all the mistakes he’s made, all the regrets he carries with him.

And as he does, he’s not certain when his cries overshadow the ones of his son, or when the latter’s finally stop, only Jungkook’s misery still sounding. He doesn’t know how to stop this from hurting and how to nurse two children in a room without you, because you’re a piece of this—

You’re a piece of the picture. With you ripped out of it… isn’t it too lonely?

It is. God. God, the void swallows him whole.

And he doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know where to go and how to bring you back; if he ran to your city now, where the two of you grew and loved, would you appreciate it or hate him more?

Wait…

Do you…

Hate him?

He doesn’t know. How could he, sitting here, breaking down, mind all empty yet filled. Cruel. This is cruel.

So cruel how he forwards his mood to his children the way he learned never to do. How he can’t breathe, can’t think. How his words lose their meaning after a while, yet stay a mantra, still true  but so out of your reach.

I’m sorry.

I messed up.

I’m sorry.

Please come back.

Your seamstress is as clueless as you'd like to be.

It's probably part of her occupation, the cheerful, sweet, chatty nature, or perhaps, she's in that line because of that very characteristic of her. She's always been like this, so you shouldn't have expected anything different today.

It isn't as though the world joins you in your grief just because you're feeling it. Earth keeps moving.

Coming back home alone was hard. Hana was asleep most of the time, but the moment she woke, she sought his presence profusely.

You wonder if she noticed why he kissed her goodbye so often and told her he loved her a dozen times and gulped down the first hints of yearning with a clogged throat and damp eyes.

She probably doesn't know. His adoration was quieter than hers — because she wailed when he didn't come home, hated the surroundings she'd already seen before but forgotten.

Her father isn't around and she's angry about it.

Maybe you should've left her there. She isn’t as connected to you as she is to him, and while the twins might notice your absence, they won't quite make sense of it yet.

And you, you're stuck in this absolute consciousness that comes with adulthood, aware of everything.

Aware of where you are, who you're with, who is missing. Aware of how you won't be able to weep in your sister's arms forever; so aware that having beautiful dresses sewn won't bring you permanent satisfaction.

But everytime you think back to the last days, you break. The picture of him home alone, theories about what he might be doing, how he might be coping. Whether he's crying like you, fallen like you, feeling incomplete because he's in those rooms with only half of him.

That's how you've been feeling. You're a fraction of yourself.

After three days of solitude, Hana has learned to settle on pouting. It’s odd, the contrast between her and the town, always the same. The latter is as alive as you knew it. And Seung, the seamstress you used to frequent, is still the same amazing woman, too.

Grown, a little older, but the sheer opposite of a quiet Suhana, of a dejected you.

Your sister is holding Hana’s hand, the other tiny fingers busy with the fabric of the dark yellow dress. You’re in a cursory surface conversation with Seung, trying to be polite despite everything, asking how she’s doing, how her husband has been.

She got married years before you did, and she was always incredibly vocal about her relationship with her spouse. They’ve been a key and a lock; she’s spread hope for love amongst many other girls before.

You were one of them. And the hope bloomed, even when you were met with hurdles and thought you’d end in misery.

In all honesty, you truly thought you were an exception to the many rocky marriages. Sure, you never assumed yours would end up a constant fairytale; Jungkook and you have your days, too.

You just… held onto hope, more so when you fell for him, and you never ever thought you’d experience such a low.

Seung still tires of babbling about her husband soon; she enjoys detailing her fabulous life, but she never makes the entire talk about solely herself. So you expect it when you soon hear a question back, “Lord Jeon has also always been such a gentleman, too, though. I enjoy his company thoroughly. Is he not with you today?”

You barely manage the lazy shake of your head, but you smile to cloak the hurt covering your heart, flooding your insides. The agony is always searing; you feel it everywhere, as though a torch lit you on fire. Every damn mention of his name makes your body sink.

In this town, the people have gathered that he’s a fragment of you, that he’s right wherever you are. But not today. Today, he’s with somebody else entirely; it enrages you, and yet also reminds you of how much you miss him every sickening moment of the endless day.

But you still act as though the praise towards the wonderful man you know doesn’t drag another knife across your heart. You suppress your tears and nod, agree with her.

Of course you do. You enjoy his company, too. You’re not oblivious to your husband’s charm; he’s the heart of every conversation. The poetry in every novel after all.

“He did not join me this time,” you answer, smiling away the seconds to hide the difficulties in your home. Hana sighs, as though she’s understood that something went awry; as if she doesn’t believe it when you say, “But perhaps next time!”

Perhaps. Hopefully. 

Your sister brushes the topic off with a wave, focusing on the task on hand. You welcome the diverging topic, just in time for the finishing touches on the dresses you ordered. Seung asks you to slip into them for a final inspection.

The first one is a light purple gown; you do not have a clue where you might wear it, but you enjoy the feel of it. Your sister nods in approval, compliments, “This colour suits you well. You haven’t worn it in so long.”

“I have. I wear it a lot back at home,” you say, remembering a similar shade in your mansion, unaware of where your thoughts are heading until you say, “Jungkook got me a gown in this colour once.”

She pauses for a moment. Seung fumbles at the hem of the dress, busy making it and you pretty; but your sister notices, sighs for a second before she responds, “He has a good eye, then.”

“Yes… he does.”

He likes you in almost every colour, though. He’s baptised you with the name of the rainbow many times before. Thinks every hue brings out something different in you; and that you lend it some additional meaning. Your aura and your energy mix the colours in a palette.

“To something new; to something special.”

You nearly whimper when his voice returns in your head. Despite the circumstances, all you ever remember it in is in joy. When his words are followed by a chuckle and dimples. When the bangs, not cut recently, fall into his eyes, like curtains.

You don’t think of the shaky goodbye days ago… rather, you recall the moments before the world fell apart, drenched in sweetness and grace and warmth.

It becomes difficult to stand here, to let Seung fondle with the fabric. To listen to your sister’s praises and watch Hana’s feet dangle off her seat, hitting the leg of the chair with puffy cheeks and a jutting lower lip.

The view is already too much, and you close your eyes, blending it out. Which proves hard when your husband is mentioned over and over again; of course he is. Two halves of a soul… of course he is.

It’s been like this at each visit, so nobody would expect things to change this time.

And every damn time his name falls, Hana looks up. Big eyes, akin to a doe, personifying hope and love and yearning. If… if there was a way to contact him and let her talk to him for only a minute, you wouldn’t hesitate.

In fact, leaving her there with him could’ve been an option. But you need some comfort, too, don’t you? And he might not be in the proper state to take care of anyone right now. You intensely hope he is looking after himself.

But she keeps sulking. Despising the distance as much as you fear it, asking over and over again, and your dam only breaks and overflows when you step down the podium, asking, “Do you like this?”

And she, uncaring, shrugs, asking, “Can we go back to Daddy?”

You take a deep breath. Your skin tingles, a wave of discomfort filling you head to toe. Head heavy, you yet again register the change in your throat and voice, holding back as you try to pacify her, “Soon, darling. We’re just visiting aunty and the grandparents for a little, remember?”

She does, but it doesn’t help. Somehow, it makes her pout harder. Yesterday, she was crying; now, she’s handling the bad mood differently. Maybe this is worse. You thought children forget, that they distract themselves easily, but Hana’s affection is infinite. Integral to her.

How could she forget? You know who you’re talking about. How could anybody forget about him, ever?

You tuck in one of her black locks, inquiring, “Which dress do you reckon I should get?”

Another shrug. Seung tries, “Would you like to take a look for yourself, as well?”

“Be nice, Hana,” you say, “do you want to? You can say no, too, though.”

It takes a moment until she looks up. Her eyes change when she sees the variety presented to her; as if she didn’t regard any of it since you stepped into the shop. But eventually, she says, “Alright. I will.”

She hops off the chair, small hand in Seung’s palm, walks around to take a look at her choices. Her forefinger is hooked in her mouth as she focuses, only coming out, slightly damp, when she points at something she likes.

Your seamstress approves of most of what Suhana prefers before moving to the colour, “Which one shall we pick for you?”

“I like them all,” Hana says. It’s tough to choose until it isn’t. Once she’s settled on one, staring at it with intensity, you understand she’s decided, calling for you, “Mama.”

“Yes?”

“This is Daddy’s favourite colour.”

A tender shade of sea green. She’s right, it’s his favourite. Or at least a preferred one. You guess you can’t escape him, no matter how much you try, no matter how many miles you leave between him and you.

You ask, “Do you want to take it?”

But she seems unsure all of a sudden again. The finger has dropped with her expression, and she digs the heel of her shoe into the floor, yet nodding, “Yes… I want to surprise Daddy.”

“He will love it, baby,” you say, blinking rapidly. You point to the colour she chose. “This dress then, please?”

“Certainly. Measurements?” Seung says, material already draped over her shoulder; she walks over to the measuring tape, readying herself but…

Hana has long lost her motivation again. You see the light dim with each second, and you prepare yourself to convince her to bask in the excitement a little longer. But she won’t. Instead, she declares, “I don’t want to.”

“What?” Seung voices. “It only takes a moment—”

“I don’t want to,” Hana repeats, “I want to go home.”

“The dress?”

“No.” She inhales, arms dangling at her sides, the childish whining painful when she pleads for the millionth, aching time, “I want to go back to Daddy now.”

Fucking hell, Suhana, how?

How do I take you back already?

If you could, you’d step out and curse into the world. He’s too far away. You’re too far away.

You left with a purpose, bid him goodbye to find peace within yourself. Peace with the fact that a woman is probably still sitting where you have welcomed guests so happily before. The woman that presented him yet another child, his blood and soul.

How do you explain to your daughter that returning might hurt worse than being here, and that his expression will shatter you? That he’ll fall to his knees again, remind you that nobody has ever loved a girl before like he loves you.

That nobody will ever find this much adoration again. But that then, a second later, you’ll remember that until you die, you won’t be the only one anymore?

How do you cope with this? How do you bring your child back into this home, in a mood like yours, without a solution just yet?

In that house where he’s grieving like you, you’ll hear the echoes from everywhere, and the pain will intensify. His touch might linger on you, and the walls will scream and the bed will scream and the rooms will scream.

Yell the memories you made there.

The dinners you shared. The food he fed you with his spoon. The times he’d spill soup on you in the process and laugh it off, crack a dirty joke when the tissue drew over your cleavage.

And the times he kissed you at his office door, promising he’d be in the bedroom soon; the times you still knocked an hour later because he isn’t just a good husband and father, but a good leader for his people, too.

And… and…

The bare skin on the mattress next to you. Warm, sweet, hugging you in, lips on your shoulder, your back, your ear, your body. Engulfing you. Under you, above you, with you. The whispered words and the promises.

Vows that he fulfils during the days and the nights. Raising his children with deep-sitting sentiments, turning his own pain into power and using it to bring happiness to them and to you all the damn time.

Sleepless nights, giggly days, dances in empty rooms and conversations in laughter and tears and hurdles and successes.

Every wall and bed and room will scream out the question whether you remember.

Do you remember it all? Everything you’ve become with him in all those years. Do you remember? Do you? Will you ever forget?

Everything falls. The leaves, the temperature, the warmth. Your damn heart.

And it’s then that you can’t take it anymore. Maybe because you see him in your own daughter’s eyes; maybe because she keeps trying to manifest him, as if he’s right here.

So you break. Quietly but aggressively, grabbing her hand as you say, “Enough. No dresses for you. We’re leaving.”

And you do. Suhana doesn’t like the way you pull yourself and her out of the shop. It’s not painful and you’re not violent or rushed; but maybe she hears your altered voice and sees the torment in your face, because she keeps calling for you until you’re home.

Your sister attempts her best to distract you, promising she’ll grab Hana’s gown before you leave and whatnot — but you’re lost in thoughts, still overwhelmed by a flood of memories. You don’t snap at Hana, even though she taps your wrist, asking why you’re mad and where Daddy is, and once you enter the hall in your previous house, you finally snap—

“Get yourself together!” You’re glaring. You never usually do. “I cannot fly to him. Practise patience for a while, alright?”

It shuts her up, but it does something to her expression, too. She’s tearing up, sniffling all of a sudden. Close to breaking, too, when your mother comes out to greet you, and you ask, “Could you just… could you play with her for a bit? Distract her? I just…”

“Yes,” she immediately says, offering Hana her hand, who takes it reluctantly. She’ll be a little angry at you for a few hours. Won’t want you near her. So she obliges. “Take your time, love.”

So you do. Instantly so. Your sister helps, dragging you up to your old room by your elbow, just in time before you finally break down.

She wraps her arms around you as your tears cascade, your chin on her shoulder, shaking, hands unsteady as you lower the sound of your sobs. This isn’t your first time crying here; but it’s the first time the tears blind you entirely.

Your sister lets you mourn for a while, rubbing your back, sitting at the edge of the bed as she mumbles something you can’t make sense of. She’s always been good at comforting you, but this time, she doesn’t know much about the issue itself. Unable to say much.

Instead, she asks, “This isn’t just a casual fight, is it? You had a very bad one.”

“I’m just…” you try, but she shushes you again, tells you it is alright to take your time. You gulp, then start again, “I don’t know what to do.”

“It is this serious? What happened?” She’s concerned, but curious, too. “You still don’t want to tell me?”

You shake your head against her shoulder, and she sighs. You say, “I need to figure this out with him first. Unbiased…”

“I understand. I am here, though. You can stay here or with me… Seokjin knows, so he won’t mind.”

“But… I just—”

“These things happen, love. You know it. Marriage is all compromise and patience.”

You know. Of course you know. Didn’t you have these same exact thoughts all day? You’re aware of the basic foundation of marriage, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

“Does it… always work out?” you ask.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I have a strong feeling that he and you will.”

“…Why? How?

Maybe she’s saying it because she’s trying to lift you up. Maybe it’s part of comfort, to say things people want to hear. But your sister isn’t this type of person; you’ve appreciated her straightforward nature since the beginning of time, and if she didn’t believe in what she said, you’d consider her switched with somebody else.

Which is why you trust her words when she speaks, partly because the sincerity seeps through them from beginning to end, or because you’re well aware of this universal truth, “It’s rare… seeing somebody love like this even after years. Of course there’s always affection, but… sometimes love fades. His doesn’t. He really does feel strongly about you.”

“…He does.”

“See, you’re not doubting it. Maybe that’s enough for now.”

You would never leave such a statement open to debate. Even if a dozen women stood at your doorstep, reminding you of his lustful past and little mistakes, you’d send them away with a nonchalant wave.

Yes, the situation now differs from such a fantasy to its core, but even then, you know to trust in his heart. It’s just the future you’re scared of. The back and forth, the facts presented to you; in the form of a memory and in the form of a child.

Breath heavy and chest aching, you tell her, “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t know either,” she admits, voice quieter now. “But— my first instinct would be… to tell you to go home. I think you need it. Your actual home.”

“And then what…?”

“Whatever your guts tell you to do. What are they telling you now?”

You puff out an exhale; you’re sick of crying. Your head hurts, as if devoid of oxygen. “That I am scared.”

She nods, well aware, digs further, “What else? If you think about the situation, do you see a solution at all?”

Thinking about it… thinking about it…

Properly pondering, you guess you’re not quite at the end of the road. There’s a wall in front of you, but it’s shrinking; if you give it an actual thought and look up, you might be able to climb over it. It’d just need… inhumane strength.

“Maybe… in theory,” you say. “Perhaps.”

Short pause, silence cutting the air. It’s still light outside, but the sky is grey again. No birds chirping, streets and alleys quieter. You think you hear a couple voices, a carriage passing under your window…

You miss the noise. You miss his voice.

You miss the way he sighs in the evenings, staring into a book you might have annoyed him into reading before looking up, noticing your gaze. Smiling at you, overwhelmed by love, leaning in as the novel closes and his lips open…

So your answer shoots out of you when your sister asks, “What else are you thinking?” Clear and ardent and brimming with certainty as you say—

“That I love him.”

The smile she flashes is tiny but telling. Something blooms in her eyes, as if filled with hope, and the little, unconscious gesture, manifesting in her expression, returns the longing to your heart.

A thumb wipes your tears before her hand covers yours, and with a voice so soft and gentle, she concludes, “You really do. Go back, yes?”

And you don’t have it in you to consider her wrong anymore. No matter the hurt, you don’t think you should stay any longer at all. You won’t deny that you needed the escape for a bit; but maybe this suffices.

And in hindsight, maybe you knew how this would end all along.

THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

tumblr doesn't allow making very long posts due to the 1k block limit, so you can find the rest of the chapter and its 7k portion in this reblog! <3

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

Sorry for english mistakes, it is not my first language. Can we have more of what ‘Familial Issues Anon’ was talking about? Requesting for more Brother Aegon but it is not tied to the previous fic? Like Aegon and Little Sister Reader growing up with one another and the ideas of the Anon that requested it? Sorry it is my first tine asking for a fic request!

THE HISTORY BOOK ON THE SHELF. ( HOTD x READER ) [ PREQUEL? ]

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: Young! Aegon Targaryen x Little Sis! Reader prompt: Aegon finds himself enable to grasp the thought of losing you forever. word count: 1, 000+ words

You were a pest. No, you were a clingy pest. Like a leech. Aegon's personal leech. You just stuck to him. No matter how many times he tried to get rid of you, you came waddling back to him like a little duckling. You'd stare up at him, big puppy dog eyes and a giddy smile. So pure, so untouched. He wanted to ruin you. To ruin that good you had in you, in hopes it would make you stop clinging onto him. But, it never worked.

He could spout out the cruelest of insults to you, and you'd just stare at him. So innocent that the words did not click in his head. He could push you, and you'd just stand back up unflinching. Still seeing the best in him. He hated it. It was odd. Why could you not see the bad in him? The bad that everyone else saw in him? Why did you have to be so good? So sweet? So loving?

He hated it. Yet, he craved your presence. There was something nice about having you by his side. You weren't like Jace, trying to impress him. Or as much of a follower as Luke, wanting to fit in. You just adored him and everything he did. Like a stupid puppy. It was a battle within him.

"She's a pest." Yes, but she's your little sister.

"She sees too much good in me." Yes, but wasn't that better than hate?

"She was too young." Yes, only eleven and still too naive to understand just how horrid and rotten he was. But, she made him smile with her child-like wonder of the world.

"She loves you." Yes, she was the only one that did. Or at least, the only one that did love him for him. No matter how rotten he was. 

"She's too clingy." Yes, but one day she will grow out of it and suddenly the loneliness will come creeping back in. She won’t be there trailing after him, or hug him, or smile at him. 

"One day she will marry and leave you all alone." Yes, but for now you were his little sister. You were his little duckling. His little shadow. His little pest and he wanted to cling onto that a little longer. 

Watching you trailing after Aemond like a puppy, he scowls deeply, hatred and jealousy bubbling inside of him. You were supposed to be his little shadow. Not Aemond's. Keeping his distance for now, he watches as you give Aemond a big hug and smile, nodding your little head enthusiastically at whatever he says. The scowl on his face grows more and more deep. What could Aemond say that made you so happy? Watching you hand Aemond a linen cloth, he grows even more angry. No, no, no, that was his thing. You were supposed to give him gifts! Not Aemond.

Not being able to hold back any longer, he stalks towards the two of you, a dark glare on his face pointed towards Aemond. There was no way in the Seven hells was he going to allow Aemond to steal you from him. You were his pest. You were his. Not Aemond. Aemond could have Helaena or Jace and Luke for all he cared. You were his. You were meant to cling onto him. Watching you ramble away to Aemond, he straightens out, puffing up his chest to look more bigger. 

"Oh, Y/n.." He calls out, a hint of sing-song tone in his voice.

"Egg!" You cheerfully call out, your words lisping together.

"Aegon. We've been over this. It's Aegon, not Egg." He huffs, rolling his eyes.

“What are you doing here, Egg?” You ask, not catching his annoyance. 

Watching you completely forget about Aemond, he swiftly picks you up, carrying you on his back in a piggy back ride. You were a little heavy and too big to be carried in such a manner, but he didn’t care. If it meant keeping you close to him, he would grit his teeth and do it. Hearing you giggle loudly, he walks away from Aemond, shooting a deadly glare over his shoulder. As if he was a dog pissing on the ground to mark his territory. He wanted to be clear to everyone, you were his.

“Does not matter.” He brushes off, “We are going to the kitchen’s, I heard they are making lemon cakes.”

“Lemon cakes?”

“Yes, I think we can steal a few of them.” He nods, “What do you say, hm? An adventure with your big brother?”

“I would like that.” You smile, making him perk up.

"Good, good, because I wan't going to put you down anyways."

Watching as you dissect the lemon cake, you push the bitter lemon frosting away with your fork, piling it up on the side of the plate. Smiling softly as you turn your plate so he could eat the frosting, his gaze softens ever so slightly, shoulder’s relaxing. You were too kind. Even when eating your food, you still wanted to share with him, knowing that the frosting was always his favorite part. Pushing his uneaten slice closer to you, he had no desire to eat the lemon cake anymore, just wanting to see you smile some more. 

“Aegon?” You mumble, playing with your food with your fork. 

“Yes?” 

“I have a question.” You stare at the plate, “About marriage.”

“Marriage? What in the Seven’s name is making you think of marriage? You’re too young for that.” 

“Grandsire said I will one day make a good wife and mother. That I must follow my studies closely.” You mumble, “Do you think that I will be a good wife and mother one day?”

Furrowing his brows in confusion, he didn’t know why you were asking such a question, you were a long way away before marriage would become a concern. You barely turned ten and one, weeks ago. You should be focused on other matter’s, like embroidery or whatever stupid Court gossip spread around.

Wrinkling his nose up the more he thinks of you getting married, the more he dislikes the thought. You were too young, and too important for him to let you succumb to such a boring fate. If he was King, you would never have to marry. You two would just fly on dragon back and have fun all day. 

“I do. But, that’s like a billion years from now.” He rolls his eyes, exaggerating with his words.

“Do you think so? I know of many other girl’s who are already betrothed.” You mumble, playing with the frosting. 

“Yes, well, those other girls aren’t you. You're a Princess, a Targaryen one. You’re important and different from them. They're dull.” He shakes his head, refusing to compare you to the other girl in Court.

“You think so?” You ask, eyes full of so much hope.

“I know so. We’re Targaryen’s! Everyone wants to be us because we are special and they are dull and common.” He smiles, “There’s a thousand of them, and only one of you. You’re special.”

Watching as a big goofy smile spreads on your face, he perks up at the sight, happy to cause such joy within you. Picking apart the lemon cake with his fork, he watches as your eyes lower down to your plate, shoulder’s slouching for a moment. The smile on your face falters for a moment, almost as if some thought popped in your head and ruined the moment. Furrowing his brows at how quick the joy is gone, he wanted to punch whoever or whatever had popped into your head. 

“What is it?” He asks, slightly concerned by your shift in mood. 

“But, Grandsire said⎯”

“You are barely reaching your ten and two name day. You are too young to be considered a wife or Mother.” He shakes his head dismissively, “Grandsire is a fool. Do not let such things upset you. I won’t let them marry you off. You’ll stay here in the Red Keep with me, for like, forever.” 

Little did either of you know, that just on the other end of the Red Keep.Your marriage had already been arranged, and soon you’d be shipped off.

---

[theemporium]

and to the poll voters who i thought i cheated you out of these two idiots, here they are!!

series masterlist

.

“You know I love you, right?”

Max lifted his head when you stopped right in front of him. He raised his brows, leaning back in his seat on the couch as he took you in. You looked serious, which was only slightly unsettling, as you stood with your hands on your hips.

“Yes?” He said eventually, though it came out more like a question.

“And I only want what’s best for you. You know that, right?”

He frowned a little. “Yes. Although stressing me out with whatever you are going to say next doesn’t feel like it’s best for me…” 

“Okay, good. As long as you remember those things in a few minutes when you’re cursing me out,” you said with a nod, ignoring the discombobulated look on your husband’s face before you let out a sharp whistle. 

Max’s frown deepened. “What’s—”

However, he was promptly cut off when the door swung open and all three Leclerc brothers made their way into the flat. Max barely had a chance to acknowledge them before they were grabbing him—two on his legs and one on his arms—and carrying him out the house. 

“What the fuck?! Let me down!” 

“I’m sorry, baby!” You called out as you followed the four of them out of the house. “But this fear of the dentist can’t keep getting in the way of your health!”

Max’s struggles seemed to quicken at the mention of the dentist. “Baby—”

“Max, you know it’s for the best.”

And it was. He knew that. He knew that the second he was outside of the dental practice, there was little else he could do. But he would put on a great damn struggle until then, on the off chance he could escape and top up on the painkillers he had been having over the last week to numb the pain in his mouth.

…

“Do you think he will be mad at me?”

“He could never be mad at you,” Lorenzo assured you as he tugged you into his side. “You were doing what’s best for him. He knows that.”

“What if I broke his trust doing this and he never forgives me?” You continued, letting out a shaky breath. “He was just in so much pain and I couldn’t just sit there—”

“The man worships the ground you walk on,” Arthur pointed out. “He couldn’t even give you the silent treatment for longer than five minutes the last time he tried.”

But his words didn’t ease the tightness in your chest. “But what if—”

“He’s not going to break up with you over this,” Charles spoke up, a sincere understanding glimmering in his eyes that your other two brothers lacked. “He loves you far too much for that.” 

You nodded, opening your mouth to say something else but a voice interrupted. 

“Mrs Verstappen?”

You barely glanced back at your brothers as you followed the nurse through the dental practice. You nodded as you listened intently, taking in everything she said about how to best treat Max at home with painkillers and the healing process in general. 

You were about to ask a few more questions when you heard a familiar voice that made your stomach flip.

“WHERE’S MY WIFE? I WANT MY WIFE! BABY? WHERE ARE YOU?” 

Your cheeks burned as you shot the nurse an apologetic look before quickly rushing into the room, making your way towards Max as you tried to quieten him down. However, the second he noticed you, his face instantly lit up and he had little care in the world for anything else.

“Where have you been?” The words were muffled and slightly slurred, but the slight lisp made your smile widen. 

“Waiting for you,” you assured him as you took his hand, raising it to your lips to place a quick kiss on the back of his hand.

He stared at you blankly. “That’s not my lips.”

You snorted. “Your mouth is a bit too busy right now for me to kiss.”

Max frowned before he turned to the dentist. “Take these out right now! My wife won’t kiss me!”

Your eyes widened. “Max!” 

“No, I want kisses from my wife!” Max said, shaking his head before he tried to reach out and pull the gauze out himself.

“Looks like you’re gonna have a handful with him,” a nurse teased as she watched you grab both of his hands before he could rip his stitches open in his mouth.

You smiled. “Yeah but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Because she loves me!” Max added. 

“I do.”

“Soooooo much!”

“That is also true.”

“She loves me so much that she even lets me—”

“Okay, that’s enough talking, babe!”

.

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

The Birthday - 8

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Given everything that had transpired over the last few days, I shouldn't have been surprised by the sight that greeted me in the kitchen. However, despite everything, I still was.

As I waddled behind Melody, still dressed in the abhorrently sexy blue nightie and matching lingerie she woke up in, and entered the dining room, I couldn't help but grimace at the sight. Beside our normal dining room set up, a large, adult-sized high chair was looming in the middle of the room.

"Mommy," I lisped out in frustration and terror, "Pwease, no!"

Melody turned and glared at me as she pulled the tray off of the chair, revealing the white wooden seat underneath as well as the ankle and wrist restraints attached to it.

"You didn't just say, 'No,' to Mommy, did you baby boy?" She crooned with a warning tone. "Maybe I should just take away your ability to use that word at all?"

I felt my bladder release involuntarily at the thought of my wife using her new-found power to remove my ability to even voice the word, 'No.'

"Mommy, no… I mean… Pwease… I'll be good!"

The smile my wife threw me as I pathetically acquiesced to her threats caused me to shuffle submissively on my bare feet. What was I becoming, that I could so easily be cowed by her. Was I really just the male version of the pathetic little diaper girls from my stories?

Before I could ruminate on that thought longer, the sound of flesh on wood snapped my consciousness back into the real world.

"Come here, baby boy! Climb on up your highchair! Mommy's got all sorts of num-nums to feed you this morning!" Melody slapped the seat of the chair, urging me to comply with her command.

Without a word, I waddled over to the childish throne and little Melody help me up. As I climbed into the seat, she took the opportunity to squeeze the soaked padding between my legs.

"Maybe I should have bought you thicker diapers? Hm… I wonder how you'd look in two? You seem to love making those poor little things in your stories wear padding so thick that they can't walk. I know that my itty-bitty little hubby would absolutely love that!"

I felt my face turn bright red at my wife's words. The thought of wearing even thicker diapers overwhelming me. But, I didn't say anything to contradict her. I wasn't going to risk losing my ability to refuse her so near to when the threat had been made.

"But, first things first! Let's get my hungry little man fed!"

Melody strapped my wrists and ankles into the surprisingly comfortable cuffs before sliding the highchair's tray back into place. I pulled against the restraints slightly, testing their strength, only to confirm what I already knew: I was well and truly stuck.

"Sweet pea, I know it's your birthday weekend. And I know you love a big, yummy breakfast. But, it's been more than 24-hours since you made a stinky."

I nearly died inside as I watched my drop dead gorgeous wife sashay into the kitchen as she discussed my bowel movements (or lack there of) like I was an infant. I felt my manhood grow in my soggy pants, betraying the dignity I was so desperately trying to cling to.

"So, unfortunately, instead of the tasty pancakes and bacon, I was going to make you, Mommy's got to make you something that'll help get the poo-poo express moving instead."

I whimper in response, hating the fact I can't use my hands to hide my face from the embarrassment of my situation.

"Luckily for you, I have just the thing."

I watched nervously from my perch, suckling my paci, as Melody got to work making my breakfast. From my vantage point, I couldn't see much until she turned around.

I almost spit out my paci as I stared at what was in her hand. A gigantic bowl of oatmeal topped with prunes, a large spoon, and a bottle full of a purple liquid that could only be prune juice.

I wiggled futilely in my seat as she approached.

Yes, I had wet myself. I had nursed on her tit. I had even debased myself in my sleep in front of her. But, I wouldn't--I couldn't--bring myself to shit in a diaper just for her own, petty amusement. However, with the terror that filled my body at just the thought of a toilet and knowledge of what that meal would do to my guts, I couldn't see how I was escaping this.

So, I did the next best thing I could--well, at least the next best thing that came to my mind at the time. Really, it was the only thing I could think to do. I threw what was, in retrospect, a tantrum.

"No, no, no, no, no! Please, Mommy, please! No! I'll be good! I'll be good! Don't make me eat that! I don't want to poop my pants! I'm not a baby!"

My words flowed from me in a rush as I shook desperately in my seat. Melody shook her head.

"What did Mommy say about telling her no? Such a naughty baby. Mommy says you don't know how to use that naughty word anymore!"

My brain and tongue felt like it shorted out as I tried to continue my cries.

"N… Nnnn… NnNnNnNNn… Mommy… Nnnnn! Not a baby!" Spit dribbled from my lips rather than the end of the word I was suddenly unable to say.

In my highchair, drool dribbling down my chin, babbling like an infant, while throwing a tantrum in a soggy diaper, I couldn't believe my own words. Tears started to stream down my face as I let my body go slack against my restraints.

Melody gently caressed the side of my face soothingly as she set the bowl and bottle down in front of me.

"Hush, baby, it's not so bad being Mommy's good boy. You'll see. Now, let's get you fed."

Defeated, I put up little resistance to my wife when she began to feed me the disgusting mix of fiber and fruit from the bowl in front of me. I opened my mouth and ate spoonful after spoonful of the messy concoction, Melody teasing me the whole time and making sure to insure my face and chest were as messy as possible by making me miss the spoon and overfilling my mouth with the mush.

"Such a messy eater! Look at you! I wonder how long it'll be until your little tushy is as messy as your face?"

I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I was anywhere else when, as if in answer to my wife's question, a cramp rocked my stomach, causing me to bend over in my seat.

"Mommy," I chirped out pathetically, "please, nnnnn…"

Tears ran down my face anew as I realized I physically couldn't say no and emotionally couldn't bring myself to ask to use the toilet. I was fucked.

"What, baby?" She responded with a knowing smirk, "Are you thirsty? Here, drink your baba!"

She shoved the nipple of the bottle in my mouth, shutting down my pathetic protests. And I moaned as another cramp hit me.

I didn't want to drink. My stomach suddenly felt too full to take any more. I looked up at Melody with big, pathetic eyes, blushing again as I thought about just how adult and sexy she must look compared to how disgusting and little I felt.

"Mommy says drink."

That's all it took. Reflectively, I began to suckle the sweet juice. I drank so quickly, the prune juice started to dribble down my cheek, joining the remains of the oatmeal.

At the same time, the cramps in my stomach intensified, becoming unbearable. My tears increased as I realized I had no choice. I was going to shit myself for the first time as an adult.

With an audible grunt and a squint of my eyes, I gave in. A torrent of warm, sticky mess exploded from my ass, filling the already soggy diaper. The sticky mess, squishing around my ass, made it feel like I was sitting on a pile of warm playdough. The knowledge of what it was, caused me to get a little, but, despite my disgust, I couldn't stop suckling.

"That's my good boy, making Mommy a big, stinky present!"

The bottle between my lips finally emptied, leaving me sucking air as Melody took it from me.

"Don't you just look like the most pathetic little thing! Why don't I take a picture commemorating this moment!"

She crooned, stepping back and taking out her phone.

"Mommy says smile! Mommy says say, 'Stinky Diapers!'"

Involuntarily, I could feel a huge, stupid grin cross my face. Staring right at the camera, with an embarassingly cheery tone, I yelled, "Stinky Diapers," as my wife took a picture of me in my humiliating state.

She walked back over me, phone in hand, and showed me the photo of myself. I almost felt like my brain broke in that moment.

The person staring back at me with the big stupid grin on his face couldn't be me. His face and chest were covered in oatmeal and juice like a messy toddler. He was strapped into a highchair like an infant. And the white diaper between his legs? It was tinted a suspicious shade of brown and yellow.

Worst of all though, he appeared to be enjoying all of it.

However, as much as I wanted to deny that was me, staring back from the phone, I couldn't.

You can't make someone do something they don't want to with hypnosis.

The phrase ran throw my mind, and I visibly shuddered.

"Let's get my baby boy cleaned up! Mommy's got one more big birthday surprise for you this weekend!" Melody's voice cut through the din of my thoughts.

I nearly wet myself again, horrified to see what new terrors she had in store for me.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Hi!! I’ve been seeing your stuff for a little while now and needless to say, IM IN LOVE WITH YOUR WRITING!! 🙏🙏 like literally I could just sit and read everything you’ve ever written I swear!

Anyways, I absolutely love your teen dad!Sam x teen mom!reader and was just wondering if you’d delve a little more into reader and Vinnie? I know the whole point is to write about Sam but I think it would be so cute to get a little insight on reader and Vinnie’s dynamic y’know?

I don’t really have any ideas 🧍‍♀️ so creative freedom I guess? (Which isn’t very helpful now that I think about it 😅)

Have a lovely day/afternoon/night to you and anyone who might read this!!

-🦤 (dunno if the dodo is taken but can I be the dodo anon if it’s not? 🫣)

“Okay, Vinnie, spread it gently.” you muttered to your standing on a chair boy - that way so he could actually reach the cake. He gave you a very serious, very focused nod. Chubby little hands gripped the plastic spatula as he shoved a glob of frosting across the top of the cake.

It was far from gentle.

“…That’s.. great, sweetheart.” You winced, watching him smear it around like he was finger painting.

Vinnie, on the other hand, was thrilled. So much new textures, sensory play (yeah...) and so many delicious stuff to steal

“‘Th Sammy cake!!” he lisped proudly, flashing you a big, frosting-covered grin.

God, he was adorable.

You snickered at your toddler, giving him a big kiss on his cheek (causing him to all bubble in giggles) before you turned, grabbing a towel to wipe his hands off before he could—

Too late.

When you turned back, his hands were in his mouth, tiny fingers sticky with nothing but the frosting. Eyes blinked up at you, caught red-handed but so proud of himself. Of course, he just giggled, smacking his hands back onto the cake and making the biggest, messiest handprint right in the middle.

“Alright, let’s just—let’s write Sam’s name, yeah?”

"Okay..well..just be gentle, okay baby?” you muttered, exhaling slow. Vinnie babbled something incomprehensible, with this innocent grin of his

You guided his tiny hands over the piping bag, squeezing it carefully as the frosting wobbled into shaky, clumsy letters: S A M M Y. It was… barely legible. The bag, thanks to you squeezing too hard, exploded, spilling the fat drops of icing everywhere. Including your face, shirt, and very happy toddler. But hey...it was adorable, right? And after all, it was family bonding

Vinnie clapped his hands, squealing, “Tha Sammy!!”

You smiled through upcoming tears before kissing the top of his head. “That’s right, baby. It’s for Sammy.”

It took you some time to clean it off. Vinnie of course cleaned himself off; some wiped clumsily with the towel, some he just cleaned with his mouth. But as soon as the exhausted sigh left your lips, you made the mistake of looking away again. Because the next thing you knew, Vinnie had grabbed the shiny sprinkle container with his surprisingly strong toddler hands and—

Dumped the entire thing on top of the cake.

A rain of bright, neon-colored sugar covered everything. The cake. The counter. His chubby little arms.

Vinnie gasped. Not in horror, more in pure joy, as if he never saw something so magical before.

You just stared.

“…That’s a lot of sprinkles, baby.”

Vinnie nodded, grinning. “Tha Sammy cake!!”

You exhaled through your nose, biting back a laugh because—well, this cake was a mess, but it was a mess made with so much love.

You scooped Vinnie into your arms, pressing kisses against his sticky little cheek. “You’re the best helper, you know that? Mommy's favorite helper”

Vinnie melted into you, resting his frosting-covered face against your shoulder. “Mhm…”

The cake was a disaster, to say the least. But when Sam walked in and saw his name written in clumsy letters, a toddler handprint in the frosting, and more sprinkles than actual cake with you in the middle of it cuddling a child-

Yeah. He had to swallow the lump in his throat before muttering, “It’s… cool, I guess.” PS. He was so in love with you and his little dude, it was embarrassing.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden @cherriies-snake @skywalkerssgirl

[hyewka]

i once saw a nsfw Reddit or something talking about how the user and his gf tried aphrodisiac chocolate and he fucking passed out from the pleasure and woke up to his gf still using him… i think about it a lot

anon youre responsible for getting me completely off track because this is sooooooooo hot now i literally cant stop thinking about beomgyu who’s under aphrodisiacs fuckkkkk😭😭😭😭😭😭

imagine gyu accidentally eating them just because you misplaced and hadn’t labeled the ziplog, so when you come back from the bathroom to continue your movie marathon, you see your previously very much normal-not horny boyfriend frantically, manically jerking off, letting out sinister moans an whines you’re surprised you hadn’t heard it when you were in the bathroom- it takes you by total surprise because you’re sure five minutes ago he was totally fine… when you hesitantly walk closer to the couch, hes a mess hoodie ruined with his dried load, his jaw slack letting his drool dribble from the ends of his mouth…god he looked like a total slut. you ignore what shoots down between your legs and dryly laugh—he doesn’t even know you’re here. “babe?”

his eyes shoot open, but even then they’re cloudy, so clearly out of it and heavy lidded. dumbly he manages to babble even as he fails to stop jacking off, moaning wantonly. “k-..ng-kiss me—kiss-” imagine he sounds even dumber with his lisp coming out, just talking with his tongue out like a dog 😞

beomgyu’s desperate but never this desperate. somethings not clicking. but does it matter? you’ve already basically drenched your panties seeing him like this-but you don’t even get to process too much before he erupts, twitching cock semen shooting up in the air and some of it lands on your feet. imagine just being shell shocked of the cum on your feet that you dont even notice the man jumping up before practically engulfing you, kissing your neck in hot frenzy and you’re just taken by complete surprise at how strongly he reacts to…everything. imagine that when you reciprocate, pressing your lips against his just as eagerly as he came onto you, hes trembling under you, not even being able to kiss back properly, its like his mind was completely shut off for sex, and thats when it clicks. the chocolate.

you’re on his lap and he’s quite literally frying, hips bucking with no thought or rhythm like a dog in heat, when you look back to the coffee table to see your ziplog completely emptied your eyes widen. “pay attention..hah..p-pay attention to me” he mumbles as he feverishly presses wet kisses all over your skin, how can you turn from him any longer?

lol but imagine he passes out just like that reddit guy bcs of a little grinding and kissing and hes all sweaty and dirty and a complete mess.. will be taking pictures of his fucked out face for sure with his hair sticking out and all over the place & his cheeks flushed that would be the sexiest thing ever

[sunrisecaminus]

I have been reading your stuff for a while now and really would love some fluff and smut of either or both Ultra Magnus and Soundwave. Ultra Magnus has an adorable lisp that I just can't get over, it makes his character whole and charming. Soundwave is such a good bean, I really love how he protects his cassettes like they are his children.

Message - I did Soundwave only. Ultra Magnus is my baby boy, so don't worry. I will be making my own fanfics once in a while. I will most likely do an Ultra Magnus fanfic soon.

Soundwave x Human Reader NSFW

Summary - Soundwave treats his human after leaving to complete a mission for too long!

Warning - NSFW

Soundwave has been getting more work than normal. This man has been getting physical missions more often as well, which is usually not a good thing. He usually stays inside the ship and types on his computer, but everyday you try to look for him and he isn't there. When he is gone, you had nothing to do. Usually Laserbeak would play with you, or you could play puzzles with Soundwave…but alas, they are not here for you to hang out with. You were so tired of this, that honestly you want to go up to Megatron right now and tell him yourself why he should stop Soundwave from going on these missions! He is right at his throne right now! You stomp over to his pedes and-

…

So you are now in Soundwave's room, hiding from the scary Warlord. You locked yourself inside so Megatron couldn't get to you and climb up on his birth. You forgot that Megatron didn't like you and also didn't like it when people criticize his orders, so for now you are stuck in the 2nd in command's quarters. It has been a few hours since you knew Soundwave left, so you were ready to scold him when he got back. For now, you are jumping on his birth and lay on the sheets. You see a few things in his birthroom that usually people would look pass like it was nothing. It seemed very minimalist with only a bland desk and chair. It had some data pads with some decorative jars on the back corner. He has shown you what the jars had in them and honestly it has to be the cutest thing ever. There was a bunch of trinkets that Laserbeak would collect on her journeys that she would like to have. Every jar had hundreds of them, protected by the thick sealing. On the walls, there was frames of red and black paintings that kind of look like the human version of modern art, but it was actually Laserbeak's paintings she tried to make. You never knew why people were so afraid of the second in command…but you were about to find out today.

You hear the door unlocking and opening. Laserbeak comes into view with Soundwave, flying over and landing right next to you. "Hi sweetie!" You hug her with open arms and start to pet her head. You were so happy to see her finally, thankfully she was not injured today so it seemed to have been successful. Soundwave doesn't say anything like usual, but he is feeling something different today. He almost lost Laserbeak in the fight he just had, and is very overprotective right now. He watches you and Laserbeak playing with each other and it was making him feel things he shouldn't for someone like you. He needed to calm down, or everything would get messy. Soundwave was feeling, hungry. You look over to see him staring and huff. "Y'know I tried to talk to Megatron earlier! You keep leaving me alone with nothing to do!" You fold your arms in a joking fashion and look a little angry. Soundwave just doesn't move and keeps thinking, Primus you were so cute. He couldn't believe the bravery you had to even say anything to Megatron with how much of a dumpster fire he is. You kept ranting to him on how you felt lonely and honestly, all he could think about is your face. Laserbeak was playfully supporting you, being behind your body and nodding in agreement. Oh, you don't want him to leave? He will get as close to you as he could to help you forgive him.

…

Laserbeak left to go back to scouting, you and Soundwave ate your respective meals as you read some of the data bases that Soundwave was given. You could read it a little, the cybertronian language was a bit hard to understand. You could tell that it was letters to him sent by Megatron, Knockout, and some soldiers. Soundwave was on his birth, watching you in the corner of his eye as he shifts through his drawer to get some buffing done. You just looked so pretty in his eyes, he never knew humans would be so pretty when they don't even do anything to be that way. If you put on make-up he thinks the creativity makes you even more pretty. Nothing you do can make you ugly in his eyes…nothing. All he wanted to do was make you see what he sees. He wanted you to relax and let him make you appreciated, he wanted you to feel loved. As he is having a love spell casted on him, you were just chillin. Grabbing a pencil, you start to draw on the data pad to make cute pictures beside the data pads. Honestly, you were so bored without anything to do on this ship. Soundwave bought you a bunch of stuff, but it wouldn't get here until next month. Drawing and having fun with soundwave was almost everyday, but right now, you wanted to do something different. You feel something wrap around your wrist and see it was a wire connected to Soundwave's tendrils. "Oh? What's up!" You look over to see Soundwave staring at you like he was before, giving you nothing on his screen to communicate what he wants. "Uh-Hey big man what's going on?" Again, he doesn't say anything while another tendril circles you, wrapping around your hips.

You feel yourself being picked up, as the tendrils support your body with a nice and comfortable embrace. Feeling his touch, you were curious on what he wanted from you. He brings you closure to his frame and looks at your vulnerable state…yeah, he couldn't control himself anymore. His tendril holding your wrist lets go and starts to rub against your legs, going from the outside to the inner thigh, massaging you so your body could relax. His touch was nice, though you never knew he would be so touchy. The feeling of the wires touching around your sensitive areas made you a bit dazed, watching them slide in between your legs as they tug on your pants. "Mmm…Soundwave, you ok?" The moment you asked his head perked up a bit. Not his little human try to care about him when he is suppose to be treating you. His body gets a bit hot from the love he is feeling right now and takes your pants off slowly. Before you could say anything else, you feel a tendril tying itself around your head, forcing your mouth closed by covering your lips. You feel your folds being played with by the wires as they enter inside your walls. Hearing your moans being muffled by his tendrils made Soundwave want to continue, grabbing at your thighs and hips. He realized there wasn't a way for him to show you how beautiful you were…he had to think of something before you could cum. Thinking about it, he gets an idea and hovers you close to his face mask. At first you were embarrassed on how close you got…but it got worse when Soundwave's face turned into a mirror like screen. You can see yourself on his face naked and bounded by his strength. Watching with your owns eyes the tendrils going in and out of your vagina was so flattering. He watches as your face gets bright pink and struggle against his grip…Soundwave enjoyed your little playful reaction.

It continued…for hours. He would massage your body to give you a break, but than go back into the action. He calculates that you have released about four times now, knowing you won't be able to keep this going any longer. You weren't moaning anymore, you were just making sweet uneducated noises at him. Your brain was clouded, your legs were weak, and your crotch has never felt hotter before…cumming for the fifth time today. Soundwave retracted his tendrils away from you to look at his masterpiece. Your human body shakes a little from the events that just happened, feeling you would pass out if he tried to do it again. You hear a small click sound and see that he just took a picture of your body, saving it in his processor. "Soundwave! N-no!" All you could hear from him is a small evil chuckle. Yeah, Soundwave will never delete that picture if his life depends on it.

[luveline]

hellooo I have a request for Spencer x bombshell! reader (I'm not sure if you've done this before and if you have I apologise!!) but like they're on a case and one of them gets pretty badly hurt somehow & then the other is really worried about them & stuff and then I'm not sure (I think this could be good but not the way that I have spoken about it and so I'm very very sorry!!)

u r so awesome don’t worry!!

cw canon typical violence and injury

Everything is crisp and quiet at the precipice of the stakeout. You adjust your gun where it’s poised over the roof of an SUV away from a moving officer’s body. The negotiator adjusts the megaphone at their thigh nervously, waiting for Hotch’s go ahead. You’re all waiting for it. A hand raised, sending you in, hostage recovered, a long case coming to a short close. 

“Don’t forget your leg,” Spencer says to you under his breath. 

“Trust me, babe, I can’t forget it,” you say back, glancing quickly at him to your left. He’s facing forward, trained on the window where you’d last seen the unsub. The distance between you both and the danger is small, less than three feet of space. You and Spencer don’t have a clear shot, the agent’s behind you better equipped and better trained, but you can make do in a pinch. 

“Hurting?” he whispers. 

“Half as bad as it was yesterday.” 

“I have a bad feeling.” 

“Yeah?” You follow Hotch’s hand. The negotiation begins. You and Spencer don’t talk again. 

The unsub is sour, the victim terrified. When the screaming inside begins in earnest, the FBI rolls inside, confident in taking down the unsub, if a little worried about the victims wellbeing. You and Spencer sweep in less than ten inches away from each other, unafraid, and you don’t see the sledgehammer until it’s hitting you in the jaw, spraying blood like dark ink over Spencer’s pale cheek. 

—

“I don’t care if that’s what you recommend.” A drag of a soft touch somewhere on your skin. “Sincerely. I want a second opinion.” 

“It’s a mandibular fracture, we have a suitable follow up procedure.” 

“I understand, but I’m doing what she’d want me to do. When she wakes up, she’ll say the same thing, and so there’s no point in starting the paperwork for a procedure she won’t agree to.” 

“I doubt her cosmetic preferences will outweigh functionality.” 

It’s Spencer’s voice, Spencer’s hand on your leg. He’s reaching back to hold you as he defends you. “Respectfully, you don’t know her. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. She needs peace and quiet.” 

The doctor harrumphs but leaves. Quiet is restored, and for a while you doze, the only thing at your attention Spencer’s hand where it climbs. He takes your hand. You know his fingers well where they twine between yours. 

A few hours pass by in sluggish slee, the bed elevated to an uncomfortable sitting position. 

“Hey?” he asks, fingertips to the hill of your shoulder. “Are you waking up?” 

You can’t make your mouth form words. Your eyes flash open in shock.

“Hey, don’t panic. I’m sorry, I’m going to explain, but please don’t panic.” 

You wait. 

Spencer stands in a rumpled shirt, hair in his eyes, glasses slipping down his nose. “Your jaw is broken, fractured, actually, pretty badly. You’ve had so much pain relief over the last few hours I’m surprised you can even open your eyes, and it’s good you’re struggling to move your mouth because it would only hurt anyways.” He claps your arm gently. “I’m sorry. I’m not going anywhere though, okay? I’m right here.” 

That’s not what scares you; you know Spencer’s gonna stay. It’s not a question. 

Your hand strays up to your face. 

“It’s not bad,” he swears, and perhaps lies. 

“Spence,” you manage, a croak that aches and lisps at once. 

“It’s okay,” he says, leaning down. “Please don’t get upset.” 

You blink tearfully. You don’t remember what happened, just the flash of pain and now Spencer looking down at you like you’re wounded. He sits carefully on the side of your bed and grabs you by the waist, two hands on your sides and arms resting on your stomach, like a hug that hasn’t crept forward. 

“You won’t like the bruise,” he says apologetically. 

“Bad?” you whisper. 

“It’s all the way up to your eye. He also chipped two of your teeth… I’m so sorry, angel. It was my fault.” He thumbs your ribs. “I’ll fix everything. I already talked to your dentist, and tonight they’re coming back to talk about your plastics because the blow split your skin, okay? But you're mostly fixed already.” 

“‘M I… still pretty?” you ask. 

“Still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, not half as shyly as he’d usually would. 

You cry panicked, dribbly tears. He rubs shapes into your sides and swears again that it’ll all be okay, and it’s not that you don’t believe him, it’s just that it’s really starting to hurt. 

“Had a bad feeling,” he says, wiping your tears as gently as he can before they can wet the bandaging on your jaw.

“Did you get him for me?” you ask. 

Morgan clears his throat from the doorway to announce his arrival, a coffee cup in hand, pastry bag hanging between his pinky and marriage finger. He sounds like he’s about to laugh, “Did you, lover boy?” He beams at you. “I’ve never seen him pistol whip someone before. You would’ve loved it.”

You groan in agony. Missing out on seeing that is almost as bad as breaking your jaw. 

“I’ll recreate it for you,” Spencer promises. 

“And now it’s time for him to eat,” Morgan says, putting the pastry bag on the bed, “and get some sleep. He hasn’t slept in the two days you’ve been in here.”

“I had important stuff to take care of,” he says, rubbing your side. “While you couldn’t do it yourself.”

“Sleep,” you insist through your achy mouth.

Spencer’s eyes go soft and sad. “I will.”

[euaphora]

omg could u please do freaky nerdy megumi? like u guys r study buddies in college n he’s always had a crush on you but he’s been to shy to say anything until you ask him out then you find out he a lil freaky n not the “cute innocent” guy he thought he was when u guys in bed, you could also add ur magic! please and thank you 🙏🏾😽

remember when I was your women crush, he said yeah!

✎ᝰ subby!needy!bf!Megumi x reader

Study sessions with him were always a blast because when you would get distracted, he would always remind you to focus and talk about your grade in that class.

It was never in a mean way but in a way were you felt comfortable telling him what you struggled with so when you had texted him to come over to help you, how could he say no?

He had panned on making up an excuse again, “sorry my friends want to hang out,” or would straight up tell you he had something going on. Of course he did, he had been pumping his fist to a picture he took of you in wide ultra on his iphone, you didn’t think much of it is you let him take pictures.

The picture had you take up the whole screen, cleavage showing everything beneath your shirt, almost getting dressed coded from showing your strap. You had your lips in a pouty form, looking up at the camera while your brows were furrowed, imagining he was taking you from the back.

Soon as he was about to cum, his phone starts vibrating—making him sign while he takes the call—cock still in his hand while he tries to cam down his breathing.

“Gumi! Are you coming or not, I’ve been waiting forever!?” You harshly put out, making his cock twitch in his hand just by the way you were putting him in his place. “Y-yup, coming so so soon!”

You had placed the popcorn brown on the floor along with your other notebooks and laptop, feeling anxious you called megumi with an already irritated attitude and waited for him to pick up.

“Hello?” He says on the other line, sounding like he just ran a mile, very weird. You explained to him to hurry up and finish, hearing a approvals hum coming out of him, saying he’ll be here soon.

“Hurry up then, I can’t keep waiting-”

A whimper accidentally falls from his lips, making your body stiffen by the way he sounded, feeling yourself get wet already.

“megumi…”

“please tell me you didn’t hear that, please.”

“I wouldn’t want to be lying to you, now come over.” You demand, hanging up. A couple minutes later you hear a knock on the door, quickly running towards it while you set your phone down on the counter, peeping through the small whole you to see him looking down, nervous as ever.

“Come in.”

He enters your small apartment your parents had boughten you so they wouldn’t have to be constant helping you pay for your dorm. Before he could even explain himself you pull his in by the back of his head and crash your lisp into his, he feels his hard bulge coming back, making you feel it around your lower parts, height difference between you two.

You smile into the kiss but try and pull away, making him a little upset just to pull you back into the kiss, giving you a passionate one. He pulls back this time, “I could explain..”.

“Explain what? That you got off to someone when you were suppose to be studying with me?” You ask, remembering he had picked up the phone with lewd sounds coming from the other side.

“It was you, I had been getting myself off to..you, I just didn’t know how to tell you ‘cause I don’t want you to think bad of me, y/n.” He explains, giving little goosebumps to his answer.

“Oh.” You whisper, almost nothing coming out from how quiet you had said it. “Do you need help?” You mention your hand to his hard on, making you giggle a little. He looks down at it then up at you, giving you pleading eyes, “please..” he groans.

You pull him by his hand, walking towards the couch while he follows behind you, “sit down.” He didn’t have to be told twice, he places his body on the couch, getting nervous on how this was going to go down.

“Don’t be nervous, baby.” You coo, already on your knees with your hands wrapped around gis cock, pumping out the pre-cum from the tip as you give him a big smile.

He can’t help but watch you tease him, “c’mon, don’t be like that with me,please!” He moans out, showing how vocal he can be in bed, making your head go crazy.

Wrapping your lips around his tip, you use your hands to massage and lightly squeeze his balls while he pushes his head back from the pleasure. “God! Use me, do whatever you want.. just ‘wanna cum in your mouth.”

Fitting his entire dick inside your mouth, he looked down at your current state, mascara running, brows furrowed and tears slipping from your eyes, making him cum on the spot.

“Yes, oh my god!”

You look up at him and see him whine out after all that he came, you make a pop sound when you remove your round lips away from his now soft and light red colored cock, “Did that feel good, baby?”

“Felt amazing, holy shit..!”

His ropes of cum fell all over your upper body- breasts, face, hair- picking some up with your fingers.

“Sorry, let me get a towel.” you giggle, watching his legs shake while he gets up.

[b3ach-bunn7]

27 DRESSES (2/6)

You try not to lose your mind while planning your sisters wedding to the man you're in love with. All the while, a certain blonde haired reporter can’t seem to leave you alone

noquirk!au, movie turned fanfic

————————————————————————-

You’ve been in a lot of horrible situations in your life.

That one wedding where the groom ran off at the last minute. Firing someone when Togata was too scared to do it. But this, being an awkward third wheel at your sister and bosses date, is definitely top three. 

The sun bears down hot and heavy on your head, the cap you’re wearing poorly shielding the rays from your eyes. Your skin smells like sun cream and it’s a beautiful day, no clouds and the soft feeling of summer all around you. You’re at Togata’s little brothers baseball game. It’s not actually his little brother, but a kid from the Boy Scouts program. You love Midoriya. He’s cute and all freckled from the sun, smile shining from all the way into the field.

It’s hard to be annoyed when the atmosphere is so lovely, but you’re sure you can manage. Tess is very touchy, you find out while waiting in the queue for food, unable to keep her hands off Togata for a single second. You push forward as soon as it’s your turn and start fishing out your wallet.

You lean forward on the edge of the stall. “Alright, I’ll have three diet cokes, three fries, and-“

You turn to Tess, who’s hand is now around Togata’s arm, “You want a chilli dog, right?”

Tess laughs and shoves your shoulder a little harder than you think is necessary. “Well, unless it’s a Tofu dog, then no, silly.”

You pause where you’d been digging out cash. “Sorry, what?”

“I’m vegetarian.”

It takes a lot of self control not to laugh in her face. Your eyes dart to Togata’s and the dots start to connect.

“Ah, I see. Funny thing, did you know Togata is a vegetarian, too?” You muse.

“Oh, you.” Tess grits out, her elbow knocking into your side. “Of course I know. He used to be a vegan.”

You roll your eyes. The chili dog is warm in your hand and you take an angry bite. Tess and Togata grab their own food and you all stalk your way back to your seats.

Tess sighs wistfully. “It’s hard, you know? I feel like the world isn’t made for us sometimes. I mean, I even have to make my own tofurky jerky whenever I go hiking.”

And that little line causes you to choke a little on your food. Tess? Tess who doesn’t even own any form of sports wear is now a hiker? Togata seems to share your disbelief, because he looks at her a little weirdly.

“You hike?”

Tess’s voice is all high-pitched and fake. “Yeah, duh! Like, you know, trails and everything.” Her face falls and she places a hand on her heart.

“Well. I haven't been much since our dog died. Right, Y/N?” She turns to you.

Your brows furrow in confusion. You swipe at the crumbs around your mouth. “What?”

“You remember Tory, right? God, we used to-  to hike. Together. I’ll miss him forever.” She squeezes Togata’s arm, who’s looking emotional besides her. 

You just can’t believe he’s actually falling for this shit. She’s a good liar, you’ll give her that. The dog in question was Tess’ worst nightmare. All she did was complain about the fur, and the smell, and the noise of barking. You’d like to add it was always you who took him on walks.

“How come you never mentioned Tory?” Togata asks you and you snort.

“Hm, maybe I just suppressed the memory of Toby. Wasn’t that his name, Tess?” You wonder.

Tess' face heats in a way that shines some joy on an awful day. “Right! I had that lisp, though.”

“A lisp that turns B’s to R’s?”

Togata nods. “You know, I had a stutter growing up. Maybe we’re more alike than I’d thought.”

You can’t win.

You and Tess sit down while Togata goes to pitch baseballs with Midoriya. The second he’s out of earshot, you turn to face Tess. You smack her shoulder and her face drops in shock.

“Hey!”

“Hiking? Tofurky? What the hell are you doing?” You snap.

Tess rubs at her arm. Her exposed arms, because she’s come to a baseball game in a little black dress. “I- What? I can change.”

You scoff. “Oh come on! You hate the outdoors-”

“I like beaches. And flowers.”

“How is that even slightly the same thing?” She huffs at your words, popping a fry in her mouth. 

“And Tory? You hated Toby. You wouldn’t ever go near him!” You remind her.

Tess sighs. “Does it matter?”

You watch as Midoriya hits a homerun. “You’re only doing this because Togata is attractive. Some people think.” You add quickly.

Tess licks the salt off her fingers. She turns to face you and turns your shoulder so you’re facing her.

“I could like tofurky. And dogs. So long as they don’t slobber on me, or anything. Don’t be such a buzzkill, big sister.” 

She speaks with the condescension that only spoiled little sisters can muster, and you bite your chilli dog so that you don’t bite her head off. Your little argument is cut short when Togata effortlessly scales the two benches in front of you to offer his hand to Tess. You think you’re looking too longingly so you dart your eyes away.

“You wanna go shag flies with me, Tess?”

“I- Sure! Yeah.”

You hope she trips in her strappy little sandals. 

Your sorry session is interrupted by your phone buzzing in your pocket. You pull it out, pressing it to your ear and take a sip of your coke. “Hello?”

“I was waiting for a call, you know. Left my number pretty big in your planner.” Keigo’s voice is smooth and cheery and you curse under your breath.

“I didn’t call you because you ripped a page out of my planner.”

He had, and it had really messed up your week. You’re busy enough that even one second of your life not being written down is enough to mess up everything. He’d replaced the week in question with a paper with his phone number on it that you’d quickly thrown away. He also penciled in his name on every single saturday night for the next three months.

“Just a little experiment. See how you do without every second of your life planned out.”

You just scoff, and fish out the last few fries in the bag. 

“What do you do, anyway? Besides going to everyone's weddings and work?” Keigo asks.

“I really don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

He hums. “How do you even afford it? The dresses, the gift cards from those awful wine of the month clubs-”

You stop him with an indignant sound. “Hey, they are very good gifts. I’m a member, you know, and sometimes they throw in free bottle openers.” You argue, and he sighs.

“That’s sad. Really.”

“You sure know how to speak to a lady.”

Tess looks effortlessly perfect swinging that bat. Despite being really shit at it.

“Lemme make it up to you. How about a new datebook? Or just a date?”

You nod slowly. “Right. I can pencil you in. But hey, you already did for the next three months!”

He sounds awfully proud of himself on the other line. It’s annoying, but. It’s also a little cute. You hate to admit it.

“Can’t you just find someone else to be a creep with?”

“Fine, just- Anytime you wanna hang with someone who isn’t asking you to pick out a bouquet or call their mother-in-law, you give me a ring.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

You won’t be calling him. Ever.

-

The next two months go by painstakingly slow. Tess is in your office and Togata is in your apartment and you severely regret letting her stay and your place while she’s here. Especially since she decided to extend her stay because of how incredible of a time she’s having with him. You seem them lounging on your couch, having dinner at your table. It’s weird. Seeing your sister experience the relationship you’ve wanted your whole career. You just try to keep your head down, and keep working. You know Tess. She’s not the type to hold down a man, because after a week she gets bored and throws him out for someone new. It’ll happen eventually, and you can go back to ogling Togata without feeling that immeasurable guilt.

And then, he proposes to her.

After two months. It’s soon. So very soon but you obviously don’t say that to him, not when he asks you for help to see it all up.

You walk into her favourite restaurant on the day, and you find that there are balloons and roses and a violin player. And a banner that says ‘Will you marry me?’ strung across the far wall. Small candles light the room and you wonder how long it took for them to all be lit.

Your heart drops. For one fleeting moment, when Togata turns around with that lovestruck look in his eyes, you feel like it’s for you. And then his face drops, and he waves off the violin player who’s started playing some symphony. 

“Wrong girl, everyone.” Togata waves them off.

Right. That doesn’t sting at all. 

You plaster on a smile, and clap your hands together. “Oh! Is this- Wow! It all looks great.”

Togata grins so big you think his face might split in half. “Well, yeah. It’s- It’s sudden, I know, but it feels right. You think she’ll like all this?” He gestures around him.

You nod and your hair flies around your face. “Oh, yeah. Of course, she’ll- The wine! That’s her favourite.” You laugh.

“Great, because- Oh! Tess!”

You turn, and she’s there. It’s shock and then happiness that melts her features and despite the part of you that hates this, it’s Tess. Your baby sister. You can't help but feel just as excited for her.

Togata steps forward, the bouquet of flowers in his hand big and pink.

“Tess. My parents, they met when they were five playing hopscotch, and they’ve been married for forty two years. And I’ve been waiting my whole life to find that kind of love.” 

He steps closer and Tess follows. She’s wearing a pretty red dress and the violin player crescendos.

“And when I saw you, I thought that I could have that. So, Tess. Will you marry me?”

She squeals, rushing forward and tackling him in a hug. “Yes, I’ll marry you!”

You decide to celebrate the news by drinking in a bar.

Your apartment is busy, anyway. They’re probably consummating their proposal all over your guest bedroom. 

It’s loud tonight. Busy for a Wednesday night. You wonder how many people get proposed to on a Wednesday night. Not you, apparently.

Your drink is bitter and strong, and it burns a line down your throat with every sip you take. But it’s nice. Takes the edge off. Which you’ll need because you’d called Keigo ten minutes ago, and now he’s nursing his own drink right next to you.

His fingers tap awkwardly against his glass. “I’m a little confused.”

“Why’s that?”

Keigo shrugs. “Well, you finally asked me out, and you-”

“My sister’s getting married. Little sister.” You blurt out.

He nods knowingly. “Ah. Before you?”

You shake your head quickly. “No, no, I’m not- I’m not jealous. I’m not upset about that.”

“Then what?”

You breathe out quickly. You run a hand through your hair. “I- You don’t know Tess. She’s going to want me to be her maid of honour and she’s going to want me to do everything for her.” 

Keigo tilts his head, confused. “Well. Can’t you just say no?”

He sees the look on your face and he laughs. “You ever said that word before? ‘No’?” 

You scoff, but it’s half-hearted. “Yes. I have.” You pause. “Just never to a bride before.”

You take a sip of your drink. The music is loud so you inch a little closer to hear him better. He smells good, you note.

“Do you want to say no?” He asks.

You think for a moment. “Even if I wanted to, she’s my sister.”

“You can say no to your sister.”

You huff a laugh. “Right. So you’re an only child, then?”

Keigo nudges your arm, pushing you to face him. “Look. Let’s practise.” 

He looks you dead in the eyes. Keigo is pretty, you think. Boy pretty. Like someone out of a YA novel.

“You’re gonna say no to me. No matter what I say.” 

You nod.

“Y/N, give me fifty bucks.”

“No.” You say, a little unsure.

“Come on, it’s just fifty bucks.”

“No.” You say it a bit more determinedly this time.

“Y/N, I need you,” And he leans in then, and he pauses for an unnecessary amount of time, “to give me fifty bucks.”

You swallow. “No?”

He’s moving back just as quickly as he came close, nodding appreciatively. “Not bad.”

You shrug, a little flattered at the attention. 

He points to the table. “Hey, can I have you drink?”

“Sure.” 

You gasp. “Wait!”

“So close.” He laughs, downing it in one go.

—

Despite the impromptu lesson, when Tess inevitably asks you to be her bridesmaid, your immediate answer is yes. The prep is just as tiresome as it usually is, but a little worse considering the fact it’s Tess you’re preparing for.

The flowers are the wrong shade of pink, and the favours weren’t done right the first time. Togata takes a backseat throughout the whole thing, letting Tess take control, so you don’t even get to talk to him throughout this mind numbing process.

Today, the two of you are walking through the gardens where your parents got married. Tess licks at an ice cream cone and you adjust your purse onto your shoulder.

“So did you order the favours again?” She asks.

“Yes.”

“And did you finish the invitation mockups? So I can send them to that company.”

So you can send them to the company. You doubt Tess will lift a finger to help with that.

“Yes, Tess.”

She jumps a little in excitement. “Perfect! Oh, and I asked Kayama to be a bridesmaid.”

Kayama was a distant cousin that you guys barely saw. You think she models now, but you don’t keep in much contact. You nod, gesturing for Tess to give you her ice cream.

“What about Takeyama?” A cousin from your others side.

Tess frowns. “Oh, no. She’s really pregnant, you didn’t know? I can’t have her messing up my bridesmaid lineup.”

You huff a laugh. “That’s nice to say, Tess.”

She waves you off. “Oh, and I want you to ask your rude friend Rumi.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. “My Rumi?”

Your Rumi who isn’t exactly the biggest fan of Tess. Or weddings, unless the groom’s friends are more atttactive than the average man.

Tess nods, taking back the ice cream. “Yeah, she’s really pretty, you know? She can pull off the strapless we had in mind.” 

You sigh, agreeing. “Alright, I’ll ask.”

“Perfect! I don’t really have that many girl friends of my own, you know?”

That’s a real shocker. You don’t say that out loud, though, just nod and smile. 

The day is nice. The weather has been nice recently, all sun and wind that melts away the heat. Tess rambles on besides you about the slideshow she wants you to make for the day. Pictures of her and Togata from their lives, all dolled up with a nice song playing in the back. You mentally add it to your never-ending to do list.

“Oh, and hey, guess what? You know that writer you love? Hawks? He said he wants to do a column on us. Can you believe it?”

Oh, how you can’t wait to cut and clip that article into your collection. “At this point, yeah. I can.”

You shouldn’t be miserable. This is exciting! You love weddings. Maybe you���ll even get a feature in the article.

“And I was thinking, you know about where the wedding should be.”

Tess looks slightly nervous, now. You know because she bites her bottom lip between her words, her most obvious tell. That, and it’s older sister duty to sense these things.

She also had already decided where the wedding was going to be. A pretty venue you’d been to a bunch of times. You’re sure you’d already called and booked. You tell her as much and she laughs a little nervously.

“Yes, but I was thinking that I might have it at the boathouse. You know, like mum and dad did. Especially because…”

You look at her expectantly. “Come on, Tess, spit it out.”

She passes you the ice cream. You think it’s a peace offering for whatever she’s about to spill.

“Well. Because dad gave me mum’s wedding dress to wear.”

Your heart jumps a little at her words. You both stop on the pathway, and the ice cream drips onto your fingers. Mum’s wedding dress that you’d been eyeing since you were old enough to realise what weddings really were. She always told you she’d pass it onto you two, showing pictures of her and your father on her special day. That dress was going to Tess.

Tess sees the stricken look on your face. “You can so totally use it after me! I-“

She looks anxious, and you feel bad. It’s not her fault you still didn’t have a husband. Or even a boyfriend. Maybe if you did the dress would be yours. And it was her mother, too.

You hold up your hands. “It’s okay, Tess. Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s what mum would’ve wanted.” You smile.

She looks relieved and you feel bad that she’d been that scared to tell you. You link your arm with hers, and carry on walking. 

“I’ll see what I can do about the boathouse.” You say but she only grins.

“No need! I called them. Like, nine times. And there was a cancellation! So, I will be Mrs Togata in three weeks.”

Your mouth drops open. “Three weeks?”

“I know, I know it’s so soon, but if anyone can pull it off it’s you!”

-

“That selfish whore!”

You splutter a laugh, almost stumbling in the position you were trying to hold. Yoga wasn’t your favourite form of exercise, but Miruko loved it. She said it was for the quiet, peacefulness, but you think she likes showing off the fact she’s more flexible than you.

“Rumi-“ 

“I mean, I can’t believe it. I just can’t.” 

The yoga instructor in the front of the room sends Rumi a stern glance. She smiles at her apologetically.

You shrug. “It’s Tess. There is no man in this world that won’t fall for her.” You mumble. “They get hypnotized by her voodoo and lose their minds.”

Rumi snorts. The instructor bends into a tree pose and you stabilise yourself on Rumi’s shoulder.

“You can't plan your sister's wedding to the man you love,” She exclaims. “It’s sick!”

“To be fair, she didn’t know how I felt about him-“

“Feel.”

“And I shouldn’t, anyway. He’s my boss.” You remind her. 

Your foot slips off the soft material of your leggings and you sigh. This sport is really not for you. You glance at Rumi who’s been standing perfectly straight the whole time.

“I’m just going to have to get over it. I don’t have much of a choice.”

You suddenly remember something. “Oh, you don’t either. Guess who’s going to be a bridesmaid?” You sing.

“You’re shitting me.”

You snicker, taking a long sip of your water. Rumi crosses her arms, yoga pose forgotten. 

“No. I won’t do it. For you. This- it’s a no on principle.”

You shake your head almost immediately, latching onto her arm. “No, no, please don’t leave me alone on this.”

Rumi looks decidedly out of the window and away from your pleading face. 

“Please, my best friend please.”

Rumi rolls her eyes. “Fine. Fine, just because it’s you.”

You hug her quickly, well aware of the glares coming at your from every direction. Never come between women and their yoga, you guess. Rumi just stares back, mumbling some choice words under her breathe. You nudge her shoulder to shush her.

“We are talking pretty loudly.” You whisper.

“There’s no sign that says no talking!” 

-

Tess’s insistence at your ability to complete this wedding in three weeks is why you find yourself begging at Alejandro’s counter for a three tiered cake. He’s the best baker in New York, no competition, and Tess had asked for him personally. This was one task you didn’t mind as much, considering the fact that you’d be the one eating cake at the wedding. So if anything, this favour was for you.

You clasp your hands together and shake them in front of Alejandro’s face.

“Please. It’s three weeks!”

“Three weeks is never enough time for one of my creations!” 

His accent is thick and heavy and coats all his words, and you have no clue where he’s from. Somewhere Eastern European, you think.

You stand up straight, hands slamming on the counter. “Look- Remember last year? I got you that couple that commissioned that six-tier red velvet with all the fancy decorations. Then the edible gifts for the Schumann wedding?” 

His face twitches slightly, and you know you’re close. 

“You can do it. You can do anything, we both know it.” You say with finality. “And you’re going to get me a cake in three weeks.”

He sighs heavily, shaking his head. He points a shaking finger at you. “Only because it’s you, Y/N.”

“Love you, Alejandro.” You grin, flashing him two thumbs up.

You turn around to where Tess and Togata are looking at different cake designs on display. They do look kinda cute together, if you’re being honest.

“Okay we have a cake!” You say, and your reply comes from the last person you’d expect it too.

Keigo.  

“Good job.” He grins, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“What, you followed me here, too?”

He rolls his eyes playfully. He holds up a notepad and pen, and turns to your sister.

“Hi. Nice to meet you, I’m Hawks.” He holds out a hand to shake Tess’s and your jaw drops a little. “Congratulations to you both.”

“You’re- You’re not Hawks, you're Keigo.” You splutter.

“Thank you.” Togata smiles. His phone rings from his pocket and he pulls it out, cursing at the caller id.

“I gotta take this, babe. I’ll be outside, just give me five.” 

He kisses her on the cheek and you turn to Keigo. Who’s already looking at you. He turns back to Togata and Tess, something clicking in his head.

“Interesting.” He hums.

Tess steps forward as Togata walks out the shop, pointing at you.

“This is Y/N.” Tess smiles. “She is like, so obsessed with your articles. She keeps them all in a drawer at home, it’s so cute.”

Your face burns and Keigo grins. “Really?”

Tess nods. “Not in like a creepy way, or anything, though.”

“Of course not.” Keigo looks far too pleased with himself.

You rub at your eyes. “Wait, you told me your name was Keigo.” You say.

He nods. “It is. Hawks is a pen name, so I don’t get stalked by crazies. Like you, apparently.” He teases and you shoot him a look. 

Tess glances between the two of you, slightly confused.

“So, how did you meet Toagta?”

You cut him off quickly. “You’re an asshole.” You snap and Tess gasps.

“Y/N!”

You turn to her, indignant. “What? I’m sorry, he just- he told me his name was Keigo!”

Tess sighs. “Wait so- so do you guys know each other?” 

Keigo nods. “Yeah, we both work the wedding circuit.”

He speaks so casually that it sends a tinge of anger through you. 

“Please excuse us, Tess.”

You grab his wrist, dragging him to a quieter, more private corner of the bakery. He’s warm; the flowy, 

bright blue button up he has on doesn’t seem to cool him down very much. He looks giddy when you turn to face him, hand still closed around his wrist.

“So forward of you, Y/N. I’m blushing.” He drawls.

You drop his hand quickly. “Cut the crap. You lied to me.”

“No I didn’t. I told you I was a writer, and I am.”

You frown, crossing your arms. “But how can you write such lovely things?”

Keigo shrugs. “Beats writing the sports section.”

It sucks, a little. That your favourite section in the whole newspaper is written by such a cynic. You find it difficult to believe the near prose you’d read was written by the man standing in front of you.Keigo is looking at you very closely as you process all this information. His eyes catch on the sun glimmering on the long windows of the bakery, and they look a little golden. 

“Do you actually believe in all the beautiful things you write, or is it just- are you just a cynic who knows how to spin it for hopeless girls like me?”

You speak in one big breath, anger pushing your words out before you can even think about what you’re saying. He hums, leaning against the wall next to him.

“That was a lot. But the second one, I think. The spinning stuff one.” He nods.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “God. I feel like my favourite love song was written about a sandwich.” You mumble.

He grins. You think he’s about to start speaking, but Tess walks over. She looks between the two of you, the smile on her face straining.

“Sorry. Can I steal you away to tell you about Togata and me?” She’s asking but the way she sounds means she’s telling.

You look at Keigo. You think you see disappointment flit across his face for just one second, but he’s waving goodbye before you can linger on that thought.

“See you around, Y/N.”

“Yeah, whatever Hawks.”

————————————————————————-

exams r finally over!!!!!! EVERYONE CLAP SND CHEER! I finalllly got around to writing more for this fic.. and I really love it this is genuinely one of my favourite rom coms. So underrated..

Hawks will be coming up much more now that most of the world building is done, so look forward to that!

Hope u all enjoyed! To those interested this also gets posted on my ao3 if you’d like reading it there!