#sobbing into my shirtsleeves

[colormepurplex2]

Shatter With Me | Please, Let Me

↳ Model!Jungkook x Surrogate!f.Reader ⤜ Surrogacy, Best Friend’s Husband ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 28,134 ⚠️ Crass language, talk of infertility, drinking, very mild bullying and references to cruel behavior/words, BIG hurt feelings, accusations of infidelity, rejected/unwanted drunken kissing that could be viewed as dubious infidelity, lies/deceit about fertility, broken marriage, infidelity, talk of divorce/filing for divorce, legal separation, kissing, fingering, cunnilingus, mild dirty talk, mild begging, sex while pregnant, creampie

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You should be dreaming, but an incessant sound keeps pulling you back to the surface of consciousness. Rolling over, you check your phone to see what time it is—2 AM. It takes a moment, but you manage to blink away your sleepy fog and realize the noise is someone rapidly knocking on your door.

“Taehyung, what the hell are you doing here?”

Taehyung looks rumpled, his hair tousled and the soft skin beneath his eyes a deeper shade than usual. He sighs heavily and takes a step back from your doorway. “Because,” he says, throwing a hand out in a gesture towards the floor.

Stepping forward, awkward with the temporary boot on your foot, you lean out into the hall to look at what he’s pointing at. “Oh my god, what’s wrong with him?”

Jungkook is slumped against the wall, his legs sprawled out in front of him. It takes you only a second to realize his shoulders are jumping in quiet, hiccuping sobs.

“Can we come in?” Taehyung asks. “It’s a long story, and I’m tired as shit right now.”

“Well, sure, okay.”

Taehyung gratefully accepts your help, though you’re not sure how much good you do with a bum foot, getting Jungkook through the door. He flops limply on your couch when Taehyung slides his arm from around Jungkook’s waist.

“What the hell happened? Is he drunk?” you ask, recoiling at the stench of whiskey you catch wafting from Jungkook. “Why did you bring him here? Where’s Jiyoon—”

“No!” Taehyung gasps, flailing a hand through the air to cut you off. “Don’t say her name. Please, you’ll set him off again.”

“Too late,” Jungkook sobs from the couch, curling in on himself.

A tug on your shirtsleeve has you turning away from Jungkook. Taehyung jerks his head toward your kitchen and you follow him in there. Worry settles in your chest with the look on his face.

“It’s not good,” he whispers.

“What happened?”

Keeping his voice pitched low, Taehyung fills you in the best he can. “He knocked on my door a few hours ago, completely out of his mind. I was barely able to get him to stop screaming and crying long enough to tell me. And then he downed half my liquor cabinet in less than half an hour.” Taehyung pauses and you can tell he’s collecting himself before continuing, “Jiyoon told him that her baby isn’t his. She’s completely shattered him.”

A tightness grips your chest, your heart pounding hard. You shake your head. “No, no. That can’t be right. Jiyoon wouldn’t—she…she loves him.”

Taehyung scoffs, “She loves what he represents. Don’t pretend we both don’t know all she cared about when they met was that he was a hotshot model with a bright future full of dollar signs.”

“Taehyung, no. I’ve known Jiyoon for most of my life. We’ve been friends since we were kids. She wouldn’t do that.”

The pained way Taehyung says your name tugs at your heart. “I’m going to be honest here, and I need you to know what I say is coming from a place of care. Jiyoon isn’t a nice person. She’s not a good friend—especially not to you. Don’t,” he says when you open your mouth to protest. “I know you care about her, but from what Jungkook told me, she said some really nasty things, about him…and you.”

“Me?”

“She accused him of having an affair with you, that you slept together, and that’s how you got pregnant. That was how she eventually told him about her affair, that her baby wasn’t his. It’s a fucking mess…he’s a mess.”

You have to stifle your incredulous laughter. “You can’t be serious.”

Taehyung puts a hand on your shoulder and turns you to look at where Jungkook is still curled up on your couch, his face buried in one of your throw pillows, body steadily trembling. “I’m serious.”

His words settle like a heavy weight right over the center of your chest. That tightness that was there before increases until you feel like you can barely breathe. “I-I need to talk to Jiyoon. There’s been some sort of misunderstanding, a mistake.”

You go to take a step toward the hallway to retrieve your cell phone from your bedroom but Taehyung’s hand tightening on your shoulder halts your movement. “Maybe it’s best to leave it for now. At least until he’s lucid again. I don’t mean to drop this on your lap, but he wouldn’t stop begging to come here…to come see you, see the baby.”

The baby that he knows is his. Taehyung doesn’t say that, but it echoes through your mind as if he’d shouted it. You’re not sure what to believe at this point. The only things you know for certain are your own actions. It would be easy to crumble right now, to let the weight of everything crush you. But the crying man on your sofa—the one who is not just your client nor your friend’s husband anymore, but who has managed to become someone far more significant in your life and not just because of the baby growing inside you—reinforces the steel in your spine. There will be time to deal with everything else later.

“Okay,” you say to Taehyung. “Thank you for bringing him.” 

After seeing Taehyung out and promising to call him if you need anything, you email Namjoon that you’ll be working on a client case from home tomorrow. For obvious reasons, you intentionally leave out that the client is Jungkook and that the case is one of a broken heart instead of an ad campaign.

You told Taehyung you wouldn't reach out to Jiyoon yet, but you are curious if she’s perhaps tried to reach out to you. The lack of messages waiting for you on your phone is another small crack in the fissures of your waning friendship with Jiyoon. What you didn’t tell Taehyung is that you’ve been feeling this way for a while. You know Jiyoon isn’t always a nice person. But she was still your friend, someone you had spent years of your life loving and being loved by in return. Or so you thought, at least.

With a sigh, you slowly approach the couch, kneeling down beside it. Jungkook stopped crying before Taehyung left, having fallen into a fitful drunken sleep. His body is still wracked with tremors, and his breathing wheezes from between his lips, sounding labored. You gently push his hair out of his face, feeling a pang of sadness at how blotchy and puffed his eyes are even when closed. A red mark mars the side of his jaw, subtle bruising in the distinct rounded curve of small, slender fingertips—she hit him.

“Mm,” Jungkook groans softly, your name rasping out with the sound.

“I’m here.”

His shoulders jump as the quiet sobbing returns. “I’m so sorry,” he chokes through the words. “Please don’t leave me, too!”

“Hey, hey, none of that. You have nothing to be sorry for. Come here,” you coo, helping him sit up so you can sit where his head was on the couch. You open your arms to accept him into an embrace so you can try to console him in some way.

Jungkook launches himself at you. You think it’s a mistake made in haste, his lips landing on yours. But with the gentle way he cups your face and begins to move his mouth in a sensual pluck over yours, you realize what’s happening—what you can’t allow to happen, not now.

“No—uh, no. This isn’t—” You pull back from him, managing to get a hand between your mouths. “Jungkook, no. We can’t do this. You’re hurting,” you say slowly, making sure to keep your eyes focused on his glassy ones. “You’re confused right now, and you’ve been drinking. This isn’t what you want. This isn’t you, no matter what anyone else says.”

Tears course down Jungkook’s cheeks and it breaks your heart to see him hurting like this. “Sorry—” he clears his throat “—yes, you’re right. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m such a fucking asshole. Jiyoon was right—”

“No. No, she’s not right, Jungkook. Whatever she told you, it’s not right. She’s not right,” you confirm again. “You’ve done nothing wrong. No matter what, know that.”

With a choking sob, he slumps forward into your arms, and you soothe him by running a hand over his hair. Resting back as best you can, you bring your legs up on the couch alongside Jungkook, being mindful of the small boot on your foot, and help him maneuver so he’s lying down beside you, head in your lap.

“What am I going to do?” Jungkook whispers into the silence that follows after a few tightly strung beats.

You try to sound reassuring, but you’re not sure you sound convincing even to your own ears, “It’s going to be okay, Jungkook. I promise we’ll get all of this figured out.”

Even if you’re not sure how you’ll accomplish that, you know you’ll do whatever you can to help Jungkook. This isn’t just his problem; it’s partly yours, too. After all, he’s the father of the child growing inside you and will be a part of your life even after the birth.

“Hi,” Jungkook whispers so softly that it takes you a moment to realize he spoke at all. “It’s me, your dad.” You can feel his lips brushing against your stomach through your nightshirt; he’s talking to the baby. “I love you so much already, and I swear I’ll never leave you…baby boy”

A boy.

You and Jungkook both cried happy tears at the hospital earlier after the tech swiveled the screen back around. It made everything feel that much more real. You vowed to bring life into this world for him and Jiyoon. Whether or not she’ll be in the picture further, you can’t let that color your actions moving forward with Jungkook. He still wants this baby—so do you—and that’s what matters.

Jungkook nuzzles against your hip and presses his face more fully against the side of the gentle swell of your belly. One of his arms wraps around the underside to rest on your opposite hip.

Sleep evades you long after Jungkook falls back into a less troubled slumber than before. Occasionally, he mutters under his breath and his hand flexes against your hip like he’s fighting invisible demons. You can’t even begin to imagine what he’s going through, what his dreams are plagued with…all you can do is promise that no matter the darkness brewing, you’ll remain by his side for as long as he’ll let you.

You can only afford yourself the one day off of work and Jungkook assures you that he is okay on his own. It’s still a little weird to have him staying at your place, but only because neither of you has brought up that night since it all went down. That was three days ago now and you know when you go into the office today that Jiyoon is going to be there. It’s an inevitability of working together, crossing paths with coworkers. It was lucky that she was out of the office all day yesterday.

Taking a deep breath, you prepare yourself for the elevator doors to slide open. As soon as they do, it seems like a hush falls in the office. It feels like your first day of school or something, with the way eyes track you as you make your way to your desk. Something has changed, the atmosphere between yesterday and today is different, and you can’t shake the foreboding feeling now working its way down your throat.

“How embarrassing,” titters a familiar, snide voice from behind you. “Can you imagine showing up to work after what happened?”

Dani laughs at something Sooah, one of the other portfolio managers in the office, says. You can’t quite make it out, but that doesn’t stop the skin along your arms from pimpling and the hair on the nape of your neck from standing on end. Maybe if you go and ask now, feigning some pregnancy-related symptom, Namjoon will let you go home.

“Can you be a bit more professional, Dani? And you know better than to encourage her, Sooah.” The voice of Hyeonwoo from accounting chimes in as he briskly crosses the space between Sooah’s cubicle and continues past yours. “Namjoon doesn’t approve of office gossip, and it’s not above me to ask if he’d care to hear the latest little bird song.”

It seems everyone knows what’s going on, so you shouldn’t be surprised. But you can’t help but feel a little jolt of shock. Jiyoon shares most things with Dani, who has the biggest, loudest mouth in the office. You’d think Jiyoon would have wanted something like her marital problems not to be aired to the entire company.

“No clue what you’re talking about, Hyeonwoo. We were just reading this ‘Am I The Asshole’ thread on Reddit,” Dani sasses, grinning like a Cheshire cat when her eyes flicker to yours over the divider around your desk. “‘Am I the asshole for missing my pregnant wife’s very important doctor’s appointment because I was too busy playing hospital with her best friend, who just so happens to also be pregnant with my baby’. Only he claims it’s ‘not like that’.”

Sooah covers her laugh with a cough. Heat brushes up your neck, and embarrassment laced with a healthy dose of anger simmers in your stomach. They’re talking about you, yes, but that’s not what’s bothering you the most. What hurts more than anything is they seem so callous in talking about your pregnancy—the pregnancy you have because you wanted to help your best friend.

“Oh, Dani, Sooah, Hyeonwoo is right. Stop acting like children talking about things you know nothing about.” Jiyoon’s voice cuts through the uncomfortable silence. “That’s in poor taste, and you both should apologize.” She approaches your desk with a strained smile on her face. “Hey. Don’t listen to them.”

You chew on the inside of your lip before quietly responding, “Because it’s not true?”

“Because they’re just joking, even if they’re not very good at it.”

It’s impossible to know what to say. Jiyoon is talking to you as if there isn’t this giant gaping chasm named Jungkook between the two of you. “A joke?” Waving a hand in the air to dismiss that line of thinking, you turn to Jiyoon and open your mouth, intent to confront her about what’s going on or at least demanding she talks to you about it later, but she starts to speak before you can.

“We should get lunch today—oh, wait, I can’t today. But we should do that soon, okay?” She gives you a sincere smile. “Maybe we can talk baby names.” You’re so taken aback that all you can do is stare at her until she turns around and goes on about her morning like absolutely nothing happened. It’s as if it’s just a normal Thursday in the office.

💔💔💔

Jungkook

If someone had asked Jungkook six months ago where he thought he would be, the last thing he would have said was sleeping on your couch with his marriage in shambles. It’s been three days since he blacked out with his face pressed against your baby bump. Waking up that morning was only slightly awkward.

He’s been keeping himself busy by checking work emails and watching parenting videos on YouTube. Taehyung stopped by the condo for him the morning after, when Jiyoon was at work, and grabbed some of his things. Apparently, Jungkook’s phone fell behind the bench when he was putting on his shoes before he left to go to the hospital to be with you. When he powered it on, he wanted to throw it against the wall and watch it shatter.

The text message he thought he sent to Jiyoon sat there, unsent, in the fucking text box. Taehyung told him that didn’t excuse the way Jiyoon acted. Sure, Jungkook had missed an appointment, but she didn’t even show concern for his well-being. What if Jungkook had been the one in the hospital? He said all she was doing was playing the victim.

Jungkook didn’t want to continue that conversation, almost as much as he didn’t want to reach out to Jiyoon. So, instead of doing either, he’s been focused on other things, like work. You did him a favor and rescheduled a shoot he had later in the week. Thankfully, the brand was willing to be flexible, though he knows not everyone will be.

Which is why he got up this morning, took a shower, and is now on his way to meet Taehyung for lunch. Jungkook needs to get back to some semblance of normality, and food with his best friend is a great place to start. Taehyung is also bringing Jimin, and it’ll be nice to just have a moment of feeling like a human being again.

Taehyung chose a nice bistro just down the street, so Jungkook decided to walk. With every step he takes, he can’t help but swivel his eyes and check every face that passes him. The last thing he wants to do is somehow accidentally run into Jiyoon. Knowing his luck, that’s exactly what would happen no matter how hard he tried.

Thankfully, it seems the world has decided not to hate Jungkook that much today. Jimin and Taehyung are already there, seated at a booth in the back, when Jungkook walks through the door, the overhead bell tinkling brightly.

“Hey, man!” Jimin greets him cheerfully. Jungkook is certain Jimin could field the entire Kim Exclusives brand roster on his own, with his lush lips, soft cheeks, and dark eyes. The stylishly tousled blond-dyed hair helps, too.

Jungkook slides into the seat across from them. “How’s it going?”

“Busy!” Jimin flashes a charming smile. “I booked a brand deal with this pretty big jewelry company, and they want me to attend one of their launch parties this summer. I have five vouchers for plus ones if you’re interested. My manager, of course, gets one. Taehyung has one, and I’ve invited this guy I’ve been talking to for a while, Hoseok. That leaves two tickets unclaimed.”

Jungkook suppresses a smile at the jealous flash in Taehyung’s eyes when Jimin mentions this mysterious Hoseok. It’s cute how Taehyung tries to hide his very obvious crush on Jimin. All it would take is for Taehyung to actually ask Jimin out, and Jungkook knows he’d say yes in an instant.

“There will be an open bar and lots of potential connections to be made,” Taehyung adds, clearly trying to move the conversation along.

“Yeah, you can bring Ji—uh…” Jimin stammers to a stop. The poor guy blanches, clearly worried he might have upset Jungkook by almost talking about someone in particular that they’ve all been pointedly avoiding mentioning.

“It’s okay,” Jungkook tells Jimin. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You can always bring our boss instead,” Taehyung suggests, waggling his brows at Jungkook.

Jimin pops his elbows on the table and leans toward Jungkook. “She’s who you’re staying with right now, isn’t she?”

“Yeah. But, can we not talk about any of that? I just want to feel normal, please. Let’s talk about anything but my fucked up life.”

“Right, sure, of course.”

“No problem, man.”

Jimin and Taehyung shift gears without any issue, and Jungkook is thankful for that. By the time they order food and have eaten, Jungkook is feeling so much better that it doesn’t bother him that much when Taehyung asks him a question that’s close to the taboo subject of she-who-shall-not-be-named.

“When do you think you’ll be coming home?”

Jungkook drums his fingers on the tabletop, not having really given that much thought to it before now. “Honestly? I don’t really know. The condo is in my name, but I can’t just kick…Jiyoon—” he only stumbles over her name a little “—out.”

“I mean, you’re not just going to let her have it, are you?” Taehyung takes a sip of his tea before setting it back down. “You make good money, but you’re not made of giving away entire condos money, Jungkook. We book a lot of the same clients, I would know.”

He’s right; Jungkook knows this. And it’s not like he can stay with you forever. He already feels like he’s invading your space, and it’s only been a few days. Perhaps it’s time for Jungkook to swallow his reservations and seek out some answers. Life isn’t going to stand still for him; he needs to push through it and get to the other side.

“Fuck, man. I know. I’ll contact a lawyer today and see what’s the best course of action moving forward. Gotta start somewhere, right?”

“That’s the spirit,” Taehyung proclaims with an enthusiastic nod. “Don’t let the bitch continue to control your life!”

💔💔💔

You’re not sure you can let another minute pass without confronting the giant, awkward, proverbial elephant in the room. Jiyoon has spent the entirety of the day pretending like nothing is amiss. During the weekly team meeting this afternoon, she sat beside you like she always has, a smile on her face and a hand gently draped over her baby bump—the baby that she told Jungkook wasn’t his.

It’s late afternoon now, and most everyone else in the office has gone home, leaving just you, Jiyoon, Hyeonwoo, and Namjoon. Hyeonwoo and Namjoon are tucked away in one of the conference rooms, going over projections and finance reports, so if you want to have a private moment with Jiyoon, now is your chance.

Her desk is close enough to yours that you don’t need to cross the space, but you do anyway, the five feet feeling more like a mile with every step you take.

“Hey, Jiyoon. Do you have a moment?”

“What?” She taps away at her computer, the screen angled in a way that you can’t see. “Not really a great time. I’m trying to submit the schedule approval for a press tour for Dohyun.” You know Dohyun is one of the high-profile actors that she’s managed for a few years.

That’s not what you were expecting to hear. You were hoping for maybe a bit more receptiveness. Despite knowing that pushing her probably won’t do you any good, you know you need to try. “Jiyoon, please. It will only take a moment. It’s important.”

Jiyoon blows out a breath of irritation. Her mouse click is harsh and exaggerated, and her annoyance is palpable. “Okay, go on.”

“What the hell is going on with you?” you ask, choosing not to sugarcoat the situation and getting right to the point.

Her eyes bulge, clearly surprised by your approach. “Excuse me? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t. You know what I’m talking about, the fact that your husband is sleeping on my goddamn couch and that supposedly that’s not his baby!” you whisper yell, nodding toward her maroon maxi dress-covered belly.

Jiyoon is a few inches taller than you, even more so in the short-heeled pumps she’s wearing. But when she stands up and steps into your personal space, you refuse to back down even though the feeling of her belly pressing to the top of yours makes you want to retreat.

Moments pass in tense silence, her dark brown eyes boring into yours. Finally, she steps back with a soft laugh. “Is that what he told you?”

No. It’s something you’ve been avoiding talking to Jungkook about for obvious reasons. If he wanted to talk about it, he’d bring it up. But, you don’t think Taehyung would have lied to you when he dropped a drunk Jungkook on your doorstep. Taehyung is a lot of things, as you’ve learned over the years, but a liar isn’t one of them.

“It doesn’t matter what he told me. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” Because despite how you might feel, hearing her side seems to be the least you can do at this point. Maybe she’ll provide some crucial bit of information or make any of it make sense.

Her arms cross over her chest, and one of her hips pops out in a classic Jiyoon stance when she’s about to fight using words. “Look, Jungkook and I had an argument. It got heated. We both said some shit we didn’t mean. It’s not the first time, and it probably won’t be the last. That’s just how marriages go.” She says that with a look on her face that says you clearly wouldn’t understand because you’ve never been married. “Sorry that he’s taking up space in your apartment. Tell him to go to a hotel or something if he’s bothering you.” She shrugs. “Things should blow over soon, and he’ll come back home either way.”

“You’ve talked to him?”

“Well, no, but I know him. Everything will be fine. Now, I need to get back to work. You should go home. Put your feet up and rest. It’ll be good for your baby and ankle.” The tenderness and concern in her tone give you whiplash.

Part of you wants to stay and ask more questions, but you’re not sure it’ll do you any good. She didn’t answer your first question anyway—not really, at least. Jiyoon's answer was generic and didn’t provide any sort of details—a half-answer at best. She didn’t confirm nor deny whether what she said to Jungkook about the baby was true, and that, perhaps, should be an answer enough for you.

Your mind is still reeling by the time you get home. But the smell of grilled meat and sauteed vegetables that greets you as you open the door stops the grind wheel in its tracks. Jungkook is in the kitchen, standing at the stove, his back to you. A white shirt stretches over the broad expanse of his shoulders as they move with whatever he’s occupied with. By the sounds of it, he’s moving things around a pan.

Soft music drifts to you from the Bluetooth speaker sitting on the island that separates the living room from the kitchen. Jungkook’s voice mixes with the vocals. It’s a beautiful tenor that could do good for him if he ever stopped modeling.

The last thing you want is to disrupt his peace. You had made up your mind as you traveled home that you would bring up everything with Jungkook tonight, wanting to get it all out in the open and addressed so you knew what to expect moving forward, knew how long he’d be staying with you. 

It’s a conversation that needs to happen, but maybe it can wait…just a little longer.

“Hey,” you call after slipping off your shoe and removing the temporary boot. You only have to wear it for a few more days and really only if you’re going to be doing a lot of walking.

Jungkook spins around, spatula in hand, with a giant grin on his face. “You’re home! I hope you don’t mind. I thought I could at least make dinner. As a thank you for letting me crash here the last few days. I feel bad for invading your space.”

“You don’t have to thank me, though I won’t say no to whatever you’re making. It smells absolutely divine. Is that garlic?”

“Yes! I made some samgyeopsal and japchae. There are also some pajeon staying warm in the oven. Are you hungry? It’s all ready.” He looks at you hopeful, hands clasped around the spatula handle.

Your stomach gives an appreciative rumble. “Most definitely. Let me go change real quick, and then we can eat.”

The domestic feel of coming home to someone making dinner for you in the kitchen sparks you as surprisingly comforting. You’re so used to coming home to an empty space, preparing a small meal, and then spending time with your own thoughts and activities. Having Jungkook here, even for this short of a time, has made you realize how much you enjoy coming home to a space that’s not so empty.

When you make it into your room, you notice there is a silver boutique bag sitting on your bed. Inside there is a sage-colored cashmere button-up cardigan and a pair of butter soft yoga pants with a built-in belly band.

“I thought you might like them. You mentioned last night how you needed a new pair of lounge pants and that you accidentally got sauce on your favorite sweater. I know it’s not much, but I went out to lunch with Taehyung and Jimin this afternoon and saw that cardigan in a window, and it reminded me of you.” Jungkook fills the doorway of your room, his shadow stretching long across the foot of your bed.

“Jungkook, this is—” The cardigan and pants are both softer than probably anything else in your wardrobe, and it’s on the tip of your tongue to tell him it’s far too much, and you can’t accept it, but you realize maybe you need this as much as he does “—wonderful. Thank you.”

There is a soft boyishness to the way he smiles, dropping his eyes from yours as he rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I’ll let you change. I’m going to set the table.”

He disappears back down the hall, and you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Now, more than anything, you don’t want to tarnish what seems to be turning into a perfect night with a conversation about Jiyoon.

Normally, you would wash clothes before wearing them, but it’s too tempting to try the pants and cardigan on. They both fit perfectly and feel like velvety hugs against your skin. When you come out of your room, Jungkook is sitting at the dining table. Steaming dishes of vegetables, noodles, meat, and onion pancakes sit beside two plates and sets of cutlery. A chilled glass of water and a set of cutlery with a folded napkin sits beside your placemat.

“It looks amazing,” you tell Jungkook as you take your seat. “I didn’t realize you could cook.”

“Because I’m a man?” he asks, raising a brow at you in jest.

“Ha ha, you’re so funny.” You stick your tongue out at him, and he laughs. “Because you’ve never told me.”

“You’ve never asked.” Jungkook serves you first, giving you generous portions of everything.

“Touche. What other talents do you have that I don’t know about?”

Jungkook looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Does being really good at video games count?”

“Video games?” you giggle. “I guess that depends on how good we’re talking here.”

Jungkook’s eyes gleam with mischievous intent as he brings them back to yours. “Play me some time and find out.”

You laugh again. “I don’t think that would be a fair assessment at all.”

He grins, his white teeth flashing. “What about you? Do you have any talents I don’t know about?”

There is one thing you’ve never shared with anyone before, and you’re not sure what makes you want to share it with Jungkook, but you find yourself opening up regardless. “I’m not sure if it would be considered a talent. But, have you ever heard of the children’s book series ‘Tales of Buttercup and Biscuit’?”

“Isn’t that the one about the cat and dog that go on secret adventures together but have to hide their friendship because cats and dogs aren’t supposed to get along?”

Your teeth press into your bottom lip, a habit of yours that you’ve tried and failed to break many times. “That’s the one.”

Jungkook looks at you, waiting for you to continue, but you just let it hang there in the air, hoping he’ll put the pieces together. The moment it clicks, you see a spark of surprise in his suddenly wide eyes. “Wait, no. No! That’s you?! My little cousin loves those books. He raves about them all the time!”

“It’s nothing, really. Just something I enjoy in my spare time.”

“A published book series is not nothing,” Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re far too humble. Wow. Just wow. That’s amazing. Your secret talent is definitely way better than mine.”

The conversation continues throughout dinner and carries into a shared dessert of coffee patisseries and vanilla ice cream. Jungkook sits on one end of the couch with you on the other, your feet in his lap as he massages them. The empty dishes from dessert sit discarded on the floor beside the couch.

“That feels good,” you sigh. “I didn’t think my feet would be swelling this much this early on.”

“What does it feel like?” Jungkook asks, his eyes lifting to yours from under his brow as he’s bent over your feet.

“Having swollen feet?”

“Well, not just that, but everything. What’s it like being pregnant?”

You think about it for a moment, wanting to give as best an answer as possible. “It’s hard to say, really. I imagine it’s different for everyone. But, for me, it’s I ate too much food for dinner, if that makes sense? It’s not necessarily uncomfortable, but I can tell my stomach is expanding, and my body is making more room on the inside. Sometimes, I think I can feel a flutter, like movement. Right here,” you say, pressing a hand on the right side at the bottom of your bump. “But I read online that since this is my first, it might be a few more weeks before I actually feel any movement.”

Jungkook uses the flat of his thumbs to knead the ball of your left foot. The lotion sitting on the side table has a subtle lilac scent. He squeezes a small dollop in his hand and goes back to work. You know Jungkook is particular about heavy scents, so when he asked for lotion to use while massaging your feet, you grabbed the one with the lightest scent.

“Would you…” Jungkook begins but trails off, pursing his lips as if reconsidering what he was about to ask. “Do you think that when you do start to feel movement—what I’m trying to say is, would you be comfortable with letting me try to feel them, too?”

“Of course. Absolutely. Why wouldn’t—”

The sound of Jungkook’s phone chiming cuts you off. You recognize the ringtone, and suddenly, a leaden weight sits in the pit of your stomach.

Jungkook licks his lips nervously, his eyes flicking between yours and where the phone is tucked into his pocket. “I—uh, I should probably…get that. I’m sorry. Do you mind?” He points down the hall, and you assume he’s asking if he can step into your room or the bathroom for some privacy.

You pull your feet off his lap and give him a quick nod, unsure you can trust yourself not to tell him not to answer it, to beg him to let this spell of peace last a little while longer. Jungkook gives you an apologetic smile before retreating down the hall, his form disappearing into the dark.

A moment later, you hear the distinct click of the bathroom closing and the lock rolling into place. You can’t help but feel like things are about to change, and there isn’t anything you can do to stop it.

💔💔💔

Jungkook

Running a hand through his hair, Jungkook pushes it back from his face before sitting on the lip of the tub and swiping to answer the call.

“Ju-Jungkook?” Jiyoon’s voice cracks through the line and it tears at Jungkook’s heart. No matter how hurt he is right now, he’s never liked the sound of her crying. It’s ingrained in his soul to immediately want to console her, to tell her not to cry and that everything will be okay. Only, any comforting words he might normally say crumble like dust on his tongue. “Jungkook. Please. I can’t do this. I’m…I’m so sorry.”

Over the last few days, when Jungkook did allow himself to think about this moment, he expected to feel some sort of relief with those words. ‘I’m sorry’. Hearing them now, though, the only thing he feels is sorrow.

“I don’t know that I can believe you.” That’s all his mind will allow him to utter in response because it is genuinely the truth.

Jungkook and Jiyoon have been together for around six years. In all those years, not a single day has been spent hating her or feeling anything less than love for her. Sure, there have been dark times, but that’s never been able to truly overshadow his love for his wife.

When they first met, he was captivated by her headstrong and resilient nature. He was drawn to the way she seemed to take charge of a room from the moment she walked in. It wasn’t hard to fall in love with her.

Despite that seemingly rock-steady exterior, Jiyoon also showed him a tender side of her nature that few got to see. She had compassion and loved helping people, volunteering in her spare time to work on humanitarian projects and hosting fundraisers. She once told him that if she didn’t love marketing and media so much, she’d probably have opened her own non-profit to raise awareness for gender inequalities.

It wasn’t until a few years ago that she really started to change. There were fewer of those tender moments and more of the stone-faced, withdrawn woman he knows now. A ghost of who she once was…or maybe just who she was always meant to be—who she really was all along.

“You have every right to say that.” Jiyoon clears her throat, and Jungkook can almost see her dabbing at her face with a tissue, blotting away smears of mascara and eyeliner. “But I am sorry. I didn’t mean all those things I said to you the other night. I was mad, hurt, and lashing out. It…it’s not true, what I said about the baby.”

A twinge of something pangs in Jungkook’s chest. “What?”

“The baby, it is yours, Jungkook. I know you didn’t fuck my friend. God, I can’t believe I accused you of that. I know you’d never do that. I just…I was so mad. I was so mad I couldn’t think straight.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse, Jiyoon.” Jungkook carefully considers his words, trying to be honest without being too harsh. No matter what transpired, Jiyoon is still a person and deserves to be treated as such. “What you said…what you insinuated, that hurt me.”

“I know, baby. I didn’t mean it. Well, I did mean it. I wanted to hurt you, wanted to make you feel like I was feeling, but only because you hurt me first. And I know that’s silly, awful, and childish. I just couldn’t stop myself once I had started.” Jiyoon sighs, the sound exhausted. “The baby is yours, Jungkook. I swear.”

“I want to believe you, Jiyoon, I really do. I’m just not sure you saying sorry is enough. That’s not just something you spout out off the handle, most lies hold a semblance of truth.”

Jiyoon hums softly, and Jungkook knows she’s trying to collect her thoughts and form them into words. “There…is some truth in what I said—” she pauses when Jungkook lets out a heavy breath “—but not like that, not about the baby. The truth is in the fact that I was scared, and intimidated by the way you care so much about another woman. And yes, even if that woman is my friend.”

“She’s carrying my child, a child she agreed to carry for us. Of course, I’m going to make sure she is taken care of and want to be a part of as much of the process as possible. I thought you were also doing that? Don’t you talk to her, spend time with her, bond over pregnancy? It’s the same thing.”

She doesn’t immediately answer. Then, “Probably not as much as I should have.”

Jungkook is taken aback by this revelation. He thought surely the two of you were in constant contact and sharing the experience of it all together. You haven’t brought up anything that would make Jungkook think otherwise, but then again, he’s never bothered to ask either.

“You can’t expect me to distance myself or treat her any differently when she is carrying something that is meant to be so precious to the both of us.” Jungkook means that with his entire being. If anything, he thinks he could even treat you better than he currently does, and make more of an effort in some areas.

“It’s…just hard, okay? I know it’s not an excuse, but you kept missing my appointments because you were busy spending time with her instead. I know the last time it was an emergency and I take full responsibility for my actions and the words I said. But, I promise, everything I said was just out of anger. I mean,” she laughs, the sound lightly incredulous and humorless, “why would I accuse you of cheating and then immediately confess to cheating? That’s kind of silly when you think about it, right?”

Jungkook did consider it when trying to make it all make sense. But he just chalked it up to Jiyoon possibly projecting her own actions and guilt onto Jungkook when she accused him, to begin with. The fact that her tactic changed to say the worst possible thing to hurt him just seems par for the course.

“I guess, maybe.” Jungkook shrugs his shoulders even though Jiyoon can’t see him. “I don’t know what to think anymore, to be honest with you.”

Jiyoon sniffles, her voice rough with tears, “I understand that. I accept that. And I promise to make it up to you. Just come back home, and we can work through it.”

That would be the easy thing to do…but also maybe the last thing he should do. Jungkook is aware that Jiyoon knows his weaknesses. All it would take is a few well-placed words, and he’d forgive her completely and forget that all this had even happened. It’s happened before, perhaps more than it should have.

That is why he says, “I don’t know, Jiyoon. I don’t think that’s a good idea—not right away, at least.”

“Jungkook. Please,” she cries. “Please, I feel like I’m losing my mind. I feel like I’ve lost you and…and I can’t, I just can’t. I love you so much. I’m so sorry, I’ll do whatever it takes. Just, please, please…” Her desperate pleas turn into incoherent sobs.

“Hey, hey,” Jungkook coos, his deeply ingrained instincts kicking in despite knowing he should try to hold out. “Calm down, shh, hey, deep breaths. Just like that, good. Come on, one more. Smooth, calm.” Once her cries have subsided into hiccuping spurts, Jungkook takes a deep breath and offers the only thing he can right now, “How about we take things slow? Maybe we can meet for lunch at the end of the week if you’re not too busy with work.”

“O-okay, yeah. Yes, please. Okay, let’s do that, I’ll clear my schedule,” Jiyoon accepts quickly, voice still thick with emotion but Jungkook can hear the smallest hint of a smile in her words.

By the time Jungkook leaves the bathroom, you’re no longer sitting on the couch. The leftovers from dinner have been put away, and the kitchen has been cleaned up. A wave of guilt-laden regret washes through Jungkook. He feels bad you did all the cleanup by yourself.

Tonight had started out so promising. It would be an injustice for Jungkook not to admit he enjoyed tonight more than he has any night in the last few years. You’re just so easy to be around, so soft and calm, your energy a pleasant buzz instead of a trumpeting cacophony like Jiyoon's. It’s a wonder you’ve been friends with her for as long as you have, being near complete opposites. Yet…not in a bad way.

Jungkook swallows hard at that revelation. Maybe he can blame the falling out on feeling disconnected from Jiyoon and more connected to…well, to someone who isn’t his wife.

It’s a startling realization—one that leaves him tormented with uncertainty and falling into a sleep so fitful it tempts him to knock on your door. The closest he gets is standing outside your closed bedroom door, his fist poised, hovering over the hardwood. But, in the end, he crawls back into his makeshift bed on the couch and doesn’t sleep a wink.

Jungkook wants to talk with you about his conversation with Jiyoon, but there hasn’t been a moment of freedom to do more than the typical day-to-day check-in. He doesn’t want to just say, ‘Oh, hey, by the way, Jiyoon said she lied, and we’re going to have lunch to talk it out in a few days.’ It’s a conversation that definitely needs more time and grace.

To make up for the shoot you rescheduled for him since he’s now feeling much better, Jungkook decided to take on a last-minute speaking engagement at the grand re-opening of a downtown shop that has a contract deal with one of his brands.

After hours of smiling and posing for pictures, Jungkook met with Taehyung for lunch and then lost himself for a few more hours at the gym of your apartment complex while he waited for you to get home. When he finally returned to your place, a covered dish of food, still warm in the oven, was waiting for him, and you were already in bed.

As Jungkook eats the food you prepared for him, he can’t stop kicking himself for the opportunity lost. He really wants to talk to you before meeting with Jiyoon for lunch tomorrow. He values not only your opinion on the whole situation but also the fact that you know Jiyoon nearly as well as, if not more than, he does. So, he hopes he can catch you in the morning before you go to work. Unless…you’re intentionally avoiding him, a thought that hits deeper than maybe it should.

💔💔💔

You hate being late to work, but when you woke up this morning your stomach had plans you couldn’t exactly foresee. In between moments of hugging the toilet, you manage to send Namjoon an email letting him know you’ll be a little late this morning.

Thirty minutes later, feeling marginally better, you finish getting ready and are surprised to catch Jungkook in the kitchen making breakfast. You’ve not necessarily been avoiding him, but you’ve also not not been. You might have overheard the tail-end of his conversation with Jiyoon two nights ago and haven’t been able to shake this foreboding feeling ever since.

“Good morning,” you say as you slip past him and start to make a cup of tea.

Jungkook looks at you over his shoulder. “Morning. You feeling okay?”

“I just had a bit of a spell this morning. I’m feeling much better now. I'm just going to make my tea to-go and then be on my way.” 

“Hey, um, do you think we could talk? I’ve been meaning to bring it up since the other night, but I just…timing hasn’t exactly been on my side, and well…”

“I got a few minutes, sure. I already emailed Namjoon to let him know I would be coming in a bit late today.”

“Great. Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll finish your tea, and I also made some muffins,” he says, shooing you toward the dining table before turning back and opening the oven. The smell of fresh banana muffins wafts to you and makes your mouth water.

“So, what’s up?” you ask when Jungkook sits down.

You watch him prepare your tea, adding the perfect amount of honey and cream. It’s such an insignificant thing, tea, but the fact Jungkook knows how you like yours, makes you feel good…really good.

“Well, we haven’t exactly talked about everything that happened. Taehyung told me he filled you in on what all I told him, but I don’t know if he told you…everything.”

It’s hard not to let the topic of conversation sour your mood. But this is a conversation you know has needed to happen, so you begrudgingly don’t pull away from it. “He told me that Jiyoon told you…about her baby and then something about me and you.” That’s a very vanilla version of it, but you don’t want to say any more details than necessary.

“Right. That’s the gist of it. She apologized to me the other night when she called. She claimed she only said those things out of anger and because she was hurt. It was her way of hurting me for hurting her. I guess I haven’t exactly taken her feelings into account with some stuff lately, and when I missed her twenty-two-week appointment, she lost it and said all those things to get back at me for it.”

Jungkook makes it seem so innocent, so cut and dry…so, forgivable.

“I see.”

“I’m having lunch with her today, so we can talk some more. She wants to work things out and asked me to come back home.”

You bite the inside of your cheek so hard that the metallic zing of blood coats your tongue. “And are you?”

“Going to lunch, yes. Back home? I don’t know. I have to go home sometime, I suppose.”

The confusion on Jungkook’s face is clear to you, like he doesn’t know up from down when it comes to what he wants right now. But you also see resignation, like he knows it’s inevitable that he’ll be back home soon, whether or not Jiyoon is there, too.

“I…okay, I understand that.” It’s not your place to beg him not to go. Jungkook is his own person and can make his own decisions. However, what you can do is tell him how it makes you feel. “Just know, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like. I know sleeping on the couch probably isn’t super comfortable, but I’m just saying. You always have a place here, no matter what. I’m sure there are a lot of things you and Jiyoon need to discuss, just—” you sigh, pressing on even though you’re not sure if Jungkook will be receptive to your criticisms “—be careful. Don’t accept something because it’s the easy way, be sure it’s something you want and that you protect yourself above all other things.”

It’s possible you’re seeing what you want to see, or maybe it’s really there, but for a moment, you’re certain there is a flash of something more in Jungkook’s eyes—something that says he wishes you told him not to do it. But it’s gone before you can decide if it was there or just your imagination.

When you finally make it in, Jiyoon is floating around the office like a fairy. Her chiming laugh fills the space, and she’s absolutely glowing in her pregnancy. Everyone in the office says so, complimenting how luminous her skin is and how shiny her long black hair looks. You’ve gotten some compliments, too, but they’ve been mixed in with whispers and office gossip.

Even before Junkook and Jiyoon had their falling out, seemingly everyone found out about what you offered to do for them. When Jiyoon first revealed that you were pregnant with a baby for her and Jungkook, one specifically composed of your DNA and his, the entire office seemed to have an opinion about it—not all positive, either.

There are quite a few different options for surrogacy available thanks to the advances of modern medicine, and the method that Jungkook presented to you is the one that he believes suits the fertility issues Jiyoon was facing the best.

When it first came out, Namjoon had taken you aside into his office to talk about the implications of having a more than professional relationship with a client and how important it is to maintain boundaries, the typical HR spiel to which you politely agreed and promised him things weren’t going to interfere with work. You wonder now if you need to have another conversation with Namjoon about not being able to keep that promise, considering recent events.

Jiyoon catches your eye as she picks up a small pink bag from Dani’s desk, a bright smile on her face. “Hey, you!” she calls to you.

“Hey,” you mutter in response, still unsure how you feel about everything Jungkook told you this morning. You know it’s entirely possible. Blowing something out of proportion is exactly Jiyoon's thing to do. She loves to wound with words, lashing out with a viper tongue when the mood suits her.

“Can we talk for a minute?” she asks, stepping close to you and lowering her voice.

”Yeah, sure.”

”Great, let me just put this on my desk real fast.” She gives the pink gift bag she got from Dani a little shake.

You follow her to where your desks are. She drops off the pink present, and it joins a scattering of other pastel pink and yellow wrapped gifts or baggies. A sinking feeling hits you, and you mentally connect the dots to what that could possibly mean.

“A girl?”

Her eyes are vibrant when they meet yours. “Yeah, isn’t it exciting? A daughter.”

A sister.

Knowing your son could possibly have a sister should be exciting. Yet…if it’s supposed to be exciting, then why do you suddenly desire to run away and hide to protect your son? Also, since when did you start thinking of the baby as yours? You shake away that thought, clear your throat, and plaster on a strained smile.

“Exciting, yeah. Congratulations. If I had known we were bringing gifts today, I would have grabbed something.”

“Oh, nonsense. But, about what I wanted to talk to you about,” she says, waving a hand to dismiss what you said about the gift.

You wait for her to go on, but she glances around and then takes your arm and tugs you closer to the supply closet on this side of the office, notably as far away from your coworkers as you can get without going to the restroom or Namjoon’s personal office.

“What is it?” you ask, crossing your arms under your breasts. It breaks her hold on your arm, but the tightening feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach says you also feel like you need a hug, and your own arms are the best you have right now.

Her voice is pitched low, her body angled so her back is more to the office space and any curious eyes. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. Genuinely, and truly. You are my best friend, and I know I’ve been less than stellar with you for a while now. Everything got away from me, and I was acting out, being a bully, and just a horrible person all around. Then everything with the babies and all the issues between Jungkook and I, and well…I know that doesn’t justify how I acted, but now Jungkook is upset with me, and I don’t know what to do. I just thought that maybe—well, if things were okay between us, then maybe he’d come home. I didn’t realize what I said to him would hurt you, too. I thought you would have known better since we’ve been friends for so long.”

Once upon a time, you would have said without a doubt that you could tell when Jiyoon was being dishonest with you or not. Now, however, you’re not so sure. You wish Jungkook were here so you could look to him for his opinion, which has been something you’ve come to greatly appreciate.

“Okay, I guess. Thanks for apologizing.” This comes out more as a question than a statement, but it seems to satisfy Jiyoon.

“Great! I’m glad you understand and that we’re on the same page. So, you’ll tell him to come home? Oh, and I meant what I said the other day. We should have lunch sometime soon. I’d love to chat about how the next few months are going to go. We’ll have to figure out how to coordinate bringing my babies home. Can’t be too prepared, right? Plus, it’ll be here before we know it.”

Your spine straightens, and your muscles tense as Jiyoon throws her arms around your neck and hugs you. For the second time in a matter of days, the press of her stomach against yours makes you uncomfortable. Something isn’t sitting right with you, this whole interaction feels off, and you just can’t put your finger on why.

Patting her on the back lightly, you disengage and give her what you hope is a polite smile before telling her you need to get some work done. There is something about this interaction, something about Jiyoon, that just…has your alarm bells going off. Everything about the last few months has you rethinking a lot of things…and perhaps the first thing on that list should be your friendship with Jiyoon.

As soon as you sit at your desk, your first reaction is to pull out your phone and text Jungkook. But, you stop yourself, leaving the device in your bag. Jungkook told you he was having lunch with Jiyoon today, and you don’t want to bother him with something that is probably nothing.

If, by the end of the day, you still can’t shake this unsteady feeling, then you vow to allow yourself the grace to bring your feelings and concerns to Jungkook. Not in the hopes of persuading him in any way, but to hopefully have an outside perspective on whether or not you’re reaching here.

Something does feel off. But maybe that something is you and what is turning out to be the not-so-tiny, very significant, completely not-harmless crush you have on Jungkook. The fact that you don’t even want to think of him as your friend’s husband anymore is quite telling in and of itself.

💔💔💔

Jungkook

There have been times in Jungkook’s life when he wished he could go back in time and change things. It hasn’t happened often, but when it does, the thing he would change is always life-altering in some way.

For instance, he would go back in time and change the way he approached the subject of wanting to have children with Jiyoon. Or, rather, he might even go back to before they got engaged—which was maybe too soon itself, considering they got engaged and married within a year of first meeting—and insist they talk about their future wants and desires to make sure that they aligned.

Jungkook isn’t sure why it took him so long to think about it, but with everything that has happened in the last few months, he can’t help but look back on it now. He’s sitting in his car, waiting for Jiyoon to arrive at the BBQ place she chose for lunch. It was still thirty minutes until their agreed-upon time, but Jungkook had nothing else to do.

So, here he is, with his thoughts. Jungkook brought up the desire of wanting to have children four years into their marriage, which was two years ago now. Two years, that feel like two decades, of an uphill battle in which Jungkook thought he and Jiyoon were on the same page. Only, that wasn’t always the case.

It seems so vague a memory now, but it’s there nonetheless. Jiyoon expressed her own thoughts about children; she didn’t want them. At least, not so soon. He’s not sure if he can place the moment in their marriage when she changed her mind, because it all feels so seamless to Jungkook.

Thinking back on their journey, Jiyoon suggested they start trying more often. However, Jiyoon also took their passionate moments of indulgence and made them into robotic meetings of anatomy. Jungkook definitely remembers that pivotal moment in their relationship.

Perhaps that is something else he would go back and change. He’d approach the idea of seeking medical assistance differently. He wouldn’t have gone behind Jiyoon’s back and sought answers she wasn’t ready to have. Maybe if he’d have been more delicate about it, the schedule would have never come into play.

As with all thoughts about changing the past, he can’t help but wonder whether what happened was a good thing. After all, if the child Jiyoon is carrying is indeed his, maybe it was the schedule that helped in the end anyway.

With so many thoughts, Jungkook feels like he might drown if he continues with all the what-ifs and whys of it all. Turning on his radio, he reclines his seat and brings up the camera roll on his phone. This has turned into one of his favorite pastimes, scrolling through all the happy images and memories he has saved here.

His thumb pauses, hovering over one of the more recent shots. The day he found out he was having a son, the day his world upended just a few hours later. Your smiling face, unshed tears in your eyes, pressed close to his, the ultrasound tech having insisted on capturing the delicate moment of pure rapture when you and Jungkook got to see that you were growing his son inside of you.

There are a few other shots of you, candid moments Jungkook captured because one day, no matter what anyone else thinks, he’s going to tell his son where he came from and show him the beautiful, thoughtful, and selfless woman who helped Jungkook create him. What better way to do that than through moments forever rendered in technicolor? Just to be safe, Jungkook clicks through and adds them all to his cloud.

Jungkook notices with a bitter pang of disappointment that he has so few pictures of Jiyoon pregnant. Anytime she catches him trying to take one, she gets really upset. The last time it happened, she cried, locked herself in the bathroom, and wouldn’t come out no matter how much Jungkook apologized. He didn’t see her until the next morning. 

He nearly drops his phone as it chimes with an incoming text message from Jiyoon. She is inside and waiting for him, it says. Knowing this is the right step forward, Jungkook rights his seat and climbs out of the car, heading inside.

“Hey, over here!” Jiyoon calls to him as soon as he steps past the host stand.

As always, she looks gorgeous. The plum-colored off-the-shoulder cable-knit sweater compliments the soft flush in her cheeks, and the black slacks accentuate her long legs. It’s hard to see her bump through the sweater, the fabric chunky in an intentional way.

She resumes her seat when he starts her way. “Hey,” Jungkook replies, taking the seat across from her.

“I went ahead and put in an order for the honey pork and beef. I hope that’s okay.”

“Sure, sounds great.” Jungkook clears his throat a few times, not sure what else to say. He pours himself a glass of water and begins to pour Jiyoon one before he even realizes it. It’s just so natural for him to do so.

“Thanks.” She gives him a smile as she accepts the glass. “And thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”

One of Jungkook’s shoulders kicks up in a half-shrug. “We have to talk sometime. And sooner is probably better than later.” A muscle feathers along his jaw as he clenches it. “Where would you like to begin?”

Jungkook feels like maybe he’s being a bit too cold or standoffish to Jiyoon, considering their near seven year history and the fact she’s his wife, for crying out loud. But, if he’s being honest, he’s still not over all the bullshit she said and the way she acted.

“Would you like to know the gender?” she asks hesitantly. Her right hand comes down and forms the front of her sweater over her belly, making it stand out.

Does he want to know? Yes. Of course, he does. No matter what has transpired, whether true or not, the baby is innocent in this.

“I would.”

The prominent thump of his heart echoes in his ears as Jiyoon slides a small, facedown picture across the table. “You can keep it if you want…I have a copy.”

With a slow exhale, Jungkook pinches the corner of the photo and turns it over. It’s so similar to many of the other grainy, black-and-white ultrasound images he’s seen over the last several weeks. But right there, toward the top right corner, is a single word, white text floating in the abyss of the static-like scan.

Girl.

“A girl,” Jungkook whispers, the word rushing from his mouth like he caught a fist in the gut. That fist moves up and takes a stranglehold on his heart next. It’s almost painful to breathe. Everything that was before, seems so much less significant now.

“Our daughter,” Jiyoon confirms, reaching out and gripping his free hand that was trembling on the table.

Tears sting Jungkook’s eyes, and he has to blink several times before he’s certain they won’t drip onto the photo. The first thought he has when everything comes rushing back in is that he needs to tell you, and wants to share in this joy with you. “My son is going to have a sister.”

He must have spoken aloud because Jiyoon lets out a startled gasp. “Your son? You mean the other baby is a boy?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Didn’t you know? I just thought maybe…” Jungkook trails off because he’s come to learn better that Jiyoon isn’t quite the friend he thought she was to you. It wouldn’t surprise him one bit if Jiyoon hadn’t spoken to you at all in the last week since everything went to shit.

Jiyoon sighs. “I did talk to her today—earlier, in fact. But we didn’t talk about the babies, not really. I…uh, I apologized to her for what I said and how I’ve been acting.” Her nose twitches as she sniffs, averting her gaze from Jungkook’s. “I’ve been such a shit friend lately, and after everything with you, I knew I needed to make it right. Or at least start trying to make it right. Everything has just happened so quickly, I feel like I’m drowning sometimes. And…a-and when my life preserver—” her eyes flick back to his for a moment, and he knows she means him “—isn’t there, I panic, and I guess that means I try to bring the whole ship down with me. I meant what I said, Jungkook, I am sorry about everything. What I said was awful, and that’s not the kind of person I want to be, not the kind of mother I want to be for our children. Will you come home? Please? I don’t want to spend another night alone in our home.”

“Maybe…I guess I can sleep in the guest room for a while? You know, just until I can get my head back on straight.”

“You mean that?” she asks, her grip tightening on his hand.

Looking back down at the photo still pinched between his fingers, he knows what the right thing to do is. There might still be a small sliver of doubt, but this baby—this little girl—deserves for him to give her a chance.

“Yeah, I mean that.”

💔💔💔

When Jiyoon returns to work after her lunch with Jungkook, that intense feeling from before increases. She’s far too happy right now for having just had lunch with the husband she shattered less than a week ago. You tap the screen on your phone, which sits on your desk, and you’re tempted to text Jungkook and ask him how it went. But a shadow falling over your desk draws your attention away.

“I brought you back something,” Jiyoon says with a smile, offering you a white paper bag.

You catch the scent of cinnamon and sugar as you accept the bag. A peek inside reveals a large pinwheel wrapped in wax paper, the bottom of the bag is warm, so you know it’s fresh.

“Um, okay. Thanks.”

“Jungkook mentioned that you’ve developed a bit of a sweet tooth thanks to Little Man. It’s probably not as good as his homemade banana bread, but I know you like cinnamon rolls, so I thought you might enjoy a treat.” She leans against the wall partition that separates your desk from hers. “I know I can’t seem to stop snacking on pretzels. Cute, right? Salty and sweet, already the perfect duo.”

Of course Jungkook would have told her the gender of the baby. You may not have signed the legal papers just yet, but there is no way you can even begin to think about keeping this baby from Jungkook. So, if with Jungkook comes Jiyoon, then you’re going to have to try to come to terms with some things or at least have a very open and meaningful conversation with them both. That’s something that strikes you suddenly, realizing that not once since you agreed to do surrogacy for them have all three of you sat down together to talk.

“So, lunch went okay?” You can’t help but ask. The need to know is far too great. This is a good segue into hopefully asking if the next lunch can include all three of you.

Jiyoon presses the tips of her fingers to her forehead. “Thankfully, yes. You’ll be happy to hear Jungkook is coming back home tonight, so he’ll be out of your hair soon. I, um, I hope things are okay between you and me. I know an apology doesn’t really do much, but I have another peace offering to go with the gooey goodness in that wrapper,” she beams, tapping the bag sitting on your desk.

Another peace offering? You have no idea what that could possibly be. “You have something else?”

Jiyoon leans toward her desk, and you hear the sound of papers shuffling before she produces a sheaf of papers. “It’s a birthing plan! I thought maybe making up your plan would help take that stress off of you. Especially considering our situation is a pretty special one. Everything there is what I would like to happen, but of course, if you need to add anything, that’s fine, too.”

There are easily a dozen papers stapled together here. It’s a detailed, bulleted list of requests. It covers everything from who is allowed in the birthing room and who cuts the cord to whether or not you can have an epidural and if you can hold the baby right after birth.

You scan the pages, your eyes snagging on at least every other word. Jiyoon wants Dani in the birthing room? She wants a doctor to cut the cord so the baby can be immediately given to her for skin-to-skin contact. Jungkook is allowed in the room, but only if he’s standing where he can’t see the birth. In parentheses beside that, there is ‘because it’ll be weird if he watches the baby come out’.

No epidural and only a heparin or saline lock for administering fluids if necessary. She wants you to be able to move around while in labor, but it’s listed that you’re only allowed to labor on your back so Jiyoon can watch her son being born. You’re only allowed to use a birthing ball, and absolutely no warm baths or showers.

In the event of a cesarean, Jiyoon will be the only one allowed into the operating room for support. The baby is to be fed exclusively breast milk but not directly from the breast. Below that is a list of top-of-the-line breast pumps and where to order them.

“Jiyoon. Are you serious?”

“What is it? What’s wrong with that? Do you not like it? Like I said, you can add things if you want. But, it would be nice if you let me know before you did. This is really the perfect plan and exactly what I want for my baby.”

Jiyoon huffs, her bottom lip poking out as she frowns at you shaking your head slowly. 

“No epidural?”

“I’ve read that they can have some complications. Do you really want to take that risk?”

You poke the paper, your finger jabbing at one of the other things listed. “You want Dani in the room? She and I aren’t even friends.”

“Well, she’s my friend. It’s not like she’s going to be all up in your vagina. She’ll just be there to support me.”

“Support you?! Jiyoon, I get that this would be a special day for you, but I’ll be the one giving birth—which I see here you have it listed that you want me to try and get induced two weeks early? Why would I do that? My doctor says the only time we would want to induce early is if something is going on or, in some cases, of gestational diabetes, and my glucose test isn’t for another month.”

Jiyoon looks at you like you just grew a second head. “I thought I was doing you a favor!”

“Jiyoon, this isn’t doing me a favor. T-this…this isn’t a favor. This is you trying to control things that should at least be something we both consider. What if I don’t want any of this? Shouldn’t what I want matter, too?”

This has to be a joke.

“I thought what you wanted was to have a baby for me?”

You push back from your desk, tired of literally sitting here and taking this. “You could have talked to me about this. But it sounds like you’re not wanting to give me a choice. You said I could add things, not that I could take them away, too. Is that it?”

“Look, there’s a certain way I want my son to be brought into this world! Is that so bad? You’re acting like I’m asking you to do something insane.”

The heat licking its way across your cheeks is a product of pure anger. Maybe you shouldn’t be getting this bent out of shape over this. Jiyoon seems to have the best intentions with her list, but you can’t help but think that not once in this entire process has she asked what you want. In the beginning, you were constantly trying to talk to her and include her. Even if it was just a text message since she was so busy. Yet, she hasn’t once returned that in kind. Now this? You can’t do it.

“Ladies, is everything okay?” Namjoon’s baritone breaks through the silence that had fallen between you and Jiyoon.

You only realize now that the entire office is quiet, listening to you and Jiyoon volley words back and forth. A few throats clear, and people resume pretending to ignore the two of you, but it’s clear anyone within a twenty-foot radius was just eavesdropping in on the drama.

“It’s fine, Namjoon,” you say, meeting his eyes before turning back to Jiyoon. “Maybe we can talk more about this when we’re not at work?”

Jiyoon purses her lips, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she nods. “Sure, yeah. We can do that.”

No further opportunity presents itself for you and Jiyoon to talk. Not today, at least. It also could be that you weren’t exactly looking for an opportunity to do so. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about that stupid list.

Even now, you clutch it in one of your hands as you unlock your apartment door with the other. You don’t necessarily want to cry to Jungkook about it, more just have a conversation with him. Find out whether or not he’s aware of everything Jiyoon wants to impose on you.

Because that’s exactly what it is, what it feels like. This isn’t a birth plan, it’s a list of demands that do not take your wants or needs into consideration in the slightest.

“Everything okay?” Jungkook’s voice breaks through your mental tirade.

You stop in your tracks, eyes snapping up to meet his. Jungkook is standing in your living room, a small pile of laundry sitting on the couch that he seems to be in the middle of folding.

It takes you a moment to decide how to answer him. All the while, his eyes remain open and vulnerable on yours. You chew your lip, feeling angry tears prick at the backs of your eyes.

“No.”

The moment that word is out of your mouth, tears follow it, coursing down your cheeks in hot, twin streaks. Jungkook abandons the shirt in his hands and crosses the living room to you in an instant. His hands land on your shoulders, and his eyes flick over your face and body, searching for signs of anything physically wrong.

“Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Your fist tightens around the list before you hold it up and offer it to him. “Have you seen this?”

Jungkook takes the sheaf of paper and quickly scans the first page before flipping through the others. “A birth plan? Did you make this?”

“Jiyoon did. Apparently, these are the things she wants—no, demands—for when I give birth.”

“What?” His eyes come up to meet yours. “Some of this stuff is kind of…I don’t know, like this,” he says, pointing to the fifth bullet on the page. “Getting induced two weeks early? Shouldn’t that be a decision your doctor talks to you about? Also, support persons who are allowed in the room. I can understand Jiyoon and me, maybe her parents, sure. But Dani? I didn’t even think you and Dani were friends like that.”

“Because we’re not. This entire list is everything she wants, her support people, her wishes for how things go, and not once has she asked me what I want.” Your voice rises in pitch as you plow on, “I guess it doesn’t matter, though, does it? Because, as she’s made it clear, it’s not my baby, after all.”

Jungkook shakes his head, a muscle along his jaw ticking as he presses his lips into a thin line. “Don’t say it like that. You matter. This matters. You need bodily autonomy over a lot of these decisions. And if you don’t want someone in the room, they won’t be. If you want an epidural, as long as the doctor says it’s okay, then it’s okay. That’s what’s important. What you want and what the doctor says is okay. I’m sorry she did this. I’ll talk to her about it.”

“Because you’re going home, right?” You don’t mean to sound so sad when you say it, but it slips out before you can control your emotions. Maybe it’s the hormones, but the swinging from hot to cold makes you want to scream. You’re usually such a well-collected person.

“I—” Jungkook hesitates, his eyes searching yours “—I need to. What Jiyoon did isn’t right, and going home isn’t me accepting her apology and forgiving her. But I can’t keep sleeping on your couch. I’m going to stay in our guest room as I work through the mess inside my head.”

You know he can hear the resignation in your voice. “Okay, if that’s what you think is best.”

“I think I do. But…there is only one way to be certain, right? Clearly things have been coming to a head between Jiyoon and me for a while now. I’m sorry you’re now in the middle of this. That’s the last thing I wanted when I asked you to be our surrogate. I can’t say that enough, this was never how it was supposed to be.” To your surprise, Jungkook slowly wraps his arms around you. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, Jungkook, that’s okay. Thank you.”

“I promise I’m going to talk to Jiyoon about that birthing plan. It’s unacceptable. You matter, okay? You’re important.”

Maybe to him, you are. But to Jiyoon? You’ve never been more unsure of where you stand. The friend you once knew is not the same woman who has been parading around in the guise of your best friend. You’re not sure who she is anymore…or if you want to give her your baby.

“And Jungkook?” you say as he turns away to go back to his laundry. “Be careful, okay?” You allow yourself a moment of vulnerability, brushing your fingers across the cut of his jaw, where just a week ago, there rested another reason for your uncertainty.

Your heart stutters in your chest at his small nod of acknowledgement. A truth, one you had hoped would remain speculation, reflects in his wide, doe eyes. An uncertainty now confirmed, another crack in the foundation…you’ve never been more scared to shatter.

💔💔💔

Jungkook

Moving back home might have been a mistake. Jiyoon is clingier than ever, but it’s not in a way that feels natural to Jungkook. He once found so much joy in her tender affection and gentle touches. Now, however, he can’t help but pull away, giving her as polite a smile as he can.

There is something that has been bothering him that he can’t seem to make sense of. Ever since he moved back home a week ago, Jiyoon has completely and utterly changed her tune. Not once has she said a biting remark or yelled at him. Not that he’s complaining, per se. It’s just completely thrown him, he’s not sure how to process it. She’s almost being too nice.

Hell, she even gracefully accepted his explanation as to why the birthing plan she made was unacceptable. Jungkook tried to keep a level head when you showed him that ridiculous list, but he was so mad he could hardly think. The only thing that kept him from losing his mind was the fact he knew you needed him more than he needed to be mad. He’s still not sure what the hell Jiyoon was thinking when she made it. But, she didn’t so much as try to counter his argument when he confronted her about it. She just agreed with him and promised she’d make it right with you.

That’s another thing he can’t seem to stop thinking about. You’ve also been different the last week, only in the opposite way Jiyoon has. You’ve not berated him, but you’ve suddenly become more standoffish and distant. Maybe it’s because he’s not spending every night eating dinner with you or watching movies while he massages your feet, but even before all that you were warmer than you are now.

Which is why he’s trying to corner Taehyung right now before he goes back for hair and makeup. He needs to talk to someone who is relatively unbiased and can maybe help him sort his thoughts properly.

“Taehyung, hey, wait up a second.”

“Yo, JK, what’s up?” Taehyung spins on his heel, catching himself on the doorframe to the dressing room.

“Can we talk for a minute?”

Taehyung pokes his head inside the room, and Jungkook can hear his muffled voice as he talks to the staff. “Yep, it’ll just take a moment. I promise I won’t touch the clip,” he says, turning back towards Jungkook. “You’ve got me for ten minutes.”

Jungkook lets out a breath of relief. He feels like he might explode if he doesn’t get all of this off his chest soon. Taehyung is already wearing a dark pin-stripped suit with a deep v and no shirt underneath. A gold chain and pendant sit perfectly in the open front, complementing the ochre thick-strapped sandals on his feet. There is a small hairpin holding the front of his hair into a suave coif that he, despite saying he wouldn’t, pokes at before following Jungkook to a small seating area across the space.

They’re shooting at an old estate today, styling and posing for various fashion items. Jungkook already went through hair and makeup and his first round of photos. He’s just waiting now for his wardrobe change and his cue to be back with the photographer.

“Do you think it was a bad idea for me to have gone back home?”

Taehyung taps his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Why are you asking?”

“I…I don’t know.” And that’s the truth of it. “Things just have been weird since we had that one big argument. It’s like no matter what I do or tell myself, she makes me feel like I’m walking on eggshells.”

“Or is it that you realize you might have enjoyed staying with a certain manager more than you thought you would?” Taehyung raises a brow, and Jungkook scowls at him.

“Don’t even start on that. Of course I would feel comfortable there. It wasn’t a hostile environment.”

“So you agree that the environment where Jiyoon is concerned is a hostile one.”

“That’s not what I said,” Jungkook groans. “Is it?”

“Sounds like it to me.” Taehyung shrugs. Jungkook values Taehyung for his brutal honesty, so instead of insisting his friend stop, he lets him continue. “Look, you know I love you and just want you to be happy. But, if Jiyoon is telling the truth and that baby is yours, then you have two kids coming into this world, and you really need to get your shit figured out.”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do, JK. Those babies aren’t going to wait for you to get your shit together. They’re coming in a matter of weeks, whether you’ve got it all figured out or not. I know you and Jiyoon have had a long go at it. You’ve been together for longer than anyone else we know. But, you need to ask yourself if she is the kind of mother you want for your kids. And before you insist she is, I want you to truly think about everything that has transpired. I mean, look at what she said about you and someone who is supposedly her best friend. Someone doesn’t just say that shit because they’re mad. They sure as hell shouldn’t hit anyone because of it, either. There is something going on with Jiyoon—” he taps the side of his head “—up here. And there isn’t a single person who wouldn’t agree that no kid deserves to be brought into a volatile environment. I know that’s not what you had envisioned when you first brought up wanting to have a family.”

“You’re right. But…there’s something else. Something that is maybe making all of this so much worse.”

Jungkook’s knee bounces, nerves wholly consuming him as he prepares to tell Taehyung something he’s only thought about until now. He’s been worried that if he put words to it then it would make it real, but he knows it already is.

Taehyung grins knowingly, the curve of his lips soft and not as teasing as it might usually be. “This should be good. Let’s hear it.”

Your name comes out in a hushed whisper. “I feel like she’s been avoiding me, and it’s driving me crazy. Ever since I went back home, she’s been so distant. I’m worried that she’s upset or something.”

“Well, there is this thing we like to call communication. Have you tried it?”

Jungkook rubs his hands over his face, heedless of messing up his makeup. “I have tried, but it seems like the only thing she wants to talk about is work or baby appointments. It’s like she’s fully in surrogate mode, and that’s all I get.”

“And do you want more?” Taehyung asks, clearly probing to help Jungkook process his thoughts.

“I want her—I want…I don’t know. I care about her. I want her to at least act like my friend,” Jungkook says lamely. Because if there is one thing he’s not sure he’s ready to touch with a twenty-foot pole, it’s the complicated feelings he’s trying to figure out when it comes to you—feelings he’s not sure are real or just a trauma-coping mechanism resulting from his discourse with Jiyoon.

Taehyung claps Jungkook on the shoulder as he stands up. “I need to get in there, but maybe you should ask her to meet up with you. Something strictly not work-related. Maybe get ice cream, or whatever it is pregnant women crave these days. See if you can sus out some more of those feelings I know you got clanging around in there.” His hand moves up from Jungkook’s shoulder to poke the side of his head. “Get all those thoughts out in the open before you go crazy, my friend.”

You agree to meet him for ice cream the next day, provided Jungkook agrees to make an appointment to get new headshots done. With the haircut he got weeks back, it’s needed anyway, so it was easy to accept.

The weather is warming up, and it feels good standing in the sun. It’s been so long since Jungkook allowed himself a moment to breathe and enjoy something so mundane, like the feeling of the sun warming his cheeks.

He’s waiting outside the small walk-up ice cream shop that’s situated in the middle of the park. You agreed to meet him here before an appointment you have with Taehyung. He’s working on some cover spread for a magazine or something like that.

“Sun’s nice, huh?”

Jungkook’s eyes pop open, and he glances back over his shoulder. The sight of you would bring any man to his knees, Jungkook thinks, his own legs giving a little wobble. The floral sundress paired with the sage cardigan Jungkook bought you makes you look like you just stepped off the pages of a romance novel. The wind catches a few stray lengths of your hair and tosses it across your face, drawing Jungkook’s attention to your smile.

“You’re beautiful. Um, I mean, the sun. It’s beautiful. Such a nice day out. Perfect for ice cream.”

You press your fingers against your lips, suppressing a giggle that Jungkook wishes you’d let him hear. “Shall we?” Those same fingers flick in the direction of the ice cream shop.

Jungkook leads the way to the window. “Mint chocolate chip? Cookies and cream?” he asks, trying to think of the different ice cream flavors he’s seen in your freezer.

“Mmm,” you hum, your hand resting over your belly in an absentminded fashion. “I actually think I want a strawberry bungeoppang ice cream.

Chuckling, Jungkook nods. “You read my mind.” He orders two of the fish-shaped ice creams and opens one of the packages before handing it to you.

“I haven’t had one of these in forever,” you say, taking a bite and making a sound of delight.

“Really? That’s sad,” Jungkook teases. “Next time I’m at the grocery store, I’ll grab you a box.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” There is a twinkle of mischief in your eyes as you glance sideways at Jungkook and he wants to capture this moment and never let it go.

So, he does just that, slipping his phone from his pocket and snapping a picture.

The smile slowly disappears from your face. “What?” he asks, looking at you over the top edge of his screen.

“Why are you doing that?”

Jungkook takes another photo, this one with your face more stoic but your eyes no less full of emotion. You don’t exactly look sad, but there is a hint of sadness there, drifting along with the uncertainty in your eyes.

Jungkook looks down at his phone, ice cream forgotten in his other hand. “Because these are important moments that I want to share with my son one day.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Jungkook nods to a park bench. “Of course. Want to sit?”

It feels like forever passes in silence. You sit there and nibble at your ice cream, and Jungkook finally opens his and finishes it in three bites, not wanting to have any sort of distraction. This is supposed to be his time to talk to you, to see what’s going on and figure out why you’ve been acting so weird toward him. He hopes that’s what you want to ask him about.

“What’s going to happen after?”

“After?”

“Once the baby is born. Then what? When I first agreed to do this, the only thing I thought about was the happiness it would bring to you and Jiyoon. But—but the further along this goes, the more shit that happens…the more I can’t stop thinking about how hard it’s going to be to give him up. And I know that’s probably the last thing you want to hear, and please, I swear I’m not going to change my mind about giving you the baby. But, I don’t know that I really thought about the fact that I’m going to be growing a life, spending almost ten months loving this life, to then give them away and pretend like nothing happened.”

“Is that what you think? That as soon as we have the baby, we’re just going to pretend like nothing happened? Is that why you’ve been so withdrawn lately?” Jungkook turns on the bench, drawing one of his knees up so he can look at you fully. “That is not going to happen. This baby, my son, is going to know who you are and what you did for him.”

He can tell you don’t really believe that. “No offense, Jungkook, but I don’t exactly see Jiyoon being okay with that. There’s something going on with her lately, and I don’t even know if our friendship is going to survive this.”

Jungkook takes a deep breath. “We’ll make it all work out. I know we can. You guys have been friends for practically your entire lives. This is just a bump in the road, right? We’ll figure it out, together…all three of us. And, um, there was actually something I wanted to talk to you about, too. Now that we’re on the subject of the babies and what comes after.”

“What is it?” You put the last bite of your bungeoppang in your mouth and chew it slowly as you wait for him to continue.

Maybe he’s jumping the gun in this, but he thinks it might help you with what you’re feeling right now. And besides, he has talked to Jiyoon about it, and even if she was adamantly against it, he’s certain she’ll come around eventually.

“How would you feel about being the babies’ guardian? Like if something were to ever happen to me or Jiyoon, they would both come to you. If you’d want that, that is. I know two kids would be a lot for someone to take on, but I think if I could choose anyone to raise my kids if I couldn’t, it would be you. You’re already doing such a good job with my son,” Jungkook says with a loving inflection in his tone.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do.”

And no matter what, he’ll make that happen because the smile that’s now gracing your face is worth any amount of arguing with Jiyoon over it. You deserve so much more from this whole fucked up situation.

💔💔💔

“You look like you could use a hug.” Taehyung startles you with an arm across your shoulders, giving you half of said hug. “What’s got you looking so blue, boss?”

You hurried from your impromptu ice cream meetup with Jungkook and went straight to the spread shoot for Taehyung, meaning you haven’t had much time to process everything Jungkook said.

“There aren’t enough minutes left in the day to even begin,” you mutter, vigorously clicking through files on your tablet. “This agreement is a fucking mile long. How do they expect me to read it all and get it back to them in a timely manner?”

“‘Fucking’?” Taehyung says, amused. “Something must be up if you’re dropping words like that. Come on, we have a few minutes, you can at least give me the footnotes. My agreement with that cologne brand can wait.” His long fingers pinch the tablet from your hands and bring it to rest against his chest. “Out with it.”

You twist your fingers in the skirt of your dress as you try to decide where to begin. Taehyung isn’t just your client. You consider him a friend as well. And maybe getting an outside perspective is exactly what you need right now.

“Do you think I’m crazy for doing this?” you ask, moving one of your hands to rest over your belly. “You’re the one that brought it up, to begin with, after all.” You add on that last part, recalling the night of your birthday when Taehyung instigated the entire surrogacy conversation.

Taehyung winces. “I did do that, didn’t I? As far as you being crazy? No, I wouldn’t say crazy. Maybe just far too kind for your own good. If I had known you’d actually go along with it, I might not have brought it up that night.”

“Really?”

“Mmhm,” he makes an agreeable sound. “Do you feel crazy?”

You let out a nervous laugh. “Understatement of the year. I feel like I’m losing it, I have no idea what I’m doing…how I ended up six months pregnant with not a clue what the future holds and feelings I can’t—” You cut yourself off before you say something you’re going to regret.

“Feelings?” Taehyung prods, not letting you get away with that near slip-up.

“It doesn’t matter. Just drop it.”

Taehyung raises a hand. “No, no. You can’t say that and then not explain. I promise you’ll feel better once it’s out in the open.”

“I don’t know about that. Feelings are messy and have never done me any good anyway.” You take your tablet back from Taehyung. “I need to get this offer submitted and you’ll be needed back on set soon.”

“Feelings may be messy, but they are valid. Don’t keep them hidden away in that pretty head of yours. That’ll do nobody any good.”

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth before forcing yourself to let it go, along with the hold on your emotions. “These feelings won’t do anyone any good, Taehyung. Because they’re feelings that can’t mean anything. Not without completely destroying everything.”

There is a moment where Taehyung considers you, his eyes flicking over your figure before landing back on your eyes. All you see there is empathy and understanding.

“This is about Jungkook, isn’t it?”

It’s not worth the effort to argue with Taehyung or convince him otherwise. So, you shrug. “Is it that obvious?”

“As obvious as it is that he shares the same sentiment.”

“Don’t be crazy,” you laugh. “That’s not—”

“That’s not as crazy as you think it is. You’ve both always danced around one another, even back before Jiyoon came into the picture.”

“But, she did, and that’s what matters, Taehyung. Now, forget about this nonsense and keep your mouth shut, okay? Get back to makeup, you smudged your eyeliner.”

As Taehyung walks away, you can’t shake what he said. Jungkook is feeling as conflicted as you are? That’s not possible. He moved back home so he and Jiyoon could work things out. There is no room for you and what’s going on in your head in that equation. You might be on the outs with Jiyoon, but that doesn’t give you the right to let your ‘feelings’ get in the way of Jungkook’s happiness.

Right?

You puff out your cheeks, trying not to voice another complaint as you follow along the dirt path behind Jungkook. He wouldn’t tell you more than to meet him at the park and wear something cute. So, here you are, another day and in another sundress, this one a solid turquoise color with a scalloped neckline.

“How much farther are we going? I’m six months pregnant, and if I walk much farther, you’re going to owe me a foot massage.”

Jungkook laughs, tossing a look of pure carefree delight over his shoulder at you. “I promise it’s not much farther, just over this rise. And if you want a foot massage, all you have to do is ask.”

“You’ll owe me two, then,” you grumble to yourself.

All your complaints dry to dust on your tongue as you finally crest the top of the rise in the path, coming to stand beside Jungkook. Spread out before you is an entire field of wildflowers. All of varying colors, their stalks long and willowy in the light breeze blowing off the ocean beyond.

The deep blue water laps and kisses at the distant shoreline, the roar of the surf soft from this distance. It’s a breathtaking sight, the sun bright and warm overhead, glittering along the glassy surface before scattering into a dance as the waves break on the golden sand. The wildflowers wave in the wind as if to cheer on the waves’ dance of the tides.

“Do you want that foot massage now or later? Jungkook asks, his voice soft with his own awe.

You turn to him, forcing your eyes away from one dazzling sight to focus on another. His hair feathers across his forehead, tossed about by the intermittent ocean breeze. A hint of salt licks along your senses, carrying with it the soft, fragrant notes of the wildflowers.

“What are we doing here?”

His eyes meet yours, and his mouth tilts in a smile. “I thought it might be nice to take some pictures. If you’re okay with that, that is. Dani is planning some elaborate maternity shoot for Jiyoon this weekend, and it’s apparently girls only. She wants to do a second one with me when she’s further along. But, that doesn’t matter right now, I just thought…well, we could do a maternity shoot for you. If you want. No pressure, we can just enjoy the view if you’d rather not.”

That conversation you had with Taehyung a week ago threatens to spill out. Is Jungkook feeling as conflicted as you are right now? If you say yes to the maternity shoot, does that mean you’d rather not just spend the time with him? If you say no to the maternity shoot, does that mean you only want to spend the time with him and, therefore, might be crossing some sort of invisible line in the sand?

Is it possible to do both? You wait for the wave of guilt to hit at having such a thought about Jiyoon’s husband. But, it doesn’t come. If anything, you feel a light giddiness at the fact Jungkook thought of all of this for you.

“We can always take some photos and then enjoy the view?” you offer, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible.

Jungkook swings the bag he was carrying off his shoulder. “I think my view will be good either way,” he counters with a pleasant, teasing tone.

Did he just call you a good view? You try to not let that go to your head. Clearly, he’s just being polite to the woman carrying one of his babies.

“Sure,” you laugh, playing it off. “What do you want me to do?”

He pulls out a large DSLR camera and a tripod which he sets on the ground beside his bag. “Just act natural. Pretend the camera isn’t here.” You catch his smirk behind the camera before you roll your eyes, trying to suppress your own smile. The sound of the shutter clicks, and you try to push everything else out of your mind.

Jungkook moves like a natural with the camera, crouching and turning this way and that in order to capture the best angles as he follows you through the meadow of wildflowers, the ocean at your side in the distance.

“The golden hour is coming.” You glance back at him over your shoulder and see the absolute adoration in his eyes as you know the sun is silhouetting your body, accentuating your bump. The shutter clicks in quick succession.

Jungkook lowers the camera, and the adoration that was there moments ago turns into what you can only describe as uncertainty. “Would you be okay taking some with me?”

“Like, with you in them?”

“Yeah, but only if you’re comfortable with that.”

His consideration really knows no bounds. “Of course, I’m okay with that. He’s your baby, after all.”

“But it’s your body,” he says pointedly. All you can do is nod, watching as he returns to his bag and retrieves the tripod.

Jungkook sets up the stand, screwing the base holder into his camera before snapping it in place atop the tripod. He plays with the angles and height before nodding to himself, satisfied.

“I didn’t realize you knew so much about photography.” It shouldn’t surprise you, but Jungkook spends most of his time in front of a camera and not behind one, so it never clicked before.

He approaches you. The casual white button-down he is wearing open over a light blue tank top is a nice coincidence—a perfect match to your dress. At least, you think it’s a coincidence. It’s not like Jungkook knew you were going to wear this dress today. He plucks one of the wildflowers before tucking it in behind your ear, the feather-soft petals tickling your temple.

“I guess you can add it to my list of secret talents.”

“Just how many hidden talents do you have?” One of your brows rises, and a cheeky smile slants your lips.

His eyes hold yours as he sinks down to his knees in front of you, causing your smile to slip and your teasing cheek to be replaced with mild alarm.

“They wouldn’t be secret if I shared them all with you just yet.” One of his hands comes up to cup the side of your belly. “Is this okay?” he asks, completely throwing you off with the sudden change in subject.

You have to work your tongue inside your mouth to gather enough moisture so you can swallow before answering. “That’s fine.”

“Relax. Act natural, remember?”

Sure. Only there’s nothing natural about what’s happening. No matter where you stand with Jiyoon right now, you know for a guaranteed fact that she would have a problem with this. The way Jungkook looks like he’s worshipping at your feet, the fervent love shining in his eyes as they trace the contours of your belly.

You clear your throat. “Do you have the camera on a timer?”

“It’s set to take a photo every few seconds for the next ten minutes. Tell me if any of this makes you uncomfortable.” 

His other hand presses to the other side of your belly, and his forehead comes to rest right below your navel. “It’s not uncom—oh,” you laugh, the action shaking your body slightly.

Jungkook peers up at you with eyes wider than you’ve ever seen before. “Was that…what I think it was?” The bump comes again, and he snaps his eyes to your belly, his mouth forming a giant smile. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“He’s saying hi to his father,” you murmur softly, heart melting at the pure elation on Jungkook’s face.

“Hi, baby,” Jungkook coos, and the little one moves again, making you mirror Jungkook’s smile. Your heart jerks in your chest when Jungkook presses his lips to your belly, planting a kiss where his forehead once rested.

You know it’s probably wrong, and you should ask him to stop, but you can’t bring yourself to break this spell—not yet, at least. If this is something you can give Jungkook, then you’ll let him have it. It’s not like anyone else is going to see these photos, anyway. This pregnancy isn’t really yours to celebrate, not like this.

But you decide to enjoy it for as long as you can—your own private celebration. Jungkook might not belong to you, and that’s something you accepted a long time ago, but these moments will be yours to hold forever—even if the baby won’t be.

💔💔💔

Jungkook

The weeks following moving back in have Jungkook questioning so much about his life. Maybe it’s just the raw vulnerability of what happened between him and Jiyoon, but Jungkook feels like he’s been living on the edge of sanity. Even if it was a lie, it still planted a small seed of doubt in his mind. One that he whole-heartedly feels guilty for and wishes would go the fuck away.

He blames it for the way he eyes Jiyoon’s phone any time it chimes or the way he’s tempted to pick it up when she’s in the shower. It’s not that he wants to go through it, not really…only, actually, he does. He wants to give himself assurances, confirm that there is nothing on there that she’s hiding.

Jungkook knows Jiyoon has many clients who constantly need her attention. It’s no different than you; he knows that. You seem to always be getting a stream of messages, emails, or phone calls whenever he’s around you. That’s just part of the job. Yet…yet, Jungkook can’t seem to shake the desire to just check, to be certain.

It doesn’t help that he’s caught Jiyoon on the phone in the middle of the night. He never let her know he saw her or heard her girlish giggles. But each instance has only added to his mounting paranoia, to the point that he does what he’s promised himself he’d never do.

He looks through her phone.

And the guilt that consumes him tenfold when he finds nothing incriminating at all has him knocking on the door across the hall in an effort not to lose his mind completely.

“Hey, man, what’s up?” Jimin answers the door in a pair of low-slung silk pants and no shirt. His hair is mussed, but if the equally shirtless man standing behind him is any indicator, it’s not from sleep.

“Is Taehyung here?”

Jimin gestures for Jungkook to come in. “Yeah, he’s in his studio. This is my friend, Hoseok. Hoseok, this is Jungkook. He’s one of the OG models from Kim Exclusives.”

“How’s it going?” Hoseok says, a smirk tugging at his lips as Jimin palms his hip.

Jungkook just nods, skirting around them and heading down the hall to Taehyung's studio. It’s one of the spare rooms turned into an art space where Taehyung likes to lose himself in his spare time.

After a few moments, his knock on the door is answered. Taehyung is wearing a linen smock, the front of which is splattered with paint of varying degrees of drying.

“Jungkook.” Taehyung’s brow pinches. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m about to go fucking crazy is what I’m doing here.”

Giving him a once over, Taehyung lets Jungkook into the room and flicks his hand at an empty stool. “I should start charging you by the hour. What’s the going rate of therapists these days?”

“I’ll buy you one of those fancy bottles of soju that you like so much,” Jungkook sighs, dropping onto the hard surface of the stool.

“Deal. Now, out with it, before you ruin my groove here.”

Taehyung sprawls out on a worn-out leather chaise, the edges cracked and dappled in paint. His eyes remain on Jungkook. Despite looking like he could care less, Jungkook knows Taehyung is being attentive, and a better friend than he probably deserves.

“I think something is going on with Jiyoon.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if it’s just my paranoia because of what she said all those weeks ago, or if I’m just seeing things where I want to see them and turning innocent shit into malicious things…I feel like I’m going insane.”

“Continue,” Taehyung encourages, making a ‘come on’ motion with his hand.

Jungkook takes a slow breath, using the moment to collect his thoughts. “I’ve found Jiyoon on the phone at weird hours, in the middle of the night. I would think she’s just talking to a client, and maybe she is, but the way she giggles and talks…it just sounds like, fuck, like the way she used to talk to me. And I know that sounds insane, and I’m probably making something out of nothing, but it’s just so weird. Maybe I never noticed it before, but it’s happening all the time.”

“Hmm.” Taehyung makes a thoughtful sound before gesturing for Jungkook to keep going.

“Her phone is constantly going off, and I keep seeing the same name pop up: Dohyun Kim. I know he’s an actor, and he’s contracted under Kim Exclusives, but I don’t know much else. I’m not really part of the actor's circle. And he could be her client. In fact, I’m pretty sure he is. I just…why is she on the phone with him at 2 AM giggling like she has a crush?”

“Is that all that’s bothering you?” Taehyung asks in a way that tells Jungkook he wants to hear everything before giving his opinion or any advice.

Jungkook rubs the heels of his palms over his eyes before giving Taehyung a tired look. “No,” he says so softly that Taehyung has to lean forward to hear him. “I’ve been experiencing these feelings…and it makes me feel like such a hypocrite. I’m such a fucking asshole, worried that Jiyoon is lying to me when I might as well be lying to her.”

“About?” Taehyung prompts.

“I can’t stop thinking about her,” Jungkook confesses, his voice even softer than before.

“A certain manager who is carrying your baby?”

“Yeah. Dammit, Taehyung. What am I doing? I’m married, for fucks sake!”

Taehyung leans back and crosses an ankle over his knee. “You realize you’re just human, right? You just spent several days thinking the woman you’ve been in love with and shared a life with for over six years had betrayed you. Even if it was a lie, that shit still hurts and is going to leave a lasting mark, man. You can’t be expected to simply shrug it off and continue like life is normal. Your life is anything but normal. For one, your wife, who supposedly has been unable to have kids for years, suddenly pops up pregnant just weeks after you impregnate her best friend. I don’t know about you, Jungkook, and I’m no genius with numbers, but the math isn’t mathing. And for two, it doesn’t surprise me if you’re feeling a bit more connected to the one woman who hasn’t lied to you about a baby.”

“Jiyoon didn’t lie, though—”

Taehyung cuts off Jungkook’s rebuttal. “She did lie. At least, if the baby is yours, then what she said about it not being was a lie, right?”

Jungkook presses his lips into a thin line because he can’t argue with that. Technically it was a lie, if…

“What do you mean ‘if the baby is mine’?”

Leaning forward, Taehyung drops his foot back to the floor and rests his elbows on his knees. “I’m going to say this in the nicest way I possibly can. Married women don’t giggle on the phone with a client at 2 AM. If she’s on the phone with her mom, sure. Her sister? Absolutely. Dani? I’d believe it. But, if you’re telling me she’s on the phone giggling with Dohyun Kim, a client, at 2 AM…I’d say it sounds like you have a problem.”

Cold chills pop up along Jungkook’s arms and down the back of his neck. “Okay,” he says slowly, trying to let his brain process everything Taehyung just said.

“And then there is the issue with your boss,” Taehyung continues as if he didn’t just drop a bomb of realization on Jungkook. “You’re clearly into her, and don’t give me that look. You’re acting the same way you did when you first got signed on with Kim Exclusives. In case you’ve forgotten, you were so smitten with your new manager that you made the rookie mistake of talking to her boss about your crush and nearly got released from your contract. It was only because Namjoon added Jiyoon to your management profile that you were allowed to stay on with them. Jiyoon knew you had a thing for her friend, so she did her best to weasel her way into your heart. Perhaps she wasn’t as successful as she might have thought, it seems.” Taehyung’s eyes flick over Jungkook in silent appraisal. “Yeah, not all that successful at all. Looks like you got a lot to think about, my friend.”

Sighing, Jungkook pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “You know, I came over here to get your help, not have you complicate it even more.”

“It doesn’t seem all that complicated if you ask me. In fact, it all seems pretty clear to me…you just have to want to see it.”

That’s it, though, isn’t it? Jungkook is afraid he already can see it…the light you provide reveals a lot about the darkness he’s been blinded by. He can’t help but think back to the night he held your hand as you lay there on your bathroom floor, having just done one of the most selfless things any one person could do for another.

Some might say that’s a different kind of love, a different kind of affection…but what if it isn’t? What if it was just pulling back the curtain on something that was always meant to be?

💔💔💔

A shadow falls across your desk, causing you to pause in responding to the text message you just received from Jungkook confirming that he’ll be able to attend your thirty-week appointment that’s coming up.

You look up, meeting the cold gaze of your once best friend. Things have been cordial between you and Jiyoon, but neither of you has exactly made much of an effort to actually patch things up. If it wasn’t for Jungkook—if it wasn’t for the baby in your belly that’s growing for her—you’d probably have washed yourself of her friendship completely.

The conversation you had with Jungkook last night still hangs over you like a raincloud. You talked about the legal papers that you’ve yet to sign. The ones that would give all legal rights over to Jungkook and Jiyoon. He wants you to wait to sign them only after the baby is born, just in case. Just in case of what, he didn’t elaborate on. But, it’s becoming clearer to you that despite Jungkook attempting to mend their relationship, not everything is as pretty as it may seem on the outside when it comes to them.

“Is there something I can do for you?” you ask, setting your phone down on your desk. Jiyoon’s eyes follow the device, narrowing slightly before you click the power button to turn off the display. Maybe it was a mistake to make your phone background one of the few maternity photos Jungkook sent you as a taste of what was to come, the rest waiting for him to finish editing them.

You expect her to comment on the photo, but instead, she asks, “Are you really having a baby shower?”

“What are you talking about?”

“What’s this?” she asks, handing you a small folded card.

You take it. It’s white on the back and blue on the front with a small carriage with a bear inside of it. At the top, in silver lettering, it says ‘Join Us’. The inside boasts a small message with a time and date.

While you don’t want to throw Jungkook under the bus on this one, it was technically his idea. You tell Jiyoon as much. “Jungkook thought it would be a good idea. Just some clients and close friends—”

“But, what do you need a baby shower for? It’s not even your baby.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “You act like I’m not aware of that. You realize that anything I get is going to be for the baby, regardless of where he ends up living. But, this isn’t even really a baby shower—” you shake the folded invitation “—it’s just a pregnancy shower. As in, an opportunity for people to maybe gift me the things I’m going to need during recovery after I have him.”

Anger twists her lips, and her nostrils flare as she stares down at you. “You didn’t think to maybe include me in this?”

Shoving the invitation back at her, you throw your hands up. “I’m not the one who planned it. Take that up with your husband, Jiyoon. This was all his idea. So, if you want to squawk and fume at someone, it’s not me. Now, if you please, I have some work to do.”

“Sure, okay. Blame Jungkook for this. That’s so like you, putting the blame off on someone else.”

Jiyoon takes a startled step backward as you shoot up from your seat. “You need to back off and leave me alone.”

Not wanting to face this any longer, for the good of your own mental health, you skirt around her and head to the breakroom. You occupy your hands by mixing a flavor packet into a bottle of water you grab from the fridge.

You should have known better, though, that you could escape this without actually leaving the entire building because you feel her presence behind you before her words slice right into your soul.

“I’ll back off when you stop trying to make everything about you! You don’t need a party for people to bring you things. You’re just using my baby to fill the void in your life. I knew it from the day you agreed to this nonsense with Jungkook. You’re so desperate for something that you were willing to get fucking pregnant, by my husband…do you realize how stupid that is? You’re a fucking joke, and I can’t wait for you to have that baby so I can make sure he’s not raised by some pathetic little girl.”

The ringing in your ears intensifies as seconds pass, stretching the silence in the breakroom. Dani’s tittering laugh breaks the dam holding back your tears as she saunters into the room.

“Aw, Jiyoon, you made her cry.” Dani’s words follow you out the door and to the elevator.

You barely register passing by Taehyung as you enter the elevator. His eyes meet yours, and you see his lips moving, but the door closes before your brain can comprehend what he may have said.

This is it, the moment you’ve been trying to avoid for so long—the moment you shatter into oblivion.

💔💔💔

Jungkook

Taehyung said it was an emergency, and that Jungkook needed to meet with him immediately when he called a few minutes ago. Jimin let Jungkook into their condo, and now he’s waiting for Taehyung in his studio. There wasn’t much Taehyung would say over the phone, but by the tone of his voice, Jungkook knows it’s bad.

Jungkook is tempted to text you again, just to check in to see how you’re doing and if you’re free after work, even though he texted you only an hour or so ago. He finished editing the maternity photos this morning, and he’s excited to show them to you. But he’s waiting for the right time to do that. Jiyoon texted him not long ago to let him know that she’ll be home for dinner, but maybe if he plays his cards right, he can meet with you before that.

Just as he pulls out his phone to send you the text, the studio door swings open, and a wild-eyed Taehyung storms in, chest huffing.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Jungkook asks, standing up from the stool he was sitting on.

“Nope, sit back down. You need to be seated for this. Fucking hell, this is a mess.” Taehyung paces in front of Jungkook, periodically gripping fistfuls of his hair, making the thick chestnut waves go wild. “I need a drink,” Taehyung mutters under his breath before making a beeline for the small bottle of bourbon he keeps tucked behind some of his paint supplies in a cabinet.

“Tae, you’re starting to scare me. What’s wrong?”

Taehyung takes a deep swill straight from the bottle before shoving it at Jungkook. “You’ll want some, too.”

Jungkook slowly takes the bottle, but instead of drinking, he sets it off to the side. “Seriously, Taehyung. What’s going on?”

Throwing his hands up, Taehyung rounds on Jungkook. “It’s your goddamn wife, JK.”

“My wife? What are you talking about?”

“Jungkook. Okay—” Taehyung rubs a hand over his mouth and drops onto the stool beside the one Jungkook is sitting on. “Look. I’m going to tell you something—I seem to be doing that a lot lately—and your first instinct is going to be to not believe me—I know that. But I really need you to listen and know that I wouldn’t be telling you this if I hadn’t heard it directly from her mouth.”

“Umm…okay.”

“Promise me that you’ll listen.”

The look of pure devastation on Taehyung’s face has Jungkook nodding. “Okay, I promise to listen.”

In a whisper so soft Jungkook isn’t sure he hears him correctly, Taehyung says, “The baby…it isn’t yours. She wasn’t lying about that, apparently.”

“You can’t be serious,” Jungkook balks, feeling instantly incensed. Though, whether his anger is at Taehyung or not, he’s not sure.

“You promised you would listen. Now, listen to me. I went by the office today after lunch, and as I was leaving, I could tell something had happened.” He sighs your name, “I passed her as I was getting off the elevator and it was clear she was upset over something. I overheard that bitch Dani laughing in the breakroom, so I went in that direction, knowing she probably had something to do with it. But…I didn’t expect—what I didn’t expect was that I’d catch the tail end of a whispered conversation between Dani and Jiyoon. Their heads were pressed together, but Dani’s big mouth is loud even when she’s whispering. She was asking Jiyoon if she had told that fucker Dohyun that the baby was his or not. From what I could piece together from the rest of what I heard, Jiyoon’s baby is his, but he doesn’t want anything to do with it because he’s married with two kids of his own already! I knew you were on to something with your suspicions, but fuck.”

Jungkook knows he should react a certain way right now. Yet, he can’t seem to muster up the anger and indignation that should be swallowing him whole. If anything…if anything, what he feels is something akin to relief. He can’t help but wonder if that makes him a bad person.

If Taehyung had told him this months ago, Jungkook would have probably punched his best friend in the face and called him every name in the book. But now—he almost feels numb when he considers the fact that Jiyoon was telling the truth a few weeks ago. Maybe it’s because he used up all of his anger and resentment then that there is none left now, when it seems to matter the most.

It doesn’t help that Jungkook’s felt like he was on the outside looking in ever since he moved back home. Jiyoon might have been overly enthusiastic, but she was still firmly on the other side of the invisible line that Jungkook only realizes now that he drew for himself.

“I need to go,” Jungkook says quietly.

“Hey.” Taehyung grabs Jungkook’s arm as he slips off his stool. “You call me if you need me, okay?”

“Thanks.”

Jungkook moves swiftly, almost blindly. He goes across the hall, throws some clothes in a bag, and collects his toothbrush from the bathroom before he’s on the move again.

“Hello?” At the first sound of your scratchy voice, Jungkook’s mind instantly switches gears. His problems are immediately inconsequential to whatever is ailing you.

“Where are you right now?”

You sniffle and clear your throat before answering. “I went home early. Why? Is everything okay?” You’ve been crying. Clearly, things are not okay, and Jungkook won’t be able to deal with his issues until he takes care of you first.

“No, everything is not okay. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Jungkook is out of breath by the time he’s knocking on your door, having sprinted from his car straight up the stairs of your building because the elevator was taking too long.

The door swings open before Jungkook can bring his knuckles forward to knock a second time. You don’t protest when he wraps his arms around you and ushers you back so he can close the door.

“You said everything wasn’t okay.” Your voice is muffled by your face pressed against his chest. “What’s going on?”

“That’s not important right now. Tell me what’s got you so upset,” Jungkook urges, releasing you just enough that you can look up and meet his worried gaze.

You shake your head, more tears finding their way onto your cheeks. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jungkook moves you over to the couch and helps you sit down, kneeling at your feet with your hands clasped in his. “Please, tell me.”

He hates the way your shoulders tremble, and every tear that tracks down your cheeks is another blow to his chest. He’s never seen you this upset before, so he knows it’s something bad…something that Jiyoon caused if what Taehyung said was any indicator. But he needs you to tell him; needs you to open up and say it.

“I don’t want to upset you,” you whisper, the words breaking Jungkook’s heart because, of course, you would try to put his feelings before your own wellbeing. You’re far too good for him, for any of them, really.

He squeezes your hands. “I promise, you can say whatever it is you need to say, and it’ll be okay.”

Jungkook listens to you, his anger and horror at such vile things growing with every confession you release. Once you finish explaining what happened at the office today, you surprise him by including other incidents that he wasn’t aware of, like that one lunch you’ve tried so hard to forget.

“I don’t know why I didn’t reach out to you then, see if you were actually going along with the whole ‘there are options’ thing. I mean, an abortion? Why the fuck would I abort this baby just because Jiyoon so happened to get pregnant. It was something I had completely forgotten about, or maybe just intentionally blocked out, until today. Fucking hell, Jungkook, she practically told me to get rid of it because it wasn’t needed since she’s pregnant…who does that? I’m sorry. I know she’s your wife, and you love her…but I can’t do this. I can’t, in good faith, have this baby and let her take him.” You begin to sob in earnest, your words turning into barely coherent pleas and apologies.

If his heart wasn’t broken before, it’s completely fissured through now. “Hey, it’s okay, “ he tries to soothe you, sliding onto the couch beside you and gathering you into his arms.

Jungkook wants to scream, rant, and rave at the world for how cruel and unfair life can be sometimes. But, mostly, he feels a deep sense of guilt in having been the one to start this whole thing. If it wasn’t for him, you’d not be pregnant right now. If it wasn’t for him, Jiyoon might not be the raging bitch she has seemingly become. Maybe…just maybe—

“Stop,” you whisper. “Stop blaming yourself, I can hear the guilt in your head. None of this is your fault, Jungkook.”

He knows that’s not true, but also that there is no sense in trying to explain how much it is his fault. The best he can do right now is try to make it hurt less. “I’ll be right back,” he tells you, soothing a hand over your hair and down your back. “Your hands are freezing, I’m going to grab a blanket.”

You nod against his shoulder and relax your arms as he pulls away. The sobs have mostly subsided, but Jungkook can tell you’re far from being okay. Not wanting to waste another moment, he disappears down the hall and into your room to retrieve some comfort items and the fuzzy blanket you keep folded over the end of your bed.

When he turns, items in hand, to go back to you, he stops just short of the doorway. The sound of a familiar voice drifts to him from down the hall. Dread pours down his spine and prickles over his skin in a thin sheen of sweat.

Jiyoon is here.

💔💔💔

“Where is he? I know he’s here!”

It’s like watching a sitcom. The timing’s far too impeccable, and all that’s missing is the background laugh track. As soon as Jungkook disappears into your room, there’s a knock on the front door. Jiyoon’s the last person you expect to be standing there. Yet, here she is, her hands firmly planted on her hips and her enraged eyes slicing you from head to toe.

“It might help if you explained who you are looking for.” You know who she means, but you can’t help being purposely obtuse out of sheer spite.

She raises her hand and jabs her forefinger in your face. “Don’t play stupid with me. You know who! Jungkook. My husband.”

You take a slow breath, your eyes barely cutting to the side and beyond Jiyoon. Jungkook is peeking through your doorway, and you know he’s about to make himself known to her. His eyes meet yours, and you shake your head subtly, hoping he understands.

“If he is your husband, then why would he be here at my home?”

Jiyoon sneers. “You think you’re so goddamn cute, don’t you? I know what the two of you have been up to. I found the proof of your little love affair on his laptop, so don’t even try me. Tell me where he is, and I won’t have to make you cry again.”

You have absolutely no idea what kind of proof Jiyoon thinks she has found, but seemingly, there is something lost in translation somewhere. “Proof? What the hell are you talking about? I’ve done nothing with your husband that you, yourself, didn’t approve of.”

“That’s hilarious,” Jiyoon laughs mockingly. “Because I never wanted any of this to happen! I never wanted fucking kids to begin with! I only went along with it because it was what Jungkook wanted, and I knew he’d leave me if I told him the truth!” Her voice comes out loud and shrill, the words taking you by surprise. “But, obviously, he’s not the one I have to worry about, is he? I should have known from the moment you agreed to this nonsense that you were trying to worm your way into his life. How dare you try to ruin my marriage!”

“You…what? You never wanted kids? Jungkook wouldn’t leave you over that! He loves you, even when you’re being a complete and utter crazy person! You think I’m trying to break up your marriage? What the hell?”

She throws her hands up. “And you call yourself my best friend! What a fucking joke. No, I never wanted kids! Why would I want to give up my perfect body and my perfect life to raise some snot-nosed, grubby-handed, little brats?! I only ever went along with it because that’s what Jungkook wanted, what he begged for like a sad little puppy! Though I guess he didn’t have to beg you much, did he? You willingly went to him like a bitch in heat.”

“Jiyoon, what the hell are you even talking about?!”

She continues on as if you haven’t spoken, “I bet you feel so high and mighty, having given him exactly what he wants. That was the start of your whole plan, right? How you’ve plotted to get him to leave me? I should have just saved you the trouble and told him myself. Though, maybe he’s just too dense to realize it, because, I mean, come on. Years of supposed infertility?” she laughs again, completely humorless. “Am I just surrounded by idiots?”

There isn’t enough moisture in your mouth to speak comfortably, but you force the words out anyway, “But, you’re pregnant now. How can you say that—”

“Accidents happen! If I had known I’d get so shit-faced the weekend I found out that you were pregnant that I’d forget to take my pills on time, I’d not have let Dohyun touch me!”

You rock back on your heels, completely thrown off by her blatant admission. “Dohyun? What the hell did you do, Jiyoon? What the hell are you talking about?”

The person you once considered your closest friend throws her head back and laughs, the sound echoing from the ceiling. It’s not a humorless laugh like before, it’s full of incredulity and surprise.

“I did what any miserable woman does when their husband spends more time dreaming about babies than he does about his own wife. I found my own happiness!”

“I—I don’t understand…you love Jungkook!”

Jiyoon titters, clicking her tongue at you. “You’re so naive. Love is not real. Whatever fucked up little fantasy you have in your head about Jungkook, it’s not real. He doesn’t love you, just the same as he doesn’t love me. How I ever was friends with you, I’ll never understand. You’re so pathetic. Your delusions about Jungkook come from the fact he put a baby in you on the goddamn floor of your bathroom! I mean, come on, where is your self-respect?! If you think just because you’re birthing a child for him that it means something more, then you’re far dumber than I’ve ever given you credit for. Look at you, just look at you! Never in a million years would someone like Jungkook want someone like you if there wasn’t some sort of transaction involved! He’s mine and he’s so far gone for this baby—” she gestures to her stomach “—that he’ll never leave me no matter what. And if you think to keep that baby from him—” her hand flicks to your stomach “—you and I both know he’ll hate you forever.”

“You’re wrong, Jiyoon.” Whether Jungkook has feelings for you or not, you know nothing has happened between the two of you. And you sure as hell know that Jungkook doesn’t just care about the baby…at least, you don’t think it’s just that. “You’re not going to get away with this. Jungkook will see through your lies!”

You have to take several steps back as Jiyoon crowds into your space. “If you even think to say anything to him or to anyone else, for that matter, I will ruin you. You know I have friends in high places, far more than you do. I will make you regret every decision you’ve ever made. Now, I’m going to leave here, and if you see my husband, be a good girl and tell him to come home. Got it?”

“Why don’t you tell me yourself?”

Jungkook’s voice startles both of you, and you watch as the color drains from Jiyoon’s face. Her pouty lips open in horror. She turns slowly away from you to face Jungkook, who is now standing on the other side of the living room, his arms crossed and his eyes laser-focused on her.

“W-what are you doing here?” she asks, her body language morphing from surprise to defensive right before your eyes. “I knew he was here! You lying bitch, how dare you?!”

Before she can round on you and change the narrative once more, Jungkook quickly moves into the room and steps in front of you. “I think you need to leave,” he tells her. “Now, before you say anything else to dig your hole even deeper.”

“I don’t know what you think you heard—”

“I heard enough, Jiyoon. We both did. Leave while you have some dignity still intact, lest you forget those friends that you have in high places are really mine.”

Jiyoon at least has the grace to allow her tears to fall, showing the first sign of a genuine emotion other than rage since she stepped foot into your apartment.

“If you’d just let me expla—”

“Jiyoon,” you cut her off this time. “Leave before I call the police. Please.”

Her eyes flick between you and Jungkook. Without another word, she turns and leaves. Jiyoon might have hurt you, but you still feel the sting of your friendship crumbling. She wasn’t always good to you, may have even been downright terrible, but she was still someone you cared about for a very long time.

And you know if you’re feeling like this, Jungkook must be having it even worse. All those things she said, the lies…the deceit…dear god, everything.

“Jungkook,” you hesitate. “Are you okay?”

He blinks a few times and turns back to look at you. There are unshed tears in his eyes that give you a glimpse into what he might be feeling, but other than that, his face is completely unreadable.

“I’m not the one I’m worried about,” he tells you. “I need to know if you’re okay. Everything she said about you…about me, you have to know that none of it is true.”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t somewhat believe her. Ever since she said what she did at the office, about you being so desperate to fill the void in your life that you agreed to carry a baby—your first and maybe only baby—for someone else. Someone that you care about, sure, but not for yourself…you had absolutely no thought or concern for yourself. It was all about making Jiyoon and Jungkook happy. And in that moment, you realized she was right about at least one thing; you were desperate enough to give away something so sacred for…the chance at feeling something? Pathetic.

“I…I don’t know.”

Jungkook’s arms catch you around the waist, and you realize your knees have given out. “Whoa, let’s get you on the couch.” He takes up the same position he had earlier, kneeling at your feet after you’ve sat. The touch of his skin against yours is soothing, and comforting, as he cups your face and lets his eyes roam over your features. “Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

The last thing you want to do right now is tell Jungkook your thoughts, but you find yourself opening up to him, letting your torrential feelings bubble out in what you’re not sure are even coherent words.

“I agreed to have this baby without thinking of myself. This is my first baby…and I was completely okay with giving it away. What kind of person does that make me? Desperate? Pathetic? Was I really just so starved for a connection that I agreed to do that…? Am I a homewrecker? Did I let your kindness color my perception and create this elaborate delusion that maybe there was something more between us? Or is it just the stupid crush I’ve had on you for years now that is making me think maybe, in the end, things would have been okay and that somehow by choosing my baby, you’d be choosing me, too? No. No, that can’t be it. You don’t feel that way about me. You’re married! Or…at least, you were, or well, still are…to my best—ex-best—friend. And, of course, the only way I could get a guy to notice me was to be laid out on my bathroom floor, willing to have a baby—”

“I’m going to stop you there,” Jungkook says, lightly pressing a finger against your lips. “I’m not saying that what you’re feeling isn’t valid, because you have every right to feel however you feel about things. But, I need to set some things straight, and maybe that will help. Okay?”

He’s talking to you slowly, clearly, and with so much openness in his eyes now that you just want to dive right into them and float away into their espresso-colored abyss.

“Okay.” You swallow hard against the choking feeling in your throat, knowing you need to hear him out before you spiral further.

Jungkook settles on his heels, absently letting his hands, now engulfing yours, gently press against the underside of your belly.

“You,” he pauses to take a deep breath. “You are the most selfless and beautiful person I’ve ever met. I am so sorry that I did not make that clear in the beginning. Even before all of this started, that’s what I thought, and how I felt, and everything in the last seven months has just made me see and feel that even more. I know things are confusing right now, and there is a lot we need to talk about, but I need to make it clear to you…make you understand that you are far more than just this precious baby to me.” Jungkook leans forward and presses a light kiss to your stomach, keeping his eyes on yours. “You mean more to me than that, I just…I was scared to admit that, and we both know things have been crazy lately. I’ll forever be sorry for not saying all that sooner.”

“But…what? I’m confused. Are you thinking straight right now? I mean, that baby…Jungkook, don’t worry about me. I can’t imagine what’s going through your head right now. You can talk to me. Or I can call Taehyung?”

Jungkook chuckles, the sound low and almost sad. “This is exactly what I mean. You’re trying to put me first, worrying about me. Maybe I should be broken up about all of this, but…if I’m being honest, I knew deep down that something was off. Jiyoon has been acting weird, and then Taehyung overheard her and Dani today in the breakroom at the office. It all but confirmed it. But then she had to go and be very…Jiyoon and come over here to point fingers and lay blame, all so she could justify her own guilt over what she’s been doing to me—to us.”

“Oh, Jungkook.” The memory of passing Taehyung on the elevator comes back to you, and the pieces start to fit together. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry for. Please don’t feel bad for me. I don’t want to be a victim in this, I don’t want either of us to be. Things might not be perfect, but…I-I don’t regret any of this. I care about you, and if it wasn’t for all of this…” Jungkook trails off, but you think you know what he’s trying to say.

Regardless of how fucked up things are right now, if the world as you know it wasn’t shattered into a million pieces, you might not be able to see the possibilities laid out before you. The possibilities that are right in front of you.

You lean forward and hesitate, poised with your lips a breath's width from Jungkook’s. All you need is a moment to feel that it’s real, that not everything is broken beyond repair. Whether he closes the distance or you do, you’re not sure. But, the tender press of his lips against yours is all the confirmation you need.

In fairytales, a moment like this would be punctuated with fireworks or banding trumpets and beating drums. But, for you, it’s the rapid thumping of your heart and the frisson of butterflies that take flight low in your belly that let you know this is real; that this isn’t broken.

“No matter what happens, we’re in this together,” Jungkook breathes, his words caressing your lips before he moves his mouth against yours again. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere, not unless you tell me to.”

“Are you sure you want me to be there?” you ask for maybe the third time since Jungkook helped you into his car.

His eyes flick from the road to yours before focusing back. “Yes. I want you there, more than anyone else. Today is a big day, what if I need an emotional support hug or something?”

He’s teasing you, you can tell. But it still makes you smile and swoon a little. It’s been a couple of weeks since what could easily be described as one of the darkest days of your life transpired. And things are finally starting to feel normal again; or as normal as it can be to have your supposed best friend nearly rip your world apart and come out on the other side with her husband by your side instead of hers.

Another few weeks have managed to fly by before you know it. And in that time, you’ve done a lot of soul-searching and talking—specifically, talking to Jungkook. There has been so much the two of you needed to talk about, both relating to Jiyoon and not. Because, somehow, despite—or maybe in spite of—all the things that have gone wrong, you and Jungkook have found yourselves drawn together closer than ever.

Things have been just a smidge more than casual between you and Jungkook. It’s like a great weight has been lifted from your shoulders and you are able to breathe deeply for the first time in a long time. Jungkook is with you and seems to be doing much better as well, the perpetual tension around him dissipating more with each passing day.

You feel like maybe you’re both toeing the same blurred line of figuring out exactly what you are to each other. The feelings are there, there’s no doubting that. It’s just working through it all to ensure you’re both making conscious decisions instead of rash ones that may be influenced by the emotion of it all.

“An emotional support hug or a freedom kiss?”

Jungkook hums thoughtfully, like he’s truly considering your question. You’ve only shared a few more kisses since the one that took place on your couch that night. But Jungkook is not afraid to shower you with affection in other ways, ways that you’re both comfortable with right now. Like how his fingers thread through your hair while you use his tummy as a pillow as you watch a movie on the couch. Or the way he helps you put on your shoes whenever you go out because he knows bending over too far can sometimes make you dizzy.

Sometimes you find yourself wanting to ask him for more, but unsure if he’ll be as open and receptive. You both agreed to not push anything and to allow it to all naturally occur, and develop on its own in a healthy way. You’re fairly certain that you both don’t want to accidentally ruin this before it has a chance to even begin.

“How much would it take for me to get both the hug and the kiss?”

It feels good to laugh, even as Jungkook pulls into the parking lot of his lawyer’s office and the mood grows more somber. There is a reason he’s here, and seemingly a reason you’re here, too.

“You can have both,” you concede with a soft smile. Because, deep down, you know he’ll probably need it; legal separation and then divorce is a nasty process, after all.

Hours and several signatures later, Jungkook looks lighter. There is a bit more bounce in his step as he takes your hand and walks you back outside. The sun is shining and you wouldn’t be surprised to see a rainbow pop up somewhere after the raincloud that just disappeared from over him.

“Well, I’m officially single now. Want to be my girlfriend?”

You can hear the teasing tone in his voice, which makes the surprised look on his face even better when you say, “Of course I would.” 

“Wait. Really? You’re being serious?”

“As long as you are.”

Jungkook laughs, the sound like music to your ears after so much turmoil has passed. “You know what? I think I am. I want this,” he says, giving your hand in his a light squeeze. “I’ve wanted you for a while now.”

That light fluttering feeling in your belly that you’ve come to associate with Jungkook swoops in and you swear you can hear those fairytale romance fireworks going off somewhere in the distance as you press up onto your toes and cover his lips with yours. 

“I’ve wanted you, too.”

Baby time is swiftly approaching, and with Namjoon’s blessing, you’re taking some time off of work. Or rather, time away from the office. You’ve been working at home, something that was agreed might be best until you come back from maternity leave.

On your last day in the office, it was mentioned by Hyeonwoo that he saw Jiyoon leaving Namjoon’s office, her eyes red and cheeks blotchy. Later, you were told in a private meeting that Jiyoon has been given the same extension of time out of the office, except instead of coming back after maternity leave, she is going to need to find a new place of employment. All things considered, Namjoon hated to have to let her go, but with everything that went down, he had no choice in the end.

You haven’t seen nor spoken with Jiyoon since that day in your apartment. Jungkook has, but only a few times, to take care of legal things. The divorce should be finalized in a few months after Jiyoon’s baby is born. Even though she claims the baby is not his, Jungkook told you that he knows it’s possible. If she could have gotten pregnant by Dohyun, then there might be even the smallest possibility that she could have gotten pregnant by Jungkook instead.

So, with that, he’s requested a paternity test after the baby is born and has also extended some grace to Jiyoon. He’s allowing her to live in the condo until she has the baby, time she’s using to find a new place. Because once her baby is born, the condo will be sold. Which is why you have a stack of emails with more real estate listings waiting for you to have a moment to look through them.

Jungkook presented you with the idea of moving in together about a week ago. He’s already been on a few tours—with you on video chat so you can see, too—and you both know exactly what you want in a home—the place where your son will grow up.

“Hey!” Jungkook calls from the living room. “I’m back.”

You close your laptop and set it off on the bedside table before easing forward on the pillows to sit up straighter. Laying back in bed with your feet propped up tends to help with the swelling, so you’ve been spending some time lounging in bed when you can.

“In here,” you say.

You hear Jungkook’s feet pattering down the hall for a second before his head pops through the doorway, followed by his large frame. “How’s your day been? Just been relaxing?” He comes to sit on the other side of the bed, the side he’s been sleeping on for the last two weeks.

“As much as I can relax,” you sigh, rubbing a hand over your belly. “He’s finally settled down.”

You’re not sure you’ll ever get over the way Jungkook’s face lights up when his eyes sweep over where his son is steadily growing in your body.

“I want to take you to dinner,” Jungkook announces, sliding closer to you.

One of your eyebrows quirks up because clearly he’s excited about something but is trying to keep it to himself by the vibrating energy you can feel emanating from him. “What’s the occasion?”

“Occasion? Do I need an occasion to want to take you out?” His tone speaks volumes.

You give him a playful poke in the ribs, which earns you a lopsided grin, his nose scrunching in that adorable way. “You can take me to dinner on one condition.”

“Anything! Name it.” Jungkook bounces up onto his knees, hands planted on the bed beside you.

With a finger under his chin, you turn his face toward the end of the bed, where your toes are wiggling in invitation. “Please, if you expect me to get out of this bed.”

“Oh-ho, you drive a hard bargain!” he teases. “It would be my absolute pleasure.”

Jungkook crawls down the bed and takes up a position so your feet rest on the tops of his thighs. The instant his thumbs roll across the ball of your left foot, you let out a low groan.

“That feels so good. Now, if only you could do the same to my lower back.” You let out another breathy sound, eyes fluttering shut as Jungkook slowly eases away the ache.

“Your lower back bothering you?”

You nod. “Just a bit.”

Jungkook hums softly, thoughtfully. “I think I have an idea, if you’re okay with trying.”

One of your eyes pops open, and you look at him curiously. “Does it involve getting on the floor with the yoga mat like last time? Because I don’t know if I want to roll around on the floor again.”

“No, no,” Jungkook chuckles. He switches to massaging your other foot. “It’ll be a massage, I swear.”

“No offense, Jungkook, but I’m not sure how you can massage my lower back without me laying flat on my stomach, and well—” you gesture down at your prominent baby bump “—not exactly comfortably possible.”

One of his fingers comes up in the air. “That’s where my idea comes into play. Come on, the worst that can happen is it doesn’t work. What do you say?”

“I say, what the hell, why not? But, if it doesn’t work, you owe me dinner and ice cream.”

“I think I can handle that.” Jungkook’s tone is light and teasing, it almost feels like this is what you’ve always done. Like this delicate, flirty exchange has been a part of your dynamic from the start. What has been mere weeks, feels like years…and you don’t mind that, not one bit.

It helps to thwart any awkward tension as Jungkook helps you up onto your knees with your back to him. His hands are gentle, yet firm, on your hips as he guides them back until you’re practically sitting on top of his thighs.

“If you wanted me to sit in your lap, you know you could just ask, right?” The sassy comment is out of your mouth before you can stop it, earning you a shocked laugh from Jungkook.

His hands give your hips a generous squeeze, thumbs dimpling the curvy skin right above your ass. “I’m trying to remain somewhat of a gentleman here.”

“You may continue,” you say, fully relaxing into his grip.

“Lean forward, just a little, hands on the bed. Keep your back as relaxed as you possibly can.”

To lean forward the way Jungkook wants you to, you have to spread your knees apart so your belly can fit into the space between them. The cotton babydoll dress you’re wearing is probably not the best for this, as the fabric pulls and slips dangerously high.

But the moment Jungkook’s thumbs slide up and begin to press into the sore muscles of your lower back, you’ll do just about anything, as long as he doesn't stop. The flats of his fingers cup your sides, toying along the line of your ribs as his thumbs continue to work up through your mid-back and then back down again.

You let your head hang forward between your shoulders. A low whine gets caught in your throat. “That…is easily the best thing I’ve ever felt.”

Jungkook snorts a laugh. “And you haven’t even experienced all that I have to offer yet.” It almost sounds conversational, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d mistake the underlying heat of his words for something else.

“No,” you agree. “I don’t suppose I have…yet.” 

His thumbs pause for a moment, and you can feel the warmth of his breath brush across your shoulders as he exhales heavily. “Ah-um, does that feel better?”

You can tell he’s pulling back, intentionally not taking the bait. But, it’s so hard to tell if it’s because he doesn’t want to or if he’s just trying to respect you and that seemingly invisible line that the both of you have been toeing recently.

“It does.” You push your hips back ever so slightly into his touch. “But, I think it could feel better.”

“Yeah? How so?” Jungkook asks, voice low and full of barely restrained heat.

“You can stop trying to be a gentleman and show me how you really feel about me,” you suggest, peeking at him over your shoulder.

Jungkook looks like a man starved. His eyes are downcast, intent on the way his thumbs are now tracing lazy patterns across the top of your ass and over the curves of your hips. Slowly, his eyes slide up to yours, and the look there makes your heart launch into a frenzy of staccato beats.

One of his hands glides up your spine and comes around to cup your chin, turning your face even further to the side so that when he presses his body against yours, your lips are right there for his.

The kiss starts gently, like all the previous ones you’ve shared. But, soon, that isn’t enough, and you find yourself urging him for more. His tongue slides against yours as you part your lips, welcoming the wet heat of him inside your mouth.

His hands, once so restrained on your hips and lower back, map over every inch of your body that they can reach. Jungkook traces the lines of your shoulders, fingers feather-light as they pinch and pluck over the mounds of your breasts. Your dress rises and bunches as he contours his palms across your thighs and along your sides.

By the time you come up for air, your lips are tingling, and your entire body is alight. “There are many ways I feel about you,” he whispers, lips grazing along your cheek until he’s speaking into your ear. “You make me want to break the world and, in the same breath, remake it in ways inspired by the light you have given me because everyone should experience this—this beauty that you have brought to my life.”

“Words are wonderful,” you tell him, breathless and bold. “But I said show me.”

Jungkook hesitates only a moment, his eyes searching yours, looking for…something. You look at him with everything that you can, hoping he can see the joys and affirmations you have for him.

“Only if you’re certain.” The words drip honey, sweet, and tantalizing. All you have to do is say yes, and you know he’ll hold nothing back.

Gripping the bottom of your dress, you bring it up and over your head before tossing it to the side. “I’m certain.”

Your nipples draw tight, just like the coil in your belly, as you wait with bated breath for Jungkook to react. He doesn’t leave you waiting long, his hands coming around to cup you, toying with the tips of your breasts. Your entire body shudders as he rolls your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

“You are so beautiful,” Jungkook praises in a robust, husky tone. “I wonder if you taste as good as you look.”

Your body bends to his will, pliant as he supplicates you before him with your ass in the air. Jungkook slowly peels your panties down, and strings of your wetness cling to the fabric until it pops and leaves streaks of arousal webbing across your thighs. You can’t remember the last time you were this turned on just from kissing and being touched by someone.

However, the way Jungkook tenderly soothes his hands over your body is different from anything you’ve ever experienced. There is a heightened sense of connection and awareness. He ensures you know exactly where he is and how hungry and eager he is to know your body.

“Jungkook,” you draw his name out, the syllables lingering on your lips as Jungkook moves his grip to your ass and squeezes. The pressure pulls at your body, opening you to him.

An appreciative hum sounds from behind you. “I want to make you feel good, but you’re in control, okay?”

You nod against the cool, soft surface of the duvet. “Okay,” you say, knowing Jungkook prefers when you vocalize your understanding when he talks to you, and you hope that carries over even into such an intimate setting.

It seems it does when he groans and whispers, “Good girl.” You only have a moment to smile to yourself at eliciting such a response before all thoughts completely empty from your head when Jungkook licks a thick stripe through your pussy.

“Jungkook!” His name is a moaned prayer, and you’re simply a mortal on her knees, ready to pay any tithe he demands as long as he doesn’t stop.

You’re rewarded with another lick. His nose presses against your body as his lips pluck in tandem with his tongue against your clit, drawing obscene noises from deep in your body.

Everything tingles, and you feel like you’re teetering on the edge almost instantly. Your body is primed and aching for more, having been starved of such pleasure for so long.

“Shh,” he soothes when you whimper at the loss of his mouth against you. “I want this to last.”

“No,” you moan. “Please. Please, fuck me. Please, Jungkook! I want to feel you, I don’t want to wait.”

Tears prick at your lashline, and you think you really might cry if he doesn’t put you out of your misery soon. “Then I won’t make you wait. I’m yours, I’m here, I promise.”

You listen to the sound of Jungkook’s belt clinking and the distinct brush of fabric as he pulls off his shirt and works his pants off. Curling to the side, you press your cheek into the mattress and let your eyes drink in his form in all its glory.

Jungkook’s tattoos are something you’ve seen many times; it’s not like he’s never been shirtless for a photo shoot or during wardrobe changes. But seeing them displayed like this? It’s wholly different. He looks like a god, chiseled from marble and lust.

The breath in your chest catches when your eyes slide down. His cock is hard and leaking, bobbing in the air so close to your body. All it would take is for you to rock back on your hips, and you’re certain you could take him into your depths.

As if sensing your intention, Jungkook palms the generous curves of your ass and keeps you firmly in place. “We are going to take this slow. I want to feel every inch of you taking me in. I want to feel the way your body squeezes and flutters as you adjust. And then I’m going to fuck you nice and slow, the way you deserve to be.”

“What I deserve is for you to shut up and fu—uhhh,” your curse turns into a throaty moan when he gives you exactly what you asked for.

The swell of him is decadent, the stretch enough for you to feel it but remaining on just the cusp of pain. It’s the perfect mix of pleasure, making you needy for more.

Jungkook’s whole body shudders against yours. He wraps his arms around you, one across your chest and the other clasped in the dip of your thigh, where his long fingers return to toying over your clit. Your back presses to his chest, leveraging your body in a way that seats you further onto his thick cock.

“Perfect,” he growls in your ear. “You’re fucking perfect. Goddamn, I could cum just feeling you around me.”

You move with him, letting your body rise and fall in sync with his shallow thrusts. It puts pressure in all the right places, and with his fingers still strumming over your clit, your body responds in kind.

“You’re going to make me—” Jungkook swallows your words, devouring you with tongue and teeth as your body succumbs to the pleasure coursing through it.

His grip on you tightens, and you can feel the moment he follows you into the embrace of ecstasy. Jungkook’s moan vibrates through your whole body, his tongue lazily dancing over yours as you both try to regain your bearings.

Somewhere between the foot massage and the orgasm, something clicked. No matter how messy life might be, nothing can take away this feeling of rightness—this feeling that the future is full of healing. For both you and Jungkook. Because perhaps once someone is shattered, the pieces might not quite fit back together as they once were, but they can still be made into something beautiful.

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[writememysticfalls]

Thirsty | Elijah Mikaelson

Summary: Elijah is cold and distant around you... until one night, you break down in front of him. Even Originals get thirsty.

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x vampire!reader

Genre: Suggestive, angsty, hot

Word Count: <1k

You were rummaging through the industrial freezer in the basement of the Mikaelson home.

You were elbow deep in ice chips, desperately searching for the only thing your body craved now you'd been turned into a vampire.

Blood.

"Where do they keep the fucking blood bags?" You kicked the freezer door so hard the metal crumpled under your boot.

"Need a hand?"

You spun around at the familiar voice.

Elijah was leaning against the door frame, watching you. He wore a pale cream shirt that was rolled up, exposing brown forearms.

Elijah always looked so put together, even when he had the blood of his enemies dripping down his chin, and congealed between his fingers.

Suddenly, you felt a hand grab your arm. Elijah yanked you back, using his full vampire force to turn you towards him.

You smoothed your unruly brown locks, feeling suddenly self conscious.

Elijah lifted up the lid of the freezer with one finger, peering inside.

"I'll have to make sure the maid restocks this more often."

He walked up to a portrait hanging on the wall. Pushing the frame to the side, he revealed a hidden safe. His fingers slid over the keys at vampire speed. The safe door clicked open and Elijah reached inside to pull out a heavy crystal bottle.

He poured a glass and handed it to you.

"Here, this should suffice."

You looked at the dark red liquid in the glass. The idea of drinking blood made you feel literally sick, but the gnawing at the base of your throat could only be eased by one thing. You knocked back the entire contents of the glass in one gulp.

"Thanks," you said, wiping your mouth.

Elijah gave you a tight smile.

"I've never seen you drink blood, Elijah. Hell, I've never even seen you eat." You crossed your arms. "Meanwhile I can't even go thirty minutes without thinking about where I'm going to get my next fix."

"You are a new vampire," Elijah said, sliding the portrait back in place. "Restraint takes time to master."

You tugged at your sallow cheeks. "I feel so... unnatural. I feel like my insides are rotting. It's all wrong. I'm all wrong!"

Elijah pressed his lips into a tight line.

You sank to your knees. You buried your head in your hands and started to sob.

"I should have died. What have I become?" you said, between sobs.

Elijah stood, awkwardly, watching you cry on the floor. His arms itched to hold you, but it no longer felt like his place to do so.

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand. Your eyes were glistening, and your nose was red. You stood up, face to face with Elijah.

"There was a time, once..." you said, sniffing. "That you would have held me, maybe even kissed me. Now you don't even talk to me, Elijah."

Your hard exterior had melted, leaving soft, brown skin and watery eyes. You suddenly looked so young.

Elijah sighed.

"Y/n, I..." but the words died on his lips. He moved forwards, silently, till he was inches away from you.

He leant his forehead against yours, eyes slipping shut. Your arms hung limply at your sides, fingers almost touching.

Suddenly, the sound of glass splattering echoed through the room. Both your and Elijah's heads shot up.

"Elijah!" Niklaus roared from upstairs. "The love of my life is at the bottom of this bottle, brother. Come and help me find her!"

Niklaus was drunk. Something which was becoming a daily occurrence.

You stepped away from Elijah.

"Go, run after your little brother like you always do," you snapped. The prickly expression had once again masked your beautiful features.

Elijah rolled down his shirtsleeves, and did up his cufflinks.

"Do not concern yourself with matters of my family," he said, sternly. "You should focus on your transition."

You scoffed. "You don't get to tell me what to do." You turned away and stormed towards the door.

You gasped. Elijah's eyes were red, and black veins pulsed under his eyes. He snarled.

You thought he was going to attack you. Your breath caught in your throat.

Suddenly, Elijah leant down and kissed you, hard, on the mouth.

Elijah wound one hand around your waist and pulled you to his chest as he continued to kiss you. You could hear his pulse racing in your ears, you could feel his eagerness for you against your thigh.

You kissed him back with equal force. This was an Elijah you didn't know well, the man behind the façade of elegance and nobility.

—

You reached up to stroke his soft hair. But suddenly, Elijah pulled away from you.

There was a soft woosh. Elijah was gone.

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[chibinightowl]

Today has been a day. Just a lot of hospital stress this week between my mom and my husband's surgeries and this is how it's coming out (they're both fine and are recovering well).

~~~

Dick finds Tim in a waiting room at Gotham General, slumped in a faded blue plastic chair that's seen better days. At some point during the day, his brother had been immaculately dressed for the office. But now, his blue pin-striped suit is wrinkled, his collar is unbuttoned, and his shirtsleeves have been rolled up. There was a tie somewhere as Dick knows Tim never leaves home without one on an office day, but it's anyone's guess as to where it currently is.

"Hey. I got here as fast as I could," he says, taking the open seat beside Tim. He did too, calling Wally as soon as he got the news from Barbara. "How's Jason?"

Tim opens his eyes, giving him a look that is more dead than alive. "Still critical."

Pain lances through Dick at the two words. He'd lost Jason once before and the guilt from being off world when his Little Wing needed him the most still ate at him in the darkest parts of his psyche. And now, here he is sitting with another brother he never thought he'd have, one who's been through so much trauma and loss of his own--and who is on the verge of possibly losing another loved one.

A car-pedestrian accident. The gall of something so normal and mundane having the potential to take out the Red Hood--or any of them for that matter--is enough to make Dick want to punch the taupe wall of this dreary waiting room.

To be honest, he's rather surprised none of the others are here yet. Well, expect Bruce. He's off world with the JL and...

Oh.

Oh.

"Do you think Bruce knows yet?"

Tim's shrug is so minute Dick might have missed it if he wasn't watching closely. "Can't say I care right now. He and Jay got into another of their big fights before he left. Said if Jay can't clean up his act, then don't bother coming back."

Dick winces and easily reads between the lines of what Tim isn't saying given their semi-public place. Even in Bludhaven, he'd heard about the execution-style murder of a known pedophile--and that it was the Red Hood who'd done it.

"He didn't do it, Dick," Tim whispers, catching his gaze as tears build in his eyes. "I was there. I know he didn't. But Bruce didn't listen to either of us, said I was covering for him because he's in my pants." Those last words are practically spat out. "I think this is the first time I've ever felt like I hate him. He just doesn't listen!"

That's a feeling Dick knows all too well. He also knows now why the others aren't here--that Barbara called him first because Tim doesn't need just comfort.

He needs his big brother.

Dick slides from the chair to kneel on the floor in front of Tim. "Now that is something I know a lot about." He takes Tim's hands and squeezes them firmly. "I'm not going to tell you it'll get better. I'm also not going to say you need to be the bigger person and forgive him. What I am going to tell you is that I believe you and that I believe in Jason."

Tim's breath hitches and he falls into Dick's open arms sobbing. Thank yous fall from his lips and into Dick's jacket. Tears fill his own eyes as he remembers another time where he didn't believe this little bird, his first Robin.

Time hasn't necessarily dulled the guilt, but it has given him perspective. He'd done what he thought best at the time and owned up to it when he'd been proven wrong--a trait not shared by their mentor and father-figure.

"We'll get through this together," Dick soothes, running a hand up and down Tim's back. "You, me, and everyone else. We're all here for you and we're all pulling for Jason."

As he speaks, he glances up and spots Alfred hurrying down the hall with Damian and Duke in tow. Both boys are still dressed in their school uniforms, so Alfred must have pulled them out early. Behind them are Cass and Steph, hands held tightly.

"We're all here," he repeats, nudging Tim's chin to make him look up. "And we're not going anywhere."

[myhandisfatemywordislaw]

would you like to read a mechs fanfic that starts kind of silly then swings violently into angsty grief? because if so youre in luck, and you can read it below the cut, or here on ao3! the chain of thought that led to this fic was begun with this post and thus I dedicate this fic to this photo of jonny

mr sims I am very sorry. this is my stupidest fic yet

Tim wrinkled his nose. Jonny was beginning to smell again. No, that wasn’t right; he reeked, the stench of dirt and sweat and blood and whisky and cigarettes and god knows what else was rolling off him in waves, and it slammed into Tim as soon as he entered the room. Sighing, he quickly retreated to find Brian.

Tim approached cautiously, his hands held out in front of him, as though trying to tame a wild animal. 

“Hey, Jonny,” he said carefully. “Don’t you think it’s time to have a wash?” Jonny’s head jerked up, ears twitching, and he spun on his heel, but Brian was already moving to catch him when he tried to bolt. Brian grabbed him by the loop of one of his belts and pulled him closer, getting a hold of his arm. Tim snatched the gun from Jonny’s holster before he could draw it. He struggled a little, muttering angrily, but he knew the fight was already lost; there was no way he could match Brian’s mechanical strength, and he was forced to follow as Tim led the way to one of the bathrooms. A hot bath was already waiting there for them, and the Toy Soldier stood nearby obediently. 

“Thanks,” Brian said, smiling warmly, and it grinned in return. TS had run the bath, then. 

“Alright Jonny, are you going to take off your clothes this time, or will you insist on getting them soaked?” Jonny had never had any problems undressing in front of them, but he knew what would happen next. Jonny glared at Tim, glancing nervously at the bath. He seemed to realise the fight was lost though, and he unbuckled each of his belts in turn, then slowly removed his clothes, handing them to TS, who happily marched off with them, hopefully to wash them. Brian, now also undressed, took hold of Jonny’s arm again, pulling him after Brian as he clambered awkwardly into the bathtub with a loud clanging of metal. Tim helped Brian lift a furious Jonny into the bath after him, and Brian sat him down between his legs and wrapped his arms around his stomach from behind so he couldn’t escape. 

Jonny glared angrily at the wall and Brian looked at Tim expectantly as he removed his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves, then picked up the bottle of body wash. He began to slowly work the soap into the flesh of Jonny’s arms, washing off the elbow-deep dried blood and the dirt encrusted around his fingernails. Though his feet stank from being in those hot boots all the time, Tim made quick work of Jonny’s legs. He began to gently rub the soap into Jonny’s chest, pausing to lightly trace a finger along Jonny’s top surgery scars. There was blood encrusted on the edge of the metal plate covering Jonny’s mechanical heart and deep, red scratch marks. Tim said nothing as he gently washed away the blood, though the scratches remained. Jonny scrunched up his face adorably as Tim turned on the shower head and pointed it at Jonny’s hair, then slowly worked the shampoo into his hair, washing away the buildup of grease, and Jonny seemed to relax into his gentle touch. 

Tim swallowed nervously as he rubbed some soap onto a flannel. This was always the worst part. As he lifted the flannel, Jonny’s eyes went wide with panic and he began struggling in earnest, muttering “no” over and over as Tim grabbed him by the back of his head and cleaned his face. Jonny thrashed as Tim wiped away the last traces of dirt and makeup, then as Tim pulled away Jonny fell limp, like a puppet with its strings cut. 

He was shaking slightly, and then he did something very unexpected. Jonny began to cry. Quiet tears quickly built into uncontrollable sobs that wracked his whole body as he curled in on himself.

“Jonny-“ Tim started, but as he did so, Jonny seemed to catapult himself out of the bath, splashing muddy water all over the floor and knocking Tim to the ground as he sprinted out of the room, still naked and sopping wet. Brian stood quickly as though intending to follow, but Jonny was already long gone.

Jonny rubbed his face furiously as the tears that still spilled uncontrollably down his face blurred his makeup, again, and he tried to restart. He had dressed in a loose shirt and trousers, and put on a heavy belt across his body. Its presence was familiar and comforting, and he gripped it tightly with one hand while he used the other to start again, carefully tracing the swirling black lines across his face, skin red where he’d repeatedly rubbed at it to start and restart his attempts. He looked into his tear-stained face, covered in faint grey lines he’d tried to wipe away, and thought of Nastya. 

The first time Nastya saw herself in a mirror after she was mechanised, she stared for several long minutes with an unreadable expression at the dark grey lines that emanated from her eyes, then abruptly stood and walked out. Jonny didn’t know what to do or how to help so he let her leave. He later found her curled up in a dark corner, crying. She explained, haltingly, that she didn’t understand why it upset her so much; she had never prided herself on her appearance, why did she care? But she couldn’t stand the idea of looking in a mirror and seeing someone else, being made into something other than herself against her will. She needn’t have said anything. Jonny understood. When you’re half-dead there’s no way to consent to mechanisation, and what has been done cannot be undone. Did he hate Carmilla, for dooming him to an eternal life, changing the very essence of his being, without any kind of consent? He wasn’t sure. Not really, not yet at least. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, then scrambled to his feet and left, and traced out black lines onto his face for the first time. When he returned, he smiled hopefully. 

“Now we match,” he said softly. That was the first time he saw Nastya smile.

When Jonny came back to himself, he was curled up in the foetal position on the floor, one hand partially inside his mouth and the other hugging a dark coat to his chest. It wasn’t Nastya’s, of course it wasn’t, she took her coat with her when she went Out, but it was the closest Jonny could find. It was about the same colour, and he’d scattered some engine oil on it and he always left it in the vents in the hopes it would start to smell like her. Of course it never would, and the pale imitation almost made him feel worse. He’d even sewn on one of the Aurora patches. It was all he had, that and his makeup, that he knew he would never stop wearing, even though he knew she would never return, except he couldn’t even put the fucking makeup on right because he couldn’t get a hold of himself, and he was fucking useless. Jonny sobbed into the coat, his whole body shaking.

A hand lightly touched his arm.

“Jonny?” Tim said softly. “Jonny, what’s wrong?” Jonny didn’t respond, didn’t even look at Tim, but he didn’t try to resist as Tim teased his hand out of his mouth. It was more sore than he expected, and he almost felt guilty when he saw the way Tim’s face fell at the sight of the curving bite marks on Jonny’s hand. Tim pulled Jonny to his feet and he stood without complaint, but when Tim tried to gently tug the coat from his grip he tightened his hold and flinched away.

“I won’t let you take her from me,” Jonny whispered, clutching the coat like a lifeline. Tim held out his hands placatingly.

“I’m not trying to take it away, I just thought you could wear it instead,” Tim replied softly. Jonny looked at Tim with trepidation, but this time allowed him to pull the coat from his hands and drape it over Jonny’s shoulders. Tim took in the sight of Jonny’s face, blotchy with tears, red skin rubbed raw, with messy, blurry black lines. 

“You were upset because you didn’t want to take off the makeup? Because it’s to do with Nastya?” Tim guessed. Jonny nodded furtively, staring resolutely at his hands, which were fidgeting with his belt. “Oh, Jonny,” Tim mumbled, hugging him. Jonny froze for a moment, then relaxed into the touch. He let out a slight whimper as he tried desperately to avoid crying again. “Do you want me to do your makeup?” Tim asked. Jonny nodded, and Tim pulled back and gestured for him to sit on the bed, which he did. Jonny shut his eyes as Tim carefully wiped away Jonny’s previous attempts, then began to trace the swirling patterns onto his face. Jonny tried to hold still as he felt the cold pressing into his skin. When Tim was done, Jonny looked across the room into the mirror to see his signature makeup, and he let out a shaky breath of relief. He lay back on the bed, wrapping the coat tighter around him, and looked hopefully at Tim, who obligingly laid down beside him. Jonny cuddled into his side, gripping the coat tightly as he allowed himself to fall asleep in Tim’s arms.

[smallerinfinities]

labyrinth: one (preview)

a/n: daemon x rhaenyra x harwin

posting this little snippet because well.....I felt like it...the rest forthcoming this week 🔥

“It’s Laena.” Fresh wails sounded from the floor, Laenor’s fetal body bobbing with his sobs. “She’s dead.”

“How?” Harwin’s voice was taut, ready to defend at a moment’s notice. Rhaenyra shook her head to calm him, let him breathe. She wasn’t sure when it had happened—when she had learned to read his moods like they were her own, and he learned to read hers in return. Sometime around Luke’s birth probably, when she almost succumbed to the melancholia in the months after the delivery. He stayed with her almost round the clock, coming through the passageway in her chambers after her ladies and guard had bid her goodnight. He held her and whispered that everything would be okay. Even though they risked everything for those moments of comfort, for the joy in their sons eyes as they played with Laenor, for the family that would always be stained with his Strong blood, his Strong coloring.

That was why she refused to allow him to return to Harrenhal weeks ago, defying his father and refusing his birthright. Let them talk, she had said, they will whether we're together or not. Abandoning his family to be the lord of a half-destroyed keep while his father kept the king's council was not in his true interest. So he left King's Landing with young Joffrey under his protection while Rhaenyra and the rest flew on dragonback. He was devoted to her, and she trusted him. More than she could say for anyone else in her life.

He reached out to touch her face, drawing her attention back to him and away from the ugly shadows that followed them both.

“Childbirth,” she could barely say it. Her worst fear had come to fruition, not for her, but for her cousin. Her kin in more ways than one. 

Daemon’s wife. 

Daemon’s child within her. 

Daemon. 

Where was he? Mourning? Raging? Blaming himself? Probably a mix of all three if memory served her. She hadn’t seen him in years. Shortly after her wedding, he jumped into marriage with Laena and they rode off on dragonback to Essos. Last she had heard they were shacking up with a lord in Pentos, their two girls with them. While she’d seen Laena a few times at High Tide over the years, Daemon had always stayed behind. Hiding from his brother. Hiding from his duty. Hiding from her and those moments they’d shared when she was just a girl. When she swore he was going to do anything in his power to keep her by his side. 

But then he disappeared. 

A cough echoed off the stone walls. Her page stood at the door, kicking his feet, trying not to look at Laenor’s still shaking form. Rhaenyra nodded at Harwin, knowing her wishes would be followed. He bowed and crossed the short distance to her husband, hauling him up by the shirtsleeves.

“Come, my lord, let us go find Ser Qarl and maybe observe the boys and their swordplay.” Harwin supported Laenor as they left, his loud hiccups and sniffles reverberating long after their departure. 

Rhaenyra turned and smiled at her page, steeling herself for what was sure to be an omen for the coming days. 

“Your highness, the Blood Wyrm approaches.”

[sarahlizziewrites]

Just a Grey-Sky Lark excerpt

A little scene I started writing a few weeks ago and the rest this evening. I am a straight-up sucker for a dance scene.

A rare sunny day traps us inside, and Matthew spools out in restlessness. He has picked up at least a half a dozen books and placed them, spine up, on every surface in his apartment.

"I wish we could go dancing," he announces, spreading his arms wide, shirtsleeves loose and dangling.

"We could go, tonight." I rise from the writing desk, and step towards him, pulled into his space like a hovering honeybee. If I have the opportunity to cheer him up, I will take it. "Two problems though, the way I see it."

"Oh, yes?"

"One," I croon, sliding a palm up the front of his shirt to his collar. "I would have to share you with the young ladies of Halifax."

"You'd get me back."

"Still." The frisson of attraction between us in moments like this never fails to excite me, even after all these years. His fingers trail up my arm, absentminded in our proximity, but still tender. I lean into him a little more. "Two - perhaps more importantly - I can't dance."

Matthew pulls back, appraising me. "I'm shocked. My mother's efforts at educating you didn't stretch to teaching you the art of the ballroom?" One virtuosic arm stretches out, held aloft with a palm towards the ceiling. "She always told me it was vital for the young gentleman's skill set. I suppose times do change."

Reaching up, I grab that offered palm. "Perhaps you could teach me."

The sunlight from behind thin yellow curtains almost seems to make his eyes glow.

"Would you like that?"

"Since you seem to think it's so important."

With a renewed eagerness, he scoops me towards him, one arm below my shoulder blades. "I'll lead," he purrs, his mouth suddenly at my ear, and dropping the hand in high hold to drape my other arm along his shoulder. The hand on my back taps against my spine. "Shoulders back, knees a little bent…that's right." Warmth floods him - old and half-faded memories from his old life; the feeling of a previous lover against his body, dancing together, just like this. It is comforting; familiar. I sigh into it.

“A waltz is danced in a three beat rhythm, like so.” I feel the buzz of his voice humming a rhythm with no particular tune; I feel it in my cheek where it rests so close to his collarbone. His body undulates with the rhythm of his song, and he explains the steps: a long stride, followed by two smaller steps to collect the feet together. “Simple enough.”

“If you say so.”

A soft chuckle. “See? Not so hard, is it?”

To his hummed rhythm, we are moving as one, rising and falling with each trio of beats. His cheek brushes against mine, and I can feel his smile. I can feel the joy and ease that suffuses him from a simpler time. A time long before we had met.

The faded rug and loose floorboards become a grand ballroom floor; the narrow gaps between the furniture become our path through a crowd of fellow dancers. His soft hum becomes a symphony. I let him lead; I bask in his joy, for a moment almost feeling what sunshine must have felt like. 

Then, his tune changes a little. The sun outside falls behind a cloud. He edges in - his hand slumps to my lower back. Sorrow leaks into his thoughts; insecurity. The feeling of sinking claws into something so deeply so it can’t escape, and, in turn, the tips of his fingers scraping against my skin through my shirt.

I can only fathom a fraction of what he’s lost, but I can feel it in his thoughts. He was doted on - to his mother, a miracle. To his classmates, all moxie. We turn together by the foot of the bed, more slowly now, his symphony decrescendoing to a thin solo. 

The room is near-silent, the sound of our feet percussing the floorboards the only accompaniment to his tune. But in his head, I hear a plea, falling out like a sob:

Never, ever, ever leave me.

We are close, pressed together in our slow turn. His lips are against the skin near my collar, a feather-touch. My eyes close, eyelashes fluttering against his neck. His song stops.

“I won’t,” I reply.

[doctorstethoscope]

Fluffy February Day 23 || Memory

pairing: will x mack

wordcount: 888 (angel numbers anyone)

contains: canonical minor character death, loss of a parent, cigarette smoking, mentions of child and domestic abuse and alcoholism, this one is def not the fluffiest of the month

Mack rips off her headset as soon as the broadcast goes off, grabs Jim by his shirtsleeve as he turns to walk out. 

“Clear everybody out, alright?” Mack asks of her producer.

“Is he okay?” Jim asks. Will hadn’t been himself for the whole broadcast, but the 30 seconds of silence in the last block had been unnerving for everyone on staff. 

Mackenzie sighs. “No, he’s not. But it’s personal, and he’d just about die if I told you–”

“Understood. I’ll get everyone out of here. Let me know if you need anything else,” Jim offers with a decisive nod before heading out of the control room to gather the troops. 

Will hasn’t moved, and Mackenzie pushes the doors open to the studio ferociously. “Will,” she calls out to him, quietly. She rushes to his side, sees that he’s crying. “Oh, Will.” 

“My dad died,” Will chokes out. He’s not sobbing, not by a long run, but his eyes are rimmed red and his tears are dripping onto his tie.  

“I know, hon, I know.” Will hasn’t moved away from the desk at all, but Mack can’t not be close to him, so she awkwardly props herself up on the news desk and angles her torso towards him, putting one hand on his cheek and the other on his shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry Billy.”

Will takes a deep breath, clears his throat. “I’m not,” he decides. “Why should I be?” He says, not sounding like he believes it in the slightest. 

Mackenzie knows better than to argue. “Let’s go to your office, yeah?” She takes his hand and leads him there, shutting the door behind them despite the fact that the newsroom is, thankfully, empty. Will collapses into his desk chair, reaches into a drawer and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. 

“Sorry, I know you hate this,” Will mutters as he lights his up.

“Not tonight,” she shakes her head. “Give me one.”

Will looks at her, aghast. “It’s not very ladylike,” he remarks, and she almost smiles. It’s so like him, to tease her at a time like this. 

“Watch it, mister,” she warns as she holds her hand out. He obliges her, lighting the cigarette for her once she’s got it between two fingers. 

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Mackenzie’s head was swimming, wondering what Will was thinking about. She knew that John, Will’s father, had been abusive. Will had told her that much, when they were still together. He hadn’t ever offered details, and while she told him she’d always be there to listen, she never felt any desire to push him for details. She couldn’t imagine how it felt to grieve when it was tied up with the white hot rage she knew Will still carried. 

“My dad taught me how to drive stick before I went off to college,” Will breaks the silence after he finishes his first cigarette, telling the story as he lights his second. “He wasn’t much of a teacher, half drunk, but I figured it out just fine. We drove around rural Nebraska with the windows rolled down, and he taught me how to get rid of a hangover, and he told me what kind of girl I should bring home; nothing like you, by the way. He would have hated you,” Will told Mackenzie with a little chuckle. “Which, of course, has only ever been a point in your favor. But, anyways… the drives were nice. We talked about music, and about the farm, and sports. It was like he was a different guy, in the car. It seemed like maybe he could be a guy who didn’t live to make my life miserable.” 

“That’s really nice, Billy. It makes me really happy that you have that memory,” she tells him, honestly. 

“He was a sick bastard, Mack. He beat my mother. Hell, he beat me.” 

“I know,” she said, trying to infuse her voice with unmistakable, irrefutable understanding. 

“So then why the fuck am I so upset?” He asks, desperate for answers he’s certain no one has.

“He was still your father, Billy. And now you have to grieve your dad, and the person you always hoped your dad would turn around and become someday.” 

Will laughs again, but it’s humorless. “He really would have hated you. I told him about you once, when we were dating. Told him that you were smarter than me, way out of my league. He asked how I was going to keep you in line.” 

It was Mackenzie’s turn to laugh, now. 

“Yeah, well, that’s basically how I reacted, too,” he confesses. “That, and a lecture on the idea of a kept woman in the 21st century. He didn’t take to it kindly.” 

“It’s okay to miss him, Will.” Mack tells him. 

“I wish I didn’t,” he sighs. 

“I know. Can I call Dr. Habib for you?” She asks.

“No, no,” Will waves her off. “I’ve got an appointment the day after tomorrow. I’ll be okay until then.”

“Good,” she smiles.

“Kenz?” He asks, nearly a whisper. 

“Yeah.”

“Will you… come back to my place tonight? You don’t need to stay, of course. I just… it’s a big, empty apartment. I’d like some company, if you’re available.” 

“Of course, Billy. Go ahead and call the car.”

tagging: @spacecowboyhotch @angelfxllcm @honeybrowne @rousethemouse @infinite-tides @gspenc @anlin2058 @zetasaturno99 @realdirectionx @witheldclouds @sbeno22 @el-vs94 @hausofwhores

[eskandarrohani]

headboard headstone cw sexual assault/rape

my grandfather and i walk along a path climbing uphill

his hands nan nokhodchi soft and pale from days and months and years spent indoors making tea and cooking lentils cutting fruit and remembering stories which my cousins and siblings know by heart have heard more times than can be counted on all our fingers and toes india iran egypt kenya kuwait memorized as faithfully as daily prayers

he ascends with me face drawn calfskin hand clutching my shirtsleeve our sweat bleeding out into the fabric

he stops walking

says

you know

when i was eleven or twelve i was on a street car and a man that was near me started harassing me he kept doing this

he moves body morphing a shadow of a bad dream wearing the face of a person its body serrated ravenous violence a monster of a memory crystalized in amber

of the one or two or countless moments

when you were made a ruin

he thrusts his hips cracks them forward and back just once

intention a firebomb

he says

he kept doing this on me i tried to move somewhere else anywhere else

but he kept standing next to me kept doing that

face ugly with the past he jerks his hips again

so i ran to the end of the car and jumped out the back

he stands there with me breathing strained salt and pepper eyebrows heavy over the blue of his eyes

he says realizes

i’ve never told someone that before

we start walking again

pace that same steady slow

because he’s tired from summer sun but never wants to drink anything that isn’t hot tea

we ascend the hill and he reroutes our conversation down a new road which i dutifully follow

even though my brain wriggles with freshly hatched parasites long bodies squirming across the cortex worming between its furled ridges on a breakneck scavenger hunt for spots where i’m still raw and bleeding

for tangles of memories shoved deep plastered away beneath years of time and therapy that never quite laid flat

for the flour halva in my belly saffron and rose smooth soft on the tongue easy to swallow even while sobbing

for shucked corduroy pants ridged with spinal columns pillow in my face i vanish into lung burnt trance hypnotized by everything becoming nothing

for a wet spot in the mattress by the original method of atomic obliteration my missing body buried in crumpled flowers of crumpled bed sheets

for a grave marked by the white curling metal of a headboard a living dead kid walking epitaph left unwritten

my grandfather and i walk along a path climbing uphill my shirt wrinkled by his silk fingers hot blood cold sweat he releases me to walk on his own

and i stand still

[nightmarecountry-a]

He’s bleeding out in a way that can’t be fixed, hands gripping The Corinthian, the body of the assailant lifeless near them. It can’t be stopped. He knows that from the way everything has stopped hurting, that he feels cold and numb and slow. He hears them freaking out from a distance, trying to slow the bleeding in a body that The Corinthian doesn’t understand. “Hey- you can take my eyes, I won’t need them soon. Kiss me?”

No, the Corinthian finds itself saying, and Come on, and Just hang on, baby, come on... and all the other stupid, senseless shit that humans say when someone bleeds out in front of them. It's meaningless noise but it works in dreams; in books; in the movies he watches with Miecz in his arms on the sofa.

But this is the Waking world, and laws are laws. No human survives this.

Teeth bared in fear and grief, it holds Miecz as close as it can and stops trying to staunch the bleeding. Its hands are slippery with it, its shirtsleeves soaked. "It's okay. It's okay, I've got you," it tells him, its voice breaking, and kisses him gentler than it's ever kissed anyone.

Kisses him and sobs, and takes out its knife with an awful kind of elation. Every path they took would have led them here, he thinks as he cuts--and he's talking to him, telling Miecz that the journey to come will be gentle, that it won't hurt, that there's nothing to fear.

I'll take care of everything, it tells him, and kisses him again with Miecz's eyes resting in the palm of his hand. You rest.

In the last few moments between life and death, the only sense Miecz has left is his hearing. The Corinthian tells him something no-one has ever heard from him before, nor ever will again, and eats.

[venusstorm]

𝙇𝙡𝙤𝙮𝙙 𝙃𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙣 𝙛𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛…𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙩?

*𝘔𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵>>*

Masterlist | w/c: 650

*𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘍𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵

*𝘚𝘰𝘧𝘵!𝘓𝘭𝘰𝘺𝘥 𝘏𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯 𝘹 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

୨♡୧

“You mad at me, Princess?” Lloyd coos.

You scowl, turning your head away as he tries to kiss your neck. He reaches for your hand, but you yank it out and flip to the other side of the bed before he gets the chance.

“Oh, so you’re really mad at me tonight.”

He sighs, pushing aside the covers and moving closer to you. His hand rests on your lower back, rubbing it softly in hopes of you breaking your silence.

“Just let me help you.” His tone is gentle, understanding that getting upset wouldn’t make your little attitude disappear.

“Just leave me alone,” you mutter.

“Baby…you can talk to me. I know—"

His presence and proximity begin to overwhelm you, and quickly you find yourself verbally lashing out. “I said. Leave. Me. Alone.”

His movements stop and quickly you feel a dip in the bed as he slides his sweatpants back on and exits the room without another word. Your heart drops but your pride keeps you in place, huffing as the bedroom door shuts, leaving you alone with his lingering scent.

Tears spring from your eyes as you try your best to push the thoughts away.

He doesn’t actually want you. He’s gone for days, sometimes weeks at a time. He’ll find someone prettier, less needy. For fucks sake he’s Lloyd Hansen, why would he settle down with you of all people?

You constantly battled with insecurity, anxious that the love you have for others would never truly be reciprocated.

Lloyd would do anything for you, yet you’re laying here, scared that one day he’d get up and leave and never return.

And it only worsened when he was away for work, just you alone in this big house, painting and waiting like Rapunzel trapped in her tower.

As time passed you grew frantic. You latched onto his pillow, inhaling his scent until you grew dizzy.

A soft knock sounds on the door and unknowingly you release a heavy sigh of relief. He came back.

“Princess? I got you something.”

The door swings open, revealing a tin of your favorite cookies from the bakery near town, held tightly within his hands.

“They didn’t have milk chocolate so I got fudge. I hope that’s o—"

His face drops once he sees the tears streaming down your cheeks. You’re hiccuping, sniffling into your shirtsleeve with pure guilt. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Lloyd drops the cookies onto the dresser, racing to your side. “I hate seeing you like this, Princess. Just tell me what’s wrong and I swear I’ll do everything in my power to mend it.”

You hiccup. “It’s hard.”

“What’s hard, baby?”

“Being without you for so long. Waiting. I— I can’t stop thinking the worst. What if this isn’t the life you want? What if I’m not the life you want?”

He frowns, his eyebrows furrowed because Lloyd can’t possibly imagine a life where you weren’t his sweet girl. His Princess. “I’ll always want you,” he assures.

Lloyd presses his forehead against yours. His steady breath tickles your nose, his lips parted to speak. “Being away from you is the hardest part of my job. I’ll be bruised and bloody, a gun aimed at someone’s forehead and yet, the only thing on my mind is you. Always just wanna get home to you.”

You sob into his shoulder, your arms wrapping around his neck as you release a floodgate of emotions.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you. I know I’m being stupid. I know you love me. It’s just…sometimes I get scared.”

“Hey, shh. It’s okay, pretty girl. I know it gets hard for you. Don’t ever feel guilty for feeling emotions. Just talk to me next time and we can work through it together. Okay?”

You nod, your eyes glazed and wide as you finally look at his piercing gaze. “Okay.”

Lloyd grins as he pushes himself off the ground, pressing his soft lips against yours. You groan as he grows rougher, his body joining you beneath the tangled mess of sheets.

[something-tofightfor]

Root Pearl: Intro

Pairing: Eventual Ezra x female reader - musician AU

Word Count: 5,241

Rating: M. Language, death, bodily injury, angst, allusions to sex but nothing graphic. There’s a lot here - but I don’t want to give too much away. If you have questions, feel free to message me and I can answer before you read. 

** This chapter will be the darkest. From here on out, it gets much, much less distressing ** 

Summary: Loss impacts people in different ways, and Ezra is no stranger to hardships - but this time is different. After a potentially career-ending injury to his arm, Ezra is forced to confront a very different future than he’d imagined for himself... and figure out who exactly he wants to be.

Blanket warnings: loss of a parent, character death, survivor’s guilt, learning to deal with the loss of a limb, infidelity (not Reader w/Ezra), blood, bodily injury, heavy angst. 

Author’s note: I have no idea why I haven’t written a musician AU yet with as many concerts I’ve been to as and as much as I love live music, but here we are. There’s something about Ezra and playing a guitar that just makes sense to me, and I think he’d be amazing at it. 

Anyway, a few housekeeping things: 

Cee is 18 here. The original Prospect script says Ezra is 45, but I don’t think he looks 45; I HC he’s about 35-37. This takes place on Earth, but I’m going to take some liberties with including Prospect-specific places, plants, etc, as well as advanced medical techniques. Just go with it - I promise it won’t be too jarring. 

The POV switches between characters. And if I missed anything when I edited each POV to be consistent, please let me know. I’m sure I did, even though I edited a bunch of times. 

ANYWAY. Enough. Enjoy. Tell me what you think if you want. (But don’t make fun of me for my shitty banner because even though graphic design is my passion that doesn’t mean I’m good at it)

A 'root pearl' is another name for an aurelac gem, and the most precious part of the whole plant. These pearls are valuable, vary in size and clarity, and need to be handled carefully in order to be worth anything of value.

One wrong move can compromise the entire thing, rendering it worthless in an instant.

She smells the smoke even before she opens her eyes. 

Shit. Groaning as she tries to lift one arm, she realizes that there’s something on top of her, preventing the motion. What did… what’s going on?

Cee’s eyes open all the way as the smell of the smoke intensifies, her vision obscured by the haze of it in the air and something wet dripping into her eyes. Blood. It’s blood, it … The girl turns her head, the grit of the road crunching beneath her cheek - and in that moment, she realizes what the heaviness on top of her is. “Ezra?” Panicking, she struggles beneath the weight of him, heart pounding as she forces one arm up and underneath his shoulder, searching for purchase on his torso. “Ezra, get up. Come on.” 

She can hear the flames now, her eyes darting to the side and a low wail escaping her lips as she sees - for the first time - what used to be the Rock Jumper, the van that had taken them between shows and cities for the previous weeks. It is on its side and completely engulfed in flames - no more than twenty feet from them, the equipment trailer no longer attached. Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck. Still struggling with the weight of the man on top of her, Cee’s hand slips in something warm, and when her eyes land on Ezra again, she realizes that the blood is probably not coming from one of her wounds. 

Instead, she fights back a choked sob as she sees that Ezra’s right arm is mangled, the ends of his shirtsleeve tattered and soaked, sticking to the skin. Is that bone? I can see bone, he… There are tears streaming down her face and mixing with the blood, the girl’s only concern getting out from beneath Ezra, who, at least as far as she can tell, hasn’t responded in any way since she came to. “Ezra, wake up.” As gently as she can, she eases the man onto his back, rolling toward him with a grunt and freeing his other arm - the one that had been trapped beneath her body. That one is uninjured, but the hand still flops uselessly against the street as it settles. “Ezra, I…” 

Another gasp leaves her lips as she sees another wound on his stomach, the material of his shirt glistening in the flickering light of the flames; light brown material darkened by the blood soaking through it. My phone. I need to call someone. Call help, get us… She whimpers again and forces herself to her knees, the torn denim of her jeans doing little to protect her from the rough ground. What’s that? She can smell more than the flames and the coppery tinged scent of Ezra’s blood - there’s also the smell of gasoline in the air, the liquid likely pooling beneath the wrecked vehicle and slowly moving outward as the puddle grows. I have to get him away from here. 

She glances down at Ezra, her lower lip trembling - and then Cee pushes to her feet, ignoring the twinge of pain in her back, the sting of what are likely numerous cuts and bruises all over her body - and hooks her hands beneath Ezra’s shoulders, dragging him away from the vehicle as far as she can. 

That distance is only about fifty additional feet, but it has to be enough, because the girl can’t pull him any further before her arms give out and a searing pain runs up her back. “Ezra.” She tries again, sobbing out his name and kneeling next to his body, her shaking hand pressed against his chest as she goes absolutely still, feeling for a heartbeat. “Ezra, please.” There are more tears as she bends over, ear as close to his mouth as she can get. 

There is nothing. She can’t feel his body moving, can’t hear even a rattling breath, and her hands are shaking so badly that detecting a heartbeat is impossible. There’s no response to the sound of his name… and so Cee stands, twisting away from the man and taking three steps back toward the van, shielding her eyes as she faces the heat from the flames. “Dad?” Her voice weak, she tries again after a few more steps, a little louder. “Dad! Luke?” She crouches, peering into the front of the van - the hood partially crushed, glass mostly broken out, the remaining portion of it nothing more than a spiderweb of cracks. “D…dad?” Cee blinks, inching even closer, and finally sees the gaping hole on what used to be the passenger side of the van, torn and jagged, the door partially ripped from its hinges. That has to be where we came out. Me and Ezra, we - 

But her thoughts are interrupted by a low rumble and then only moments later, the van explodes, the rest of it going up in a ball of flames, the heat traveling the distance to where she stands and singing her eyelashes, forcing her back a few steps. It’s instinct - the way she turns away, shielding her face as another sob escapes her, the roar of the fire drowning out the noises she’s making. They’re dead. There’s no way they survived that. 

And so, without looking back at what used to be their home-on-the-road, Cee moves toward Ezra again, dropping to her knees and leaning forward, shoulders hunched. She takes five seconds to compose herself, then reaches into her pocket with a shaking hand, fingers fumbling as they close around the phone that somehow is still there, though as she pulls it out, she sees that the screen is shattered. 

But it doesn’t matter as she uses a fingertip to unlock it, dialing the emergency number and holding it up to her ear, both eyes closed and her free hand fisting the sleeve of Ezra’s shirt between her fingers. I’m here. I’m right here if you can feel this.  It rings three times and then there is a voice on the other end, asking what her emergency is - and somehow, Cee answers. 

“My name is Cee. I’m on… I don’t… I don’t know where I am, but there’s been an accident. The van’s on fire and they’re all dead, and Ezra is …” Her eyes open and when she looks down, he still hasn’t moved, but there’s a wet puddle slowly growing larger beneath his arm, the viscous liquid still oozing from his stomach. “He’s bleeding. He’s bleeding and -” With a gasp, she pauses, grip on the device tightening as she tries to listen to the person’s questions on the other end, the calm demeanor helping just enough to make it possible. 

She manages to tell them more - what city they left and where they were going, an approximate time of departure, the last time she remembered checking her phone before the accident - and then, finally, the voice tells her that they’ve been able to narrow down the location based on her cell phone’s signal. For the first time since she woke, Cee feels a spark of hope as the person continues to talk, telling her that they’ve sent everyone necessary to help, and that at most, they’re ten minutes away. 

The spark grows when she hears a low groan from beneath her, the arm inside of the sleeve she’s still grasping moving as the muscles tighten. The phone falls from her hand and the screen shatters further on the ground, but Cee doesn’t care, because when she looks down, Ezra’s got his eyes open and he’s trying to speak, the man’s lips parted. “B-Birdie?” He blinks slowly and when he tries to move his head she reaches out, using both hands to stabilize it, telling him to stop. 

“We were in an accident, Ezra. Don’t move.” It’s the most coherent thing she’s said or thought since she woke up, and when his eyes finally lock on hers, there’s recognition in them. “I don’t know how hurt you are. I had to move you away, but…” She’s crying harder, the tears dropping from her eyes and onto his cheeks, and when Ezra tries to smile, her tears turn into sobs, the girl ducking her head down without moving her hands from the sides of his face. “Please don’t die on me, Ezra. Don’t -”

“I won’t.” It’s still quiet, but she hears the words, followed by a short, barking laugh. When she raises her head to look at him again, his eyes are closed, and there’s a new trail of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth - but Ezra is still smiling, the upward curve of his lips visible even in the dark. 

“They’re coming. They’re coming, Ezra, and -” Another racking sob tears through her body, and even though she knows it’s probably wishful thinking, Cee hears what just might be the approaching of sirens in the distance - though it’s hard to tell over the sound of the roaring flames. 

— 

Three months later

“Want to meet me for lunch today?” Jillian’s head popped up over the partition between your desks, her smile wide. “There are food trucks on the plaza and we can eat outside.” 

“Yes.” Grinning back, your eyes flicked from the computer screen to your coworker - and best friend. “We should enjoy the weather while we can.” With a nod, she sat back down, letting you return to your work. 

The two of you worked customer service for one of the largest travel companies in the region, and even though your job is fun, you needed the meal break to reset more often than not. According to the clock on your monitor, you still have over an hour to go before you can head out, so after shifting around in your seat to get more comfortable, you returned your hands to your keyboard and clicked your headset on. 

An hour and fifteen minutes later, you and Jillian were sitting at a table on the plaza, lunch in hand. It was a gorgeous day out - the sun high in the sky, occasionally obscured by giant, puffy clouds. It was warm but not hot, the leaves above you rustling in a gentle breeze. The two of you talked while you ate, the other woman telling you a story about her brother in law that was interrupted by a phone call. 

When she stepped away to answer, you reached for your own device, thumbing it unlocked and navigating to one of your social media accounts - which had multiple new alerts. 

A few of them were mundane, comments and likes from friends and family… but a series of them was not, and your eyes widened as you read through them - and the posts they were in response to. The lightness of your mood waned slightly as you clicked on the account name, navigating to the other profile, and it all but disappeared as you scrolled slowly through the most recent posts even though you’d seen them before. “What’s that look for?” Jillian slid back into the seat across from you, setting her phone down. “Did something happen?” Yeah. It might have. 

“Look.” Tapping backwards to get to your notification feed, you turned your phone to face your friend, biting down on your lower lip. “She must be going through posts that are tagged with… with the band.” Jillian’s intake of breath was audible and the tightening of her jaw visible, but she stayed quiet, her eyes scanning the screen. “She liked everything that I posted from when they were here a couple months ago.” 

Pulling the phone away, you darkened the screen, setting it down. “Have you seen anything about him? Or her? Since -” 

“Ezra’s still recovering.” Tapping your fingers on the tabletop, you shook your head briefly. “They haven’t really updated much since he was released from the hospital, just said that he’s doing alright a few times, and Cee posted a picture of the two of them back at his place a couple weeks ago, but…” But nothing else. “The other members of The Fringe talked about doing some sort of benefit show, but they haven’t planned it yet.” 

“It’s gotta be tough.” Jillian sipped her drink, swallowing before she continued. “Especially for her. She wasn’t even hurt, right?” 

“No. Just scrapes.” You looked at your phone again, thinking. “I can’t even imagine what -” What either of them are going through right now. “I’m glad that she’s feeling alright enough to look through pictures and videos from the tour, though.” 

It had shocked you - and other fans of both The Fringe and Ezra’s solo career - when the news came out that the band had been in an accident on their way between cities, Damon and Luke not making it away from the crash site alive and Ezra’s injuries so severe that they’d needed to amputate an arm. You remembered reading the updates - about how touch and go it had been in the first few days after it happened. But he lived. 

As more and more news came out about the accident and what caused it, the shock turned into anger on the part of some due to the fact that Damon’s toxicology reports showed that he’d been high at the time of the crash. Police reports made it clear that the man’s physical state likely caused it in the first place, which changed the scope of the accident. It was no less tragic - but the fact that it could have been prevented didn’t sit well with a lot of people. 

As a result, Cee had laid low, the girl’s post frequency decreasing to almost nothing for over a month until she’d uploaded the one of her and Ezra, both of them smiling though they looked tired. She’d posted about her father shortly after the accident, though, a slideshow of pictures and a request that people honor his memory by letting her grieve in peace. Even though it wasn’t the girl’s fault that her father had been impaired while driving, you knew how people could be - and you hoped that she wasn’t taking the brunt of the blame for what he’d done since she was the only one around to see it. “Hey.” Jillian touched your arm, saying your name. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.” You pointed at your phone. “It’s still crazy to think that we saw them on that tour, you know? Just a couple weeks before -”

“You should message her.” Jillian chewed a bite of her sandwich, nodding. “Tell her that you have that whole song on video, the one that Ezra asked you not to post anywhere because it wasn’t done?” Oh, shit, I do. “It hasn’t showed up from any other show, right?”

“Not that I’ve seen.” You eyed your phone, thinking. “But why would -”

 “Because it’s something that she wouldn’t have otherwise.” Jillian stood, reaching for her trash. “And it’s her dad playing the drums for a song that probably won’t ever get recorded in a studio, so it might mean a lot to her.” She straightened up, eyes on you. “All you can do is ask. The worst she can say is no.” 

— 

Later that night, you were laying on your bed, stretched out and in your pajamas. Jillian’s suggestion had been running through your mind since earlier that afternoon, and you’d considered her words carefully. 

If you were Cee, you would have wanted to have the video, even if only for later, when the pain of loss wasn’t so fresh. You would have appreciated someone reaching out to you and making the offer, even if they were a stranger. Scrolling through the images from that night, you smiled at the screen when you got to one of Ezra, one of the man’s hands cradling the neck of his guitar, the fingers of the other one wrapped around the mic stand as he looked out and over the crowd. He was smiling, lit up from behind in a halo of golden orange light, and you’d debated making it your phone’s wallpaper for a day or so before deciding not to - for multiple reasons.

Scrolling a little more, you found the video, using one finger to turn the volume up after you pressed play, eyes on the screen. 

“We’re going to play a new song for you right now if you don’t mind.”  Ezra cleared his throat, gesturing at the crowd. “I assure you that it still needs a great deal of work before I take it to the studio, but I thought…” He trailed off, looking over his shoulder at Luke - or Number 2 as he was called onstage, and then back at Damon before facing the crowd again. “But if there’s a better place for its grand debut than the city I call home, I surely don’t know where that place might be.” He flicked the pick against the strings, wetting his lips as the lingering notes played through the PA system. “I have yet to pick a suitable title, but …” 

The song began with quiet guitar, and then just before Ezra’s vocals kicked in, so did the drums and bass. Even though it was an unfamiliar song, you could feel the emotion behind the lyrics - the haunting quality of his voice during the quiet parts of the song echoed by Damon on the drums every so often. When he really opened up, Ezra stepped away from the microphone and bent over to play the guitar, he kept his eyes on his hands. Head bowed, he shook back and forth, the blonde patch in his hair flashing in the backlights, too. 

It wasn’t a long song, but it was clearly full of meaning. Ezra’s lips pressed right up against the microphone when he began crooning into it again, eyes halfway closed and both hands working the instrument he held, coaxing gorgeous music from the strings almost effortlessly. And as the music died down and Ezra’s eyes opened again, he looked down and locked eyes with you. His smile grew, one brow arching so high that it almost disappeared into the dark curls resting against his brow. 

“Capturing my performance for your own satisfaction, hmm?” The camera jerked but remained focused on him, and Ezra continued, taking a deep breath and bringing one hand up to run his fingers through his hair, the other still gripping the mic stand. “Might I make a request?” He paused, still staring directly at you. “Please keep that one for your eyes only. It is not a finished version, and I would be much obliged if it wasn’t available everywhere.” Ezra paused again as the crowd cheered, his gaze moving away briefly and then returning to you, a knowing smile on his lips. “You’ll have my unending gratitude for keeping that song just for us.” 

The video ended there, Ezra winking at you as the crowd began to cheer again. Even though you’d known that it was a show - that it was just who he was, the man being charming and inviting to encourage the crowd, you’d allowed yourself to react to his words, your body growing warm at the thought that by using the word us, he’d meant you two specifically, and not the hundreds of other people in the crowd. 

But it didn’t matter who he’d been talking to - you had the recording. You had the interaction on camera, had a high quality version of an unfinished, unreleased song on your phone… and he knew it. Or at least he knew it then. Sighing, you closed out of the video and opened your social media, clicking on Cee’s account and then creating a new message, fingers hesitating over the keyboard. “Just send it,” you whispered to yourself. “The worst thing she can do is ignore it.” 

The words flowed from your fingers, and even though you tried to keep the message short and to the point, it ended up longer than you intended. 

Cee -

Let me start by saying that I am very, very sorry for your loss. I hope you’re taking the time you need to heal, and that you have good people around you for support.  You don’t know me, but I saw that you liked some of the pictures from a concert I was at a few months ago earlier today. I have more pictures from the show, and I also wanted to offer to send you a video that I have from it of a song that Ezra said he was still working on. I recorded the whole thing, but he asked me not to post it anywhere (as you’ll see if you watch), and so I haven’t. Your dad’s drumming is a big part of the video, and I thought you might want to have it for yourself - if not to watch now, to keep for the future. 

If you’d rather not see it, don’t feel like you have to respond to this. I just wanted to make the offer. If you do want the video, you can message back and let me know where to send it. It should fit into an email, even though it’s pretty high quality so the file’s big. 

I really enjoyed your dad’s music, Cee. He was a talented drummer. And again, I know that you don’t know me, but I’ve been thinking of you (and Ezra) since the accident, and hoping that you’re both doing alright. 

Take care of yourself. 

Before you could second guess it, you signed your name and pressed send. Your heart thumped in your chest as you stared at the screen, the ‘delivered’ indicator popping up beneath the sent message. Clicking back to her main page, you opened the photo of her and Ezra, turning your brightness up and staring at it, trying to keep your expression even. I hope she replies back. Zooming in on the girl’s face, you let out a breath. I hope she - “What’s going on? You’re holding that phone really close.” 

Startled, your fingers moved away from the screen, and the image snapped back to its original size as you looked away from your phone and at the man that had entered the room. “Nothing. I just sent a message over to Cee… the girl that was working as -”

“Yeah, Damon’s daughter.” He moved closer to where you were, using a small towel to dry his hair and the back of his neck. “You decided to send it?” 

“I did, Robbie.” Darkening the screen, you set the phone down on your nightstand after pulling yourself up into a sitting position. “She probably won’t respond, but I figured I’d try.” He tossed the towel into the hamper and then climbed into bed with you, rolling onto his side and propping his head up with one hand. “What?

“Did you message him, too? The singer? Ezra?” No, why would I? “He might be able to get it to her.

“Maybe.” You turned the light off, laying down and rolling to face him, shrugging. “But it’s not up to him to decide what she sees or wants, because she’s not his daughter - and she’s an adult. She’s the one that liked the posts, so she’s the one I messaged.” You paused as the man’s hand slid up your side, palm against your skin beneath the shirt you wore. “Besides, he hasn’t updated anything in months, not since he posted the thank you for all the support while he was in the hospital.” You didn’t even think that Ezra was behind that post, and figured that it had either been Cee or his manager - the only other person in the tour group to survive the crash, thanks to the man driving separately between venues. 

“You should just post it and tag her.” He pulled you closer, the man’s lips warm against your cheek as his hand traveled higher on your side. “What are they gonna do?” What? Why would I do that?

“He asked me not to.” You sighed, hoping that he hadn’t felt your momentary pause. “So I’m not going to.” The thought hadn’t crossed your mind even after the accident - the idea of having a video that no one else did more appealing than fifteen minutes of fame and a little bit of Internet clout.  And definitely better than him getting pissed it was released before it was ready. “Simple as that.” 

Robbie hummed against your skin, though he didn’t say anything else, his hands still roaming upward. When the two of you separated twenty minutes later and he rolled away from you, leaving you in the bed to catch your breath while he headed into the bathroom, you weren’t thinking of Ezra or Cee or the unreleased song anymore. 

— 

It’s late and she can’t sleep again, so Cee is out on Ezra’s balcony, a fluffy blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The city stretches out in front of her, thousands of lights twinkling underneath a cloudy, moonless sky, cars moving over the roads below. She napped earlier, during the hour while Ezra’s physical therapist had been in the apartment and she’d been certain that he wouldn’t need anything from her. But from the moment the overly friendly woman had knocked on the door of her bedroom to say goodbye, Cee was wide awake, laser focused on the man that she lived with. 

He doesn’t ask for much and what he does ask for, she’s happy to give, especially after what he did for her. What he sacrificed for me. She ducks her head, resting her cheek atop one knee and thinks of the man sleeping a few rooms away - the man that has been more of a father figure to her in the few years she’s known him than Damon was in the eighteen she spent with him. He was the one who protected me. 

She’s crying again, like she has so many times in the months since the accident, and even though she knows it will do no good, Cee groans and turns her face to cover it completely in the blanket, telling herself to stop. 

“Come back inside, little bird. It’s chilly out, and you forgot your shoes.” 

His voice is quiet in the darkness, but there’s an intensity to it, like always, along with a new grittiness that is the result of the man breathing in so much of the smoke from the accident. Cee can’t help straightening up to look at him, Ezra’s arm crossed over his chest, that hand gripping his opposite shoulder. “I thought you were sleeping.” She speaks through her tears, not bothering to wipe them away. “You should be in bed.” 

“You, telling me that I need to sleep?” His brow arched, the man looks at her and takes a step closer, head shaking back and forth slowly.  “That is a -” She stands, then, pulling the blanket more tightly around her shoulders and giving him a smile as she steps past him and back into the apartment.

He follows her through the living room and into the kitchen, and Cee removes the blanket, draping it over the back of one of the barstools against the counter. “You know what I mean, Ezra.” She reaches into the refrigerator, pulling out two bottles of water and twisting both caps off before sliding one across the counter to the man. They both drink in silence and when he speaks again, Cee listens, her fingers tightening around the plastic container she holds. 

“Sleepless nights will do you no good, Cee.” He leans closer and she uses the opportunity to stare at him, eyes moving over his face. He’s thinner now than he used to be, cheeks not as full and his clothes are hanging loosely off of his body, but he’s still Ezra, right down to the scruffiness of his beard and the warmth in his eyes. “I have no regrets about what happened that night. I would do it again without hesitation.” He reaches for her then, his hand closing over one of hers. “I made my decision, and I will live with it, but that doesn’t mean that you have to.” She understands what he means and there are days when she believes it, but they are few and far between - and this isn’t one of them. 

“Ezra, I…” Her chin drops, the girl taking a deep breath. “I need time. I just…” She sighs again and then looks back at him, eyes shining with tears. “I need to see you get better before I -” 

“You have all the time you need, little bird.” He squeezes her hand and then withdraws his, finally taking a long drink. “I’ll be right here for the foreseeable future, and you know that that means you’re welcome here, too.” She knows this. Cee knows that Ezra will look out for her for as long as is necessary, knows that she’s always got a place with him when she needs it - and that the same would be true even if Damon were still alive. “You should try to get some sleep. Turn off your alarm, put your headphones on and let your mind go adrift.”

“I need to be awake to -” He stops her with another shake of his head, hand flattening on the countertop.

“I can take care of myself, you know. I appreciate the help, but I am capable, Cee.” Ezra’s smile is genuine, the man sipping from the bottle of water again before he continues. “A little less capable than a few months ago, but still…” He looks down at the place right arm used to be and so does she, and then Cee is moving around the counter to stand next to him, her arms going around the man’s body, cheek landing against his chest. 

“I know, Ezra. But I…” He hugs her back, his one-armed embrace stronger than it was only a week or two earlier, and Cee dares to hope that it means he actually is getting better, even if it doesn’t seem like it all the time. “Alright.” She sighs, standing straight up again. “I’ll turn my alarm off and try to sleep in.” He smiles at her, the man stepping back and gesturing down the hall. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

He agrees, and after she grabs the blanket she heads back to her room, shutting the door and climbing into bed, the darkness comforting. She’s beginning to drift when she remembers that she’s supposed to turn her alarm off, and when Cee blindly grabs for her phone, she squints at the brightness of the screen. 

With some hesitation, she turns it off and then opens her main social media account, clearing the usual notifications. Maybe I should still… no. He said to sleep in. Just as she’s about to close the app, she notices that she has an unread message request. It’s not a new occurrence, and she is wary, but when she sees the account name, she vaguely recognizes it. 

When she clicks on it, she knows exactly who it is. 

And by the time she’s finished reading the message, she is intrigued, though she decides not to respond right away. Cee decides to take Ezra’s advice - and get as good a night of sleep as she can before deciding whether or not she wants to see the additional pictures and video. As she finally falls asleep, Cee hears Ezra’s voice in her head, and for once she agrees completely: she’s got all the time she needs.

—

tag list coming separately! 

[rubysunnday]

reluctant caretaker

A/N: this is a very self indulgent fic, lol. it’s a comfort one for me right now

summary: having three younger siblings often meant Y/N was put in charge of looking after them. But sometimes her older siblings need some help too.

Aka, eight times Y/N did Anthony's job for him and one time he became her father

The trouble with having three younger siblings was that Y/N often got waylaid with looking after them and keeping them occupied. She didn't mind it - it was actually quite enjoyable to watch Hyacinth attack Gregory and to help Francesca with her pianoforte.

But sometimes, Y/N found herself becoming an older sibling to her own older siblings. When the weight of their responsibilities became too much, Y/N was there, like a rock that survives countless storms.

Hyacinth

Hyacinth and Y/N were two of the closest Bridgerton siblings in the entire household. They'd been close ever since Hyacinth's birth - the two becoming thick as thieves despite the years between them.

Hyacinth's beautiful, angelic face often helped Y/N escape the wrath of Anthony whenever Y/N snuck out the house and Y/N returned the favour by helping Hyacinth hide from the siblings she upset and by supporting her chaos.

It was a quiet day in the library and Y/N was minding her own business, organising the books and cleaning the room in general. The library had become a special place for her - her safety room,

“Y/N, hide me!” Hyacinth squeaked, skidding around the corner and running directly into Y/N’s legs.

“Wait, what?” Y/N asked, frowning, stumbling at the force of her little sister running into her. She grabbed

“Just, help me!” Hyacinth repeated, her eyes pleading.

“Hyacinth!” Anthony bellowed, his voice bouncing off the walls. Y/N could hear him marching up the stairs towards the library.

Y/N’s head shot up at the bellow and looked down at her little sister with wide eyes. “What did you do?”

“Please, I’ll tell you afterwards,” Hyacinth said, begging.

Y/N sighed and looked around for somewhere to hide Hyacinth. The library was big and didn’t have any decent hiding places. Y/N lifted her long dress up. 

“I swear, Hyacinth, you owe me,” she replied as Hyacinth crawled under the fabric, pulling it over her body. Y/N arranged her layers of skirt over her little sister and then pulled her shawl around too.

“Hyacinth!” Anthony bellowed again as he stormed into the room. He spotted Y/N organising the books and turned to her.  “Y/N, have you seen Hyacinth?”

Y/N shook her head and shrugged. “No, I have not. Sorry, brother.”

Anthony growled. “If you do, send her to me.”

“Why, what has she done?” Y/N asked innocently.

“She put a frog in my desk drawer,” Anthony snapped. “It’s hopping around the house, Colin is trying to catch it.”

Y/N tried not laugh, pressing her lips together. “Oh. Of course, if I see her, I shall send her to you.”

Anthony stormed off, out of the library. Y/N lifted her skirt up and narrowed her eyes down at Hyacinth.

“A frog, seriously?” She asked as Hyacinth crawled out.

“He took my book away,” Hyacinth replied, looking like an innocent angel.

Y/N rolled her eyes and shoved Hyacinth towards the door. “Shoo, I do not want to get in trouble with Anthony.”

Hyacinth rang off and Y/N resumed looking for her book. 

“Hyacinth!”

Y/N burst out laughing as she heard Anthony bellow at Hyacinth, his yell quickly followed by Hyacinth’s shriek and the sound of someone charging down the stairs. Y/N shook her head and smiled, laughing as she heard more yelling and shrieking from her sister.

Gregory

Y/N walked past Gregory’s room and glanced in as she passed. She paused and walked back, taking a look at Gregory and noticing him crying.

Y/N knocked on his door. “Gregory, what’s wrong?”

Gregory sniffed, wiping his eyes as he looked up at his big sister. “My mouse died,” he said softly, hiccuping.

Y/N’s eyes softened and she walked into her brother’s room, crouching down on the floor next to him and putting an arm around his shoulders.

“Oh, Greg, I am sorry, darling,” Y/N said, stroking his hair.

Gregory had found the mouse lurking in the kitchens one night and - despite the rest of the family telling him to get rid of it - Gregory had kept it, named it and given it a home.

And it had stayed in Gregory’s room for the past three months. Y/N had grown accustomed to checking in on the mouse whenever she went into her brother’s room and knew how closed he’d gotten to the rodent.

“Colin took him away,” Gregory whispered, more tears leaking out his eyes. “And I do not want to leave him but mother is insisting on everyone going to the party -”

“Hey, Gregory, calm down,” Y/N said gently. “We do not have to do anything with your mouse until you are ready. And I will stay by your side this entire party, alright?”

Gregory nodded and gave her a watery smile. “Thank you, sister.”

Y/N pressed a kiss to his head. “Always.” 

The floorboard outside Gregory’s room creaked and Y/N turned and looked to see who it was. Anthony stood outside the door, dressed in his waistcoat with his shirtsleeves rolled up, and gave her a smile, mouthing a thank you to Y/N. 

Y/N nodded and gave him a returning smile.

Francesca

Y/N eyed Colin. “Brother, that waistcoat is beginning to look a little snug.”

Colin let out a gasp and turned to face her. “How dare you!” He said, hand flying to his chest. “I was not going to say anything but your dresses are beginning to look a bit tight.”

Y/N gasped and whacked Colin’s arm, dodging the shove he aimed at her. “Colin!”

The front door slammed shut and Y/N looked up as Francesca stormed towards them.

“Hey, Franny,” Y/N greeted, smiling.

Francesca didn’t acknowledge her. She shoved past her and Colin and Y/N got a glimpse at her tear stained face as she ran past.

“Francesca!” Colin called, brow furrowing in concern at how upset his sister was.

“Leave me alone!” Francesca yelled, running up the stairs. A few moments later, her door slammed shut.

“Oh, I will go,” Y/N muttered, heading up the stairs after her sister. “Maybe run around the block and work off the bacon you ate at lunch.”

Colin gasped and let out a stuttered mess of insulted sounds as Y/N laughed and walked up the stairs.

Francesca had shut the door behind her but didn’t lock the door. Y/N knocked gently on the door but when she didn’t hear her sister reply, she opened the door and walked inside.

Francesca had dramatically flung herself face down on her bed and was quietly sobbing, her shoulders shaking.

“Oh, Franny,” Y/N said quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to her sister and putting a hand on her back, rubbing it gently. 

Y/N had no idea what was wrong or what had happened to upset Francesca so much, but she didn’t need to know the specifics. Her sister was upset and needed her big sister on her side.

“Anthony is horrible,” Francesca sobbed. “He said such horrible things about the Earl of Kilmartin and he knows I like him, Y/N/N, he knows.”

Y/N sighed, stroking Francesca’s hair, twirling it around her finger. “Anthony is... well he is Anthony. He is very protective of us, Franny - he had to become a parental figure to all of us when he was barely an adult. I do not blame him for having his reservations about the Earl but know that anything Anthony says is... the majority of the time out of love.”

Francesca rolled over onto her side and looked up at her sister with teary eyes. “Can you talk to him?”

Y/N smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind Francesca’s ear. “Of course I can, my love. I shall tell him how ridiculous he is being and that you do not want to hear another word out of him until he can say something nice.”

Francesca giggled and sat up, hugging her sister tightly. “Thank you, sister. Truly.”

Y/N returned the hug. “Anything for you, Francesca.”

Eloise

Y/N concentrated on walking down the stairs, holding the hem of her dress up so that she didn’t trip over. She still wasn’t use to heels.

“You look like a newborn foal, Y/N,” Benedict called, eyeing her with a laugh as she gripped the bannister tightly.

“I detest these heels,” she muttered, taking Benedict’s offered hand and letting him guide her down the rest of the stairs.

“Do not let Eloise hear you say that, she will go off on a rant,” Benedict teased. 

It was if mentioning her twin sister’s name summoned her. Eloise suddenly burst out of Anthony’s office in a flurry of expensive silks and tears and ran past Y/N and Benedict. Both siblings stared after her, wincing when the door slammed loudly, shaking the walls.

“What is it with my siblings and running past me in tears?” Y/N asked, despairing. “This is the third time in as many weeks! What did you say, Anthony?” Y/N asked, turning to face her eldest brother with a hefty sigh.

“I merely mentioned her debut again and she got upset,” Anthony replied, shaking his head. “I shall talk to her.”

“No, do not even think about it,” Y/N said, halting Anthony by stepping in front of him. “You will make it worse. I shall go.”

“Wait, Y/N, I’ll come too,” Benedict called.

Y/N paused on the stairs and raised her eyebrows at him. She snorted. “Oh, this will be entertaining.”

Benedict gave her a confused look but shrugged, following after Y/N as she walked up the stairs and to Eloise’s room. Every time Eloise’s debut was brought up, she was bound to get upset or angry. It was the one subject that made her loose her judgement and her cool exterior.

Benedict knocked twice on Eloise’s door. “Eloise?”

“Go away, Benedict!” Eloise yelled and something hit the door with a hefty thud/

Benedict looked vaguely offended and took a step back from the door with a frown.

Y/N smiled to herself and chuckled. “That is exactly what I thought would happen,” she said, crossing her arms and looking up at her brother. “She thinks you’re going to gang up on her.”

“But I’m not going to.”

“Yes, but try telling that to an emotional teenager who’s big brother has upset her,” Y/N replied. “Go downstairs, I will be ten minutes.”

Benedict grumbled but trudged off down the corridor. Y/N waited for him to disappear and then gently knocked on Eloise’s bedroom door.

“El, it’s me,” Y/N called.

There was silence and then the door was unlocked and Eloise appeared, her eyes red. 

“How do you do it?” Eloise asked, sniffing.

Y/N frowned. “Do what?”

“Be perfect. Be the perfect daughter and sister all the time,” Eloise elaborated. “I cannot do it and it is so difficult to pretend.”

Y/N smiled at her. “I have been practicing for years, darling Eloise. It is all an act. I am not perfect and certainly not perfect all the time. I am merely perfect enough that mother and Anthony forget about my flaws.”

“How did you get through your debut?” Eloise asked and Y/N could see the genuine fear in her eyes. “How do you cope with all those people looking and watching.”

“For my debut, I relied on Colin,” Y/N replied honestly. “He never left my side unless I was absolutely certain I could manage on my own. Unlike Anthony, there was no judgement or constant interrogation of the suitors. He just listened to me. And after a while, the constant watching and looking does not bother you. It becomes background noise.”

Eloise dropped her head onto the edge of her door and closed her eyes. “I have hardly even begun and I am already exhausted.”

“I know.”

Y/N reached out her hand and grabbed her twin sister’s. Eloise squeezed her hand in return and gave her a tired smile. 

“But I will be with you every step of the way, sister,” Y/N promised.

Daphne

Daphne and Y/N had never been particularly close. They were complete opposites growing up - much like Eloise and Daphne were now - and were constantly arguing with one another. But ultimately, they did love each other.

As Y/N grew up, she looked to Daphne for help and guidance and her sister had provide it. But Y/N could tell that her sister was struggling. With her new life as a duchess, as a mother and as a wife.

“Daphne.”

“Yes, Y/N?”

The two were enjoying afternoon tea in the sprawling garden of Hastings House, watching the swans in the lake nearby.

“Are you alright?”

Daphne set her tea down and looked at Y/N. Y/N reached out a hand across the table and gripped Daphne’s, rubbing her thumb over the back of it and giving her a smile.

And that was all it took for Daphne to break down crying at the little table they sat at.

Y/N moved her chair to sit next to her sister and put her arms around her, comforting her as she cried. She didn’t have a clear idea of what Daphne was going through - being a mother was hard in its own right. But Daphne was also running an estate, being a duchess and also trying to navigate high society.

“You know, I am not a mother - or a duchess, for that fact - but what I do know is that I do not know anyone who is stronger than you, Daph. Mother does not count,” Y/N added quickly, noticing Daphne lifting her head up to object.

Daphne gave her sister a watery, emotion filled smile and sat up, taking a deep breath in. “Thank you, sister.”

Y/N smiled, picking her cup of tea up again. “You are welcome. Now, do we have anymore of those biscuits?”

Colin

Y/N was having deja vu. 

What was it with her siblings and locking themselves in their rooms whilst crying? 

“Someone should go talk to Colin,” Anthony said quietly, setting his newspaper down.

There was an obvious empty space at the breakfast table in between Benedict and Y/N where Colin usually sat. Ever since the Marina incident, Colin had hardly spoken or come out of his room. Wisely, no one had said anything about it. Violet was engrossed in Lady Whistledown, Hyacinth and Gregory were, for once, behaving themselves, and Eloise was quietly cutting her pear up into thin silces.

“He won’t listen to me,” Benedict replied quickly, taking a bite of his toast.

“I am the last person he will want to speak to,” Anthony added, sighing.

The two older brothers both turned to look at Y/N.

Y/N, who was mid bite of her apple, turned to look at them. “What?”

“Well, you are good with crying siblings,” Anthony began.

“Only because you are normally the one who has upset them,” Y/N countered, turning back to her breakfast, 

Anthony raised his eyebrows. “Y/N.”

“Oh, fine,” Y/N grumbled, shoving her chair back loudly. “I should really be getting paid for this, honestly.”

Colin’s room was next door to Y/N’s. She paused outside it and sighed. 

“This is deja vu,” Y/ muttered, raising a hand, knocking hard on the door. “Colin?”

Colin didn’t reply. Y/N dropped her head on the door and sighed. She grabbed the handle and twisted it, hoping it was open. It swung open with a creak and Y/N poked her head around the wood.

Colin was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with red eyes. He lifted his head and looked at her.

“Hi,” Y/N said quietly, closing the door behind herself and walking further into the room. “You left me on my own at breakfast.”

“Sorry,” Colin muttered.

Y/N walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, nudging Colin to move further over to let her lie down next to him. Colin shuffled over and Y/N laid down next to him, not caring that she was crinkling her dress or ruining her hair.

Colin didn’t talk. Y/N wasn’t expecting him to. But she also wasn’t expecting him to lift his arm up and wrap it around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. Y/N let out a surprised noise but returned the hug, wrapping her arms around his side as best she could.

“Just so you know, they all practically drew straws as to who would come and talk to you,” Y/N said, her voice muffled by Colin’s waistcoat.

“Well, you are an expert now,” Colin replied, his voice a little croaky. “Four siblings now?”

“Do not even get me started, Colin,” Y/N replied, laughing softly. “When I eventually have an emotional break and lock myself in my room, you all better take it in bloody turns.”

Colin laughed, hitting her shoulder as she swore. His laughter faded and he tightened his arms around her but Y/N didn’t mind. It was often the two of them had a moment just them with no one watching or staring.

“Listen, if you come to breakfast I will not throw my orange peel at you,” Y/N said, lifting her head up. “I will happily give you the bits of my bacon that I do not like.”

“Will you give me your extra sausage?” Colin asked.

“I will give you all of my bacon if you give me a sausage,” Y/N countered.

Colin unwrapped his arm from around Y/N’s shoulders and held his hand out to her. “The deal is the deal.”

Y/N snorted. “You did not just quote my favourite book at me,” Y/N said, widening her eyes. 

Colin shrugged but his eyes were twinkling for the first time in a few days. Y/N giggled and dropped her head on to a pillow.

“I hate you,” Y/N groaned.

“No you do not,” Colin replied, all but shoving Y/N off his bed. “Now, you have promised me your bacon.”

Benedict

Y/N looked up as another ball of paper whizzed past her head, missing the bin and landing behind it. The bin was beginning to disappear underneath the numerous scrunched up balls of paper. Y/N wisely didn’t say anything, turning back to her book.

Benedict growled, ripping another piece of paper out his sketchbook and launched it at the bin. It missed the bin entirely and smacked Y/N in the head, landing in her lap.

“Sorry,” Benedict called.

Y/N raised her eyebrows at him but said nothing. She picked up the ball of paper and opened it, smoothing it out against the front of her book. “What’s wrong with this?”

Benedict looked up. “The shading is all wrong, the body looks weird...” Benedict sighed and ripped another piece of paper out. He threw it at the bin but it hit Y/N again.

“Alright, do I need to move or are you going to stop hitting me with balls of paper?” Y/N asked, closing her book and raising her eyebrows. “I can move the bin closer.”

“Sorry,” Benedict sighed, closing his eyes and dropping his head back.

Y/N looked at her brother. She unfolded her legs and stood up, walking up to him. She took the sketchbook from his hands and flipped through it.

“What is wrong with these?” Y/N asked, frowning as she perched herself on the arm of the chair her brother was sat in, leaning on his shoulder. 

“They do not look... right.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows. “Why?”

“The angle is weird -”

“Then move the object or move yourself,” Y/N said simply. 

“It isn’t just that,” Benedict said. “Every drawing I do I find myself comparing it to other works of art.”

“But they’re not your style,” Y/N replied. “You cannot compare a Van Gogh to a Holbein because they are completely different styles. You just have to find your own style, Benedict.”

“When did you get so wise?” Benedict asked, looking up at her with genuine admiration and curiosity. 

“Oh, I think it is due to the constant pep talks I have to keep giving my siblings,” Y/N said, smiling, pretending to ruffle her imaginary feathers.

Benedict smiled. He nodded to the chair opposite him. “Go sit over there.”

“Why?”

“Just sit over there,” Benedict insisted, shoving her off the arm of the chair.

Y/N sat down on the chair and frowned at him. “Are you going to draw me?!”

“Well, you said move the object.”

“Wait, you were drawing me?!” Y/N exclaimed.

“Hush, you,” Benedict called, pressing a finger to his lips. “I am concentrating.”

Y/N giggled but didn’t move, just smoothed her skirt out and picked up her book again.

Anthony

“Y/N!”

Y/N looked up with a frown, trying to work out if she had heard her name or not. Deciding she hadn’t, Y/N returned to the pianoforte, plonking the keys with no real intention. 

“Y/N!”

Anthony stormed into the room and came to a sudden halt as he spotted Y/N sat at the pianoforte. “Y/N, did you not hear me yelling?”

Y/N frowned and looked up. “Did you yell for me?” She asked.

“Yes!” Anthony exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “How did you not hear me?” Y/N looked pointedly at the pianoforte. “Yes, alright, point made, now come with me.”

Anthony turned on his heel and marched off. Y/N quickly stood up, almost tripping over the leg of the stool as she ran after her brother.

“Anthony, slow down a moment!” Y/N called, barely keeping up with her older brother’s long legs. “Anthony!”

Y/N ran down the stairs, somehow skipping the last three, and following Anthony into his office. He stopped suddenly in the doorway and turned to face Y/N.

Y/N, who hadn’t lost the momentum she’d gained running down the stairs, ran full pelt into her brother’s chest and squeaked as she lost her balance.

“Carefully!” Anthony exclaimed, grabbing her arms and holding her up.

“You are the one who stopped!” Y/N yelled back. “What on earth is the matter?” 

Anthony sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, there is just an awful lot happening, I did not mean to panic you.”

“Anthony, just take a minute to breathe,” Y/N said. “What do you need me for?”

“We have been invited to the Queen’s garden party, and I wanted to know if you were interested in coming,” Anthony said, turning and walking up to his desk. He pulled out the invite from amongst the rest of his paperwork and handed it to her.

Y/N ran her eyes over it and shrugged with a nod. “Yes, I suppose.”

Anthony nodded but Y/N could see that he wasn’t paying her any attention. Y/N sat down in front of his desk.

“Anthony, what is wrong?” Y/N asked softly, nudging his foot with hers when he didn’t reply. “Anthony?”

“There is just a lot going on with the estates, the land, your debut, Eloise’s debut, Benedict and Colin.” Anthony sighed and dropped his head. “I do not know how father managed it all.”

“Well, in all fairness, Anthony, our father was raised and taught how to do it. He had years of practice you were not even out of Eaton when you had to take over,” Y/N replied, folding her hands into her lap. “All of this stress is understandable, brother.”

Anthony looked at his sister with a wistful gaze. “When did you get to be so wise?”

“That is exactly what Benedict said the other day,” Y/N replied, smiling. “And all I did was tell him to stop throwing paper at me.”

Anthony chuckled. He stepped around his desk and came over to Y/N, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Oh, what would we do without you, Y/N?”

“Well, I would imagine that the house would be on fire by now and Eloise would have ran off to anywhere else in the country,” Y/N replied, smirking.

Anthony shoved her gently and Y/N giggled, resting her head on his arm. 

Y/N

Her hands were shaking. She could feel the panic overwhelming her like a tidal wave and her stays felt suffocating even though Y/N knew they weren’t tight.

All she had to do was get through tonight and then everything, should be, fine. All she had to do was get through her first ball and then everything would get better. 

Y/N felt her eyes begin to sting and her throat close and took a shaky deep breath in as she looked at herself in the mirror. She looked like herself but also didn’t look like herself. An imitation of herself looked back at her.

She had never been this nervous before. It was unusual for her to be this panicked and scared before a big event. Y/N let out a little sob and sank down into her chair, burying her face in her hands to try and control her emotion.

Someone knocked on her door and Y/N quickly tried to make herself look presentable and not like she’d been crying. 

“Y/N, come on,” Anthony called, walking in, the floorboards creaking under his feet, “we are all waiting.”

“I will be down in a second,” Y/N called, frantically trying to touch up her make up. 

Anthony walked around the corner and stopped. He knew Y/N and could see when she was putting a mask on and pretending. He could see her red eyes, her shaking hands, and instantly knew something was wrong.

“Y/N, what is wrong?” Anthony asked softly, slowly approaching her.

Y/N turned and looked at her brother over her shoulder. He gave her a soft, comforting smile, and she instantly broke down, her shoulders shaking and her hands hiding her face.

Anthony rushed over and knelt down in front of her, wrapping his arms around her and bringing her into his chest as she sobbed. 

“Alright, calm down, you’re ok,” Anthony whispered, rubbing circles on her back.

“I don’t think I can do this, Anthony,” Y/N sobbed, clinging onto him tightly. “I don’t know if I can be perfect like Daphne was.”

“You do not have to be perfect,” Anthony said, taking her face between his hands and making her look at him. “You just have to be you. And we will be with you every step of the way.”

Y/N nodded and sighed tiredly. She took a deep breath in and straightened up as Anthony wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“Ready?” Anthony asked, standing up and offering her a hand.

“As I will ever be,” Y/N replied with a smile, taking his hand.

[melk917]

Home for the Holidays

Warnings: None. Just some kissing and cuddling. And airport cancellations, which personally, I constantly live in fear of.

Rating: G

Pairing: Rafael Barba x gn!Reader

WC: 1,897

A/N: This covers the 'Home for the Holidays' square for @storiesofsvu holiday bingo. Wanted to get this out today as it's the last night of Hanukkah (but suspend your disbelief a bit because in the calendar year the fic takes place, Christmas and Hanukkah overlap, so... not this current year, ha). It's an incredibly self-indulgent piece of fluff based on my own experience growing up with two religions and none at the same time. Written while exhausted from my booster shot and visiting with the cutest 13 day old baby you've ever seen (yes, I'm biased, she really just looks like a grumpy old man) so just like, all around sappy fluff. Enjoy!

And Hanukkah Sameach to anyone else celebrating

You pressed the number for your floor and leaned back against the wall of the elevator with a sigh. You were exhausted, arms and legs so heavy it was like they were filled with lead, and you were drained of all possible cheer after a day of flight delays, arguments with airlines over rebookings and cancellations, and finally the terrible call you had with your parents, telling them that you were going to miss the holidays. A brutal snow storm over the Midwest had utterly destroyed your hope of getting there in time. And now you were coming back to a cold, empty apartment for a holiday alone.

You had thought about crying, but couldn’t even summon the energy. Not even when your three year old niece had gotten on the phone, sobbing, devastated you wouldn’t be there to turn on the tree and light the menorah with her. Instead, you had texted Rafael to just let him know you were fine and turned off your phone so you could come home and wallow.

You had briefly considered asking him to come over, the thought of him curled warm around you in bed like a balm to your disappointment, but you deleted the text without sending it. You knew he was at services with his mother, the one time a year he went, and you didn’t want to interrupt, especially not to complain. And anyway, you didn’t think you were quite at the point yet where you could ask to spend the holidays together, even in an emergency. (And maybe it terrified you a little bit that the one thing you thought of to comfort yourself in the moment was him, gruff and grumpy or otherwise.)

And so you found yourself back at your apartment, defeated, lonely, and way too exhausted to deal with either. Right now you were just looking forward to taking a hot shower and getting in bed to sleep off the whole saga.

You were so absorbed in your own misery that you didn’t process anything out of place as you opened your apartment door, kicking off your shoes and hanging up your coat. It wasn’t until you had gotten halfway out of the entryway that you realized you weren’t alone and you froze.

Light was spilling into the hall from the kitchen and living room while Christmas carols played softly. You wondered briefly if you had forgotten to turn it off when you left that morning, but the thought was cut off by the clatter of dishes.

Heart in your throat, you grabbed your keys from the side table to slide in between your knuckles as you crept forward, pressed against the wall to slowly peer around the corner. And promptly almost dropped the keys in surprise.

Rafael was leaning up on his toes to peer at something in the microwave over the stove, a dish cloth thrown over one shoulder. He reached in only to yank his hand back, cursing under his breath, blowing on his now reddened fingers.

Your chest felt tight, a rush of affection and confusion twisting through you as you watched him there, casually stripped down to his shirtsleeves and slacks, tie pulled loose, sleeves rolled up, a pair of festive red and white suspenders pulling across his chest. He looked almost soft, domestic as he grumbled, pulling the dish cloth from his shoulder to pull whatever it was out of the microwave and set it down, unaware you were watching.

He must have let himself in with the key you had given him? But why would he have set up here for Christmas Eve…? And...

“Raf? What the hell?”

He jumped, pan clattering on the stove as he whipped around to see you standing in the doorway. “Fucking hell,” he muttered. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I just got here…” You took a few steps into the room, but stopped short of approaching him, tossing your keys onto the counter. “What are you doing? I thought you were with your mother.”

He fidgeted with the dish towel still in his hands for a few seconds before he seemed to realize what he was doing and let it drop to his side. “I uh, figured you would be hungry after being stuck at the airport all day.”

Affection and confusion warred in your chest, twisting your stomach in knots. You tilted your head to the side, watching him. He flushed a little under your gaze, muscle in his jaw working, eyebrows pinching slightly.

“I told you I was fine, that you should stay with your mother.”

He frowned. “Did you want to be alone?”

“I—” You flushed too, desperately happy to see him, but hating how the feeling turned sour at the thought of him abandoning his mother to be with you. “I didn’t want to mess up your holiday, too.”

The uncertain pinch of his eyebrows melted away at that and he snorted, leveling a smirk at you. “I was there for dinner and Christmas Eve service. If anything you’ve saved me from additional hours of my mother’s friends drunkenly telling me about all the ‘nice young women’ they know.”

You laughed and his smirk softened into something closer to affection.

“Anyway,” he continued, “you underestimate my mother’s meddling if you think she hadn’t all but shoved me out the door when she heard what happened. She says 'Merry Christmas', by the way, and sent food.” He gestured to the pan on the stove and out into the rest of the room.

You looked around the whole space for the first time to see more dishes set out on the coffee table with a bottle of wine and… nine candles from around your apartment, lined up along the edge.

“Redecorating too?” you asked, eyebrow raised, jerking your chin at the candles. To your surprise, he flushed in response and fidgeted with the dishcloth again.

“Ah, actually.” His fingers tightened on the cloth briefly, voice gruff and uncomfortable. He shrugged, flush deepening. “I know you were looking forward to it being your niece’s first time celebrating Hanukkah and Christmas together so I thought…”

Your breath caught, your chest too tight for words as the last of the confusion in you melted away and your heart swelled with affection and something more… something you were pretty sure neither of you weren’t quite ready to verbalize, even if actions might be indicating otherwise.

The longer you were at a loss for words, though, the more he seemed to fidget, tension drawing his shoulders taut. Finally, he waved at the setup, brushing it off with a flick of his wrist. “We don’t have to, either,” he said, quickly, “I know you don’t normally do anything to celebrate.”

“No,” you said softly, brow furrowing, still not sure what to say. And he seemed to both collapse in on himself and turn rigid at the same time as you trailed off. His jaw took on a stubborn set even as he dropped your gaze.

He was clearly wildly out of his element, having exposed that he might care, that he wanted you to have the holiday you had wanted. He was almost folding in on himself now, shoulders hunched, hands shoved in his pockets as he started to lean up off the counter, eyes darting to the doorway behind you. He was hovering, perched there in a way that made you think he’d make a run for it if you weren't been between him and the way out.

“No, I mean…” you stepped forward the rest of the way and crowded into his personal space, boxing him in before he could actually make a break for it. “No, I love it.”

You could hear his sharp intake of breath as you leaned in, finally just feeling warm and content as the familiar scent of him curled around you. You slid one hand up his suspenders to rest on his chest, the other coming up to cup the side of his face, thumb soothing the tension lines that pinched at the corner of his eye. “This is unbelievably sweet.”

He twitched at the statement, even as he turned his face to nuzzle into your palm. You laughed and leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before he could start to truly frown at the implication he was soft.

“It’s ok, I won’t tell anyone,” you whispered against his lips. “It’s not like they’d have believed me anyway.” You winked and he huffed in response, his lips curving into a small smile instead and he let out the breath he was holding, tension melting off his frame on the exhale. His hands came up to rest on your sides, fingers tangling in your sweater as he pulled you closer.

Grinning even wider, you turned to press your smile to his jaw so he wouldn’t see, trailing light kisses along to his ear and back. He hummed, pressing his face into your hair.

“Ok, but one thing,” you murmured into his skin, brushing your lips over his cheek. “If we're lighting these candles, we’re going to have to Google the prayer and what direction you light them in. Because it’s always been my dad who does it. I have no idea.”

He snorted. You didn’t bother to hide your smile this time as you pulled back to wag your finger at him. “Hush. No commentary. I told you that I was both Jewish and Catholic and neither. All at once.” He smirked at you and gestured like he was zipping his lips shut and dropping the key in the sink.

You rolled your eyes and shoved at his shoulders. “Go. Open the wine and pour me a glass while I sort this out. And then you can have your first Hanukkah, too.”

He gave you a lazy salute and the smirk widened, turning to do as you asked.

------------------------

Hours later, the candles burning low, Rafael was wrapped around you on the couch, lulled into a doze by the power of a good meal and red wine.

You shifted in his arms, stretching your legs out to tangle with his, his answering grumble at being woken vibrating against your back. You hummed and brushed a kiss across his knuckles in apology and he pressed his nose into your hairline, trailing soft, sleepy kisses along the back of your neck.

“I know how much you were looking forward to being home for the holidays,” he murmured into your skin. “I hope this makes up for it, just a little bit.”

You took in the spread across the coffee table. The Christmas carols playing softly in the background, the home-cooked food Lucia had sent for you, his improvised attempt at a menorah, his arm around you, holding you snug to his chest, fingers interwoven... You honestly felt more at home than you had anywhere in years.

“Eh,” you shrugged, shoving down the feeling before it overwhelmed you and twisted around so you could smirk at him instead, sliding your fingers into his hair to tug his face down to yours, lips just brushing his. “Maybe a little bit.”

He huffed, lips curling into a smile as he pulled you close to kiss you properly.

Maybe a little bit. Maybe a lot.

------------------------

Additional A/N: Ok so there was this one exchange that I didn't find a home for in the story without making it longer than I had capacity for, but this outtake happens between the two little parts:

You peeked at the dishes he had laid out on the coffee table. “And uh, we just won’t tell my very conservative Jewish grandmother that we celebrated with a dinner of lechón, yeah?”

You laughed as he froze, bottle of wine half opened, a look of mild horror on his face. “Oh God, I didn’t think—”

------------------------

Tag list! (join or edit here)

@madpanda75, @alwaysachorusgirl, @detective-giggles, @dianilaws, @detectivebarba, @objection-argumentative, @prurientpuddlejumper, @designersophisticate, @thatesqcrush, @greeneyedblondie44, @ashtheironbat, @chasingeverybreakingwave, @crowfootwrites, @dreamlover31, @barbabangme, @amelia-song-pond, @witches-unruly-heart, @darkheart-brightsmile, @mrsrafaelbarba, @ellevandeberg, @simpforbarba

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Would it be possible to get angsty argument that ends with heated snuggles? The degree of the heat is up to you, oh great bouncy-sama. :3

1) Bouncey-sama hit me right in the tiddy like a ton of bricks.

2) It is very possible.

tw: arguing, almost breakup, angst with a happy ending

---

Geralt glared down at the tabloid headline and the tabloid headline glared right back, reminding him in unforgiving black-and-white Times New Roman about the horrible mistake he’d made the night before. 

“Pop Sensation Dandelion Seen Crying on Subway: Mystery Romance Gone Awry?”

Geralt had asked the young starlet not to share his identity with the press. Sure, they’d find out eventually on their own, but the stoic librarian would rather not have to deal with the paparazzi any sooner than necessary. Jaskier, the sensitive soul that he was, had misunderstood Geralt’s intentions entirely.

“Do I embarrass you?” he’d asked, tears already leaking from those gorgeous blue eyes. “Is it because I make music for people to dance and party to? Is it because the public sees me as a pretty face with not much going on between my ears? Is it... Do you not think I’m smart?”

Geralt hadn’t known how to reply. He wasn’t very good with words to start with and now he had to comfort his boyfriend, his world-famous boyfriend, who was sobbing about something Geralt hadn’t even intended to imply.

So he’d stayed silent, like an idiot, rubbing soothing circles between the younger man’s shoulder blades while he sobbed and pounded at the librarian’s chest with weak fists. “No. You’re plenty clever.”

“Clever?” the musician scoffed. “Clever isn’t smart, Geralt” -he had paused then, as if waiting for an answer. When none came, he’d yanked himself free of Geralt’s arms and wiped his eyes and nose on his shirtsleeve- “Fine. I see how it is. If you don’t want me like this, party boy image and all, then don’t bother calling me tomorrow.”

Geralt had let him leave. Again, like an idiot.

The thing was, Geralt wasn’t sure how to answer in truth. Jaskier did do a lot of stupid stunts... but they were usually per the request of his management team. The nights out were spent dancing for a few minutes with other celebrities and then hiding away in a corner booth, his head tucked against Geralt’s neck or resting against his shoulder. 

His darling, lovely, witty Jaskier, who had snuck into the library in a hoodie and cheer shorts on his day off from touring to... read Wordsworth in the window-seat...

Fuck. 

Geralt pulled out his phone and prayed to every God that would listen for Jaskier to pick up his call.

---

“Idiot,” Jaskier huffed, pushing his feet beneath the meat of Geralt’s ass. The librarian grunted and handed his boyfriend the pizza box. “I can’t believe you did all of this just to apologize for a stupid fight you didn’t even mean to start.”

“You don’t deserve to feel self-conscious about my feelings for you. Or about my opinion of you. I will always love you,” Geralt summoned the power from somewhere deep within to continue. To keep producing speech. “You are allowed to be clever and witty and sweet. You are allowed to be a party boy when your team demands and a bookworm when you need the time to recuperate. I will always be here for you, no matter what.”

“Oh.” 

“Hmm.”

Jaskier took a slow bite of pizza and then smiled, wide and happy. “I love you, too. So... how about quitting that library job and coming on tour with me?”

Geralt tossed the pizza box aside and captured Jaskier’s mouth with his. Garlic butter and all.

[guro-giri-letters]

imagine... the dabi hair dye scenario but one of the league finds/sees him and decides to help? my heart

(SO, I totally meant this to be shorter but I got a little in my feels. Plus the lowkey Dabi and Mr Compress friendship is so underrated, I adore it. Anyway, here it is, a little comfort fic.)

The Boy Can't Cry - By Guro. ♡

/Dabi gets overwhelmed dying his hair to cover up his past and Mr Compress comes to his aid. Any fics like this where it’s just the league interacting together I’m going to lovingly tag ‘League of Family’. Hope you enjoy! ♡/

/Tags l Tw ; Dabi being emotionally unstable, some cursing, Mr Compress being fatherly, friendship, league of family. ♡/

“How can a man head a group of villains…” Sako murmurs aloud to himself, pulling another card from the messy pile upon the small table between his knees. Sighing, he flicks it into one of several other smaller piles he’s made around the main one, tsk-ing to himself quietly. “...but he can’t keep a pack of cards together. Really.”

Pure boredom, and an inability to get himself over to sleep, is what inspired one Mr Compress to take up and look through Shigaraki’s deck. It’s late in the night now, maybe early morning, and he’s sorting each of the cards into their respective groups by lamplight. It’s a comfortable, mindless task, the showman dressed down to his shirtsleeves and balaclava. In the rare quiet he lets his mind wander, and wonders where Shigaraki had gotten the cards from.

Had he stolen them? Or were they given to him? Gifts from his master, maybe. Either way dearly cherished, he decides, running his thumb over the faded face of an ace of hearts. He’s pondering still when the quick tip-tap of feet on metal steps reaches his ears.

“Mr Compress!”

Blinking, he lays down his hand and turns to find Toga halfway down the rickety staircase, hand cupped around her mouth dramatically as she whisper-yells. Her eyes are big and wide in the dim light, uncharacteristically appearing almost… frightened? What? Right away Sako is on edge, cards forgotten. “What is it dear?” He asks, lowering his own voice in response to her whispers. His worry only grows as Toga’s lips seem to tremble, looking over her shoulder before back to her elder.

“It’s Dabi…” She replies quietly, hugging her arms around her nightdress-clad self. “Somethings wrong with Dabi.”

Sako isn’t sure what he’s seeing at first as he nudges in the bathroom door. Toga is at his back, gripping his sleeve and peering around his side as the door falls slowly open. The old tiled room is lit by dim, yellowed light, and he can just make out Dabi’s shape hunched over the tub at the far end. “He keeps talking to himself-” She murmurs, only to jump at the sound of an open growl, Dabi’s form twisting to glare over his shoulder in their direction from the shadows.

“Get out, Toga.” The burnt man snarls, sending the girl flying away without hesitation. Sako watches her go, a little shocked at her fear in the face of her own comrade. Dabi doesn’t even seem to be looking right at the doorway, stark blue eyes wide and lost. Vacant. Thick, inky black lines run down his face and throat, dripping off of his chin. What the hell is he doing?

“What’s going on, man?” Sako demands, crossing the threshold and approaching Dabi where he kneels. “What’s gotten into you? You’re scaring Toga.”

“Fuck you.” Dabi snaps back, fingers digging into his hair. The same black sits in smudges over the back of his neck, staining his pale fingers. In the dark it almost seems like the villain has been infected, taken over by some dark, miasmic mess. Squinting up, Sako reaches and with a gloved hand, twists the hanging bulb around in it’s socket. Suddenly the room is filled with brighter light, everything coming into focus, and he looks down at Dabi.

His eyes widen a fraction.

Dabi’s coat lies discarded on the dingy floor at his side, the villain kneeling, almost unnaturally bent over the shallow bathtub. His body is shaking, chest expanding and falling rapidly as he scrapes at his own scalp. His hands are trembling, veins visibly risen up on their backs. It seems like he’s working the blackness into his hair almost desperately, hushed words falling barely audible from his lips. “-away. Get away.”

“Dabi?” Sako tries again. And this time he gets a reaction; Dabi’s head twisting to glare in a manner almost animalistic. The black has run in streams down his face and into his eyes, scleras bloodshot deep red and burning. He can’t even see right now, Sako realises, without the ability to produce tears to get rid of the chemicals. Being so close for the first time, he takes note of the sparse, white hairs appearing in his league-mates' thin brows. Oh.

“Get out, Compress. Get out-”

“Do you need help?” He ignores Dabi’s demands easily. The young man isn’t himself right now, and his voice is hoarse, even more gravelly than usual. In response to his question Dabi’s hands clench in his hair, tight, tendons bulging as his knuckles turn white. Sako can hear the strands tearing and grabs for Dabi’s quivering hands. “Good God, man. Stop it!”

“Get off of me!” Dabi practically howls, twisting out of the older man’s grip and slipping, slumping shoulder-first against the side of the tub. He seems to deflate all at once, his head hanging low. Sako can only stare at him, his heart pounding with adrenaline and hands still outstretched, Dabi’s breath comes quick and loud, his own hands coming up to cover his face. He’s an utter mess, what Sako has now deduced to be black dye staining his hands, shirt. Everything. A stretch of silence passes between them, and then Dabi makes the last noise his companion expected to hear.

For a moment he thinks Dabi is laughing, finding some kind of twisted amusement in all of this. But then it starts coming louder, his shoulders shaking, chest and throat convulsing uncontrollably. A dry, hacking cough leaves his throat before he presses his palms harder against his face, knees pulling in close to his body. A noise like barely concealed sobbing reaches Sako’s ears.

He’s crying.

Well… no, the boy can’t cry. He knows this; Dabi’s tear ducts have been damaged beyond repair for years now. But his body still betrays him, shuddering through bouts of broken weeping, dredged up from somewhere deep inside of him. It feels almost wrong, Sako thinks, to see him so vulnerable. It’s clear he’s witnessing something deeply personal. A moment of distress so jarring that Dabi holds fast onto his own arms and curls in on himself, almost like he’s trying to comfort himself.

Almost like he’s done this a hundred times before.

The feeling of Sako’s arm wrapping around his shoulders makes Dabi jerk, looking up with bleary eyes as he stoops down to his level. “What are you doing?” He snaps weakly, but there’s no real conviction in it. His nose is running, his voice broken up. Whatever kind of mental breakdown Dabi is currently having, the older man simply can’t bring himself to leave him. Doesn’t want to leave him to fall apart on his own.

“Quiet.” He admonishes, crouching before Dabi and pulling him closer bodily, so that his head comes to rest on Sako’s shoulder. Still breathing raggedly, Dabi stares at a space somewhere on the wall beyond Sako’s shoulder for a while before his eyes close, a worn out sigh leaving his lungs in pieces. No attempt is made to shove him away this time. He gives in.

At one point in his life, another entertainer had told Sako that when a child hugged them, they should never be the first to let go. ‘Because you never know how badly they might need it’, they had said. Keeping his arms around Dabi and remembering that message, he tightens his grip a touch, resigning himself to remaining in a crouch and getting sore knees. Not that Dabi is willing to be held for very long. He pulls away with a sniff, hand on Sako’s shoulder to keep himself steady. “Fuck- my eyes.”

He’s not wrong. His eyelids are irritated and swollen, both his regular skin and the grafts beneath. Sighing, Sako loosens his grip and lets Dabi lean back, against the side of the tub. “Put your head over.” He advises, straightening to his feet and pulling off his ruined gloves.

“Why?” Dabi rasps.

“To wash the chemicals out of your eyes, Dabi.”

Dabi considers this with a glance at the dirty tiles then nods his head once. He looks, to put it in a word, drained, straightening himself up and turning to rest his elbows on the tub's edge. Sako watches him as he finishes rolling up his sleeves, shaking his head slightly.

“Where on earth do you young people find the energy to get so worked up?” He chides, not cruelly, turning the faucet and cupping his hand beneath the sluggish flow of water. With his free hand he brings Dabi’s head over the lip of the tub with a nudge, and brings his cupped hand to the fire-user's face. Dabi hisses but doesn’t recoil as Sako rinses the remnants of dye from his face and eyes, pausing only to say; “I’ll do your hair.” and washing the remainder from his unruly mane. His skin will stain for a while, but it’ll wash away in time. He’ll be alright.

To his credit, Dabi has stopped shuddering and seems to be slowly coming down. Slumped against the lip of the tub he lets out a long, slow breath, sniffing and wiping his nose on his forearm. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“Hold it, I’m almost done.”

With the sting in his eyes finally dulling, Dabi cracks them open halfway to watch the blue-black water flow down the drain. His throat feels suddenly raw, aching. His face hurts.

“Compress.” It hurts to talk. Jesus.

Sako shuts the water off when Dabi’s hair is running mostly clear, a brow arching beneath his balaclava. “Yes?”

“...don’t- Don’t go telling them.” He manages, fingers twitching where he holds the edge of the tub. “I don’t-”

“I understand.” Offering the cleanest looking towel in the room, Sako gives Dabi a faint smile, nodding when he pulls it from his grip. “It’s not for us to know… Are you alright?”

Dabi rises slowly, using the ledge to pull himself up before rubbing at his freshly dyed hair. There’s a moment of hesitation, then; “Yeah… thanks, Compress.”

Sako smiles fully now, spreading his arms and giving a short bow. “I do what I can.”

Dabi snorts, pulls the towel down around his shoulders. “I owe you, I guess.”

“Well… how do you fancy aiding my endeavours to organize Shigaraki’s card collection?”

“No thanks.”

“Understandable.”

[soyforramen]

If I'm not too late, for the writing prompts: 9 and/or 47, dealer's choice

·  “Just tell why you did it!” “Because I’m in love with you, okay!”

·  You’re my ex but I think I still have feelings for you

Angst below, in an AU timeline...ish

 --

             It felt like a fire had lit up her lungs, the smoke crawling up her throat and choking her until her breath rasped out into the cold night air.  Behind her, Jughead stumbled, his breathing coming like tidal waves.  Betty spared a quick glance at him as she yanked at his arm and pointed to the ridge beyond.  

             “Just over there,” she lied.  

             It was becoming easier and easier to lie to him.

             On their way up the ridge her feet slipped in the muddy wet leaves.  Her knees hit the ground and her teeth rattled hard enough to see stars.  Jughead slipped an arm around her waist and dragged her up the rest of the hill, his breath erratic.

             It was another ten minutes until they finally reached Archie’s car, the only one in the Sweetwater parking lot.  Not many people went hiking at 4 a.m., let alone to go chase down a kidnapped ex.

             Thunder rolled above them, the vibrations lingering deep in her bones, and they leaned around the car.  Jughead’s hand were on his knees, his breath gasping and desperate. His wiped at the water trickling down his face and coughed hard.  Betty kneeled on the ground, hands grasping at the loose asphalt as she forced herself to focus on counting rather than what she’d encountered tonight.

             “What the hell was that for?” Jughead wheezed.

             Betty shook her head, still unable to talk through her sore throat.  She let out a slow breath – 1, 2, 3, 4 – and breathed in again.

             “Why’d you try and save me?” he yelled over the thunder.  A crack of lightening illuminated them and she was startled by the intensity in his eyes.

             “Did you want me to leave you back in there?” she shot back.  Stars colored her eyes as she tried to stand, and she listed to one side, grasping for the car to keep her balance.

             Jughead snarled and paced towards the far end of the parking lot, ignoring the pouring rain around them.  From his limp, Betty assumed he had a Charlie Horse.  Betty wanted to chide him about not taking care of his body, about his inability to treat it as something better than a dumpster for all his repressed feelings.  It wasn’t her place, though.  Not anymore.

             Besides, it seemed cruel to point out, especially after he’d been on the verge of being tortured –

             “I don’t need your help,” he said when he returned, his words still punctured by small gasps.  “I had everything covered.”

             She snorted and stood up to face him.  A chill ran through her as the wind picked up, but she diverted the movement into massaging at her damaged wrist.  Jughead, still as perceptive as ever, didn’t miss her wince. He reached towards her, his eyes fixed on her wrist.  Realizing what he was about to do, he stopped short and bent over to retie his shoe.  

             Even from this angle Betty could see how thin he was.

             “I’m sure you did,” she said.  Even as the adrenaline seeped out of her body she still couldn’t keep the acid from her voice.  “That great, big escape plan of yours was going swell, though I’m curious as to what you were planning after you got chained up in the basement and held to the wall with duct tape.  Or did I miss something when I broke in?”

             Half her words were covered up by an angry burst of thunder.  Perhaps it was for the best; they’d both been through a lot.  Or, perhaps it would have been better to put it all out there, fight out their anger until there was nothing left remaining.

             Jughead’s lip curled, and Betty knew he’d caught enough.

             Betty narrowed her eyes.  Despite everything, she still didn’t know whether to trust him. There had been too much time between them, too much space and anger and -  Not to mention his aliens and her serial killer.

             “You can’t drive stick with a broken wrist.”

             “It’s not broken,” she said petulantly, her lip pursed like Juniper’s when she didn’t get the last cookie.

             Knowing that he was right, she dug into her coat pocket, angry with Jughead and herself.  Another gust of wind blew through their wet cloths, and they huddled into the cab of the truck.  As the engine turned over, Jughead scrubbed at the window with his damp shirtsleeves, trying to break through the fog that had followed them.  The water streaked across, unable to change, and he gave up on the idea.  With a grunt, he shifted into drive and turned towards town.

             “Stupid,” he muttered, and Betty side-eyed him.  

             Her first instinct was that he was talking about her, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping.  After everything she’d done tonight, and he still couldn’t think anyone could care for him.  Betty stared out of the window, her fingers pushing and prodding against the delicate skin on her wrist, revealing in the sharp jolts of pain and irritation. Eventually the pain cleared through her fog of anger and she realized he was likely talking to himself.

             “Just –“

             Jughead stopped, cursing under his breath.  They came to a blind curve, halfway under water, and he shifted to first gear.  As they crept along Betty’s eyes began to shut.  She could feel her muscles relaxing as the adrenaline wore off, and the only thing that kept her awake was the potholes in the road.  In the flashes of lightening above them, she could see Jughead’s jaw clenching as he worked to keep something in check.

             Fine, she thought idly as darkness consumed her. Let him be mad.  It wouldn’t be the first time he didn’t want to be near her.

             She was startled awake when the engine stopped. In front of them was the Andrews’ home, normally bright and cheery, but in this light it was eerily still in the pouring rain.

             “He’s not home tonight,” Jughead said flatly.  “You can stay in his room.  Unless you want to go home.”

             Betty shook her head, trying not to let her fear overtake her.  The house was empty and would be for the next week.  They still hadn’t heard anything about Polly, and Alice had taken the twins upstate to try and get their mind off of it.  After tonight (any night, every night, ever since – she cut off that particular voice, struggling to keep that terrible week out of her head), the last thing she wanted to do was to be alone.  

             The thought sent a shudder through her and she wrapped her arms around herself to try and keep the chill from sprinting down her back.

             Jughead nodded, still staring straight ahead.  He’d pulled the keys from the ignition and was now jangling them in his hand.  He opened the car door and stepped out into the rain, not seeming to care whether Betty followed him or not.  She scrambled out of the car, towards the front door and slipped in after him.

             She held her breath, waiting in the long stretch of dark, for the lights to turn on.   When they did, it was nothing more than Archie’s living room, still messy and smelling slightly of old clothing and pizza.  

             Jughead stalked towards the kitchen, his face set in an emotion she couldn’t discern anymore.  A gut feeling told her it was because she was a stranger here, one who was encroaching not only on his ‘investigation’ but also on his personal space.  

             “I’ll make coffee,” Jughead said gruffly.  “Take a shower or you’ll catch a cold.”

             The way he’d said it, matter-of-factly and without any emotion behind it, contrasted so sharply with the fact that he’d remembered. He remembered, and wanted to let her know he’d remembered that she was prone to get colds when it rained. These little things twisted the knife deeper into her back and she tried not to think about her last foray into this home.

             “Thanks,” Betty said softly.

             She barely glanced at the mirror when she stepped into the bathroom.  A thick cover of mud coated her lower half, while leaves had taken up residence in her hair.  Her wrist, still throbbing and sore, was a swollen bright red.  As bad as she might have looked, Betty revealed in the metaphorical duality of it all.  Long ago, she might have said she was a good person, untouched by the corruption of life. Now, though, she felt as dirty and broken as she  looked.

             Pity about the boots though.  Real suede apparently didn’t mix well with the more wild side of life.  Betty didn’t dare think about what it would cost to buy Veronica a new pair.

             The pipes groaned as the water warmed up.  Peeling off her clothes was a chore, the damp, clinging clothes didn’t want to cooperate.  The wet slap of them on the floor was a loud echo as she stepped into the shower.  

             The warm water was practically sinful after tonight. She let it cascade down her skin and shut her eyes to the world around her.  Every inch of her body felt sore and bruised.  She dreaded even thinking about how she’d feel tomorrow.

             A draft of cold air sent goosebumps along her skin and Betty stilled.  She trusted Jughead, of course, and yet…

             The door shut again, and she peered around the curtain to find a set of clothing on the counter.  Her heart stopped when she recognized a grey S from so long ago.  Reluctant to let it out of her sight, Betty pulled the shower curtain to.   He’d always had a bad habit of forming sentimental attachments to things, to items that had no right to such kindness.

             But to have kept that shirt all these years?  To have kept her shirt?  Surely not.  Surely her eyes, tired and sore from lack of sleep, had deceived her.

             The ghost of her guilt churned again, deeper this time. A sharp pain went through her stomach – of guilt?  regret? hope?

             Betty picked up the bar of soap in her uninjured hand and scrubbed at her skin, hot tears running cold against her cheeks.  Careless.  She was always so careless with everything worth while.  Archie’s hands ghosted across her skin, his lips, his whispers they both knew were lies.  She was only looking for an escape, not another well to get trapped in.  This time, though, she couldn’t think of a single way to escape.

             A sob broke from her lips, and then another, and another.  She shoved her fist against her mouth and curled up at the bottom of the tub.   It was all she could do to keep from breaking up.  A part of her, the one that saw reason, was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier tonight when she’d seen Jughead half-conscious with a red welt on his forehead.  His head lolled absently against a support beam.  His hands tightly bound with duct tape.  Tight enough they were turning purple.  Those stupid glasses lay at his feet only to reflect the beam of her flashlight onto the chains that bound him.

             Images, real and imagined, flashed before her eyes. The well.  TBK laughing above her.  Polly, bound and gagged in the back of a cab.  The twins, facedown in Sweetwater. Squeeky Fromme’s dead eyes staring up at the night sky, milky and flat.  Jughead’s hands –

             Betty shook her head, trying to shake the images away. No, that hadn’t happened, she chanted internally.  It’s not real.  

             Not this time.  

             Long after the water had run cold, Betty finally came back to herself.  Her movements were slow and forced; her head felt uselessly full of cotton.  With a groan, she stood up and gasped as pins and needles threw her back to the ground.  Unable to do anything, Betty turned off the water, gritting her teeth as she waited for the feeling to come back into her legs.  

             Into her life, even.

             Now, with only the steady drip of a leaky faucet to keep her company, Betty heard just how quiet it was in the house.  The wind blew outside, stronger than ever, but it seemed as if the house itself had gone into hibernation.  Jughead had likely gone to bed, she realized.  Or maybe he’d been smart enough to know he should see a doctor after all.

             Perhaps that would be best.  Then they could both pretend tonight had never happened and go back to the chilly detente they’d found themselves living in.  

             With an anticipatory wince, Betty hauled herself up and out of the tub.  As she reached for the towel, she realized that the shirt loudly proclaimed ‘El Royale Gym’ in bright red letters.  She scowled at the dancing rooster, ordering it to be something other than it was. Clearly, though, she’d been wrong.

             Roughly, she pulled the shirt over her head, her damp hair catching at the collar, and stepped into the gym shorts.  Why she put herself through this, why she tortured herself with something so impossible –

             “Coffee’s on the counter,” Jughead said when she stepped out.  His fingers flew over the keyboard, his eyes never leaving the screen.

             At least some things never changed, she supposed. Even that, though, rang hollow after what they’d been through tonight.  

             Betty wrapped her hands around the mug, grateful for something to occupy herself with.  She sipped at it a moment, giving him the chance to say something.  Do something.  When he didn’t, she didn’t know whether she felt relief, or disappointment.

             It wasn’t until she reached the stairs that he finally spoke.

             “Just tell me why you did it,” he said.  

She hesitated, knowing that this was her own personal Maginot line. Crossing this would mean the end of one life, and the beginning of another strange reality, one where she would have no control.

“Why did you come after me?  Why didn’t you call Sheriff Keller, or Archie, or –“

“Because I’m still in love with you,” Betty said.  Her voice was no more than a soft sigh, but it was enough to bring about a sudden calmness.

The calm before the storm, she thought morbidly.  Whatever would happen now, whatever was said…

She waited, counting to a hundred.  When he didn’t say anything, she set the coffee down on a side table and went to Archie’s room, shutting the door softly behind her.

(Part 2 here)