#the outcome has already been decided

[claraoswalds]

#mrs flood who are you: time lord edition

[edgelite]

realizing that jey losing clean to seth will depress me but drew interfering and costing jey will irritate me more. by the nines this cant be happening

[phannibal]

monthly standardized testing does not matter post

[januaryembrs]

YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted. 

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck. 

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin. 

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again. 

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest. 

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him. 

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene. 

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been. 

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men. 

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to. 

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions. 

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,” 

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently. 

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face. 

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet. 

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry. 

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.” 

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage. 

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,” 

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him. 

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them. 

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob. 

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand. 

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter. 

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights. 

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible. 

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was. 

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed. 

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him. 

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands. 

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,” 

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip. 

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. 

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in. 

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years. 

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe. 

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe. 

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second. 

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing. 

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late. 

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them. 

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed. 

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new. 

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them. 

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them. 

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently. 

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands. 

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt. 

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building. 

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him. 

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,��

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use. 

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard. 

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign. 

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?” 

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,” 

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes. 

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested. 

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again. 

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible. 

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything). 

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright. 

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet. 

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance. 

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock. 

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,” 

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,” 

 “I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing. 

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin. 

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down. 

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?” 

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised. 

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point. 

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

 “Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,” 

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion. 

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise. 

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off. 

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him. 

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,” 

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again. 

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his. 

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,” 

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all. 

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him. 

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though. 

[foreverdolly]

ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 2 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking.

word count: 4.5k

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Legs tangled in gray sheets. The lightning-quick flash of a silver dagger, held by a pale hand.

The images in the dream are more like fragments- impossible to discern and decipher. On the bed, asleep and vulnerable. . .

There’s you.

And then Feyd wakes up, heart hammering in his chest so hard he can feel it in his throat. Slowly his fingers crawl up, up, up the expanse of the bed in search of something. In search of warmth, of you. Nothing. He’s just as alone in his room as he was when he drifted off into sleep. He lays awake the rest of the night, tossing and turning with worry.

This dream felt more like a warning than just another disjointed nightmare. It felt real. He was used to having dreams every now and again which clearly depicted a future outcome. He saw you in his dreams quite often, more so once he was no longer a boy-child.

If someone thought to hurt you… he’d just have to hurt them first.

The customs you and your people practiced were completely different to those that were normal on Geidi Prime. You watched one of your ladies-in-waiting as she brought over another small bowl of sweet smelling bath salts, dumping it in and using her hand to properly dissolve them. For a moment you felt self conscious, running your fingers through your hair as you looked at their perfect complexions and shaved heads. What did they see when they looked at you? Someone beautiful and strange. . . or an alien?

Still, you would eventually have to disrobe and bathe. Pressing your luck and refusing their help would only solidify your place as an outsider. You were sure that whispers of your arrival were already spreading like wildfire, and it was almost guaranteed that no one was happy about it. An Atreides amongst Harkonnen’s? You were nothing more than a pariah on their industrial wasteland of a planet.

The air was even more acrid in your lungs than it had been the night before, and while the smell of the rose body oils and salts were thick and hazy in your room, you could still catch the scent of pollution. Already you missed the cool, crisp air of Caladan. You missed your horses, your parents and your brother to the point of pain. This was not where you belonged. Not here in Geidi Prime. Not here with Feyd-Rautha.

The urge to cry yourself hoarse was practically undeniable, and yet you somehow managed to resist. You were late to breakfast already, and surely the Baron was making some unsavory comments about your family and their taught “manners”. So you untied the front of your nightdress and shimmied out of it, letting the soft cotton pool at the ground beneath your feet. The women couldn’t help but gawk at the tiny imperfections they saw there- a beauty mark you’d had since you were a child, a scar you’d received while training with Gurney. You weren’t used to feeling so self conscious, and so you were quick to grab one of the women’s extended hands so that you could sit down in the murky bath water.

They rubbed floral smelling soaps into your hair and on your skin, making sure to handle you as though you were as fragile as porcelain. You wished they would scrub you raw. Even then they wouldn’t be able to cleanse you of your fears. You were in the hands of the Harkonnen’s now.

No one could save you.

“We are not very used to styling hair, my lady. It might not be to your liking.” One of the women said anxiously. The way that her hands shook as she gripped the hairbrush was not lost on you.

How cruelly were they treated here? Or even worse- what did she think of the Atreides family? What lies had they poisoned these people’s impressionable minds with? You didn’t care to dwell too much on such thoughts. Reaching out you gently removed the brush from her hands, flashing her the kindest smile you could muster before shaking your head.

“Leave this to me then. Why don’t you pick something for me to wear from my things?” Your bags were still packed, lying exactly where a few servants had laid them last night. You had denied every offer to have them unpacked for you.

Denial. You refused to believe that you were actually stuck here. This would never be your home. It couldn’t be.

“He’s not here,” Feyd was sitting at a long, slate-gray table by himself. The food on his plate had barely been touched, but he had busied himself with chopping the meat up into miniscule pieces, too small to even fit on the prongs of his fork. “If you were planning on trying to make a good impression, you can forget about it. He always has his food sent to his quarters.”

You thanked the two ladies that had shown you through the colorless halls under your breath, moving to sit on the other side of the table. At least eight chairs separated you from the Na-baron and it still wasn’t enough. You wished you were on an entirely different planet, lightyears away from the Harkonnen scum.

The room was practically empty aside from the large dining room table. No art decorated the walls or rugs to cover the floor. It was all cold, black marble with white accents.

“I don’t care, actually.” And you were being truthful. You didn’t care about getting on the Baron’s good side any more than you cared about getting on Feyd’s.

He smiled then, staring at you long and hard before licking one of his black painted canines. He was amused by the blase way you brushed off his uncle so easily. Indifference wasn’t something he was used to, especially not when everyone in the galaxy had tried so hard to get on their good sides. People tended to tread lightly as far as the Harkonnens were concerned. They were as wealthy as they were cunning.

“Be careful, little Atreides. Saying things like that might get you hurt around here.” His gruff voice was but a whisper now, and suddenly you felt as though there weren’t twelve feet of dead-air separating the two of you.

You had picked up your fork, ready to eat whatever bland food had been prepared for you, but froze at his words. Heat rose to your cheeks and you were quick to lean back in the ornate high-backed chair, the cool iron seeping into your back through your clothes.

“Do you mean to threaten me?” Your words were icy, tongue sharp and ready to give him a proper lashing.

“It’s not a threat, darling.” He was practically purring, reveling in the joy of referring to you whilst using a pet name. It suddenly looked as though a switch had been turned on, his eyes narrowing on you. “I know him far better than you do. He’s killed people for far less. Be careful.” There seemed to be something he wasn’t telling you. There was genuine warning in his tone.

A pause.

“Please.” And then he went back to eating.

So were you supposed to act gutted at his uncle’s absence? You picked up the fork and took a bite of whatever had been put on your plate. It wasn’t at all what you were used to. Even the food tasted. . . fake. The meat tasted like it had been pumped full of chemicals and was mealy in your mouth, like sand. Still, you swallowed despite your distaste and shoved the plate away from you.

“Who have you assigned to be my sparring partner? I’m sure that my father made your uncle aware that I train daily, correct?” If you didn’t physically exert yourself and blow off some steam then you were bound to get no sleep tonight.

Last night you had tossed and turned, unable to stay asleep when your body was constantly alerting you to possible dangers. Even now you were on high alert, eyes locked on the knife that sat on the right side of Feyd’s plate. Your own fingers danced towards yours it you watched. Waited. Worried.

“Training?” He tilted his head again, eyes narrowed in disbelief. You could almost see the cogs turning as he mulled over your words. “What good would training do you now? If there are any threats then I am here to protect you- that’s my duty as your husband.”

Ah, yes. Why would a woman train when she could just sit back and play the part of a perfect little wife instead? You could spit.

“Would you rather I just hunt down one of your servants and kill him for sport?” You hated that he was so good at getting a reaction out of you. Maybe you were acting too much like a brat, but you wanted to see him squirm. Seeing him mad must be better than seeing him. . . like this.

For a second he sat there, arms perched nonchalantly over the armrests of his chair, staring at you with a crooked smile. You jumped in surprise when a chuckle escaped him, the act itself so out of place, so surprising that all you could do was stare in horror. The chuckles soon morphed into frenzied laughter, and he was quick to lean back in his seat so that he could place a hand on his chest.

“Was that funny to you?” You spoke through gritted teeth.

He watched the muscle in your jaw clench and unclench with wild eyes, sucking in a deep breath in the hopes of calming himself. Still, to hear such a beautiful woman speak such hideous words. . . it was wonderful, bordering on perverted.

“If you do kill a servant, please make sure I’m there to watch.”

He was too busy watching your face to notice the knife that you slid into the sleeve of your dress. With a huff you stood up, your skirts dryly brushing along the ground as you started to make your way out of the large room.

“I require a trainer.” You tried to mimic your mother’s tone, straightening your shoulders as you turned to look at him.

Lady Jessica always had a way of commanding a room. She was powerful, your mother. You needed to channel that same power now.

“You’ll train with me then,” He stood up from the table, the height and build of him alone nearly causing you to take a step back. You’d forgotten how large he was. How formidable. “Consider it a wedding gift.”

This had you balking, mouth opening and closing as you tried to think of some way to refuse. He was already stalking past you though, ignoring whatever retorts you were bound to make.

“I recommend getting changed. . . Unless you want me to tear that dress to shreds.”

That awful, ugly, no good- 

“Bastard!” You whispered under your breath, wadding up your dress just to angrily toss it onto your bed. 

You sank to your knees, braiding your fingers into your hair so that you could give it a few good yanks. He was doing this to fuck with your head. All of this was calculated on his part, it had to be. Was it all just to get a rise out of you? Or did he truly want to try and hurt you? You couldn’t figure him out, and that boiled your blood. All Harkonnens were cunning, blood thirsty schemers. You wouldn’t put it past him to be unhappy with the marriage arrangement, choosing to resort to violence in order to end things. 

‘Now. Now is the time to strike.’ 

You’d already hidden the blade under the mattress of the bed. The Baron wouldn’t allow you to live if you killed his precious nephew, but you’d much rather put up some sort of a fight than be put down like a dog. After taking a few steadying breaths you somehow managed to pull on your trousers and shirt, your mind plagued with dangerous, dangerous thoughts. If the moment called for it you were certain that you could not kill Feyd in hand to hand combat. His skills with a blade was well known across the galaxy, and while you were more than able to defend yourself, you weren’t delusional enough to think that you could manage to beat him without using underhanded tactics. 

You’d have to wait until his guard was lowered. 

“Do all women take this long to get ready?” 

You hadn’t heard the door open, nor his footsteps approaching. Who knew how long he had been watching you. The intrusion was an unwelcome one. You looked up to glare at him, trying hard not to balk at his appearance. The clothes he wore were skin tight, a black material that caught the dim lighting- like it was made of pitch black oil. His pants were tucked into big black boots, laced up high on his calf. 

He stretched his arms up, leaning against the doorframe so that he could continue his awkward staring. 

He did a lot of that it would seem. Any time you turned your head to face him you found that he was already looking in your direction. It was odd. . . off putting to say the least. Of course you couldn’t know that he was currently tracing the lines of your face with his eyes, committing every detail to memory. You were so different when he compared you to the females that he was used to seeing. You were all soft lines, long lashes and doe eyes. He found it impossible not to look at you. Gorgeous… you were gorgeous. 

“It took me a while to get out of my dress on my own.”You shoved your way past him in the doorway, his chest warm under your palms. 

You were quick to jerk away, startled by the fact that this was the first time that you’d touched him since the two of you had reunited. 

You didn’t hate the feel of him, but you should have. 

“Then you should have asked for some help.” He said, reaching out to grab you by the back of your shirt when you started to walk off in the wrong direction. 

Feyd pulled you along like he would a pet on a leash through the triangular halls, ignoring your mumbled curses as you tried swatting him away. 

The shield vibrated in your ears as you switched on the button, enveloping you in its warmth. 

You used to find it uncomfortable as a child, the tight, foreign warmth triggering a mild case of claustrophobia. You were used to it now, wearing it like a second skin. You waited for Feyd to turn his on as well, the blade clutched tight in your palm. 

You waited. And waited. And waited. 

“Where’s your shield?” You asked him, motioning towards his hip with your free hand. 

There it was, that crooked smile again. He was laughing at you. Was he trying to infer that you were weak? Was he so confident in his skills that he didn’t even see you as a threat?  

“I don’t see the nee-” He didn’t get very far. 

You kicked your leg out, catching the back of his right knee. His legs buckled, and he was quick to adjust himself, his left arm flying up to catch your wrist before you could sink the blade home. For a split second the two of you just stared at each other. Mild shock in his eyes, your own alight with an anger so consuming that you feared you might be burnt up with it. He gave your arm a sharp tug, hard enough that the joint rolled uncomfortably in its socket. 

You kicked your leg out before he could throw you over his shoulder, landing a sharp blow to his ribs. You heard him let out a pained moan before you hit the ground. Using your weight to your advantage, you tucked your body in, rolling to the side so that you could easily stand up to your knees, blade poised at your side and ready for an attack. 

“You fight well, Atreides.” Feyd purred, spinning his blade between two fingers before letting it fall back into his pale palm. 

“Turn on your shield.” You growled, rising to your full height so that you could begin circling him, a panther ready to pounce. 

“Was it Duke Leto that trained you?” Still, he was ignoring your statement. 

“No.” 

“No, of course it wasn’t him,” He took a step closer to you, eyeing you down. No one had looked at you like that before. . . and it made your skin crawl. You didn’t want to be desired by this man, the thought alone was miserable enough to have bile rising in your throat. “Your father is too weak-spirited to ever train you himself, lest he accidentally harm you.” 

Your heart was beginning to pound in your ears now, vision tunneling. All you could see was Feyd. All you could imagine was the blade that you were currently white-knuckling sunk hilt deep into his chest. 

“How horrible it must be for Caladan to have a Duke so. . .  spineless.” 

You bared your teeth, and for a second you were sure that you would snap the hilt in half with how hard you were gripping your blade. You demanded blood for such an insult. How dare he. How dare he. 

“I should cut out your tongue!” You screamed, pointed the blade at him. 

‘Don’t come any closer’ you urged with your eyes, feeling the angry tears causing your vision to fog. A Harkonnen was insulting your father. He was insulting your family and now he was smiling at you. The bastard had the gall to smile and this time all of his teeth were showing. Wide, unabashed in his joy. He was terrifying. So much so that you felt your legs begin to shake underneath you. 

“But you’ll want to put this tongue to good use eventually.” His gravelly voice purred. 

“Silence!” And before you could even control yourself you were using the Voice. 

You might not be as talented as your brother when it came to hand to hand combat, but your mother had taken the time to teach you well. Feyd’s mouth snapped shut so hard that you heard his teeth clatter together. 

“One more word and I will gut you.” Your voice shook and before you could rethink your actions you were lunging forward, the blade cutting through the air. . . 

Aimed at his throat. 

He was quick to push your arm away with his forearm, and even with the shield up you could feel the bone shattering pressure he put behind the movement. He was stronger than Paul- stronger than even Gurney. He took advantage of the fact that you were put off balance and grabbed a fist full of hair, the shield around you flashing red as he pressed his blade as close as he could to the base of your throat. Your scalp exploded in pain, eyes watering as he gripped harder to yank your head back so that you were staring directly into his eyes. They held no malice towards you, even despite the fact that you were obviously trying to maim him. 

And then he leaned in closer. And closer.

“If I didn’t know any better then I would think that you were actually trying to kill me.” He whispered against the shell of your ear. You could practically feel the warmth of his lips against your skin as he spoke, your heart roaring in your ribcage. With your chests practically touching like this you could smell him.

 You’d only caught the scent of spice once in your life- and it was akin to bitter cinnamon. There was something else though, something more complex to it. Aromatic spices you couldn’t quite put your fingers on and. .  . the natural musk of his skin. 

“So you can speak again?” You managed to tease him through your pain, wincing as he brought you even closer against his chest. The blade that you clutched in your hand was now pressing against his side, the pointed edge digging into his skin. 

He didn’t wince, even when you put more pressure against it. 

“You think it wise to use the Voice on me in my own home, little girl?” He hissed as he pulled away from your ear, and the fire that was in your eyes was now mirrored in his own. 

Slowly you moved the blade away from him, the metallic clanging echoing around the room as you let it fall to the floor. Your palm hurt from the vice-like grip you had been holding it in. 

“Release me now.” You didn’t shy away from staring into his eyes, unwavering even when he pressed the blade even tighter, the shield vibrating louder and louder around you. 

He leaned in, even when your hands moved to press against his chest, willing him to give you space. You could barely breathe with him this close to you. His own knife clattered to the ground, and using his free hand he ripped the shield from off of your hip. The gasp that escaped your lips was uncontrollable. You could feel his breath on your lips as his eyes continued to swallow you up whole. 

They looked even bluer when you were up close like this, framed by long black lashes. For a split second you wondered what had become of that beautiful little boy you had met. Had Baron Vladmir beaten the beauty out of him? Or perhaps it had never truly been there to begin with. 

When Feyd looked at you, up close like this, all he saw was the object of his ever-present affections. Something yawned to life in his chest- the need to protect. All at once he felt wrong, disgusting and horrible for causing you any sort of pain. 

But you looked so lovely with those tears in your eyes. So much so that he gave your hair another small yank, a shuddered breath escaping his lips as you yelped in pain. He saw the hate in your eyes and he detested it. 

‘Fear me’ he silently urged. ‘Love me, do as I say and I will become your slave.’ 

His lips brushed against yours, achingly slow- painfully soft. 

“I yield.” You were quick to say, pulling as far back as you could even with the grip he had on your hair. 

Fire. Your scalp felt like it was on fire. 

And then he released you, taking a step back with a heaving chest. The spell now broken, it felt like the world around you suddenly resumed its orbit. Wordlessly he pressed a hand to his side- the side that you had pressed the knife- and when he pulled it away you could see that it was stained with blood. 

“Didn’t you say that you were going to gut me?” There was no hint of humor in his voice now. 

“I wanted to.” You conceded. 

“Then you should have tried harder.”

Again you lay in bed awake, unable to fall asleep. You told yourself that it was just homesickness that had you clinging to the blankets, but you knew better. What had happened today left you rattled and confused. 

There were a hundred times today that Feyd could have killed you. Everything that Gurney had ever taught you had disappeared like smoke in the wind the second that your father was mentioned. You had acted on instinct alone. 

And if it was an actual fight to the death then you would have lost. Miserably. 

There was something strange about it though. It never once felt like an actual training session. He taught you nothing and gave you no feedback. Not only that but. . . it never felt like he actually wanted to damage your pride. He didn’t turn on his shield before and after taunting you, almost as though he actually wanted one of your attacks to land. 

He had allowed you to get everything out of your system. You hated that it had worked. It wasn’t helping you to sleep tonight though. No, you had other things on your mind now. 

Like the fact that he had almost kissed you. 

Your knowledge was limited where men were concerned, but you were nearly positive that there was something sexual about the way that he had treated you. It was like he didn’t want to actually hurt you, but still went out of his way to touch you. 

You’d be sure to ask for someone that might be willing to train you again tomorrow over breakfast. Someone who wasn’t Feyd, preferably. Lunch and dinner had been spent in silence on your part tonight. He had tried to strike up conversation a few times, even baiting you in ways that might warrant annoyance and anger. You didn’t budge. Why? Because you hated how nervous you felt in his presence now. 

Was it because you were afraid of him? That had to be it. Hearing about his proficiency in fighting and seeing it first hand were two different things. He had practically swung you around like a ragdoll. It was absolutely humiliating. 

Yes, that had to be it. . . well, you hoped. 

“Atreides.” 

The sound of your name had you bolting up into a sitting position, willing your eyes to adjust to the non-existent lighting in the room. The sound of footsteps had your heart jumping up into your throat, adrenaline flooding your system once you realized that it wasn’t a voice that you recognized. 

No one had entered the room since you’d gotten back from dinner, which meant. . . 

Whoever this was had been hiding, waiting until you completely lowered your guard. You were in danger. Horrible, horrible danger. 

‘Be careful. Please.’ You remembered Feyd’s words from earlier. 

He had been trying to warn you.

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the wonderful line “fear me, love me. do as i say and i will become your slave” is from the movie “the labyrinth”!

[thevillainswhore]

You Look Good On Camera, Baby

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Bucky’s not letting you leave the photobooth, not until he’s had his way with you.

Warnings: Established relationship, teasing, kissing, smut, public sex, p in v, quickie, finger sucking, uses panties to keep reader quiet, creampie.

Author’s note: Unbeta’d, warning graphics by @rookthorne

Aaand all of a sudden we have another oneshot. Sigh. This one has actually been on my mind since these pictures were first released so a big thank you to Lana for finally giving me the push to make it happen 🤭 really enjoyed this one 🤍

“Here?!” you screeched. 

“Yeah.” Bucky shrugged, unfazed. “What’s wrong with that?” 

You choked on your own spit at his nonchalance, how carefree he was about this. “W—What do you mean what’s wrong with fucking here, Bucky? We’re in a damn photobooth!” 

The blank expression on his face was unchanging. “So?” 

The words on the tip of your tongue died out. Your boyfriend could be a little freaky in the bedroom sometimes and you were all for it. Never had you both risked the danger of public sex, however. 

“You’re out of your damn mind if you think we’re doing it in public,” you scoffed before beginning to make your way out of the stall.

But you were quickly stopped in your tracks as Bucky slammed his arm against the opposing wall, effectively blocking your path. “We’re not leaving until I’ve fucked you.” 

A shudder of arousal ran down your spine at the gruffness of his voice. “Baby,” you laughed nervously. “I know we like to experiment sometimes, but this is a little far, don’t you think?” 

The air between you was thick with tension, especially with a pair of bright blue eyes staring you down so intensely you imagined the burning embers of a fire raging behind them. 

You gulped as Bucky slowly licked his lips, giving you a once over that made you feel too exposed in an already revealing sundress. There was a short distance between you, and your boyfriend’s stature was towering and beefy, taking up a large presence — his imposing nature made the hairs on your arms stand up. 

He walked you backwards slowly, step by step, until you hit the far wall of the booth. Pressing his nose against the curve of your neck, he snarled. “All I know is that my cock is so fuckin’ hard for you right now and if I don’t have your pussy wrapped around it within the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna haul you over my shoulder and take you out there in front of the whole damn mall.” 

You thought you could tamp down the moan trapped in your throat, but you were sorely mistaken when it unleashed without remorse. Your chest heaved with exhilaration and your fingers twitched excitedly at the prospect of something so scandalous. 

“So what’s it gonna be, sweetheart? In this photo booth with a little privacy? Or out there where everyone can watch me ruin you? Your choice.”

You had not expected this outcome when you had dragged your boyfriend over to the booth. You wanted to take cute pictures and add them to your keepsake memory box. Now you were deciding your fate; whether you would be leaving your dignity in the tiny stall or chance getting arrested for public indecency in the middle of the shopping mall. 

Bucky raised an eyebrow, awaiting your answer. 

“In h—here,” you whispered in anticipation. 

The cheshire cat grin you received in return spiked your nerves even further. “Clever girl.” 

Without giving you a chance to backtrack on your decision, Bucky hoisted you up into his arms and smothered your squeal of shock with his lips. He wasted no time snaking his tongue into your mouth, fighting for dominance like always. 

“Mmph!” you moaned when he flicked his tongue against yours. A zing of electricity shot down to your pussy and you threaded your fingers through his long hair, pulling it tightly. 

Even after so many years, the spark between you and Bucky was still alive. Throughout the trysts of your sexual experiences together, the attraction to each other had only intensified. He was sexier now than ever before. And even if he came up with outlandish ideas that made you step out of your comfort zone, you held so much trust in him that it was easy to follow him to the depths of sin. 

A string of saliva connected between your lips as Bucky pulled away for air. While he was reckless for suggesting such a depraved idea of public sex, he was smart enough to realise the two of you were short on time to make it happen. 

“Hold on,” he warned before handling your weight over to one arm. With the other, he unzipped the fly of his trousers and shuffled them down just past his ass until his cock bounced out. 

You gasped at the sight. Bucky really was hard for you already, if the angry looking vein straining from his thick length was anything to go by. He was throbbing, you could see his dick viciously twitching with need and your thighs clenched around his waist with hunger. 

Your boyfriend squeezed your hip. “You like seeing me desperate for you, huh baby?” 

You tightened your lips to try and hide your smile and shrugged innocently. “Can’t say I mind it so much.” 

Bucky growled with a smirk. “You’re a fuckin’ tease, girl.” 

The amusement was quick to wipe from your face when he reached down and ripped the panties covering your mound. “Bucky!” you scolded. “Those were new!” 

He rolled his eyes playfully, trying not to laugh at the way the shredded material now hung from your ankle. “Oh, hush. I’ll buy you some more.” 

You huffed. “What? So you can rip them off me again?” 

Bucky chucked under your chin condescendingly. “Look at you, learning so fast.”

Smug bastard, you cursed internally. 

“Gonna stop complaining and let me fuck you now, doll?” 

You scowled and poked his chest with your finger. “You better watch the way you speak to me— OH!” The retort on your tongue cut off as Bucky sheathed the entirety of his length inside of your pussy in one smooth thrust. Your nails dug harshly into the firm muscle of his shoulders and you buried your head into his neck. “H—Holy shit.”

Bucky panted breathlessly, just as affected as you. Though he still had the gall to tease you. “You were saying?” 

You lifted your head to glare at him, still winded. “You’re damn lucky I love you.” And though you wanted to scold your boyfriend for his cheek, you couldn’t help but squirm on his cock. There was only so much you could take until it wasn't enough — you needed him to move. To feel the delicious scrape of his length against your tight walls. “Now shut up and fuck me before someone comes.” 

“You’re so hot when you boss me around,” Bucky moaned before kissing you with urgency. 

The nails of his fingers dug crescent shapes into your bare thighs, but the sting of pain was nothing compared to the slow drag of his cock leaving your cunt. You whimpered as his thick girth left you inch by inch until only the tip sat inside of you. 

“Gonna beg me for it, baby?” he asked. 

You blew out an impatient huff and tugged on his hair harshly until he groaned. “Give me your cock, if you know what’s good for you.” 

“Eh,” he shrugged. “Good enough.” 

A high pitched keen was forced out of you when Bucky thrusted his hips up, the full nine inches of his dick sat deep inside of your pussy. “Fuck!” 

“Should’ve begged like I asked and maybe I’d have gone a little easier on you, sweetheart,” he said tauntingly. 

“If you ever think that I would want it easy then you don’t know me at all,” you clapped back. 

Your boyfriend’s eyes shone with pride. “That’s my girl.”

Bucky fucked like it was the first time every time. His movements were careful and his hands were greedy; always touching you, always gathering you as close as possible to him. And while he was soft with his caresses, his desire to roughly pound his cock into your cunt, as deep as it humanely could, was another story. 

“God, you’re like a fuckin’ vice around my dick,” he choked out. “Would’a thought you’d have loosened up by now, baby. But I can still barely move.” 

Unable to speak without screaming, you sucked his neck, bruising his skin until it turned a dark purple. 

“You markin me, huh? Want everybody to know who I belong to?” 

You nodded your head while whimpering, the nails of your fingers scratching against Bucky’s scalp. 

The motion of his thrusts made his balls slap against your ass — he loved it when you got possessive. “Filthy fuckin’ girl. Don’t worry, doll. I’m all yours.”

Letting go of his neck with a pop, you loudly whined out, “So good— cock feels so good in me, baby. Fucking me just right.”

“Oh, I know. But you gotta turn down the volume, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “Save it for the bedroom, alright?” 

You tried, you really did. But the way the head of his cock repeatedly stroked against the sensitive spongy spot of your pussy made your inhibitions blurry and you couldn’t help moaning like a whore.

Bucky tutted and shook his head in mock disapproval. “Guess I have to do everything for you, hm?” His lips curled up in perverse satisfaction as he shoved three of his fingers into your mouth. 

You hummed around them instantly while staring into his eyes. He made you this way; a willing body for him to toy with, a woman who was quick to fall under his command and you lived for it. You gargled around his large fingers as you jolted each time he drove his cock into you, drool dripping down from your chin and landing on your boyfriend’s lower stomach and dick. 

“Can’t even let my fingers keep you quiet, huh? Just have to make sure everyone knows how good it feels to be fucked by me.” 

Your back slammed against the wall of the stall and the force of Bucky’s hips rocked the whole thing back and forth. His strength only turned you on more and even with the intrusion of his fingers, your noises grew louder, more unabashed. 

“Shit, you sound so pretty.” His eyes darted towards the swinging panties still attached to your ankle and he quickly removed his fingers to grab them. “Such a good girl for me, baby. But I think we need somethin’ a little more efficient to quiet my eager girl down.” 

Before you had the chance to whimper again, Bucky shoved your underwear into your mouth. To both of your luck, your moans became muffled enough to not draw attention. “Perfect.”

Though the volume of your sounds had been solved, the slick noises coming from your dripping cunt became the center of attention. 

“Are you that fuckin’ soaked for me, sweetheart?” Bucky’s eyes rolled back as his cock throbbed at the feel of you. Even though you were wet, your walls still hugged his shaft. 

“Mhm!” you mumbled over your makeshift gag. Your worries of being caught had long disappeared, your main focus now to revel in the building tension from your lower stomach creeping to the surface. 

The two of you were only concealed by a pathetic thin curtain that didn’t even close all the way. It left a large gap, one that should a member of the public managed to notice, would reveal Bucky’s bare ass and your scrunched up face, moaning in pleasure at the feel of his cock. 

Again, you were so far out of your realm to notice. Though Bucky did as he glanced over his shoulder and the high he got from the danger was addictive. 

Wrapping an arm around you tightly, Bucky discreetly reached into his jean pocket with his free hand while keeping up his momentum. He was so close to the edge, balancing on the precipice of cumming, but he strived to hold on just a little longer. 

Grabbing the loose change, he discreetly dispensed it into the money slot of the machine. “You think you’re gonna cum for me, doll?” he asked, short windedly while his thighs trembled. 

You whined desperately around your panties, your eyes glossy from the overwhelming thread that was beginning to unravel. 

“Alright. I’m gonna count down from three and you’re gonna give it to me, yeah? Can you do that for me?” 

Thumping your head back against the wall, you closed your eyes and nodded hastily. 

“Good. Ready, baby?” he asked. 

Your nails scratched the back of his neck in approval and he began. 

“Three.” He pistoned his hips, fucking you with all the energy he had left in him. 

“Two.” The deep dirty grind of cock into your cunt was torturing and your thighs shook as you fought to hold out. 

“One.” On his final count, Bucky pinched your clit, hard. Your eyes shot wide open at the same time multiple bright flashes blanketed the photobooth and your mouth dropped on a muted scream. 

“Holy— F—Fuck!” Your boyfriend’s shout echoed across the white walls while his fist slammed next to your head. A huge load of his cum shot up into your cunt, overflowing the already full hole. 

Your mind swam in ecstasy from the adrenaline filled haze of your orgasm. The pure rush of your sparking nerves was a familiar thing with Bucky and yet the sensation was so deeply gratifying every single time. 

You sucked in lungfuls of air on your comedown, letting your mouth hang open while your ruined panties dropped with a wet slap onto the floor. Shivers wracked through your body and before you could even notice the coldness, Bucky enveloped his warm body around you while he stroked your cheek. 

“That’s it,” he cooed soothingly while he recovered from his own intense orgasm. “Take it easy, sweetheart.” 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him closer to you, until there was no space between you. “That was fun,” you slurred lazily.

Bucky’s tired laugh rumbled through you. “Damn fuckin’ right it was.” Lifting his head out of your neck, he kissed you delicately. “You alright?” 

“I’m great,” you told him truthfully. “Though you may have to help me walk because I can’t feel my legs anymore.” 

He grinned, satisfied. “I’m that good, huh?” 

You lightly smacked his chest, even if you couldn’t contain your own cheesy smile. “Nope. I’m not inflating your ego more than it already is.” Turning your head to the screen of the booth, your eyes widened upon what you saw. “No you did not.” 

“Oh, but I did.” Bucky said proudly. “A little souvenir of our sexual awakening.” 

“Oh my god.” The shock of it rendered you speechless. 

“I know, right? Now you have the photos you wanted.” 

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. Looking back at your boyfriend, you shook your head. “I wish I could tell you off.” 

“You can tell me I’m a bad boy later,” he suggested with a wink. “For now let's get outta here.” 

Once he gently placed you down, making sure you were steady on your feet, the two of you sorted yourselves; tidying the mess of your sex hair and straightening the wrinkles out of your clothes. Bucky made sure to pocket your panties from the floor, leaving no evidence of your fun. 

“Come on, you.” He lightly slapped your ass before ripping the curtain open. “We’ve still got some shopping to do.” He stepped out, whistling to himself like he hadn’t just fucked you senseless and held his hand out for you to take. 

“You want to go shopping while your cum is literally leaking down my legs as we speak?” you hissed as heat crept up your neck from the thought. 

Bucky leaned his shoulder against the booth and smirked. “Well, we do have to buy you some new underwear. Remember, doll?” 

You so desperately wanted to smack the self-satisfied grin off his face. “You wait until we get home, you little shit.” 

An excited gleam twinkled in his eyes. “Can’t fuckin’ wait, baby.” 

With a huff, you exited the photobooth, begrudgingly sliding your hand into Bucky’s. Before you left to continue your shopping, however, he plucked the Polaroids from the outside dispenser.

Your boyfriend admired the photos, each one a debauched image of you with heavy, hooded eyes with your mouth hung open on a scream. 

“You look good on camera, baby.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “We should make a film next.” 

Trying to clench your thighs together to keep his cum from dripping down your leg, you swatted his arm. “Pfft—you wish, big boy.” 

But Bucky smirked, a wickedness in his expression. “I’m sure I’ll be able to persuade you somehow.” 

Author’s Note: There may be huge potential for a part two 🫣

[elicathebunny]

FINALLY CLOSING THE GAP BETWEEN YOU AND YOUR HIGHEST SELF IN 2024.

You are going to STOP scrolling endlessly for self-help and advice content and you are going to STOP and apply the knowledge you have endlessly gained. Obtaining help and advice knowledge is useless if it goes through one ear and comes straight out the other. STOP becoming addicted to the idea of scrolling and scrolling for your problems yet you already have the resources to fix them. A fool is a person who cannot decide to take action despite having access to the information needed to do so.

BREAKING FREE FROM THE SCROLLING CYCLE

Learning and Applying is one thing, but Learning and Staying Stationary is literally brain rot. You're addicted to the idea of change and the end result, but you never take the steps towards discipline with a personal structure to get that result. You keep looking for quick fixes and easy hacks, but life is not a quick fix and no hack can elevate your life from 0% to 100% without visiting the rest of the numbers first.

TAKE A BREAK FROM SCROLLING

Take time away from your usual scrolling and learn to be on your own. Learn your own ways of self-care, learn what works for you and understand what you need, because nobody is the same. Following a millionaire's morning routine will not make you a millionaire. This routine has worked for someone to feel and be productive in the morning and was probably curated over the years to suit their current lifestyle. So, seeing other people's successes and comparing their working ways to your life is unrealistic if you are not in a position to implement them. Going straight from 0% (Being unproductive and procrastinating) to 100% (Being incredibly Productive and in tune with self) will not be sustainable for someone who has not built the discipline and the inner foundations required for it. STOP seeing information online and taking it without ALTERING anything to your personal situation.

STOP ASKING HOW TO AND JUST DO

"How to lose weight, How to become more social, How to do this and that"

Most of these things you ALREADY know the answer to. Everybody knows that to lose weight, you need to burn more than you consume. There is literally no other way, no magic and no secret hack, just that simple fact. I guarantee you know that to become more social you just have to be social. Learn to be comfortable in social situations which will require inner work, but it's not a difficult concept. Most of us know what we need to do, yet we still try to find quick fixes or another way that same message is presented to us differently. We act as if we are improving and developing on our "improvement" journey yet we are just finding coping ways to feel like we are moving, yet we are still in the exact same place as before. I know you know what to do, I know you have researched what you should do and ways you can do it. So why are you not doing it? Why are you still not where you want to be? If you are not where you want to be, then what you're currently doing needs to change. You cannot do the exact same thing you've been doing for years and expect a different outcome. You need to curate a routine suited to your needs that is realistic and achievable to adopt.

LEARNING TO MOVE ON YOUR OWN, STOP DEPENDING ON OTHERS TO FUEL YOUR SUCCESS JOURNEY LISTEN TO: NOBODY IS COMING TO SAVE YOU BY JULIENHIMSELF Make yourself your safe space, your foundation. When you see yourself in the mirror you should be able to tell yourself "I love you", you should be so sure in what you do that nobody else can contradict what you believe in yourself, this is the end goal of self-improvement. Many of us have put aside our goals because we "are not ready", "people may judge us" or "I need to be/achieve ___ to.." Now don't get me wrong, I'm on this journey with you. I write on this blog to teach my brain how to think in the higher mindset that I'm creating for myself. I too have thoughts like this which is why in 2024 we are going to break out of our old selves to make room for our new selves together. We have to lose ourselves to find ourselves. If you're mood and self-worth are controlled by other people's opinions, then you will never advance further with yourself and will remain stationary. You have to stop allowing other people to determine whether you are allowed to pursue your desires or if you shouldn't because of fear of rejection. Don't take life too seriously, we are only here for so much time. So what if people make fun of you? In a few years will you look back and be proud and fulfilled of your past or feel regret and disappointment? LISTEN TO: WHY YOU CARE SO MUCH BY JULIANHIMSELF + LISTEN TO: HOW TO DETACH BY VICKITA TRIVEDI

The only way to get to 0%-100% is by doing.

Embody your potential

[colormepurplex2]

Shatter With Me | Waving The White Flag

↳ Model!Jungkook x Surrogate!f.Reader ⤜ Surrogacy, Best Friend's Husband ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 18,286 ⚠️ Crass language, talk of infertility, drinking, very mild bullying and references to cruel behavior/words, talk of surrogacy, at-home medical procedure, genital touching (non-sexual), planned pregnancy, talk of pregnancy termination/abortion, BIG hurt feelings, open palm slapping, accusations of infidelity

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to story masterlist

Jungkook

Jungkook never thought he’d be haunted by such a small, seemingly insignificant thing. A tiny pastel pink line. Singular. Just like all the ones before it. He’s lost count of exactly how many, but it’s been years; every month, the same outcome. A singular pink line telling him he’s failed. He knows that’s a bit harsh, but it’s how he’s starting to feel—like a complete and utter failure.

“We’ll try again next month,” Jiyoon offers, dropping the offending piece of plastic in the bathroom trash before giving Jungkook a tight smile.

“Have you given any more thought to trying IVF again?” Jungkook asks hesitantly, knowing that’s a sore subject. But, dammit, he’s not in the proper headspace right now to think better of it.

Jiyoon glares at him, her pouty pink lips drawing taut. “I told you not to ask me that ever again. Now, get out. I’d like to take a shower.” When Jungkook doesn’t immediately move from his perch on the bathroom counter, she tags on a frustrated, “Please.”

Jungkook hops down, his socked feet swishing over the tiled floor as he retreats into the master bedroom. The door forcefully shuts right on his heels, echoing the hollow ache in the center of his chest. He promised himself that if it didn’t happen this time, he’d just try harder next time.

Yet, there is only so much he can do. Pushing any harder might widen the rift slowly forming between him and his wife. Already, Jiyoon spends more time at work than with him. Her glares of irritation any time he seeks intimacy outside of their strict ovulation schedule are like holes being punched into his resolve.

After nearly two years of trying, he sought medical answers a year ago. Jiyoon was quite cross with him when she found out he went to the doctor, but he needed to know if it was his fault they were having trouble conceiving. The numbers were standard, slightly higher than average even. The utter devastation on Jiyoon’s face, he’ll never be able to forget that day. Because if he isn’t the problem…then that means she is.

It’s his fault. He wasn’t even thinking about that potential. Jiyoon hasn’t been the same since. That’s when the schedule came into play. That’s when she started to pour far more energy into waiting for the perfect moment instead of just enjoying their time together.

Jungkook can see the disappointment, the guilt that eats away at her each time that single pink line reveals itself. He wishes more than anything there was a way to change it, something more he could do. Yet, she refuses to consider the option of IVF, not after the horror story she heard from her friend Dani. She refuses to even talk about it.

There has to be another way; he’s just not sure what it might be. Jungkook is at a loss, and it feels like the weight of the world is sitting heavy right between his shoulders. The shower kicks on in the bathroom, and Jungkook decides to busy himself by making Jiyoon a cup of tea for when she gets out. He knows she’ll want to spend some time relaxing before bed, and tea always helps.

💔💔💔

Not a day goes by that you don’t think about your best friend, Jiyoon, and the unfortunate circumstances that have befallen her and her husband. It’s not a secret amongst your peers that they’ve been trying to start a family with no luck for several years. It breaks your heart every time she gives you a shake of her head when you look at her with hopeful eyes.

Today isn’t any different. You’re sitting at your desk, absently clicking through the latest portfolio files you got from Namjoon, when Jiyoon walks by your desk, heading toward hers. She’s half an hour late this morning, something that’s pretty routine every few weeks. It’s like clockwork. You’re aware of the ovulation schedule that she and Jungkook keep and know that she allows herself extra time the morning after taking a test to steel herself against the disappointment that will come from the pitying stares in the office.

You catch her eye as she settles into her desk chair, and she gives you that subtle shake of her head. There is tension in her shoulders, and her bottom lip looks like she’s been chewing on it in irritation, but she turns around and gives you her back before you can think to question her about it.

“Morning, Jiyoon,” Namjoon says as he steps out of his office. Namjoon is also well aware of the unfortunate circumstances surrounding Jiyoon and Jungkook. It’s why he doesn’t hassle her about being late, something you’re endlessly grateful for.

Jiyoon is your only friend, and you are very protective of her. Well, that’s not entirely true. The protective part is, but she’s not technically your only friend. She’s just the longest friend you’ve had and the one you hold closest to your heart—your best friend. Though, even still, everyone else are really just people you know through Jiyoon or from work. Maybe that’s sad, but you don’t mind it.

“Jiyoon!” Dani squeals from the other side of the office. The bubbly, energetic woman flits across the room, looking every inch like a fairy with her blond pixie cut, petite stature, and buttoned nose.

“Oh gosh, hey. Come here!” Jiyoon swings her chair toward Dani as she beckons her forward, letting you catch a glimpse of her profile. There is a smile on her face, but it’s hard to tell whether it’s strained or not. Jiyoon has always been beautiful, with not a single wrinkle or blemish in sight. Looking at her body language, it’s even harder to tell.

Giggles punctuate their whispered words as Dani crouches beside Jiyoon’s chair, their heads pressed close together. You watch as Dani slips something into Jiyoon’s hand before she stands and waggles her brows down at your friend.

“Have fun,” Dani sing-songs as she prances away from Jiyoon’s desk. Her gunmetal eyes meet yours, and her face sours before she disappears beyond your cubicle.

“What’s that?” you ask a beat after she’s gone and before you can curb your curiosity, tinged with mild jealousy. Dani has made it clear before that she doesn’t like you very much, only tolerating you for Jiyoon’s sake. So, it’s no surprise that you don’t find yourself included when it comes to anything involving Dani—it’s something you’ve chalked up to her own jealousy, perhaps at the fact you’ve been Jiyoon’s friend for so long.

Jiyoon flicks her eyes in your direction before stuffing whatever Dani gave her into her purse. “Just some antacids,” she says, giving you a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

All suspicions disappear as you take in the controlled curve of her lips. She looks miserable. “Oh,” is all you can manage before Namjoon calls everyone’s attention to the front of the room.

“Good morning, everyone. Let’s start this week off on the right foot. We have reports to file and new contracts to negotiate…”

You and Jiyoon have always aspired to work for a marketing and media agency together. So, when the opportunity presented itself, you both were elated to land jobs with Kim Exclusives, one of the most popular management companies for up-and-coming artists, models, and influencers.

That was seven years ago, and your time here has only solidified your friendship with Jiyoon. She met her husband, Jungkook, through the agency. He was one of the first models signed to Kim Exclusives, and you and Jiyoon both handled his portfolio and schedule for a year before she had to give you sole leadership over it once they became intimately involved—the whole conflict of interests thing.

“Are we still meeting tonight?” you ask Jiyoon as the day draws to a close. She’s still diligently working away at her computer, and you stand outside her cubicle with your bag on your shoulder.

“Hmm? Oh. Umm, yeah, I guess. I might be a bit late, though.”

You peek over her shoulder. “Is that the new Song profile?”

“Yep,” she pops the end of the word, keying you into thinking she's not in the mood to chat right now.

“Okay, well, I’ll see you guys later then.”

Jiyoon makes a noncommittal sound, already focused back on her work. You miss the days when she would give you more than a few passing words. Even on her good days, it seems like she’s growing further and further away from you. It’s hard not to feel guilty over the bitter and lonely feelings you get when you think about it. It’s not Jiyoon’s fault that you don’t have more close friends to turn to. But sometimes you wish you meant as much to her as she does to you.

As soon as that thought crosses your mind, you mentally kick yourself. It’s not fair for you to think that. You know Jiyoon cares for you; she’s just had a rough few years, and you shouldn’t be making it about yourself.

Feeling truly like a shit friend, you continue to chastise yourself over the next two hours as you commute home and get ready for tonight. Five minutes away from the pub, you consider calling Jiyoon and canceling. But, just as you pull out your phone to do that, someone calls your name from down the sidewalk.

You turn to see Taehyung and Jungkook waving at you from across the street. Well, there goes your intention to cancel.

“Hey! Have you heard from Jiyoon?” Jungkook asks as he and Taehyung jog across the street.

You press your lips into a thin line, confused. “Did she not come home?”

“Ah, no. She said she was working late and that I should just go ahead and meet up with you and Taehyung. She’s, uh, well, she’s not answering my calls. We—this morning…sorry, just, have you talked to her?”

Doing your best to keep your eyes on his, you give him an honest answer, “She was still working when I left the office. I haven’t heard from her since.” Losing the battle against your will, your eyes sweep over your best friend’s husband. He’s just as gorgeous as he always has been. His hair is a little longer than the last time you saw him, licking at the collar of his denim jacket. As the lead on his contract, you know he recently landed a massive campaign with a new clothing company, their emblem stitched onto the breast of the coat. Jungkook looks every inch the model he is; his friend no less so.

“Hey! Happy Birthday!” Taehyung greets you as your eyes swing to him.

Warm embarrassment kisses your cheeks. You hate your birthday; you hate being the center of attention. “Thanks,” you murmur, giving him a tight smile.

“Oh, yeah, happy birthday,” Jungkook tacks on. He rubs the back of his neck, giving you an apologetic look. “Should we go ahead and go inside?”

“Yeah, sure.” As Taehyung leads the way inside, you type out a quick text to Jiyoon asking how long she’ll be.

Thirty minutes later, you’re sitting in a mildly withdrawn personal bubble of silence as Jungkook and Taehyung chat about work and sip on fingers of liquor. You’re normally not so silent with them, as they have been clients of yours for years but you’ve also grown to think of them as friends. It’s just you have a lot on your plate right now, Namjoon just added three new clients to your work portfolio, putting you at juggling almost a dozen. You don’t mind the added workload, it helps keep you busy, but it does mean you have to switch around your schedule a great deal and have less time to spend with Jungkook and Taehyung who are two of the longest portfolios you’ve managed. They have a joint ad campaign coming up for the whiskey they’re sampling right now and are trying to decide if they actually like it or not.

Over the years, you've learned that advertisements are just that—a cleverly crafted piece of media to highlight a product. The models in a hamburger ad could very well be vegan, but they’re paid to make you believe otherwise. So, even if they decide they don’t like the whiskey, money will say they do.

Taehyung is a bit newer to Kim Exclusives, a model by complete accident. He came into the office once with Jungkook, just friends hanging out with each other, and the moment Namjoon saw him, he had to have him. A few weeks later, Taehyung was added to the roster of elite models under Kim Exclusives, booking just as well as any veteran.

“It’s a little too smokey for me, I think,” Taehyung comments. “What do you think?” he asks, setting his glass on the table and startling you out of your thoughts.

“What?” You blink up at him, totally lost.

“Give it a taste.” He taps the rim of the glass. “Tell me what you think,” he encourages, pushing the glass closer to where your hands are clasped together on the table.

You don’t really want to try the whiskey, but the expectant looks on Taehyung and Jungkook’s faces make you pick up the glass and take a tentative sip. It burns across your tongue, coating your throat in a fiery, smokey blend of burnt spices. The flavor sits like ash in your mouth.

“It’s, uh…”

“Not great, right?” Jungkook gives you a lopsided grin, his shoulders stretching the seams of his jean jacket as he shrugs. “It’s okay to be honest about it.”

You slide the glass back across the tabletop toward Taehyung. “Yeah, it’s not great. It might be better on ice, but I’m not a big drinker, so I think it’s hard for me to judge it fairly.”

They both seem satisfied with this response and resume their conversation about the whiskey and the new campaign. You check your phone, wondering where Jiyoon could possibly be. There is no response to your text.

You’re picking at the frayed edge of the paper coaster that’s slowly growing waterlogged from the condensation dripping down your glass of ice water when Taehyung taps on the table in front of you, trying to capture your attention.

“Isn’t that right?” he asks.

“Sorry. Is what right?” You feel heat bloom in your cheeks at being caught not paying attention yet again.

“You’re healthy.”

That statement has confusion replacing your embarrassment. “Healthy?”

“Let me backtrack,” Taehyung says, leaning back in his seat and throwing an arm over the back of Jungkook’s chair.

“Taehyung, really, this isn’t the time—”

“Ahem,” Taehyung interrupts Jungkook’s protest. “Hypothetically speaking, if your best friend and her husband were to inquire of you about the possibility of surrogacy, what would you say?”

The dots aren’t connecting for you, and his blunt question makes you feel like you missed something important. “Surrogacy?” You don’t mean to sound like a broken record, repeating what Taehyung is saying, but you’re thoroughly having a tough time understanding.

“Listen, you don’t have to answer that,” Jungkook states, shaking his head at Taehyung and giving him a pleading look that says to stop while he’s ahead.

“Are you and Jiyoon looking into a surrogate?” you ask; everything suddenly clicks into place, and the question tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. 

Jungkook grips the back of his neck and grumbles something incoherent towards Taehyung before he blows out a heavy breath and his eyes slowly rise to meet yours. “Not exactly, no. We haven’t talked about it yet. It’s just something I read about today. But, honestly, you don’t have to answer the question. Taehyung is just being a dick—”

“I’d do it.”

Your response leaves Jungkook with his mouth open and jaw slack as he stares at you in bewilderment.

“See, I told you. She’s perfect. Young, healthy, and someone you know and can trust,” Taehyung tots off, waving a finger in the air.

“Wait…are you serious?” Jungkook asks, pointedly ignoring Taehyung.

You’ve never considered being a mom before, at least not in that sense. It was always an assumption that it wouldn’t be in the cards for you—the whole lack of a love life thing being the crux of it. You’ve barely had a handful of boyfriends, much less a long-term commitment that would lead to a family. But, when it comes to Jiyoon, you’d do just about anything for her. So, if she asked you to carry a baby for her, you know, without a doubt, you’d do it.

“Y-yeah. Yes,” you state with more confidence. “I’d do that.”

Before Jungkook can respond, Jiyoon bustles in through the bar's front door, her lilting laughter drawing everyone’s attention. She has her phone pressed to her ear, and she’s smiling at whatever the person she’s speaking to is saying.

“Okay, yeah. Tomorrow sounds great. See you then,” Jiyoon says before ending the call and pocketing her phone. “Oh, Taehyung is here.” It’s a bland statement, Jiyoon’s eyes flicking over Jungkook’s best friend before landing on her husband. “Did you order me a drink already?”

Jungkook clears his throat, trying to compose himself before speaking. “Babe, hey. Um, no, I wasn’t sure when you’d get here. You weren’t responding to any of my calls or texts.”

Jiyoon slides into the empty seat beside you, across from Jungkook, and gives you a quick smile before wrinkling her nose in his direction. “I’ll take a glass of red.”

“Oh-kay,” Jungkook says slowly, a look of confusion ghosting over his features. “Where have you been?”

“Hmm? Oh, just busy with work,” Jiyoon says. “Wine, please, Jungkook.” His only response is a tight press of his lips before he stands up and disappears in the direction of the bar. Jiyoon clicks her tongue and angles herself to look at you. “You’re not drinking?” she asks, eyeing the glass of water on the table in front of you.

“Um, no. You know I don’t—”

“I know, you’re boring,” Jiyoon sighs. The only thing taking the sting out of her words is the smile she gives you. You know Jiyoon isn’t exactly what people would call a nice person; in fact, she’s often coined as a ‘mean girl.’ But she’s never been intentionally mean to you, not really. She just provides constructive criticism and encouragement to be the best version of yourself that you can be.

“Way to be a bitch to her on her birthday, Jiyoon,” Taehyung mumbles into his whiskey glass before tossing it back and downing the rest.

Jiyoon winces and then plasters a smile on her face before saying, “Right, happy birthday.”

“Yeah, thanks.” You make your best attempt at nonchalance, but you’re not sure it lands properly as Taehyung shakes his head, and Jiyoon sighs again.

“I forgot, okay? It’s been so busy at work and with—uh,” she pauses for just a second, and any other time you might not have noticed, but you can’t help but pick up on the way she rushes to continue, “the new client that you know Namjoon has been breathing down my neck over. The Harper portfolio, you know the one? And apparently, the Song profile needs to be redone on top of that.”

Jiyoon has been different lately. You’re aware that she took over one of the new higher-end clients, some big hot-shot movie star or something like that, but it’s almost made her seem like she thinks she’s above everyone else. It makes things tense sometimes like everyone is on edge when she comes around. You try to ignore it, for the sake of tonight. “It’s okay, Jiyoon, really.”

“Anyway, how are things going? It’s been a few weeks since we last talked about something other than work.”

Yeah, because every time you turn around Jiyoon is spending time with Dani or has a client meeting. You shrug. “Okay, I guess.”

Taehyung pipes up in the silence that follows, “We were actually just talking about surroga—”

“Red wine for my wife, another whiskey for Tae, the good stuff this time, and a pina colada for the birthday girl. Virgin, I made sure. I know you don’t like to drink alcohol,” Jungkook interrupts Taehyung, passing out the cluster of drinks in his hands.

You stare up at Jungkook, lips slightly parted as you try to think of the proper response, completely taken off guard by his gesture. Finally, you lamely offer, “Oh, uh, you didn’t have to, but thanks.”

“Nonsense. It’s your birthday, you deserve a little treat, and I know you like pineapple.” Jungkook settles back into his seat, and you try to keep your eyes off your best friend's husband. But it’s hard with how his hair falls into his face, and the denim hugs his shoulders as he relaxes against the back of his chair.

“Ew,” Jiyoon gags dramatically, startling your attention in her direction. “Is that a jacket from the shoot today?” She gestures at Jungkook, the distaste apparent on her face. “I know they didn’t dress you in that. What were they thinking?”

Jungkook frowns, staring down at the oversized light-wash jean jacket. “You don’t like it?” he asks.

Jiyoon scoffs, “It looks ridiculous, you look ridiculous. What the hell did you do to your hair? A mullet, really? It’s a wonder you’re a model. You were okay with this?” The last part is directed at you, because, as the lead on his profile, you’re the one who signed off on the hair and makeup for the shoot.

“Hey now,” Taehyung states loud enough to quiet the table; he’s clearly not having any of Jiyoon’s antics tonight, long work day or not. “Keep your petty bullshit opinions for when you’re at home. Tonight isn’t about you or how handsome my best friend is in his jean jacket and new hairstyle.” You can tell he intentionally calls Jungkook his best friend instead of Jiyoon’s husband as an extra jab.

“I never said he wasn’t handsome,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes before looking at Jungkook and sighing. “Sorry, dear, I’m just under a lot of stress. You know I didn’t mean it.” Her eyes flick to yours. “I know it’s not your fault.” You just give her a subtle shake of your head, not sure how to respond.

Clearing his throat, Jungkook smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, and tries to move the conversation along. “It’s okay. Let’s just focus on why we’re here tonight.” He swings his eyes toward you, his smile becoming genuine, and begins to loudly belt out Happy Birthday, much to your dismay. This draws the attention of everyone else in the bar and earns you a generous round of applause when the singing finally fades.

You try to enjoy the rest of your night, but every time Jungkook catches you staring at him, you can’t help but feel a small spike of guilt; guilt over the perhaps tiny, mostly insignificant, completely harmless crush you might, perhaps, maybe have on your best friend’s husband.

It’s hard not to be attracted to him; Jiyoon knows that—she flaunts that fact. She also knows her claws are deep in him, and he’s not going anywhere. Jungkook would pull down the moon for her and then ask if she wanted the sun, too. You swallow down the last of your pina colada, eyes once again locked on Jungkook as he throws his head back and laughs at something Taehyung said.

Jiyoon presses her arm against yours, leaning in close to you. In a soft voice meant only for you, she whispers, “He really is perfect, isn’t he?”

“Hm? Who?”

“Don’t play coy with me,” she giggles drunkenly. “I know you were staring at him. My husband.”

You shrug. “I wasn’t staring.”

Jiyoon sighs wistfully. “It’s okay to stare, I don’t mind. I know what he looks like, after all. He’s so beautiful when he’s happy. I wish I could give him what he wants, he’d be the perfect father…I’m so scared to lose him.” The last part is whispered, so soft it’s hard to hear.

Instantly, your guilt turns into something else: resolve. You can’t bear the defeat you hear in her voice. It’s not something you can even begin to fathom—what she and Jungkook are going through. It’s no wonder she has caustic words at times. You meant what you said earlier, what you told Jungkook you were willing to do. With that in mind, you make a mental note to start researching and do what you can to make sure at least someone gets a happy ending here.

💔💔💔

Jungkook

The night of your birthday kept playing over and over again in Jungkook’s head the days that followed. Now, just as evening is rolling around, one week later, he can’t stop thinking about what you said, your confirmation. On top of that, that night was probably the most fun Jungkook has had in a long time—as long as he excludes the prickly start after Jiyoon arrived. He’s used to her snide and biting remarks after a long work day. Brushing them to the side and sweeping them away is usually easy.

But for some reason—perhaps it was the high he was riding after your confession and confirmation—it bothered him that she was doing it in front of Taehyung—in front of you. As if somehow her criticisms might make you both believe them. Not that he cares about being good-looking to Taehyung, or you for that matter, not really. It’s just that his first thought was what if that made you change your mind? Not necessarily whether or not he’s attractive, but the exchange as a whole. What if Jiyoon’s blatant criticisms made you want to change your mind because it somehow planted doubt in your mind that they’re a happy and healthy environment for a child?

“Jungkook.” The frustrated snap of his name brings him out of his thoughts. His eyes focus on the bathroom mirror once more, on Jiyoon, who is standing behind him with her hands on her hips, accentuating the flattering cut of the navy-colored dress she’s wearing. “Are you even listening to me?”

Turning and leaning back against the counter, Jungkook gives her his full attention. “Uh, yeah, sorry. You were talking about having dinner with a client tonight, and you’re leaving now to meet with Dani so you can get some files.”

“Yes,” she says, her lips twitching in mild surprise, and Jungkook knows she was expecting him not to have been paying attention. “I don’t know how long the dinner will last, so don’t wait up for me. It’s likely I’ll be home late.” She turns to go back into the bedroom, and Jungkook isn’t sure what possesses him, but he surges forward and gently snags her wrist, turning her back toward him. “Uh?” she makes a sound of mild questioning irritation.

“I have something I need—er, want—to talk to you about. It should only take a moment.”

She shakes his hold off her wrist and gives him a placating smile. “Okay, well, talk while I finish getting ready at least.” Not waiting to see if he follows, she disappears into the bedroom and heads to the closet, rummaging through her jewelry.

“Okay, um. Okay,” Jungkook stumbles over his words, feeling like he’s under pressure for some reason. “So, the other night, it was brought up in conversation, and uh, she already agreed, and it’s just that, well, there’s this thing called intracervical insemination and…how do you feel about surrogacy?”

There is a heavy pause, dread threatening to make Jungkook backpedal and eat his words just to snatch them back out of the air. Jiyoon glances at him over her shoulder, but he can’t get a clear read on her eyes. “What? Oh, yeah, sure,” she says, turning back to her digging.

Jungkook can’t tell whether Jiyoon is the one paying attention to him now, so he probes further, just to be clear. “You mean that? You’re okay with going the surrogacy route? My sperm, her egg…your best friend carrying our baby?”

Jiyoon’s back is to Jungkook, but he watches how her shoulders slide up in a shrug. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’m not sure, it’s just that with ICI—”

“Look, Jungkook,” Jiyoon says, turning to face him fully. Her fingers work at slipping a pair of silver hoops into her earlobes. “I trust you.” She says the words slowly, keeping her eyes intently locked on his. “I know you’ll do your best for us. Whatever you want, it’s what I want, too. You know that.”

“Well, um, do you have any questions? We should talk…discuss this, er, something. I know how you feel about IVF. I want to make sure this is an option you truly want, and you’re not just saying this to make me happy. You should take some more time to think about it.” The fact she’s so quick to agree makes Jungkook question whether or not he’s hearing what he thinks he’s hearing.

Jiyoon cups one of his cheeks, gently thumbing over his bottom lip. “I don’t need time to think, because I’ve already thought about it. I—well, I was going to bring it up to you soon, but I wanted to do a bit more research first.”

“Wait, what? Really? You were thinking about ICI, too?” Jungkook swallows hard, leaning into his wife's warm touch.

“Yeah,” she whispers, her soft smile making her eyes twinkle and his heart melt.

Jungkook can’t help letting his eyes drink in his wife. They might have been going through rough patches the last few years, but that hasn’t lessened how he feels about her. Jungkook has always found her strikingly beautiful, with long legs and shiny hair that he loves to run his fingers through. But at this moment, he feels like he might burst with the love he has for her.

“Yeah? Okay. Okay,” he tries to suppress the emotion in his words. “Okay, perfect. I love you. I love you so much!”

Jiyoon laughs, and it sounds magical, as Jungkook sweeps her into his arms and plants a kiss on her lips. “Don’t smear my lipstick, please,” she mumbles, her voice light and playful.

“Go have a good dinner, secure the client, and don’t worry about anything else,” Jungkook bubbles happily, setting Jiyoon back on her feet. “I swear I’ll take care of it all. Everything will be perfect, absolutely perfect.”

An hour later, Jungkook walks up to your apartment door. He couldn’t stop himself earlier, so he immediately texted you and asked to see you as soon as Jiyoon left for Dani’s.

The door swings open before he can knock, revealing you standing there breathless and in a set of purple checkered pajamas. “Is everything okay?” you ask, worry lines creasing between your brows. “Your text sounded urgent.”

“Oh.” Jungkook feels terrible for making you concerned. He didn’t mean for it to come off like that. “No, I mean, yes, everything is okay. But, no, it’s not exactly urgent. Sorry for that. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

You lean against the doorframe, eyes wide on his. “What is it?”

“Er, uh, do you mind if I come in? This is more of a sit-down kind of conversation.”

The little ‘o’ your lips form is far cuter than Jungkook has a right to think it is. His mind instantly latches onto it, wondering if the baby would have your lips or his. “O-okay, sure, come on in.”

Jungkook has visited your apartment a handful of times over the years. It’s quaint and cozy, exactly what he’d imagine for you. There are books everywhere, shelves full of thick and thin volumes of literary prose. A few art pieces decorate the walls, along with dozens and dozens of black-and-white photos in simple frames. He stirs up the recollection that you enjoy photography in your spare time.

“Sorry, again, about my text. I didn’t mean to worry you, really.” Jungkook feels nervous, unsure where to stand or even sit, until you gesture toward the couch. A handful of well-loved decorative pillows are scattered across the burgundy suede. He settles at one end as you take the other, looking at him expectantly.

A beat or two passes, and Jungkook feels like he’s about to swallow his tongue until you open your mouth, clearly picking up on his distress. “Is it something with work? I can try to fix whatever it is first thing in the morning—”

“No, no,” Jungkook holds up a hand, shaking his head. “It’s not work. It’s um, it’s actually Jiyoon. Well, me and her, specifically.”

You pull your knees up and tuck your feet underneath yourself. “Oh, okay.”

“Were you serious about what you said the other night?” Jungkook blurts, figuring it’s best, like ripping off a bandaid.

Your bottom lip has an indent left from where you tucked it between your teeth before nodding. “Yes.” Jungkook didn’t necessarily expect you to say no, but the rush of relief he feels at hearing that encourages him to press on.

“I talked with Jiyoon about it today and she—we—would be honored if you’d do that for us. If you’d give us a chance at having a family. It’s…it’s something we both, deeply, deeply desire. If you’re truly serious about it, we’ll take care of everything, all medical expenses, bills, anything…just name it, it’s yours.”

“That’s—okay, okay, yes. Yes, I’ll do it. Just tell me what I need to do.”

Jungkook whoops loudly, jumping up from the couch, and drags you into his arms for a bear hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I can’t even begin to explain what this means to me, to us. This is…I can’t…oh my, I need to—wait, okay. Sorry, let me calm down for a second.” The word vomit is real, and Jungkook uses his hold on you to ground himself, moving his hands to your shoulders and locking his eyes on yours. “I think I might pass out,” he whispers a second before bursting into a giddy laugh.

“Whoa, um, sit down. Please don’t pass out on me. You’re too big for me to catch!” Your frantic words make him laugh even harder.

He shakes his head, on cloud nine. “I’m kidding, kind of. I just feel…I feel so light, like—well, it doesn’t matter about that. What matters is you. Please don’t feel obligated to do this. That’s the last thing I want. If you are serious, I can send all the information you need to you in the morning. But only if you’re certain.”

“Jungkook,” the way you say his name makes his heart thump heavy in his chest as if his fate hinges on whatever comes next. “I am serious. I promise. I want to do this for you, for Jiyoon…I want to give you both the happiness you deserve.”

“Thank you,” Jungkook says fervently, never meaning something more in his life.

This happiness carries Jungkook through the rest of the evening, turning into a brilliant flame of intimacy when Jiyoon crawls into bed beside him hours later. For the first time in a long time, there is no schedule, no waiting for the perfect moment; it’s just the love shared between two souls celebrating the joys of life.

💔💔💔

The following day, several emails from Jungkook are waiting for you; Jiyoon CC’d on them all, as well as a few texts to check in. The idea that you could possibly be pregnant in the coming weeks or months—not just pregnant, but pregnant with Jungkook’s baby for your best friend—still feels a bit surreal.

You texted Jiyoon last night, expressing to her how much she means to you and that you’re honored she wants it to be you that helps her fulfill her dreams of having a family. She hasn’t replied yet, but that doesn’t bother you; she’s probably busy helping Jungkook with planning.

There is an entire email dedicated to medical referrals. Apparently, Jungkook spent hours pouring over all the local doctors and medical facilities vetting to find the best ones. Each has notes and suggestions under them, along with all the information you might need to call and make an appointment.

That’s really all you need to do: make an appointment for a check-up. Taehyung made an assumption of your health last night, but it doesn’t hurt to be sure. The last thing you’d want to do is be in poor health and unable to keep your word.

Your fingers tremble as you dial the numbers, and you have to take a few shallow breaths to get your voice to work properly. Minutes later, you have an appointment scheduled for later this week. Now, all you have to do is figure out how you’re going to wait the next few days and not burst from anticipation. It’s a slow few days.

Apparently, by Googling every possible thing you can think of about being a surrogate and pregnancies. Along with the emails full of information, by the time you’re walking into the clinic for your appointment at the end of the week, you feel confident asking questions.

“Being a surrogate is a pretty serious situation. Have you considered all the possibilities and what might be required of you?” The doctor has a pleasant demeanor; her eyes are intense yet kind. It might be the steel-colored strands scattered through her hair or the wrinkles that deepen around her eyes when she smiles, but you feel comfortable opening up to her.

You roll your lips between your teeth before saying, “Honestly? Probably not as much as most surrogates. I’m sure there are things I’m not aware of yet. It was only presented to me a few days ago. But I have done some extensive reading and soul-searching, and I know it’s what I want.”

Dr. Lee contemplates you for a moment before nodding. “Yes, I believe you do. Let’s get started, shall we?”

It’s not uncomfortable going through all the tests and procedures. There isn’t much the doctor does that you haven’t done before. Samples are taken, and a routine exam is performed. As you leave, the nurse tells you you should have results within the next two weeks.

Thankfully, the results come at the beginning of the following week. You’re sitting at your desk at work, reviewing the final details for the whiskey campaign Jungkook and Taehyung are shooting in a few days, when you get the notification that your results are viewable on your patient portal. A moment before you click into the email, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

“Hello?” you whisper, cupping your hand around the base of your phone and mouth. A nurse rattles off your information, ensuring she speaks to the right person. “Yes, speaking.”

“I just wanted to let you know that all of your results are in, and Dr. Lee has signed off on your request to move forward with the surrogacy…” Everything else the nurse says is a bit hazy. She covers the numbers for your tests and where to find resources for more information on at-home intracervical insemination. “Do you have any questions for me? Ma’am, are you still there?”

“Oh, umm, yes, sorry. No questions, thank you so much.”

The line disconnects, and you sit there for a few more moments, the phone still held to your ear, as you try to process the giddy feeling bubbling up inside you. You need to tell Jiyoon, Jungkook, someone…anyone. Pushing up from your desk, you scan the area around you for your best friend and come up empty.

“Hello?” Jungkook answers on the second ring.

“Jungkook.”

“Oh, hey. Everything okay?”

“What? Oh. Yes. Yes, everything is okay. Everything is perfect. Do you know where Jiyoon might be? I haven’t seen her since she came into the office this morning.” You rack your brain, trying to remember if you saw her leave or go into another room.

“Yeah, she called a little while ago and said that Namjoon was having her meet one of the new clients for lunch to sign some more papers.”

“Right, that’s right,” you say, recalling that Namjoon asked her to come into his office shortly after she arrived this morning.

“Why? What’s up?”

You drag a slow, shallow breath into your lungs in an effort to slow your rapidly beating heart. “I heard back from the doctor.”

Jungkook urges you to continue, “Yeah? What did they say? Is everything okay? Are you okay?”

“I’m…I’m great. I’m perfect. I’m—I, I can do it. We can do it. There’s a chart,” you explain, wedging your phone between your ear and your shoulder to free your hands so you can pull up the email you got and forward it to him. “It has an estimated schedule and recommendations on timing for the best results. I just sent everything over to you.”

“I got it. Wow. Okay. Wow. Oh my…wow! I need to call Jiyoon. Fuck. Oh my god. Okay, thank you! I’ll call you back later, okay?” The line disconnects after Jungkook says a hurried goodbye, the elation in his voice evident.

According to the doctor's ovulation chart, the best time for you to begin trying is next week. Conception is most likely during a twenty-four-hour period. On your way home, you stop and pick up an ovulation testing kit so you can remain on track.

You arrive home filled with nervous energy, unable to stop smiling as you unpack the things you picked up at the pharmacy. A large box of pregnancy tests goes beside the ovulation kit in your medicine cabinet, along with a pack of medical gloves and hand sanitizer. You’re not sure what you’ll need, exactly, but you figure it’s better to have it and not need it than the other way around.

“Jiyoon!” you gush, swiping to answer the call coming in on your phone. “Hi!”

“Hey, I just got off the phone with Jungkook.” There is a lot of background noise, and it’s hard to hear her clearly.

“Oh, wonderful! I got the results today. There is a possibility of next week being—”

A loud laugh cuts through from Jiyoon’s end, the added clang of dishes drowning you out further. “Sorry, I’m still at dinner. Next week, you say? I’ll be going on a business trip the whole of next week, Namjoon wants me to travel with a client for a go-see.”

Disappointment drags at your shoulders and has your smile softening into a frown. You suppose it can wait a few more weeks. “Okay, no problem. That will give us time to plan a bit more anyway.”

“Sure thing!” Jiyoon yells, the line cutting out momentarily. “I’ll catch you later. I can’t wait to see you when I get back. Thank you. I love you so much!”

“Okay, yeah, love you—” The line goes dead before you can finish. “Love you, too,” you murmur into the quiet of your apartment.

A minor setback. But it’s okay; you’re sure you were getting ahead of yourself anyway. Taking a few weeks to confirm things and actually come up with a game plan is probably for the better. But it doesn’t hurt to start doing that now. Letting the smile that hadn’t left your face most of the day slide back onto your lips, you continue setting up everything in your bathroom so it’ll be there for when you do need it.

It turns out you don’t have to wait—at least, according to Jungkook. From the constant flood of text messages you’ve gotten from him over the last few days, as much as Jiyoon would love to be there to help, she’s given her blessing to proceed with the ICI without her. In her own words, via a text you got last night, there will be plenty more for her to be present for, and she’s far too excited for you to wait for her to return.

Jiyoon has been relatively quiet, but Jungkook explained in delicate words that she’s okay; she just has a lot on her plate right now. Even though it may seem like she’s on the outside, it’s more that this is a very sensitive topic for Jiyoon. Despite wanting a child, ICI is nearly as taboo a subject as IVF when it comes to Jiyoon; you know this. She’s told you how much it makes her feel like a failure. So, you’re content when Jungkook takes full responsibility for the surrogacy journey and has promised to be there for you every step of the way, including coming over to your place tonight to help you with the first ICI attempt.

You’ve been testing your ovulation each morning, and the positive test strip in your bathroom trash has started a full-tilt, day-long extravaganza. It’s a Thursday, just a few days after you got your green light from the doctor, meaning you were able to leave work early and are now sitting on your couch waiting patiently for Jungkook to arrive.

All your research and reading about ICI makes you nervous about what’s to come. It’s not that you’re going to be explicitly intimate with Jungkook, but you’re well aware of the fact that fresh sperm samples, as in within a thirty-minute window, are the best. Which means, he’s going to have to somehow provide the sample while he’s here.

The idea of Jungkook masturbating in your bathroom should feel awkward or perhaps embarrassing to think about, yet you’re oddly comfortable with it. It’s a natural thing, something necessary to create something that’s going to be beautiful.

By the time Jungkook knocks on your door, your hands are clammy, and it takes you two tries to get the handle to turn. He greets you with a giant smile and shining eyes, absolutely breathtaking.

“Hi,” he breathes.

“Hi,” you parrot, unable to contain from reflecting the smile still on his face. “Please, come on in.”

“Thanks.” Jungkook steps past you, and the soft fragrance of his laundry detergent catches in your nose. “I brought everything we need,” he says, holding up a bag. He’s wearing the same denim jacket he was the other night, a white T-shirt underneath above a pair of worn, light-washed jeans, and black boots on his feet that he toes off before heading into your living room.

“Can I get you anything to drink or maybe something to eat? Have you had dinner yet?” You’re not sure how this is going to go, if it’s just going to be a clinical experience or something more comfortable between friends. Because you are friends, right? At this point, you should consider him more than just your best friend’s husband; he should at least be seen as a friend of yours, too.

Jungkook deposits the bag on your couch and turns to look at you. “Um, maybe if you had some beer or something, but I know you don’t drink—” There is a nervous energy to the way he’s talking, words coming out a little too quickly “—so, er, maybe just some water is fine.”

“Actually,” you say, hurrying into the kitchen and opening the fridge, “I got, well, is this okay?” You hold up a 6-pack of beer you bought on a whim a few nights ago. It’s true that you don’t really drink, but you weren’t thinking of yourself at the time that you bought it. In actuality, you were thinking of Jungkook, knowing he’s partial to this brand, and figured…well, you’re not sure what you figured, you bought it before you could give it too much thought.

The corner of Jungkook’s mouth lifts, his smile turning into a light smirk. “Wow, my favorite. I’d love to, but actually, I’m not sure if I should, no matter how nervous I am right now…not until after, at least. I haven’t read anything about how alcohol might impact things, but I’ve not had a drop of alcohol to drink nor a bite of junk food in the last week, just in case.”

“Oh, right. Of course, I should have thought about that.”

“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t thinking either, I haven’t been able to think about much at all, if I’m being honest,” Jungkook laughs nervously, one of his hands rubbing at the back of his neck. “Is this weird? Are you sure you want to do this?”

It is weird, but not in a bad way, and you don’t want to admit that because you don’t want him to worry. So, you simply smile and shake your head. “It’s not all that weird, it’s…well, just not weird. I am nervous,” you decide to give him at least that. “I’m worried that it might not work, or that I might do something wrong.”

“W-what do you think you might do wrong?” Jungkook asks, moving closer to you. “I’ve…I’ve read a lot about the how, I even got an informational video from my doctor.”

You can feel heat crawling up your neck. “I’m not sure, exactly. I guess just the whole process in general.”

There is a beat where you can see Jungkook contemplating his words. He chews on his bottom lip, eyes unfocused for a moment before returning to you. “I could help if you want. Purely in a platonic, helpful way, no funny business, I swear.”

“Um, I don’t know if that…uh, I can try first, maybe?” You can’t seem to swallow past the thick knot in your throat at the thought of asking Jungkook to help assist you in…well, that.

“Sure, okay. Should we…get started?” Jungkook asks, his eyes flicking back to the bag he dropped on your couch. 

Your stomach flips at his words. “Yeah,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, feeling suddenly even more shy than usual.

“Great.” Jungkook claps his hands together before retrieving the bag from the couch. “I have everything we need. It's probably best if we begin this in the bathroom.”

Your apartment has one bathroom, which is joined to the bedroom but is still accessible through the hallway. Jungkook leads the way down the hall, flicking on the light inside the bathroom before stepping aside to let you in as well.

“Have you talked with Jiyoon?” you ask, seeking something to fill the silence as you watch him unpack everything from the bag and arrange it on the bathroom counter.

Jungkook shakes his head in a so-so manner. “I spoke with her for a few minutes earlier to let her know the plan for tonight. She couldn’t talk long and it was hard to hear with all the background noise, but she’s excited and said she can’t wait to be back at the end of the week.”

After washing his hands, Jungkook opens up the packet of a large sterile pad and spreads it out across the rest of the counter. From the research you’ve done, you recognize some of the things he begins to set out. There is a collection cup with an orange screw-on lid, a large syringe with a hose attaching it to a bulbous silicone mushroom-shaped plug, and several single-use packets of water-based lube. He also sets out a box of pregnancy tests, giving you a sheepish smile when you raise an eyebrow at it.

“I, uh, bought some, too,” you say, opening the medicine cabinet to show him the large box of pregnancy tests sitting between your ovulation test kit and your toothbrush.

Jungkook smiles. “I guess we’re on the same wavelength, huh?”

You have to stop yourself from leaning too far into the unusual, yet enticingly warm and appealing, feeling you get when he smiles like that. Clearing your throat, you gesture to the spread of tools. “What now?”

“I think we should discuss a game plan, make sure we know what to do and when to do it. There are some things I’ve read online, plus the directions in this pamphlet,” he says, slipping a folded paper from the box the inseminator came in.

Leaning in, you try to read the step-by-step process written on the paper over Jungkook’s shoulder. He shifts, steps closer to you, and angles the pamphlet to make it easier for you to see.

“Step one, collect the sample. Step two, transfer the sample into the syringe. Step three, insert the silicone plug into the…v-vagina,” you choke over the word, feeling heat licking up your neck, “as close to the cervix as possible. Step four, depress the plunger to administer the sample.”

“Seems pretty simple, right?”

You’re not sure you’d say simple. Sure, step by step, it looks pretty straightforward, but you seem to be responsible for the most challenging part, and that makes you even more nervous than before. “Yeah, simple.”

“Give me a few minutes, I need to—uh,” he points to the sample cup. “I’ll, you know.”

“Oh, right, right, of course. I’ll just—" you hook a thumb over your shoulder towards the door that leads to your bedroom ”—wait in there.”

It’s hard not to pace around your bedroom as you wait. You try to stick to the far side of your bedroom, not wanting to come too close to the bathroom and overhear anything you shouldn’t. The fact your best friend’s husband is in your bathroom masturbating is a weird enough revelation, albeit a necessary one for the ICI procedure; you’d still rather afford him some privacy.

After three minutes, you stop counting the seconds that pass, realizing that means you’re counting how long it takes for Jungkook to produce the sample. Which is something you’re vehemently trying to avoid thinking about so casually.

The bathroom door opening startles you, stopping you in your tracks. Jungkook clears his throat. “Ready?”

You move over to the bathroom. “I think so.”

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. You can do this and don’t forget, I’ll be here if you need any help, promise. Purely for help, for the process.” Jungkook swipes a finger in an x over his chest. “Cross my heart.”

“You’re right,” you say, trying to bolster your own confidence. “I can do this.”

You step past Jungkook and into the bathroom, but his hand on your arm pulls you up short. “Wait, wait. Would you feel more comfortable doing it in your room? It’s just that I’ve read it’s best if you could lay on your back with your hips elevated for fifteen to thirty minutes after.” He nods at your bed. “More comfortable than the bathroom floor.”

The idea of doing this on your bed crosses a line, taking this from a medical process to something far more intimate. “Maybe just a pillow,” you say, grabbing one of the decorative throw pillows you never seem to remember to put back on your bed but keep in a small pile on the floor instead.

“Okay.” Jungkook gives you a small smile, and it makes his eyes look soft and bright. The kind of smile you hope you can help him bestow onto a baby.

You leave the door unlocked, just in case you need his help. In your bathroom, there is no evidence of Jungkook's actions other than the very full sample cup sitting on the medical pad covering the counter.

The cup is warm to the touch, which is startling, though you know it shouldn’t be. Placing the pillow down on the floor, you shimmy your pants and panties down your legs and step out of them. There is a lingering scent in the bathroom; it’s a mix of Jungkook’s cologne but also of something clinical. You realize there are two empty packets of lube in your trashcan, and you can’t help the image that pieces itself together in your mind.

Swallowing hard against the threatening flood of further indecent thoughts, you move quickly to prepare the inseminator. It’s a systematic process you can do with little thought—safe—unscrewing the cap of the cup and filling the syringe. Once you’re in position on the floor, hips elevated on the pillow, empty packets of lube discarded and your body primed, you take the silicone plug in one hand and the syringe in the other.

The directions make it seem so easy. But as you try to fit the silicone plug inside, you can’t seem to get it to go where you want it. It keeps slipping sideways and tugging at the tube connecting it to the syringe. Your heart begins to race as you realize you might not be able to do this—not on your own, at least.

By the fourth try, fifteen minutes have passed, and you’re in full-blown panic mode. Your breath wheezes in and out as you crunch up, hands fumbling between your thighs, and sweat forming on your brow. “Oh god, oh god. I—uh, god dammit…Jungkook!” His name is out of your mouth in a strangled yell before you can stop it.

“What is it? Is everything okay? Are you okay?” The frantic words are muffled through the door. The door rattles on its hinges, and you can tell he’s pressing up against it from the sound of denim scuffing along it, probably pressing his ear against it in an effort to hear your response.

You’ve managed to get it inside, but you’re not sure if you can get it all the way in, pressed up against your cervix where it needs to be. It’s possible you used too much lube, though the idea that it’s possible to have too much lubricant seems ridiculous. But no matter what you do or how far you press your fingers in, you’re either at a wrong angle, or your fingers keep slipping on the plug too much. Asking Jungkook for help is the last thing you want to do, but you’re not sure what other options there are.

“C-can you come in here?” you ask in a hoarse voice. There is a moment of silence before the door eases open and Jungkook sticks his head inside. His eyes are closed so tight it makes you let out a snap of nervous laughter. “I think…I think I need help. I’m sorry, I just can’t—it’s not going in all the way, I don’t think,” you gush in explanation.

“Do you—is it okay if I?” Jungkook asks, leaving the obvious unsaid.

“Um, yes…please. I’ve tried, and I just…I don’t want to ruin this. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Jungkook shuffles into the bathroom, eyes still firmly closed and arms out in the air. “Um, where exactly are you so I don’t step on you by accident?”

Snagging the edge of the towel hanging on the rack, you pull it down and drape it over your knees to make yourself as decent as you can be in this situation. “Just open your eyes, it’s okay.”

Slowly, his eyes peek open and finally land on where you’re laid out on the floor, bent knees covered in a towel and your shirt askew from all your efforts.

“How can I help?” Jungkook kneels down beside you, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it to the side.

“I just…I don’t know if it’s all the way in. Can you—with your hand, I know that’s horrible and weird, but I don’t know what else to—”

“No, no, it’s not weird. I said I’d help. It’s clinical, right? We’re doing this just as a medical procedure. Like I said, no funny business, I swear. It’s for the baby. I’ll help you.”

“Okay.” You nod, squeezing your eyes shut because it’s hard to look him in the eye when he’s about to—the towel shifts, and cool air licking between your thighs has your mind going blank.

“Look at me,” Jungkook requests, to which you immediately comply. “I need you to promise me you’ll let me know if I hurt you or do something you don’t like. I’ll stop immediately, okay?” When you don’t immediately say anything, he adds, “I need you to tell me you understand.”

“I understand.”

Stretching across to the sink, Jungkook keeps his eyes on yours as he washes his hands and then shifts the towel more, folding it up and over your knees. “I’m going to place my hand on your thigh. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

His fingers are gentle against your skin, softer than you expected, and warm from the water. You can feel errant droplets of water streak down your thigh and roll over the bottom of your ass. You try to focus on that feeling instead of the way Jungkook’s hand trails down your thigh until his fingers graze your outer lips.

“I’m going to use two of my fingers to try and seat the inseminator. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” this time, it comes out as more a breath than a word.

You tense at the subtle press of his fingers and how they probe their way down until they find your entrance. There is easily enough lube down there to grease a bakery’s worth of cake pans, considering the half a dozen empty packets now in your trashcan, but you can’t help but take a deep, fortifying breath as he begins to press in.

“Still okay?” he asks, fingers moving achingly slow.

“I think so.”

Jungkook’s brow pinches. “I feel it…only about two inches in. I’m going to push it further now. Tell me if it hurts or is uncomfortable.”

Never in a million years did you think you’d ever find yourself in this position. Not only are you butterflied open on your bathroom floor, but your best friend’s husband is now middle-knuckle deep in your vagina, and you’re not sure how to feel about it. In fact, you’re trying to do everything you can to not think about how you stretch around the intrusion of his fingers, or that it feels far better than it should.

“Do you think you can get it all the way?” you ask, voice warbling with nerves.

Jungkook hums, his lips pushing out as if he is trying to concentrate. “I think I’m almost there. Does that feel okay, is it good?” 

Not once does he look away from you as he’s pushing deeper into your body. You think you want him to look away, to break that intimate contact, but you can’t even bring yourself to do that—even though you know you should. And the whispered exchange does little to help. Is it good? You’re going to burn in hell for the thoughts now flooding through.

“Oh!” You jolt in place, eyes going wide, all previous thoughts gathering into one singular point. Jungkook mirrors your surprise, his mouth popping open in silent shock.

“I’m so sorry!” he babbles. “I didn’t mean to do that. Oh fuck, god damn, shit…okay, sorry, let me just—” Jungkook is still gentle, yet swift in finishing seating the inseminator before quickly extracting his fingers from your body. “Please believe me when I say I am sorry, and I swear I wasn’t trying…I wasn’t trying to do that.”

Your body is still buzzing from the that he’s talking about—the graze of his thumb over your clit. It’s clear it was an accident by his reaction, but it does nothing to lessen the pulse that is now singing through your body.

“I-it’s okay. Really, it’s okay. It’s fine.” You’re not sure if your words are convincing enough, but Jungkook jerks his head in what you assume is a nod of acknowledgement.

“Um, it’s, uh, it’s in. Do you need me to do the syringe, too?”

“Just do it.” You exhale a shaky breath, finally tearing your eyes away from his. You’re confident he’s still watching you, even as he depresses the syringe and injects his cum into your body—as crass as that sounds in your head, that’s exactly what’s happening, and it’s the first time you think you’re realizing how truly fucked you are for this.

Nothing has happened between you and Jungkook, not in that way, but for some reason, guilt won’t leave you alone. You feel like you’ve just betrayed Jiyoon and feel even more like a ridiculous schoolgirl ruining her life over a crush on a boy. You’re intimately aware of the warmth and the subtle change in pressure as he finishes depressing the inseminator. It makes you want to squirm, but you chew your bottom lip and tap your toes instead.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks, his voice soft and gentle.

“I should be asking you that,” you sigh.

Jungkook balks. “What? Why would you say that? I’m fine…I’m the one that—” He nods toward where your body is now covered with the towel again. As soon as he was done plunging the depressor, he unfolded the towel and made you decent once more.

“You didn’t mean to,” you say, maybe more as a reminder to yourself than him.

“No, but that doesn’t make it okay.” Jungkook settles back on his heels, using one of the wet wipes that came in the kit to clean his hands. Suddenly, he laughs. “This is ridiculous, right? I mean, look at us, we just did something…beautiful, and we’re not allowing ourselves to enjoy it.”

You chuckle softly, fidgeting with one of the ends of the towel. “It is kind of ridiculous, huh? Sorry that I freaked out and you had to do…that.”

”I’m not. Sorry, that is. I’m glad you asked for my help. We’re in this together.” Jungkook gives you a smile, similar to the one he wore when he knocked on your door over an hour ago, and takes up the hand not pinching at the towel in his, squeezing it. “I don’t know that I can even begin to articulate with words just what this means to me. Thank you so much.”

“It means a lot to me, as well. Being able to do this for you and Jiyoon is not something you need to thank me for. I’d do anything for her. She’s my best friend. We’ve been through so much together over the last twenty years…I just want to see her happy. You, too, of course.”

Jungkook hums in the back of his throat, keeping his hand wrapped around yours as he leans back, using the side of the tub for support. A comfortable silence settles between the two of you, spanning several minutes until Jungkook speaks again. “Have you ever thought about being a mom, you know, before this?”

It’s on the tip of your tongue to answer with what you think he wants to hear, that this has always been your wish, but instead, you choose to give him an honest answer. “Not really.”

”Why not? If you don’t mind me asking.”

If it were anyone else asking, you might mind, but…

You purse your lips before offering yet another truth. “I guess I just…I’m me, you know?”

”No, I don’t think I do know. What do you mean?”

“I’m a single woman in my thirties with no prospects on the horizon. My last boyfriend was over five years ago. I’m a modern-day spinster. Nothing is wrong with that, I love who I am…I just, no one has ever shown interest in me like that. Though it’s not necessary to have another person in the picture, it’s just that…I don’t even know, I’m rambling, sorry.”

Jungkook looks at you for a long moment, and it’s so hard to read his expression. All you want to do is plead with him to tell you what’s on his mind.

“You shouldn’t do that to yourself,” he finally says.

”Do what?” you ask, uncertain what he’s referring to.

“Sell yourself short like that. You are easily one of the hardest-working people I’ve ever met. You have a successful career and amazing tastes in art and food. Not to mention, you have the biggest heart of anyone I know. You’re…you’re amazing, and I know for a fact that people think so, too.” 

You puff out a breath, trying not to laugh at him. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Because I’m one of them. I wouldn’t choose just anyone to do this with. After all, the baby will be half of you, too. A win-win in my book.” The corner of his mouth tilts in a small smile.

You’re pretty certain you’ve never had something create such a viscerally emotional response in you. It takes everything you have to blink away the sudden onslaught of tears that threaten to overwhelm you.

When you finally think you can speak without melting into a blubbering mess, you whisper, “I think you’re pretty amazing, too.”

💔💔💔

Jungkook

It’s well after midnight by the time Jungkook makes it home. He’s positively buzzing and can’t even think about going to bed just yet. There is far too much going on in his head, so he decides to expend some energy in the tiny home gym he turned one of the spare rooms into.

The condo he and Jiyoon bought two years into their marriage is spacious, spanning half the second and third floors of the building. There is a three-car garage on the first floor, as well as an elevator that leads to the landing out front. Across the landing is where Taehyung lives with his roommate Jimin, another well-to-do model they met through Kim Exclusives.

Jiyoon stuck her nose up at the fact that Taehyung was buying the unit across from them when Jungkook first told her, but so far, it hasn’t caused too many problems over the years. It helps at times like this, when Jiyoon is traveling for work, to have a friend so close by. Usually, Jungkook would knock next door when he can’t get his head cleared, but for some reason, Jungkook doesn’t want to tell Taehyung about what happened at your place. He doesn’t want to tell anyone, for that matter, holding onto it as a private thing for as long as possible.

Losing himself in sets of squats and curls is far safer than describing in maddening detail the way your soft, lush—Jungkook slams his hand against the squat rack and forces his thoughts away from that line of thinking.

Just because you’re a gorgeous woman with a nice body doesn’t give him the right to think about you like that. Especially considering he’s married to your best friend, whom he loves more than anything. Besides, he’s better than that, knows the whole alpha male hindbrain is the stuff of fantasy. There is no excuse for him having such sordid and outlandish thoughts about you like that. It was simply doing what needed to be done to help—for the baby.

With that in his mind instead, he moves through the motions of his workout. By the time he’s dripping sweat and his muscles are trembling with fatigue, the sun is starting to peek through the windows, and he hasn’t thought about you in hours—well, not much, at least. And when he does, he says it's just because he's thinking of what might be passed down to your baby—er—his and Jiyoon's baby—he reminds himself.

It’s been an excruciating three weeks waiting and waiting to hear from you about something other than work. After Jiyoon returned home from her business trip, Jungkook told her about that night, including the accidental slip-up. At first, she was upset, accusing him of taking advantage of her best friend. It took hours of strained conversation to get her to understand that it was more of a clinical procedure than Jungkook fingering you.

When that accusation was first thrown out, Jungkook was at a loss for words and completely thrown off the tracks. Jiyoon apologized, saying she didn’t understand how he didn’t think she’d be upset about it but that she’d forgive him for it anyway. She then gathered Jungkook into her arms, and they cuddled in bed for the first time in what felt like forever.

Jungkook wasn’t sure if Jiyoon would confront you at work over it, but as the days continued on without a peep from you, he figured things were okay between the two of you. There were times when Jungkook wished something had gone down with you and Jiyoon because then, at least, he’d have an excuse to talk to you in a way that didn’t make him look like he only cared about you now that you were possibly pregnant or with something work-related.

He knows these things take time, and there is only so much he can do. So, he’s been pouring himself into work and filling his schedule with as many activities as possible to keep his mind off of waiting.

“Jungkook, let’s go.” Taehyung raps his knuckles on Jungkook’s shoulder, grabbing his attention. “Head out of the clouds, daddy-o, we’re needed in hair and makeup.”

Sighing, Jungkook hauls himself off the couch in the studio waiting room and follows Taehyung into the space where the makeup and hair artists are set up. He arrived at the studio early this morning and had spent the last hour spilling his guts to Taehyung, something he promised himself he wouldn’t do but couldn’t keep it contained any longer.

“Don’t call me that,” Jungkook grumbles.

Taehyung smirks. “What? Is that not what you’re hoping to be called? Don’t tell me you and Jiyoon are into daddy roleplay. That might make it a little weird to have your kid also call you daddy—ow!”

Rubbing the back of his head where Jungkook smacked him, Taehyung harrumphs before sidestepping the line of chairs and taking a seat in the one farthest from Jungkook.

“Fuck off, Taehyung. After everything I just told you, that’s all you have to say?”

Taehyung throws up his hands, and the hairdresser at his station begins to comb through his black tresses. “The way it seems to me, you’re the only one making a big deal about this. If you want to check on her, I’m sure she won’t think it’s only because she’s your possible surrogate and not because you’re friends after this. And sure, you stuck your fingers into your wife’s best friend’s vagina, but so what? It was what you needed to do. If I really needed you to touch my dick in order to complete an important procedure, I hope you’d do it with a smile on your face.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to protest but closes it when he realizes he can’t really argue against that. Taehyung is right. He did what he had to do. Hell, he knows that, he used those words himself when explaining it to Jiyoon. There’s just this feeling he can’t shake, he’s far too nervous and on edge right now. If only you’d reach out, put him out of his misery with an update.

“I hate it when you’re right. I’ll stop being such a—”

“Hi, guys.”

“Excuse me, ma’am, only staff and models are allowed back here.”

“Whoa, hey, wait. She’s our manager, and she can be here.” Jungkook is quick to spout, not caring if there is desperation evident in his voice. Once his eyes landed on you, it was all he could do not to jump up from the makeup chair, cross the room, and drop to his knees and beg for an update.

The directing assistant who stepped in your path gives you a once-over that makes Jungkook grind his teeth, but he just sighs and steps to the side. “Okay, but you’re both needed on set in fifteen,” he says, directing the last part toward Jungkook and Taehyung.

“It’s okay, I won’t be long. I just…” You hold up a thin manilla envelope and give it a shake. “Jiyoon is out of the office for the day, she said I should let you see first and that you could tell her later tonight at home. So, here I am. I thought we could look together.”

The makeup artist dabbing a sponge on Jungkook’s jaw lifts an eyebrow when he jerks forward in the chair, intent on scrambling across the room despite being in the middle of blending.

“Two minutes,” she says, stepping back from Jungkook and turning to the makeup collection on her table.

“Okay!” Jungkook springs from the chair and rushes over to you, having no regard for the way his hair flops out of place on his forehead. “Hi,” he says when he’s standing in front of you. “I didn’t realize you had an appointment today.”

“I didn’t,” you tell him. “I just wasn’t feeling all that well this morning, so…well, I just wanted to ensure everything was okay. They had to do a pregnancy test, it was routine.” You offer the folder to him. “Want to do the honors?”

Jungkook’s fingers are trembling as he takes the folder from you. It takes him three tries to get the flap open and to extract the slip of paper inside. You give him an encouraging smile as he looks to you for reassurance before letting his eyes sweep over the report.

“It’s…we’re…you’re…holy fuck. You’re pregnant. You’re pregnant! YOU’RE PREGNANT!” Jungkook shouts before breaking out into a bout of ecstatic laughter. “Fucking hell, oh my god, you’re pregnant! I’m going to be a father. Me. A father. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yes!”

You join in his laughter, the sound pleasant and musical, as he throws his arms around you and spins you in a circle. There are shining tears in your eyes when he sets you down again, happiness clear on your face. “I’m pregnant,” you whisper, the words reverent and full of awe.

There have never been more beautiful words. Jungkook can’t help but say them again. “We’re pregnant.”

It’s hard to say if what Jungkook is feeling right now is considered a healthy response to what his wife, Jiyoon, just told him. But, the erratic beat of his heart paired with the incessant ringing in his ears doesn’t necessarily feel bad, just like he’s having some sort of out-of-body experience.

“Say that again,” he requests, softly smacking his lips, trying to work moisture back into his mouth.

Jiyoon sighs, shuffling the papers on her lap. “I’m pregnant,” she repeats the same words you said just two weeks ago.

“You’re certain?” Jungkook wants to believe he heard her correctly but can’t help asking for clarity again.

“I am.” Jiyoon smiles at Jungkook, her eyes watery. “It’s right here, look.”

Jungkook hesitantly takes the top sheet of paper from Jiyoon, letting his eyes devour the words and numbers on it. It’s all there, everything he needs to see and know for the truth—hCG levels far, far above average, an inked red circle around it along with a doctor’s barely legible scrawl of ‘pregnant’ beside that.

“How far along? It’s been—” Jungkook pauses to try to do the math in his head; it’s been weeks since they were last intimate—the night they agreed to do ICI. 

“About eight weeks,” Jiyoon offers. “I suspected a few weeks ago, you know, when I was a little sick that weekend—the one when we found out about, well, I didn’t want to get my hopes up or disappoint you if it wasn’t true, especially after such good news…so I scheduled an appointment. I had to be sure, had to be certain.”

“You’re pregnant.” The words feel thick on Jungkook’s tongue, like he’s trying to talk through a mouthful of peanut butter; sweet, decadent peanut butter.

“I am,” she whispers, the confirmation turning into a squeal of laughter as Jungkook sweeps her into his arms and shouts his own happiness.

Peppering kisses all over Jiyoon’s face, Jungkook hops around, alternating between shouting how much he loves her and how he can’t believe his luck. “I’m going to be a father. Twice! What did I do to deserve this?! I love you so much. Fuck!”

“Calm down,” Jiyoon giggles. “Put me down before you make me hurl.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Jungkook pants, setting Jiyoon back down on her feet. “I’m just so excited!” He wiggles his hips and shimmies his shoulders. “We’ll need to order a second crib. Should we have the babies share a room at first? That seems the easier option, right? I bet there is a book on that somewhere, I need to go—”

“Hey, calm, right?” Jiyoon’s smile is warm, soft. “We have time. There is no need to rush. Can we just enjoy this for a little while longer?” she asks, grabbing one of his hands and placing it over her belly.

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes.” Pressing his forehead to hers, Jungkook wraps his other arms around Jiyoon and sighs contentedly. “I love you so much, babe.”

“I love you, too, Jungkook.”

💔💔💔

Jiyoon seems nervous, pushing around the chopped salad on her plate as she chews her bottom lip. She hasn’t met your eyes the entire time you’ve been at lunch. You want to ask her what’s wrong, but you’ve been friends with her long enough to know that she’ll come to you with it when she wants, and pushing won’t do you any good.

“So,” she draws the word out, lips forming an exaggerated pucker.

“Yes?”

“How are you feeling?” You can tell that’s not what she wants to say or ask, but you indulge her anyway, hoping you’ll get to the actual matter of why she insisted on going to lunch with you today.

You shift in your seat, setting your fork down on your half-empty plate. “I feel good. I just have some nausea in the mornings sometimes, but it’s not too bad.”

Finally, Jiyoon’s eyes come up to meet yours. “I know what you mean,” she says, the words slow and enunciated—pointed. Her free hand flutters over her belly as if for emphasis.

“What?” The word is more breath than question. “You are?”

“I am,” Jiyoon confirms, tears shining in her eyes.

“Oh, my goodness! Jiyoon! What? But how? Oh my goodness! That’s wonderful!” You can’t contain your excitement for your friend, throwing yourself across the tabletop to hug her fiercely.

She’s laughing as you sit back down, clearly buzzing with her own excitement. “We just found out. It seems a miracle was in our cards after all. It’s still early, nine weeks or so now.” That would make it just two weeks, give or take, before you and Jungkook did the ICI.

“Wow,” you breathe, your own hand landing on your stomach. “They might as well be twins. It’ll be so cool—what?” Jiyoon’s frown stilts your excitement. “What is it?”

She casts her eyes away from yours again, pulling her full bottom lip between her teeth before letting it pop back out. “I don’t know. I just thought…it’s not too late if you wanted to—I just know it’s a lot on someone, your body, the pain and everything that comes after. And now that I’m pregnant, it’s just, we don’t expect you to continue…if you don’t want. We’d be completely understanding and fully supportive if you—”

“Termination? Is that…what you’re talking about? And Jungkook agrees?”

Her nose wrinkles. “I don’t like that word. I’m just saying that we will support your decision to do that if you’d like. It was never in the plans to have more than one child, and now it would be two newborns at the same time…that’s a lot, you know? Twice as many diapers, bottles, and sleepless nights. It would be hard to say goodbye, but we’d still love you and not think less of you for it.”

Your mouth feels too dry for you to form words. You know what she’s saying. Though there isn’t a single ounce of you that desires that, you also understand the hesitation Jiyoon is expressing. She’s right. There wasn’t a plan for two babies. So, what now? Do you volunteer to help? Do you seek out the advice of a lawyer to know where your parental rights might sit in the case they decide they don’t want the baby in the end? So many thoughts swirl through your mind that it makes you dizzy.

“Can I think about it?” you ask, feeling for the first time a wave of uncertainty.

Jiyoon gives you what you assume is supposed to be an assuring smile. “Of course. And if you decide not to, I’m sure we can come up with some sort of system. We’ll figure it out.”

She seems so sure that no matter your decision, it’ll all be okay. “Really?”

“Absolutely. I want—we want, these babies, even if we didn’t plan for two. I was just letting you know that there is that option if you want it.”

“I-I don’t think I do, but if that changes…I’ll let you know.”

“That’s all I ask! Now, tell me, what do you think it’ll be?” she asks, patting her flat stomach again. “A boy or a girl? I’m leaning more towards a boy…”

💔💔💔

Jungkook

Jungkook still can’t believe his life. Two babies—two extraordinary miracles, it’s surreal—perfect. His calendar has never been more full. There’s the regular schedule of photo shoots, meetings, and other client work but now those are penned in between the baby classes he’s signed up for and various doctor’s appointments.

One of which is scheduled this afternoon, just a few hours after another this morning. There is your ten-week and then Jiyoon’s three-month appointment. Things have been going great with the pregnancies being so close together, but it does sometimes make appointments and times overlap. Which is how Jungkook finds himself sprinting across the parking lot of Jiyoon’s doctor’s office. He’s late—really late. He didn’t mean to arrive so late. It’s just that your appointment ran a little longer than expected, and traffic wasn’t exactly on his side, either.

Just as Jungkook puts his hand on the handle to open the door to the doctor’s office, it swings outward, nearly smacking him in the face. Jiyoon glares at him, a peeved sigh escaping her.

“You missed it.”

“What? No. I still have—” he glances down at his watch. “The appointment should have lasted at least forty-five minutes, and it’s only been thirty.”

Jiyoon rolls her eyes. “They were able to get me in a few minutes early.” She pushes past him and starts towards her car. “Everything is fine, by the way. The baby is measuring small but is still healthy. Thanks for asking,” she snarks, holding up a length of printed film.

Jungkook grabs the strip from her hand, jogging to keep up with her angry strides. “Wow,” he whispers, looking down at the 2D images. “She’s beautiful, so tiny.”

“She? It could be a boy.”

“Is that what you hope it is?” Jungkook asks, skipping ahead of Jiyoon before turning and walking backwards in front of her. His eyes barely leave the black-and-white grainy images. He traces over the faintly-there contours of the face, the delicate nose and forehead.

Clicking the unlock button on her keyfob, Jiyoon sighs again. “I just want it to be healthy. I don’t care what gender it is.”

“You don’t care?” Jungkook purses his lips, finally looking up at his wife. She’s wearing a designer pantsuit, the deep navy complementing her porcelain complexion and making the red lip she has on pop beautifully. Pregnancy looks good on her. He opens his mouth to tell her so when she cuts him off.

“Don’t say it like that. Of course, I care. Good god, Jungkook, why do you have to make me feel like shit all the time? First you missed my appointment, because why? Because you were busy playing daddy to someone else. And now, here you are, accusing me of being a terrible mother before it’s even born. Fuck you. Fuck you, Jungkook.”

Jungkook is so confused. “What? I didn’t—playing daddy? What are you talking about? I already said I was sorry for missing the appointment, you know the times were really close. It was her ten-week appointment. They were measuring her nuchal translucency, you remember how important that is!”

“Whatever,” Jiyoon deadpans, pushing around Jungkook and climbing into her car. “I have a meeting tonight, don’t wait up for me.”

Before Jungkook can respond, the door slams shut, Jiyoon turns over the engine, and takes off. Maybe not everything is perfect, he laments to himself, mulling over his earlier thoughts. With a determined expression on his face, Jungkook makes his way to his own car and promises to do his best to make this right, vowing not to let something like this happen again.

Of course, it’s only some weeks later that Jungkook has to break this vow. It’s not his fault, it’s no ones. It seems that life just wants to test him, perhaps make sure he’s honing his time management skills for when the babies come.

Everything has been going great since his hiccup with missing Jiyoon’s twelve-week appointment. He’s been able to shuffle around his schedule and work with the both of you to ensure appointments don’t overlap or are too close together.

Jiyoon has become reliant on him, which is something Jungkook revels in. It’s like their marriage is finally back to the way it once was, full of nights cuddled in bed and romantic dinners—sans the wine. While you’ve been fiercely independent, yet charmingly sweet when it comes to Jungkook and Jiyoon and sharing the pregnancy experience with them.

There have been a few discussions about the fact that now there are going to be two babies instead of one. Jungkook has spent nearly all of his free time turning the guest bedroom into a nursery fit for two. His home gym has become a catch-all, most of the equipment being confined into a corner to make room for the furniture that came out of the guest room-now-nursery.

It’s been a lot, but it’s something Jungkook would never trade for anything in all the world. He’s positively jubilant over the prospect of being a father. It’s something he’s dreamed about for as long as he can remember. Now, it’s just a few months away, a permanent light in his life.

“J-jungkook?” your trembling voice sounds through his phone when he swipes to answer the call, tossing the paint roller into the bucket. Butter yellow coats the walls of the nursery and dots the hem of his old t-shirt.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“I think so. I don’t know. I slipped on the stairs, I’m at the ER right now—”

“I’m on my way!”

“Jungkook, no. It’s okay. I know you have things going on today. I just thought I should tell you. Jiyoon was in a meeting, so Namjoon said he’d pass her a memo when she was done.”

He’s supposed to attend a First-Time Fathers class in an hour, and Jiyoon has her twenty-two-week anatomy scan this afternoon. The class can wait. If he’s lucky, he can go to the ER, check on you, and then make it to Jiyoon’s appointment.

“No, no, you’re not sitting in the ER by yourself. I’ll text Jiyoon and let her know that I’m leaving now to come check on you.”

“O-okay.”

The line disconnects, and Jungkook slaps the lid on the paint bucket and throws a plastic sheet over the paint tray. If it dries out, then it dries out. Paint can be replaced; your health is far more crucial right now.

Walking into the entryway, he thumbs open his messages and types out a quick text to Jiyoon before tossing his phone on the small bench by the door so he can pull on his shoes.

It’s a twenty-minute drive to the hospital, and it takes another ten minutes of searching to find you sitting in a waiting room with a large ice pack resting on your right foot.

“Hey, are you okay? Have you been seen yet? How long have you been here? What happened?”

You hold up a hand to ward off more of his word vomit, an embarrassed smile soft on your face. “Slow down, have a seat. I’m okay. They said I should be called back soon.”

Instead of sitting, Jungkook kneels on the floor in front of you. His fingers the ice pack, his face falling even further. “What happened?”

“I slipped in the stairwell at work, missed the last step and came down hard on the side of my foot.”

“Can I?” he asks, fingers moving to the corner of the ice pack.

You nod. “Yeah.”

Lifting it gently, Jungkook takes in the sight of your foot. The black ballet flats you’re wearing give him a clear view of the swelling that’s already beginning along the top and side of your foot.

“Do you want me to find a wheelchair?”

Before you can answer Jungkook a nurse comes through one of the doors, pushing a wheelchair. She wheels it over to you and says, “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

Jungkook slips his arm under yours as you stand before slowly helping you lower into the wheelchair. “Would you like to push her back?” the nurse asks Jungkook.

“I can come?” he wonders, hopeful.

“Of course. Unless you’d rather wait out here, and I can call for you when your wife is done.”

“Oh, she’s not—”

“I’d like for you to come if that’s okay? I don’t really want to be alone,” you interject before Jungkook can correct the nurse. She gives Jungkook a polite nod and gestures towards the door she came through.

“Please come right this way. We’ll need to get a quick weight and a urine sample before I can get you into your room, where the doctor will see you shortly.”

Jungkook aids you the best he can, helping you to and from the wheelchair as he can. He almost asks if you want him to come into the restroom with you, but you give him a quick shake of your head before closing the door on him.

What feels like an eternity later, you’re finally settled on a bed with Jungkook sitting in the chair beside it.

“Thank you for being here,” you say quietly, drawing Jungkook’s attention. “I know I said I wanted you to come back with me, and it’s not that I want you to leave, but please don’t feel obligated to stay. I know you have a lot of other things going on.”

Shifting his chair closer, Jungkook reaches for one of your hands. “Nonsense. I’m glad you called. I feel bad that I haven’t been to as many doctor’s appointments with you. I feel like it’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve even seen you. I wish our schedules worked out a little better. Perhaps, as my manager, there’s something you can do about that?” he asks, giving you a jesting wink.

“I was trying to give you more time to go to Jiyoon’s appointments!” you laugh, covering your mouth with your hand.

“I know, but in case you forgot, you’re also carrying my child. Don’t get me wrong, though, the texts are great, and I really appreciate the weekly baby bump pictures, but it’d be nice to actually see you. Though, maybe next time, let’s make it not where you’re laid up in a hospital bed, not yet, at least,” he adds on with a low laugh.

This is the first time Jungkook has seen your bump in person. The soft swell under your shirt calls to him, and he wonders if it would be okay to touch it. As if you’re reading his mind, you take the hand that’s wrapped around yours and press it gently over your stomach.

“Kinda weird, huh?”

“No. No, not weird at all,” Jungkook says, being completely raw and honest with you. Jiyoon is touchy about her belly, pun wholly not intended, seeing as she doesn’t let him touch her bump nearly as much as he’d like to. She’s only recently started to show, and it’s hitting her hard, with which Jungkook tries to empathize. He can’t imagine being pregnant and how much a body changes; he’d probably feel things like that, too.

He spends a moment absorbing the feel, trying to imagine the little life growing just a few inches below his hand. Life he helped create. He’s so in awe he could cry…if it wasn’t for the door opening and breaking the momentary spell over him.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Lee. I’ll be your attending today. I hear you slipped down the stairs today and are worried your foot might be broken?” The cheery, middle-aged woman chatters away, washing her hands and drying them off before offering one to you and then to Jungkook.

“Yeah. I missed the last step and landed on the side of my foot pretty hard.” You shake your head with a rueful smile. “I should have just waited for the elevator.”

“Oh, ouch. Let’s take a look,” Dr. Lee coos. “May I?” She gestures to the blanket covering your feet. Jungkook helped you remove your shoes once you were in bed and tossed the blanket over your feet so they wouldn’t get cold.

“Of course.”

Dr. Lee pulls back the blanket and gently probes at your foot, turning it slowly side to side to get a better look. “Does this hurt?” she asks as she rotates your ankle.

“A little, not as much as putting pressure on it, though.”

The doctor nods. “I think it might be best if we do an x-ray just to be sure it’s not broken.”

“Won’t that be harmful to the baby?” Jungkook asks.

“Don’t worry, we’ll make sure to protect your little one.” Jungkook nods his understanding. “Is it your first? You look a little green around the gills, first-time-father jitters.”

Jungkook isn’t entirely sure how to answer that. Because, technically…no? Considering Jiyoon is approximately two weeks further along than you are. Would that make her baby his first? A laugh, barely restrained, simmers deep in Jungkook’s chest.

“Something like that,” he finally says, earning another warm smile from the doctor.

“Alright, let’s get started so I can get you two out of here as soon as possible.”

The word ‘soon’ should be a relative term when it comes to hospitals—or a word that hospital staff is barred from using. Jungkook doesn’t mind spending the hours waiting with you. In fact, you’re pretty pleasant company. That’s not to say Jiyoon isn’t when Jungkook attends appointments with her; there’s just a different level of expectation, he thinks. He hopes this baby will have your patience and grace like that.

Jiyoon wants a quiet observer sitting in the corner, whereas you’re welcoming to his insights and curiosities. You haven’t hushed him a single time when he’s voiced a question of any of the medical staff. In fact, it almost seems like you welcome it, comfortable in letting him show his concern for you.

Thankfully, the x-ray showed no break or fracture. You’ve been given a temporary boot to wear for the next week and strict instructions not to overdo it. “Got it,” you say once the nurse has finished explaining everything to you.

“Now, before we discharge you, we would like to have a sonographer brought in to check on the baby. According to your charts and file, you’re at the twenty-week mark now.”

Jungkook stands up, panic worming its way in. “Should we be worried? Is everything okay?”

The nurse gives him a motherly smile. “That’s what we would like to check.” She turns her attention to you. “You didn’t fall on your belly, but with any trauma to the body, it never hurts just to be sure.”

Of course. That makes sense to Jungkook, but he looks to you for confirmation. “Yeah? You want to do that?”

“That would be great, thanks.”

Jungkook has only attended two live ultrasounds in all the doctor’s appointments he has been to. He has many printed ultrasound images that are now stuck to the refrigerator at home, one side for Jiyoon and the other for you. But he’s only managed to attend one for Jiyoon and one for you, so this will be a wonderful treat.

“Okay, they’ll be here in just a moment.”

A few moments pass after the nurse leaves the room, and Jungkook allows himself to truly assess his internal feelings. He’s thankful that you’re okay and will feel even more at ease once the ultrasound confirms the baby is alright, too. It’s wild for Jungkook to think that just a few months ago, his life felt like it was on the verge of falling apart. There was a steadily growing rift between him and Jiyoon, and you were just Jiyoon’s best friend.

Now, however, he feels closer than ever to his wife, and you’ve managed to carve out your own little pocket in his heart, too. It’s alarming, yet comforting, to realize that there is something more between you and him—a deepening connection that’s still delicate but growing more solid with each passing day.

“You feeling okay?” Your voice breaks through Jungkook’s reverie.

“Hm? Me? I’m great,” he assures, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. You’ve barely let his hand go the entire time, to which Jungkook won’t complain. “Does it hurt much?” Jungkook nods toward the end of the bed, where your feet are back under the blanket.

You shrug. “It’s not so bad while laying here.”

“Hi!” a bubbly voice calls from the door a second before a young blond woman wheels an imaging cart into the room. “Are we ready to get a look at your little one before you guys go home?”

“Yep.” You give Jungkook’s hand a light squeeze. “Excited?” you ask in a soft voice meant only for him.

“Very,” he tells you, sitting up straighter in his chair.

“Now, this won’t be nearly as good as if we were in radiology in an exam room, but all we really want is to get a look to make sure everything is okay. Besides, who doesn’t want to take a peek when you get the chance, right?”

The tech, with Jungkook’s assistance, helps you adjust on the bed until you’re in a comfortable position for the ultrasound. Jungkook feels frozen as you tug your blouse up and over your belly, giving him his first real glimpse of the swell in all its glory. It’s one thing to see it through your shirt, another thing entirely to see it like this.

“Cold,” you chuckle as the tech squeezes a glob of contact gel onto your lower belly.

“Sorry about that, these carts unfortunately don’t have the warmers on them. Ah, here we are,” she sing-songs when she smoothes the wand over the gel. “Look at that.”

Jungkook tears his eyes from your face, focusing his gaze on the imaging machine's display screen. His breath stutters in his lungs, and a wave of pure, unrestrained joy washes over him.

“They’re perfect,” he says, voice thick with emotion. Jungkook watches as an arm moves across the screen, followed by a little kicking foot.

“Seeing them never ceases to take my breath away.” You take the words right out of Jungkook’s mouth.

The tech hums, giving you a soft smile as she moves the wand around to different angles. “No gender yet?” she asks. “I’ll try to be careful here, don’t want to have any spoilers…unless you would like to know?”

It’s hard not to be curious. “Is it not too early to tell?” Jungkook asks.

Turning the screen slightly away from you and Jungkook, the tech says, “Um, nope. Not too early. Everything looks good, though. So, if you’d rather wait, we can get cleaned up and be done here.”

“What do you say?” Jungkook looks at you with a raised brow.

Your teeth leave a dent in your bottom lip as you worry it for a moment. Another thing he thinks would be cute to see his mini-me do. “I kind of want to, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he admits, loving the fact that you do.

“Okay, wonderful. In that case,” the tech says before moving the screen back and adjusting the wand on your belly. “Take a look here.”

When Jungkook arrives home, the sun has long since gone down, but he’s so high on cloud nine that he can’t bring himself to care. The large smile on his face hasn’t slipped in the slightest.

Jungkook is certain nothing can bring him down. At least, that is, until he walks through the front door of his condo and straight into hell. Jiyoon is sitting at their dining table, her expression completely devoid of emotion.

“Hey, babe. What’s going on?” Jungkook hesitantly asks, eyes sweeping the open layout and taking note that the only light on is the recessed one directly over Jiyoon. His smile slowly fades, replaced with a crease between his brows.

“What’s going on?” she asks in a cold voice.

“Is everything okay?”

Jiyoon sniffs, her eyes narrowing, the first sign of emotion he’s seen since he walked in. “No. Everything is not okay.”

“O…kay,” Jungkook draws the word out, letting his mind flip through its internal catalog, trying to find pieces of the puzzle to put together.

“Where have you been?”

“There was an accident. Did you get the note from—”

“You’ve not answered any of my calls or texts.”

“I sent you a text before I left. I think I misplaced my phone, I can’t seem to find—”

“You missed my appointment!” she sneers, cutting him off once more. “And you did not text me. I haven’t heard from you since this morning.”

Realization hits, and the warmth drains from Jungkook’s face. He was so focused on everything with you, the panic and then the joy, that he completely spaced on everything else he should have done today. But also…

“I swear I texted you to let you know I was going to the hospital. I was going to make sure everything was okay.” As soon as your name falls from his lips Jiyoon shoves back from the table and rounds it, getting in his face. “She slipped at work and thought she might have broken her foot. Namjoon was supposed to give you a note about it since you were in a meeting. She called me. I was worried. I didn’t mean to miss your appointment. Were they able to determine the gender?”

Jiyoon jabs a finger in the center of his chest. “Not. Good. Enough. I’m your wife, not her! You’re supposed to be with me! Instead, you spend all your fucking time with your nose up her ass when you barely even know her!” Jungkook staggers back as her poke turns into a fully-palmed shove. “You’re un-fucking-believable! What a goddamn joke.”

“Jiyoon, that’s not fair. Something could have been wrong with the baby. It was an emergency,” Jungkook says, trying to make Jiyoon see reason.

It doesn’t work.

“Fuck you! Why do you care so fucking much about that stupid baby?! All you do is fawn over the photos and re-read her text updates! This,” she gestures wildly at her stomach, “is the baby you should care about! Yet you can’t even show up when it counts.”

“You can’t be serious. This is ridiculous.” Jungkook keeps his tone level, refusing to be baited into a knock-down-drag-out with her.

“No!” Jiyoon screams, making Jungkook flinch. “You are ridiculous.” Suddenly a menacing smile cuts across her face. “I bet you slept with her. Didn’t you? That’s it, you’re feeling possessive because you fucked my best friend, and that’s how she got knocked up, isn’t it?”

Jiyoon’s words spark a ringing in Jungkook’s ears. “What?” he whispers, the word barely forming.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Jungkook. I know you too well for that. Let’s not forget your little slip-up—” she throws up air quotes as she says that “—the night you supposedly did ICI.”

“I told you it was an accident. I didn’t mean to do it!”

Sarcasm is a heavy, bitter layer in Jiyoon’s reply, “You just so happened to touch her clit? Just a little oopsie, so innocent. You’re too nice to outright lie to me, so, of course, you come up with some half-truth, expecting me to believe that you didn’t want it, that you weren’t secretly gnawing at the opportunity to try and seduce my best friend!”

“That is not what happened at all!”

“So I’m supposed to believe my pathetically inexperienced best friend is the one that seduced you, then?”

“What? That’s not what I said at all. No one seduced anyone. You’re being fucking crazy right now. You know I’d never do that to y—”

The crack of Jiyoon’s palm against his jaw stuns him into silence. “Don’t you dare call me crazy!” she screams. “You’d never do that to me? Yeah, right. You’re a man, and that’s what men do! Heaven forbid a woman works hard and spends time away from the home, trying to provide for her family. Is that it? I’m gone too much for your sad little dick, so you have to chase after the first desperate pussy that comes your way?”

Jungkook presses his fingers over the searing heat licking up his jaw where her hand struck him. “Jiyoon, no, it’s not like that at all,” he says, losing his momentum because he’s not sure what he can say at this point to make her see reason. “I wouldn’t cheat on you.”

“Fucking my best friend because she’s convenient and out of spite for me being gone so much? No, that sounds exactly like something you would do. Well, looks like it’s your lucky day because two can play that game, asshole. Enjoy your fucking prize!”

Jungkook jerks back, as if Jiyoon just slapped him again. “What does that mean?”

She laughs, the sound deep and throaty. “This baby—” she seethes, rubbing over the small swell of her belly, voice rising with every word “—it’s not yours, you pathetic bastard!”

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to story masterlist  

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2024-04-25 ColorMePurplex2

[idkwhatever580]

Embarrassed

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x enhanced!reader (Reader has powers like Wanda's but pink because I'm the author and I can do what I want, and my fav color is pink)

Prompt: Reader's best friend Wanda informs reader about this new thing she learned with Agatha that amped up their sex life. Reader decides to try it out with Nat, and the outcome is better than expected.

Warnings: SMUT, enchanted strap, bondage, slapping, daddy kink (daddy is not a reflection of your gender just a term I used i swear!) cumming without permission?/warning?, swearing, tmi? (Is there such thing as tmi between best friends?), teasing. Top!Reader (semi soft)

A/N: I already had this in my drafts partially finished but then I got a rq and I thought I could incorporate it into this so yeah :) thanks for the request @keirannoa420 <3 (I made reader afab but I think I made them gn for everything else I hope that isn't a problem!)

Today is a simple day for the Avengers. Almost nobody is on a mission today, so everyone is doing their own thing to decompress and rest. Especially since last week was horrible. It was just mission after mission for you and the others.

From what you know, Tony and Bruce are in their lab, Steve and Buck went on a date after visiting Peggy's grave to give her the monthly flowers, Clint went back with his family, Thor and Loki are back at Asgard until needed, Nat is reading in her library, Agatha is in a therapy session (she is still healing from her witchy trauma, good on her!), Vision is probably floating around somewhere, Peter is with Aunt May, the rest of the younger ones are out and about, while you and Wanda are catching up on a much-needed yapping session.

"Omg did you hear what happened on Sam and Tony's mission yesterday?"

You sit up being intrigued, "No, what happened?"

She giggles at the thought of what happened, and says, "He- he"

She can't even tell you what happened without bursting into laughter. "He what! Oh my gosh stop laughing and tell me what happened!"

Your need to hear what happened overpowering your patience, but Wanda eventually can control her laughs into a soft snicker every now and then, "He had to run into the building instead of his usual flying, and he ended up slipping and falling on his back and rolling around because it was raining! Sam got the whole thing recorded thanks to redwing!"

You burst into laughter at the thought of Tony slipping, this surely hurt his ego more than anything. You gasp and say, "Wait... can I see the video? Do you have it?"

She laughs and grabs her phone, "Of course I have the video! I would say I'm surprised you don't have it, but I forgot your phone broke."

You roll your eyes at the reminder of not having a phone to do your daily social media things, but Nat says you need a break from your phone. Joke's on her, you're just bothering her more. (She secretly likes it)

You're drawn away from your thoughts when Wanda holds her phone to your face, the video of Tony slipping funnier than you pictured.

(volume is not necessary for this one)

You both started laughing so hard that tears fell from your eyes, but you both eventually calmed down and were able to change the subject. "So, how's Aggie? I feel like I haven't seen her in months even though I've only been on a mission for a week."

She smiles softly and says, "She's good. Her twice-a-week therapy sessions are really impacting her in a good way. I think she might be having a bit of a hard time adjusting to the Avengers though. She still gets overwhelmed sometimes. Which is what I was scared about. I didn't want to bring her into this space after nine whole months of secretly dating just for her to regress on her progress, but I think she is getting there. Her communication skills are definitely getting better which is helping me accommodate to her needs you know?"

You smile and nod knowingly, "Yeah, I remember coming here for the first time from being a S.H.E.I.L.D. agent, it was terrifying, but my relationship with Nat only grew from where we were. Something is bound to blossom from her too. Anything else interesting with you two?"

Wanda sends me a small smirk and says, "I've been trying out new spells and tricks to cast and I happened to fall upon an interesting spell."

You raise an eyebrow with a tentative voice, "Interesting how?"

She giggles and says, "Okay, so obviously we talk about our sex lives a lot together, but this spell just made bedroom time way better. It's a spell to make an inanimate object basically a part of you. You can feel it and everything that happens to it. So, I tested this spell out on a certain strap-on that we use and let me just say I've never felt so good before. I think you should really try it on Nat, the first time I did it to Aggie, she literally cried because she felt so good."

You raise your eyebrows suggestively and say, "That is quite the interesting find Wands. I'm impressed. You'll have to show me the spell. I think I might try it out on Natty tonight if I can do it right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a few tries of this new spell with Wanda, you're able to feel everything that happens to the tv remote in your leg. You smirk at Wanda and go to exit the room just as Agatha comes back. You send your goodbyes and almost sprint to Natasha's library, making sure to stop by your room to get a certain backpack.

The joys of having your own floor with Natasha means that the things on that floor are only used by the both of you, unless otherwise provoked. So, you know nobody is going to be walking into this space. This also means that you guys can literally fuck anywhere on that floor, but you are so excited to try this spell on her.

You slow down right before you enter and you saunter in, even though Nat has her noise cancelling headphones on, so you know she won't hear you. You come up behind her and softly rest your arms on her shoulders slowly creeping down to kiss her cheek.

She pulls off her headphones and says, "Hello detka. Do you need anything?"

You simply nod your head and give her a soft kiss on the lips to distract her before carefully snatching the current book she is invested in. She lets go of it but not without a pout, "Baby, I was reading that."

You carefully set the book down after putting a bookmark in. Then you walk around and pull her headphones off her ears which makes her even more confused. Until you sit in her lap and snuggle up to her neck. She softly smiles and starts rubbing patterns on your back. "Aww baby, did you want cuddles?"

You nod your head innocently and she says, "Well I can do that while also reading my book so can I have it back?"

You shake your head, and she realizes there's something else you want. She raises an eyebrow, and skeptically says, "What else is it? Did you do something?"

You pull away from her neck and shake your head, "No, I didn't do nothin', but I'm 'bout to."

She furrows her beautiful brows in confusion but notices the glint in your eyes. She knows this look; she has seen it a million times before. How could she miss it? So, she pouts and says, "Aww is my detka a bit horny?"

You nod your head and whisper, "I want to try something new today."

She smirks and nods, always willing to try everything once, well, almost everything. "Of course, detka, what is it you were wanting to try?"

You smile and say, "You're gonna have to wait and find out."

She rolls her eyes at your antics, but you kiss her on the lips and the words that were on the tip of her tongue fade away quickly.

You both start making out softly, a tenderness infiltrates your hearts that only you two can replicate with each other. The kiss quickly turns aggressive though. Her hands falling to your hips to steady them when they start to move on their own, while yours go to her hair to softly tug on the luscious, fiery locks.

Moans start to spill out of you when your core starts to rub on her thigh, and she starts to unbutton your pants trying to get directly to the source, but you push her away. Before she can question your antics, you reach behind her lounge chair to grab the backpack and wave it in front of her face. She smiles and you both stand up to undress yourselves, not bothering to do it for the other, instead choosing efficiency.

Once she has the strap securely tightened around her hips, you push her back down and sit just before the silicon cock, butt resting on her thighs. "I need you to hold still and be quiet for a moment, okay?"

She furrows her brows and says, "Wait, what are you doing?"

You smile at her and say, "I just need you to trust me so I can work my magic." You kiss her doubts away and whisper, "I think you're going to quite like this."

You cast the spell silently and when it is done, you look in her eyes and there is nothing, but confusion written all over her face. "What did you do?"

You smirk and spit on your hand before softly rubbing the tip of the dildo making her hips jerk. "Woah."

You smirk and say, "Woah indeed. Did that feel good?"

She nods her head and says, "Seriously Y/n, what did you do to me?"

You giggle and say, "I made you be able to feel everything like it is your own."

You shimmy your body down to be eye level with the pink sparkly attachment, and you look up into her eyes with yours being doe like from this angle and you slowly take her length into your mouth.

This new sensation causing Nat to moan helplessly and thread her fingers through your hair. You softly start to play with yourself and stretch yourself out, while making sure to not give her too much stimulation. Once you deem yourself ready to take her, you pull away and Nat glares at you. "Why'd you pull away?"

You smile and kiss her worries away, "So I can do this..."

You grab the attachment and slowly slide yourself onto her. Moaning at the size. She always seems to be so big even when you take her all the time. She moans extra loud when you take her to the hilt, and suddenly her hips jerk and her eyes roll to the back of her head.

You force her to look into your eyes and then you start to bounce up and down while grinding onto her.

Although you are feeling very good, your sole intention is to make Nat feel good today. "How does it feel baby?"

She opens her mouth to say something, but only a measly gasp is heard. After a while, she finally is able to conjure a sentence, "Fuck... it feels- so good."

You smirk and say, "Yeah? You like feeling this pussy clench around you?"

She whimpers and nods her head biting her lip to stifle her sounds. Usually you wouldn't let that slide, but since it is her first time feeling this, you'll give her some grace.

You start to bounce up and down on her cock more aggressively and her hands tighten around your hips. She is completely still excepting the few involuntary thrusts her hips make, which make you moan at the spot she hits when she does this.

Nat's head is thrown back and she finally lets go of her lip, allowing all the beautiful sounds to tumble out of her throat. Her pathetic noises are so hot to you and even hotter when she tries to speak, "Y/n I- it feels, I-"

All of a sudden, her words are cut off with an almost pornographic moan, which makes you so wet because you never hear her be this vocal. Her hips start thrusting into you uncontrollably and her hands are scratching into your hips, not that you care.

You furrow your eyebrows as hers raise in surprise and embarrassment. You slow down and say, "Did you... did you just cum?"

Natasha lets out an exhausted breath and looks at anything but you, until you move her by her chin to look into your eyes. When she sees your eyes, she tears up a bit, "I'm sorry I don't know what's wrong with me! I usually last way longer than that! I wasn't even prepared for it; it just sprang up on me."

She starts to ramble, so you shut her up with a kiss and when you pull away you chuckle softly, "Natty baby, I don't know why you came so fast, but I'll bet you it has something to do with the fact that this spell makes you feel things you've never felt before huh?"

She nods her head, and you smile, "Do you want to keep going or do you want to stop?"

She frowns and says, "I want you to cum."

You smile and shake your head, "That's not what I asked darling, I asked about you."

She thinks about it, and then a nasty thought pops into her brain, and she says, "I wanna keep going."

So, you nod your head, and keep moving and grinding on her, this time she makes it about five minutes before the same thing happens.

You become beyond confused as it looks like she just came again. Once she calms down, you tentatively ask, "Did you just... again?"

Her eyes widen and her face turns redder than her hair. She tears up a bit and tries to shove you off of her to inevitably run off and hide from her embarrassment, but you push on her hips, and she moans again. She still tries to get away, so you cut her thoughts off with soft tone saying, "Darling, don't worry, it's okay if you did, you know? It is a new sensation, and it is normal to have a crazy reaction to it."

She previously covered her red face with her hands to hide, so you carefully pull her hands down and smile at her small frame. "Tasha, why are you hiding from me?"

She finally cracks and says, "Because! That was so embarrassing! I've never finished that fast! So, I am embarrassed because I didn't even get to last long enough to have fun, and don't even mention the fact that you didn't get anything out of it!"

You pout at her with fake pity, "Oh darling," You brush her already sweaty hair out of her face and clench your pussy on her strap making her moan at the feeling, "You don't have to worry about that, trust me, we are going to have fun all night. You'll be begging me to stop."

She timidly nods her head, and you say, "Is that okay?"

She nods and says, "I really want to keep going."

You smile and nod your head, but before you can start riding her again, she pulls you off of her swiftly and flips you over on your hands and knees, slipping right back into your wet cunt.

She leans over to whisper in your ear, "I'm gonna fuck this pussy so hard."

You can only moan in response because she's already thrusting deep and hard into your insides. You consider giving in to her and letting her take over, but you already made your mind up ahead of time and she is not getting in your way. So, with a flick of your wrist, she is flipped over, and ropes appear and tie themselves around her wrists.

You crawl up to her as the pink glimmers fade from your eyes, and shake your head, "Thought you could get away with it huh?"

She doesn't answer and you slap her breast making her jerk and yelp out, "I asked you a question, didn't I?"

She meekly nods her head, and you say, "Then I expect you to answer it."

She nods her head again and you say, "Don't make me ask again."

"Yes! I thought I could get away with it! Please daddy!"

You bite your lip at the power trip you're getting from this, but you make sure to soften up and check on Nat knowing she only uses 'daddy' when she's extra sensitive, "I want you to use the color system just like always, okay? Can you tell me a color?"

She doesn't even hesitate before saying, "Yes! Green, please daddy!"

A sigh falls from your lips at hearing that and you nod your head. "Okay baby, you know I'm not gonna be nice to you right?"

She whimpers and nods her head closing her eyes to center herself. You smirk and flip her over, making the dildo hit the bed when you push her hips down on the bed.

She moans out and you lean forward, your lips brushing softly over the shell of her ear, and you whisper, "Do not cum."

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head knowing she's already sensitive from previous orgasms, and she whines out, "No! Please daddy!"

You chuckle at her desperation and say, "If you're good tonight, I'll find a spell to make it so that you can cum in me too."

She shudders at the thought of being able to "breed" you and both of you feel it, so regardless of how much she already wants to cum, she nods her head and takes a breath to prepare herself.

Right before you are about to start, she yelps out, "Wait!"

You freeze in worry that she doesn't want this anymore, so you pause and look to her and let her speak. Her words come out the first time a quiet jumbled mess so you say, "What was that babe?"

She looks over her shoulder and says a little louder this time, "Can I hold a pillow?"

You think about it for a moment, and ultimately decide that if you're not going to comfort her until after, she might as well have something else to find comfort in, so you nod your head and she grabs a pillow. Once she is situated you wait for her queue and when she nods her head you begin to massage her ass a bit before pulling back and landing a harsh slap on her butt.

Natasha's hips jerk away from your hand, and in turn makes her strap rut against the bed stimulating her. She lets out a mix between a moan and a groan because she feels good, but she also knows you put limitations on her.

You continue your assault on her now red and pink ass, and the lewd sounds that are emitting from Nat's throat are making you more wet than you'd like to admit.

You slap her ass again, and she starts to uncontrollably hump the mattress, and you won't allow her to cum without asking so you grab her hips and lift them from the bed before she can stimulate herself any further. She groans and pleads, "Please. ugh please I need it!"

You simply chuckle and shake your head, "Need it so bad you're willing to give up cumming for a week?"

Her eyes widen at that threat and she whimpers knowing she might not be able to hold back since the last two came out of nowhere, but you lay her back down and say, "two more, then you can cum again."

She nods her head, crossing her fingers that she makes it, and out of nowhere the second to last slap is let out on her skin. It is way harder than all the others, so in turn, it makes Nat almost forget about what you said. Almost.

You hum and rub her ass tenderly, not letting her know when the last one is coming, and the second she whimpers again you pull back and hit her ass so hard it has her shoving her hips back into you.

She catches her breath and rolls around. You tell her to hold still as you are about to disenchant the strap, but Nat says, "Wait, baby, what are you doing?"

You furrow your brows and say, "I thought you said you were done after this orgasm?"

She nods and says, "I held it, I wanna cum with you on my cock."

Her eyes are so sweet and soft you simply can't refuse, so you let her win this time, riding her cock until the both of you come, and then you end up just laying together in a moment of tenderness.

"I love you detka."

"I love you too Natty, I'm glad you liked the surprise."

"Oh, I loved it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Masterlist

Taglist

@ilovesnat @ihartnat @marvelnatasha12346 @moistblobfish @justarandomreaderxoxo @lovelyy-moonlight @symp4nat @ale-estrabao

Comment to be added to the taglist!!! I have a list of prompts coming out after this :)))

A/N: I hope y'all liked it!!! (Did you catch my Love and Death reference???) Also, I apologize for the rushed ending, I really needed to get this out.

[6okuto]

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENTS

gn!reader | timeskip kenma, hinata, sakusa, suna

KENMA’s chat has never moved faster than now as you sit together and watch edits that fans have made of him, and the two of you. you jokingly coo and hug him when you find an edit about “how he looks at you.” “ken! oh my god, you’re so—” “shut up, scroll away already.” “no, i’m sending this to myself, stop—give me the phone!” kenma turns away, forcing you to wrap yourself around him in a desperate attempt to grab the phone while it’s still on the video. the both of you are laughing when you yell, “chat, chat, somebody send that edit to me!” “chat, don’t listen to them. we aren’t even dating. this relationship was fake the whole time.” “shut the fuck up, kenma.” you say in mock annoyance—a grin still on your face—and hit his arm. he snickers as you stop to rest your head on his shoulder and frown. "please?" a beat passes before he huffs. “fine. i’ll send it to you after.” it was an inevitable outcome, but you still cheer and turn back to the stream to see everyone’s reaction, not catching the loving gaze he has on his face watching you again.

HINATA, despite his usual energy, finds his eyes drooping as he watches the live chat scroll past him. it was late, and he decided to talk to fans before going to bed—about upcoming games, a new restaurant he visited that he thinks might become a favourite, how he’s been looking for new shoes. it’s been maybe an hour when his responses are filled with more hums than sentences, and he decides to rest his head. by the time you find him, he’s been asleep for 10 minutes. “hi guys, i’m gonna end the live and get this guy to bed now,” you whisper with an amused smile. shoyo shuffles at the sound of your voice, and his comes out muffled against the pillow. “babe?” “sorry, sho, did i wake you?” “mm, ‘s okay. are you coming t’bed soon?” “yeah, just ending your live.” “...oh. goodnight everybody,” he murmurs and raises his fingers in what’s supposed to be a wave. his fans watch as he reaches for you, eyes still closed, and make sure to take screenshots of the sleepy, lovesick smile on his face after you kiss his forehead before the live ends.

SAKUSA’s always been teased about how little he posts on his social media outside of things related to his career. it’s not a shock that your relationship isn’t something he posts casually. after an interviewer jokes about how fans might think he’s single, or that you’ve broken up by this point, kiyoomi decides to make a photo dump encompassing the last few months with you. it has a photo of you tucked in bed and sleeping the first night at the new apartment, a video of you singing where he can be heard softly laughing in the background, a photo of you smiling at the birthday gifts and dinner you enjoyed together, a blurry selfie with the two of you kissing, and one where kiyoomi, known for his stoic face and attitude, is a little tipsy and smiling as you wrap your arms around his neck from behind. fans pour out words of support and excitement below his caption of “i love you. happy anniversary, and thank you for letting me be yours.”

SUNA and you are chatting with some fans when one asks if you’ve been watching anything lately. you both say the name of the drama you’re watching together without hesitation, the most recent episode still on your mind. “the way he like, turned her to face him and they were so close before finally kissing—” you cut yourself off with a grin, flustered at the thought as everyone excitedly agrees. “has suna ever done something like that?” someone asks. rintarou turns to you the same time you look at him, cocking his head to the side with a teasing smile. “yeah, have i ever done anything like that?” “no,” you lie, staring right at him. his fans team up, “ooooh”’s thrown his way. you’re not sure what anyone was expecting, but it wasn’t for him to take it as a challenge and step closer. the crowd is suddenly quiet as he leans in, eyes flickering from looking into yours down to your lips. “are you sure?” he murmurs. your breath hitches as he moves in even closer, lips barely an inch from yours. before you realize it, your eyes are fluttering closed as his hand comes to cup your face and lips meet yours. it’s barely a few days later until a video of you kissing goes viral, and rintarou is saving it to his gallery.

@devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @lotus-sukimono @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @semifilms @sakusasdirtyragdoll @dai-tsukki-desu @Thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @ksyhmm @idontlikeyourjob @sparrowb3nscloset @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtic @kuroaka @sunaslay @the-midnightskies @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @kellesvt @scill-a @curiouslilbeast @fiona782 @cvhenia @mitskiologist

[absolmon]

I’ve been seeing people claim that Shen Jiu needed a lawyer at his trial but honestly SJ would be the worst client. He doesn’t ever explain himself, not even to Yue Qingyuan, and he refuses to make himself look better to appeal to others. He’s rude and snide, but clams up when confronted. Trying to get information out of him would be like pulling teeth, even if it was to save him. SJ has already decided the world thinks him guilty, he’s not going to debase himself by begging for an outcome that will never come. You ask him what happened with Liu Qingge and he’d be like ‘That stupid brute dug his own grave’ and refuse to elaborate. He’d make his lawyer cry is what I’m saying.

[byproducts-of-my-imagination]

Everyone Hates Todo Except You

The best part about Todo is that you don’t have to put yandere in front of him because his normal behavior already screams delusional and obsessive.   You cannot convince me that he doesn’t sniff all your things as soon as you’re not looking.  He’s just so intense.  I love this man, need to catch up on jjk.

~1k words. Thank you to whoever requested this and I hope you enjoy!

At the Kyoto branch, nobody really bothers sticking their nose in Todo’s business.  But when there’s an enormous mound of trash bags outside his room that just keeps getting bigger, concerning glances and eyebrow raises no longer cut it.  Normally his antics earn a side eye or two, but lately it’s been a little much, even for him.  At the breakfast table the next day, the girls decide to draw straws to see who has to tell him to move his shit.

“It’s not fair!  Why do I have to do it?”  Miwa groans, cursing her bad luck for the thousandth time.  

“It is fair, you just happened to draw the short straw now go deal with it!  We'll back you up.”  Mai grins, knowing full well she rigged it.

Kasumi Miwa would rather be doing literally anything else at this moment.  She timidly knocks on the door, and says, “Todo?  Could you move all this stuff please?  You’re starting to block the hallway.”

“Yeah I’ll get to it whenever I get the rest of this junk cleaned up.  Don’t worry there’s no food waste so there shouldn’t be any smell.”

“B-but Todo…. It's been almost a week now…”  The only response was the muted sound of shuffling.

Miwa looks back in defeat at her so-called “back up” as they peek from behind the corner.  Their best bet now is to get one of the boys to convince him.  And if they fail it’s straight to Utahime-sensei.  

Todo looks at his room, emptier than it’s ever been.  He knew this was the likeliest outcome.  Takada-chan was a beloved idol, and even if she liked him back (which he thought she might have at some point) there was no way she could be with him.  He knew, but it doesn't mean it hurt any less.  There were years of carefully collected merch, thousands of dollars being stuffed into trash bags to be thrown away.  But instead of the despair he carefully denied for years, he didn’t feel any loss throwing away all the autographed posters and pictures.  No, he had something much better now, someone who could actually be with him in this wretched, boring world.  He had his wonderful, gorgeous, beautiful, perfect in every way girlfriend.  And while you weren’t aware that you were destined to be with him yet, he would make sure you’d know soon.  As soon as he finished purging his space of Takada-chan (it wouldn’t do to have pictures of an old flame) he’d confess.  

A few days later he was tying up the last trash bag, ready to enact his plan.  He asked you to meet him under the largest tree in the forest on the edge of the training field.  Several hypothetical scenarios floated through his mind, and he focused on the one where you’d enthusiastically said you loved him back and then he married you and had many children.  As he neared the confession site, Todo felt yet another arrow go through his heart as you came into view.  I’ll never get tired of seeing her.

“Todo, is everything okay?  What’s up?”  A shiver ran down Todo’s spine, goosebumps rising.  God, even your voice was perfect.

“I love you.  Promise me, y/n.  That we’ll spend the rest of our lives together.”  He got down on one knee like a proposal, looking up at you like a devout follower.

“Todo… I don’t know about the rest of our lives but why don’t we start with a date?  I like you too.”  While you were a bit taken aback by his forwardness, you brush it off as Todo being Todo.  You never disliked his honesty and unabashedness.

“My girlfriend!! I knew you felt the same!”  A single tear ran down Todo’s face.   

Back to the dorms, it wasn’t long before everyone found out and congregated at your room to badger you with questions.  

“Ugh that gorilla?  You guys are dating now?”  Nishimiya asked, firmly believing Todo to be an improper and inadequate boyfriend.  

“I thought he only had eyes for that idol Takado or whatever,” Miwa chimes.

“It’s Takada,” Mai corrects, not able to make eye contact with Nishimiya’s suspicious glance in her direction. 

“We’re dating now!  He just asked me out, and he’s really good to me.” you reply, thinking of how Todo insisted on carrying you back to the dorms, gently setting you down before running off saying he needed to ‘prepare’.  

“You can do way better than Todo, trust us.” The girls all nod in agreement.  However, Todo is outside your room balancing a tray of perfectly cooked lunch and a cold pitcher of water.  

“What are you guys talking about?”  he knows already, but wants to hear them say it to his face.  

“How y/n is too good for the likes of you.”  Mai minces no words for Todo.  With the uncomfortable tension rising, the Kyoto girls hastily make an exit.  

“My love, I made lunch for us.  I know I am not handsome, or come from wealth and a good sorcerer family like some of our classmates.  But I will be devoted.  I will never stray from you, I’d die if you asked me to.”  he says, as he sets the meal on your small desk, pulling out utensils and napkins.  His normal confidence seems to waver a bit, and it seems that not even Todo is immune to worrying about what other people think of him.  

“Todo, don’t worry about what they say and please don’t say you’ll die for me.  I like you a lot, I wouldn’t have accepted your confession if I didn’t.  I also think you’re quite handsome.”  

“You love me back?”  he whispers, kneeling at the edge of your bed, looking up at you.  While it’s a bit too early to tell, Todo’s hopeful, reverent look has you obliging him. 

“I do love you back.”  He embraces you, and you can hear his heartbeat in his bare chest.  It feels good to be loved so wholeheartedly, and you’ll give him all the love you have to repay him.  

[shorthaltsjester]

so, so many thoughts about ashton’s words and position re the gods but nothing really struck me as much as “i’d like to see them pray to us.” (or whatever the exact wording is) because yeah, that’s extremely ashton, that’s the same attitude of a person who has been hurt and broken by life in an unfair manner and tried to absorb a shard because they thought it would fix it, ignoring all warnings that it would make it worse, and then insisting it wasn’t about power, despite the fact that it explicitly was about power — the power to render their life fair. it becomes increasingly clear every time that ashton opens his mouth that, along with being an incisive translation of certain kinds of punk politics to exandria, ashton is more set on vengeance than justice, even if he insists his motivation is that the gods are a source of injustice, it seems more like what he admitted after the shard: he’s spent his life looking for someone to blame, and while he’s happy to hate himself, it took a while for them to realize they were an agent in their own story, culpable for the life they’ve lived. ashton looks at the gods and sees a metaphorical vehicle of all the harm and hurt and pain that’s befallen him due to people in positions of power and cannot (or refuses) to see that a) the gods position isn’t actually all that powerful without the mortals who choose over and over to fulfil divine will for good or evil or in between and b) the gods already have a relationship to mortals that is akin to prayer.

and this is all extremely in character, as much as a lot of ashton’s comments echo many a political stance that makes me roll my eyes, it’s always with an attitude of yes of course ashton would say that. what is mildly more irritating (or perhaps concerning) is the readiness with which aspects of the audience concur with ashton’s assessment, when we have seen countless interactions of gods with mortals that shows us that the gods, though not actual prayer, have a very similar kind of belief in mortals that they ask of those who believe in them. like, vox machina had two episodes dedicated to talking to the gods, where it was revealed that the everlight didn’t just know pike but has beholden to her as the one who brought her back into import. where vex proved herself to pelor not just through completing his challenge but by having long been an imperfect but true source of good for the family she’s chosen that they convinced pelor that vex was a suitable champion by pointing out that she has earned several of their belief, she protects the same city pelor blessed with the sun tree, she’s protective and protected, and her heart and her intelligence are equally sound when it comes to her ability to make judgements, (all things we’ve learned since c1 are important to pelor) resulting in pelor deciding he would also believe in her. where ioun pointed out that while she keeps all stories, scanlan is a storyteller, and what could she possibly cherish more than that.

each god when vox machina spoke to them was quick to correct them when vox machina suggested things like their paths being determined or their lives being beyond their control or the world being down to the will of the gods. vex apologizes to the everlight for not realizing that the gods were really beings and she tells vox machina that she doesn’t ask for the belief of all, only those who wish to give it, as the gods chose to give mortals the ability to choose as they wish upon anything, including their faith in the deities. when vox machina asks pelor to whether they should do something with vecna’s eye, he insists that they make the decision whether they’d like to destroy it or use it — he will help however they decide, but he insists it’s on them to choose the outcome. they speak with ioun, who knows their and every story, and she tells them that the gods do not choose the individual fates of mortals, it is up to every person to choose who they will and will not be, and sometimes that guides them to places the gods have predicted, but never without the choices a mortal makes to arrive there.

the concept of belief throughout the three campaigns has been an complex and ever shifting one — as it deserves. in campaign 1, it’s largely in the context of coming to understand what it means to believe in gods when they obviously do exist, but what are you believing in, and why might you choose not to. in campaign 2, jester’s presence complicated things by pointing out that it isn’t just the divinity of the gods that earns them their power but that belief itself is a kind of divinity and with yasha, caduceus and fjord we see that the role of the gods isn’t just power-granting, it comes to be an essential part of many of those who follow the gods. and in campaign 3, we’ve seen both of those explorations come up but the difficulty is we have none of the perspective of someone who actually believes — even fcg was new to worship couldn’t offer much insight on what the loss of the gods might do to people who believe in the gods not because they grant power but because like jester they were lonely and the found a friend in one, or if like yasha they were lost and were saved by one, or if like fjord the asked for help and were aided by one. to be clear i don’t think this a weakness of the story being told — i think it’s a particularly interesting aspect of bh’s position, but i do think it weakens the perspectives of thinkers like ashton who haven’t even heard what a god means to some people, let alone taken seriously the pain that losing the gods would constitute for countless people.

so, ashton might be particularly charged against the gods — even to the point of being the only one to outright make a noise of disagreement when it’s brought up that while bells hells disagree on specifics, they all agree on saving the gods — and he has plenty of reasons to have that position that can easily result in the audience going, yeah, i understand why he’s made that judgement. but that is not the same as hearing what ashton has said and going (with all the knowledge we the audience have that ashton does not) “he’s right, actually” when there are two campaigns telling you, explicitly, “he’s not.” and this isn’t me saying things can’t be revealed that complicate or recontextualize knowledge from previous campaigns, i’m just saying that, thus far, if anything, campaign 3 (especially downfall) has only cemented the degree to which the prime deities have to believe in mortals.

truly the first thought i had when i heard ashton say his line about the gods praying to mortals instead was the fact that several of his party members received a vision from the raven queen asking for help, that fcg asked the changebringer if she was scared and she said yes, that earthbreaker groon looked at imogen and saw her self-doubt And the belief that bells hells has in her anyway and kord reached through him to tell imogen that she had the potential for greatness and that the gods are counting on her. the prime deities have long been praying to mortals, they believe in the power of mortals (for good and ill) — that’s exactly what downfall was about. the power that gods still have is entirely mediated by the mortals who believe in them, who choose to believe in them. the power of mortals does not have those bounds, and while that doesn’t mean they get to sling 9th level spells at will and multiply their damage by 10, it does mean that, in this particular moment in exandria, ludinus’ power is a much more likely (and, historically and contextually proven) source of injustice than the prime deities.

beyond the magic limitations and considering the ill-fitting metaphor of the gods as being a position of power in a sociopolitical sense, the distance of the gods means that if they want to manipulate people into maintaining their position, it’s quite difficult to do. in comparison with ludinus “cult tactics” da’leth, it strikes me as odd when the parts of the cr audience react to the prime deities doing things like . allowing mortals agency (which, as every existentialist writer ever has correctly pointed, out is both a burden and gift) as if it is actually a long-con manipulation or something.

anyway, TL:DR, ashton is an a interesting character whose beliefs and ideas make sense given his placement in the story and their experiences, but an audience who has seen campaigns 1-3 and says they agree with him with their whole chest should definitely consider either a) rewatching or b) taking a critical thinking or media literacy class

[nottswitch]

doll.

summary: you had finally convinced Tom to take you to the Restricted Section. however, the outcome might not be something you had originally planned.

pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader

warning: 18+ smut, cockwarming, oral (m receiving), throatfucking, gagging, mentions of nausea (no actual vomiting), slight choking, orgasm denial? ignoring?? I think that’s all, if I missed anything, let me know!

wc: 3.3k

a/n: listen. listen. this man has been in my head for the last month, and recently he decided to come into my dream? that’s just rude, so that’s what you get as revenge. this fic is also a result of my pent up frustration at life rn, so do with that what you will. also, this is my first time ever writing smut and writing for tom, so pls let me know if it’s any good and if I shall continue on the path. enjoy <3

You had finally done it.

You had finally convinced Tom to take you to the Restricted Section with him. After the whole month of begging almost every day, he agreed, albeit awfully begrudgingly, but you were on cloud nine nonetheless. He told you some stuff about his late-night visits to the library from time to time, but you were always burning for more information, considering your own striving for knowledge. He always said the same thing, that he appreciated your effort, but if you could stop trying to make him abuse his Prefect’s power and possibly lose himself the position, it would make both of your lives easier. But you persevered and were finally reaping the rewards, sitting next to him at the table, with a stack of ancient books in front of you, sometime far after midnight.

What you didn’t expect, though, was how absolutely fucking irresistible he would look merely existing. The books were taken out, the first one was flipped through and now they sat on the table, long forgotten, as you just stared at Tom, almost devouring him with your eyes. To be fair, the sight of him was truly divine – his face calm and concentrated, hovering over a particular book he had been studying for the last week, distracted simply to switch to his journal and take another note. His hands resting on the table, holding a quill, scribbling down lines with his exquisite handwriting… They were sinful, those hands. You had to get ahold of at least one. His left hand was in the process of mindlessly caressing the corner of the book with his middle finger when your hand slowly creeped towards it. You lightly brushed your fingertips along the outer part of his hand. No reaction. You started drawing circles along the whole area, skimming along his wrist and thumb. Nothing. You decided to go further and began intertwining your fingers together.

Finally. A sigh.

And he didn’t even look. His hand grabbed yours and put it away, back on the table. And nothing, absolutely nothing changed about the focused expression painted on his face. That was really annoying, but also… hot, in a way? Almost as if he was playing hard to get. You were already aroused just by looking at him, but his silent rejection made you nearly desperate. Your panties were pretty much soaked, and he, quite literally, barely lifted a finger.

Before you could gain control over your hand, it moved dangerously close to his thigh. You put your hand a little above his knee and gradually advanced higher and higher up his leg. Only when you were caressing his inner thigh did you hear another sigh. Tom raised an eyebrow and turned his head a couple centimeters in your direction, his eyes still on the book.

“What?” he asked, the tone of his voice only ever so slightly irritated. His composure remained intact. He wasn’t even fazed by the fact that you were so close to grabbing him through his pants.

“You look so handsome like that, you know?”

You made your best attempt to lace your voice with saccharine seduction. Your hand kept stroking his inner thigh, inching further and further up with each stroke. The only thing he did was thoughtlessly nod, as if he forgot about your existence immediately after asking the question.

You started getting frustrated and even more turned on. You moved your chair closer to his and began caressing his shoulder, brushing your fingers along his neck when they reached it. You slowly moved down to his back and arm, your nails applying some pressure on his body so that he could feel them scratching his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. It had always been one of the rare things to grab his attention, and it worked this time as well. He sighed, closed the book with his finger between the right pages and turned his head to you. His expression was that of mild annoyance, his eyebrow raised again.

“What exactly was the reason you’d been begging me to bring you here? Would you care to remind me?”

You lowered your gaze and your hand on his shoulder stopped, but just for a second. Then you continued, thinking that there was no return at that point and at least you had a chance, now that his attention was on you.

“Knowledge,” you admitted.

“And what kind of knowledge are you trying to soak up right now?”

His eyes flicked towards your hand still massaging his shoulder. You rolled your eyes and shifted in your chair at the mention of the word “soak”. But it was time for drastic measures. You stood up to crouch next to him, so that your mouth was right at the same level as his ear. Your hand moved to his inner thigh again, traveling up to his crotch and back. You felt him harden under your touch and the mere fact brought you immense amounts of satisfaction.

“Come on, Tom, love, we both know what I want right now,” you started whispering, your lips nearly touching his ear. “You. I want you. On the table, on the floor, against the wall, it literally doesn’t matter. If you don’t take me right here, right now, I will die.”

The look on his face didn’t change in the slightest when he grabbed your throat with his right hand and guided you from his left to his front, tightly squeezed between him and the desk. You stayed in your half-crouched position, trying your hardest not to tremble in the knees. The corner of Tom’s mouth lifted ever so slightly while he silently studied your face and body. His grip on your throat tightened when he lifted up his hand, causing you to straighten your half-bent legs. He shot a commanding look at his lap and, guided by his hand, you climbed there, sitting down and sighing as you could finally relax your already aching knees. But your state of relaxation didn’t last, as he abruptly spread his legs, causing yours to shoot open as well and your ass to be left hanging in the air. In order not to fall to the ground, you had to lean back on the desk, propping your front upwards, towards him.

His hand moved from your throat to the hem of your skirt. With quick and methodic movements Tom rolled it up, tucking it behind the top part of the skirt, and spread your thighs even further with a firm press of his thumbs. You felt a heatwave of embarrassment wash over you as he evaluated the state of your panties, an amused smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. A spot of wetness was wonderfully visible and on display. His eyebrow went up and down as he looked up at you, brushing his thumb in a feather-like touch along the still covered surface of your cunt. You threw your head back, partly because you didn’t want to meet his eyes, partly because your own eyes rolled to the point you couldn’t see in front of you and you could barely hold in a moan as myriads of goosebumps spread throughout your body just from this simple touch.

“Look at me.”

Tom clearly didn’t appreciate the lack of eye contact. You clenched your jaw and looked back, met by the sheer intensity of his stare. The stare that had all the power in the world to melt you into a puddle at any given moment. He brushed his other thumb over the same place again, watching your face carefully as you tried to keep your composure. Didn’t help. Your bit your bottom lip, but a sound escaped you nonetheless. Tom’s smirk widened.

“Let’s see,” he quietly muttered, pulling your panties to the side. Your cunt was already slicked and throbbing, which was even more embarrassing, because he looked like he was an inspector evaluating the goods. The smirk faded from his lips as his finger rubbed against your folds, barely spreading them apart and not reaching the clit to provide the much-needed sensation. You couldn’t help throwing your head back again, almost drawing blood from the pressure of your teeth against your bottom lip.

“I said. Look. At. Me.”

Tom uttered every word in a clear, emotionless voice, but it was the very thing that meant trouble. You looked back and the intensity of his stare only grew exponentially. He reached your face with his hand and grabbed your cheeks between his thumb and index finger, squeezing them, so that your lips formed into some sort of a pout.

“Don’t make me repeat myself. Keep looking until I say you can stop.”

You quickly nodded, intimidated by his frigid dominance. His hand went back to your cunt. He slid his fingers deeper between the folds, lightly brushing against the clit. Your hips jerked up as they tried to follow the path of his fingers, but his other hand held you firmly in place, not allowing a single extra bit of pleasure. He slid them back once more and then the middle one slipped inside you, up to the very base. A jolt of pleasure shook your body, as strong as the feeling of disappointment when he quickly removed the digit. You tried to whine but another look from him quickly shut you up. Tom raised his hand, rubbed his index, middle finger and thumb together and then separated; a sticky string of your wetness was a connection between them and a blatant manifestation of your arousal.

“Soaked. Just like I thought.”

The slightest hint of a smirk returned to his lips as his fingers reached your mouth.

“Open.”

Each of his words was stern, not leaving room for any disobedience. You opened your mouth and Tom pushed two fingers inside, pressing at the entrance of your throat and instantly making you gag. He kept his fingers there for a moment while you clutched the desk behind you to stop your body from shaking as you kept gagging, but not daring to push his hand away. A couple seconds later, when he saw you were on the verge of giving up, his fingers slowly traveled back out of your mouth. You tightly wrapped your lips around them and sucked your slick off, knowing that it was exactly what he wanted you to do. After leaving your mouth his fingers cupped your chin, as his thumb glided over your lips, covering them with the rest of your wetness.

“Now,” Tom leaned back on the chair, looking you up and down, his voice suddenly smooth and enticing, but his gaze still intense, “I see you are rather bored here with me, doll.”

When he said the word, you knew that the next part wouldn’t be so much for your pleasure as it would be completely for his. It wasn’t a meaningless pet-name for him, no, it held value. It meant that you would be treated exactly like a doll: mindless and limp. He saw your eyes widen at “doll” and a faint smirk was on his lips again: he was aware of the connotation and so were you.

“And to save you the trouble of a wandering mind, I am pleased to announce that I have a much better use for a doll like you.”

He waited to continue for a minute, letting you absorb the information and your thoughts fill with speculations. His hand brushed a stray hair from your forehead, him seeming just like a caring boyfriend for a moment.

“Kneel.”

You slowly stood up from his lap, feeling your stretched out limbs relax and almost fail to hold you up, and lowered down to your knees in front of him. From this point of view, he was even more attractive, compellingly so; it was worth it standing on your knees on the cold stone floor of the Restricted Section just for this sight alone. He slowly started unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, almost as if he wanted you to enjoy the show. You drank up every single movement of his slender fingers as he pulled down his pants and underwear just enough for his cock to bounce right out, against his lower abdomen.

“You like what you see, doll?”

You fervently nodded, your mouth salivating just at the thought of being able to suck him off right then. He saw the fire in your eyes and scoffed, shaking his head.

“It is no ordinary pleasure that I want from you now, doll.”

He beckoned you to move closer and you eagerly did, your face just mere centimeters away from his length. Your breath quickened as you thought about the implication of “no ordinary pleasure”.

“Now, give me your hands, doll.”

You lifted your hands and he wrapped his belt around them, tightening it to the point when it started to hurt and you knew it would leave deep marks on your wrists. Then, you tried to position yourself in a way that would allow your hands to support you, but you could only reach the floor with your fingertips.

Tom ran his fingers through your hair, in a touch almost gentle and soothing, and then suddenly yanked you up and forward, straight onto his cock, thrusting his whole length into your mouth, the tip reaching the very back of your throat. You lifted on your knees and violently gagged at the feeling, your hands inadvertently flying up, trying to push back, but the belt didn’t let you make any substantial impact. He held you firmly in place while you kept quivering and making gagging sounds, him clearly enjoying seeing you in this state. Slowly, you adjusted to his cock filling your whole mouth and your body went weak as you lowered back down, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. You tried to look up with just your eyes, not being able to move your head; it hurt too much, so you lowered your gaze, the only thing in front of you being his lower abdomen. As you tried to shift in your place, you felt a whiff of the chilly library air against your soaked panties and the sensation drove you nearly through the roof.

“Now, doll, you have to stay like that while I keep going with my work. A fair warning out of the goodness of my heart: it might take a while.”

You blinked, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that this could continue for another hour or two. Your head was held back by the edge of the desk cutting into your nape, so you weren’t able to move at all. You were completely at his mercy, he could do literally whatever he wanted, but he chose not to do anything. As soon as he let go of your hair, he went straight back to his book, taking notes as if nothing had happened.

Time went by painfully slowly. The constant feeling of him in your mouth and throat overwhelmed you to the point when you started to twitch at times, shifting your weight to get any semblance of friction against your aching core. The position you were in didn’t allow that at all, your head being stuck firmly between the desk and his body. The most irritating thing about the whole ordeal was the fact that Tom ignored you completely, fully absorbed in whatever kind of studying he was doing. You tried to get his attention a couple of times by producing incoherent sounds and trying to tighten your lips around him, but you quickly understood that there was no use. You tried counting seconds and minutes, but your mind gave up when you reached fifteen. The only things you could think about were his cock and getting something, any type of pressure on your clit. Your wetness soaked through your panties and, you were pretty sure, was dripping down your thighs, creating a small puddle on the floor underneath you.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before you finally heard the book shut. You almost shuddered at the sound, your pupils dilating and your breath accelerating, probably close to the speed of light. Tom leaned on the back of the chair, looking down at you with one of his smirks of the devil himself. His hand ruffled your hair, pulling at it to slightly lift your head up and shove it back down, as if he was trying to gauge if you were still alive. At the sound of your muffled groan he raised his eyebrows, amused.

“The doll has some life left in her. What a pleasant surprise. You look perfectly splendid like that.”

You groaned again, the sound coming from somewhere inside your chest. You desperately wanted to look up, but your head was still pressed in its place. Tom scoffed, messing with your hair once again.

“The time has come for some more… customary activities of ours, don’t you think?”

As if you could answer. You tried to nod, but the edge of the desk only further cut into your nape, making you wince in pain.

“The doll seems to agree. Pleasure.”

He moved the chair a bit further from the desk. With more space you could finally properly breath, so you shifted in your place, your stiff legs aching as you had to follow the movement of the chair. Tom’s hand gripped your hair and pulled you upwards, releasing almost the entirety of his length from your mouth apart from the tip. The sudden emptiness made your throat clench and you felt nausea building up rapidly, although the feeling had no time to develop as you were quickly shoved down again, your nose nearly crashing against his body. Tears gathered in your eyes sprayed all over, your lips stretched even more than they already were and you prayed the corners of your mouth wouldn’t crack. The tension building up in your core was begging to be released as you were being thrusted up and down again and again, the tip of his cock stroking the back of your throat again and again, causing you to produce the most sinful gagging sounds known to man. You tried to balance on your tied up hands, but your fingertips just barely brushed against the floor as your whole body moved in unison with your head. Tom barely made any sound, a heavy breath occasionally escaping his lips. He threw his head back, his eyes closed, while you took him whole at the mercy of his hand.

At last, you felt his thrusts speeding up, sensing his release. After a couple of especially violent ones he let out a quiet groan, and you felt his hot semen filling you up and spilling down your throat as he pressed you all the way down. Your breaths were heavy but barely audible, his cock still stuffing your mouth to the brim. Tom heaved a deep sigh as you felt his grip on your hair loosening. You didn’t dare to move until he pulled you up, lifting your head with his finger on your chin, looking straight into your eyes. Your vision was blurry from tears, more of them running down your face and dripping down to the floor as they slid off your jawline. Your lips were swollen and you couldn’t properly close your mouth yet, panting in quick and dry breaths. Tom smirked, taking in the sight of your utter destruction.

“A broken doll. Truly a sight to behold.”

He leaned back on the chair again, pulling up his underwear and zipping the pants. Then, he bent down, taking your hands gently in his and undoing the belt. His fingers made their way across the deep red marks on your wrists, caressing them with utmost attention.

“You have been a very good doll for me tonight. Now, what do you say to spending the night in my dorm? The doll has to receive her rightful reward.”

my masterlist

[papiliotao]

꒰ 𝒎𝒊𝒅𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒚 ✩࿐

pairings: alhaitham, diluc, kaeya, and zhongli x gn!reader (separate)

content: hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship, arguments (unspecified reason), reader and character live together

summary: after a heated conflict with your boyfriend, you decide to sleep on the couch instead of together on your shared bed. how does he react?

a/n: shockingly, i'm not writing for any anemo boys this time. that's mainly because this is a gift for @spiritingawaytoanime for @favonius-library's gift exchange event! i hope you enjoy!

The sound of the front door closing is the only sound that can be heard as ALHAITHAM steps into your living room. An ocean of pitch-blackness threatens to drown him. The space lacks illumination. Darkness floods into every crack and crevice of your home, invading an otherwise peaceful space.

He breathes out a sigh as he walks down the hallway of your shared apartment. Alhaitham doesn’t bother flicking on the lights. He knows you’re probably asleep already, and he’d rather not disturb you, especially since you were in a foul mood earlier. So unpleasant, in fact, that you got into a petty argument with him. However, Alhaitham isn’t really that worried. He knows that in the end, you’ll be able to sort out your differences.

But when he enters the bedroom, he immediately feels that something is off. The air feels colder than usual, biting his skin with the ferocity of a thousand cuts. It’s unsettling and especially disturbing to Alhaitham because such feelings don’t often overtake his frozen heart. It almost feels as though the atmosphere has the ability to thaw his emotions, awakening a sentimental side of himself that doesn’t often show beyond his rational demeanour.

When he approaches the side of your bed, he instantaneously realizes what’s wrong. You’re not here. You’re not here. An unfamiliar feeling drives pinpricks into his heart. The sensation is strange, irritating, and it won’t go away. He hasn’t ever felt this way before. Perhaps this is another emotion to add to the list of new feelings being with you has caused him to experience.

Alhaitham sighs. It’s not like he wasn’t expecting this outcome. He had been far too cold earlier while you had been far too emotional. Ice and fire would never coalesce into a single being.

The feelings that accompany the situation are all a complete mystery to him. Nonetheless, he buries his emotions so that he can focus on finding you, maintaining his logical front in the face of such a precarious situation.

As your lover, he knows you well, so he’s almost entirely sure he knows where you’ve gone. Alhaitham shakes his head. He should have checked right when he entered the house. After all, the couches were right by the door.

Once again, Alhaitham walks blindly through the darkness, taking it step-by-step without so much as a stumble in his gait as he makes his way down a hallway that has long engraved itself in his memories. It’s odd. Alhaitham doesn’t usually go out of his way to become involved in the affairs of others, much less memorize details about their lives. But with you, everything is different. He remembers every single intricate thread of information in the web that forms your identity.

And perhaps that’s why he feels a sense of calm wash over him like cerulean waves on a pristine summer day as he approaches your sleeping form. As he takes in the sight of your silhouette against the backdrop of night, he notices that you appear to be shivering slightly. You don’t have a blanket on.

“Typical [name],” he whispers under his breath. 

Although his words sound rather harsh and slanderous, he utters them with hints of a small smile gracing his face.

Quietly, Alhaitham walks over to a closet in which you keep a multitude of blankets. He takes his time selecting one — after all, he’s in no rush. Eventually, he settles on a velvety blanket that feels soft to the touch. Although Alhaitham can’t exactly picture it in the dark, he knows that it will be sufficient.

So with an insurmountable level of care, he drapes it onto your body. Even though he can be insensitive at times, Alhaitham knows that you most likely want some space for now, so with a gentle ghost of a kiss to your cheek, he leaves the room.

The silence that fills the house rings in DILUC’s ears, shrieking in a manner reminiscent of thousands of crystal glasses shattering into pieces. It’s deafening. The space feels as though it is full of nothing but misery and doubt and yet it’s so, so empty at the same time.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The sound of a clock’s arms snapping into place in one second intervals is the only sign of life within the building. Every space on the canvas of night is blank as if awaiting wonderous stars to fill the nothingness with inquisitive light. However, the illumination doesn’t come. Tales of galaxies serendipitously brightening worlds are simply idealistic fantasies from the minds of children. In the real world, things seldom end so well without any intervention.

So he decides to slowly get out of bed, leaving the warmth under the covers — a heat that feels far too stifling without you — in order to search for you. But as the abyssal air of night brushes against Diluc’s skin, he feels a shiver run down his spine. Nothing feels right without you by his side. He needs you. Now.

Diluc knows you’re sleeping on the couch. He saw you there when he was going to bed, but at the time, pride and petty emotions whispered words of spite in the depths of his soul, phrases that prompted him to ignore you.

As he navigates the dimly-lit hallways of your shared home, a wave of regret washes over him. If only things hadn’t gotten so heated when you were still immersed in the waking world together. Now you’re asleep, and he’s lost any chance he has of making things right today. If he wants to apologize, then patience will be crucial.

However, at the same time, Diluc wants to check up on you. So when he finally makes his way through the doorway of the living room, his eyes immediately land on your figure, burning with the light of a thousand fires, almost as though they are casting a glow upon your silhouette. The moonlight illuminates you, caressing every strand of your hair and highlighting every dip and curve of your features to make you look absolutely ethereal.

As Diluc approaches you, he notices that you’re barely covered by a thin blanket, and despite the feeble layer of protection, the frigid atmosphere of night seems to permeate your soul. He shakes his head slightly, sighing as he stares at you. No matter how angry he was at you during the day, Diluc can’t just leave you here to freeze.

So with bated breath, he picks you up while you’re still immersed in a universe of dreamy fantasies and carries you to your room. He thanks all his years of training with a claymore for giving him the ability to lift you. Although you’re not on the best of terms, Diluc is sure that you’ll make up once morning comes, and thus, a vibrant new dawn will overlook the horizon for both of you.

Shivers wrack KAEYA’s body as he tosses and turns restlessly in a bed that feels far too large and far too empty for his liking. It’s peculiar. The cold rarely bothers him, yet now, without you by his side, the frigidness of the night air is far too potent for his liking. Tendrils of night creep under the covers overtop him, wrapping around him with an icy fervor, and no matter how hard he tries to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he can’t.

It’s as though the brighter part of himself has faded away with the radiance of the sun, giving way to an indescribable melancholy that settles into every inch of his being, taking all that he has and becoming all that he is. The cold is so much more unbearable without your warmth, and it doesn’t take long before he realizes that he won’t be able to close his eyes peacefully and drift into a tranquil world full of glacial wonderlands. Instead, he’ll lie awake, alone in your freezing bed — a place that feels far too desolate without your presence.

Hours stretch on and on, twisting and turning in a way that morphs them into a neverending story. As time goes on, the unsettling embers that had once singed the pit of Kaeya’s stomach grow until they blaze brightly, morphing into a raging fire. It’s unbearable, and he knows that he has to do something or else his mind will continue nagging at him for the remainder of the evening.

With cautious movements, he sits up and climbs out of bed. It’s awfully quiet in the house. Usually, flirtatious remarks and passionate displays of affection fill the void within your home, transforming it into a utopia overflowing with wonders. However, at the moment, none of that exists. Perpetual darkness and transient flashes of anxiety are the only things present at the moment. However, he manages to carefully make his way down the hallway without much issue. The creaking of the floorboards is the only noise that cuts through the silence hanging in the air.

As Kaeya enters the living room, his eyes land on a figure lying on the couch. It’s you. He breathes out a sigh, approaching you. Kaeya can see the rising and falling of your chest, hear your gentle breaths, and feel you exhaling once he leans in to examine your face. You look as though you’re at peace — a stark contrast to your earlier demeanour, an act fueled by feelings of rage and spite.

A small smile tugs on the corners of his lips. You look ethereal, although slightly pitiful, your face tinted with the light of the moon. His heart breaks. You appear lonely without his arms wrapped around you. Kaeya feels the urge to pull you into his embrace, hold you tight, protect you from the unknown monsters of the night.

But instead of doing anything, he simply stands there. After your explosive argument, he’s still hesitant to touch you. However, upon closer examinations, Kaeya sees you shaking like a leaf in an intense gale. You’re freezing. And that’s the final straw.

Your boyfriend finally breaks under the weight of your needs and his desires. With steady movements and a fragile touch, he lifts your body just the slightest bit — barely enough for him to climb onto the couch under you. Gradually, he sets you down, laying your head down on his chest. His fingers graze over your features as he eyes you with a gaze full of admiration.

“Sweet dreams, babe. We’ll figure everything out once the sun rises.”

ZHONGLI sighs as he settles atop the plush covers of your shared bed alone. It feels cold — far too frigid for his liking as darkness encroaches, and although he glances out the window in hopes of seeing a single shard of fragmented starlight, he is greeted with nothing more than the sight of an endless abyss devoid of radiance. 

A chill permeates every bone in his body, gnawing at him in a way that serves as a perpetual reminder that you’re not beside him right now. It’s strange. For once, Zhongli feels restless. He’s usually so calm, so composed. But at the moment, he can’t help but worry. 

You’re not here with him. Instead, you’re out in the living room, curled up alone on the couch. Zhongli can picture you in flawless detail — every dip and curve of your troubled face, the shadows that shroud you in a cloak fashioned from midnight, and the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe in and out. He feels a longing that he hasn’t felt in centuries. He wants to be beside you to trace your features, to prevent the glacial fingers of night from creeping down your back, and to feel your breath fanning his face.

However, he knows that no matter how hard he wishes, his hopes and dreams will have to be put on hold for now. In hindsight, it was a bad idea to let you escape into the land of slumber without trying to work things out with you first because now, Zhongli feels as though he won’t get a wink of sleep. At least, not without you by his side.

Eventually, he caves to all the thoughts running through his head; guilt threatens to swallow him whole. So instead of continuing to chase sleep, Zhongli gets out of bed, and although the night air sends a shiver down his spine, the sensation is nothing compared to his need for you. Quietly, he makes his way into your living room, trying to keep his footfalls light out of fear of waking you up. His eyes have long since adjusted to the darkness, so he navigates the house without any real trouble.

When he arrives at his destination, his gaze immediately zones in on a silhouette lying on one of the couches in the room. Although obscured by darkness, he knows that it’s you. Cautiously, he bends down to observe you. Zhongli raises his hand in order to caress your cheeks, his touch feather-light as if he’s afraid that you’ll shatter.

He wants nothing more than to wake you right now and talk things out, but he doesn’t want to disturb your slumber. You seem so peaceful despite everything that happened earlier, and besides, Zhongli is sure that with time, the two of you will make up. Your love for each other is much stronger than any form of false resentment fostered by petty arguments. After all, the illusions created by a deceptive heart are far too easy to dispel with feelings of everlasting passion and affection.

So instead of rousing you from the oneiric realm of dreams, Zhongli sits down on a couch beside the one you’re lying on. Although his mind has not completely settled yet, it feels less perturbed with you by his side. As a master of patience, he decides that he’ll wait for you to wake up. He’ll wait for the first rays of light to grace the face of the earth in order to greet you with a smile and an apology once you open your eyes.

Thank you for reading!

[dandylovesturtles]

And here it is, part 4 of the Room Fic! ...or well. part of part 4.

see, Part 4 is going to be pretty long and take me awhile, so I decided to release it on tumblr as I go, in parts. and since we're already in a numbered list, I'll go by letters now. So this is Part 4 Part A!

it's fine, it makes sense!

I'm going to release it here on tumblr in parts, and then when it's all done I'll put it on AO3, and probably do some proper editing and may add/fix some things up once the whole thing is written. So consider this a semi-WIP. but I doubt it will change much because I usually don't change things too much after I finish writing them haha

anyway, hope you enjoy!

content warnings: discussions of food issues, anxiety, aftermath of torture

also, if you're confused, start here!

-----

Raph spots the change in Leo’s train car on the way to breakfast. He stops and tries to make sense of it for a minute, before making his way to the kitchen.

Mikey is already there, as is Splinter, making some tea. “Morning!” Mikey trills, scraping some scrambled eggs into a big platter.

“Mornin’,” Raph echoes back. He meant to sound neutral at worst, but his tone still earns a worried look from Mikey.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’s wrong,” Raph says quickly. “I just… noticed Leo did some redecorating.”

“Oh, yeah…” Mikey chews on his lip. “What’s up with that?”

“I dunno, but it makes Raph uneasy.”

“What is it?” asks Splinter, looking at them each in turn. 

“Leo covered up all his windows,” Mikey tells him.

“Ah, I see.” Splinter sets cups in front of them, followed by the tea pot. “I will go check on him.”

Splinter leaves Mikey and Raph looking at each other uncertainly.

“Why would he need the windows covered?” asks Mikey. “What does he need to hide from here?”

“I dunno, Mike.” Raph sighs. “I guess he doesn’t feel safe yet.”

“But he’s home,” Mikey insists. “He’s with us.”

“Yeah,” says Raph, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“I told him to talk to us if anything’s bothering him.” Mikey taps the spatula against the empty skillet. “He said he would, but…”

Raph doesn’t know if he should feel surprised or not. “He hasn’t talked to you about anything?”

Mikey scowls. “Nothing important,” he says.

Raph chuckles. “Well, you are his little brother-“

“I’m not that little!” Mikey snaps, throwing the spatula down and rounding on Raph. 

Raph’s a little surprised by the sudden anger. Sure, Mikey has been insisting on his independence more and more, but this is more aggressive than usual.

“Raph didn’t mean anything by it,” he says, but Mikey doesn’t stop glaring. Raph is saved by Splinter’s return.

“He is sleeping quite soundly,” their dad announces, hopping up onto a stool and grabbing for the platter of eggs. “He was even drooling a bit.” Splinter chuckles.

“Okay, but you’re going to ask about it when he wakes up, right?” asks Mikey.

“No.” Splinter scoops the eggs onto his plate. “If he wants to explain, he will.”

“You don’t think it’s… I dunno. Concerning?” Raph asks.

“It is not hurting anyone. And it has helped your brother sleep. There’s nothing wrong with it,” says Splinter, and it has an air of finality.

Mikey looks unsatisfied with that outcome, but he doesn’t say anything. He fixes a plate for Leo and puts it into the microwave for safekeeping.

Raph isn’t sure where he lands. All he knows is that he sure as heck isn’t going to be the one to ask about it.

-----

Leo comes in about twenty minutes later, after they’ve already finished eating. He’s still wearing his pajamas, one of his thinner throw blankets, with the Jupiter Jim logo, pulled around his shoulders like a shawl. If you focus on his torso, he almost looks like a healthy teenager, thanks to his shell.

But his hands are still drawn and thin where they grip the fabric, his wrists bony where they peek out of his sleeves. His cheeks are still sunken in and his skin hasn’t regained its usual vibrancy. And there’s a subtle shake to his movements, like the effort it took to walk from his room to the kitchen was immense.

Oh, and there’s the absolutely devastated look on his face when he sees the empty plates.

Raph remembers, again, when Leo had practically begged them not to let him sleep through breakfast in the motel, and he feels a sick twist of his stomach.

“Geez, you guys didn’t leave any for me?” he asks, and his voice sounds light and joking and completely at odds with the expression on his face. Raph is pretty sure Leo doesn’t even know he looks like that; their self-appointed face man, who usually has so much control over his appearance, not even aware of how far his heart has slipped onto his sleeve.

“We have you a plate right here,” says Mikey, scrambling to open the microwave. “Want me to warm it up any?”

“No,” says Leo a little too quickly. His eyes stay locked on the plate even as he pulls on a smile that is so carefree it’s in obvious opposition with the rest of him. “I’m sure it’s fine - thanks, Angelo.”

Mikey tries to smile as he hands the lukewarm plate of eggs and toast to Leo. Leo takes it and grabs his fork with urgency he tries not to show. His bites are so steady and evenly paced that Raph bets he could clap the beat out if he wanted to - Leo doing all he can not to look like he’s scarfing.

Okay, so Leo clearly isn’t better yet; it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. Any conversations Raph wants to have about what happened in that room will have to wait. That’s okay - he can be patient.

To keep from watching too obviously, he takes out his phone. April texted the group chat twenty minutes ago, saying she had some homework to catch up on but she’ll be coming over later today. Raph’s glad, because having her around keeps them all in better spirits. He spends way longer than necessary trying to find the exact gif to use as a reaction to the news.

“Can I have another piece of toast?” Leo asks, pulling Raph’s attention from his phone. He’s already eaten the ones Mikey gave him, and about half his eggs. He taps his fork against the empty half of his plate at a quick pace.

Is this the first time Leo has actually asked for something outright? Raph isn’t sure.

Mikey grimaces and checks his phone. “Barry said to give you that much… Oh, but if you’re still hungry, you can have yogurt!”

He opens the fridge to retrieve it. Leo scowls, scooping up a bite of eggs with more force than before, the scrape of metal on porcelain.

“Barry said,” he grumbles. “How long do we gotta listen to that guy?”

“He’s doing a lot of work to help you, Leo,” says Raph. “He seems to know what he’s talkin’ about.”

“Aw, come on. It’s one piece of toast!” Leo leans toward Mikey. “It’s not gonna hurt me!”

His voice is light, almost joking, but he’s doing it again: that sad, pitiful look. Raph is sure he doesn’t know he’s doing it.

It feels impossible to deny that face. Raph looks at Mikey, who looks back at him, both of them equally unsure.

“Well…” says Mikey weakly, glancing back toward the toaster. He’s going to give in, and Raph can’t blame him. Splinter doesn’t step in to help, either. “Barry said…”

Leo smiles. It looks almost manic. “What Draxum doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he says in a singsong.

“What won’t I know?”

Raph jumps. Everyone jumps - some family of ninja they are.

Draxum stands at the foot of the escalator into their makeshift kitchen, arms folded. Raph has to hold back a sigh of relief, and he sees Mikey’s shoulders sag in turn. Leo scowls, whirling to glare at Draxum.

“Oh, come on!” he snaps. “Don’t you have other teenagers to torture today?”

“It’s Saturday,” says Draxum, crossing the room to sit at a chair. “So you have the benefit of my full attention.”

“Auuugh,” Leo groans, slumping dramatically at the table, and ignoring the effect his casual use of the word torture has had on everyone else in the room. Raph feels ill. Mikey looks it.

“Can Blue have another piece of toast?” Splinter asks, cutting through the awkward silence that follows this. He sounds almost annoyed as Leo, but as far as Raph can tell he’s letting Draxum take the lead on this one. Raph wonders if they’ve talked about it without him or his brothers around.

“Hmmm…” Draxum looks at Leo’s plate, considering. “Finish your eggs and yogurt first. If you’re still hungry, you may have another piece. But only if you’re hungry.” His expression turns even more stern, leveled directly at Leo. “Do not eat if your stomach is full. You’ll make yourself sick.”

“I’m not gonna make myself sick,” Leo argues.

“Hmph,” says Draxum, the short noise coated thick in disbelief. He doesn’t say anything more. Leo goes back to his rhythmic eating.

Raph grabs the empty plates from Mikey and Splinter and takes them to wash. Anything to keep himself from staring at Leo. And it’s his lucky day: there’s a whole stack of a distraction waiting for him in the sink. He runs the hot water and gets to work.

“Morning, family,” comes Donnie’s sleepy voice a few minutes later. Raph doesn’t look, and he doesn’t have to, because Donnie characteristically beelines straight for the coffee pot on the counter. Raph knew he went to his room after their talk in the lab the day before, but he’s not sure how much sleep Donnie actually got.

He leans sluggishly against the counter and checks his phone while the coffee brews. Raph keeps his focus on the dishes. Leo finishes his eggs and Draxum agrees to half a piece of toast - Mikey scrapes his stool against the floor as he jumps up to make it.

Donnie fills his mug and immediately takes a drink with no fear of scalding his mouth. Then he turns around and says, “Why’d you cover all the windows in your train car, Leo?”

Raph fumbles and drops the dish he had just pulled from the soapy water - thankfully it doesn’t break on the way down. Next to him, Mikey freezes. The toaster dings into the silence.

“Oh, that,” says Leo, nonchalant. Raph doesn’t turn around, so he has no idea if his face matches his tone this time. “I was just trying to envision how the room would look with curtains.”

“Using towels?”

“What can I say, I’m a visual guy.”

“Hmm…” Donnie pushes off the counter and disappears from Raph’s view. “Well, did you decide you want curtains?”

“Uh, yeah… I think it would really up the feng shui in the joint! And our old rooms didn’t have any windows, so too much light gets into the train car when I’m trying to sleep, anyway.”

The argument rolls so naturally off Leo’s tongue that Raph is impressed.

“Okay,” says Donnie simply. “I can install curtain rods in your room later. I actually have some leftover scrap metal that I’ve been trying to find a purpose for, and I think it will work well for this.”

“Really? You’ll do it today?”

“Yes. I don’t have anything else on my to-do list… that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

Leo chuckles, but he sounds genuinely happy when he says, “Thanks, Dee.”

“And I have some leftover fabric I can sew into curtains,” Splinter adds. “You can use them until you’re well enough to find some you prefer.”

“Yeah? You don’t mind?”

“Of course not, Blue! It will be a nice little project to keep my old hands busy.”

“Thanks, Dad,” says Leo sincerely. There’s some shifting around like he’s getting an ever-coveted Splinter Hug. It lasts a beat longer than those hugs normally do. Raph can’t blame his dad - if he could, he’d pick Leo up and never let him go again.

He hears a clink next to him and turns his head. Mikey has buttered Leo’s toast, but now he’s standing still, a pensive frown on his face, the butter knife clenched in his fist.

“Hey, Leo,” he says, turning around, and Raph senses danger. He turns around, too, watching as Mikey approaches the table. “Is that the only reason you want curtains?”

Leo looks between the toast and Mikey’s face. He tenses up, the empty yogurt cup crinkling in his grip. “Yeah, that’s all,” he says.

“Are you sure?” Mikey asks. He still has the half slice of toast in his hands. Leo’s eyes keep catching on it.

“What’s there to be sure about, Miguel?” he asks. “It’s just curtains. Lots of people have ‘em.”

“It’s just that you never said anything about it before. And now suddenly you need curtains today?” Mikey’s hands wave and take the toast with them - Leo’s eyes track the movement. “You told me, if anything is-“

“Michelangelo,” says Splinter sternly, making everyone jump for the second time this morning. “That is your brother’s toast - give it to him.”

Mikey seems to remember the food in his hands at that exact moment. He grimaces, quickly depositing the toast onto Leo’s plate. Leo’s face has that sad, desperate quality to it again as he grabs the toast in his fingers, like he has to make sure no one else will take it.

Mikey backs away from the table, crestfallen. The silence that ensues is uncomfortable again.

“Uh… well I think the curtains will look great!” says Raph. “Snazzy!”

Snazzy? Oh Pizza Supreme in the Sky help him.

“…Thanks, Raph,” says Leo, and takes a bite of toast. It doesn’t have the same warmth from before, and the awkwardness is thick now.

Raph dries the dish he has in his hands and sets it on the counter, pops the drain plug, and quicksteps for the doorway.

“I’m going to do my morning training!” he calls, to convince everyone, especially himself, that he isn’t running away.

-----

Leo sits alone in his dad’s recliner, staring very hard at the opposite wall and willing himself not to barf.

The piddling amount of eggs and toast he ate at breakfast would not have been enough to fill him up even three weeks ago, but now it’s stuffed his shrunken stomach. The truth is, he’d been full when he bargained with Draxum for another piece of toast, but he hadn’t been willing to let the fight go.

Besides, he doesn’t know when he’ll get food next. And better to be overfull than hungry.

He’s being dramatic, of course. He’ll get food at lunch… probably. No, definitely, because he’s home and his family would never deny him food.

Except, the way Mikey had held his toast and demanded answers about the curtains…

Leo really thought he had gotten away with it, too. No one said anything until Donnie did, and Donnie had seemed completely convinced by Leo’s casual responses! But of course Mikey saw through him. Mikey’s as keen when it comes to people as Leo himself is, but where Leo uses that insight to manipulate and obfuscate, Mikey uses it to tear open, to expose.

Leo will have to watch out, next time. He can’t let half-thought through excuses stand between him and food.

Not that they’d actually keep food from him. Because they love him and they’re his family. He’s just being weird again.

Still…

His stomach gurgles uncomfortably, and Leo grips the arms of the chair. He really doesn’t want to throw up. Besides the mess he’ll make of the recliner, and the unpleasantness of the sensation, he doesn’t want to lose everything he ate earlier. He still doesn’t know when he’s going to eat again. If he loses it here, he’ll truly have nothing.

“Blue? Are you alright?”

He turns his head. Splinter is standing by the chair, looking up at him. It occurs to Leo he didn’t actually ask if he could sit here, and he starts to push himself up.

“I can get in a beanbag-”

“No no, it’s alright,” says his dad, hopping up onto the chair to join Leo. He does it so lightly the recliner barely jostles. “You’re alright, Blue. Just breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

Leo does as he’s told, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He wonders how his dad seems to know the problem without having to be told - from raising four children alone, most likely. After a moment, he feels the chair move, the back reclining and the footrest coming up under his legs. Then furry hands gently tug his blanket from around his shoulders and spread it out over his whole body.

“There we go,” says Splinter after that’s done. “Are you comfy, Blue?”

All Leo can do is give a tiny nod of his head; anything more aggravates the nausea. It seems Splinter understands, though, as he hums approvingly and hops off the chair.

“What’s wrong?” asks a new voice, and Leo grits his teeth. He doesn’t move from his spot, though.

“Blue just needs some rest,” says Splinter.

“He ate too much, didn’t he?” Draxum asks, tone irritated. “I told him not to have more unless he was actually hungry-”

“Stop,” Splinter commands, in that firm tone that can’t be argued with. “We will talk about this later.”

Leo wonders if he’s included in the we. But Draxum grumbles something under his breath and retreats, leaving Leo and his dad alone again.

“Don’t worry about him,” says Splinter, moving to turn on the projector. “I’ll deal with it. You just get some rest, Blue.”

He turns on one of his stories on low volume, then climbs back into the chair and settles in beside Leo. The soft whir of the projector, the quiet voices of the actors, and his dad’s breathing lull him into a doze. The nausea, eventually, passes.

-----

After his workout, Raph goes to check on everyone again. It’s becoming a routine.

Splinter’s loud snores lead Raph to him and Leo, both sound asleep in the recliner in the TV room. Raph would wonder how Leo can sleep through that, but he remembers that their dad’s snores used to be piped directly into his room in their old lair. If anything, this is probably nostalgic for him.

Draxum’s in the kitchen. Apparently they’re stuck with him for the weekend. Raph decides not to say anything to him and slips away before he’s noticed.

Now to find his other little brothers. He heads straight for the lab first, already knowing it’s where Donnie would be at this time of day, even if he hadn’t promised to make curtain rods for Leo.

He has to go through the same song and dance as the day before with the voice lock, but the door slides open soon enough, and Raph walks in on an argument. At least he won’t have to go searching for Mikey.

“-don’t understand why you’re so worked up about it,” Donnie is saying. He’s bent over his workbench, goggles pulled down, soldering iron in hand but not on. “It’s just curtains.”

“Because everyone’s acting like it’s not weird!” Mikey argues. He spins on his heel, looking at Raph beseechingly. “Raph, you agree with me, right!?”

“Raph just got here,” Raph says, folding his arms. “Mind filling me in on what we’re arguing about?” Even though he already has a good guess.

“We aren’t arguing,” says Donnie, at the same time Mikey snaps, “Leo, duh!” Donnie sighs, raising his goggles and turning around.

“Mikey is upset that I’m making Leo the curtain rods he asked for.”

“I’m not upset about the curtain rods! But you’re all acting like this is totally normal!”

“Curtains are normal!”

“Leo asking for the curtains is not normal,” Mikey presses. “What does he even need them for!? We live underground!”

“He complained about the light coming through the windows.”

“And he never thought to mention it once over the months we’ve been living here? Come on, Donald, use your brain!”

“Excuse you, I am always using my brain-”

“Leo’s got insomnia, Mikey,” Raph interjects. “Maybe a totally dark room helps him sleep better.”

“He had insomnia in the old lair, too,” Mikey retorts. “And he’s so tired right now all he does is sleep! He was sleeping in the TV room when I came in here!”

Raph doesn’t have a response for that. And the thing is, he thinks he has an idea why Leo wants to block out his windows, and it has nothing to do with his insomnia. But he doesn’t know how much to tell Mikey now. Not without bringing up the security footage.

Maybe Donnie has the same thought, because when Raph glances his way their eyes lock. 

Of course, Mikey notices. Because Mikey is just as observant as Leo, when it comes to people.

“You guys know something,” he says, looking between them.

“No,” says Donnie, too fast.

Mikey pouts at him. “Donald.”

“Leo hasn’t told us any more than he’s told anyone else,” says Raph.

“But you know something. How could you…” His eyes go wide. “The security footage. Donnie copied it all.”

“Well, I did,” Donnie agrees, “but-”

“You guys watched it, didn’t you?” Mikey asks, but it’s more like an accusation.

“No,” says Raph, and now he’s the one who says it too quickly.

Mikey squints at him, then looks back at Donnie, weak link that he is. “Donnie, did you watch that security tape?”

“I did…n’t,” he says, characteristically unconvincingly. Raph groans.

“I knew it!” Mikey lunges for Donnie’s computer, and it’s only Donnie’s battleshell arms that stop him from getting to the keyboard. “Let me see it too!”

“Mikey, stop!” says Raph, coming and putting a hand on his little brother’s shoulder. He winces when it’s shrugged off. “We’re not gonna watch the video.”

“Why not!?” Mikey demands, ripping himself out of Donnie’s metal arms and jumping back from both of them. “Why can’t I see it!? You both got to!” He looks between them with wild eyes, and then his face falls. “It’s because I’m the youngest, isn’t it?”

“No,” says Raph. “It’s because we both decided not to watch any more for Leo’s privacy.”

“For Leo’s privacy?” Mikey doesn’t look convinced. “Raph, he’s hurting! What if what’s on those videos can help?”

“What if watching them hurts him more?” Donnie defends. “He’ll find out we watched them, and then what?”

“He’d understand!”

“Would he?” Donnie sounds doubtful, and Raph can’t help but doubt it, too.

Even Mikey falters. He’s quiet a moment, wrapping his arms tight around his middle.

“...I don’t want him to suffer,” he says finally. “I want to help him.”

“We all wanna help him,” says Raph.

Mikey turns his eyes on Raph, and they’re full of fear and doubt and uncertainty. “You won’t even talk to him,” he says. It’s damning and cold and worst of all, true.

Raph takes a shaky breath, trying not to show his broken heart. “Listen. All Raph’s saying is, it’s barely been three days since we got Leo back home. Let’s give him time. Hopefully he’ll open up about all this stuff on his own.”

“...Fine. I won’t watch the video,” says Mikey. But he steels his expression, defiant. “But I’m going to keep trying to help him.”

“Just don’t push him, Mikey-”

“I won’t! I know what I’m doing.” He gives them a smile, but it’s weak compared to his usual. “Trust me, guys. I’ve got Dr. Feelings on my side!”

He turns and leaves the lab, the door sliding shut with a reverberating shunk behind him. 

Donnie slumps in his chair. “At least it’s not Dr. Delicate Touch.”

Raph laughs at that. It’s about all he can do.

-----

They feed Leo lunch. Of course they do. He doesn’t know why he keeps thinking they might not.

Of course, Draxum is still there, looking over his shoulder like a warden to make sure Leo doesn’t eat so much as a bite more than he’s meant to. It makes the whole experience stressful, and Leo is ready to crash again as soon as it’s over.

(Is this all his life is now? Long periods bogged down in exhaustion, only broken by the reminder that food is always controlled by someone else.)

He hasn’t been dozing for long this time when a shout echoes through the lair, grabbing his attention.

“Hey guys!”

“April!” yells Mikey, springing up from the beanbag he was sitting in. He’d been there for a while now, looking intently at his phone, but Leo never asked. Probably a new game or something. “Come on in!”

She enters the living room, a bag with a familiar comic store logo hung over her arm. She gives Mikey a one-armed hug before making her way around the chair to hold the bag out to Leo.

“Here you go!” she trills. “I picked it up as soon as I got done with my homework.”

Leo takes it, baffled. He reaches into the bag, gripping something rather large and hard-covered; pulling it out reveals…

“…The Jupiter Jim Sixtieth Anniversary Comic Special!?” Leo cries out loud. He lays it in his lap, reverently brushing the cover with his fingers. “It came out!?”

“Uh, yeah, today.” April laughs. “Don’t you remember? You made me set, like, three different reminders.”

Leo stares at the comic book, feeling a strange sort of disconnect. He can remember when he thought about this comic coming out once a day, at least - he’d been counting down the days from the preorder. But… he actually hasn’t thought about it once since…

At some point, he stopped looking forward to the comic. Because he didn’t think he would be here to read it.

But he is here. He’s alive. Time is still moving forward, and the proof is his long-awaited comic book, finally in his hands.

(Maybe his life still has a few good things to look forward to.)

Leo may be tired of crying, but crying isn’t tired of him - the tears come on hot and fast as he processes all of it at once. The grief at what was almost lost and the impossible relief that it wasn’t.

He rubs furiously at his eyes and sniffs aggressively. Then he looks up at April with the best smile he can manage and holds out his arms.

“Thanks, April.”

“Of course!” She beams, not commenting on the tears, and gives him a hug that is tight and warm and everything he wants. “Now you don’t have to keep texting me about it.”

Leo laughs as he lets go. It’s still a little watery, but she doesn’t comment. “Well what are we waiting for? Wanna read it together?”

“Uh, duh!” April shoves him to the side without any force and settles in next to him on the chair. “I heard they brought back all the old comics characters for this!”

Leo nods excitedly, eyes rising to meet Mikey’s. “How about you, Mikester? We can do the voices!”

Even though he knows his voice won’t hold out for more than a few pages.

“Oh yeah!” says Mikey. “Just let me-”

He looks down at his phone, and Leo catches it as his expression changes - something on the screen taking his attention and causing him to furrow his brow.

“Aaactually,” he says, looking back up with a forced smile. “I have… something I have to do. Somewhere else! But you guys have fun!”

And then he disappears down the escalator toward their train cars.

Leo watches him go, then turns back to look at April. She’s craned her neck to watch, too, a worried pinch to her eyebrows behind her glasses.

It clears up when she catches Leo looking. “Welp. Guess it’s just you and me, then!”

Leo rubs his fingers over the cover again. His desire to read it disappeared with Mikey. Donnie’s busy, Raph’s avoiding him, and now Mikey has more important things to do.

At least April is here. He worms himself a little more solidly against her warmth and hopes he doesn’t drive her away, too.

“Let’s do something else for now,” he says. “Save this bad boy for when we can all read it together.”

April’s eyes go wide. “You sure? I don’t think the guys would mind…”

“Uh, no, Donnie would definitely kill me if I read anything with Atomic Lass before him.” Leo gently sets the comic aside. “Besides, how are we gonna do the voices with just two of us?”

“What, you’re saying I can’t handle it?” April asks, a challenge in her voice. “I bet I could do a one-woman show.”

“Oh, I’d love to see that!” Leo laughs, and it’s only because April is here that it’s genuine and not forced. “But I don’t think I could stay awake for the whole thing, anyway.”

“Well… fine.” April relents. “Anything you wanna do instead?”

“Mmm…” He hands her the remote. “It’s been awhile since we judged people on Say Yes to the Dress.”

“Ooo, you are so right!” April flips on the projector and starts loading up the episodes. “Hold on, let me find where we left off.”

Soon, the sounds of over-dramatic reality TV fill the room. Leo shifts until his head is tucked under April’s chin, and she scratches her fingernails over his shell as they watch. They give their opinions on the dresses and jeer the catty friends and family members.

It feels so normal. The most normal Leo’s felt since he woke up in a room that was nothing but white.

It proves to him that things can be normal.

(But still, in the back of his mind, he wonders when his next meal will be.)

-----

Raph isn’t sure how many more tense dinners his family can survive.

They’re eating beef stew, partly so Leo doesn’t feel like the odd one out with his soup. Except he’s still the odd one out, because they have big chunks of beef and veggies while he has mostly broth with easy to swallow carrots, and some more egg for protein.

Raph hates eating in front of him. It feels like rubbing it in. But would taking their food and leaving him to eat alone be any better?

Probably not, because Draxum would still be watching him. And that’s the biggest source of tension.

Draxum is sitting at the table like the rest of them, but he might as well be looming over Leo’s shoulder. Leo himself stays hunched over his bowl of soup like he thinks it’s going to be snatched away at any moment, eating with quick, furtive movements, his eyes darting to Draxum each time.

It’s the exact opposite of his measured eating from this morning, and even more unsettling.

April is here, thank the Pizza Supreme, and she’s trying to keep the conversation going so they don’t all dwell on the bad vibes from Leo’s direction. Only Splinter is biting, though. Raph tries, of course, but…

He’d take fighting a villain a million times over this.

“Oh yeah, Donnie, Leo said you and Splints are making him curtains for his train car,” says April, grabbing Raph’s attention. “How’s that going?”

Across the table, Mikey’s expression turns conflicted. He focuses his eyes on his food and doesn’t catch Raph watching.

“Oh, it’s going well,” says Donnie, “but I didn’t have enough spare metal to finish. I’ll go to the scrapyard tomorrow and see what I can scrounge up.”

“Hmm… I do not like the idea of you going alone,” says Splinter hesitantly. “We do not know if those people will come back.”

No one has to ask what people he’s referring to. Still, Donnie looks irritated.

“Papa, it’s just the scrapyard,” he argues. “I’ll be back before it’s dark.”

“Still…”

“I’ll go with him!” says Mikey suddenly, raising his hand to volunteer. “Then he won’t be alone. Buddy system!” He slaps his raised hand down on Donnie’s shoulder. 

“Ow,” says Donnie in a flat tone, reaching up and shoving him off. “Despite the unnecessary assault on my person, I’m amenable to Micheal accompanying me.”

“What’s “amenable”?” Leo asks in a stage whisper. 

(It’s the most like himself he’s sounded all day.)

“I think it’s what you say at the end of a prayer,” Mikey stage whispers back.

(Raph can help his smile. He hides it behind his napkin.)

“It means I’m fine with it,” Donnie snaps. “None of you read my Word of the Day texts, do you?”

“Only ‘cause it’s words no one uses,” Leo scoffs. “Seriously, who even uses words like “sanctimonious”?”

“Lots of people!”

“Lots of nerds?”

Donnie glares at him. “You are so lucky we’re having a nice dinner right now, Nardo.”

Leo snorts and refocuses on his soup. He has a big, cocky grin on his face, and it’s all so normal that Raph feels something unknot in his chest. Maybe, Leo really is starting to get better. 

And then Splinter says, “I also need to go out tomorrow… It’s been so long since we got groceries, I couldn’t even eat my usual microwave burrito for lunch!”

And just like that, the normalcy is ripped away again.

Leo’s eyes snap up, locking on their dad, unblinking. His knobbly fingers press tighter around his bowl, pulling it closer to him like he’s scared someone will snatch it away.

“We’re running out of food?”

He sounds so scared that Raph can’t stop himself before he’s reaching over. Just to put his hand on Leo’s shoulder, to give him a hug, if he wants. Anything he needs to calm down, to not look so terrified.

But Leo must misread the action, because he jerks away, gripping the bowl impossibly tighter, eyes blown out wide and a just noticeable tremble in his shoulders. Like he’s scared of Raph.

Raph pulls his hand back without making contact and hunches in his chair, as far away as he can get from Leo without leaving the table. Or maybe he should just get up and leave. How can he be around his little brother when he’s scared of him like this?

“Ah, no,” says Splinter, and this has finally broken his easy-going tone. “There is still plenty of food, Blue, don’t worry.”

“…Hah. Right. Of course there is,” says Leo.

His voice is high and reedy, his face twitching like it’s trying to force itself back into the big smile from earlier but just doesn’t know how to move its muscles. “Why wouldn’t there be?”

Splinter reaches out hesitantly and gives Leo a pat on the arm. Leo flinches, his grip on his bowl still tight, and Splinter retreats again.

“Hey, Pops,” says Raph, drawing attention off Leo. “I can go with you tomorrow.” 

They can get more food with more hands.

“Oh, thank you, Red,” says Splinter, relieved. “That will make things much easier to carry.”

“Sure,” says Raph. Then he upends the rest of his stew into his mouth and swallows it all as fast as he can before standing up.

“Welp, I’m done with dinner so I’m going to get a workout in before bed night everyone!”

And then he’s out of there. Running away from the haunted shell of Leo.

He doesn’t know what to do with a little brother who ducks away from his hands. He doesn’t know what to do with a little brother who covers windows and hides from his eyes. He doesn’t know what to do with a little brother who looks up at him and says, “That’s not what a hero would do.”

Raph is a big guy and he’s never been good with fragile things. So maybe the best thing he can do for now is stay back and let those with deft hands take the lead.

Even if it’s not what he wants.

What he really wants to do is go back to that facility. Find the men that did this to Leo. And then…

Raph lines up his punching bag and swings. Over and over and over, until his fingers sting.

-----

They’re leaving him here. They’re leaving him alone.

Alone with Draxum. 

Leo wants to protest. He wants to beg them to stay. He wants them to not want to leave him to begin with.

But Splinter said they haven’t gotten groceries in awhile. And even if he claims they aren’t running out of food, Leo is terrified of what happens if they do.

So he doesn’t ask his dad to stay. He keeps his mouth shut, focus on his bowl of soup, depressingly empty next to everyone else’s.

But Donnie… Donnie doesn’t have to go to the scrapyard tomorrow, right?

Yeah… Leo can survive the lack of curtains for another day. He slept just fine with his makeshift window blockers last night, after all. He appreciates that Donnie wants to get it done quickly, but there’s no need.

“Hey, Dee,” he says, looking up, and realizing too late that he just interrupted something April was saying. Everyone goes quiet, anyway, and he feels the suffocating weight of everyone’s eyes on him.

His mouth goes dry.

“Yes, Leo?” Donnie prompts when he doesn’t say anything. He looks confused, and concerned. They all do. Because it’s super weird for Leo to say something and then fall silent. Just like it would be weird for him to beg Donnie to stay because he’s afraid of being alone with Draxum.

“Just, uh… excited to see the curtain rods,” he says, pivoting to a neutral topic. Maybe no one noticed. Maybe he was quick enough.

Donnie’s face lights up the way it does when anyone wants to see his handiwork, which is good. Leo likes making his brothers happy. Pizza Supreme knows he hasn’t been good at it lately.

“Of course!” he says, practically bouncing in his seat. “I’ll show you after dinner!”

“Can’t wait.”

Conversation moves on. Leo finishes his soup.

“Are you still hungry?” Draxum asks, making him jump. “Do not lie to me, this time.”

“Draxum,” says Splinter in a warning tone. But that’s all he does. He doesn’t offer Leo more food. He doesn’t argue that Leo wouldn’t lie.

They haven’t been grocery shopping in awhile.

“…No,” Leo says, twisting his napkin in his hand. “I’m full.”

-----

“I focused on the windows directly around your bed to begin,” Donnie says as he leads Leo into his train car, a bounce in his step as he pushes past the curtain. “To help you get a good night’s sleep. And Dad already hung what curtains he had finished, so you can even see the final result!”

Leo steps into the middle of the room and looks around. The curtain rods are simpler than he expected, simple things fastened to the wall, able to be unlatched so the rods can be removed and the curtains swapped out. Every windows’ brackets are slightly different, a testament to the scraps Donnie used to make them, but Leo likes that - this hodge-podge, improvised way of home decor has always been their style. It has a charm you can’t get in a normal house.

Donnie has also painted the rods a gunmetal blue, and some of the brackets have Ls etched into the metal. It’s little details like that that leave Leo touched.

The curtains themselves are just black fabric, sewn so they can loop over the rods and be pulled aside when desired. It’s simple and quick, but they represent hours his dad spent today at a sewing machine, just to help him sleep.

Leo feels himself getting a little teary again, and he quickly blinks it back. He doesn’t feel like crying today.

“It’s so cool, Dee,” he says, and his voice is genuine; he catches Donnie flap his hands in a pleased way out of the corner of his eye. “Thanks. This will really help a lot.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you like them!” Donnie is all smiles, and it makes Leo smile, too. “I wanted to make them more elaborate, but I thought time was of the essence. I would have been done today, if I hadn’t run out of materials.”

“No way, man, you got a lot more done today than I thought you would.” Then again, Donnie always has been quick, even more so since he got his powers, so Leo shouldn’t be so surprised. “What else could you even do to them? Add AI?”

“Oho, don’t tempt me.” Donnie reaches up and taps one of the brackets with a nail, making a soft ping. “Then you could open or close all the curtains with voice command!”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m good using my hands.” He spins to take the room in one more time, then claps his arm around Donnie’s shoulders.

(The pang when his arm hits the metal shell is more jarring than it used to be.)

“Seriously, hermano. Thanks.”

Donnie doesn’t pull away quite as quickly as he used to. “Well. Save any more thanks until I finish with the project. Which should be soon, after my scrapyard run tomorrow!”

Right. The scrapyard. This is when Leo should bring it up. This is the perfect time.

He can just ask Donnie to stay. To put it off one more day, work on something else. Here, in his room, just the two of them, he doesn’t think Donnie would refuse him. He doesn’t think Donnie would make fun of him. He doesn’t think Donnie would call him weird.

“Actually, uh…”

He remembers Donnie taking his cracker and eating it.

“Hm?” Donnie turns out of his arm and looks at Leo, confused. “What’s wrong?”

He remembers Donnie’s reaction to the chewed up bottle cap.

“Leo?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, rubbing the back of his head. “Just… be careful, okay? We don’t know if those EPF guys have come back.”

Donnie’s face drops into a more serious expression. “Right. Don’t worry - I’ve taken precautions.”

“What precautions?”

“I’ve updated the software on all our trackers. If they leave the city limits, or if a third party attempts to interfere with the signal, they’ll immediately send an alert to everyone’s phones.”

“You don’t think that’s a little… excessive?”

Donnie folds his arms over his chest. “Not if it keeps everyone safe.”

Leo doesn’t know how to argue with that.

“I am working on a way that we can each override it, though,” Donnie adds. “We wouldn’t want to scare each other if we leave the area on purpose. And I have plans for even more enhancements that can-”

“Eugh boy.” Leo motions Donnie toward the door. “I’m way too tired for speech mode, Dee. Maybe later?”

Donnie scowls. “Exasperated sigh. There is never a “later” with you.”

Leo laughs. “You got me!”

“You could really stand to pay attention and learn something… But, alright.” Donnie steps toward the curtain. “I will let you get away with it this time, only because you’re still recovering.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Yes.” But Donnie gives him a grin on the way out. “Goodnight, Nardo.”

“Night, nerd!”

As soon as Donnie’s gone, Leo sinks onto his bed and puts his head in his hands.

He couldn’t ask Donnie to stay. He couldn’t, because it would be weird and strange and bad. And now he’s going to be left alone with Draxum.

Will Draxum even let him eat? What if he decides Leo’s had enough…?

It’s a stupid thought. Of course Draxum will let him eat. Otherwise, Leo’s family would… do something!

Right?

He thinks about Donnie taking the cracker again. His pulse quickens.

He can’t go without food again. He can’t. He doesn’t think he would be able to take it.

But if no one else is going to give him food, then… then…

Leo takes a deep breath and steels his resolve. He knows what he needs to do.

He grabs the curtain on the nearest window and pulls it over, just a crack - just enough to see the lights outside, to see when they dim as the rest of his family goes to bed for the night.

And he waits.

-----

By the time Raph finally leaves the dojo, it’s dark in the lair, with only some safety lighting and a few neon signs still on. He can hear his dad snoring from the TV room, the projection flickering on the end card of a show, and as he passes their extra train car he sees Draxum inside, working on something under a desk lamp. Mikey and Leo are both in their rooms, from what he can tell, and Donnie must be in his lab.

He’ll go on his rounds in a bit; first, he beelines for the kitchen for water and a nighttime snack.

He’s quiet as he walks up the escalator, knowing exactly which steps creak and squeal and carefully avoiding them. He doesn’t want a conversation right now; not with his wrapped knuckles and sweat-soaked mask dangling from his fingers.

The kitchen’s dark when he arrives, and he fumbles around for the switch, missing it a few times. It’s so different from the layout of the old lair, and he’s not usually the first one in the kitchen in the morning.

He finally flips on the light, and finds he isn’t the first one in the kitchen tonight, either.

Leo stands frozen by the counter, eyes wide and panicked when they meet Raph’s. In his hands he’s clutching a half-full bag of chips, sour cream and onion, the plastic crinkling and snapping where he grips it tight. He looks like a terrified, wild animal, drowning in one of his own hoodies and stancing up like he’s ready to bolt. Like he’s doing something wrong, getting a snack in his own house.

Except… he kind of is doing something wrong. And that’s what breaks Raph’s heart.

But what is Raph supposed to do here? Tell Leo he can’t eat that, the same as his captors did? Try to explain to him why he can’t have it, when Raph barely understands the reasons himself? Rip the bag from his weak hands, and prove to Leo once and for all that his family can’t be trusted?

Raph is supposed to be the biggest brother. The one who always knows exactly what to do, exactly how to help, who protects his three little knuckleheads from a world that wants to hurt them.

But he doesn’t know what to do about this. It’s just not in his playbook.

He’s never been good with fragile things.

Raph reaches over and flips off the kitchen light. He goes back to the escalator, and dodges the squeaky steps. He goes to his train car, and pulls the curtain over the doorway.

He pretends he didn’t see.

-----

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 Part A (here) | Part 4 Part B (not out yet)