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colormepurplex2 · 5 months

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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

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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!”

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shhhsecretsideblog · 3 months

Note

a fic with both partners in labor?

I had a few requests for No.11 off my prompts list so I’ve tried to group these together into one story. Turns out writing mutual preg / birth is exhausting haha. First time answering a request / prompt, this one ended up a lot longer than I’d expected - 4.9k words. Hope you like :)

Girls Night Out

Leaning against the sink Rachel took a long deep breath and swayed her hips side to side to ease the tightening that was banding across her belly. It was the fourth one she’d felt since they arrived at the bar and they’d not even been here that long. Every wave that crested slowly told her what was coming.

The girls had decided to have a final evening out - dinner at a fancy restaurant followed by drinks at their favourite cocktail bar - the whole gang together one more time before the babies arrived. Rachel and her wife Emily were both pregnant and together they were soon to be the parents of two little baby girls. They’d been happily married for five years before they started looking into having children and Rachel and Emily were both keen to experience pregnancy. When they discovered a new fertility option being offered to same-sex couples they jumped at it. Rather than carrying their own genetic embryo, they each had the other’s fertilised egg implanted; Rachel was pregnant with Emily’s egg, and Emily was pregnant with Rachel’s. Not wanting to do things by half, they went through with the IVF at the same time and against all odds both implantations were a success. So here they were, both classed as ‘full term’ having one nostalgic evening out with their friends before their lives would change forever.

Alone in the empty restroom Rachel allowed herself to groan through the latest contraction. She should have realised sooner that she might be in labour, she was a trained midwife after all and should recognise these things. Clearly her ability to self-diagnose was severely lacking. Whilst Rachel wasn’t a practising midwife anymore, having given it up a few years ago, Emily was adamant she wanted Rachel to be the one to deliver her baby. Rachel was honoured to be bringing both their children into the world, as midwife and as birthing mother. She thought she had retained a decent level of midwifery intuition even after quitting the vocation, but “baby brain” had recently started to affect her. She was convinced Emily was having contractions earlier but her wife said she could barely feel them and were just braxton hicks. Rachel wished she could say the same but the contraction kept on squeezing and tightening her rounded stomach pressing everything downward. The baby’s head sitting heavily in her hips made everything feel so damn low.

A sudden wave of nausea washed over her and Rachel bolted into a cubical. Falling to her knees she vomited the meal they’d just spent an extortionate amount of money for. She grasped her hair with one hand and cupped the swell of her stomach with the other as she retched over the porcelain. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d thrown up in these toilets, but previously she’d been extremely drunk, not to mention a lot younger. It was a very different type of night out. When her stomach had emptied she wiped her mouth and blew her nose and was about to blame poor cooking for her sickness when she noticed a wetness dripping down the inside of her thighs. It was promptly followed by another more aggressive contraction.

Yup, this is definitely labour, no denying it now. She thought to herself, riding out the wave kneeling on the bathroom floor. She quickly discovered that contractions were much stronger after your waters break, now understanding exactly what all her previous patients had gone through. Breathing deeply until it passed, Rachel then managed to stand up and return to the sink. Shit, she definitely looked like a woman in labour now. Sweat had started to gather on her forehead and her cheeks were looking flush and rosey. She’d seen these signs plenty of times before but hoped no one else would catch on as quick. They’d have to end the evening early now. She would need to go back out to the bar, find a way to discreetly tell her wife that the baby was coming, so they could make their excuses and head home and on to the birth centre. She splashed cold water on her face, trying to look a bit more composed, when suddenly the toilet door crashed open.

“Oh my god, Rachel!” Her friend Eve spluttered in a frenzied panic. “You have to come quick. Emily’s water has just broken, she’s in labour!”

You’re kidding, Rachel thought.

“What happened?” She asked, immediately worrying about her wife and following Eve out of the toilets.

“I don’t know. One minute we were giggling over old uni stories and the next, splash. I think Steph’s bag took the worst hit.” Eve couldn’t help the smirk that pulled her lips despite the serious situation.

“Is she having contractions?” Rachel asked, cupping her large swell as she waddled as fast as she could to keep up with Eve down the long corridor.

“If she was, she didn’t say until her water broke. She had been shifting and grimacing a bit, but she said it was just the baby kicking.”

Rachel scoffed, realising now that her intuition had been spot on; Emily had been having contractions. But then why didn’t she say anything!? As if in response, Rachel’s own belly started to cramp. Emily was probably hiding it for the same reason Rachel was - not to ruin the evening.

“Oof- hang on a second Eve…” Rachel said breathlessly, stopping in the corridor and placing a hand against the wall to steady herself. “Mmmmhhhh…”

“What are you-” Eve stopped, turning around, seeing Rachel holding her bump and breathing deeply. “Oh no. No way. Rachel please tell me you’re not in labour too!”

“Hooooo- I didn’t exactly plan this- ooooohh…” Rachel said through controlled breaths.

“This is what you get for getting pregnant at the same time! I said you two were mad.”

“Oh Eve… please don’t start…” Rachel whimpered as the contraction peaked.

Immediately feeling guilty Eve quickly ran over to her friend. “I’m sorry.” She said, rubbing a hand up and down Rachel’s back “You know I don’t mean it. You guys are incredible doing this together.”

“Thanks hun…” Rachel huffed, rocking her hips through the worst of the contraction.

“So, what’s the plan? Do we call you an Uber? An ambulance? Oh my god you’re both having your babies!”

“No! Shhhhh. We are not telling Emily I’m in labour.” Rachel urged.

“What? Why?”

“We can’t tell her. She has a birth plan, she’s been stressing over it for months. It’s bad enough she’s gone into labour here, if she finds out I’m in labour too she will freak out. Which won’t be good for her or the baby right now.”

“But what about you and your baby Rach?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m a midwife, I know how childbirth works. I can handle this.” Rachel exhaled a breath and straightened up, the contraction fading back down to just an uncomfortable pressure. “I’m more worried about Em right now.”

“Well…if you’re sure.”

“I am.” Rachel composed herself again, ready to go back out there and support her wife. “How is she doing, how bad are the contractions?”

“I think they’re pretty bad. She can’t even talk through them babes.”

Fuck. That wasn’t a good sign.

~•~•~•~•~

When Rachel and Eve returned to the bar, their friends were still sitting in their booth; Emily in the middle with Steph and Adrienne on either side. At first glance you wouldn’t know anything was wrong, but every couple of seconds people on nearby tables would look over to the group nervously. Emily’s water breaking had clearly attracted a lot of attention.

Emily looked up and saw her wife approaching and the relief in her expression was unmissable. Rachel waddled over to the table but before she arrived she watched the smile disappear from Emily’s lips. Her wife’s face abruptly scrunched up in pain and she grasped her pregnant swell. The music thumped loudly, covering up any sounds she could make, but the force of the contraction was clear by her body language alone.

Steph jumped up when Rachel arrived, allowing Rachel to awkwardly shuffle into the booth next to her wife.

“Hey. It’s okay, I’m here, I'm here. Just breathe Em. Slow, calm breaths. That’s it.” Rachel said, rubbing her upper back supportively.

Emily curled into her wife, as much as their pregnant bellies would allow, and moaned deeply against her neck. “Unhhhhh… Rach.. con-contrac- I- I…”

“Shhh you don’t have to speak. You’re doing great.” Rachel said. “Take it steady, you got this. In and out. We’ll get through this one and then we can talk.”

Rachel put a hand on Emily’s rounded stomach - the entire orb was contracting heavily, it was as solid as a rock. The way Emily moaned and squirmed in her seat, the tension stretching tight across her belly, had Rachel worried. She’d expected Emily to be in early labour, her waters simply breaking early on in the process, but it was quickly looking to be much more advanced than that.

Even with the loud music in the bar, Rachel could feel the deep groaning of her wife’s labour against her chest, the tone becoming low and gravelly. Emily’s thighs were slightly apart on the seat, her contracting belly sitting heavily between them. Another long groan escaped her wife’s lips which ended with an almost grunting sound.

Fuck, she sounds like she’s in transition already. Rachel thought worriedly, holding Emily’s hand and simultaneously rubbing her tight belly.

“Babe, I need to know what’s happening. What do you feel?” Rachel asked hesitantly.

“Mnnnggg- pressure. So much pressure…” Emily whimpered, the contraction beginning to release its grip.

“Okay, it’s gonna be fine. Just breathe, that’s it. Good girl. It’s sounding pretty intense, I think I need to check to see how dilated you are.”

“Oh no… really... Now? Here?” Emily panted.

“Do you think you can move?” Rachel asked.

“Maybe... Not far.”

“I’ll go see if they have a back room or something we can go to.” Adrienne chimed in, before disappearing to speak with the bar staff.

“Oh Rach, this is happening too fast. I don’t want to have my baby here.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Rachel reassured, kissing her forehead. “We’ll see how far you are and then we can decide what we want to do. If we go to the hospital or back home for our planned home birth.” Despite saying this, Rachel knew her own labour meant the latter wasn’t really an option.

Adrienne returned with news that the bar had a function room that wasn’t being used this evening, and they could use it for a bit of privacy. Rachel heaved her own pregnant body out of the booth and then turned to help Emily to do the same. Unfortunately the minute she stood up Rachel felt the beginning pangs of another contraction approaching.

“Adrienne, can you and Steph help take Emily to the b-back room? I don’t think I can support her my-myself.” Rachel gestured to her low-hanging bump and braced a hand on her twinging lower back.

“Of course.” Adrienne replied, putting an arm around Emily. Steph held Emily’s other arm and the three of them made their way to the function room at the back of the bar.

Rachel held it together for as long as Emily remained in eyesight but the second the girls rounded the corner Rachel spun around gripping the table hard to stop her knees from buckling.

“Ooofff- mnnnnghhh-!” She couldn’t stop the noise escaping her throat.

“Oh Rach,” Eve muttered, coming closer, shielding Rachel and her obvious contraction from the people in the bar. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“I..I’ll be f-f-fine. Hoooohooo- just a rough- contraction- unghh!” Rachel grunted, ignoring the weight and pressure that was building in her pelvis.

“You sound just as bad as Emily, hun.” Eve warned.

Rachel didn’t need the comparison and glared at her friend.

“I’m just saying! You can’t expect to hide this from her. Even with her own labour going on, she’s going to notice you pushing out your other baby.”

“I know, it’s just… ooohhh- we’re not telling her here, now. I need to find out how far along she is first… hoohoo- she seems pretty far into active labour but I don’t think she knows it. Then we can head to the birth centre and we’ll both check in. Alright?”

“Whatever you want to do, we’ll help you.” Eve replied, the uncertainty clear in her voice.

When the contraction had passed, Eve helped Rachel to the empty function room. Rachel was quick to let go of Eve’s support just before they opened the door making sure not to rouse any suspicion of her own condition.

They found Emily standing in front of a table, hands planted firmly on top, hips aggressively swaying and she was groaning like a cow. Rachel swallowed the anxiety creeping up her throat, all too familiar with this sight. Steph and Adrienne stood awkward and uncomfortable by Emily’s side and immediately vacated the space on the arrival of her wife.

“Hi honey,” Rachel said softly, brushing a fallen lock of hair behind Emily’s ear and rubbing her back. “How are you doing?”

“Oohhhh god- they won’t stop. It… hurts.. the baby feels so low… unghhhh! Rachel help me!” Emily cried out.

“It looks like you're progressing fast. Don’t worry, that’s alright, but I do need to have a look to see how soon our baby is coming.”

Emily nodded, showing her understanding but couldn’t form a reply.

“Are you able to sit on a chair, or are you happy there?” Rachel asked.

“No- unhhh- can’t sit- down…” Emily panted.

“That’s okay, we can do it here. I need you to lean over the table, as far as you can. I’ll lift your dress and remove your undies, okay?”

“That’s- that’s what you said to me- on our first- date.” Emily joked, breathing slightly slower as the contraction ebbed away.

Rachel laughed while Eve rolled her eyes.

Checking someone’s dilation was easy, but getting into a position to do so whilst heavily pregnant was going to be hard. Rachel lifted her wife’s dress so it rested on Emily’s flat back, and then slowly she lowered herself into a squat. A move she very quickly regretted.

The baby in her womb suddenly sank even further towards its exit, the head pressing forcefully and painfully on her rapidly dilating cervix.

“Ooooff- oh god!” Rachel couldn’t stop her reaction to the sudden shift.

“Are you okay?” Steph asked worriedly.

“Nngh! Yes.. I’m f-fine. Just.. got in an uncomfortable position that’s all.” Rachel moved to her knees, playing off her outburst as just regular pregnancy annoyance. Meanwhile Eve raised a singular eyebrow at her, knowing the true reason for her discomfort.

“Ok, let’s see how you’re doing hun.” Rachel said with expert professionalism, ignoring the increased weight that was now forcing apart her hips. Moving the underwear out the way, Rachel quickly checked her wife’s dilation.

“Jesus Christ Em, you’re about eight centimetres dilated!” Rachel exclaimed, removing her hand and heaving herself back to standing. The midwife’s brain immediately whirled into overdrive about the very limited time they had before the baby’s arrival.

“What!?” Emily panted, straightening up and twisting round to see her wife.

“You’ve been in labour all day haven’t you?”

“I… I can’t have… no. They weren’t real contractions.”

“Oh honey, I think they were. I’m so sorry but this baby is coming, and soon.” Rache emphasised, affectionately rubbing the curve of her wife’s pregnant stomach before turning towards their friends. “Someone needs to call an ambulance. We’re not going to make it anywhere before the baby comes.”

“Oh my god.” “Shit.” “Fuck.” came the responses of their best friends.

“No… Rachel, I can’t… I can’t have my baby here.” Emily muttered with a panicked, shaky breath, her eyes widening and welling with tears. “I had a birth plan, we were supposed to be at home. You and me. Not in the b-back of a bar that smells like tequilaaa - oooohhhhh!”

A contraction stole the rest of Emily’s sentence and she braced herself once more against the table. Rachel moved behind her, pressing her expert thumbs deep into the pressure points of Emily’s lower back to help relieve some of her wife’s pain.

“Try and stay calm, Em. I know this isn’t what we planned, but we’ve got this. Babies are born every day and I’ll be right here w-with you… Just breathe through it. In and- ohhhhh- out.” Rachel found her body syncing with her wife’s, plaguing them both with a contraction at the same time. “Will one of you call a damn ambulance.” She gritted to the others, swallowing down the moan in her throat, trying hard to keep her laboured breathing as quiet as possible.

Emily began to tremble, her knees starting to buckle beneath her, her hips bobbing up and down.

“Why d-don’t we get you off y-your feet hun.” Rachel stuttered, trying not to give away her own contraction that was ripping its way through her body. “If you don’t want to sit… mmnnh.. let’s get you on your knees and you can lean against a ch-chair.”

“Nhhh- okay…” Emily whimpered.

Steph pulled over a chair and helped Emily to kneel down and brace against it. With her forearms resting on the seat cushion and her face buried into the crook of her elbow, Emily rocked her hips back and forth, following her body’s instincts to open up for the approaching delivery.

With Emily occupied, Rachel steadied herself by gripping the table in Emily’s vacated space. This contraction was relentless, squeezing and tightening her bump with a worrying amount of force, the pressure of her baby’s head against her cervix forever mounting. Hiding her pained expression, she turned away from the group pressing her face into her shoulder. She couldn’t stop the grunt in her throat as her body worked with the building pressure, bringing the baby lower and lower.

“How are you holding up?” Eve whispered to her.

“Oooooohhh- I think we’re gonna need that ambulance for more than just Emily…” Rachel admitted to her friend while the others were busy looking after her wife.

“Shit… you’re like properly in labour then?”

“Mmh- my waters broke in the toilets… b-before you came to g-get me…”

“Rachel! Why didn’t you say?” Eve scolded in a sharp whisper.

“It’ll be fine. The ambulance will be here before we know it... w-with paramedics and everything they’d need to d-deliver two b-b-babies.”

“OOOHHHHHH RACHEL!” Emily suddenly cried, bringing Eve and Rachel out of their hushed conversation.

Rachel waddled over, her gait widening every minute, towards her kneeling and groaning wife. “Hey darling, you okay? What are you feeling?” She asked, rubbing her back.

“I- I think- oohhhhh fuck… I think I need to push…” Emily mewled, and Rachel’s heart plummeted to her feet.

“Okay… okay… erm… hooo- just hold on a second. I need to check to see if you’re fully-”

“Mnnnnghhhh-pushingggg!” Emily growled, her spine curved as her body pushed whether she wanted to or not.

“Oh my god, what do we do?” Steph asked, crouching next to Emily.

“We’ll err… need towels, oh and a first aid kit.” Rachel instructed, trying to focus on the immediate task at hand and ignoring the near-constant seizing of her own womb.

“I’m on it.” Adrienne disappeared out the room.

“Listen to me Em,” Rachel said softly but firmly, “if your body’s telling you to push, you can push, but only with the contractions. Okay.”

“Rachel, are you seriously going to-” Eve tried to say before Rachel interrupted.

“The ambulance isn’t going to make it, Eve. She’s pushing already. I’m going to have to deliver the baby after all.”

“But you’re-”

“I’ll be fine. Emily needs me right now.” Rachel said with confidence she didn’t have. Please wait a little bit longer, she pleaded to the child in her womb. I know you want to meet your other mum and sister, but just hold on.

Emily grunted and lowed, bearing down hard. Rachel awkwardly got down on her knees behind her labouring wife. Her own belly hung so low on her hips, her baby’s head so deep in her birth canal, that her thighs were forced apart when she sat back on her heels.

“You’re doing brilliant Em, push with the contractions. Are you happy here or did you want to move?”

“Ooffhhhhhhh-want-to-move-hhhfff! Need-to-sit-mnnnghhh-down!”

“That’s fine, we can move you. When this contraction is over, we’ll get you in a different position. Steph, can y-you help h-h-her?”

Rachel subtly circled her hips that were being stretched further and further apart with every passing second. There was so much pressure she could cry. But she had to focus on Emily right now.

Adrienne came back with towels and a small first aid kit from the bar staff, while Steph helped Emily move to sit up on the chair.

“Ohhhhhh I can’t believe I’m having our baby here! Mnnnhhhh” Emily cried, cradling her bump, legs wide apart over the sides of the seat.

“I know honey. It’s not the best location, no, but it’s okay. The ambulance is on its way, and I can deliver our baby just like we p-planned. We can do this. You can do this.” Rachel gave Emily’s leg a light comforting squeeze of encouragement. Kneeling at her wife’s feet, Rachel unwrapped the towel and first aid kit and prepared herself to deliver their baby.

“Hoooo-hoooo… we can do this, we can do this...” Emily repeated, trying to keep herself calm.

“Okay, now on the next con-contraction… ohhhh… on the next contraction I need you to… to…. mmmnnnghhh” Rachel was cut off by a sudden fierce contraction of her own. It was too much; the baby was too low, the pressure too strong - stealing the words from her mouth and distracting her focus. Forced to brace her knees and lift her hips, Rachel emitted a long and deep groan. Her body was crying out for something… she needed to do - something… she needed to… needed to… push. Rachel panted heavily, fighting the urge. This baby had to wait, it just had to. She needed to help Emily deliver, there was no one else that could.

“Rachel!?” Emily cried, “What’s wrong- are you… oh my god are you in labour!!??”

Eve knelt down next to her friend “Breathe Rachel, just breathe through it. That’s it. Are you still okay to do this?”

Rachel couldn’t respond but nodded her head, letting out a long and shaky exhale.

“You can’t be in labour too - who’s going to deliver my baby?” The white’s around Emily’s eyes gave away her sheer panic as she panted heavily and rocked in the chair.

“I- I will…” Rachel breathed, the peak of the contraction finally releasing its hold and with it the pressure eased just enough for her to get a hold of herself. “It’s fine darling. Yes, I am in labour, but… hooooo- the contractions are far enough apart… I c-can still help deliver your baby…”

“Rach!” Eve cautioned, then lowered her tone so only Rachel could hear “Your contractions are no further apart than hers and you know it.”

“We don’t have much of a choice.” Rachel gritted out quietly. “The ambulance isn’t going to make it in time-”

Their conversation was interrupted again by the animalistic sound of Emily pushing. “MNNGGHHH - baby- coming- outttttt-!”

Instinctively Rachel shuffled closer to her wife, widening Emily’s legs further apart and lifting her dress to see her progress.

“That’s it Emily. That was a really good push. Good girl. And again, push.” Rachel encouraged, seeing the sliver of their baby start to appear.

“Can I keep going?” Emily panted, slouched in the chair and gripping her thighs tight.

“If you’ve still got a contraction - yes. Keep going! Push!”

“Push Emily!” Their friends encouraged. “Push! Push!!”

While her wife brought one of their baby girls closer to the world, another contraction struck Rachel like blaze of lightning. Every muscle in her body was squeezing the baby down down down, its head was right there, her body screaming at her to aid its effort in birthing the baby. Hearing the constant yells to ‘push’ from their friends, the grunting sounds of her wife, the visual in front of her of a baby slowly crowning - it all activated a primal instinct that she just couldn’t control. As hard as she tried, Rachel simply couldn’t stop herself from pushing.

Thankfully no one noticed, all the focus was on Emily. No one noticed Rachel’s thighs widening apart, or the subtle lifting of her hips. Whenever her wife pushed, Rachel did too. The couple were perfectly in sync, together bringing their children into the world. Rachel’s mouth was clamped shut with the strain, muffling any involuntary sounds she might have made. Thankfully the music from the bar and Emily’s screaming was loud enough anyway to hide any audible evidence of her own advancing birth.

Her wife pushed again and even more of the head came forward - it was fast approaching a full crown. Despite her own body contracting and pushing, Rachel reacted quickly cupping a hand over the emerging head between Emily’s legs.

“T-t-take it e-easy now Emily- hoooo- pant if you can… breathe the b-baby d-down-nnghhh!” Rachel strained out instructions to her wife, trying not to push while she spoke.

“Hooohooo-hooohooo” Emily panted, tears running down her cheeks with the pain of her stretching.

“Amazing… hoooo…. Oh darling you’re doing b-brilliantly. Her head’s coming… so close…nearly there… Keep p-panting.” Rachel supported the emerging head as it inched further and further; the eyes, the nose, the ears, all slipping into this world and then with a pop the head was fully born into Rachel’s hand.

Emily released a cry of relief.

Then, with the timing of a soap opera, Rachel was wracked with another angry contraction and this one meant business. There was no fighting it, no holding back - her baby wanted to be born. With her hands still supporting Emily’s babe Rachel took a deep breath, her knees widening and hips sinking, and she pushed. Hard.

“…Rach?” Eve’s voice sounded so far away. Rachel was only aware of the baby in her hands and the baby between her legs. Nothing else registered to her.

She could feel herself being stretched, the head slowly peeking out into her underwear. No! You have to wait, she pleaded with her baby but her body had other ideas. Thankfully the contraction soon peaked, the urgency fading, allowing her to think clearly again. But her baby was close, dangerously so.

“Hoooo-ooooh- okay. Well done Emily. You’ve done the w-worst bit.” Rachel's heavy breaths were undeniable, trying to make it through the pain of her baby trying to crown, but she persevered - she needed to help her wife deliver this baby. “Next- step, oooh that’s it, the baby’s turning. Ok, you’re ready to deliver the shoulders now hun. On the next contraction you need to give me a big push… okay?”

Emily was sweating, her makeup smudged and her cheeks flushed. She nodded, took a deep breath and beared down. “MNNNNGGGHHHH!!!!!!”

“Keep going- keep going!” Rachel encouraged.

Emily released the push with a sob. “I can’t… I can’t do it…”

“Yes, you c-can.” Rachel said, gritting her teeth as she felt another contraction rising.

“I can’t…. It hurts… I don’t want to have my baby h-here… I want to be at h-home…”

Rachel’s own contraction was burning through her very soul. Her body was pushing without her active participation, the baby stretching her more and more every passing second. She tried to hold on, not to push, but her hips were starting to tremble and her underwear beginning to bulge. Her baby wanted out, and it wanted out now.

“You have to p-pushh Emily… hoooohooo I-I-I need- y-you to p-p-push…” Rachel’s teeth were grinding, she could barely get the words out.

“I c-can’t.” She sobbed, trembling.

“Emily… please…” Rachel pleaded with a whimper. “You-have-to…p-p-push!!! MNNNGGGHH!” Rachel cried as her body pushed despite herself, her baby reaching a full crown and beyond into her clothing.

Emily watched Rachel grunt and strain on the floor in front of her; she was pushing! And all the while her incredible wife was still carefully holding the head of Emily’s half-born baby in between her thighs. Filled with determination, Emily took a deep breath and pushed with everything that she had.

One shoulder, then then next, and a second later Rachel and Emily’s first born daughter entered the world. Rachel lifted the squalling infant and hastily placed her into Emily’s chest. The next one was coming, and it was coming now!

Rachel got up on her knees and frantically scrambled to pull down her trousers. Their friends looked on, confused and panicked. When her hips were free from the confines of her clothing, Rachel put a trembling hand between her legs and felt the significant dome of her baby’s fully crowned head.

“Oh my god Rachel!” Emily gasped.

The midwife was not capable of speech, instead letting out an urgent primal sound as she immediately birthed the head directly into her hand. With the head delivered, Rachel could breathe again, could think again.

“Hooo-hooo… so…Emily… are you ready to m-meet your other d-daughter?” Rachel breathed, smiling at her wife and newborn daughter, cupping the head of its sibling.

“You are… beyond incredible.” Emily smiled in awe of her beautiful wife. “Yes, let’s complete our family.”

And with that Rachel pushed on the next contraction, catching in her hands their second baby girl. Born 3 minutes after her sister.

#prompts answered #birth fic #birth kink #public birth #clothing birth #inconvenient birth #birth denial #panty birth #birth fiction #birth prompts #mutual birth #mutual preg #my writing

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justlemmeadoreyou · 10 months

Text

windfall | (mechanic!harry part2)

summary: part 2 to this

word count: 2k

warnings: cursing

masterlist | ask box(requests are open!)

As you walked away from the garage, frustration and annoyance built up within you. Harry's indifferent and grumpy attitude was not making this situation any easier. You considered finding another garage, but deep down, you knew that might not be a feasible option given the state of your car.

You didn’t even want to go to work today. Sleeping curled up in the backseat of the car had made your body sore, especially your back. But leaving work would mean staying at the garage all day, listening to scolds from Harry, and you didn’t want that either.

So, you decided to go to work.

Walking to the nearest bus stop, you managed to get a bus that dropped you off near your office, but you still would have to walk half a mile.

Great.

You reached the office after about an hour, completely disheveled and tired. You had gotten a bit sweaty too, that failed the purpose of taking a shower, and you were already in the need of another.

Walking in, the receptionist as well as the other few looked at you judgmentally, but you successfully managed to ignore them, too tired to start a conversation and explain your circumstances.

Walking to your worn-out leather chair, you threw your bag on the table, and slumped down on the chair. You looked at your computer, and then at the pile of files you had on your table, as well as the reports you had to finish working on, to get signed by Jake, your boss. You pouted; it was so much work for just one person. The worn-out chair creaked as you shifted, contemplating how to tackle the mountain of tasks in front of you.

Turning on the computer, you got up from your chair, and decided to go for a coffee run.

Turning the coffee machine on, and placing your cup below, you stared at the liquid pouring down as it gradually filled the cup. After a few moments, another person entered the room, and you looked over your shoulder.

Thankfully, it was your friend, Mia.

Mia was one of the very few girls in the office who worked at the same position as you, and you two had grown really close over the past 6 months, when she had driven you home one night from the bar, you had been really wasted and she was he only one sober. She had made you drink water, take a Tylenol, and tucked you in. She was so caring.

She walked with a smile up to you, proceeding to retrieve her own cup. She then came and stood next to you, while the machine was still filling up your cup.

“Morning.”

“Morning. You look tired. What happened?” she asked. You sighed and frowned, as all of the things that had happened in just the last 24 hours came rushing back, making you want to cry so bad.

“Yeah, I took the bus, and walked like, half a mile to reach here”

“Oh god. What about your car?”

“It totaled. And my apartment too, it’s gone. My landlord kicked me out.”

“Jesus, that’s awful. So you slept in your car?”

“Mhm” you removed your cup, and replaced it with hers. Taking a sip, you closed your eyes as it cascaded down your throat. You hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon, and the coffee gave you some energy to finish some of your work, till the afternoon at least.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” she frowned too, feeling sorry for you.

“It’s alright. Should have seen that coming. I mean, I spent so much money on the concert tickets last month, I almost went broke. I couldn’t even pay rent, and it was due since so many months”

“Still. That’s so bad. If you want, you can stay at mine for a few days. My roommate has gone for a trip and I think she’ll come back next week”

Your eyes brightened. She was such a gem. You immediately put your cup down, and hugged her.

“Thank you so much. So so much”

Rest of the day went by great. You were able to submit 5 reports, and completed most of the files and cleared them off your desk. You had finally managed to find a place to live, at least for the next few days, and you were sure you could figure something out till then.

Walking back to the garage, you had a cute smile on your face. The prospect of having a place to stay for the next few days infused you with a sense of relief, and not having to see Harry everyday was an added advantage.

Reaching the garage, you spotted your car and walked to it. There was someone down below, working on it. You decided to sit by for a bit, to find Harry and tell him about the new conditions. Surely, he will be glad to see less of you throughout the week.

You knocked the hood of the car, hoping the person below would listen.

He came sliding out, but he wasn’t Harry.

And he was gorgeous. Bright blue eyes, with brunette hair. He was wearing a tank-top, the shirt tied around his waist. There was a bit of grease here and there, but you didn’t mind.

“Yeah?”

You blinked and shook your head, bringing your eyes back up to his face.

“Uh-yeah. I was just-I came to ask that-Oh-this-this is my car. I wanted to ask, is there any progress?” you stumbled a bit around your words, but managed to blurt out at least an understandable sentence.

“Oh, yeah. I checked the engine and it was…well, in a bad condition. I will have to replace the air filters, check the exhaust and combustion, and the fuel too. Will have to replace the battery too”

He got up, cleaning his hands on a stray cloth.

“Oh. It’s not totaled yet, is it?”

“No, lord no. It’ll be much lower than that. How much did you buy this for?”

“About 35,000 dollars”

“Nope, this will be about 600 dollars.”

“Oh, thank god. I met, Harry? In the morning. And he scared me so bad. I felt that it was gone”

“No, he just likes to give hard time to everyone. I’m Niall, by the way” he extended his hand for a handshake, and you gladly did.

“Hi. I’m Y/N. And he really scared me so much.”

“Yeah, he just does that so people use their cars better. Or at least live in fear till the repair is done. “

You shook your head, and remembered that you had to pack up your stuff, since Mia, and the moving truck was going to be here soon.

“That’s so bad. Is he around?”

“Yeah, he’s in the back. I’ll call him.”

“Sure”

He went in and came back after a while, and Harry still had his nose scrunched up, and shoulders slumped, hands crossed in the front.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Oh-I wanted to tell you that-my friend, she offered me her apartment for a while, so for a week, I will be living with her. So I’ll take my stuff away and you can take my number, call me if it’s done.”

“Cool. But I don’t do calls. You’ll have to be come and check yourself”

“Don’t be a dick” Niall interrupted, “I can take your number. I’ll call you if it’s done early”

You smiled, and gave him your number. He promised to call you, and reassured you that he’ll do his best work on it. It made you feel a bit relaxed, and at ease. At least, everyone was not as rude as Harry. Soon, Mia came with her car and a truck, so you could move your stuff from your old apartment as soon as possible. There wasn’t much: a couch, two almirahs, your bed which had been dissembled, the mattress a TV, a refrigerator, an oven, kitchen utensils and an induction. Some other small appliances too, like the iron, straightener, etc, but that could fit in your bag.

After everything was loaded and your car was empty, you gave the keys to Niall, and picked up your bag, walking to Mia’s car and keeping it in the backseat. You went around and sat in the front, as she drove away to her place, the truck following behind.

The night was dark as Mia's car cruised through the quiet streets. You sat in the front seat, staring out of the window as the city lights blurred and headlights blinked. The stress of your car and the situation of next week, when her roommate would be back, still lingered on your shoulders. But, you were glad to have found a temporary refuge at her place.

Upon reaching Mia's place, you stepped out of the car. The air inside was cozy and inviting. Mia led the way, and you followed suit, hauling your heavy back awkwardly.

After moving your stuff to a corner, you both slumped down on the couch. The day had been tiring, but the welcoming aroma of her home made you feel at ease.

With Mia's help, you settled into the spare room she had graciously offered. It wasn't much, but it was a haven compared to the uncertainty of your car. You thanked Mia again, overwhelmed by her kindness, and assured her that you would find a more permanent solution soon.

The night unfolded with shared laughter, stories, and a home-cooked meal. Mia was a great cook, and you hadn’t tasted her food in so many months. You talked and laughed, and having dinner with a friend was so comforting. As the clock ticked away, fatigue set in, and you found solace in the softness of the spare bed.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, gently waking you from a restful sleep. You opened your bag and took out your toiletries, and laid out the clothes for the day. Brushing your teeth, freshening up and taking a bath, you felt so much better than you did yesterday.

As you sat on the dining table drinking coffee with Mia, your phone buzzed.

It was an unknown number.

Hey, it’s Niall

Your heartbeat increased in your chest. The gorgeous brunette had messaged you?!

You put the cup down, taking the phone down. Opening his chat, you quickly typed out a reply:

Hi, good morning, Niall :)

You didn’t respond to texts from unknown mechanics with a good morning message and a smile usually, but he was different. He treated you with so much kindness, and to be honest, you had a little crush on him.

His response was quick,

Morning, love. How you been? Sleep well?

Your heart fluttered at the endearment in his message. It was unexpected, especially considering your recent interactions with mechanics, particularly the grumpy Harry. Niall's tone was a stark contrast, and you couldn't help but smile at the screen.

Yeah, slept better knowing my car is in good hands. Thanks again for your help. And you?

you replied, genuinely interested in how his night had been.

Niall's response was swift,

Glad to hear that! I slept like a log, thanks. You off to work? Yeah. You? Already there. Was working on your car just before I texted Oh. Well…good luck, I guess??? Lol. Yeah, it's all in a day's work. Don't worry; I've got it covered. Your car will be up and running smoothly in no time. Thanks, Niall. I appreciate it. No worries, love. Call me if you need anything. Sure, thanks

You closed your phone, throwing it inside your bag, you walked out to the door with a huge smile on your face.

a/n: i tried writing it better!hoip

lovely divider by @cafekitsune

i hope you like this! please don't hate me

here's my ko-fi if you feel generous

requests and feedback is welcome and much appreciated!!

>>>

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doyawalker · 1 year

Text

Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind #12

chapter 11.

this is it. the chapter with (almost) all the answers because Jungkook finally can't take it anymore and has to tell you the truth. But is he really though?

contains mentions of (over-)drinking, smoking and again, a lot of feels lol

masterlist

previous chapter

taglist: @generalchopshopgoatee , @namjooning-94, @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad, @parkinglot-nights , @y2kcy3brz

And I Wonder If You See Me In Another Lifetime

The last couple of days had been a haze, every hour blending into the other, the cup in his hand filling itself automatically, the cigarettes in his ashtray growing in number rapidly. He had told Namjoon everything that night. And while it felt good to finally get the feelings of his chest, he didn’t enjoy the advice his friend had given him.

‘You need to tell her everything.’

How could he? Telling you everything would mean that this would be his last and only chance, because you would either forgive him or finally ban him from your life completely. He wasn’t ready to face that ultimatum. And knowing how much he fucked up, he scared your reaction too much. Would you even be able to forgive him?

And so he continued to numb the pain because it was the easier option. Or so he thought. Because as time went on and he isolated himself mentally more and more from his friends, his nights became more restless each time. The cigarettes burnt in his throat more than usual, the liquor clouding his mind in a way that made him want to throw up. He was convinced that he was finally turning crazy.

And it wasn’t until that particular Friday where Namjoon finally made his way through his fogged mind again, that the environment around him felt real once more.

“Jungkook, for fucks sake, you have to stop drinking!”

Taking the cup from his hand, his older friend looked down onto him, his brows furrowed and concern flaming up in his eyes.

Jungkook looked up at him slowly, his lips pressed together in a tight line.

“Jesus Christ. You are moving your ass over to her place now and you are going to talk to her. And if you don’t do it, I will go over there and tell her. I can’t look at you being so fucking mental anymore.”Namjoon’s words barely reached his consciousness, as he simply stared at him, jaw clenched.

It all felt useless anyway. What difference would it make if he would tell you? He was so sure that you wouldn’t forgive him that he would rather give up on you completely instead.

He just needed time to accept that.

Sighing, Namjoon ran a hand through his hair, bowing down to come face to face with Jungkook.

The outlines of his face were blurry in his eyes, his sudden proximity took him by surprise.

“Jungkook, I swear to god. Talk to me. What is the problem here? Do you really just want to sit here and let life pass you by? Not do anything? Drink your health away? When was the last time you went to the gym? When was the last time you had a proper meal that didn’t consist of just carbs and fat? This is not the Jungkook I know. Since when are you giving up so fucking easily?”

He couldn’t answer. But Namjoon’s words were starting to reach through to him slowly. And there was a voice, somewhere deep, deep inside of him that started to whisper back to him.

“You told me the whole story, Jungkook. And I promise, if you go and tell her the truth she will understand. Yes, you fucked up on some parts but this wasn’t your fault alone. Don’t tell yourself that.”Namjoon kneeled down now, grabbing Jungkook by the shoulders and gently shaking him in his seat.

“Jungkook, if you don’t do anything now, Taehyung will take his chance with her. He told Yoongi a few days ago that he’s interested in her. If you don’t get your shit together, you might lose her for real. So, what the fuck are you waiting for?”

And that piece of information finally opened up the space in his mind again, as the sudden jealousy took him by storm, the whisper in his chest suddenly turning into a growl. He jumped up from his chair, his squinted eyes viewing Namjoon carefully.

“He really thinks he has a chance with her?”, he muttered under his breath, his teeth clenched together so much that he felt the veins pulsating in his throat.

And it really didn’t take much more for him to finally move. Because the thought of you together with Taehyung was even worse than the possibility of you rejecting him. He could never live with the regret of not telling you the truth.

Pushing past his friend carelessly, his feet started to move on their own, carrying him toward the exit of Jin’s and Hoseok’s garden. And as he walked through the gate that led him out onto the street he heard Namjoon yell something behind him, but he didn’t even try to understand it. His mind wasn’t clouded from the alcohol anymore but rather by the thoughts of you. The thoughts he had tried to suppress so much, now all crashing down onto him and the urgency to finally see you again made his skin itch. He knew where Taehyung lived.

And so his feet quicken their pace, rushed by the possibility that you were sitting in Tae’s arms right now, and soon he was running down the street, his sight still blurry but his mind sharp enough to find its way to you.

The thoughts in his head were racing with the words he wanted to tell you, he didn’t even know where to start but he didn’t care. He would find a way. He would make you stay. He knew it. And that realization made him sprint even faster as he crossed the street carelessly, a car honking at him brutally, but he didn’t mind. His body continued to move on its own, carrying him closer and closer to you.

And when he finally turned the corner into your street, the sky opened itself up as heavy drops of rain started to fall onto his jacket and his face. He didn’t mind.

Pushing open the entrance door to your apartment complex, he hurried up the stairs. You lived on the third floor. He ran past the other doors, only half-heartedly focusing on the numbers outside on them.

304. 305. 306.

And then he was there. 307.

His feet finally came to a halt again. His chest and throat were aching from the running, his breath coming in and out of his lungs rapidly. But it was all irrelevant because he was finally where he was supposed to be. And so he started to bang his fists against your door carelessly, not willing to wait another second to see you again.

“Jungkook, what the f-”

But he just barged into your apartment and as he pushed past you, you smelt the alcohol radiating off him. He looked tired. His hair was messy, his curls not as pretty as usual. His chest was rising up quickly as if he had been running all the way here. And maybe he had because there were a few drops of water in his hair and on his clothes, the white tee under his gray jacket clinging to his broad figure.

His eyes frantically searched your kitchen and living room area, as he turned around to face you.

Closing the door behind him again, you look at him and as you did something fluttered in the pit of your stomach. Because suddenly you felt excited. Excited to finally see him again and only now you realized that you had missed his presence in a way.

“Is Taehyung here?”, he asked.

“No, why?”

He stepped closer to you and while he was surrounded with the smell of alcohol and cigarettes, you still noticed his usual perfume. The musky scent filled your senses as your eyes wandered over his features that looked so distorted with something you didn’t recognize on him.

“I can’t do it.”, he announced, his eyes burning themselves into yours. “I just can’t.”

“You can’t do what?”

He ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes to take a deep breath in. You had never seen him this distraught. As if every piece of his facade had finally dropped and now he was standing here before you, displaying his emotions like it was an art gallery.

“I fucking can’t stay away from you.”, he blurted out. “I tried, okay? I really tried because I know you don’t want me to be around you, but I can’t.”

A second passed by.

“I know what happened. Of course, I fucking remember what happened back then. And I know it was a dick move to make you believe I don’t.”

He got even closer, his head tilted to the side, his eyes searching for something in yours.

“I know you were in love with me. Of course, I remember that. And I know I fucked up so badly by just leaving you but there was so much more happening back then and I just…”, he paused for another second. “I was a fucking idiot and I didn’t act right. I didn’t know how to act.”

His words were slowly seeping into your mind as everything unfolded around you.

Something was burning in the corner of your eyes, his voice echoing through your chest as your heart rate accelerated. The room around you turned blurry as you could only focus on him.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. Back then. I noticed that you weren’t happy with me and so I asked Lou what was going on with you. And she just kept on telling me how fucking hurt you were because of me, how I was ruining you and your life, how I needed to stay away from you. But I couldn’t. Fuck, Y/N, I couldn’t.”

Badum. Your heart was beating so loudly in your ears that you were scared you wouldn’t hear him. But you did.

“That’s why I started to act so…shitty. I was so unsure of what to do because I didn’t want to hurt you and then I tried to act like a dick on purpose so that you would leave me because I knew I couldn’t do it. But you stayed and I hurt you even more and it was breaking me. And Lou kept on telling me how horrible I was being, how I didn’t deserve you and I guess she was right. And then one day, she forced me to leave you. Because she found out that we were still meeting up and she talked so much shit into me that I believed her.”

He paused, taking another breath in.

“But you ended up in a relationship with her.”, you managed to croak out, your voice sounding so weak that it was merely more than a whisper.

His expression shifted, his eyes becoming even darker. His face was painted with what looked like pain and regret.

“I know. It was…messed up. She manipulated me like she did with everyone around her. I was broken when I left you and she was there to catch me before I fell down. She just turned up at my house everyday, comforting me, telling me that I did the right thing. And my parents caught onto that quickly. And somehow she just…she just sneaked herself into my life and when my parents asked us for the date when we got together, she just randomly said something and somehow…somehow we were together suddenly. I wasn’t aware enough to understand what was happening and it took me one and a half years to finally get away from her.”

“I thought she broke your heart.”, you mumbled, your body leaning toward him automatically.

“She didn’t. When I tried to break up with her she had conditions. Conditions about what the world would know about this break-up. Because she was so scared about her image, I don’t fucking know. I didn’t care. I just wanted to be away from her. And so she made me agree that we tell everyone that she was the one that left me and that I was so heartbroken over her. And then she finally left me alone. And it was easy to numb out all the voices that tried to comfort me or whatever. I was just happy to be alone again.” He paused another second. “And then I met you again.”

You stared at each other and you couldn’t help but smile slightly at his words. This was everything you ever wanted. The explanations. The truth. The fucking feelings. He was here, right in front of you, giving you everything you ever asked for. And you couldn’t believe it.

“And I was so shocked to see you again because I never thought I would. But of course, I remembered everything that happened. And I didn’t know if you would even want to talk to me but I knew I had to try. And at first I thought that it would be easy, that I was over you completely. But I’m not. Fuck, Y/N, you’re all I think about. You kept me awake for the past three weeks and I just can’t stay the fuck away from you, although I don’t know if you can ever forgive me. But you at least deserve to know the truth. And so…here I am.”

He finally concluded, slightly out of breath from all the talking, his eyes still focused on you.

And the world was spinning around you, your mind trying to understand every little piece of information he had just given to you, missing puzzle pieces falling into place. And he gave you time. He just stood there. Seemingly as lost as you, his expression so pure with emotions, something so atypical for him but it was the most attractive you had ever seen him.

And maybe it was the fact that you were just ripped out of sleep or the way he had cursed your name but suddenly your body acted without your mind controlling it.

And so you leaned forward, closing the little space that was left between the two of you as your lips collided against his, your arms falling around his neck automatically. Your head was still spinning, everything inside you in a turmoil, but the feelings of his lips against yours as he kissed you back, made everything seem okay.

And so the two of you lost yourselves in the kiss that started out softly, but as the burning of desire sparked inside of you, you couldn’t help but press yourself against him harder, making him groan against your lips. Then his hands were all over you, tracing your waist gently but firmly, making your body shutter in his grip. You had never felt like this before with him. As if he was a different person and maybe he was. Maybe he had become a different person over those past two years. And maybe you were different too and this new you could finally let go of the pain buried inside of you. Because although you still had a lot of questions, you could tell that he was being honest. Honest for the first time it seemed. His emotions were too raw, too unfiltered to be another lie.

And that’s why you chose to just push your thoughts to the side and let yourself fall into him completely.

His kisses became more demanding, one hand finding the back of your neck and tilting your head to the side so that he could get better access. And then he started to push you backwards. Gently at first and as you obeyed, more harsh until the lower part of your back hit against your kitchen table. You moaned against him quietly and he took a second to break away from you, looking you into the eyes. They were boiling with the same feelings you felt inside of you, his hair messy from where your hands had pulled at.

“Fuck, you are so fucking beautiful, you know that?”, he mumbled, his fingers against your chin. And this made you lose it all. Because he had never called you that. He had called you hot and every other word in the universe to describe how fuckable you were but he had never called you beautiful.

And as you felt this bittersweet tug at your heartstrings, he leaned closer again, kissing you once more with so much passion that it made you dizzy. His chest pushed you further back before his hands wandered down your body, gripping your thighs and effortlessly lifting your ass up to sit on the table behind you. Almost automatically, your legs fell open, gaining him the access he wanted to bring his body even closer to yours, one of his hands falling beside your hips on the table for support, the other still wrapped around the underside of your thigh.

He kissed you so slowly that you almost went crazy in his touch, the heat of his body feeling so good against you that you knew you needed more. More of him.

And so you quickened the pace of the kiss, earning yourself a groan that erupted somewhere deep in his chest as he responded to your request, his hand roaming your body once more as if he just couldn’t get enough of feeling your skin against his fingers.

His touch wandered back up to your waist, slowly closing in onto the swell of your breasts and you were so eager for him to reach the sensitive spot, so lost in the bliss of the moment, that you almost didn’t hear the key turning in the lock of your apartment’s front door.

Almost.

And as the realization cut through your clouded mind like a knife, you took a sharp breath in, pushing your hands against his chest quickly, making him take two steps backward.

His brows furrowed together, his gaze questioning you but your eyes were fixated on Taehyung, who opened the door in the exact same moment you hurriedly closed your legs, begging to whatever entity above you that you didn’t look as agitated as you felt.

But judging the look on Tae's face as his eyes fell on you, you probably did.

Fuck.

He came to a halt in the doorframe, his eyes darting back and forth between Jungkook and you and as Jungkook turned around to look at what you were so shocked about, his gaze darkened.

“What the fuck is he doing here?”, Tae asked, his voice laced with disapprovement.

You jumped back onto your feet, rushing over to your roommate. He was obviously drunk from his little get together with his friends and this was really not optimal, because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut whenever he drank.

“Hi, Taehyung. How was your evening? Are you okay?”, you asked, trying to ease the tension that grew thicker with each passing second but of course, Taehyung wouldn’t let this pass.

His eyes snapped on you, viewing your lips carefully.

“Did you just fucking make out with him? What the fuck?!”

He was almost yelling, the skin between his eyebrows pulled together as he glared back at Jungkook.

“Get the fuck out of my apartment, dude. You have no business being here.”

“This isn’t only your apartment.”, Jungkook responded seemingly calm. “I am here to see her, not you.”

“She doesn’t want to see you.”, Tae hissed, taking a step closer toward him, his eyes squinted together.

Panic overcame you as you realized the potential danger of the situation unfolding in front of you. Pushing your body between the two men, you grabbed Tae by the shoulders, keeping him in a safe distance. “Tae, calm down, okay? We just talked. Nothing happened.”

“Just talked, my ass. Is this really all it takes for you to fall for his stupid gimmicks again? He just has to come here in the middle of the night when you feel lonely, ready to throw yourself into whoever’s arms?”

He glared at you with such intensity that you dropped your hands back down to your side.

“Did you forget what the fuck he did to you? You cried to me about him just two weeks ago and now everything is forgotten? What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

And his words pierced your skin, hurting you somewhere deep inside your chest, as his anger hit you right in the face. You stared at him, slowly blinking, the words hanging in the air and as a few seconds passed, Taehyung seemed to understand the meaning of his words.

“Tae, shut up. What kind of friend are you?”

Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence, his hand falling on your shoulder to pull you back against him.

“This is none of your business. I came here to apologize to her because I know that I hurt her. This has literally nothing to do with you, so I would suggest that you go into your room and leave her the fuck alone.”

Tae’s eyes widened, his gaze searching yours. But you didn’t know what to say. Still stung by his words, you pressed your lips together, simply staring at him.

And that’s when he caved in, dropping his head to look at the floor, taking a deep breath in.

And without another word, he turned on his heels, rushing into his room and closing the door with such force that the sound echoed through the whole apartment.

#bts ff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook ff #jungkook x reader #bts fic rec #jungkook #jungkook fic #out of sight out of mind

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apomaro-mellow · 1 month

Text

Taking Care of Business (And My Business is You) 14

Part 13

It was a frosty morning, deep into autumn, inside a cozy cafe, when Steve told Eddie what he intended to do. Robin was there as well, practically Steve’s shadow anytime she wasn’t his eyes on the street.

“I’ve already begun the investigation of my father and I have a few leads.” As Steve said this, he laid out a manila folder onto the table. Eddie started to flip through it, finding some photos and files.

“The guy responsible for doing the deed has already been snuffed out”, Robin said when Eddie got to a mug shot.

“We’re still trying to find out exactly how he’s connected to my father”, Steve said.

“If you can confirm your dad contacted him then he’s in hot water”, Eddie nodded. “But what about the family business?”

Steve played with the stirrer in his cup. “That’s something I need to work on while searching for clues. People are either in my father’s pocket or my mother’s camp.”

Eddie raised a brow. “You don’t have any direct support?”

“He’s an omega with zero accomplishments under his name”, Robin pointed out. “Not a lot for people to uplift there.”

“Hey, I’ve got some accomplishments under my belt.”

“Being a high school athlete doesn’t count”, she said. “Nor does being a very skilled flirt”, she added very quickly.

Steve kicked her under the table but she moved her legs in time to make him hit the table’s leg instead, jostling their drinks a little. Eddie was still looking through the file, trying to commit the names and faces to memory. A few of them he’d seen or heard of. Steve reminded him that if all went well, his induction would be soon and he’d officially be family.

Eddie followed Steve on the usual tasks he was given, which was often just collecting on those who had mafia protection. Apparently Robin did most of the investigating. It was easy for a beta like her to go unnoticed unless she made her presence known.

During Eddie’s escorting, he always stayed a step behind Steve, speaking only when spoken to, which was never. Fortunately, most knew how to act with decorum and if they had a problem with shaking an omega’s hand they knew not to show it.

They were in the middle of downtown, collecting from some of the vendors, when a downpour began. They hid under an awning, already drenched to the bone. Steve’s hair flopped over his forehead so adorably, Eddie almost couldn’t resist. He knew he looked like a wet rat in comparison.

“The car’s just a couple blocks down the street”, Eddie said. He pushed some of his hair from his face.

“We are not getting my car all wet”, Steve said.

Eddie bit his lip, trying very hard not to remind him that other, much more scandalous fluids had been present. Instead, he thought of some other options. Steve probably wasn’t opposed to going back out in the rain if it meant getting to dry off somewhere and wait out the weather.

“Well, you know…my place is just down the street. In the other direction.”

-------------------

They had held their jackets over their heads like that would do anything to keep them dry. But they made it to Eddie’s apartment and hung them on the coat rack. Steve took in everything when he walked in, first noticing how small it was. But then how homey it was. It just looked so…so lived in.

Steve perused the pictures on the wall, seeing a younger Eddie, probably twelve, holding up a fish next to his uncle.

“Don’t look too hard, the eyes will start to follow you”, Eddie teased.

Steve turned in time to see Eddie start to unbutton his shirt. It was already bordering on transparent and when Eddie took it off, droplets ran down his skin. Steve bit his lip while the alpha pulled it off.

“Wet…”, he whispered.

“What?”

Steve cleared his throat. “We’re both-we’re both really wet um, do you have a dryer in here?”

“As a matter of fact, we do. Lemme get us a change of clothes first. Unless…”, Eddie turned his body this way and that. “My uncle is currently out. So we coooould….”

“What? Walk around in the nude?”

Eddie waggled his brows which made Steve actually guffaw. If he thought he could keep his hands off the man, he might actually entertain it. But it had been much too long since he laid his scent on Eddie and he knew he couldn’t resist.

“We better not. Knowing you, you’d have my knotted right on your couch”, he said, flipping it back onto him. He spied what must be Eddie’s room and went inside, shutting the door.

“Um…?” Eddie stood outside of it, confused for a moment as he knocked on his own bedroom door.

There was a shuffling noise and Steve cracked it open just enough to hold out his wet clothing to Eddie. He accepted them, brain melting a little at the idea that Steve was naked just on the other side. But then Steve shut the door and he was left outside again. He waited, just to see if it would open again. But when it did, Steve was dressed in a pair of Eddie’s shorts and one of his cropped band tees. It was the sort of thing he’d wear in the dead heat of summer. Not when winter was on their heels.

“You might want to get the dryer going”, Steve said, walking past him.

Eddie went inside his room and got undressed in a hurry, piling his wet clothes on top of Steve’s. He put on a sweater and some boxers and went to get the dryer started. By the time he met back up with Steve, the omega was in the middle of cooking…something in his kitchen.

Steve’s back was turned so he got a prime view of his ass in those shorts. His legs too. Steve’s thighs were thicker than his and they filled out the shorts much better than Eddie’s ever did.

“I bet you’re gonna tell me you’re making some authentic Italian meal you learned from your mom that translates to something like ‘Venetian Orgasm’.”

Steve snorted. “I don’t know how authentic it is. And it doesn’t have a name exactly. But I learned it from my mother.” His face softened whenever he talked about her. “We didn’t got down to the kitchen a lot. But she taught me how to take simple things and turn it delicious. And how to make pre-made stuff better.”

“Doesn’t really seem in the skillset of a mafia princess”, Eddie said, leaning against the fridge.

“Whatever she knew, she learned from my nonna, God rest her soul. And she hated canned food.”

“Ahh, she would’ve been my arch enemy”, Eddie said when he noticed Steve had taken one of the many cans of Chef Boyardee from the cabinet. He picked it up. “This must be blasphemous to your people.”

“It has its place. And I know I can’t expect a five course meal from you, so…let’s just say it’s a good thing you have parsley. And real parmigiano reggiano.”

They talked while Steve cooked and Eddie carried his weight by setting the table. It was a scene so unexpectedly domestic that it caught Steve off guard and he briefly wondered if his parents ever had moments like this.

When they finished eating and started to clean up, Steve asked, “How long until the clothes are done?”

“At least another thirty minutes”, Eddie answered.

“And how long will your uncle be away?”

“He’s playing cards at a buddy’s, it’ll be a couple more hours.” Especially if the rain kept him away. Coast cleared, Steve’s eyes began to darken and Eddie could scent the sweetness in the air.

“Well then, why don’t you give me a tour of your bedroom?”

-----------------------

Even if Eddie was completely privy to all the leads Steve had, he could tell when he was getting close and when something turned up dry. He was rather open with his emotions. Or perhaps it was just because Eddie could read him well now.

He could also read others well, but he chalked that up to them being too free with their facial expressions. Such as one Tommy Hagan, who had been a sourpuss the more Eddie showed up to the estate. He probably figured he’d be chosen to be sponsored by Steve.

“Something like that”, Robin replied when Eddie brought it up.

They were lounging on couches while Steve did pull-ups. Eddie definitely enjoyed the show. He could fight, but he wasn’t much for exercise in general.

“Tommy has been gunning for Steve for a while. He’s pretty open about marrying him. But he hasn’t officially asked permission to court.”

“Why not?”, Eddie asked.

“Because he can’t”, Steve said as he dropped down from the bar. “My old man has control over a lot of things, but courtship and my eventual marriage are not in his hands.”

“How is that even possible? Isn’t he the boss? Why are people trying to impress him then?”, Eddie questioned.

“They’ll do anything to get in good graces”, Robin said.

Steve wiped the sweat off of him with a towel. “When I presented, my dad basically handed over all of my upbringing to my mom. I don’t know how much she foresaw, but she even got it in writing that only she or my nonno were to take care of my courtship.”

Eddie whistled. “Sure she wasn’t a psychic?”

Steve shrugged. “Whatever the case, Tommy can’t court me unless he has my grandfather’s permission.”

“And the old boss hates the Hagans”, Robin said.

“Lemme guess, they’re all brown nosers?”

“God, it’s like they think we shit roses”, Steve said.

Eddie watched out for Tommy more and sure enough, the guy had a permanent scowl on his face whenever Eddie was present. Eddie tried to keep to Steve’s side, it was his place after all. But more than once, he saw Hagan walk off with Steve’s dad. A mob boss meeting with an underling of no actual rank was odd.

But two sleazeballs conspiring wasn’t out of the ordinary at all.

Part 15

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #a/o/b #omegaverse

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spittingbloodandscreaming · 7 months

Note

Hear me out about a Masc!Reader breaking down in front of Masky and Masky just doesn't comfort them and is more like "This is your own fault"

I love silly angst ideas, have a great day/night!!

I LOVE this!! Sorry it took me so long to get to this, I kinda took an unannounced break, but I'm catching up!! I hope I captured your image.

You can never tell the truth, But you can tell something that sounds like it. (Tim Wright x Reader angst)

“Didn’t know you smoked.” You roll your eyes. You know Tim when you hear him—gruff and tired. You understand why he’s out here—same reason you are. Neither of you actually want to be at this party, you both just want to feel like you’re doing something. You take another long drag off of your cigarette.

The sounds of the party are muffled from the porch, but still, it’s somehow impossible to tune out. You almost feel ill. Staring off into the tree line and leaning against the banister, you flick the ashes of your burning cigarette. Your half-empty cup of whatever you were given when you walked in sits next to you on the railing—you almost feel bad for walking out, but for some reason, you can't bring yourself to go home, either. The heavy footsteps behind you throw you off your sulking.

“You’re one of the last people I want to see right now, you know that, right?” You cover the quiver in your voice well, but not enough for Tim to miss it. He walks up next to you, standing a little less than a foot away, leaning with his forearms against the banister. You glance at him, and you’re almost sad he wasn’t looking at you too. He’s so close you can feel the warmth coming off of him, and you realize how cold it is. You wish he was closer, but you want everyone close to you now, don't you?

“I know.” Tim takes his cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting one himself and struggling briefly against the wind. He’s the closest to crying he’s been in weeks—or is he? He doesn't remember the last month. It smells like rain, the air is heavy and damp, and you wonder if the covered porch is enough to keep you dry. Then again, you could just sit in your car, but you realize you don't have that option. You only stop thinking when you feel a drop hit the back of your hand. Your cigarette is reduced to just the filter and it's raining. You look over to Tim, and this time, he's looking back.

“Drive here?” Tim asks, stifling a cough. You shake your head, looking back out to the trees.

“Live right down the road, I just walked down.” You take a sip of your drink and grimace—whatever it is, it's trying to be a mimosa and failing terribly. Tim says nothing. No one says anything for a long time.

Eventually, the wind picks up, blowing the rain into your face leaving a cold sting against your cheeks, and you start to cry. You cry hard, almost a violent sob. It takes you several minutes to notice that Tim is looking at you—has been looking at you—and quickly you wipe your face with your hands like a kid. You start to say the same things as you did when you were young, too.

“God, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't mean to start crying I just feel so bad.” Tim keeps his blank expression as you sharply inhale after you're done speaking. You realize then that you've been holding your breath. The man across you says nothing, and so you keep talking, trying to explain away an unexplainable guilt you have for crying. “I didn't think I'd be here, y'know?” Your voice has raised a few octaves now—high pitch and uncomfortable. “I thought I'd be in college, I thought I'd be with someone… engaged, even. I don't know what happened things just went so downhill after high school—I couldn't do it anymore. I can't do it anymore. I hate my job. I hate all of it. I'm nothing I thought I'd be. I just—”

“Why are you telling me any of this?” Tim says, the wind moving his hair around just a bit. The rain blowing under the cover sticks to him in cold drops. You try to speak, but you can't come up with why. Why are you saying any of this? Why do you feel the need to tell Tim?

“You don't need to tell me any of this. I don't care, you know that.” Tim speaks so blankly and you wish he didn't. You wish he was angry. You wish he cared enough to feel something other than annoyance as he speaks to you. “All of this is your fault. You had every choice to change where you are now, and you didn't make any of the right ones. That's not my fault, it's yours.”

All you can do is stare at Tim with tears pouring down your cheeks. You're not sure the last time you've had someone talk to you like this. When you were a kid, maybe as late as high school. You're grown now, you should be able to handle it, but you can't even bring yourself to breathe. You feel so sick and cold and scared.

“Some people are in situations they didn't put themselves in, that they had no choice in, and can never get out of.” There's aggression in his voice now, and it's so clear he's talking about himself. It makes you cough through another pathetic, guilty sob. “But that's not how it is for you. So shut up, okay?” The hand he's holding his cigarette in is clenched—crushing the filter between his fingers. How could you think any of this matters? Why would you think anyone actually cared to hear what you have to say—you do have it better than everyone else, don't you? All of this is your fault. You could've fixed it at any point, and you didn't.

“You did this to yourself.”

#slenderverse #slenderverse x reader #marble hornets #marble hornets x reader #marble hornets fanfic #marble hornets angst #slenderverse angst #tim wright #mh tim wright #tim marble hornets #tim wright x reader #tim wright x reader angst

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sincerelylivvv · 2 years

Text

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary: rafe is at a total loss when he finds out you're sick; the thought of losing you was once something he constantly avoided, but now is the only thing on his mind

warnings: reader is dying, some language, mentions of religion

wordcount: 2,796

a/n: based on the song 'pray' by sam smith. it's not specified exactly what the reader is dying from, but yknow, she is dying. feel free to leave some feedback! if possible, i may write a another part. if you have any requests, send them in! and super sorry if this is hard for anyone to read, if you are uncomfortable, please do not feel the need to continue reading. If you would like to be tagged in any future fics, just let me know. I love all of you

I'm young and I'm foolish, I've made bad decisions I block out the news, turn my back on religion Don't have no degree, I'm somewhat naïve I've made it this far on my own

Rafe Cameron was no stranger to being alone. He learned at a young age that you can't depend on anyone fully; there's always someone wishing ill on you and then waiting to kick you when you're at a low point. Through the years, he's turned to not-so-healthy habits to cope with how shitty his life was. He was young, careless, stupid. But he figured how much shittier can his life actually get? He dropped out of college, his family hated him and even his friends grew to have a certain distaste for him.

He remembers how his family used to attend church on Sunday mornings. When he was a kid, he'd be in a different section of the church with others close to his age. They'd participate in whatever activity was going on at the time and through the couple hours they were there, would be given snacks to keep them from going hungry.

Through all of the poor decisions he's made, he was still content with himself. He made it this far on his own and knew he could go farther if he pushed himself enough. He never was the kind of person that would back down from a challenge. His now? To become someone his father could say he was proud of. Or at least a person that didn't cause distaste within his toxic family.

He thought heavily about leaving the island, thinking a new start would be good for him. A different place with different faces; people who know nothing of him than what he let them know. He could go back to college or maybe start a job straight off the bat, which may be a better option for him due to the circumstances he finds himself in. He doesn't have much money, no one to confide in, and no certain direction to go in.

Until he met you. You were the daughter of a multi-millionaire businessman. Your dad first started out small, starting a mediocre landscaping business, and eventually had the opportunity to go to college. After majoring in both business and communications and secured a job on Wall Street. He then went on to start a chain of five-star hotels located throughout the country, and eventually sold his landscaping business. He met your mom after she applied to work at one of the hotels and the rest is history.

He met you at a party. You and your parents were on vacation and staying in the house your dad bought as a gift for your mom. He remembers how excited and at ease you were, with a cup of the spiked juice in your hand. Your hips were swaying along to the beat of the music, laughs tearing out of your throat in utter joy; and he was captivated as soon as he saw you.

He wished he could say he was the one to go up to you, but that wasn't how it turned out. You and your friends had been walking towards the drinks, which just so happened to be close to where he was standing, and in a complete accident, you knocked his drink out of his hand when walking by him.

"Shit! I am so, so sorry about that," you rush apologetically. "I wasn't watching where I was going, and God everything is kinda swaying right now. I can go grab you another drink-"

"Nah, don't worry about it." He smiles. "Accidents happen. And you look a little past the point of tipsy. No offense."

The laugh that tore out of your throat made his stomach flutter; it was beautiful and graceful and everything he was the exact opposite of. "Trust me; none taken," you grin back.

But lately, that shit ain't been gettin' me higher I lift up my head and the world is on fire There's dread in my heart and fear in my bones And I just don't know what to say

That moment on the beach was the moment he knew he wanted you; forever and always. It was the start of a beautiful and bountiful relationship, which he was by no means accustomed to. He was used to short-lived relationships, more so hookups, so this was all to him.

You caught on to that pretty early on, as hard as Rafe tried with you, he fell a little short sometimes. But he did try really hard, there were just those few key tells he had that made you contemplate whether he had ever been in anything serious before. And eventually, it was brought up in conversation, and just like you had thought, he had never done anything like this before. Not that it bothered you; relationships weren't easy, especially if you were new to them, but you were patient with the boy.

Though he had bad trust issues, he grew to learn how to open up with you. You were there for him no matter what; always so kind and understanding with everything he talked to you about. It was strange for him, unfamiliar. But he was grateful nonetheless.

The day he found out the news hit him like a train. And though he thought he knew what panic attacks were, which maybe he did, he never had one as bad as this. His vision became very narrow with black spots clouding his eyes every now and then, and the world around him was both moving too fast and too slow all at the same time.

It hurt you to tell him, but it hurt him even more knowing there was nothing he could do to help. All you've done for him, and he would never have the chance to give back to you.

You tried your best to stop the sniffles that came from you, desperate to hide the sadness that was written on your face. Your hands cradled his, warm and soft over ones that were rough and brittle, and you gently pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Is there anything I can do, Rafe?" Your voice was quiet and calm, and Rafe sat shocked at how you could be so relaxed.

"How are you so…so at ease when you're-" His voice breaks, sobs quickly pouring out from him.

"Oh, Rafe." You maneuver to sit on his lap, thighs on either side of his, and your head now lying on top of his own as his tears wet the sweatshirt you're wearing.

His clammy hands cling to every inch of you, desperate to hold on to you for as long as he could. Maybe if he held you long enough, you wouldn't leave. The both of you would carry on as if you wouldn't be gone in a few months, and the pair of you would do what he dreamed of doing with you.

But that wasn't the case, you would be gone, and a part of him with you. He wondered what he did to have such heartache brought on him, to have the only good thing in his life taken from him and would be forced to move on as if you weren't gone. As if he was still whole.

"It'll be okay, Rafe."

Maybe I'll pray, pray Maybe I'll pray I have never believed in you, no But I'm gonna pray

Rafe never would have thought he'd be back in the church he grew up in. But he thought if there was a God, maybe He would have some empathy and listen. The both of you started going together in the beginning; it took you off guard when he asked you about going, but again, you wanted nothing but to support him. Eventually, you got too sick to go. So, two then became one.

He never prayed so hard. In fact, he never prayed at all. Even when he was forced to go as a child, he never prayed. But he wanted to keep you here and all to himself. He knew it was selfish, but he came to the decision that he never was one for selflessness.

It was after a Sunday service that he thought he'd stop by to see you. Stepping out of his truck, he approaches the door to your house with a fresh bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. First, he heard your dog bark, little Daisy, and then he was met with the warm eyes of your mother.

"Rafe!" The woman exclaims, joy radiating from her body. "Come in, come in," She ushers him inside. "How've you been? Y/F/N told me you were thinking about working for the company."

Rafe nods, "Yeah, we've been talking about it. I guess it'll…I don't know, depend on how I am after-" He stops and the woman in front of him flashes a sad, knowing look.

"Of course," She agrees. "No rush at all. There will always be a place for you. You have my word." She gently pats his shoulder, and all is quiet for a few moments before she makes a 'tsk' sound. "Well, Y/N is in her room, for now. She's been asking to go on a walk around the garden for a while. Maybe you could join us," She proposes.

"Yeah of course," Rafe smiles. "Mind if I go see her?"

Rafe's brow cringes and his shoulders drop. "Yeah," He mumbles. 'I know the feeling,' he thinks.

"Well, best not to keep her waiting." Your mom motions to the steps.

You had been staring out the windows of your room when you heard the light knock on your door, and before you could even speak, Rafe pokes his head into the room. "Mind if I come in?" He grins.

Your tired face lights up upon seeing him, and with rapid nods of your head, Rafe makes his way over to you.

"Pretty flowers," You comment. "Who're they for?"

"A pretty girl," Rafe answers and lands a swift kiss on the crown of your head. He pulls away and smirks cheekily at you. He then bows his head once more and begins peppering light kisses over your face, basking in the giggles that flew from your mouth.

Eventually, he presses one last kiss to your lips before pulling away once more, sitting down the flowers he once held on the nightstand beside the hospital bed your father had put in your room.

He sighs as he sits down in the chair beside you. "How you doing, sweet girl?"

You do your best to shrug, "I'm doing good. A little tired." You try to smile, but Rafe is quick to notice the twinge of pain that briefly crossed your face.

His eyes dance across your face; your color has dulled slightly, and your eyes are heavy and defeated. "I'm sorry," He finally says. "Your mother told me about your walk today, though. That's something to look forward to." He's fast to change the subject, not wanting to think about how bad you're doing and how broken he is at the sight of you. He hates seeing you in such a state; a girl who was once so full of love and life and everything pure in the world was now lying sick in a bed.

You grin a little, "Yeah, I'm excited. I've been dying to get out of this bed." You then wince at your words, "Yikes, bad joke," you attempt to laugh it off upon seeing the flash of pain across your boyfriend's face. "Well, um will you be joining us?"

Rafe chuckles, grabbing onto your hand and rubbing soothing circles on the back of it. "Wouldn't miss it."

I'm not a saint, I'm more of a sinner I don't wanna lose, but I fear for the winners When I tried to explain, the words ran away That's why I am stood here today

Rafe knew he wasn't that great of a person; not one anyone would go out on a limb to save, but he still had a sliver of hope that some miracle would save him from the nightmare you and he were facing.

Every night and every Sunday morning, he gave his best shot at asking, begging, God to save you. He always talked about knowing he didn't deserve such a huge ask, but that you, at the very least, deserved something better than this. He would include all the plans he still had with you; proposing and getting married, having kids, spending the holidays with you, but above all, growing old with you.

He hoped that his plea would at least sway someone enough to pull through will a miracle; he had even stated a few times that he would be more than willing to take your place. Just as long as you stay and you're happy.

His pleas of hope and desperation are the only reason he's always stood firm in that church that he hated so much There wasn't enough money in the world to make him go to church, but that was before he met you. And it was sure as hell before the revelation that he was gonna lose you one day and there was nothing he could do about it.

Won't you call me? Can we have a one-on-one, please? Let's talk about freedom Everyone prays in the end Everyone prays in the end

Rafe was beyond angry.

He recently found out from your father that you were only getting worse, and the doctor that had been taking care of you revealed that there wasn't anything more that could really be done

So all that time he spent praying for you? He got nothing out of it.

Sometimes, he thought that it was kind of funny how he once begged his father for things, most small, but never got it, and then had to beg and plead with someone else for your well-being and still didn't get anything.

The most recent night he saw you was the worst. You looked bad before, but now? You looked terrible. Your face began sinking in, arms and body became smaller due to you not eating much. And even when you did, you threw most of it up.

You hardly talked now. You were always somewhat quiet but still knew how to have a loud, breathtaking presence. That wasn't the case anymore, though; you were hardly ever awake, on account of you not having much energy, and when you were, you wouldn't say much. Usually just a quiet 'hi' and then would look out your window.

It killed Rafe to see you in such a state. To not be able to have a conversation like he used to. But he learned that while you may not be willing or able to talk, you still enjoyed listening to him. He told you all about the apartment he was able to get, with the help of the job your father gave him, and how he got a dog he named 'Posie', and even brought in pictures of her to show you. She was an older King Cavalier Charles Spaniel, and almost completely deaf, but he loved her, and so did you. Sometimes, he'd even bring her over for a playdate with Daisy, which always brought a brighter look to your face.

He didn't know what particularly triggered it, but he finally, completely and utterly, broke down. On the floor of his bedroom, heavy breaths and thick tears fell all too quickly. It was the type of crying that went from loud, heart-wrenching sounds to nothing at all. And with all the strength he could muster up, he begged, unknowingly for the last time, for someone to help you. This time, not specifying who, just someone bigger to help the sickness that still plagued you.

'Just a fucking one-on-one, please', He thought over and over again. The mantra was recounted in his head for what felt like forever, until he eventually fell asleep.

That was until he picked up the phone call, in which your mother finally told him you had gotten better, only to finish with the words, 'she passed during the night…in her sleep. I'm so sorry, Rafe.'

tagged: @scenesofobx @casualcloddeputyherring @x-lulu

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #outer banks fic #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader

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shakesthewizard · 4 months

Text

Untitled Stormlight OC Fic, pt 2: Shalebark

@cosmereplay, for your consideration.

---

One Year Later

“Give up, Sahan,” said Rek. “You’ve got no options left. You’re beaten.”

“Like hell,” she bit at him, black hair falling in loose curls in her face. “The day I stand down to you is the day the Storms wipe this city of the map.”

Rek barked a laugh. “I admire your tenacity. If you insist, I suppose I can indulge a deathwish.” He extended his hand, rushing for her. Sahan braced, then stared in shock – he wasn’t moving how she’d predicted. No, something was off about his approach. It was almost as if...

She swept forward in retaliation, meeting his arrogant dance with a furious attack of her own. It was a risk, she knew, but she had no choice. If she was right, then he had entirely failed to see her opening. With no small amount of pride, she saw his face grow slack as he realized his mistake. Then, suddenly, she had him. He went still.

“I’ll admit, you had me on the ropes,” she said. “But true victory requires an iron will. And you just don’t have what it takes.” With a final blow, she left him defeated.

Rek sat back in his chair and laughed. Sahan grinned diabolically, taking a drink from her cup.

On the table between them was a small, square stone board, inlaid with a grid of etched lines. Within the square spaces outlined therein was a tangle of flat, rectangular stone game pieces, stacked on top of one another in what resembled towers of books.

“I told you,” Sahan gloated, “I’ve got a knack for these things.”

“And I should have believed you,” Rek conceded with a smile. “Storms, but you’ve got a mind like an axehound's jaw, woman. Two games and you’ve already got it mastered.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say mastered,” she said. “But I appreciate the complement. Now, I believe we’re about to open, and you’ve just won an extra shift.”

Rek groaned, standing. He moved away from their table near the bartop while she cleared and stored the game in a series of cinch bags. “Where shall I store this?” she asked.

“Under the bar will be fine,” he said, taking chairs from tabletops. “Open the doors, will you?”

After setting the board and bags on a shelf underneath the back side of the bar, Sahan obliged, lifting the heavy crossbar and pulling open the heavy stone doors. Immediately, a small crowd of low-Dahn lighteyes began trickling into the tavern. Guardsmen, scribes, and minor military officers made their way inside, jackets unbuttoned and hair loose.

Sahan weaved her way back behind the bar into the storage room, where they kept barrels of wine, extra chairs, and spare clay cups. She sat on a stool, letting the slightly muffled sound of the crowd wash over her.

The entry to the storage room was at an angle such that she could see out behind the bar and about half of the body of the room, but it was difficult for patrons to see inside. It made for a great roost on nights like these – when she had no work to do, but had to stay anyway. Tonight was a Highstorm night.

This tavern, the Shalebark Bloom, was also a storm shelter. It was a favorite of ninth and tenth Dahn lighteyes, who enjoyed having a place to socialize with those of their own station, without cramming into public shelters with the darkeyes.

She observed Rek as he began tending bar. They were quite a pair, in her estimation. He was in his early thirties, contrasting Sahan’s twenty-two. Where her hair was a permanently damp Alethi black to her shoulders, Rek had a receding line of red veden hair, kept short. She also technically outranked him, being herself a tenner to his first nahn, but she felt no shame in being something like his protege. When she’d first come to Kharbranth looking for work a year ago, he’d given her a place behind his bar and hadn’t asked questions. They’d been friends since, and he had made it his quest to search all of Roshar for a game of skill he could best her at. He hadn’t succeeded yet.

She didn’t startle when she noticed the spiderwebbing pattern of cracks crawling up the stone doorframe separating her den and the bar. She just reached into her pocket and retrieved a small, rectangular block of flint.

Dusk spoke. “Not going to mingle?”

“Nope,” she replied casually. She took a shallow breath, drawing in a pinch of stormlight.

“Hoping to see someone?” He asked, somewhat jokingly.

She snorted as she coated her thumbnail in light. “Not likely. She’s bound to be feasting with some noble house tonight. Besides, the storm will be hitting any second now. Doors are closed.” With her stromlight-covered nail, the flicked the block of flint. The magically enhanced friction between her it and the stone caused a small flurry of sparks to spill onto the stone floor.

At the bar, the men – there were three of them, it looked like – were still talking to Rek.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Dusk said. “It’s not why you have the power.”

“I never agreed to power,” she argued.

“You said the words.”

“You don’t want me to stop. You just want me out there, jumping from rooftops and performing feats of daring-do.”

“I emphatically do not want you jumpting from rooftops,” Dusk hurried to reply, a curl of smoke rising from the maze of fractures that were his body.

“I don’t hear you denying the other thing.” Flick; more sparks. A flamespren rose up from the ground, red like hot iron and dancing slowly, lethargically.

“As a matter of fact, I think a little daring-do would be good for your health.”

“Well I don't. I...” Sahan trailed off.

At the bar, Rek had gone still, his arms raised in a gesture of surrender. The men across the bar had grown aggressive, looming over him.

Cold ran down Sahan’s spine. One of the men – tan, with thaylen eyebrows – thrust a finger at Rek’s chest, scowling.

Dusk crackled. “Kid?” She was stock-still. The stormlight within her was pushing her up, to her feet. She forced herself not to move with an effort of will. It was like holding her breath too long underwater.

“Sahan,” Dusk hissed urgently. “Help him.”

The noise of the crowd hadn’t faltered; no one had noticed the altercation. No one but her.

She stayed still. “Dusk, I-”

She watched as Rek took a cloth sack from one of the men, filled it with spheres, and handed it back. She could see his hands shaking even from so far away.

Dusk’s voice was quiet when he spoke again; he almost sounded younger. “Please, Sahan.”

The last of her stormlight puffed from her lips. “No,” she said. “I won’t.”

The men, satisfied with their takings, turned and walked out of the Shalebark and into the riddens.

part 1

#stormlight archive #dustbringer #oc #fanfic #sahan yaelt #dusk the ashspren

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calico-heart · 10 months

Note

For the kiss ask: Thancred/Tsimh with #46, "out of envy or jealousy"

I want to watch the fireworks lol.

Thanks so much for the ask! :D This didn't take quite the direction I'd expected, but I'm pretty happy with how it came out :3

(Ask me for a kiss!)

----

Cold the night beyond the tavern door was, and unfit for travel. As winter set in, Coerthan fury found its way south and blanketed Mor Dhona in snow. Adventurers and travelers alike coalesced in The Seventh Heaven, which could always be rowdy given its usual clientele, but was especially rambunctious now.

Thancred had done what any practical man would do, and found himself a girl for the evening. She was bonnie enough, with bright brown eyes and an endowment worthy of a lingering stare.

She just hadn’t been his first choice.

By the time he’d blown in with the storm, Tsimh had already made her selection for the evening. An Elezen from the Sons of Saint Coinach, with soft eyes and pale cheeks that emphasized his blushing.

Which was… fine. Thancred told himself. He and Tsimh enjoyed rousing carnality together when the mood struck, and indulged elsewhere when it did not. She made, and expected, no promises. It was not the way of Moonkeepers to do otherwise.

He hadn’t misunderstood in any way the sort of relationship – or rather lack thereof – they were engaged in.

What did it matter if her fingers brushed that stranger’s chin oh-so-deliciously?

…It didn’t.

She was entitled to her fun. Just as he was.

Honestly, he wasn’t exactly a swan. He had company tonight, and could’ve picked between a great many others. Few men could say the same of their options. And his tryst was certainly showing him off; making the most of the opportunity to inspire jealousy in other girls. Or at least, most of them.

Mmm, you must tell me what happens next, Thancred urged his tablemate to continue her story. He was only half listening.

Most Eorzean girls were simple. They wanted to be made to feel special. Like they stood apart from all the rest. Offer up a few charming words and rougish touches, and they’d flock to him in eager desperation, ready to lavish him with attentions. He couldn’t pretend that hadn’t been part of the excitement, each time he made the same promises to a different pretty face.

Tsimh… really was different. There was nothing he, or anyone else, could offer her that she could not find in her own self. It was an unwavering level of confidence usually reserved for fools. And she was anything but a fool. She’d even toasted him across the room, when she’d seen his selection. Not an onze of jealousy. Or regret.

No, he’d never tried that drink before, he preferred a good ale.

The games he’d played with the others, he’d played a hundred times or more. Tsimh took him down trails he’d never mapped. And her utter lack of concern over where his eyes wandered was supposed to be liberating.

But here his gaze went, wandering back to her. And a writhing, unfriendly twist in his gut pulled tighter each time she smiled at another man.

Oh yes, they were so lucky for the storm, for the chance to meet here tonight. It must be kismet.

He didn’t mind. She’d be back. A night in the arms of another would divert her just a short while. It didn’t mean anything. To either of them. Thancred couldn’t help being held by the weather, and the only reason she’d draped herself across some stranger, instead of waiting, was because…

Because…

Wet lips pushed across his without warning, startling him. Thancred jolted back. But of course it was Kaia, fair further into her cups than him. He shouldn't be surprised. He ought to be glad.

“You taste better than I thought you would.” She cooed, “Which is saying a lot, frankly.”

Thancred offered back a debonair smile, “And you, darling, kiss better than I could have imagined.”

As if to prove it to them both, he took the reckless approach, and tugged her back for a second helping. This time, with more enthusiasm. A few nearby adventurers whooped and banged their tables. Kaia pushed into it eagerly.

The hungry stirring in his gut never woke, though. Whatever queasiness had come over him this evening stole that excitement, too. When they parted, she was breathless, and flushed from more than just her fruity drinks. He was… telling himself it’d been good.

“Well. I daresay you’re sweet enough to give me a toothache.” Thancred teased with a grin.

Tsimh wouldn’t have been satisfied by the limp banter. She’d have reparted a clever quip, folded in double meaning, and they’d have sparred over it until one or the other could no longer hold back a genuine laugh. He already had half-a-dozen comebacks in mind. Maybe Kaia could surprise him with cleverness of her own.

But he hadn’t picked her to be clever. And couldn’t even really be disappointed when Kaia put a hand on his forearm and replied, blinking over long lashes, “Aren’t you the silver tongue. I’ll rot your teeth right out, if you want me to, sweetheart.”

If he kept telling himself he wanted this, eventually it would become true.

The night wore on slowly, and no amount of ale seemed to make Kaia pretty or charming enough to compete with the fire in his gut over Tsimh’s attentions to that – that dhalmel of a man.

Thancred became rowdy. As if sound would drown out what his eyes perceived so clearly. It did work – a little – because others rose up to match his energy, and sometimes they blocked the table in the far corner of the room from view.

Kaia grew more and more handsy, making it clear enough who he belonged to, tonight.

And for a while, it seemed all combined enough to dull his frustration, even if not deafen it.

Until the strum of the lute. The baudiest tavern in Eorzea would have silenced in an instant for that serenade. Here was no exception.

He really had had too much to drink. Thancred swallowed back a wave of bile. All heads turned to Tsimh. Her eyes were fixed on the rosy-cheeked scholar, as she sang.

Many times past she’d wooed Thancred in similar fashion. He didn’t know if what she lilted now was poetry from another source, or a fancy bit of improv all for her dalliance tonight. But she trilled of chance meetings and beautiful faces wreathed in winter snow, and Kaia leaned up against Thancred with an awestruck sigh.

“I’ve never seen that bard before! I wonder who she is?”

His lip twisted.

“It’s like she wrote this song for us, isn’t it?” Kaia cooed, nuzzling under his jaw.

Before realizing it, Thancred had pulled himself free and raised to his feet.

Kaia scrambled for balance, brow furrowed, attention unsteady, “Wha’s wrong?”

“I’ll only be a moment.” He answered, the first, least controversial cover to make it through the murky swirl of his mind. Thancred took his coat off the rack, but didn’t stop to put it on.

“It’s a blizzard out there –”, she protested as he made for the exit. “Thancred–”

Kaia, and the music, vanished into the wind as he shut the heavy oak behind him. Bitter cold stung with instant venom, bracing muddled thoughts and offering much needed clarity through the haze of a night spent indulging.

He would not be going back tonight.

#ffxiv #ff14 #thancred waters #thancred x wol #wolcred #fanfic #jealousy #pining #my fic #tsimh ffxiv #tsimh #50 kisses #guided by moonlight

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lilacalily · 3 months

Text

NaHyuck Analysis Pt. 2

A continuation of the discussion on NaHyuck realism

3. Affection

These two are touchy. And by touchy, I mean the flirty, sexy kind.

They don't just cuddle, they don't just sleep curled up on a couch that barely fits one, they don't just hold hands. No.

Jaemin has kissed Haechan's neck. He's kissed him on the lips. He holds his waist in a not bro-like way for loooong moments, and he is way too happy to grope him when given the opportunity to touch.

Let us not forget the difference between the way Jaemin felt him up and the way the others just kind of lightly patted at him during that dance quiz on weekly idol.

Jaemin was sooo gentle and he was literally plastered to Haechan's back. Also, this is kind of the normal way that they interact with each other physically.

Please watch fancams/fan focus vids of these two on stage. You can see so much when you watch how they interact and the facial expressions they make live. I literally just saw one today from tds3 where Jaemin saw him do something sassy and then turned away from the member's view and bit his lip in a 'oh shit that was so hot' kind of way. He smiles so brightly and fond to when Haechan does aegyo.

Also, they don't just slap the booty, which is pretty common even in bro culture in Korea. No, Jaemin stares at Haechan's ass. Like, often. He does a full visual pat down when he stands behind him on stage. (Again fancams. They do not have themselves in check for the entire duration of time on stage.) And he holds it.

Do you do that with your friends? I don't. I might give a little booty tap (although even then, I'm usually flirting a little), but I don't cup their asscheeks. During a hug, my hands stay above the waist. Jaemin's very much do not.

Now, Korean culture is very physically affectionate between men, but the shit they do is next level. Maybe it's just idol fanservice, but even that means something, because they don't do that with every dream or 127 member. They specifically choose to do this with each other.

Both are pretty playful and flirty with others, but idk man.

It's next level with these two.

4. Bringing it back to Earth

Ok, so let's not be delulu. Let's consider the options here, because I want so bad for the representation and I love a cute LGBT+ love story, but I can be realistic.

What are the scenarios and what are the chances I would give them?

Scenario A. -> 15%

Very very touchy friends, but everything is fanservice and totally meaningless romantically. 100% platonic.

Scenario B. -> 23%

They're the type of queer friends who have a certain solidarity and openness that leads to high levels of affection and trust. Especially in their industry, they can't be super open publicly and it's hard to be in a relationship, so they take comfort in each other. They kiss and makeout occasionally, but nothing much more than what we've seen on cam.

Neither wants to go further, although they do see each other as attractive and maybe have had a dream or jerk off fantasy involving the other at some point. But still, basically just hot friends.

Scenario C. -> 23%

Scenario B, but they went further. Maybe someone was drinking and oops, Haechan gave Jaemin a blow job oops! or one of them got rejected and they had a sorry you got dumped mutual jerkoff. Maybe one of the many times they were playing around being 'fake' flirty just kind of...kept going?

It never happened again, but they're a touchier version of friends because of it.

Scenario D. -> 14%

Scenario C, but then it became a convenient habit oops!

Scenario E. -> 10%

They weren't super close, more like friendly work colleagues, but then for whatever reason, they fell into bed with each other at some point:

Got turned on by the other's dancing or on cam flirting and then hit up their hotel room during promotions? Went out to eat or drinking to better their working relationship and bam? Maybe even something like, hey I want to hook up with someone because I'm a horny 18-25 year old dude who likes dudes and this semi-close friend of mine is available/willing/similarly inclined?

Now they're friends with a sexual history who love each other, but in a platonic way. They've only messed around once or a few times. It's not off the table when both are single, but it's not a habit.

Scenario F. -> 4%

They've been regularly sleeping with each other. A friends with benefits deal. Maybe even dating at some point, maybe even still dating?

Scenario G. -> 1%

They love love each other, full romance. 100% I would marry this person.

Scenario H. -> 10%

Secret crush. One is just playing and flirting for fun, because that's their personality. The other actually is interested and wants to move forward but can't because of reasons. What are the reasons? Crush has a partner, crush isn't interested in guys (unlikely, considering...everything), or it's unrequited.

TLDR;

So, basically I think they love each other, but probably aren't in love with each other. I think it would be reasonable to assume they've had some level of romantic/sexual contact, but unlikely a regular thing. There's a lot of understanding and care for each other, they see each other and are perceptive of the other's feelings. If one of them got seriously hurt by someone, I imagine the other would be like who do you need me to kill?

#nct #nct dream #nahyuck #haechan #jaemin #analysis #just my take on the last few years #kpop #lgbtqia #lee donghyuck #anyway these two are my lgbt+ kings and I love them #I hope they're healthy and happy <3

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the-axe-and-flail · 1 year

Text

Look this ended up way longer and more detailed as I went on pls someone talk me out of spending the next week writing this God damned AU-

An AU where Gyomei declined Kagaya's offer to join the slayers and instead was picked up (aka sold by a crooked PO) to a guy who sailed the world procuring acts for big name circuses like B&B or Sparks. The man recognizes his unusual height and equally unusual strength, and with the help of an interpreter, he learns that Gyomei doesn't want to fight at all. The recruiter reassures him there is no actual fighting in entertainment (rather that it's all dramatization, like a Kabuki act) and he agrees, seeing no other out for himself and deciding this is the least harmful of his options.

Over the next 8 years he ends up in B&B where your family is a group of tumblers and trapeze artists. You find his strong silent type fascinating, and you love watching him train the caravan cats to do tricks like jump through hoops and balance spinning plates on their heads. Normally you'll find him in his off time training his body to peak physical form (something everyone who comes to see the strong man act is VERY aware of), but what most others miss are the moments of downtime when he's having tea or peacefully meditating, eyes closed as he soaks in the morning sunlight. His white, cloudy eyes seem to always find you when you think you can steal a glance, but he never seems to acknowledge your inquiry.

It isn't until a few months in that you're tasked with working on a new act for the tumbling floor routine that you decide it's time to get to know the seemingly gentle giant. Without any real plans in mind, you find him one morning cleaning up the equipment from his daily cat training and offer to help. He seems a bit skeptical at first, but doesn't take long to relent and even thank you for your help. He asks if you'd like to stay for tea as an offering of thanks, to which you happily accept, asking all sorts of questions about it as you see him take the small porcelain teapot and 2 small cups from a little leather box in his caravan. He explains the differences between eastern and western tea drinking, the entire while you're enamored by how precisely and delicately he holds that tiny teacup (and oh to be a teacup in those big strong hands).

You explain to him over tea about the new tumbling act you're trying to put together, and ask if he's ever thrown a person into the air the same way he hurls those tree stumps and boulders. It takes a bit of back and forth, but eventually he agrees to give it a go, though not before telling you how much he doesn't want to hurt you and please be careful. You promise that you've also trained your body to be the perfect (and safest!) acrobat you possibly could, but that his worry is really sweet and you appreciate him looking out for you. As you reached out to place your hand on his as a sign of agreement and thanks, you felt and saw his entire form stiffen slightly and immediately pull away, giving a soft apology as you do. The rest of tea time is spent enjoying the quiet sounds of the nature around you until set up begins for the afternoon.

It was a bit hard to find time and room to practice your new act, but you didn't let that stop you. Sometimes you had the interior ring to work in, other times you had to make a clearing for yourself in the woods just outside the caravan camp. Whatever your arena though, it was obvious that Gyomei was a worrier. He'd spend half of set up and stretch making sure all large rocks or fell trees were moved so nothing would accidentally harm you would he miss the catch or fumble the toss. Not that it was ever a worry of yours mind you, from the very first moment his hands wrapped around your waist to lift, to the countless times your fingers interlaced with his massive ones for stability, he'd never once given you the impression that he wasn't in complete control.

It was almost a wonder in and of itself, really. You knew he was blind, as they announced it at the beginning of his more dangerous acts, but he never really seemed like he couldn't see. He could catch axes thrown at him out of the air, he could hit a mark on the dime with a whip or throwing dagger. Time and time again he'd wow audiences with his ability to balance on a single foot, holding several hundred pounds of longs on his shoulders while jumping from pole to pole. It was clear this man was anything but ordinary, never faltering in his step or routine for even a moment.

Maybe that's why you felt so comfortable with him holding your life in his hands. When you would mess up a flip or over rotate a turn, he was there to course correct and catch, regardless of how far off target you were. It was addictive in its own way- crashing into his strong chest only to be a moment later wrapped in his arms as he slowly lowered you to the ground. The deep hum of his chest as he sighed in relief knowing you were safely on soil again. You on the other had would giggle, the rush of adrenaline a long held family favorite. You'd immediately be speaking plans for how to fix your mistake and asking if he was okay for another round, not quite noticing the dusting of pink on his ears as you spoke.

It was becoming a topic of discussion around the caravans as well- everyone noticed your breakfast tea time before warm-ups and set up/tear downs. They also noticed how even in down time you two gravitated towards each other, helping with tasks and chores, doing your washing together, even taking meals together when able. Some of the other acts even starting watching your practices, enthralled by just how high he could toss you, how gracefully you maneuvered in the air, and how deftly his catches and precision your balance was. The clowns in particular became a regular audience, always willing to cheer you on and offer fun suggestions to spice the act. For the most part it was silly or unhinged hinged things like doing the act in your knickers so you could charge triple (to which you swear your saw Gyomei fluster a bit, followed by a roar of laughter from the painted crew).

It wasn't until the night of your first show that you'd really felt nervous. This was the first act you'd ever put together without the help of your family, and you couldn't help but wonder if it was entertaining enough to really make it to the regular acts. Sure it featured one of the most popular acts of the circus, but would you be enough to pull your own weight, or would Gyomei end up shouldering it all like so many of his other features? It was enough to make your heart pound (and not in the good way) and hands tremble. Luckily for you Gyomei had spent the better part of the last 3 months getting to know your body very well, and could hear and sense the disturbance in your mood.

"Everything will go as it always has. You will be strong and precise, as you always have." His words were spoken softly, but the conviction in them was obvious. "And I will always be there to catch you." A phrase so simple it could easily pass for a quiet kindness, but the large calloused hand that tenderly held your face was a siren. Your whole body was a fire, at the mercy of his rains, and all you could do was stand there and soak in the warmth of his palm as your heart screamed at you to move.

A second later the lights were on you as the music blared, Windjammers blasting the march you knew by soul now. For the first time you looked up to see Gyomei with a gentle, genuine smile as he stepped back and held his hand out to you, waiting for the moment you started the routine. With the loud roar from the packed stands, you rushed into him as his hands wrapped around your waist, wasting no time before skillfully tossing you up, wrapping his fingers with yours as you balanced in his palms. Tossed through hoops of fire, over dangerously deep drops, and at heights unheard of, you wowed the cheering stands as time and time again your near death was evaded at the last possible second by your resident strong man. His grip was safety, his white eyes all seeing, and his precision impeccable. In the security of his catches, you were free to fly at impossible heights and perform stunts you'd only ever dreamed of as a child watching your parents on the highwires. And as the music came to a crescendo, your heart damn near beating out of your chest, you looked down to see his focused expression turn to one of tempered joy as he braced for your final catch. A moment later, the music hit its end as you were hoised above Gyomei's head in a spit handstand, balancing only on his single palm.

Cheers erupted, nearly deafening you as the two of you took bow after bow, backing out of the main ring as your personal cheer squad clowns gave rushed congratulations and praise as they flooded the stage for their own act.

"That was amazing!!" You gasped, hardly believing you'd just pulled off something so magnificent. The adrenaline in your system burning with the need for more.

"You were perfect. Just as I said you'd be." His deep voice reverberating through you despite the rushing of your pulse in your ears.

"And you caught me, just like you said you would." Oh to be able to see the smile on your face in this moment as you grinned from ear to ear. But he didn't need to see it, he could hear it in your voice and sense it in your heartbeat; the heat of your hands as you grabbed his was the definitive marker.

"And I always will." Despite the band and the crowd, despite how softly it had been spoken, it was clear as crystal. The large hands once again come to cup your face, this time followed by the sensation of his lips so perfectly meeting yours. His fingertips tracing the sides of your face as your own hands grip the collar of his uniform, both of you a tangle in the night as a blanket of blinding lights and music shields you from prying eyes, tucked behind the big top.

#wow uh... i got a lot carried away with this one??.#now excuse me while i sob and contemplate actually writing this into a legit fic #fuck fuck fuuuuuck #too many fics not enough time #my kingdom for a ghostwriter lol #demon slayer #kny #gyomei himejima #kay's thoughts #kny gyomei #gyomei x you #gyomei x reader #kny gyomei himejima #himejima x reader #ive done 0 proofreading #engage at your own risk if you hate typos lol

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princesspuresarahk · 1 year

Text

Egyptian Guardians fanfic

Chapter: 2 Shelter and Care part 2

Warmth was one of the things that he could feel he was warm but not the kind he expected from the blazing heat of the sun the sands of the harsh desert and heat from the sun that always fell against his tired body not caring if he got sunburned or not for his mind was blank endlessly wandering until one day he couldn't no more and crawled up to a spot where everything went black. but now something felt different completely different he felt a form of being secure over his body, at first it felt tired but at the same time was comfort it says if someone something was taking pity on him and to let him (despite being immortal) be at rest physically and somehow emotionally for the first time in a long time. It was as if he was in a place of comfort, like the soothing heat from a fire and secure warmness of a blanket he could feel an aura around him that he hadn't felt in a long time, a very long time was he dreaming? He couldn't remember the last time he dreamed not without having awful nightmares about the pasts but this one was different so it wasn't a dream? ... It felt so real..so..wait he could feel it. He could feel something about his environment but what? Slowly a pair of two big blue eyes hidden with long red eyelashes slowly were as blue as the sea and sky shining like the stars from a face as pale like milk though a bit flushed from fever still felt soft as ever Seth was awake, letting out a soft moan slowly set up from his bed eyes still blurry from his deep sleep as he took in his surroundings

"where..am I?" He heard himself whisper sounding weak after many years of staying silent it slightly hurt his throat due to dehydration but he could feel that he had been given water but who...? Unknown to Seth his answers would soon be heard when he heard a gasped coming to his left slowly sitting up pulling his knees up close to him turning as his vision he recognized a face he hadn't seen in centuries or even thought of ever seeing again.."Mother..?"

“Oh my son, you’ve awakened,” said the godly woman, she stood in front of her mortal offspring, wearing a shawl made from the finest materials that draped over her starry sky body.

“Please drink my son, replenish your energy,” said Nut as she handed Seth a small saucer of water for him to drink. Nut then took a seat beside Seth, just to enjoy this small amount of time with him.

Still a bit surprised by his mother's appearance Seth couldn't help but gently the cup to his soft pink lips no longer chapped due to his mother's care as he took tiny steps from the drink the coolness of the water quenching his thirst and soothing the back of his throat until it was empty. Once he finished he looked back to his mother "..mother.. what are you doing here.. why am I here?" He was so confused and had many questions. "why...did you bring me here.."

“The desert can be savage to mortals, I could see you couldn’t make it any longer without hydration,” said Nut as she gazed towards the vastness of the desert. Despite having what was indeed a half-blood son, she still didn’t understand humans other than the fact that their needs often clouded their judgment.

“I think the question should be… why are you here?” asked Nut, trying to remind Seth that she was indeed a god and his options at this time were very few.

Seth bowed his head unsure of the answer "I..I don't know all I remember is wanting to lay down and close my eyes..my..my body my mind just couldn't take it anymore I just wanted to make myself small and...and not be seen again, but I'm still confused mother why are you helping me after all I've done.." his lips were beginning to quiver tears peeking behind his big blue eyes as his body shook slightly in panic why?

“Seth… my beloved. I’ve spent eons observing the ballads of man. I’ve seen both their triumphs and their blunders. Some men do stupid things, some never yield to redemption” said Nut, her voice sounding grim as she explained bluntly about how some people failed to learn from their mistakes.

“My son, you may be the son of a goddess; but you are too the son of a mortal man. I see you as someone who’s redeemable, redeemable than most mortals” said Nut as she turned to look down at her recovering son, her night sky face smiled as she gently felt her hand along her son’s handsome face.

Hearing those words the tears finally broke like a dam as Seth let out a heavy sob and finally broke down after holding up all his emotions he kept locked away all as he reached to Nut "Mam..Mamie," something he hadn't called her since he was a child, pressed his face as he let out all the pent up emotions in his with heavy tears falling from his face soaking her dress as spoke in shaky words how he was so sorry for all he had done, that he didn't mean for it to happen and how could it all go so wrong for getting angry and hurt when he discovered Nephthys's betrayal and how Anubis wasn't his. Confronting Osiris on demanding the truth leading to his 'death' revealing that it was an accident but he didn't mean for it to happen and when he tried to tell the truth to Isis she didn't give him a chance to explain as she ran off believing he betrayed everyone and killed her husband out of rage causing the others to leave the kingdom including now ex and (once) son leaving him to run the kingdom alone with no experience in how to be a king in a ruler causing Egypt to go in a state of depression and chaos has he tried to keep things under control and fix everything but it seemed that he kept making things worse no matter what he did with all the stress and Dark rumors spreading he just didn't know how to handle it anymore as they saw nothing but a monster.

As he confessed to his mother about the past all Nut could do was gently rub his back and hold them as if he were a little child again giving him a soothing comfort only a mother can give as she listened until her son's heavy sobs became hiccups, eyes all red and puffy from hot tears and runny nose until there was nothing left and his breathing had calmed down grabbing a rag gently wiped his face giving him a gentle smile

“Your kingdom needs a ruler; your subjects need your guidance. Despite their bitterness, they are stray animals without your guidance” said Nut, tilting her head in solidarity for her son’s sad state. Nut continued to stroke her son’s long smooth reddish locks, showing her undying affection towards her boy.

“Seth, a mother’s comfort can only go so far. Yet you will eventually need to return to your kingdom, to return as a leader who despite your flaws has always kept the well-being of the kingdom in mind” said Nut as she planted a kiss on her son’s forehead, hoping her act of motherly affection would restore his confidence.

Though lightened by his mother's words gloominess still covered Seth's face, no there is no Kingdom to go back to the temples the people would come for his guidance in the wars were long forgotten and torn after his defeat and Egypt trying to rebuild no one would want him around and to be honest many have long since forgotten about him during his exile he never heard whispers about him in the wind or rare encounters from caravans with humans that he made sure to stay hidden from his presence it says if they didn't care about talking about him after the depression he put them through and he doesn't blame them and to be truthful he has had a deep feeling for quite some time that he no longer has a place in Egypt nor has nothing to do with it "I don't think that's true, Mamie to be honest I don't feel like I have a place here anymore in the desert nor within Egypt itself I feel there is no place for me here now." he looking at his mother again showing in his big blue eyes he meant it and she could see within him that Seth didn't feel like he belonged here anymore.

Suddenly a small gurgle could be heard he looked down realizing it was coming from Seth's tummy causing the once-former guardian to blush slightly pink embarrassed "I'm sorry, but I think I'm hungry" Nut giggled at her son's awkward bashfulness "How about some hot porridge then," she suggested and after that she’ll set him up with a hot bath to clean him up and continue their conversation later.

Next Chapter 3: a bath

credit to the lovely https://theivylinerart.tumblr.com/ for being part of this Fanfic : )

#Egyptian guardians fanfic #seth #nut

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cjweejay · 2 years

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Phoenix in the Clouds

Pairing Recom!Quaritch X Male!Oc

Summary: When a reborn Quaritch returns to Pandora, he meets a scientist who changes his world. Can love bloom on a beautiful world hostile to humans?

Content Warning: alcoholism, Mild violence

Master List

Read part one here

A reposting of chapter one part two, this time Edited to feel more cohesive

Chapter one: The Landing (Part two)

(ah...Quick change, accidentally posted chapter two part one instead of chapter one part two lol...don't judge it was like midnight :p)

Dr. Wihongi returned to his temporary office, sat in the empty room, and sighed. He spent time at the computer and began working on some paperwork. He made certain that the uniforms were communicated to those working under him, and he sat back to drink his coffee which was not so subtly tainted with Cheap whiskey. He grumbled as he glanced at the computer. He despised it here, He wanted to be back at his own lab, where he was in command. But instead, he was now having garments made for enormous blue jarheads.

The doctor sighed as he got a notification about the Clothes in the Fabrication lab, Although it felt fast these machines were quite adept at making clothes considering how often clothes are made. As he stood up and proceeded to the onsite lab to check on the clothing. He sipped his coffee while adjusting the stitch and sitting down to ensure that nothing went wrong. He Then loaded the freshly made clothing into a hamper on a cart and began wheeling them down to the Recoms Barracks, coffee in hand. The door slid open for the Man.

"Colonel, I got all of the clothes Fabricated!" he yelled as he rolled the hamper further into the barracks.

Quaritch raised an eyebrow. "That quickly?" he questioned. His unit and he tried on their new fatigues. They were inflexible and one-size-fits-all, as was typical of military fatigues. They were cut resistant, though, as they discovered when they began slicing at each other with their combat knives. In the Pandoran jungle, a little more protection is always welcome.

"I wonder if we could get a tailor," he wondered, feeling the range of motions the fatigues allowed him. One thing he hadn't realized was how much more flexible the material seemed at his scale. Cut resistant threads were thick, and not particularly flexible. Movement was always a bit of a chore. These, though, felt a bit more like normal fatigues, right down to the starchy stiffness.

Dr.Wihongi sipped his coffee and observed. "Does it work for you?" he said.

"Or do you want me to alter them?" he asked, his gaze fixed on Quaritch.

"A foldable collar would be ideal. Having the option to keep it down or cover the neck and throat. Beyond that, just a bit of tailoring to the individual and we'd be set and protected from a good chunk of Pandora's dangers." He smirked as he looked down at the Doctor. "You do excellent work, doc."

The doctor smiled slightly at the compliment and he nodded,”I try my best” he said as he sipped his coffee, hiding the further widening of his smile.

"Beyond that..." Quaritch handed the doc the list of items he'd noticed they could use that weren't found in the armory. Of note were concussive and flash bang grenades.

The Doctor read over the list and nodded,"I'll supply the armory with the weapons and send over the other things, I'll be back for some measurements"he said as he pocketed the list and he grabbed the rolling cart, and walked out of the barracks. The coffee cup filled with Irish Coffee never leaving his hand.

"Well boys and girls, what do y'all think of our resident Q?" The responses from his unit were positive, excited to actually get outfitted with the best equipment possible. When it came to equipment, Marines in general got the bottom of the barrel. RDA outfitted them well, but now they were really getting priority.

The recom unit wound down for the day. They were given time to familiarize themselves with their new bodies, and to acclimate once more to Pandora's environment. But after a few training runs through simulators and obstacle courses, Quaritch planned to have his men on a Kestrel penetrating deep into enemy territory.

The doctor came back and instructed the Recoms to stand and be prepared for measurements.

A few minutes passed and Quaritch was the last one to be measured.

"Getting real familiar with us, eh doc?" Quaritch teased as he watched the human approach.

"I suppose you could say that, Sir," he remarked as he peered up at the other. "Spread your legs a little," he said before beginning to measure the Colonel.

Quaritch, like the rest of his squad, laughed. "Do you want me to bend over for you as well? At the very least, you should take me out to dinner beforehand."

"Colonel, I'm right near your privates, and if you want to keep them, you should keep quiet," he replied, looking up at the other in between the Colonel's legs.

The recom unit laughed at that. "I like you, doc. Certainly better than the last batch of eggheads I had to deal with."

Dr. Wihongi chuckled, "Well, I am here to please," he remarked as he finished measuring the others' inseams, "Can you get on your knees?" he asked as he scribbled the inseams down.

"I don't recall you needing anyone else to do that." Quaritch laughed as he got on his knees, He looked at the doctor with the slightest smirk.

"Trust me, everyone did, and it doesn't help that you're taller than them," he grumbled, "I don't provide special treatment," he murmured as he measured the others' waist.

"Alright. Keep in mind, I'ma marine and a vindictive one at that when it comes to any funny business."

"strictly professional," he added as he measured the other's chest. Being so near to Dr. Wihongi, the alcohol could be smelled on his breath, his eyes were sleepy, and his hair was a tad unkempt. Though there was a spark there, a dull flame of passion.

He held the other's arm and measured the sleeve length.

Dr. Wihongi took the measurements and nodded, "there you go, all of your new uniforms will be ready by tomorrow, given that most people don't work at night," he added as he took a step back. "I'll be next door if you need anything."

"You will all need a health checkup tomorrow to see how your bodies are acclimating to Pandora," he shouted loudly for the entire team to hear as he walked and typed. Groans from the Team could be heard and he rolled his eyes.

"Alright, doc. See you tomorrow." Quaritch watched him leave.

"Well, rather forwards, wasn't he?" he quipped to his unit. The unit Chuckled and talked to each other. Some conversations pertained to the doctor, others about how weird it was to be back.

Quaritch went to his bunk as the rest of the recoms relaxed, getting up to the usual antics of bored soldiers. He knew the egghead wasn't enthused about being his unit's personal quartermaster and R&D team. If he had a hunch, the doc was pretty beat up about not getting to play with his own pet science project, whatever the hell that was. Still, he did good work, which he could appreciate. And if it kept his men alive, then all the better. Maybe he could see if the doc's science project was worth restarting, if he ended up working well with his men. He took care of his people.

Soon enough, it was lights out. His soldiers grumbled as they went to bed, acting like the children they claimed they weren't. As he laid in his bunk, feeling the fairly familiar feeling of a regulation mattress and blanket on Pandoran gravity, he imagined what might be ahead. He thought about finally getting his revenge on Sully, a man he'd taken in as a protege only to be betrayed. He thought about taking this world that the traitor seemed to love and taming it, civilizing it. Humanity was here. It was our home now. The natives just didn't know it yet.

Quaritch fell asleep, thoughts of violence and industrialization soothing his burning need for revenge.

#quaritch x oc #miles quaritch #Fanfic #Oc #Shirironk #Avatar2 #atwow #Quaritch #Slow burn

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starlling-writes · 2 years

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Bewitching Monsters - Sleep Paralysis Demon P3

Series Rating: 18+ Chapter Contains: swearing, suggestive dialogue/themes Pairing: f/?

BeMo Masterlist ☆ Writing Masterlist

I did not sleep easy the rest of the night.

Startled awake by a vivid communion with my Patron, I left Lori’s place early, before he even woke up. Nothing like this had happened before. I found myself in the usual scene where my Patron gave me the payment options for my magic—but this time the sky was red with roiling clouds; the landscape was drought-cracked and desolate; and their nest was a mass of thorns, stained with crushed eggs.

I needed to have a deeper conversation with my livid Patron over what was going on.

Unfortunately, Honey Cup wasn’t open yet, so I was on the lookout for another café. I needed some food before I tried sorting things out. That was when I ran into Aero. He immediately recognized something was wrong, and insisted on joining me for breakfast.

“So what’s up?” he asked me after the waiter took our order.

“I don’t fully know.” I sighed and absently stirred the whipped cream into my hot cocoa. “I woke up from a very angry message from my Patron. And by message, it was all interpretative symbolism, so I don’t really know yet what the fuck is up.”

“Damn. That’s stressful. Has anything like this happened before?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I don’t know what I can do, but I’m here for you.”

“Thanks.” I sipped my drink then tapped my nails on the mug. “So what are you doing up this early anyway?”

“Oh, I’m on my way home from a one-night stand.”

I raised a brow at him, shook my head, then took a long sip of my cocoa. Aero narrowed his eyes at me. He knew I wasn’t slut shaming him, but he couldn’t parse what I was judging him for. I smirked. “Willow’s gonna be mad that you didn’t bring me over for breakfast.”

Aero paled and his face went slack. “Fuck…”

Unfortunately for him, it was too late to cancel our meal order. But for me, little unconnected details from the morning knitted together, especially after a few flash visions. A careless lack in forethought left me in a tricky predicament. It was no secret that Lori had been hoping I’d ask for a sexual payment from the beginning. And I had no intention on acquiescing. He also wasn’t telling the full truth about the sleep demon. While I still didn’t know the details on that, there was enough fuckery going on to piss off my Patron.

But I was beginning to form a plan.

I went to Lori’s that night with two plans in mind. The first was, of course, upholding my end of our deal. The second was laying the trap for his deceptions—which started with some coy comments and questions.

“So, last night. During the paralysis,” I started, demurely trailing pauses. “After the demon finished communicating with me, it… Well. I caught some glimpses.”

Lori cleared his throat, his ears flattening back as he broke eye contact. “Oh. That… well I guess we know what the demon wants from me,” he tried laughing it off. He was quick to realize that that statement answered the question he hired me to get answers for, so he added, “Well, one thing at least. It might want something else from me too. Also still need to know why it wants what it does.”

In a different situation, I’d be charmed by his flustered state. In a different situation, I might be inclined to toy with him in ways he’d enjoy. Shame. “Can’t really blame it, with the dreams you have,” I teased.

This was the longest stretch of time he’d gone without looking at me.

“Not judging,” I said. “I do have the payment options I do for a reason.”

That got a glance out of him. “Oh—did you want to talk about my payment now?”

I shrugged. “We can, if you want.”

“Alright.” He adjusted in his corner of the couch. “Um. Remind me again of my options.”

I listed off the options I’d given before, a couple suitable ones I hadn’t previously offered, and lastly the poisoned apple: sex. And oh did he take the bait. He asked if we should talk about it more right now, but I said no; best he didn’t get too excited and not be able to sleep—besides, the details wouldn’t matter come payment time.

When the paralysis demon showed up, I was thankful to have the pearl of darkness already under my tongue, or else I likely would’ve cursed from the shock of it apparating in front of me in all its detailed glory. Was this how Lori saw it? I was yet again glad I didn’t have to deal with dream stuff on a nightly basis.

Arcane One, it said in exactly the kind of voice you’d expect a sleep paralysis demon to have. What are your intentions towards my dominion of this rabbit?

It expected me to talk with this acorn-sized pearl in my mouth? Hopefully there’d be some telepathic element to this, otherwise this was going to be just as challenging as every other attempt to communicate had been so far. “Lori asked me to help figure out why you’re here.” My voice felt like a phantom of myself. I could feel my mouth forming the words, but my mouth didn’t seem to move. The only way I could think to explain it was a shadow form of myself was actually talking, unaffected by pearl.

His initial confusion was not unexpected after my absence, it mused. It looked over at Lori—wait, Lori was still sleeping? Fuck, I really didn’t understand anything about this entity. Last night, he seemed to have recognition. Does he?

Recognition? So it has visited Lori long enough for him to know it. And if last night was so telling… Lori was a kinky little bitch and was hooking up with his paralysis demon often. So what exactly changed with Lori that infuriated my Patron?

“Lori hasn’t said anything to me about recognizing you.”

It made a noise between a hum and a grumble. I saw double for a second at it moved, suddenly appearing on the ceiling. It looked down at Lori like how I’d look up at the stars.

It seems we both have questions, but not answers, for one another. Its eyes shifted to me. He might hold them. But communication will be limited and short lived once he’s awoken.

“My Patron is pissed at him. Can you think of any reason why?”

It did that weird, double vision, light trail movement again, returning to my side. Angry?

“Yeah. If feels like Lori is lying about something. Or perhaps is trying to change our deal. My patron has been less than forthcoming about this situation. Which is frustrating. I wish they’d just tell me what’s going on.”

A shiver jolted up my spine. A new presence loomed behind me.

“Witchling,” my Patron greeted.

— — —

BeMo Masterlist ☆ Writing Masterlist

Story: Previous — Next Character Arc: Part 1 Part 2 [Here] Part 4

#monster love #exophilia #monster love story #exophilia fiction #sleep paralysis demon #demon x human #Bewitching Monsters #my writing

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envysnest · 1 year

Text

Snakeskin (Sephiroth/Reader) (ch. 7/?)

AO3 / Pillowfort

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14

Tags: First Time, Reader-Insert, Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Frank Discussions of Past Rape/Abuse, Everyone is Queer, Canon-Compliant (if you squint), Pre-Crisis-Core Seph, Slow Burn, i continue to disappoint my friends and family, sephiroth is a virgin and in this essay i will, Reader is a Cis Woman, fluffy sex, Praise Kink, Gratuitous Biochemistry

Summary:

You are a young biologist, fresh out of graduate school, working in Shinra's R&D Division under Professor Hojo. You had long since given up on finding a partner and starting a family, preferring instead the company of your cell samples and your scientific instruments.

As the conflict in Wutai worsens, you strike up an unexpected friendship with a First Class SOLDIER.

(Sephiroth/Reader Slow Burn)

TW's for this chapter: Alcohol, brief mentions of self-harm ideation, description of a panic attack/traumatic episode near end of chapter.

---

The elevator was taking especially long. You stared into your cup of coffee; your own morose expression stared back.

“Professor.”

You jumped. Sephiroth had appeared next to you, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. He eyed you with a humorless expression.

“Hi,” you said warily. Genesis’s voice rang in your head, almost mocking in its tone: No wonder Sephiroth’s sweet on you. Doubtless Sephiroth himself knew his secret had gone out. Now, he was here to take it out on you.

But Sephiroth shifted from foot to foot and looked towards the elevator doors. His face took on a slightly pink tone.

You looked back into your coffee.

Sephiroth’s voice was strained. “It’s nice to have some sun for once.”

You wanted to scream. Instead, you replied, “Sure. It’s been dark lately.”

“Indeed.”

A silence stretched between the two of you. You looked down: you had started tapping your foot and hadn’t even realized it.

Sephiroth cleared his throat again. You didn’t look up.

You said, “Days can only get longer, right?”

You heard him shift to face you. You were babbling to your shoes now: “Like, you know how a few minutes are added to the…the day as the winter goes on? We, uh, we passed the solstice, which was at the end of December, and so, that means it’s gonna get sunnier, so. It always makes me feel less depressed when I th—“

“Would you like to get a drink together?”

You winced and looked up. Sephiroth looked stricken, as if he hadn’t meant to voice that question aloud. He swallowed heavily and turned towards the elevator doors. Far below, the elevator chimed.

A cold terror seized you when you realized what he had asked. All you could manage was, “Huh?”

Sephiroth stretched his neck to one side with an audible crack. He wouldn’t look you in the eye. “I have my own place in the SOLDIER barracks. You can…I mean.” He shook his head and shifted from foot to foot again.

You were trembling again. The coffee threatened to splash out of the sides of the mug.

You had been right the entire time.

No one was ever just kind to you. There was always a catch.

A myriad of options flashed before you as you stared at your shoes. Sure, you could push him to meet you in a public place, but the Silver Elite would have a field day. If you went to his apartment— and the thought made you shiver— there was the risk of sex. Surely, he would want something from you.

You could say no, but—

No.

No, you couldn’t.

You didn’t get that privilege. You had walked into this situation, made yourself available.

You were a fool for ever giving him that charm.

Sephiroth spoke up. “I apologize. You’re not interested.”

“I’m interested,” you said, voice stiff and robotic. “What time?”

There was hope in his voice: “I’m free Friday at 7.”

“Friday at 7.” You looked up at him and managed a smile. “Where in the barracks?”

He had that expression again, soft and boyish and bright. He was so good at convincing you that he wouldn’t hurt you; most people were, or maybe you were just bad at reading people. Perhaps a little of both. “The forty-third floor. Just say my name at the door, they won’t stop you.” He reached into his pocket, digging for his phone. “Do you want me to text you?”

“I’ll remember.”

Sephiroth nodded once, as if you had settled a business deal. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

When the elevator came, he took a step forward. When you didn’t follow, he turned to you and held out a hand. “Coming?”

You waved his hand away, trying your best to seem nonchalant. “I can wait for the next one.”

“You sure?” he asked. Beyond him, a gaggle of marketing people held the doors open, looking up at Sephiroth as if he had hung the stars. If the elevator was that full already, you would have to press against him.

You can only delay that so long.

“I’m sure," you squeaked.

He smiled and waved over his shoulder. “Bye, then.”

When the elevator doors shut, you turned and headed for the stairs. You took them two at a time from the 60th floor to the 66th floor, and even that didn't quell the anxiety in you.

---

The skirt you had on felt all wrong. Everything about your body felt wrong. You resisted the urge to check yourself out in the reflection of the elevator doors. Could makeup oxidize this fast? You probably looked like a melted wax figure by now.

You touched a tentative finger to your lashes; it came away jet-black. Yes, that was right, you had gone too hard and too fast on your eye makeup. With your luck, you thought, you probably looked like a clown outside of your dingy bathroom. When had this lipstick expired?

The barracks lobby had been empty. The lone guard hadn’t even looked up from his W-drama as you scurried past him. Maybe Sephiroth had warned him about you already: yeah, there’s this girl, she’ll look a little bit pathetic, like you found her in a box on the side of the road, let her in so I can give her a saucer of warm milk.

The elevator chimed and opened into a long white hallway. The silence was absolute; not even the sounds of traffic permeated the air. You couldn’t hear your footsteps on the soft carpet. If you sat still in your apartment, you could hear the neighbors eating dinner, the dogs in the alley, the cars honking at each other in the street; the hush up here felt foreign, eerie.

The end of the hallway was a floor-to-ceiling window; you tentatively approached, looked over the edge. Stories below you, Midgar was just lighting up for the night, taxis darting this way and that. This high up, even the buildings looked like toys. You could see the train puffing away and, beyond the edge of the plate, the unforgiving blackness of the desert.

You turned around and studied the lone doors in the hallway:

4301

4302

You knocked on 4302 and waited.

No response.

You put your ear to the door. No good: there was such an intense stillness beyond, you were pretty sure the door was made of steel.

Someone called your name softly. When you turned, the opposite door had opened up into another apartment. Sephiroth leaned against the door frame. He was out of his armor and was in a black turtleneck and khakis more suited to casual SOLDIER regalia. He looked nearly identical to how he had presented at the holiday party, except he was in his bare feet.

“No one lives there,” he said, gesturing at the door. “I’ve been looking forward to a neighbor, but one never comes.”

“Oh.” You felt hot under his gaze. You tugged on the hem of your skirt; you knew you shouldn’t have worn it, you looked so much younger than him. “Just you, then?”

“Just me.” He gestured for you to follow him. “Let’s get you out of the hallway.”

No witnesses. You were on your own.

You took a deep breath and hesitated in the entryway to his apartment.

“You can take your shoes off,” said Sephiroth. “Whatever you’d like.”

The far wall was made up of another floor-to-ceiling window, now looking out over Sector 1. Cream-colored curtains hung on either side. You kicked off your heels and placed them neatly next to the threshold. The wood floor echoed under your feet as you stepped in, letting the door swing shut behind you. The apartment walls were a deep maroon, making the space feel warm and cave-like. A cold, modern-looking sofa dominated the living room from the entryway to the glass window, where it made a sharp L turn and extended to the opposing wall. A marble coffee table stretched from one end of the couch to another, sitting atop a charcoal-gray carpet that was soft underfoot. There was an enormous TV in the corner that didn’t look like it got much use. You awkwardly settled on the sofa, smoothing your skirt in your lap and pressing your thighs together. Despite its appearance, the sofa was soft, and you sank back into it. At this angle, your back was to the kitchen, where Sephiroth was fussing. The coffee table in front of you had a vase with flowers, real flowers.

And the books.

The entire wall in front of you had been converted into shelves; in the center was a massive electric fireplace, where blue flame danced back and forth behind glass. An uncountable number of books had been crammed onto the shelves, jammed into every available space. He piled art books on the coffee table: Art of the Ancients, Modern Engineering, a book on cave paintings. There were even stacks of books, waiting to be read, on the floor in every corner of the living room.

You slowly rose to your feet and crept around the edge of the coffee table. The books were mostly histories, from what you could see; volumes upon volumes of military histories, political analyses, biographies and autobiographies and retellings. You looked up. The shelves rose to the ceiling, piled full everywhere you could look. In some places, the excess books had to be pressed flat, covers facing out, or piled on top of other volumes.

On the top-most shelf, far above you, sat Masamune. Sephiroth had gingerly laid her across dark wooden stands, propping her up on her side. If you turned your head, the light caught off of her silver blade. The books stayed away from her, as if they grew legs and shied away from such a famous weapon.

“Do you want to hold it?”

You jumped and turned around. Sephiroth had wandered back into the room with two generous glasses of red wine. He watched you carefully.

“Can I?” you asked.

He gave you a sideways look, that coy smile teasing the edges of his lips. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want you to.”

You backed away as Sephiroth set the glasses down on the coffee table. “Do I sit down? God, I feel like I’m holding someone’s kid, or something.”

He laughed and shook his head. “It’s not delicate. You have nothing to worry about.”

You backed into the L-shaped junction of the couch and plopped down anyway. Sephiroth lifted the sword off of its stand as if it weighed nothing.

He laid the sword flat in his palms. “Hold out your hands.”

You rested your hands on your thighs, palm up. Sephiroth knelt to your level and gingerly laid Masamune in your lap. You nearly buckled from the weight of it; he chuckled as you readjusted. The sword was longer than you were; this close, you could see scuffs on her blade, nicks from countless scuffles. The braided leather of the handle was sturdy and reassuring in your left palm. Sephiroth settled on the floor beside your feet and leaned his elbow against the couch cushion, cheek in his palm, watching you examine the sword.

“Wow,” you breathed.

“It’s seen quite a lot,” he responded. “Angeal thinks it’s time to get it replaced, but it feels like a friend now.” He looked up at you. “Do you like it?”

Did it matter what you thought? It was his sword. A sword, you realized, that could end you without you even feeling it.

You looked past Sephiroth, to the door, heart beginning a wild tattoo in your chest. You were alone, and he was blocking the way out.

If he wanted to, he could.

Could what?

Your right palm closed around the blade—

“Ow! Fuck!”

Sephiroth was on you before you could respond. The sword left your lap. “Easy,” he hissed.

You trembled on the sofa. Blood welled up in your palm; you watched, numb, as it pooled in your grip.

“No one’s trained you on sword safety?” Sephiroth replaced Masamune atop her shelf and rushed to the kitchen. “Here, wait—“

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. Why couldn’t you stop shaking?

“Why?” There was a rustling. The sink turned on, then off. A moment later, Sephiroth knelt in front of you. He took your hand in his and pressed a warm washcloth to the wound. The sting of the water against the fresh cut felt distant; the longer you watched him tend to the wound, the more it felt as if you were watching someone else’s hand, not your own.

Absently, you wished the wound had gone deeper.

“Sorry,” you said again, voice pitching high. Your other hand fluttered in your lap. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” Sephiroth lifted the washcloth and peered at the wound. His hands were warm. This was the first time you had touched skin-to-skin, besides that fleeting contact at the party, and it was over a stupid mistake. Your stupid mistake. “You didn’t know. It happens to our new recruits all the time.”

“It was dumb of me—“

“I should have warned you.” Sephiroth dabbed at the cut, turned your hand this way and that. “It’s not very deep. It should heal quickly.”

You couldn’t look at him. He placed your hand gently back in your lap. “Wait here," he said. "I’ll bandage it.”

You stared at your heels in the entryway. You were in your stockings; with the bleeding hand and the too-short skirt and the awful makeup, you must’ve looked like a child. You looked up at Masamune; your blood was still on her blade.

“Isn’t that going to stain?” you asked as Sephiroth returned with a roll of gauze.

He followed your gaze to the sword. “Even if it did,” he said slowly, “Would you rather I cleaned it before attending to you?”

Instinctively, you tucked your injured hand behind your back. You couldn’t answer that question. The shame must have been plain on your face because Sephiroth sighed, as if he was dealing with a particularly stubborn toddler. He knelt in front of you and held out an expectant hand.

He said, “You don’t deserve a bleeding scar."

You couldn’t say anything; the more you spoke, the more annoyed you seemed to make him.

Just like you annoy everyone.

You pressed your lips together and obediently placed your right hand in his. Sephiroth was efficient as he wrapped your palm. There was no way you could tell him why you had gotten upset, why you had injured yourself on his weapon. Only part of it was on accident, and the other part that meant it…

Well. That part stayed buried for a reason.

Without looking up from his work, he said, “You’re going to apologize again.” His eyes briefly flicked up to your face. “I know you are.”

You reached up for your eyes to rub them out of habit, but stopped just in time. The makeup; you'll smudge it. “Maybe so,” you said, a petulant edge in your voice.

He scoffed. “You really think I’ll let you get away with that? With crucifying yourself?” He reached behind himself to the coffee table, took a pair of gleaming silver scissors. You hadn’t even noticed them sitting next to the gauze. With a single, fluid movement, he cut the bandage. “I don’t tolerate that behavior in my own men.”

You shifted on the couch, cheeks burning.

He replaced the scissors on the coffee table and set to fastening the gauze with a metal clip. “I certainly won’t tolerate it in you,” he said softly.

Sephiroth curled your fingers into a fist and tenderly pushed your bandaged hand back towards you. When he looked up at your face, his eyes were fierce. “Understood?”

Your mouth was dry when you spoke up. “Most people just let it go and tell me to sulk.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Then most people don’t appreciate you.”

You fought back a relieved smile and blinked hard. Like hell you were going to cry on— not a date, but on whatever this was. “Thanks.”

“I’ll tell you as many times as you need.” He gave your hand a firm pat and rose to his feet.

Before you could say anything else, he offered you one of the wine glasses. “From a vineyard near Junon,” he said. “You told me you wanted to work on one—“

You reached for the wine with your left hand: your good hand. “I wanted to be a wine brewer,” you said softly, touched that he had remembered such a small detail. “Once upon a time.”

As your fingers closed around the stem, Sephiroth tilted his head and examined your wrist. His lips parted in surprise.

That was right: you usually wore lab coats and long-sleeved blouses in HQ. “Oh,” you said. “I got this tattoo a while ago. Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” he said, wonder evident in his tone. He reached out a hand and hesitated, brow furrowing.

A pang of fear darted through you. You pulled your arm out of reach.

Sephiroth made a fist and pulled away.

You cringed. “Sor—“

“If you apologize again,” said Sephiroth, “I’ll send you back down that elevator.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Can I take the wine with me?”

He settled on the couch and took up his glass, chuckling and shaking his head. “You are brutal.”

You took a sip. The wine was incredible: it had a cinnamon spark to it. You took a more generous gulp this time; you could almost taste the sunshine, the ocean, the sandy dirt by the cliffs. He had actually tried.

“I know.” You held up your left arm again by way of apology. Sephiroth leaned closer to examine the tattoo, but this time, he kept his hands to himself. You felt gratitude bloom in your belly.

“Did it hurt?” he asked. His eyes roved the length of the stems, traced every petal and leaf.

“Sure,” you said. “But it’s more of a burning sensation. It…felt like I was getting unzipped.”

The bridge of his nose crinkled as he smiled. He looked up at you. Oh, but his eyes were bright. Under Shinra’s fluorescent lights, it was easy to forget. In the dim light of his living room, his eyes glowed like a cat's. “Very brave of you.”

“Please. You’ve definitely had worse on the battlefield.”

“Maybe so,” he taunted.

You laughed and covered your mouth. Oh, but he was wicked. Where had this sense of humor been hiding? “You’re a bastard. Maybe I should leave.”

“I’m joking.” He angled towards you, resting his elbow on the back of the couch. He looked too big for the space; when it was just you, the apartment felt empty, as if it was made for multiple people. Somehow, with him in it, the room felt so much smaller.

You managed a smile. “I know.”

He smiled so hard that the bridge of his nose crinkled again. You looked away, feeling your cheeks heat up. Your eyes caught a stack of books next to the television.

“Reading’s a hobby,” you said.

“Mm?” Sephiroth followed your gaze.

“Back in the clinic.” You stood and walked around the table to look at the stack of books. These were all about Wutai: language manuals, dictionaries, travel guides. “You said you didn’t have any hobbies.”

“You would count reading as a hobby?”

Some of the spines had been cracked. The top book (Wutai: A Modern History) was clearly well-loved, the paper cover hanging by a few loose threads. “Well, yeah. You, uh, you like books?” Smooth.

Sephiroth’s voice was reverent when he replied to you, as if he was hugging a well-loved memory, as worn and faded as a childhood blanket. “I love books. When I was a kid, I used to run into the library and hide for hours.” He laughed under his breath; the couch groaned as he shifted his weight. In the reflection of the television, you watched as he pressed a finger to his mouth and gazed out of the window. “It scared the hell out of my guardian.”

“A guardian? Your parents didn’t take you?”

The Sephiroth reflection winced. “I didn’t know my parents.”

“Oh. Oh.” You straightened up and turned back to face him. There was a stiff, pained expression on his face; his eyes darted back and forth across the Midgar skyline. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged: the easy, exasperated gesture of someone who was used to pity. “It is what it is.”

You fumbled with the stem of your wineglass. “Who was your guardian?”

“Whoever was on shift.” He drew one thoughtful finger against his bottom lip. “Usually one of the research assistants.”

You choked on your next sip of wine. “You were raised in a lab?”

“I was raised here, yes.”

“Holy shit," you breathed.

He glanced at you in surprise. “You didn’t know?”

“Wh— no?”

“Ah.” He rearranged himself on the couch, tucked his feet under him. “My mother died in childbirth. My father had already skipped town. The company owned the hospital she gave birth in, so they took me in. And, well…” He took a sip of wine and raised his eyebrows. “Here I am.”

“Wait.” You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head. “You’re basically a child slave.”

“That is an awful way of putting it.”

“But you’re working for Shinra? You didn’t have a choice.”

“Well, hey,” he said, “I don’t see any difference between that and some kid working for his parents’s business. How is it different if I were raised above a restaurant?”

There was a defensive tone in his voice that made you feel wary. You rubbed the bridge of your nose. “I guess.”

“You guess.” He rolled his shoulders. “Where are you from?”

“Underplate.”

“No kidding.”

“Sector 1 Slums, yeah. I went to Gast for undergrad and did my doctorate in their bio department.”

“You didn’t want to leave Midgar?”

You paced the length of the bookshelves. He seemed to have sectioned his books off into categories: autobiographies nearest the fireplace, history books off to the right, a series of ancient-looking leather encyclopedias on the highest shelf, near Masamune. “I mean, I did, but GU was the best school I got into. I really wanted to go to the Northern Continent, but all the schools there either waitlisted me or rejected me. Twice with the PhD programs.” You peeked into the blindingly-white kitchen through an opening in the wall, where a few lonely bar chairs sat against a marble bartop. “It’s kind of nice to be close to home, anyway.”

“I can imagine.”

“You would’ve loved the libraries,” you said softly. “People said the biggest one looked like a fairy tale.”

The sofa creaked again; Sephiroth had turned to see what you were looking at. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “I don’t mean to get you drunk.”

“No,” you said, though there was a bowl of clementines on the far counter that you were eyeing. If you ate anything right now, and if Sephiroth moved wrong, you might throw up. Better to refuse more wine than try to sober up with a meal that would end up on his lap. “I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why do you ask me that?” you blurted. You turned back to Sephiroth; he rested his cheek on his hand, watching you over the back of the couch. “You’re always, like, ‘Are you okay?’ and ‘Are you fine?’”

“Because I worry,” he said without moving from his spot.

“Worry about me?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, the structural integrity of the Shinra building. Yes, you.”

“Ugh.” You walked back to the couch with your head down. You plopped down beside him. “You’re difficult.”

“Why does that bother you?” Sephiroth said, and you realized all too late that you two were now very close together.

You looked down; his hand sat on the cushion between your thigh and his, curled into a fist, as if he had moved to hold your hand but thought better of it at the last possible second.

“You being difficult?” you said to it.

“I do worry about you,” he pressed. “You are underpaid and overworked. You have one of the worst bosses in the entire company—“

You laughed into your wine glass.

“I’m serious.” Sephiroth couldn’t keep the answering chuckle out of his own voice. He set his glass down on the table. “I’ve seen you check into the building at eight in the morning and not leave until past eight at night. You manage multiple research assistants. You give presentations to Lazard.”

You gulped down the rest of your glass and set it on the coffee table next to his. The wine burned in the back of your throat as you smoothed your skirt down. “You don’t have to worry.”

Something touched your hand. You jumped.

Sephiroth had placed his hand over yours. He said your first name quietly.

You froze in place, heart thumping in your chest. Perhaps you had lied when you told your therapist you didn’t understand the language of touch. You understood a fist, closed eyes, getting fucked against a mattress. You understood a missed call; you understood fake kindness.

You didn’t understand this.

You didn’t understand tenderness. Worse still, you didn’t understand how something in you settled when he turned your hand over in both of his and intertwined his fingers with yours. It was desperate, clawing, almost painful in how sweet it was: a teenager trying to hold hands with his first crush. You stared at your interlaced hands and thought only of how small your palm was in his.

Sephiroth’s voice was a low murmur. “Is this okay?”

“I…” You looked up at him. He was so close now, leaning in like he wanted to share a secret. “Yeah,” you said, and you were startled to realize you were being honest. “It’s more than okay.”

“You tell me if it’s not,” he said. You couldn’t take your eyes off of his. He had that boyishly eager expression again. Why did your heart hurt? The room was so quiet.

You looked down at your intertwined hands on the couch cushion. It was a while before Sephiroth spoke again.

“Can I…”

His lashes were so long. You felt woozy.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice soft and wondering.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Yes, please.”

“Okay,” he said softly, and he didn’t move.

You stared up at him. He stared down at you.

“Here I go,” he added.

“Whenever you’re ready,” you replied.

And he leaned in and his mouth was so soft against yours, just as soft as you thought it would be, and he laid tentative fingers against the back of your neck, a silent invitation to come closer, please come closer, and you fell into the kiss gratefully, feeling everything in your body tumble towards him, the soft fruit of your guts spilling open for him, asking to be held because it had been so long since you had been kissed like this, like you mattered, like the other person wanted you for you, and you were a fool, you thought, as you cupped his soft cheeks and felt him exhale through his nose, for thinking you could ever push this away, push him away, and his free hand pressed against the small of your back as you deepened the kiss, as you sucked on his bottom lip like he was a panacea for all of the hurts inside of you, for all of the nights you had fallen asleep thinking about what it would be like to do this, to kiss him, to let him hold you.

When you surfaced for air, he chased after your mouth, eyes still closed, and you pressed your nose to his. You were dizzingly, disorientingly happy.

Sephiroth opened his eyes; his pupils had gone wide with desire. “Wow,” he breathed.

“Good?” you asked.

“Perfect,” he replied, and he caught your lips with his again. You tangled your hands in his hair and— oh, wow, his hair really was soft. How often had you fantasized about this without knowing?

But then your back hit the couch and—

No.

No, no, no.

This was all wrong.

His mouth tasted like spit and he was too heavy on you and you couldn’t tell where the door was. How long had you been lying there, pinned? Forever, you thought, it’s been years and I’ve never woken up from this couch. This was all a dream. You remembered the song playing on the radio in the background, how you had recited the lyrics in your head. When you think back on it now, you see yourself from a distance, in the crowd of people, watching yourself watch—

Someone called your name.

“Don’t,” you whispered. “Not again.”

“—you okay?”

A hand cupped your cheek, and yes, he had done that too, the boy who reached inside of you in front of your entire school at a party and took your heart as plunder and never let it go. He had been so tender when robbing you of your humanity; you thanked him afterwards. There were so many boys and girls who carved you out like the soft earth after rain. Your hands landed on something solid. You tried to push him away again, but to your horror, your hands fell limp against his chest. No matter how hard you pushed, nothing happened.

Your voice was a low whine. "Please. Stop.”

He— Sephiroth, the boy on the couch, both, neither— said your name. You let out a frustrated grunt and shoved harder. Why wasn’t it working? Why were you so weak? Nothing moved: every muscle, held in place by the strings, by the Not-You.

“Sorry,” you gasped. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

The man said your name again, urgency in his voice.

You tried shoving as hard as you could, but your arms didn’t respond: You fell, limp and lifeless. Your breathing turned into hyperventilating. He was still there on top of you. You couldn’t control your body anymore; it was too late for that. He was going to destroy you, and there was nothing you could do about it.

You did this to yourself.

Two hands grasped your wrists. “Stop,” said the man.

You shook your head. “Please, no,” you begged. “I’ll be good. Please don’t.”

He released your wrists. Without thinking, you shrunk away from him, cowering against the couch. You squeezed your eyes shut. A cloying stillness hung in the air.

A blanket settled around your shoulders.

You opened your eyes.

Sephiroth knelt at your feet, staring intently at you. You hadn’t moved. You looked down; you were still clothed, still lying on the couch. Nothing had happened while you were gone.

He held up a hand. “Press against me,” he said. “As hard as you can.”

You blinked at him and sat up.

He gestured towards your hand. “Go on. When you’re ready.”

You lifted a hand and touched a few fingers to his palm.

His voice was gentle. “That’s it. Now push.”

You pushed, or you tried to. Your fingers slipped off of his palm: still useless, still limp.

“Actually push,” he said. “Harder than that.”

This time, you pressed your hand flat against his, fingertip to fingertip. You shoved as hard as you could, but nothing happened.

“Harder.”

You cradled your elbow in your free hand, as if this would help steady you, and shoved again. But your muscles did nothing, and Sephiroth gave you an exasperated look.

“Come on,” he said. “You’re not trying.”

Something in you lit on fire.

How dare he?

You grit your teeth and shoved again; he didn’t move. Your voice came in gasping breaths: “I’m— trying— as hard as I— can.”

He scoffed. “Please. This is pathetic.”

“Fuck you,” you snarled, and something in you unlocked. You braced your shoulder and heaved forward, and this time, Sephiroth’s hand did move: the tiniest, most incremental nudge.

He smiled, flashing a few perfectly-white teeth. “Good. Again.”

You took a deep breath and pushed; it felt like trying to move a brick wall, but as you pushed, Sephiroth’s hand gave backwards in painful millimeters. “Fuck you,” you said, just to feel yourself say it. “Don’t— don’t ever talk to me like that.”

“Tell me again.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that!”

“Again.”

“I hate you!”

And you pushed, and Sephiroth’s hand fell away. You gasped for air and wrung your hand out. Yes, there was the couch underneath you, and the smell of the wine lingering in the air, and you felt your toes wiggling on the carpet. Your heart had stopped racing.

Sephiroth wrung his hand out. “Very nice. Feeling better?”

“How did you do that?”

“I didn’t do anything.” Sephiroth reached up and re-arranged the blanket around your shoulders. “That was all you.”

“No, I mean…” You looked towards the door. “You focused me. You did the same thing with the needle in the clinic. How?”

He moved his knees out from under himself and sat at your feet. “Ah,” he said with a quiet laugh. “Now I get what you mean. I redirected you.” He picked at a hangnail on his thumb. “You see it sometimes in the field,” he said quietly. “The new recruits kill someone for the first time, or something on a mission goes wrong, and they go--” He made a compressing motion with his palms, as if he was squeezing something into a box. “Inside themselves. They’ll spend all night crying, or they’ll stop talking, or they’ll…stop listening and self-destruct. So I help them ground.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head. Embarrassment burned in you, almost painful in its intensity. You wanted nothing more than to pull the blanket over your head. He had kissed you, and because you were broken, because you weren’t normal anymore, you had gone mental on him. You hunched your shoulders. First the sword, now this. You couldn’t go on a date right, couldn’t even hold a makeup brush like a normal girl. There were thousands of women who would kill to be in your position.

What was the matter with you?

Why couldn’t you just be normal?

Your eyes burned. There was a high whining sound in your ear, and you realized with a fresh wave of embarrassment that you were whimpering, and that made things so much worse. You had completely, utterly, fucked up the night.

Sephiroth murmured, “Don’t cry,” pleading and soft, and that did it, you were crying now, curling in on yourself as if you had been stabbed. You gasped for air like a drowning man, but it came out as a wretched sob.

A warm hand landed on your knee and rubbed it. You covered your face with your hands, as if this would hide you from him.

“Can I hold you?” he said softly. The couch cushion sagged next to you; he had sat down, his thigh to yours. You nodded, still sobbing, and when his arms wrapped around you, you pressed your forehead to his chest. God, but you sounded pathetic. There was no way he would call you again after this, the way you curled up in his lap like a needy child. Your therapist had told you to stop saying ugly-cry, but wasn’t that what you were doing now? Covering the front of his shirt in tears and snot and regret? He was just being nice; you imagined him rolling his eyes above you, checking the time on his phone, wondering when you’d finally leave.

But then something nuzzled your hair, and you realized Sephiroth had gently kissed you on the top of your head.

Your voice was ragged when you spoke up. “You don’t have to do that.”

“And if I want to?” His voice was a low hum against your skull. His heartbeat was steady under your cheek: so unlike yours, which still raced as if it was trying to break out of your chest and flee the apartment.

“Don’t—“

And when you shoved him this time, he actually let you go. You kept your head down as you ran for the door, grabbing your coat.

“Please don’t go,” he said from the couch.

You fumbled with your heels. After a tense second, you gathered them in your hand instead; better to run barefoot than stumble your way to the elevator.

“Please,” he said, and when you looked up, he hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch. “You can stay with me.”

“I have to go,” you mumbled.

Sephiroth stood. “Please, you can—“ He wrung his hands; you had never seen him do that, didn’t even know it was a gesture in his repertoire. “I can sleep on the couch, I don’t mind. I won’t touch you. I clearly overstepped.”

“No, no,” you said, and why were you smiling when he looked so upset? “I’m okay. I…I just, um.” Ah, you were smiling because he was upset. You were showing your belly, trying to please him after your mistake. “I have to go home. I’m sorry.”

“Wait,“ he said, but it was too late, you were already opening the door and stepping into the cold hallway.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, and you rushed towards the elevator in your bare feet, putting your coat on as you went. You mashed the “down” button with your injured hand, winced as the sting climbed up your arm like pins and needles. The elevator door opened almost immediately, and you ran inside.

When you looked up, Sephiroth was almost halfway into the hallway, staring after you. He was too far away for you to read his expression.

He lifted a hand in farewell.

You looked away and hit the button to close the doors.

---

You spent the weekend holed up in bed with the curtains drawn and the TV blaring. Your phone went off a few times, pinging with what you assumed were messages from Sephiroth, but you didn’t dare look. If you ignored him long enough, you were sure he’d finally get frustrated and give up on you.

Good, you thought to yourself. Then you could go back to ignoring each other at work.

The doorbell rang on Sunday evening. You sat up straight in bed and immediately regretted it as your head spun. Your trash was piled high with bad takeout, and it was taking its toll in the form of a stomachache and a migraine.

The doorbell rang again, more insistent this time. The last time you checked, you weren’t expecting another delivery.

You grunted and walked over to the intercom on your wall. Without thinking, you pressed the button to unlock the building. Rapid footsteps ascended the stairwell as you searched your floor for clean pants.

“One second,” you called when a knock came at the door.

On the other side of the hall, blinking placidly in the dim hallway, stood a delivery guy. In his arms was a sizeable crystal vase full of bright red roses and lilies.

“For you,” he said as he held them out.

You raised your eyebrows. “I didn’t order this.” There was an older couple down the hall; maybe it was mis-delivered? “This is 4B.”

The delivery guy checked the receipt card tucked amongst the flowers. “4B. This is for you, miss.”

“You’ve got the wrong person—“

“Look,” huffed the man, “450 Albert Street, Apartment 4B, Sector 8. It’s yours.” He shoved the vase into your hands before you could protest. “Enjoy.”

You watched the delivery guy rush back to the stairs. The bouquet was fragrant; you pressed your nose to one of the lilies and took a tentative inhale. Real flowers. This close, you could see tiny white sprigs of Gypsophila hidden among the larger blooms.

You backed into your apartment and kicked the door closed. You set the vase down on your jewelry workbench and checked the receipt.

Yes, that was your full name and address. The return address simply read:

Anonymous

On the other side of the receipt was a note:

I want to try again. Will you let me?

Your stomach dropped.

No, it couldn’t be.

Why would he do this?

You felt a rose petal between thumb and forefinger as you flipped the receipt card over again. The order date was yesterday, the day after your…episode in Sephiroth’s apartment. The voice in your head said that this had to be a joke, or a consolation prize, simply his way of soothing himself after you had flipped out on his couch like some kind of freak because he had kissed you, like a normal person would after a good date. There was no way he really meant this.

You walked across the apartment and picked your phone up off of your kitchen counter. A few missed calls from Sephiroth, messages from the R&D groupchat about an upcoming conference, a series of texts from your mother asking what you were doing for the holidays. You pulled up the instant messaging app and clicked on Sephiroth’s icon. Somewhere around 1 AM Friday night, he had texted:

>>Are you okay? Call me ASAP.

You messaged him:

>>Did you send me flowers?

His reply was instantaneous:

>>Thank god. Are you okay?

You typed back:

>>Answer the question.

From Sephiroth:

>>Yes, I did. They made their way to you safely. Do you like them? I don’t think you’ve ever told me your favorite flower.

You looked up at the bouquet, and something in you broke open all over again. You typed:

>>I don’t have a favorite.

He replied:

>>We’ll change that.

You sniffled. So self-assured, as if you hadn’t gone absolutely insane on him. Your cheeks were wet; you were crying. He still wanted you, despite everything, despite how you had acted. Despite the ugly-cry, the anger, the running away. Your thumb was trembling as you typed:

>>Okay. You got me. Try again?

>>I thought you’d never ask. Yes. Same time next week?

You laughed and swiped the back of your hand against your face.

>>I’m really sorry. I don’t know what happened.

>>Don’t be sorry. I know you didn’t mean it.

There was a slight hesitation on Sephiroth’s end. The next message pinged on your phone:

>>I’m excited to see you again.

You turned off your phone and let yourself cry.

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#momofics #snakeskin

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