#I never draw him outside of his standard look

[bforblitz]

I’m relining my reference sheets since I’m trying out a new brush. so take my golden boy

[hoe4hotchner]

Hiii!! Could you do another non bau rich fem!reader where she gave Aaron lots of designer stuff and he starts wearing them to work? Like maybe ties, cuff links, and like an LV duffel bag and the team is just like “??? Woah dude where’d you get that??”

Subtle flex | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x rich fem!reader| WC: 0.9k | CW: nothing

Aaron Hotchner was usually not one for excess. His wardrobe was practical and professional, his tastes minimalistic, and his life, outside of Jack, revolved around efficiency and exuding authority on the job. Sure he had splurged occasionally on a stray high-quality tie here and there as well as his Rolex watch. At least that was until you entered his life.  

The first gift was a tie — a deep navy one in silk with subtle pinstripes. It came in a sleek wrapped box with some designer brand he had never even heard of before. You’d handed it to him with a casual smile, brushing off his initial protests with a light, “Aaron, I saw it and thought of you. Let me spoil you for once.”  

He wore it the next day, paired with his standard black suit, and noticed how it caught the light in the mirror. “Looks good,” he muttered to himself, brushing his hand over it. As hesitant as he had been to accept it, he was thankful for the present and happy that you'd chosen one that wasn't smothered in logos or brand names.

Then came the cuff links. They were sterling silver and engraved with his initials. He opened the box late one evening after you handed it to him over dinner. “You didn’t have to,” he said softly, though his smile betrayed how much he loved them.  

“Of course, I didn’t have to,” you replied, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. “But you deserve nice things, Aaron. You do so much good without even expecting a thanks.”  

And so it continued. A Louis Vuitton duffel bag for his work trips, a black leather wallet that somehow managed to look even more professional than the one he’d carried for years, and a collection of even more ties that were understated yet undeniably luxurious and seemed to multiply in his closet every so often.  

At first, he rotated the items slowly into his everyday wardrobe, unsure if they would draw attention. But one particularly chaotic morning, he grabbed the LV duffel, clipped on the cuff links, and shrugged into a jacket before heading into the office having gotten an urgent notification for a case.  

It didn’t take long for the team to notice.  

“Uh… Hotch?” Morgan’s voice cut through the usual buzz in the conference room as Hotch entered. “Is that a Louis Vuitton bag you’re carrying?”  

Hotch glanced at him briefly, setting the duffel down by the door before striding towards the front of the room to grab the file Garcia was holding outstretched for him. “Yes. Why?”  

Morgan blinked. “Why? Man, you’ve been holding out on us. Since when do you roll up looking like you just stepped out of GQ Magazine?”  

Emily leaned back in her chair, eyebrows raised. “Is that a new tie, too? That’s at least Tom Ford.”  

Hotch adjusted his tie instinctively. “It’s not. It’s Brioni.”  

“Oh, excuse us,” JJ chimed in throwing her hands up and exchanging an amused glance with Emily.  

“I’m sorry,” Spencer Reid piped up, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Are those cuff links monogrammed?”  

“Okay, seriously,” Morgan said, crossing his arms. “What’s going on, Hotch? You win the lottery or something? Cause if your salary is high enough for those purchases Imma have to talk to Strauss about a raise.”  

Hotch, shrugged lightly as he opened his case file. “No. My girlfriend has… a habit of giving gifts.”  

The room fell silent for a beat before Emily’s jaw dropped. “Wait, girlfriend? You’ve been holding out on us in more ways than one!”

"Who is she I need details," Garcia cut into the conversation, her excitement starting to bubble over.

JJ smirked. “Are you telling me she just gives you designer gifts casually? I agree with Garcia, who is this woman?”  

Hotch allowed himself the smallest of smiles as he glanced up from his paperwork. “Someone who insists I deserve the finer things.”  

“Damn,” Morgan muttered, shaking his head. “Where can I find one of those?”  

“Maybe start with charm school,” Emily teased.  

As the team bantered, Hotch’s phone buzzed on his desk. A message from you:  

Miss you already. Hope you’re putting the cuff links to good use. Dinner at my place when you get back?

He smiled quickly at his phone before typing back a quick reply.  

Always. I’ll bring the wine.  

When he looked up, the team was staring at him, curious. “What?” he asked, his tone amused, knowing fully well that they wouldn't stop bothering him about you until he eventually agreed to let them meet you.  

“Nothing,” Emily said, though her grin suggested otherwise. “Just trying to imagine Aaron Hotchner in love with a rich fashionista.”  

“Not just a fashionista,” Morgan added, gesturing toward the duffel. “An angel sent from the heavens, apparently.”  

Hotch shook his head, lifting his file up in the air in a quick and smooth motion as if to remind them why they were there. “Focus, everyone. We have a case.”  

A few days later, when you saw Aaron again, he mentioned the team’s reaction with a mix of exasperation and amusement.  

“I think they’re more interested in my wardrobe than the case,” he said, loosening his tie as he sat beside you on the couch.  

You laughed softly, running a hand through his hair. “Let them wonder. They’ll get used to it eventually.”  

“I’m not sure they ever will,” he muttered, leaning into your touch.  

“Good,” you teased, leaning in to kiss him. “I like keeping them on their toes.”  

[sturnlsstuff]

GENTLEMAN | matt sturniolo

loser!matt x partygirl!reader

matt gets dragged to a party, when he meets the "party queen" who definitely doesn't find him terribly boring like he thought she would, which she makes sure he understands.

requested by @mattsobvimyfav . divider credits. @anitalenia

— warnings; smutty smut, sub!matt, soft!dom!reader, making out, blowjob, riding, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, whiny matt (hot alert), pet names (pretty/good boy, baby, sweetheart...) cursing, praise kink lowkey, mentions of weed, cigs and alcohol, — english isn't my first language.

women like you were out of the league for guys like matt. you were a typical popular girl, partying every week and not like normal people did. you were the queen of the dance floor. party queen, that's how people called you. everyone with eyes and a brain admired the graceful way you carried yourself around. never missing parties, always staying until the very end, usually your friends had to carry you out of the building due to the excess alcohol in your blood and inability to stand on your own feet. when you were telling a joke, everyone laughed. when you were taking shots, so did others, that's how convincing you were.

you could have any guy you wanted, but no one was perfect for your standards. you were admired by girls who wanted to be like you and guys who wanted you.

matt was one of those people. he admired you.

he didn't know you well as a person who kept away from people. he was an observer type, only talked to his closest friends, of whom he had few. maybe even a little shy, that's what people called him, but really when he felt comfortable? he could be so interesting.

he had never talked to you before, only ever heard about you or knew what he had noticed. matt wasn't the party type, usually was practically dragged out of the comfort of his room. he didn't like looking for adventures. and today? some girl that his brothers were friends with, and that matt knew by sight, had a birthday and of course chris and nick once again dragged him out of the house for the party, ignoring his complaints. so that's how he found himself in this house full of rich, drunk kids, loud music blasting in his ears, every now and then someone would trip over his legs, causing him to roll his eyes. he sat half the party on the couch in the corner of the main room, arms crossed and beer in hand. he really wanted to go home, but his brothers would kill him if he didn't last until midnight. half an hour left.

unable to bear it any longer, he finally goes outside where the music was a little muffled, giving him the feeling of getting to breathe again. maybe that was the case. being surrounded by so many people was overwhelming. he lights a cigarette, which was his little addiction but helped him relax, and leans against the wall, praying that the minutes go by faster.

he started getting more and more relaxed, finally at peace, tilting his head back and blowing out clouds of smoke until he heard giggles. his eyes immediately opening, noticing you and your two friends coming out from behind the building and walking crookedly towards him, you searching for something in your purse. he would recognize the party queen everywhere.

"... i can't find it!! i swear i had it!!" you laugh, giving up with whatever you wanted to find, your purse slips off your shoulder just by the front door of the house, right next to where matt was standing. he automatically bends down and hands it to you, drawing the attention of you and your friends to him, which makes his heart beat faster. "oh helloooo, thank you," a smile appears on your face, that brings a slight warmth to his cheeks.

"yeah, no problem," he tries to keep it cool, scratching the back of his neck nervously. you look at your friends, gasping playfully, "ohhh, maybe this gentleman will have a lighter—" your gaze goes back to his blue eyes that were now wide. "do you have a lighter??? i think i lost mine!"

"a what— oh—" he snaps out of his trance, staring too hard at you which makes him blush even more. you were so beautiful. he clears his throat, "yeah, uh, i have one..." he hands it to you, your friends giggling at his nervousness, while you thought he's being really cute. "here you go."

"you're a life saveeeerrrrr," you're about to start searching for the cigarettes but he's quick to pass his own pack to you. "oh god, you're like an angel," your grin widens as you take a cigarette from him, putting it between your lips and lighting it up.

"girlll, my song is playing! can you hurry up?" your friend complains, causing you to roll your eyes.

"just go, i'll come in a minute."

"you sure?"

"yeah, go," you repeat yourself and stand next to matt who was leaning against the wall against, his heart pounding in his chest. he could feel your perfume mixed with... weed, perhaps? you give him the lighter and cigarettes back with a simple 'thank you'.

you both stand next to each other in silence that was starting to weigh on him, but he wasn't able to speak first. you both smoke your cigarettes when you finally look at him again. dressed all in black, a beer in one hand, on which you notice tattoos. oh, he's handsome as fuck.

"so" you speak up, getting his attention. "does this gentleman have a name?"

he smiles shyly, overwhelmed by your beauty. "i'm matt."

"matt," you repeat, tasting his name on your tongue. "i like it. suits you."

the way you repeat his name makes him feel both uncomfortable and strangely excited at the same time. he rubs the back of his neck nervously again, blowing out the smoke, just as you say your name too. he gives you a glance, "i know."

"oh, do you?" a smirk appears on your lips as you take another drag. he replies hesitantly, "well, i mean... who doesn't?"

you nod confidently, "right." your eyes travel to his tattooed arm again, feeling your stomach twisting in knots at the sight. he catches it and looks down at his arm as well. "i like them. make you look hotter," you confess.

he blinks, caught of guard by your words. he wasn't really used to people, especially not girls like you, saying things like that to him. mostly because he barely was leaving his house. he feels his heart race, a warmth spreading through his chest. "thanks."

"of course," you respond casually, checking him out once again before looking away with a small smile and taking another drag of the cigarette. you were slightly high, not really that drunk yet and you knew what you were doing. his awkwardness was so cute, there was no way you'd let this man go so quickly tonight. you actually felt like you need to have him.

matt finishes his beer in one swing, putting the empty bottle aside, causing your attention to get back to him.

the more you looked at him, the more he reminded you of someone, but there was no way you talked or even seen matt before. though, you decide to ask, "wait, don't i know you already?"

he raises his eyebrow, locking eyes with you. "me? i don't think so." i would definitely want you to, he thinks.

"oh, 'cause i feel like i do. or maybe you just remind me of someone—"

"i'm a triplet. you probably know my brothers."

"ohhh, wait—" you snap your fingers, trying to remember. "yeah, chris and— and nick? oh, now i know. never seen you before though. lowkey thought they're bullshitting about being triplets."

matt smiles amused, taking one last drag and throwing the butt of the cigarette on the ground, trampling it with his shoe. "yeah, m'not really out going."

"i see," you nod, smiling back. "i'd definitely remember you."

he chuckles softly, feeling his face warm at your words again. damn, get your shit together matthew. "really, huh?"

"yeah. with this looks and that—?" you point at his tattoos. "i promise, i would remember."

you didn't feel like beating around the bush, you liked him. he was extremely handsome, his hair looked so soft you wanted to run your hand through it, his eyes made you weak in your knees and his lips begged to be kissed. not to mention the aura he had around him, he intrigued you. matt was different than the rest of those assholes you met at parties.

he looks away shyly, the smile on his face makes your heart flutter. literal butterflies — something you've never had before.

you finish the cigarette in a comfortable silence, getting slightly overwhelmed after the weed you smoked before. leaning against the wall, your shoulder brushes against his, drawing his attention back to you.

"you good?"

"mhm, it's that cigarette, give me a second."

he nods, watching as you throw the rest of it aside. "okay. jus' don't go passing out on me."

"hey, i'm not that drunk i can even stand on my hands if you want. look—" you're literally bending over in front of him, hands on the ground, and you're ready to do it, but he quickly grabs your waist, forcing you to straighten up. matt tried his hardest not to look at your ass and the way your short dress rode up. his pants suddenly start to grow tighter but he ignores it.

"you better not—"

with a giggle, you turn around to face him, the feelings of his hands sends a shiver down your spine. "i could easily do that."

"sure," he raises his eyebrow, the blush on his cheeks only growing because of the closeness. "i don't think i'd know what to do with a drunk and unconscious party queen on my hands, if you did that."

"right, okay." you bite down on your bottom plump lip, which doesn't go unnoticed by him. "but what would you do with a slighty tipsy and definitely conscious party queen on your hands, hm?"

his eyes sparkle with amusement, heart rate subtly increasing at your promixity. "well, that's a pretty open-ended question," he replies, his voice low and gentle. "depends on the party queen personality and how she's feeling."

oh, he's funny.

"and if the party queen is feeling perfectly fine and have the best personality ever?"

the air between you two suddenly feeling charged with an unexpected, but pleasant tension. matt could feel himself getting more and more worked up. he tried to be the gentleman that handed you the purse a few minutes ago, or gave you a cigarette and a lighter, but it was getting hard. especially now, when he realizes his hands are still on your waist and you don't seem to mind at all.

"oh, in that case i'd probably just try to keep up 'n hope her great personality doesn't find me too terribly boring."

"nah, i think she finds you pretty intriguing actually." you tilt your head to the side, eyes dropping to his lips before moving back up. oh, those lips.... "and if she wanted to show you just how bad?"

he swallows hard, "you mean, hypothetically... if she wanted to show me she's interested?"

"mhm, yeah. exactly what i mean," you lean in, giving him time to push you away, but he doesn't. oh, he would never. he wanted you so bad, knowing he's just one of hundreds of your simps, but it was the last thing on his mind right now. all he wanted is to feel your lips on his.

and he finally did.

closing the gap between you two, you kiss him softly, what he does too after a moment. his initial hesitation melting into reciprocation as your lips move against his. his hands, unsure at first, eventually move down to your hips, pulling you gently closer. your fingers tangling into his messy, soft hair, pushing him slightly against the wall, getting a hum in approval. matt starts relaxing against you, letting you set the pace and tone for your interaction. as you take your time, he finds himself growing more comfortable and excited. he would never think it would happen. with you out of all people.

the kiss starts getting more and more heated, you grow slightly impatient, feeling the ache between your legs starting to grow. you press your body closer to him, hand traveling up and down his chest, your tongues dancing together. once he feels how gently you bite his lip, a small whine leaves him, your mind spins and definitely not because of the amount of alcohol or weed you've consumed.

you break the kiss, both of you panting as you mutter against his lips, "come with me, yeah?" getting a weak nod in response, you're fast to make your way back into the crowded house, dragging matt behind you by his wrist.

his palms start to sweat as you take him upstairs and reach some empty room, pushing him inside. the noise of the party fading behind you two once you kick the door shut and attack his lips again.

matt is overwhelmed but in the best way possible. his senses are filled with your sweet scent, the tension growing in his pants with each second. his eagerness showing in his tentative exploration, but offset by an earnest enthusiasm. he lets out a soft sigh into the kiss, surrendering to your lead. he hits the bed and falls onto the mattress, you climbing on top of him, straddling his thighs. he gasps softly as your weight presses down on him in the most distracting and exhilarating way. his hands instinctively find their way to your hips again, gripping slightly as he tries to adjust to this new position.

breaking the kiss, you start trailing kisses down his jaw and neck, his head tilts back unconsciously, giving you better access to his skin. his whole body shivers at the delicate touches of your lips, a soft moan escaping him as you hit a particularly sensitive spot, sucking on it to intentionally mark him.

his reaction brings a smile to your face and you look up to see him in such a cute state. messy hair, cheeks reddish, his pink lips swollen from the make out as he lets out heavy breaths.

"look at you, pretty boy."

his eyelids flutter open, revealing pupils dilated with desire. matt touches the mark on his neck lightly, fingers tracing where you'd sucked. "that's..." he clears his throat, feeling his face flush even more. the way you look at him is both intimidating and incredibly hot.

"hm? you like it?"

"y-yeah, that's really... good," he admits.

you just couldn't help yourself, he was so majestic, really. the way he was clearly trying not to rush or throw himself at you, makes you want to give him all the pleasure in the world so he wouldn't be able to forget about this evening, no matter how hard he'd try.

"want more?"

his eyes darken slightly, voice hoarse with lust, "that wouldn't be really... gentleman of me, hm?"

you smile, finding him amusing. "oh, but i'm proposing this to you, not the other way around. so...?" you whisper against his lips, "how it's gonna be, baby?"

this time he captures your lips in a kiss, wanting to show you how much he wants— no, craves you, hoping this is enough of a response.

a wave of heat washes over you, hands traveling under his shirt which steals another whine from matt. you had never been so turned on before in such a short amount of time, automatically starting to move your hips and grind down against him, feeling how hard he was beneath you. pride overwhelms you at the feeling of how much he's affected by you, the want for him even bigger than before.

his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. he can feel you moving on his lap, the friction driving him crazy. your tongue explores his mouth, lips clicking against his. his hands shaky on your body from the desire he felt. "you can touch me, matt..." you pant against his plump lips, pressing your clothed, soaked core against his dick harder.

"y'feel so good..." his eyes are glassy with lust as he looks up at you. his chest is heaving, and he bites his lip, trying to compose himself when he finally allows his hands to explore your body.

"mhm, i can feel how bad you want me," you keep grinding against him, the friction causing you both to whimper. "is really cute.... and hot— you know?"

"please—" his eyes flutter shut from pleasure, your hands teasing him just above the waistband of his jeans. "what is it, baby?" you bite back a smile at his desperate expression.

"just... i need you please— can you..." his breath is coming in ragged gasps now, and he feels both embarrassed and completely exhilarated. his hips rise slightly to meet yours, a natural response to the overwhelming sensation. his body aches for more contact, more friction, more of you.

"can i what? c'mon, you gotta ask nicely if you want something." you're teasing, torturing him purposely, enjoying how adorable he gets when his shyness takes over. "look at me, matt."

blushing intensely, he opens his eyes and stammers out, "can you... i mean, would you... with your mouth?" he immediately looks mortified at his own boldness, his cheeks flaming red as he quickly adds, "sorry, i didn't mean to presume—"

"i think you did mean it though," you smile softly, licking your lips. his words and the image that just popped up in your head makes your pussy pulse. "how can i say no when you're being such a good boy for me?" you press kisses to his neck just as he whines again, your hands already working on his belt. his eyes watching as his jeans and boxers get pushed down his legs. he gasps as the cool air hits his exposed lower half, his body trembling slightly. his dick twitches as you kneel on the mattress between his legs, looking at him in awe. "just relax."

he nods quickly, trying to calm himself. his chest is rising and falling rapidly, hands fumble anxiously with the hem of his shirt unsure what to do with them. is not like he was inexperienced, he was in a relationship before, but having you, the popular party girl that everyone wanted, between his legs was definitely making him more nervous than he would usually be.

you put your hair up into a messy ponytail, his body immediately tensing up. he can feel the blood rushing to his cock, making it throb with anticipation. he tries to relax his legs, spreading them wider to give you better access. you stop just above his tip, looking up at him with a smile at the messy state he was already in, even if you didn't start yet. "gonna say a magic word?"

he swallows hard, his blush deepens, "please."

his eyes dart between your face and his hard, leaking with precum dick, hardly believing this is really happening. but it feels real, when you give him a kitty lick before starting to suck on his tip. a strangled moan escapes matt's lips, his hips involuntarily twitching upwards. the sensation is electric, his hands fist in the sheets beneath him, grasping desperately for some form of anchor. "o-oh, fuck—"

your tongue is swirling around his tip teasingly, before you take him deeper, his eyes roll back in his head, breath catching in his throat. he can feel every ridge and curve of your mouth, the wet heat almost more than he can bear. a shaky whimper escapes him, hands slide up to tangle in your hair, gripping tightly as he fights the urge to buck his hips forward.

he was so big, the choking sounds echoing in the room, saliva dripping down your chin. hollowing your cheeks, you start bobbing your head up and down, nose brushing against his pelvis. "s-shit.... feels so good— mmmm, fu—ckkk--" his entire body shudders, he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, completely captivated by the sight. the sounds alone are enough to make him dizzy with desire. his breathing becomes more ragged, mingling with the wet sounds of your mouth. "oh god..." he whimpers. you're breathing through your nose, focusing on his tip again, your hand working on the rest of him. the sensation combined with your mouth is incredible, almost too much to process. matt bites his lip hard, suppressing a loud moan, but it still escapes as more of a choked groan. "fuck, please—"

he was completely out of it, a big whining mess, his hips uncontrollably lifting upwards, his tip hitting the back of your throat. his toes curl as he feels the mounting pressure, his entire body tingling with exquisite tension while you suck on his dick like on a lollipop, being all messy with it, gagging every now and then. panting heavily, he tugs gently at your hair, "w-wait, m'gonna.... m'so close, wait—" you hum in approval, wanting to taste him on your tongue. it sends vibrations through him, another whimper escaping him. you speed up your movements, matt automatically starts thrusting up into your mouth as his orgasm approaches, "f-fuck, sorry, i.... i can't— shittt, gonna cum— can i... oh—"

he's lost at this point, his head threw back, a loud, unrestrained moan ripping from his throat as you resume your actions. his hips lift off the bed, pressing himself deeper into your mouth, getting another moan from you. the sight was hypnotizing, his flushed features, the way he tried to muffle his moans by chewing on his bottom lip. you were dripping, clenching around nothing just from watching him.

with a choked cry, his entire body convulses as he finds his release, pulse after pulse of ecstasy flooding through him. his fingers fist so tightly in your hair that he's vaguely aware it might hurt, but he can't seem to loosen his grip. you whimper around him, tasting him on your tongue and swallowing everything. your tongue swirl around his sensitive tip one more time before pulling out with a wet pop. his vision blurs, heart pounding in his chest. he lets go off your hair, your eyes meeting his, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. damn.

his face flushed with heat as he smiles, "holy fuck."

"holy fuck indeed," you lick your lips, the sight so intimate and erotic for him that he feels his spent dick twitch in response. "that was, like, amazing—" he mutters, still struggling to find his voice.

you chuckle, moving so now you were on top of him again, hands on each side of his head. "what a shame that we met so late," you say, running your hand through his hair, a shiver going down his spine.

"i was supposed to leave at midnight," he admits. your eyebrow raises, "oh really?" he nods, "yeah, not a fan of parties."

"well... i'm glad you didn't have the chance to leave then."

"me too." he pulls you into another desperate kiss, tasting himself on your tongue, getting a hum in surprise. he was clearly eager for more. your fast to roll your dress up around your waist, grabbing his hand and directing it between your legs. when he feels how soaked your panties were, he can't help but whimper again. "feel it, baby?" you break the kiss, looking at him, his eyes darken with lust. "that's allll because of you."

his gaze travels over your body, taking in the curves he's only ever imagined. he swallows hard, his voice hoarse with need. "please, i need you..."

"you're so cute when you beg," you smile biting down on your plump lip. removing your underwear, you position yourself just above his tip, letting him feel the wet warmth, teasing him mercilessly. matt whines softly, his body tensing with the need to thrust into you and finally feel you. "what was that, hm? tell me what you want, matt."

"need you... to ride me— please—"

"need me, hm? and how bad?"

he whines again, louder this time, his hips bucking slightly in an attempt to get him inside you. "so bad," he pants, his voice barely recognizable in his desperation. "please, please, please..." he chants, his voice cracking with need.

"gooood boy," you praise, his words getting you even wetter. wrapping your hand around his cock, you give him a few strokes before slowly sinking down on him. "begging so pretty— f-fuck...." the sudden feeling of your warm, tight pussy enveloping his aching dick is almost too much for matt to handle. he throws his head back, a loud, wordless whimper tearing from his throat as he's sheathed inside you, a moan leaving your lips as well at his reaction. "shit, you're so big—" you stay still to adjust, lifting your dress higher to be more comfortable. you feel his dick twitching inside you after your words. amused written all over your face when you look at him, "you like it, hm? who would've know you're so naughty...."

matt's hands tremble as they grip your hips, trying desperately to hold back the urge to grind into you. his breath comes in short, sharp bursts as he savors the exquisite tightness gripping him.

"feels good?" you slowly start moving, he nods his head weakly, words caught in his throat as he tries to speak around the lump formed by his swallowed moan. "mmm, holy shit, matt—" his cock is buried so deeply inside you that it makes you see stars for a moment. you crave more of him, so you start speeding up the pace.

"so... good..." he manages to rasp out, his eyes rolling back briefly before snapping forward to lock onto yours again. "you're...too much..."

"yeah? want me to stop?" you mock him a little bit, knowing that's the last thing he wants.

he shakes his head frantically, a sheepish grin spreading across his flushed face. "no, no...don't stop. i meant...fuck, you're just so tight— fuckkk, feels incredible." he bucks his hips slightly, emphasizing his enthusiasm, his nails dig into your hips, his body tensing as he tries to pull you down further onto him.

"you're doing perfect for me, baby—" you moan out, putting one hand on his chest as you start moving your hips harder, your attention drawn to his tattoos. the sight of his arm causes you to painfully clench around him, your pussy gripping him like a vice. he hisses at the feeling, it drives him wild. "shit, just like that—"

you both aren't able to hold back your moans, letting them spill out one after another. each thrust pushes you both into ecstasy, your hand on his chest the only thing anchoring him to reality. matt's hands slide up your sides, then down to your thighs, marveling the soft skin beneath his fingers.

matt notices the way your eyes are locked onto his tattoos and it makes his dick throb even harder inside you. "god, matt— mmhpp, oh my...." you lean forward, needing some balance as your legs start growing tired, your hands on each side of his head. he reaches up to your waist, guiding your movements as he lifts his hips to meet each thrust. "f-fuck— you're so beautiful..."

your eyebrows knitted together in pleasure, eyes rolling back as you feel your orgasm approaching. he can feel it as well, which pushes him over the edge too. "gonna cum for me, pretty boy?" you choke out, looking down at him through half-open eyes.

"mhmm, fuck—" he pants, his own face contorted with pleasure. he sees the concentration on your face, the beads of sweat forming on your collarbone. he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you down onto him even harder. "s-so close... shiiit—"

"me too," you whine into his ear. "fuck..." his grip tightens on your waist as his release builds. his movements become more urgent, more desperate. "tell me... mm— tell me how you want it, sweetheart—" he knows he won't last much longer, not with how perfectly you're stretching around him.

"inside me—"

"y-yeah?" his voice breaking as he feels you clench around him again. "you want me to fill you up?"

"mhmmm—" you moan just as he whimpers again, what pushes you into a state of bliss, euphoria consumes you as your orgasm crashes down over you, your hips stuttering.

once he feels you creaming around him, and the pretty — mesmerizing moans, oh he's too far gone. matt's control snaps, he buries himself as deep as possible inside you, his hips jerking as he unleashes a torrent of cum deep within your spasming pussy. one last moan leaves him, his vision blurring as his release seems to go on forever. "fuckkkk—"

after you both ride out your orgasms, your hips come to a stop, his hands splaying out against your lower back as he pulls you flush against him. matt can feel his release slowly leaking out of you and dripping down his thighs. your breath against his neck tickles his skin.

"oh my god," he breathes out, making you chuckle and you lift up your head, seeing his flushed face. so cute. "made me see fuckin' stars, holy shit."

you laugh again, getting off to lay down beside him, head on matt's shoulder, his heart skips a beat at that. "you're funny," you say.

he wraps his hand around your waist again, not really ready to let go yet. "m'serious."

"okay, mr serious," you roll your eyes. "doesn't mean you aren't funny. and still a gentleman."

"getting into your pants before first date isn't really gentleman of me," he smiles shyly as you look up at him.

"i got into your pants," you correct him. "you gonna get into mine after that first date."

"there's gonna be one?"

"oh, definitely."

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[colormepurplex2]

Shatter With Me | Waving The White Flag

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

Next Chapter⇾ ��� Back to story masterlist

Jungkook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s, uh…”

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

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

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

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

“Isn’t that right?” he asks.

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

“You’re healthy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, no. You know I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm? Who?”

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

You shrug. “I wasn’t staring.”

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

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

💔💔💔

Jungkook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?” Jungkook answers on the second ring.

“Jungkook.”

“Oh, hey. Everything okay?”

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

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

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

“Why? What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he breathes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seems pretty simple, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I understand.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I think so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

Jungkook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, guys.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, too, Jungkook.”

💔💔💔

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

Jungkook

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

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

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

“You missed it.”

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

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

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

“She? It could be a boy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, is everything okay?”

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

“I’m on my way!”

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

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

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

“O-okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Yeah.”

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

“Do you want me to find a wheelchair?”

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

“Yeah.”

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

“I can come?” he wonders, hopeful.

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

“Oh, she’s not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kinda weird, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That would be great, thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is everything okay?”

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

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

“Where have you been?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is not what happened at all!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to story masterlist  

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

[solxamber]

If its alright for you^^ Can you do Malleus, Vil, and Jade with gn reader being an angel (reader inspired to Robin fron Hsr and also Columbina, or seraphim if thats what they both are). Being and Ethereal—how would they be in a relationship with Reader? Write how you like! Also could you write a little angst on Vil envying because reader is much more beautiful than him.

Malleus, Vil, Jade with an Angel! reader

I hope I've interpreted it correctly and I hope you like it <3

Malleus Draconia

Being in a relationship with someone as ethereal as you—a being reminiscent of a seraphim, with an almost divine presence—would captivate Malleus in ways even he didn’t fully understand. Your wings, your aura, everything about you felt ancient, otherworldly, and yet, in your company, he felt something warm and grounding.

He’d spend countless nights with you under the stars, speaking of things beyond mortal comprehension, your shared silence often saying more than words ever could. He cherished how you never treated him with fear but rather saw him as an equal, someone to confide in, to trust, to protect.

However, Malleus couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty at times. While he was powerful, revered, and feared, you were something altogether different—transcendent. Your beauty wasn’t just physical; it was the kind of grace that belonged to myths, a presence so strong that even the most stubborn fae would bow their heads to you.

He’d watch you as you moved gracefully, your wings casting soft, shimmering light that seemed to ease his darkest thoughts. Malleus loved you deeply, but there were moments where he pondered: how long would this peace last? Could someone as divine as you ever truly remain grounded by someone like him?

And yet, each time those doubts surfaced, you’d turn to him with a gentle smile, sensing his unease. “Malleus, I chose you. Not because of your power or your lineage, but because of your heart.” And in those moments, Malleus knew that no matter how distant the stars seemed, you’d always stand by his side.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil Schoenheit, a man who built his world on beauty and perfection, found himself in a relationship with someone whose very existence redefined those concepts. Your ethereal presence—a being so breathtaking that even the sun seemed to shine less brightly in comparison—challenged everything Vil once held dear.

He adored you, admired you, but in the quiet moments of solitude, envy crept into his heart. How could he, the man known for his flawless appearance and impeccable standards, ever compare to you? His reflection in the mirror seemed duller these days, his beauty pale in comparison to your effortless grace.

Vil wouldn’t voice his insecurities, of course. He was Vil Schoenheit, after all—poised, confident, and above all, perfect. But you could see the cracks in his armor, the way he looked at you sometimes, like he was searching for a flaw that didn’t exist.

One evening, after a particularly intense photoshoot, Vil found himself alone with you, the two of you resting in his dressing room. You could feel his tension, the way he was fidgeting, unusually quiet. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

“Sometimes... I wonder what it's like for you,” Vil murmured, not meeting your eyes. “To be so effortlessly beautiful. To have all eyes on you, not because of your hard work, but because... because you simply are.”

You reached for his hand, your touch soft, like the brush of an angel’s wing. “Vil,” you began gently, your voice carrying a soothing quality. “Your beauty is more than what people see on the outside. You work hard, you inspire others, and your drive is what draws people to you.”

He shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “But it’s not enough, is it? I will never be able to match you.”

You cupped his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Vil, I never asked for you to match me. I fell in love with you—your strength, your vulnerability, your passion. You don’t need to be more than who you are. You’re already enough for me.”

Vil closed his eyes, letting your words sink in, though the jealousy still lingered in the recesses of his mind. But, for tonight, with you by his side, he allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t need to compare himself to the divine when you already saw him as someone irreplaceable.

Jade Leech

Jade would find your ethereal nature endlessly fascinating. From the first moment he saw you, he knew there was something different about you. Your wings, your almost serene grace—everything about you was an enigma, something he wanted to unravel.

In his mind, you were a creature of beauty, but also of great mystery. He loved the way your mere presence could change the atmosphere in a room, turning the mundane into something almost magical. He loved even more how you seemed unphased by the chaotic nature of his twin, Floyd, or the dangerous waters of Octavinelle.

"Fascinating," Jade would often muse, his eyes gleaming with curiosity whenever he caught you mid-flight or gazing at the ocean, as if seeing it through otherworldly eyes.

You would tease him for it, smirking as you caught his stare. “You know, you don’t have to analyze me like one of your mushroom specimens.”

He’d chuckle, not denying it in the slightest. “Can you blame me? You’re far more intriguing than any mushroom I’ve encountered.”

While you remained an enigma, your kind and grounded nature endeared you to Jade in ways he couldn’t quite explain. You had this ability to see through his carefully constructed facade, to touch the softer parts of him he rarely let anyone witness. Whenever he was feeling particularly mischievous or cryptic, you had a way of disarming him with just a smile or a well-timed quip.

One night, after hours spent exploring the coral reefs beneath the surface, the two of you floated together in the calm waters, stars reflecting off the surface above. He looked at you, his gaze softened by the water’s gentle ebb and flow.

“You’re like a rare treasure from the deepest trenches of the sea,” Jade whispered, voice low and contemplative. “Something that shouldn’t exist, and yet, here you are.”

You smiled softly, your wings brushing against the water as you drifted closer to him. “And yet, here we are,” you echoed, leaning into his embrace.

Jade, despite his usual composed and calculating nature, found something precious in the way you balanced him, in the way your kindness and ethereal presence made him feel less like a creature of the depths and more like someone who could reach the surface—if only for you.

Masterlist

[westside-rot]

Therapy Hours

Pairing: husband!terry richmond x black fem!reader

Words: 3.7k words

Summary: Terry seeks comfort from the only person who can give it to him.

Notes: Minors DNI. Smut, oral: fem receiving (0ver-stimulation) and cursing. Light by my standards lol. I had to force myself to stop revising this so please forgive any errors. I'll find em eventually and fix it. 😭 In the future I plan on alternating between fluff and smut so the next one should be fluffy/angsty.

Here's a visual of the position used. Not quite the same but close enough 👀: *nsfw pic link* *link #2*

Also please don't repost this on any other sites. Reblogs/comments/likes make me happy.

Tags: @megamindsecretlair @melaninpov

Something isn’t right. You look over to the side and discover the space occupied by your husband is empty. He was there a moment ago, proud and silent in his admiration for you while you sat mesmerized by the view. This picnic was the culmination of a month-long struggle to find balance with work and each other. All you cared about was reconnecting with him in a garden straight out of a fairytale for as long as possible, forever if you had it your way. Now he was nowhere to be found.

You rationalize his absence by assuming he must’ve forgotten something in the car. Likely an item you’d noticed earlier and convinced yourself not to purchase. Satisfied with your answer you lay back on your thick cotton blanket face to the infinite stretch of blue, uninterrupted by clouds with your arms and legs stretched out in opposite directions as far they'll comfortably reach. That’s when you notice the dress you’d been wearing has somehow vanished as well.  You don’t bother pursuing logic this time. It’s beautiful outside and warmed to the ideal temperature for sunbathing. Now you’re a part of that beauty, perfectly made and carefree.

The sun’s warmth penetrates your brown skin and you relax into a gratified acceptance with your eyes closed and a smile on your face. A breeze grazes your skin. You part your legs to it exploration. It's subtle at first then harder as it sweeps up your legs and fixates on your intimate parts. You moan as your hips begin to move in a sensual dance interrupted by something you can’t name. Then you realize the golden reddish hue behind your eyelids is gone. It's dark, darker than it should be for the time of day. You find it impossible to care with so much pleasure running through your system. It doesn’t matter who or what is responsible for your predicament. They can keep you so long as they promise never to stop.

The unknown force answers with more delicious suction. It draws your body into a tight arch and pulls the breath from your lungs. Breathing is pointless where you’re headed. While your brain can’t fathom the destination, it doesn’t get in the way of supplication once you're finally pushed over the edge.  

"Terry..." You moan the name forever present in your heart and mind. His location is still unknown, you trust him to always find you.

"I’m here love." The voice is muffled. You recognize its owner the second you hear it.   The pleasurable void you’ve fallen into rematerializes as soft sheets against your back. Everything else gradually comes into focus, your husband's massive hands anchored on your waist, the prick of his facial hair as his tongue and lips move along your slick folds made warm by each labored breath he takes. Your eyes reset themselves forward as you attempt to reorient your place in the real world, a simple task made difficult by his unwillingness to pull his tongue from your drenched hole. Delirious but still guided by habit you manage to catch sight of the alarm clock on your nightstand. 3:00am.

"Shit…We have to be up in a few more hours--" Your hands act in contradiction to your words, pulling him in closer by the neck to keep him on the right spot. "Baby..."

"I know." He flattens his tongue against your clit and latches on. You realize he's responding to the urgency in your voice and not the truth you’re attempting to speak.

Where your first orgasm was tempered by your dream, the second attacks your senses at full force. His strong capable hands absorb the shock as they hold you in place.  It's several minutes before your thrashing subsides to gentle undulations from the heavy breaths passing through your body. His fingers knead the flesh around your waistline. Even though his lips are still dangerously close to your pussy you feel more like the wife he’s attempting to soothe and less like the midnight snack you've been made into. You melt among the pillows with your eyes closed one hand loosely cradling the back of his head, the other bent and draped across your face as he makes out with your inner thighs. It takes you a while to recover your voice, a little longer to remember what you intended to say next.

"What’s wrong papa? Did your regret for not playing with me earlier finally wake you up?”

He doesn’t speak right away. The answer reaches you in the silence long before his words give confirmation.

"I’d take regret over these dreams I keep having. They’re getting worse."

Six months ago, Terry nearly lost his life attempting to protect his cousin. His outer wounds have healed up nicely. It's the scars left on his soul that provoke your bloodlust. If you had your way those piece of shit cops would’ve received their karma long before the worst happened. Mike would be alive. The man you love, a man accustomed to sleeping peacefully by your side every night wouldn’t be routinely attacked by demons you couldn’t see.

Most nights you’re promoted to the role of big spoon. You hate the circumstances, but it settles the panic in your heart to hold your mountain of a man in your arms and grant him the protection he’s given you over the years. Tonight, he's found a different way to cope, a method worth keeping in your toolbelt even if it means resembling a zombie for the rest of the day.

"Baby I’m sorry. You should’ve woken me up." You reach down to massage his ears with both thumbs before attempting to bring him to eye level. He resists by nuzzling his face in your thigh.

"Technically I did wake you up." He mumbles, filtering kisses between increasingly labored breaths. The path his lips are taking force you into a conundrum. Press the issue or trust his methods. Brains weren’t meant to work this hard at this hour. It’s cruel and unfair when you realize Terry isn’t weighted down by the same predicament. Every time his breath passes over your sensitive lips you feel your logic slipping further away. He’s giving you a reason to forget and move on. You’re also his wife. The one person on this shitty planet he can always rely on, the only person crazy enough to sacrifice a third orgasm so close after the second to protect his heart from the lie he was attempting to maintain.

You find a compromise in the minute that passes, maybe two. It’s hard to separate the details when he’s making every attempt to bury his face in your pussy. You struggle to be assertive. It’s the desperation in your voice when you say his name that eventually gets him to lift his head.

The room is dark, the moonlight casts a glow across the top half of his face just enough to see his eyes. He reminds you of a sad puppy being chastised for something they don’t understand. The expression breaks your heart and makes you smile as you stroke his jawline, your upturned lips on full display to match his sad look.

“I need to make sure you’re okay and not telling me what you think I need to hear. We deal with this together. Not apart.”

He nods and turns his face into your hand to kiss your palm. There's an uncomfortable silence in the room, but you remain patient, resisting the urge to pry the answer from his now visibly tense body.

“I dreamed I lost you.” His delayed response is both a relief and heartbreaking as the previous dreams he’s shared replay in your mind. All include some variation of him being imprisoned. None include a happy ending for him or for Mike. Leaning down to kiss the top of his head, you mimic his vice like hold once he buries his face in your stomach.

Regret mixes with the anger you were already struggling to contain. It fills the room, ensnaring you in contradictory thoughts. Sit on his face to make you both feel better or do what Terry refused to and murder the men responsible for making him feel anything less than a hero, for desecrating the space in his heart reserved for the people he loved.  You could only really be mad at yourself for pressing the issue. Orgasms were a far better reward than listening to the gruesome details of your presumed demise. Given what he's been through your mind takes you to the worse possible options. You’re prepared to listen but aren’t sure how you'll get back to sleep afterward this.

"Nothing is going to happen to me." You soothe him with more kisses and tender reassurances. He answers with a tighter grip like he’s expecting something to challenge your words.

"We fought about everything…” He starts. You prepare for the story to get progressively worse. “One day you show up with some random ass light skinned fucker with a crooked hairline. I’m thinking he’s the new gardener only to find out you’re leaving me for him. You kicked me out. Had me sleeping in a tent in the backyard while some bum ass bitch wore my clothes and fucked my wife. Losing you is one thing. Losing you to a leprechaun who can’t grow a proper beard is bullshit."

 You were anticipating having your throat slashed or a hole torn in your chest by a monster you couldn’t outrun. This was somehow worse because Terry was dead serious yet nothing he said warranted a serious response.

"Ok, first of all, you’re light skinned too."

Clearly you were being tested and failing miserably. You'd taken a deep breath in the hopes of drawing something positive and meaningful into your thoughts. All you managed to do was bring up a past hilarious debate about him being caramel and not chocolate like he proclaimed himself to be. Terry’s head shot up like someone had lit a fire underneath him. You can feel him staring you down and instantly crack under the pressure.

"Be serious woman."

The poor man is clearly traumatized. You bite down on your cheek for his sake before giving him a direct view of your face, wide eyed and filled with doctored innocence that crumbles by the second. “I’m trying!” You fuss. “But you’re being awfully specific about this man's appearance."

"I saw the fucker clear as day like I’ve seen him before…I’m taking you to work. Might even stay just to be safe."

The conviction in his voice tells you not to brush off his words.  You can imagine him now posted up in your office surveying the area. He wouldn’t hover or say much, his domineering presence and chiseled muscles on full display would guarantee no woman within a 30-mile radius was productive. You would be at the top of the list. Unlike half the women in your office you had zero decorum in your husband’s presence. The last thing you needed were your colleagues gossiping about you getting fucked in your office.

"My dear sweet husband aren’t you being a little unreasonable?” Posing the question in a song doesn’t have the desired effect. It merely gives him a reason to frown harder.

"Hell no. I’m not taking anything for granted anymore, especially when it pertains to you. Far as I’m concerned this was a message from God to protect my home.”

There’s plenty to laugh at. Even less to challenge. You were looking at your answered prayer, a literal message from God to prove men like Terry weren’t a fantasy. This one was real and more than you could’ve hoped for. In honor of that gift you smile and nod in agreement and prepare to be followed everywhere.

“I can’t say you’re wrong. I can tell you no one at work fits the description.” He ponders while you stroke his neck. He isn’t silent for long.

“He could be a new security guard or the person delivering the mail."

"Mhm, I could forgive the wrinkles in a UPS uniform. Something about those brown shorts makes me feral. I’m getting wet thinking em." The laugh you’ve been holding sputters from you, putting tears in your eyes.

Terry sucks his teeth and gestures to raise up completely. He doesn’t get far when you throw your arms around his neck. He grunts but lets you have your way. "It's not funny."

"You’re right baby. It's not.  Dream me is a dumb ass bitch. I’d never leave you, especially not for an obviously unattractive man with tiny feet and a crooked hair line. You’re so pretty daddy. No one with sense would ever look anywhere else." You lean forward to coax a smile from him with a kiss. You feel his jaw loosen and his fingers grip up your ass. "I love you."

All the humor in your voice is gone, replaced with an unmistakable sincerity that eases Terry back to the calm levelheaded man he's always been. "You’re taking the necessary steps to heal. It's not something you'll ever forget but you’re going to be okay. We both are. The fact we can laugh about any of this is progress. Now I’ll promise to keep my sidepiece out the house you pay bills in if you promise not to stalk me from the parking lot."

He chuckles. "Promise."

It's nearly 4am. In two more hours you'll have to be up for work. Hardly enough time for a decent rest but your body will hate you if you don’t try to get back to sleep. You kiss your husband one last time and gently lay a hand on his chest to pull away only to be met with resistance.

"Wait. I still need to prove it to myself."

"Prove what baby?"

“That you won’t give up on me. That I won’t lose you." He speaks against your lips, his voice moving through you like the low rumble before a storm. It stirs up the lust cast aside for his benefit. You feel it in your belly and everywhere his tongue has been.  The energy in the room changes with the dark look in his eyes. He drinks you in saying nothing and everything with his calculated gaze. Awareness pricks at your skin off the strength of his possession moves. Then his hands are on you, lowering your arms from around his neck to your sides. He seizes your waist and hums as if contemplating something. Before you can ask the question, you lose the words in the swift rearrangement on to your stomach. You gasp from the shock while the rest of you uses all your energy to push against the sturdy fingers holding your wrists down. Freedom isn’t your goal. You resist solely to reinforce his dominance and feed your desire to test his nature. You want him to stake his claim and issue a warning to anyone daring to look in your direction even if the rival in question is a phantom conjured up by his subconscious.

Handcuffs aren’t an option for obvious reasons. You wonder if binding your hands together with rope will achieve the same shuddering response to being cloaked with his weight. You’re completely helpless and content to stay right where you are, one with mattress, one with him.

"Say you'll never leave me." His warm breath passes over your ear before his teeth sink down on flesh.

"I'll never leave you." You whisper back, moaning appreciatively when he kisses down the column of your neck down between your shoulder blades. His hands aren’t pinning you down anymore, but you try your best not to move as his tongue traces a warm and agonizingly slow line down your spine to your ass.

"I’ve never taken a life. I will if it means keeping you safe…You belong to me " Terry had taken down an entire police force without sending anyone to hell where they belonged. It was comical to think a man she never met; a man who didn’t exist could provoke him to use lethal force. The unexpected sting of teeth clamping down on your backside jolts you out of your musing. He's fully awake now, unfettered by slumber and past traumas. He doesn’t need to be gentle or ask for permission. The pain from that discovery offers an indescribable contribution to the pleasure you’ve experienced thus far. You can’t distinguish the two anymore the harder he bites.

"Yes." It's an reiteration and an apology for earlier all wrapped up in jarring acceptance. This isn’t the man you fell asleep next to hours ago. You aren’t the same either. His influence has unlocked a part of your brain that craves the pain and the pleasure it brings. If branding you with his teeth will bring him peace you want that too.

You moan and arch toward your captor’s mouth. He answers the invitation with a growl, yanking you on to your knees, driving your face into the comforter to deepen the arch in your back. You’re already spread obscenely open. He spreads you further with his thumbs and stops moving. He’s probably smiling in that subtle way you catch when he thinks no one’s watching. This isn’t quite the same. He's taunting you with proximity, close enough to feel the heat from his breath, far enough away to create an ache only he could soothe.

"Please." He's reduced you to this, folded in half and shameless in your attempts to reach his mouth. When he does finally lick his way inside everything else in the world melts away.

He's merciful but also deliberate in the way flattens the wide breadth of his tongue along the length of you, slurping you up like ripe fruit he intends to savor. All you can do is shudder and mewl as he groans into your slick heat, rubbing his face in it, masking himself with your scent. The message isn’t for you. It's for him. You hope it soothes the disquiet in his heart the way it's cleared out the baggage in your mind. All thoughts lead back to him, the thorough way he draws tight circles over your clit and the depths he reaches as he simulates the way he would fuck you if he had the willpower to trade places with his tongue.

He makes himself comfortable, stretching out his legs alongside your writhing body. His ankles provide a stable anchor for trembling hands. Then they’re caging you in, limiting your range of movement.

The sheets absorb your screams as you cum without warning and no sign it’ll end any time soon. You push toward his face at the same rate you pull away. Escape isn’t the goal. It's the only proper response to sensory overload. Indescribably good and too much to handle all at once. Terry is right there with you, latched on and undeterred by your frenetic movements, grunting indecipherable praise despite the pressure your thighs have placed on his ears.  At this rate you’re going to claw the sheets to shreds or beat a hole in the mattress. Then he's putting his entire body into it, crossing his ankles behind your head to lock you in place.

Weeks ago, you expressed an interest in learning Jiu-Jistu. You expected detailed commentary while you observed from the sidelines or watched a video. This wasn’t how you envisioned your first lesson or any lesson. You weren’t even sure if this was a legit move or something he’d improvised. The absurdity of it doesn’t register correctly in your mind. Instead you’re grateful, grateful for his strength, for his persistence, for his ability to find healing through forced orgasms even it’s obvious he’s lost his mind in the process. Unlike the dream version you take your vows seriously. You accept Terry at his best and his worst, through nightmares and a demonic possession. 

Panic opens your mind to a ridiculous thought. He's going to kill you.  The irrational part of your brain is convinced you won’t survive another orgasm. You can’t bring yourself to resist the rapid strumming on your clit and the spike in pleasure it produces. You’d gladly give your life for it. Leave earth with a smile on your lips and a memory worth immortalizing in the afterlife. To call your bluff Terry brings his thumb from your fluttering hole to the soft flesh of your ass.  He prolongs the suspense with teasing swipes around the rim then very slowly pushes through your defenses when he feels you’re ready for it. Something in your brain malfunctions. You start to whine like a caught animal. They’re the kind of sounds you’d find embarrassing if you weren’t in the presence of a grown ass man.

The last thing you hear before you explode is Terry’s deep voice in your ear. "Good girl."

When you return to consciousness, you’re still face down with a damp spot under your cheek and under your pelvis. Terry is stretched across your back crooning in your ear about how proud he is of you, how beautiful you are, how in love with you he is. His touch is equally soothing as he trails down your forearms to interlock your fingers. You haven’t stopped trembling. It’s worse in your legs. Even the slightest movement revives the memory of where his tongue has been. You find comfort in the fetal position anyway. Terry is right there to reinforce the hold, cradling you with his entire body so he doesn’t lose you in the subspace you’ve drifted off to. When the consequence of his overindulgence subsides to a light shudder you feel his coiled lips at your temple.

“Are you proud of yourself?”  

“Maybe.” He drawls, the pride evident in his voice. “You’re still shaking baby. Are you good? Did I hurt you?

“Of course you didn’t. I’m a little floaty but I kinda want you to break me again--just to make sure I like it.” You offer a lazy smile and reach back to scratch his cheek. "What about you? Are you finally convinced I won’t run off with your ugly ass replacement?”

His laughter sounds like music.  You wonder how he can find the joy in anything with his stiff dick left unattended and drooling precum on your backside. It’s all you can think about now.

"I am."

"Good because it’s never going to happen. I’m also not going to work today. I can’t function like this." Despite your predicament you use the distraction to your advantage and raise your thigh to accommodate him. A little maneuvering slots the tip between your lips but doesn't quite make it inside. You whimper and try again.

“No. You’ve had enough sweetheart.” You’re more than a little disappointed when he pushes your legs shut. 

“I can keep going. Let me take care of you.”

“You have taken care of me baby.” A kiss is all it takes to end your pouting. Like a greedy brat, you twist around to claim another, then one more to sample your flavor on his lips. His dick stirs against you, it doesn’t persuade him to be anything less than noble. “I plan on keeping you in this bed all day.  Get some rest. I’ll have you later.”

Terry’s demeanor remains unchanged as he realigns your back to his chest and slips is muscled leg over your restless ones. He’s given you a preview, a reminder, and a warning. You aren’t sure how well you’ll sleep knowing what you know but you snuggle up to his arm tucked beneath the pillow.

“I love you.”

Those three words calm the restlessness in your heart and get you to shut your eyes. 

"I love you too handsome. Try not to dream about me."

[darqx]

Another BP/HH/Gen answer dump as usual starting with BP and then moving into the other two \o/

All demons age about the same rate as humans (although with earlier milestones as babies) UNTIL they hit their 30s-40s after which aging slows down drastically 🙂‍↕️

Izm chasing you down to get .D back like

🤔 You guys sometimes really make me think about things I don't often have to think about LOL. I'm just gonna do the gang this time so off the top of my head:

Izm and .D are often eating sushi in my drawings and since I'm pretty sure Izm is mainly the one buying, sushi is his fave. He'll eat any type but he prefers the raw fish ones.

Whilst .D also likes sushi, it's not his fave dish. His fave dish is pasta in a red sauce (like Sugo or Arrabiata) for some reason. Nostalgia maybe?

Zeke is a meat and potatoes kind of guy, so, a nice juicy sirloin with mushroom sauce and a side of roast potatoes and veggies. (BP!Zeke is similar but he really likes pork/bacon particularly, so a pork roast for him probably).

Wei Ren's comfort foods are chicken congee, and seafood steamboat/hot pot.

Marcus' fave is his mom's chicken casserole.

Oh I'm glad (and thank you very much)! I hope you get lots of inspiration and can create a lot of things :D

Hm, that's a good question! I think, for doodling purposes, my fave is Rire mainly because Rire always looks more or less completed in black and white. My other two faves are .D and Izm - .D is a good exercise in subtle expressions whereas Izm is the complete opposite (esp with BP!Izm with that mouth).

Yes. I mean, I'd prefer you be at least 15 for those two things only cos if i had to age rate them they could be considered M or MA15+.

Hullo! The short answer is that there are also "not normal" skin tones, it depends on the demon species :)

The rest of society is pretty standard so yes there are charlatans in the world of BP lol. HOWEVER, no one would pretend to be a BP for three distinct reasons:

You need to be sanctioned to be a BP (ie they have abilities that normal people do not, like being able to perform exorcisms.)

There is no profit to be had as BPs generally don't get paid (all their living expenses are generally covered by their religion's HQ).

It's dangerous work. You'd have better luck being a bank robber.

Desmond is def a club music kind of guy XD EDMs, techno, trance, hardstyle, house, whatever - the kind of stuff you jump energetically up and down to at a club/concert/rave, he'll listen to it.

Not yet for BP (soon...🙏🏻). HH wasn't really a comic series so much as a bunch of somewhat random one shots I did for fun lol.

^ you guys :d

I don't put my pronouns anywhere partly because it is lowkey amusing for me to see how people perceive me online. It doesn't really matter to me, so go with your best guess lol.

You would be surprised at how much time those two hobbies can take up outside of work |D; I also like doing puzzle games (like Quordle etc), coding, going for walks/bike riding, making slightly odd food combos in normal recipes and freaking out my friends on Discord with them, and watching horror/disaster films and playthroughs of horror games.

Maybe one day I would, but not at this particular time, sorry!

Thanks for asking as this is a bit of a grey type area! Personally, I think that as long as this is purely for your own use and you aren't going to on-sell it in any way...then it should be ok. I'm going to categorise something like this as somewhat similar to say...people printing out my art to stick to their wall type thing. Of course, if you ended up buying a bunch and then thought oh i have so many extra I'll sell them to whoever wants them - that would be a no no.

In what capacity lol if there's something I've learned from real life it's never agree or disagree to anything without knowing specifics. Eg if you would like to use my art as a PFP on tumblr then you can if you credit it, but if you want to use my art as a face claim for your own charac then i would have to say no, etc.

That makes two of us as i am not familiar with the twisted wonderland universe :P

.D: Diasomnia

Izm: Pomefiore

Wei Ren: Ignihyde

Zeke: Savanaclaw

Marcus: Diasomnia

I never really specified one so my friends and I have been calling it the fictional city of Hedone lol.

I haven't given up on HH, i just dont draw it nearly as much since i'm focussing on developing BP :) Anyway HH wasn't seriously planned to be a comic or anything (though technically...it does have a very loose storyline that I've alluded to in some drawings |D ) so it's something I can just jump back into and doodle whenever i feel like.

This was from a while back

It's pretty straightforward HH is a slice of life 'verse where my main characs are in an all boy's boarding school and Rire is the headmaster. It focuses on the boys shenanigans though so if you specifically like Rire you will be disappointed as he's barely in it.

I cut off this post cos I dont think the stuff in it should be shared with other random people even though anon is on anon. If this is you anon i hope you are doing well and i would genuinely encourage you to talk to someone about certain things (like a therapist maybe).

[saberlight1]

pretty boy — matt murdock

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader.

warnings: language, fluff, established relationship, standard daredevil warnings.

authors note: hiii! since rewatching daredevil, my matt and frank obsession has been back up n running (not that i’m complaining). and this is based on this request, thank you anon <3. i love this little fluffy fic, i hope you enjoy this!

masterlist

You watched the snowflakes fall with a calm smile on your face. You had always adored this time of year, especially when it snowed. It was just something about how the never ending buzzing of Hell’s Kitchen would just stop for a moment— just peace and quiet. It never failed to calm your nerves, whatever worries that were on your mind washing away with the snow hitting the ground.

You were sat on your boyfriend’s couch wrapped up in a blanket with a book in your hand, soaking in the tranquility that this type of weather brought you. Matt’s apartment was always one of your favorite places— it was always so quiet and the big, open windows granted you a sight to Hell’s Kitchen. Even with the bright build-board right outside, you still loved it. Most of all, you loved it because it was his. Everything in the apartment reminded you of Matt, thats why you spent as much time as possible here.

“Sweetheart?” Matt’s call broke you from your thoughts, and your heart swelled at his voice. You stood up immediately, walking over to where he was kicking off his shoes and jacket by the door.

“Hi, baby,” You smiled, your hands coming up to rest on his shoulders as his hands wrapped around your waist, drawing you closer.

“Hi,” He whispered as you took off his sunglasses. The second the lenses were off his eyes, the man brought his lips to yours.

Your smile only grew against his lips as you dug one of your hands into his hair— the man before you only growing more greedy against your lips.

You pulled back for air, a teasing look on your features. Matt may not have sight, but he could always tell when that look crossed your face. “Someone missed me, huh?” You cheekily teased.

His cold hands dove under the material of your— his shirt, causing a yelp to leave your lips as you attempted to get away from him.

He smiled brightly at you. “Of course I missed you,” His cold hands only traveled further up your back, and you knew the sneaky fucker could probably hear the goosebumps rising on your skin.

“Stop!” You giggled, trying to fight your way out of his arms, but you knew it was fruitless.

“Okay, okay,” He chuckled, relenting his cold hands from your warm skin. “‘m sorry, you’re just warm and it was fuckin’ freezing out there.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, your hands grabbing his own from your hips and wrapping them within your own in an attempt to warm them up. “I told you that this morning. Just because you’re the big, bad Daredevil doesn’t mean you don’t get cold, my love.” You joked, interlacing your fingers and leading him to your shared room.

He rolled his own eyes with a smile at your remark, you never failed to tease him for his vigilante ways— even when he came to you half dead and you had to patch him up, you still found a way to crack a joke to see his smile.

“Here,” You turned to him with a hoodie and sweatpants in your hands. “Get out of that suit so we can cuddle on the couch.” You left a kiss on his lips before turning on your heel and walking towards the kitchen.

Matt shook his head with a laugh, but did as he was told regardless. Once he was settled, he made his way towards where you were in the kitchen. You smiled softly when you felt his chest against your back and his arms slither around your waist. You leaned your head back onto his shoulder as he left small kisses along your neck.

“Hot chocolate, huh?” He murmured against your neck.

You rolled your eyes playfully at his use of his senses. “Yep, might help you warm up, Frozone.” You joked.

“I know you did not just compare me to that dude from Incredibles.” He scoffed, feigning offensiveness.

You giggled. “How do you even know that?”

“Honey, my ears still work.” He pinched your hip lightly. “When that movie came out all the kids at the orphanage loved it. Had to hear it at least three times a day,”

You grimaced at the thought. “That must’ve been torture, havin’ to constantly hear the plot of that movie.”

“It was.” He agreed.

“Don’t tell me you hate that movie, though.” You looked at him from over your shoulder, holding up a finger. “‘Cause that was my favorite Disney movie for a while..”

He started tickling you immediately, a loud squeal leaving your lips. “Oh, my girl has a basic taste in Disney movies?” He teased with a smile, talking slightly loud over your laughter. “Who would’ve thought?”

“Matthew!” You wheezed out, thrashing in his grip. He finally relented as you laid against him while you attempted to catch your breath. “Didn’t know you were so passionate about my taste..”

“Well, I gotta let you know if it’s a basic one.” He shrugged, a smirk on his lips.

“If it’s so basic, then how’d I pick you?” You bit back with raised brows.

A breathy chuckle escaped him, before he paused to lick his lips. “Fair play, honey.”

You only smiled in return, turning back to pour the pair of you a mug of hot chocolate. Matt let his eyes flutter shut behind you, resting his head in the crook of your neck as he relaxed to the sounds of just simply: you.

You smiled when you noticed what he was doing, one of your hands coming up to scratch his scalp. “It’s ready,” You softly said.

He pulled away from you to grab his mug. “Thank you, baby.” He left a kiss to the side of your head before wrapping an arm around your waist and leading you to the couch.

He placed both of your cups on the coffee table before lying down and dragging you into his chest, yet another yelp leaving your lips.

Your chin rested on his chest as you looked at him with questioning eyes.

“What?” He laughed. “I told you I missed you,”

You only smiled, leaning up slightly to bring your lips together. His hand immediately shot up to cup your jaw, the man also leaning up to deepen it. You’d never get tired of the way his lips chased yours, and how passionately he kissed you every time.

You pulled back for air, but not before leaving a couple small pecks to his lips.

“I love you.” He whispered.

“I love you, Matt.” You whispered back, leaving one last kiss to his lips before digging your head into the crook of his neck— the hot chocolate being long forgotten.

But in all honesty, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were perfectly fine just as you were, wrapped up in your lover’s arms during a snowstorm.

[desultory-novice]

Do you think Galacta Knight's horns are real or part of his mask?

...Oh wow. This ask floored me, anon, because personally I've always believed they were a part of his mask and not real horns and yet, I have almost never found anyone who agreed, let alone would even entertain the possibility they were just decorative...!

It just always made the most sense to me...?

Like, that kind of thing is VERY standard for medieval helmets - animal, insect, and demonic motifs to be an intimidating figure on the battlefield, that is. Both realistic and exaggerated depictions.

(Also, the game IS developed in Japan by a Japanese studio and it would not be at all weird for them to draw inspiration from samurai helmets for his mask design.)

We KNOW Meta Knight, at least, is shy to show his true face, so why would another puff not do the same thing and try to look fiercer than his face suggests? Especially if his only inborn distinctive trait is having angel wings, a symbol of peace and benevolence?

(I also believe, aesthetically, that having the only physical difference between Galacta Knight and Meta Knight outside of their opposing colors being MK's devil wings and GK's angel wings - as opposed to devil wings v angel wings AND horns - makes them MUCH better parallels to each other? Adding real horns in just muddies it.)

Also, imo, in every render and model of him, the "horns" are too closely modeled into the helmet to have room to feasibly grow out from his head! Just saying, but that would be a ridiculously uncomfortable design to wear in RL, constantly rubbing and chaffing against his horns, preventing it from moving and "breathing" with his face while not providing any form of protection for them either!!

They're also made of the same golden color AND texture as the ornamentation of his shield. I know I'm going against fandom popular opinion here, but that also tells me they are ORNAMENTAL.

While ornamental horns just seem the most logical to me for species, character, historical, and design reasons, it's pretty obvious that aesthetically and interest-wise, non-ornamental horns have a complete stranglehold have won out in the fandom.

I have seen innumerable asks questioning + folks speculating via art and other mediums, "What horns do you think Kirby will develop when he grows up?" Most people go to great efforts to research, dream up, or uncover the appropriate "head attachments" for their puffs when designing Kirby OCs to "fit" their interpretation of Galacta + what a mature member of Kirby's species simply MUST look like.

Quite simply, Galacta having horns clearly stirs folks imaginations(1) more than a dark pink puff with angel wings who wants to represent themselves as a fierce demon on the battlefield.

...Even though Galacta Knight making a conscious choice to contrast their angelic visage with demon horns whenever they are in battle says a lot of fascinating things and makes them a more interesting and nuanced character to investigate, in my opinion.

--

(1) While I think it's more fascinating if he doesn't have them, I would be remiss to ignore the issue that, in a lineup, it provides Galacta Knight some much needed visual diversity from the others. It makes his gijinka and unmasked form instantly more recognizable than they would be otherwise.

Real horns have more appeal for the same reason many folks (and I am guilty of this) give Dark Meta Knight a scar on his eye under his mask, even though realistically, him taking that kind of injury is practically impossible. (That's what the mask is there FOR lol!)

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

— [ touch grass ] //

nerd!antisocial!pining!neo x fat!f!popular!reader; college au

CW: non-mutual pining, reader is fine with herself but aware of society’s beauty standards, nsfw, Neo is kind of a weirdo but we love him, meant to be a oneshot/imagine but might become more

dividers by Saradika

When you first meet Neo, you understandably think he hates your guts. Seems like he’s always glaring, and never really making eye contact. Which is fine, not everyone’s gonna like you, so you grant him distance.

You’re sweet, social, take up space. People might make fun of you for it, because fat girls aren’t supposed to be outgoing and happy, apparently, but for all those who look down on you, there are twice as many who love you. You have lots of friends, and he doesn’t.

Neo’s always by himself. Reading, or on the computer in those rare instances where he has to show his face in public. You can’t imagine anyone enjoying that; being alone for even a second makes you uncomfortable, so you don’t comprehend how he prefers it.

You try to set him up with your friend, even going so far as to introduce them in the library by dragging her over to his seat at the computer. He regards you wearily. The bags under his eyes have seen much better days, and you almost want to ask him, in your caring nature, if he’s sick or something.

Your friend, she’s just like him, prefers online over inperson, and you can already tell this was a horrible idea. Not only are they embarrassed, but you are, too, when you reflect later about how neither of them said one word as you basically babbled enough that even if they wanted to they couldn't have.

Now your friend is mad at you, and now you can tell Neo hates you even more. You try and apologize and he ignores you, favoring the keyboard and screen. Later that day, you drop your books and he watches from a distance as you pick them back up, glaring at you. He’s supposed to be your project partner and he doesn’t show up for lab

Then, he’s out of classes for the next two days. Okay, maybe he really is sick. Or, maybe he changed schools because you’re such a giant bothersome sore.

You’re thinking about the long apology you’re going to give him if you ever see him again—which is undoubtedly going to make things worse but you justcanthelpit—chewing on the tip of your eraser nervously, when he walks through the science lab door and sets his stuff next to your seat.

Despite the discourse, and your thoughts avalanching into a squirming pile of anxiety over the past few days, you beam at him. “Hi, Neo, I’m sorry about—“

He smiles and waves you off. “It’s fine, I had the flu.”

What he won’t say is…the flu was actually:

1. You on the picnic blanket outside in your shorts and tank top, laying down with your other friends and enjoying time between classes by giggling and poking at one another. 2. Your tits, plump and ripe, that even sweaters fail to make modest. 3. You pursing your lips and bending over the beaker, trying to pour the right amount of chemicals needed in order to not fuck up the mixture while looking at him helplessly with those pretty, pleading eyes—the ones that are always wet from your joy or compassion, the ones that prevent you from wearing mascara lest it be smeared down your apple cheeks before lunch time. 4. You, looking so soft and so touchable. So cluelessly fuckable. 5. You, caring about his wellbeing. Asking him about himself and trying to set him up on dates. He’ll gladly act like a charity case for your attention. 6. You, making him so hard and frustrated and flustered he has to run to the bathroom midday and afternoon just to tug some of the tension out of his cock. 7. You, the reason he can’t sleep. The reason he stays up all night writing and drawing and programming a computer program to mimic your likeness.

He took those two days off to recover from your newest stunt. To patch his heart back up and tear his cock apart thinking about how fucking lovely and hopeless you are, and how he just wants to bury himself in your soft, wet warmth and never come back to this shitty plane of existence again. “Oh, I’m glad you’re feeling better.” You touch his arm, just above the elbow, a comforting hand that makes him shudder from toes to hair tips as his mind immediately wonders what that sinfully soft feeling would be like on his chest, his cheek, his renewed, throbbing erection.

Well, fuck. And here he was thinking those two days off were actually going to help.

[phoenixkaptain]

I just want to say that the repeated mentions of Tim being like Bruce - Dick telling Tim that “you’re more like Bruce than I ever was” and even things as small as the other members of Young Justice assuming that Batman is literally Robin’s dad - mean so much to me because like-

Tim is so similar to Bruce. They are both rich kids, only childs, people like them but they never let anyone truly know them. Tim’s deductive ability is so often likened to Bruce’s, and even his combat prowess or leadership skills are more often compared to Bruce’s than Jason’s or Dick’s. Despite being Robin, and the third one at that, Tim really takes being the Batman of the group to an entirely new level with just how much he really is like Batman.

And that’s why they work so well together! Tim and Bruce are so similar, but they’re fundamentally different! Bruce is afraid to get hurt again, afraid to feel connections to other people, afraid of revealing his emotional vulnerability. Tim is afraid of disappointing people, afraid to fail to rise to the standards other people set for him, afraid of revealing that he isn’t as calm as he appears on the outside. Bruce and Tim both begin fighting crime out of love, a love so strong that it would lead either of them to give up their lives for that love, but Bruce does so out of a love for Gotham City and his parents and the legacy they represent to him while Tim does so out of a love for Gotham City and Robin and Batman.

Their partnership is built on their similarities, but it’s improved by their differences. Tim is softer than Bruce. He wants to trust people, he doesn’t enjoy making lists of ways to kill all of his friends. He tries to talk, to draw things out, to banter, while Bruce is more straightforward. Which, honestly, being more subtle than Bruce is a talent in its own right, ngl

Tim is described a lot as the perfect Robin. And, I can’t help but feel like yeah, he is. The writers really made this character perfect for Bruce specifically. Tim is a person who understands what Bruce wants him to do, even if he doesn’t always understand why. Tim cares about Bruce, both Bruce Wayne and Batman, and that care knocks down a lot of Bruce’s walls. Tim wants to fight crime with his friends and enjoy himself, but he also has his main goal which is to protect Bruce, especially from Bruce himself.

And it’s a two-way street. Bruce knows Tim so well. Like, I can’t even begin to describe how well Bruce can read Tim. He can tell that Tim’s care is sincere, and he wants to reciprocate that care. He trusts Tim, on such a deep, foundational level, and he trusts that if Tim lies to him, then Tim has a balid reason for doing so. He’s protective of Tim, even more than Tim is protective of him (for obvious reasons), but he’s also proud of Tim. He’s proud of how Tim can work with people and how Tim can handle his own and how Tim can solve cases.

Bruce and Tim are such a dynamic duo, literally. The understanding they have of each other is amazing. The trust they have in each other. The care. Bruce treats Tim like his son, and Tim honestly treats Bruce like his dad, even while Tim’s birth dad is still alive. These two are great together, they work so well together, they fit each other almost perfectly because Tim was literally made to be perfectly suited for Batman.

And, of course, there is an obsession there. Tim’s obsession with Batman runs deep. He would almost certainly make a great Batman, no matter how you look at it, because he has moments where he reaches that ability to be threatening. Of the times I know that he played Batman, he didn’t do a bad job. He’s intimidating and frightening and he manages to have his cape pulled around himself so he’s just a shape, just like Bruce does, and that’s mostly because he also literally does that same thing as Robin. Tim prefers to be Robin, because he prefers to be partnered with someone else.

(To be completely honest, I think Tim’s first choice of who he would want to be paired with at any given moment is almost certainly Dick. Dude loves that guy. I haven’t seen if Batman Dick and Robin Tim interact in those respective roles, but Tim is almost equally made to be Nightwing’s Robin. Bruce is his second choice though, definitely.)

I have to assume the obsession goes both ways, because the story is a lot more interesting if it does. Bruce is protective of Tim, even as he trusts Tim with the fate of the entire planet. His protectiveness of Tim is funny, actually, because he doesn’t mind Tim fighting gods but he does mind Tim showing the other members of Young Justice his face. (I mean, I get that one of the members is named Impulse, but Bart himself said that Batman gave him that name, so I feel like Bruce bringing it up as a detractor is just a bit hypocritical)

All the times we see Batman with Tim in the Young Justice run, Batman is pretty chill. Like, during the Sins of Youth storyline, when Bruce is Robin and Tim is Batman, Bruce seems totally cool with it. He doesn’t seem worried about Tim messing up. His comments on Tim talking to much read more to me as banter than actual criticisms. Bruce trusts Tim to be Batman, and I find that both sweet and a bit funny for a variety of reasons.

We see Batman get mad when Arrowette says the Justice League doesn’t understand any of the Young Justice members, although even then he just glares at her, he doesn’t say anything. Bruce is like “Yes, I know I don’t understand the majority of human interaction, what of it?” Batman doesn’t say much during that whole comic, actually? Like, he shows up with the rest of the Justice League and he taunts Tim (literally like someone taunting a child pfft) but he doesn’t actually seem to think they won’t pull through? He makes a quip about them being late getting back, but it doesn’t go anywhere, it was him teasing Robin, why was he even here?

(I like to think he kind of hoped Young Justice would disban so he could take Tim back. He obviously wants Tim around, he implies as much in the World Without Grownups arc, and he obviously enjoys Tim’s company, he seems to genuinely enjoy fighting crime with Tim, even when their roles are switched, and he lets Tim talk to Oracle all the time (he definitely could have cut that connection off if he really wanted to make it difficult for Tim during that whole bet thing) Like, Bruce believes that Tim is capable, I think he’s like Wonder Woman and thinks that the others (coughImpulseandSuperboycough) are bad influences. He is taking his boy wonder and leaving to get him good influences, like Nightwi- oh, wait, no, yeah, let’s let him hang out with Impulse and Superboy-)

This turned into a ramble about Young Justice, but I can’t help it!!! I really, REALLY wish that Batman had gone to the parent-teacher conference. Like, Nightwing showing up was wonderful on so many levels, but can you imagine?? Batman?? Dealing with Bonnie King-Jones??? Like, I think if he ever met her he would break the no-killing rule, full-stop, no hesitation. I want to know how the parent-teacher conference would have gone if Batman was there. I think it would have been mostly awkward silence while Batman lurked in the shadows and Red Tornado didn’t understand why everyone was so nervous, like, it’s just talking about what time he should feed their kids, why are you guys sweating-?

I love Tim and Bruce’s relationship. They’re so codependent. I don’t know if Bruce could ever not hold the next Robins up to Tim’s standard. Like, Damian trying to kill Tim makes a lot of sense if you look at it as Damian viewing the situation as “there only needs to be one Robin, and if there is a Tim to be compared to, I will lose.” Dick and Jason were great as Robin, but neither of them were Robin during the period of time in the nineties and early 2000s where Batman got a lot edgier and needed an edgier boy to be Robin. Dick was perfect for the 50s through to at least the 70s, and Jason was probably just fine too (still haven’t read Jason comics hrnng) but Tim fits Bruce perfectly because he was made for the more modern vision of Batman as a character.

Tim is a dweeb and a nerd, just like Dick before him, do not think that he isn’t, but he really works as a balance for Bruce. He was introduced to be that equilibrium, and he fulfills that role.

Tim and Bruce work so well together because they’re just on slightly different sides of a spectrum. They’re so close to being too similar, but they’re dissimilar enough that reading their dynamic is engaging and interesting. Tim really just is the Robin I understand people mistaking for Bruce’s blood kid, y’know? Before Damian, I mean. I feel like the Justice League members met Tim and went “whoa, shit, Batman knocked someone up, holy-“ The Young Justice members continuously genuinelybelieve that Batman is Robin’s dad (which makes it a lot funnier, because if he was Tim’s dad, Tim would essentially be saying: “my dad made me do this and won’t let me do this and to make things worse, my DAD moved us out!” Like, why would he just randomly mention who the subject of the conversation was again at such a pointed time? I understand that Superboy and Bart were not paying attention to him, but it’s just really funny to think that Tim would talk in such a strange way?) I like to think that Dick does not help matters, and instead goes out of his way to worsen them, because Dick is always the one telling Tim that he’s doing great and that he’s so similar to Bruce (he means it as a compliment, like Tim isn’t making the mistakes he thinks he’s making because he, just like Batman, just is unlikely to make mistakes) so I think Dick definitely tells his friends that Robin is Batman’s kid because it’s funny-

And this has gone from rambling about Young Justice to writing fanfiction mid-post, I should really stop while I’m ahead.

All in all, to sum it up, TLDR: Tim was made to be the best Robin specifically for Bruce as Batman. That’s why they work in harmony, but are ultimately entirely different instruments.

[empress-simps]

Close To Me

Pairing: Bodyguard! Marauders x Fem! Reader, Bodyguard! Sirius x Fem! Reader AU: Bodyguard AU / Muggle AU CW: Reader getting kidnapped. Sirius getting injured. Note: This might be the longest one shot I have written so far, this is also my first time writing an action-ish fic? So please do keep it in mind, some parts may be inaccurate.. I also published this at 12 midnight lol. Enjoy!(2.5k words)

You always thought it was a tad bit excessive.

Being the sole heir to a vast family fortune meant that you had the finest thing you could ever want in your life; it also meant that you had the finest protection. Your father handpicked every staff member that was assigned to protect and care for you- going as far as doing not just a background check on them, but also their entire family. Doing a bunch of psychology and loyalty tests were also a must so it was rest assured that they would do their job.

Having one bodyguard? Understandable. Two? Oh, alright just some precautions. Three? That sounds... very safe. Four? Now, that's where you draw the line.

Sure, being born with a golden spoon is great- wonderful, even; but you felt like you were trapped.

You wanted to live life like any other normal human being, away from assassination or kidnapping attempts that were made in your life. So, mustering up every courage you have, you stormed into your father’s study to try and persuade him to just at least assign one to watch over you.

It was expected, you failed.

Now you were stuck with four goofballs bodyguards who would protect you with their life.

James Potter- the strategist. He could sense danger from miles away and best believe that a safe escape plan for you was already formulated if ever things went south.

Remus Lupin- the mediator. He has the ability to appear calm and composed even in the face of danger. Remus saved you more than once just from his voice and words.

Peter Pettigrew- the tech wizard. He’s the one responsible for surveillance, turning any kind of technology into a means of protecting you.

And then there was Sirius Black, the jack of all trades. When your father chose the top candidate, it was him. He was an exceptionally skilled fighter, good with weapons, fast and light reflexes, can speak multiple languages (mainly French), and over all just a well-rounded protector.

Being born into a family with a long tradition and a reputation for producing some of the best security experts in the muggle world, Sirius stood out like a sore thumb. He was the black sheep who defied family expectations. His family's company, BlackGuard Security, was known for its merciless efficiency and rigid standards.

His abilities were evident. Succeeded in every training program he participated in, frequently outperforming his peers with fast thinking and adaptability. Your father noticed Sirius's unconventional approach to security and saw potential in his abilities. When he was assigned to be your bodyguard, he took it as an opportunity to show himself beyond the shadow of his family's legacy.

Sirius is your shadow. He’s never more than a few paces behind. But it wasn’t just duty that kept him so close; it’s the quiet and unspoken bond that had formed between you two throughout the years. A bond that went beyond the call of duty, beyond the formalities. Which he desperately tries to deny.

“Good morning, Remmy!”

You beamed, smiling as you opened the door of your bedroom to see the tall man standing outside, on watch.

It’s still a mystery to you how he looks so put together with his neat hair, suit, and the signature earpiece in his ear even though it’s still 7:00 in the morning.

“Good morning, Miss.” He smiles, closing the door behind you as you headed towards the grand staircase, Remus following a step behind.

“I rarely see you during mornings,” You comment, going down the stairs to grab breakfast.

“James had some matters to attend to, Miss.” He answered, offering a small and polite smile. You hummed, “It’s alright. I like your company, Remmy. Jamie can get a tad bit enthusiastic in mornings.” You laugh, as Remus looks at you.

“Don’t let him hear that or he might just throw a fit.” He chuckled.

“He’s James, it’s normal.” You grinned, seeing the familiar long black-haired guy talking quietly in his earpiece.

“Morning, Sirius!” You waved at him; his piercing grey eyes looked in your direction. “Good morning, Y/n.” he smiled, then went back to talking in his earpiece.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t a bit bummed that you don’t have his undivided attention, Remus noticed this and raised his eyebrow, smiling to himself.

Taking a seat at the rather large dining table, you couldn't help but sigh. Remus decided to tease you a bit, "Were you expecting more from Padfoot?" He smiles, chuckling at the way you desperately try to hide the blush on your cheeks.

"What?! No! I was just pre-occupied with other things!"

Remus doesn't believe it when your eyes wandered in the direction of Sirius who was still talking into the earpiece. "No prongs, she has an event she needs to attend in the evening." You heard him talking to what you can assume is James from the other line.

The scent of breakfast wafted through the air, making your stomach growl as the staff placed the dishes and arranged the silverware for you.

"Would you like some, Remmy?"

"No thank you, miss. I already ate."

As you ate a piece of your breakfast, you looked up to Remus. "Anything interesting stuff for today?"

"I'm afraid today will be quite normal, miss. Just a charity ball your family would attend hosted by the Malfoy family."

You frowned. It's not like you hate the Malfoys, you just don't like how they're trying to set you up with their son, Lucius Malfoy, when it was clear that he is infatuated with his mother's bodyguard- Narcissa Black.

"Do I really have to go?" You complained,

"Prongs already picked up your dress for later, Y/n." Sirius suddenly spoke up, and standing beside Remus. You huffed, already feeling tired.

“Maybe I’ll just sneak out again-“

“No can do, Y/n!” James appeared out of nowhere, his famous grin plastered on his face, Peter trailing behind him, tinkering with what seems to be a mini remote of some sort.

You crossed your arms, eyebrows raised. “And why would that be, Mr. Potter?”

“Because your escort would be Malfoy.” he grumbles, clearly not liking the idea and the dude.

“I beg your pardon?”

You tried not to roll your eyes, keyword, tried. Remus clears his throat, trying to mask his surprise. Sirius felt his eye twitch.

What if something happens at the ball? Sirius is the most capable one of protecting you from danger, sorrynotsorry.

“But!” James blurts, “We’d still attend the ball, not just that close to you.”

“Like that’s any better.”

James frowns, “Sorry. The Malfoys actually don’t even want us to attend and guard you. Your father insisted, telling them you won’t attend the ball without us.” He says, taking a seat beside you despite Remus’ warning glances directed at him.

“Just what do they want…?” Sirius mumbles to himself, already getting highly suspicious of Lucius and his family. (Not because of the fact that you’re about to get arranged to the Malfoy heir, no not at all.)

“They’re probably just annoyed, Lucius really can’t make a move on Y/n with us around.” James said, grabbing a handful of grapes and popping them onto his mouth, making you chuckle as you pushed the bowl closer to him.

“Alright, looking good Y/n!” James grinned, seeing you come down the grand staircase dressed in a red lavish gown with a gold accent.

Sirius felt his heart stop.

There was just something about you that makes his heart beat a little faster, time freezing, and the unusual flips his stomach did when he sees you.

Fuck— you were absolutely breathtaking.

You twirled, making your boys smile and compliment you, but Sirius just stood there, not reacting.

“Do I look presentable, Siri?”

You asked, trying to pass it off as a joke but they know damn well you were serious as you fiddled with a random lace in your dress. Not like Sirius noticed it, no, he was transfixed to your beauty.

“Beautiful.”

That was all you needed to hear.

“Mr. Malfoy, good evening.”

Lucius smiled slightly, taking your hand, and kissing it. “The night could not compare to your beauty, Y/n.”

It took every single fiber of Sirius’ being to not punch Lucius square in the face. How dare he flirt with you when he’s secretly dating his cousin?

You smiled politely, even though all you wanted to do is to stay a good couple of feet away from him. “You flatter me, Mr. Malfoy.”

“I am just stating facts, Y/n.” He offered his arm to you, “Shall we?”

Right. Might as well get over it.

Linking your arm with his, you nodded. “We shall.”

The boys instantly knew there was something off as soon as they stepped inside the venue.

James kept twisting the ring on his pinky finger, already thinking of numerous escape plans for different situations. Peter was on his phone, eyebrows furrowing as he checked and tries to figure out why he can't access some surveillance cameras in the venue. Sirius was on high alert, nothing could go unnoticed, he knows who approached you, how long you've spoken to them, the food that you consumed, and how that stupid Lucius kissed your hand, and interacted with you.

Remus also was alert, but one thing that made the alarms go off inside his head was the four suspicious men dressed in tuxedos quietly slipped inside the venue without getting noticed.

"Marauders, two o'clock. Four men, nearing darling's area quick." He told in the comms, eyes never leaving the four figures.

"Copy, Moony. Wormtail, any news?" Remus' earpiece was filled with James' voice. "Negative. Still trying to access." Out of the corner of his eye, Remus can see Sirius slowly inching to your direction. "Padfoot, do not engage. Wait it out." Remus heard James order Sirius, "I won't." he grunts.

That was when hell broke loose.

With lightning reflexes, one of the men pulled out a pistol and shot the large crystal chandelier causing it to fall and crash to the ground, breaking into thousands of tiny pieces. It was pure chaos, people were trying to rush out of the exits, chairs and tables were turned as they pushed through.

Sirius felt his blood run cold.

He was in autopilot, he dodged a panicked guest and leaped over fallen chairs, all while keeping his eyes on you. He cannot afford for the men to reach you before he does.

Luck was not on his side today.

He quickly closed the distance between both of you. He was your protector; he swore on his life he would protect you. Sirius would even sacrifice his life if it meant that you would be safe. He would do anything for you.

It was proven it wasn't enough when one of the men grabbed your arm, dragging you towards a hidden exit while Lucius Malfoy was escorted by the others.

"Fuck!" He yelled, as one of Malfoy's henchmen shot him in the shoulder to prevent him from going after you.

"Prongs! They have her!" They could all hear his anguished voice through the comms. Remus runs over to Sirius from where he was stationed, "Padfoot, you're injured-"

"I don't care!" He yells at his friend, "We need to fucking find her!"

"Wormtail, you better have the damn access already or I'll skin you alive!" Sirius barks angrily, talking to his comms as he fought the rest of the men with Remus helping him. "I'm in, but it's too late. They jammed the signals earlier and destroyed footages. Go to the exit, you'll see a motorbike on your left-" Sirius doesn't need to be told twice, he did what Peter told him and mounted the motorcycle, Remus quickly joining him.

"Can you see the black car ahead of you? That's them." Peter told him. Sirius was focusing on chasing the damn vehicle, so Remus answered on his behalf.

"Yeah, we're closing in. Prongs, what's your status?"

"Backsup are on their way, they'll be right behind you in 2 minutes."

Sirius felt the distant throb in his shoulder, the warm blood seeping through made his dress shirt clung onto him, but he paid it no mind.

"Keep your eyes on the road, Padfoot!" Remus reminds him as they narrowly missed an incoming truck. Sirius only nodded in reply as he grips the motorcycle tightly, weaving through the traffic and desperately trying to reach the speedy vehicle you're in.

"We're gaining on them!" Remus updates, seeing the familiar back up vehicles approaching, "Back up's near."

"Do not engage until the back ups arrive." James told them in a calm and commanding tone.

Of course.

Sirius will always be Sirius. When had he ever listened to Prongs' orders?

He is driven by his instinct, which is currently screaming at him to attack right then and there. As they neared an intersection, an opportunity was presented to him. He would be a fucking idiot to ignore it. With a calculated risk, he accelerated, effectively pulling alongside the car.

Remus sighs, already knowing his friend's thoughts and getting ready.

"Now, Moony!" Remus, who's on cue, leaned out and desperately tried to reach the car's door handle, and with a few tries, he managed to open it succesfully making him grapple with a man inside.

The car swerves, tires screeching but Sirius kept his pace. He can see you struggling with your captors, and he can hear the backup seconds away. He couldn't wait, every second counts, anything could happen.

"Hang on!" Sirius shouts, with a burst of speed, the backup cars sandwiched the car with you inside, forcing it to halt. Sirius and Remus dismounted the motorbike, guns drawn.

"It's either you release her, or I'll kill all of you and blondie." He growls, referring to Lucius Malfoy who is also inside the car.

The situation was tense, but the arrival of their team shifted the balance. The henchmen, overwhelmed and outgunned, let you go, their plan thwarted. Keeping the Malfoy Heir safe is their top priority.

Dust settled down, and the other staff handled the situation, wrapping it up. Sirius stormy grey eyes met yours in the midst of chaos. His shoulder stung, a reminder of the events that had happened tonight, although it paled in comparison to the concern etched in his face as he rushes to you.

"You're not hurt, are you?" His voice was barely above a whisper as he scanned your form. Your eyes found its way on his injury, "No, I'm alright. But Sirius, you're hurt."

Sirius exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and the world seems to slow down. "I'll live, darling. The important thing is that you're safe."

The sirens, flashing lights, and the buzz all seemed to fade out into the background as you stared into his eyes. Taking your hand in his, he placed it to his lips, pressing a kiss, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I was so afraid I'd lose you," he admitted, the vulnerability in his voice unlike anything you'd heard before. Sirius hugged you tightly, feeling him press a kiss against your hair as you leaned to his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

"You'll never lose me. Never in a million years, how could you when you're always close to me?"

[quackerofoatz]

The Beauty of Botticelli & The Beauty of Will Graham ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Hannibal’s first instinct upon seeing Will is how unique and different he is from the usual people he interacts with behind his persona. A way Hannibal also fell for him is with the physical appearance of Will Graham. As seen in the show Will isn't known for his looks but for how he doesn't get along with others. Even in the book, he's given a very so-so description of how he's seen by others as average or “not very handsome” as said by the red dragon in the book.

This is why I am examining the looks and appearance of Will Graham from the show only, as it is its own medium compared to the book.  Will is not an average but an attractive man by looks alone thanks to Hugh Dancy. It was a factor that stuck out to me as I watched the show. With how the light shadows him and his startling pale skin and blue eyes. He reminded me of beauty only found in the paintings of old masters of Europe.

There are a myriad of reasons shown in the show but I will focus on what I see from an outside perspective into Hannibal's interests and thinking mixed in with my own.

Hannibal as we know likes Europe and favors the arts above all, looking through life with a gruesome but academic lens. Will is the personification of all the arts and humanities he holds so valuable. Will’s beauty transcends these periods and fits them. In morals and looks, Will has it all and is perfect in Hannibal's eyes. 

His Vitruvian man, as this user on Tumblr, keenly pointed out. Hannibal is an academic and thinker at heart, he romanticizes Will Graham by his beauty being magnified by his thinking and his deep empathy encroaching on everything he touches. Hannibal's way of absorbing and showing love is embodied in the way he kills and talks to Will through veils of academic conversations with him. Hannibal has never felt nor something strongly other than to kill, which makes his feelings for Will blur in this messy dance of courtship.  

First Will could be examined based on his features and personality, in a way examining him on how most people perceive him. 

Will is a man who stands at average height with light blue eyes. He has a lean, masculine beauty that can easily mesmerize. His eyes, a deep, intense shade of blue, spark with intelligence and wit. With his tousled dark brown curls and strong, angular features, he has soft but masculine features. He has a lean build with pale skin.  He commands attention in a room even with how he speaks rarely to draw attention to himself. He has a scruffy beard along his sharp jaw and an air of unsettledness to most people. It is radiated more by his lack of social interaction and often bored tone of speaking. He is our brooding protagonist with a deep and sensitive soul. He often rocks a disheveled yet charming style. His intense gaze and commanding presence give him an undeniable allure on-screen. A man who feels too much and is wrapped up trying to not let himself drown in it, saving lives.

Will is brave in the face of adversity no matter if it's on both sides or in his field, even as he is chipped away or broken down who he is at his core remains. 

Will has features that were the beauty standard of both the medieval and Renaissance period. The Renaissance and medieval beauty standards for men concerning blue eyes and dark curls varied but were generally associated with nobility, strength, and a sense of mystery. During these periods, blue eyes were seen as captivating and intense, while dark curls were considered masculine and powerful. This combination of traits was often associated with warriors, heroes, and leaders. It was believed that these features suggested a deep, complex persona and attracted attention and admiration.

The beauty standard for men during the Renaissance and medieval periods was influenced by ancient Greek and Roman ideals of masculinity. Blue eyes and dark curls were considered attractive features, symbolizing youth and strength. It can be pointed out that Hannibal has a love of Classic Antiquity.  During the Renaissance, which lasted from the 14th to the 17th century, the focus shifted towards humanism and the individual, and the ideal man was depicted as well-balanced, well-built, and well-groomed, often with light eyes and dark, curly hair.

Pale skin was considered a beauty standard for both genders during the Renaissance and Medieval periods. It symbolized wealth and status, as those who could afford to stay out of the sun had the free time to do so. A pale, blemish-free complexion was seen as a symbol of aristocracy and class. This preference for pale skin can be seen in many Renaissance and medieval works of art, where men and women are often depicted with a light, almost translucent complexion. It was seen to be revered and “angelic” to have such pale skin marking you as an individual of high status and closer to divinity.

Will is a closed-off man due to how others treat him in his field of behavioral science and federal agents. Hannibal is the first that look at Will not as a basket case but as a muse waiting to be molded. As highlighted in my other post Hannibal had a love for Botticelli and his artwork during the Italian Renaissance. As shown in Dolce with them sitting in the Uffizi gallery surrounded by Botticelli artwork.

He wanted Will to transform into the person he should be, into the person Hannibal envisions him to be. As one Redditor noted they sit in between the portraits of Simonetta and Botticelli. I will explain more about the relationship instead of briefly as this user did. 

Simonetta Cattaneo Vespucci was a famed Genoese noblewoman married to Marco Vespucci.  known for her beauty and charm. She was an inspiration to many artists of the time and had a close relationship with the Renaissance artist Sandro Botticelli.

Botticelli was deeply smitten by Simonetta's beauty and grace. She was the inspiration for many of his works, including "The Birth of Venus," and he included her in many of his paintings. It is often speculated that Botticelli may have even harbored romantic feelings for her.

Botticelli's relationship with Simonetta Vespucci, the inspiration behind many of his famous works, was marked by a deep connection. Their relationship appears to have been akin to that of a muse and artist. 

Simonetta Vespucci died in 1476 at the age of 21. The cause of her death is not accurately known, but it is believed to be from complications due to tuberculosis. It is said that Botticelli was devastated by her passing and even refused to paint for several months. He later channeled his grief into his works, creating some of his most beautiful paintings as a tribute to his beloved Simonetta.

Hannibal sees himself as an artist, in the culinary arts, traditional, psychology and so on. He has the mind of an artist who paints even the people he kills.

Throughout the show, he is often seen creating pieces of art, whether it be culinary masterpieces or gruesome tableau displays. Additionally, his ability to manipulate people and situations to his advantage can be seen as a form of metaphorical art, as he carefully constructs his plans to achieve his desired outcomes.

Like Botticelli, he sees himself as an artist creating his muse which is Will. Botticelli is noted as the themes in his art are biblical and had a great appreciation for Dante Alighieri.  No matter how grotesque or unethical it is, it's Hannibal’s way of showing affection. 

He is shown to have a deep appreciation and understanding of art and often incorporates elements of art and art history in many of his actions and conversations. He is also shown to have a keen aesthetic sensibility, often using beautiful imagery and metaphors in his interactions. He uses it, especially in sessions or conversations with Will. Additionally, Lecter is depicted as a creator himself, both in the literal sense as he composes music and paints, and more metaphorically as he engages in a creative act in his killings.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter’s attempts to show love to Will Graham are often twisted and manipulative, as his definition of “love” is different from the traditional sense. Throughout the show, Lecter goes to great lengths to get Will’s full attention and admiration, often in harmful and violent ways. He sees Will as his equal and wants to mold him into a partner, someone who can understand him completely. He continuously challenges and tests Will, trying to break him down to build him back up in a way that is acceptable to Lecter. 

He is shaping his muse to be his perfect companion. To both worship and eat alive in his dark change.  

[madaqueue]

Practice Makes Perfect | Chapter 1

synopsis: you and yuji have been best friends basically as long as you can remember, and you made a promise to each other to stay friends and help each other be the best versions of yourselves for your future partners. but will things change when yuji finally starts looking for a relationship?

pairing: yuji itadori (18+) x f!reader

themes/content: modern college au (characters aged up to 18+). fluff, angst, language. kissing, mention of over-clothes grinding. 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.3k

a/n: baby's first multi-chapter fic, please be nice or i'll cry :) thx. also this will eventually get more intense, but we're starting light teehee

series masterlist | next chapter

You and Yuji Itadori have been friends your whole lives. You remember the day you first met on the playground in elementary school where you both insisted on racing each other to decide who got to use the tire swing first, and when you came in a dead tie you both refused to concede and ended up sitting on the swing together for the rest of recess. You stayed close as you grew up, often having sleepovers at each other's houses every weekend and spending almost every day together in and outside of school.

On one of these sleepovers while you were both sophomores in high school, you got around to discussing your first kisses and realized neither of you had had yours yet. You both agreed it wouldn't be weird to kiss each other and went for it; the only problem was that it was awful. From that day forward you both vowed to stay friends, but help each other practice all that romance stuff for whenever either of you wanted to actually date someone.

It was a miracle when you both ended up getting accepted to the same college, since one of you (*cough* Yuji) definitely slacked off a little more in high school, but you were so excited to get to spend the next four years with him.

The first semester of college went by quickly and you didn’t get to see each other too often since you came in as an engineering major and he was slowly working his way through business classes. Even though you hadn’t spent as much time together, you’d still get texts from him every few days with some stupid meal concoction he’d made in his dorm kitchen and you’d send each other TikToks that made you laugh. You let yourself fall into a rhythm between classes, homework, and exams, until one Wednesday evening you get an unexpected notification lighting up your phone:

Yuji: “heyy, come over? got a question to ask you”

The message sent butterflies through your stomach for some reason; you two hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks, and his text was much more direct than you expected. Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you think of how to respond.

You: “okayy, be over in 5. should I bring anything?”

His response almost immediately appears under yours:

Yuji: “just yourself, sweets ;)”

The nickname caught you a bit off guard and you questioned what to say next before another text came up:

Yuji: “sorry, don’t know why I said that lmao. see you soon :)”

You sigh and lock your phone, setting it down on the bed beside you before standing up and sliding your shoes, tossing on a sweatshirt on top of your leggings and cropped t-shirt before heading out.

—

You stand outside his dorm, looking at the “Yuji” name sign made out of construction paper taped to his door. Below it was a mini whiteboard he had put up that had some less-than-tasteful drawings and the note “Itadori + Fushiguro” written on it surrounded by hearts. You rolled your eyes as you knocked, the door immediately swinging open as you were greeted by the pink-haired boy wearing his standard red hoodie and jeans combo, looking down on you with a huge grin on his face.

“Welcome, welcome!” he said with a smile, ushering you inside. You looked around and realized you had never actually been in his dorm before - whenever you hung out last semester it was always at cafes, the library, or a party, but never in either of your rooms. You look around and appreciate that he actually managed to make the small space kind of nice. You smirk at the dark blue bedding on his twin size mattress and pinup posters adorning his walls as the LEDs lining the room cast a blue glow across everything.

“You like it?” Yuji asked, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“It’s very…hmm…how do I say this…you,” you say with a smirk.

He giggles as he flops down on the bed. “Well, you did always know me well.”

You kick off your shoes and sit down onto the bed next to him. “So, what’d you have to ask me?” you question as you turn to face him.

“Right!” he exclaims, hopping off the bed to stand in front of you. “Remember when we were younger and we promised to help each other practice all the romance stuff so we’d be ready for when we get in a real relationship?” You nod as he continues. “Well, I think I might finally be ready to kick things off, and I sorta need your help with the whole practice thing.”

You freeze. This was the last thing on your mind when you came over. You hadn’t even seen Yuji in almost a month, and this is the first thing he says to you? How could he even remember that stupid deal you had made after your horrible first kiss with each other?

Your thoughts suddenly come to a halt as you realize what this might mean. “Wait,” you start, looking up at him from the bed, “does this mean you have a crush on someone?”

Yuji’s face turns red as he breaks eye contact and looks down at the ground, one arm reaching up behind his head to scratch his undercut. “Um, kinda, I think so,” he says as he grins sheepishly. “There’s a girl in one of my classes, and we’ve hung out a few times for this group project, and-“

“And you want my help making sure you know what you’re doing, right?” you cut him off. He looks back up at you, cheeks still red, and nods slightly. “Wait,” you think out loud, “does that mean you haven’t kissed anyone since then?”

His face flushes again and his eyes shoot back to the ground as he mumbles “No.”

You chuckle softly as you get up to meet him in the middle of the room, throwing your arms around his neck and tilting his chin so you’re making eye contact. You’re not sure where the sudden confidence comes from, but it just feels natural for you in that moment. In all honesty, you actually hadn’t kissed anyone since then either - you just hadn’t seen the need - but Yuji doesn’t need to know that. You gaze into his soft brown eyes as he nervously bites his lip, waiting for your response to his confession.

“Don’t worry Yu, that’s okay,” you whisper, your lips nearly grazing his, “we can practice together.”

Yuji nearly squeals with excitement, dissipating any tension or romance that was building between you two. “Yay! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he exclaims as he wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you up in the air and spinning you around. He sets you down but his hands don’t leave your hips as he looks down at you expectantly. “Okay, where do we start?” he practically beams down at you.

You pause to think for a moment before responding. “Well, we should probably figure out where you’re starting so we can work on what actually needs to be improved.”

“Works for me!” he says, picking you up again with ease as he walks towards his bed. Your legs wrap around his waist for stability as he sits down with his back against the headboard and you in his lap. The position also gave you butterflies for some reason, which was odd since the two of you used to sit like this all the time - you in Yuji’s lap during car rides when there wasn’t enough space, your head laying across his chest while you watched movies, or even his head resting on your stomach while you tried to braid his hair. But for some reason, this time felt different, maybe because you knew what was about to happen.

“Ready?” he asked with a smile. You nod, trying to mentally prepare yourself for what you expect is going to be a repeat of your last horrible kiss. “Okay, let’s do this,” Yuji says with a soft sigh, still smiling, and you try not to laugh at his lack of seriousness about the whole situation. But before you can react, his hand reaches up to your cheek and his eyes flutter closed as he leans towards you. You let your eyes shut as his soft lips press against yours. He holds himself there for a moment before beginning to gently suck on your bottom lip. The unexpected action causes you to open your mouth slightly in surprise, and he takes the opportunity to gently slide his tongue between your lips. Your tongues meet as he gently explores your mouth with his. His hand moves from your cheek to the back of your neck, holding you close to him. At the same time, one of your hands slides up from his hips to the back of his hair and you run your fingers over the softness of his freshly-trimmed undercut.

You start to feel yourself get lightheaded as the kiss gets sloppier and Yuji shows no sign of letting up. You begin to pull yourself away to catch your breath but just as you feel the air hit your lungs he uses the hand on your neck to gently push you back towards his slightly parted lips. It’s almost as if he couldn’t stand to spend a second separated from you and you willingly lean back in as he gets more eager, his tongue effortlessly slipping back into your mouth. The action elicits a soft moan from you, and you feel heat building between your legs. Your hips almost start grinding against the boy beneath you before you remember who it is - your best friend. You open your eyes suddenly and pull away from the kiss, Yuji loosening his hold on the back of your neck as a thin thread of your shared saliva temporarily connects your lips. You are met with those sweet, brown eyes, his cheeks flushed and lips pink from the intense kiss you suddenly pulled him away from.

As your brain clears, the first thing you’re able to say to him is “What the hell?”

“What, was it alright?” he hums back through a smile.

“That was m-more than alright, there’s no way that’s only your second time ever doing that!” you stutter, trying to get the words out.

He shrugs, “What can I say? Sometimes I’m just a natural.”

You start to sit up more and lean back off his lap, when there’s a sudden noise at the door. “Dude c’mon, hop on Discord, we’re gonna play some ranked matches.” The door handle turns as the sentence finishes, and in steps a man dressed in all black with his short black hair fanning out in every direction. He takes in the scene in front of him with you and Yuji sitting on the bed and he immediately covers his eyes with his hands. “S-shit, I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t know you had someone over and I-“ he stutters as you watch his ears turn red from embarrassment.

“No need to apologize my dear friend!” Yuji proclaims as he hops off the bed, clearly no longer thinking about the intense moment you two just shared. He turns to you while gesturing towards the clearly distressed man in the doorway. “This is Fushiguro!” he yells, almost too loudly, with a smile plastered on his face.

Once the man in the door realizes that Yuji has no plans to provide any more information, he removes his hands from his eyes and politely waves at you from across the room. “Um, hi. Yeah, I’m Megumi Fushiguro, but you can just call me Megumi. I live across the hall from Yuji,” he explains, pointing over his shoulder at the door to his room.

You introduce yourself and give a little wave back. “Oh, wait a minute, you’re the Fushiguro that’s on Yuji’s sign on his door, right?” you say with a little laugh, remembering the whiteboard you saw on your way in.

“That's the one! Isn’t he charming?” Yuji sing-speaks as he practically skips towards Megumi. 

The boy in black seems less than impressed with the situation and rolls his eyes. “Yep, that’s me. Again though, you can call me Megumi. I don’t know why Yuji insists on calling me by my last name, I mean we’re basically the same age-”

“Because I just loooooove your name!” Yuji exclaims, now standing next to Megumi and batting his eyelashes dramatically at him. Megumi responds by holding a hand out to his side and gently shoving Yuji, who dramatically pretends to slide down against the wall with a pout.

“Anyways, I was gonna play some video games, but if you guys are busy we can do it another night,” Megumi explains.

“Nah don’t worry, I should probably head home anyways and make some dinner, I’ll leave you boys to it,” you say as you stand up to put your sweatshirt back on, trying to ignore the pulsing between your legs.

Still sitting on the ground, Yuji chimes in, “Aww, you don’t want me to make you dinner here?”

“I don’t think I want to eat the things you make if they’re anything like the meals you’ve been sending me over the past semester,” you preempt.

“Oh man, he’s shown you those too?” Megumi responds with a smirk as he reaches a hand out to help Yuji off the floor.

Yuji stands up proudly, stating “You guys just don’t understand my culinary genius.”

“I wouldn’t call a strawberry Poptart with cheese on it ‘culinary genius,’” you say with a chuckle as a pout returns to Yuji’s face. You put your shoes on and slide past the boys in the doorway. “Anyways, goodnight Yuji, and it was nice to meet you Megumi!” you wave back at them from the hallway.

—

When you get back to your dorm, you’re finally able to process the events that just took place. All you’re left with is more questions.

When did he learn how to kiss like that? How did he learn how to kiss like that? And why do you want more of it so badly?

series masterlist | next chapter

[isacksteban]

"more strollini would make my year, a mood board or a small fic would be nice" for @stoptakingthegoodname5

800 followers celebration

a moodboard i threw together and here's the fic to go w/ it:

Lance had just played the game of his life. At only 20 years old, he was already one of the most celebrated professional hockey players in the league — a prodigy who had risen to fame with blistering speed and skill. On the ice, he was a force to be reckoned with: fast, calculated, and unrelenting in his pursuit of victory. His teammates leaned on him, his coaches praised him, and his fans adored him. To them, Lance was more than just a player; he was the embodiment of determination and resilience, a young man who carried the weight of high expectations with a calm grace far beyond his years.

That night, he had lived up to every bit of that reputation and then some. In a game that had teetered on the edge of defeat for his team, Lance had singlehandedly turned things around. His lightning-fast moves, his almost telepathic ability to read the opposing team’s plays, and his clutch overtime goal had secured a victory that would go down in the annals of hockey history. The arena had erupted in cheers, fans chanting his name as he skated off the ice, exhausted but triumphant.

Off the ice, Lance’s reputation was just as spotless. Known for his humility, sportsmanship, and professionalism, he was the kind of player parents wanted their kids to look up to. And though his striking good looks and natural charisma had earned him a legion of admirers, Lance was famously private about his connections outside of sports — though he was far from private about his nights getting wine drunk and singing his favourite songs. Since making it pro, he had never been linked to anyone romantically. Some fans speculated he was simply too focused on his career to date, while others joked that he was secretly married to his hockey stick.

But all of that changed the moment he stepped off the ice for his post-game interview.

Lance still looked every bit the star, his jersey clinging to his sweat-soaked frame, his hair damp and tousled, and his grin as bright as the arena lights. Reporters swarmed him, eager to get his thoughts on the game that everyone would be talking about for weeks.

The first few questions were standard fare.

“How does it feel to score that game-winning goal in overtime?” the first reporter asked, leaning forward eagerly.

Lance grinned, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “It feels incredible. The team worked so hard tonight. Honestly, I was just in the right place at the right time. I couldn’t have done it without them.”

Another reporter chimed in, scribbling notes furiously. “Walk us through that final play. It looked like you knew exactly what was coming before the pass even happened.”

“Honestly, I think it’s just about trust,” Lance replied. “I��ve played with these guys long enough to know their instincts. When Jake got the puck, I had a feeling he’d see the opening. All I had to do was be ready.”

The questions continued, each one building on the last.

“Lance,” another reporter cut in, “you’ve had a reputation for being clutch in these high-pressure situations. What’s going through your mind in those moments?”

“I try to stay in the moment,” Lance said thoughtfully. “There’s no time to overthink. You just trust your training and focus on the goal — literally.” His smile widened, drawing a few laughs from the room.

As Lance turned his head slightly, gesturing toward his teammates in the locker room behind him with a grin still plastered on his face, the lights caught a glimpse of something faintly visible on his neck. The purplish-red marks, clustered near his collarbone, stood out against his skin under the bright glare of the cameras.

For a moment, the room seemed to collectively pause. A few reporters exchanged quick, knowing glances. One of them tilted their head slightly, their eyes flicking from Lance’s neck to their camera screen, as if debating whether to bring it up. Another reporter shifted, their lips pressing together in an effort to suppress a smirk.

The silence stretched just long enough for Lance to notice. His smile faltered, only briefly, as realization dawned on him. He straightened slightly, adjusting the collar of his jersey as if to shield himself. It was a futile effort — the cameras had already captured everything and the marks were far too high up to be covered by his jersey and protective gear.

The next reporter, perhaps the most seasoned of the group, cleared her throat and decided to push on. “Lance, this win puts your team in a great position going into the playoffs. How do you plan to carry this momentum forward?”

The question steered the room back on course, and Lance seized the lifeline. “We just have to stay focused,” he said, his tone regaining its usual confidence. “One game at a time. If we play like we did tonight, I think we have a good shot.”

But the shift in the room was undeniable. The glances, the barely concealed smirks, and the sudden stiffness in Lance’s posture told a story the reporters wouldn’t say out loud. Whatever they were thinking, they weren’t going to ask. Not here, not now.

It wasn’t long before the interview wrapped up, and Lance stepped away from the cameras, his composure intact despite the unspoken buzz in the air.

Meanwhile, social media erupted. Screenshots of the marks on Lance’s neck circulated like wildfire, accompanied by every theory imaginable. Hockey’s golden boy, known for his calm under pressure and squeaky-clean image, suddenly seemed a lot more human — and a lot less single. Fans flooded timelines with replays and zoomed-in photos, while hashtags like #HickeyGate started trending worldwide.

Headlines that should have celebrated Lance’s historic performance quickly veered into playful speculation:

“Hickey or Hockey Bruise? Lance Stroll’s Neck Tells a Story”

“Mystery Lover Scores on Hockey’s Golden Boy”

“Who Left Their Mark on Lance Stroll After Tampa Bay Win?

"Stroll's Newfound Good-Luck-Charm: Love Bites.”

The internet was divided. Some fans insisted it was nothing, attributing the marks to a rough play during the game or a harmless prank by a teammate. Others were convinced they were personal, a clear sign that Lance had been hiding a secret relationship. Even casual viewers couldn’t resist weighing in, with gossip accounts and sports blogs dissecting every public photo of Lance since he'd been signed to the Canadiens for hints of a romantic partner.

Paparazzi were already on the hunt, but Lance was anything but rattled. Instead of shying away, he leaned into the chaos with as much charm as he did anything else.

“Guess I should’ve invested in a turtleneck,” he quipped the next day during a press conference, earning a round of laughs. “Or maybe some makeup tips from my sister. She’s always said I needed to step up my skincare game.”

His teammates weren’t spared either. During practice, they took every chance to poke fun, and Lance gave it right back. When a particularly cheeky reporter asked if the team had been giving him grief, Lance smirked. “Oh, absolutely. They’re relentless. But hey, it’s nothing I can’t handle. Besides, they’re just jealous.”

On social media, Lance joined in on the fun, posting a photo of himself on his knees during the game with the caption: “Scored on the ice… and apparently off it too?” Fans went wild in the comments, flooding the post with jokes, theories, and declarations of love — a couple hundred admitting that they were the Canadian's secret lover.

Despite the playful banter, his focus on hockey remained unshaken. “At the end of the day, it’s all in good fun,” Lance told a reporter when asked about the attention. “I’m just here to play the game and enjoy the ride. If people want to talk, let them talk.”

The press room buzzed with laughter and murmurs, but one reporter couldn’t resist pushing further. “I have to ask,” he began, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

Lance raised an eyebrow, his grin widening into something almost mischievous. “Girl?” he echoed, his tone light, but the single word hung in the air like a firecracker. He let it linger just long enough for the reporters to scramble for meaning before giving them a casual wave. “Thanks for your time, guys,” he added, turning on his heel and walking away, his grin firmly in place.

The room erupted the second he disappeared behind the curtains, reporters trading theories and laughing at the way Lance had expertly sidestepped the question while adding even more fuel to the speculation.

By the next morning, Lance had broken the internet again. On his Instagram story, he’d posted a picture that left no room for doubt about who had left those marks on his neck.

The photo was simple but telling: Luca, shirtless, sitting on the edge of a bed with his back to the camera, the morning sun casting a golden glow over his broad shoulders, tousled hair, and suspiciously scratched.

"🧛‍♂️ @lucamarini10"

Fans lost their minds. Replies poured in by the thousands, ranging from utter shock to full-on celebration:

“NO WAY. LANCE. THIS IS ICONIC.”

“THE DRAMA. THE SUBTLETY. THE AUDACITY. I LOVE IT.”

“Are we finally living in the golden age of hot athlete couples?!”

“Wait… does this mean #HickeyGate was real?!”

“Luca Marini, you lucky vampire... 🧛‍♂️”

Luca, never one to shy away from stirring the pot, responded with a picture of a shirtless Lance, still shirtless in bed, looking up at him with hearts in his eyes within minutes.

“🧛‍♂️💞🧛‍♂️”

From there, it was chaos. The hashtag #Strollini trended for hours, fans obsessing over the unexpected crossover of hockey and motorsports. Even their fellow athletes couldn’t help but join in the fun, with Lance’s teammates and Luca’s fellow riders leaving cheeky comments and teasing replies.

Lance, for his part, didn’t seem fazed by the attention. In a follow-up story later that day, he posted a selfie from practice, sweaty and grinning as usual — though, this time you could see Luca not far away, evidently deciding this was his time to go full on wag.

“Back to work. 🏒🧛‍♂️”

The internet was officially obsessed, and Lance and Luca were the center of it all, their playful reveal cementing them as one of the most talked-about — and beloved — couples in their respected sports.

[art-tnt]

It's may be an odd question but do you think you could maybe post a couple tips of anatomy and/or proportion that helped you sometime? I notice I have a hard time learning from videos or guides, but sometimes when I learn on my own or hear someone else's personal experience it just clicks and it's nice.

I know this may sound strange, but for me it was a class I took with Matt Faulkner, who had a very refreshing approach to mark making and drawing from life. We did have a live model, and drawing people from life teaches you two important things that books cannot: textbook anatomy is idealized, not everybody will look like that and foreshortening and perspective are things that are easier to see in person (at least, for me they were).

As you draw things like that over and over, you will build a mental library that will help you draw those tougher perspectives from imagination. I still use a reference, because the human body can bend and distort in a lot of ways and I am nowhere near having all of that memorized, and WE DON’T HAVE TO! If it gets committed to memory, great! But artists should never feel shame from using a reference because that is how we learn and that is how we improve. Even professionals use a reference.

The mark making that Matt taught us was a little different than some of the other classes I had been through in the past. I typically would draw a human with basic shapes and a “wire-frame” skeleton for my foundational rough sketch, but Matt would have us start drawing our figures with different lines. Contour lines, is just drawing the outside of what you’re observing, while periodically flashing your eyes at the paper. Blind contour would have us looking only at our subject and drawing what we were seeing without ever picking up the pencil (some of these actually turn out pretty cool).

Volumetric drawing was the one that I had never come across before. Matt uses a lot of crosshatching and volume lines in his work. See the below example:

The way this applies to anatomy is that his way of volumetric drawing is helpful in finding the space that your figure takes up. Sometimes Matt would have us draw our figure with ONLY volumetric lines. It would look like a tornado person, but this practice wasn’t to make something visually appealing, it was to help us train our brain and our eyes to see the volume. In that volumetric study we would be wrapping lines in a width and curvature that followed the subject. Here is a visual example of a volumetric drawing by Monika Zagrobelna that shows what I mean:

The volumetric drawing helps to grasp how much space something takes up, whereas the wire-frame doesn’t really convey that kind of information. A lot of people reference the Andrew Loomis books and Figure Drawing For All It’s Worth [ISBN: 978-0857680983] is a good resource to learn from. But Loomis does idealize the standard figures in his works and books. I am not saying don’t draw like him! There is nothing wrong with his style! Just don’t fall into the assumption that every body type will align exactly with the proportions and measurements that he covers. For example, he usually has a standard height that male and female figures are drawn at and certain points where knees are expected to reach and other body part milestones:

It is a guideline, and it is useful, but I found that the best exercise that you can do is to do a study on separate pages. No one taught me this, I just did it out of curiosity to see how it would go. Set one aside for male and one for female. First, draw your standard Loomis figure, then get five other male/female reference photos (or drawn from life if you can) of people with different body types. Try drawing them from observation and see how much of the Loomis concept applies to them. You’ll find that you can bend a lot of the Loomis ideas to fit, but you have to throw out some things entirely in order to accurately portray your subject (like the number of heads tall something has to be, or posture, for example).

Hopefully, despite that being a little long-winded of me, you found this experience helpful? Everyone learns differently, so I feel your struggle. I am a big visual learner and need to see what is happening with something to understand it. I also learn best by struggling. So what were the “aha” moments for me, may not necessarily work for another, but it is here if you can find any value or use in it.