#I’ve hidden some angst

[biscuitfacegrey]

I’ve had this page in the catacombs for months

Have some Glenn

[lubdubology]

Take My Love and Wear It

SYNOPSIS: Taking care of Charles has its own special challenges, but you didn’t expect the hardest one to be the man who hired you. Distant, gruff and rough around the edges, Logan still manages to worm his way under your skin. But you’ve worked your way under his, too. 

PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader

WC: 10.8k 

WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, blood and use of stitches; extreme physical pain; Charles is a lovable, meddling little shit; fluff sprinkled in for good measure; Logan in a tub (if I had a nickel for every time I bathed him, I’d have two nickels—which isn’t a lot, but its weird it happened twice, right); touch-starved Logan; handjobs; shower sex; fingering; dirty talk; oral (f receiving); sex with feelings; unprotected p in v; creampie

A/N: There’s something special about Old Man Logan, isn’t there? Old and grumpy and desperately in need of some love and affection. I know the Charles caregiver story has been done before, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. And then Charles starting talking in my head and well...it blossomed into this. As always, thank you to @joelsgoldrush for allowing me to send her snippets of this as I went along and offering her love, support and suggestions. I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

You stare down at the remnants of yesterday’s cold and congealed dinner and sigh. Scraping the food into the trash, you resist the urge to pack everything you have and leave. 

One month. 

One month of helping Charles—making his meals, washing his clothes, giving him his meds, making sure he doesn’t hurt himself (or others), assisting with daily tasks—and Logan still regards you as a nuisance, like a gnat needing to be swatted away. 

At best, he ignores you, moving around the house as if you don’t exist. 

And at worst, he treats you with barely concealed contempt, his scowl deepening the lines of his face whenever he’s around you. As if you’re invading his space uninvited even though he’s the one that sought out help. 

You grip the edge of the sink, staring down into the porcelain basin as if it holds some hidden answers. Every day you’ve tried to break through walls Logan’s built around himself, held onto Charles’ promise that eventually he’ll soften, just give him time, but he only seems to have grown more hostile. And you’ve done nothing to incur his ire besides watching him come home every day battered and bruised, his very bones weary with exhaustion, and offering your assistance.

Part of you is angry—angry that you care so much when your main focus is supposed to be Charles. Angry that despite all his efforts to come across unapproachable and cold, Logan’s worked himself under your skin and takes a little piece of you with him whenever he leaves. 

Angry that somehow he’s stolen a piece of your heart. 

You hear shuffling behind you and turn to find Logan entering the kitchen, fingers fastening the last buttons on his dress shirt. “What?” he asks gruffly and for a moment you wonder if he can read your thoughts.

You straighten and meet his gaze head on, swallowing down your nervousness. “How much longer are we going to keep doing this, Logan?”

“Doing what?”

“This,” you say, gesturing between you. “You walking around here like I’m some stain upon your life, acting like I’m a problem when all I’ve ever done is try and help.” Your voice is steadier than you feel. “You asked for me to be here, Logan. It’s not like I barged in here without permission.”

Logan holds your gaze, his jaw tight, and for a moment you think he’s going to grab his keys and leave, head off into the night and drive until sunrise. His eyes soften for just a moment, something like regret crossing his features. 

“I know why you’re here. And I do…appreciate it,” he says, his words coming out low and rough. As if the words taste foreign in his mouth. 

“Wouldn’t kill you to show it,” you challenge.

You’re waiting for him to lash out and instead he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m not good at this.”

“I’m not asking you to bow at my feet,” you say, hoping to ease some of the tension in the air. “Although, I wouldn’t be mad about it.” You think you see the briefest hint of a smile flicker across his face. “I just want us to be able to live in the same space. I’m here to help, Logan. Let me.”

“You have no idea how hard this life is.”

A rueful smile tugs at your lips. “I understand more than you think I do.”

Logan’s gaze sharpens, inquisitive as he searches your face, as if he’s trying to decipher the meaning behind your words. He rubs a hand across his face, scratching lightly as his beard. “I’ve gotta couple jobs tonight. Maybe more,” he finally says, changing the conversation. “Should be back before sunrise.”

You nod, his switch in topic not lost on you, but you don’t push him. “Alright,” you say softly. “Just—just take it easy, okay?”

He glances down at you, relief softening his gaze and you know a part of him is grateful you didn’t push further. 

Grabbing his keys, Logan heads towards the door but pauses just before he’s about to leave. He turns to look back over his shoulder. “Thanks,” he murmurs, the word awkward on his lips. 

You give him a small nod of encouragement as he slips out the door. He may not be ready to full open up, but you feel as if he extended a tiny olive branch tonight, cracked open the door just enough to let you peek in.

+++

Over the following weeks, Logan’s a little less avoidant. He doesn’t go out of his way to make conversation—you didn’t expect him to—but he at least as acknowledges your presence. Small nods and murmured goodbyes when he leaves and sleepy hellos when he returns. It’s not much, but you’ll take it. 

You’re cleaning the last of the dishes from dinner, Charles safely settled in front of the TV watching an old movie when Logan comes home. He’s earlier than you anticipated, but exhaustion lines his face nonetheless. You expect him to slip away quietly, but he pauses instead, lingering in the doorway. 

“Smells good,” he says softly, nodding towards the pan of half eaten lasagna still sitting on the counter. 

Surprised, you turn around to face him. You brush the hair from your face and say, “Sit. I’ll make you up some.” 

Logan hesitates and for a moment you think he’s about to decline, but then he nods, his shoulders dropping slightly as he sits down at the table. You fix him up a plate, setting it down in front of him with a bottle of beer as you slide into the chair across from him.  

He tucks quietly into the food, his fork scraping against his plate as he eats, pausing only to wash it down with a few swigs of beer. You watch him, a strange satisfaction tugging at you at the sight of him actually sitting down, enjoying a meal with you, even if it is in silence. 

“Long day?” you ask quietly, gesturing towards his bruised knuckles.

He flexes the fingers on his free hand before tucking them under the table. “Nothin’ I can’t handle,” he mutters, taking another bite of lasagna. “They’ll be gone in a day or two.”

You know not that long ago an injury like that wouldn’t have even marred his skin. Now, the simplest of wounds can take days to heal and it’s not the appearance of his skin that bothers you, but the newfound ache he experiences, the heaviness of constant pain.

You want to help him, ease his discomfort, like you know you could. But you know he’s not ready for that. Not yet.

“You’re good with Charles,” Logan says then, his gaze steady on his plate. “He seems calmer around you.”

Logan’s admission is so unexpected, you find yourself staring at him in disbelief. At your silence, his eyes flicker up to yours and you see more than simple acknowledgement in his expression. It’s subtle, but it’s there, a current of something more, something you’re not quite sure how to address.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice softer than you intended. “Charles—he means a lot to me.” You pause briefly, but something compels you to continue. “You both do.”

His gaze is focused on you and you don’t miss the flicker of surprise that breaks through his usual stoic expression. Clearing his throat, he looks down, pushing around the last bit of lasagna on his plate and then after a moment, he sets his fork down and leans back in his chair. “You mean a lot to him, too,” Logan finally says and you wonder if he’s talking about more than just Charles.

From the living room you hear Charles call for you, his voice soft but insistent. The moment between you still crackles as you stand from the table and as you begin to walk away, Logan reaches for your hand. His fingers are warm and rough against your skin and you’re barely able to suppress your shiver. 

“Thank you,” Logan says, his voice surprisingly soft. 

His grip against your skin is gentle, a stark contrast to all his roughness and you can feel the weight of his unspoken words curling around you. Charles calls again, his voice breaking through the moment, but Logan’s hand lingers just a beat longer before he lets go, fingers trailing along your skin. 

+++

“He likes you, you know.”

You glance up from shaving Charles’ face and find him staring at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. You give a soft hum. “Did he tell you that or did you read his mind?”

Charles scoffs and waves his hand dismissively. “What’s the difference, dear?” 

You chuckle, shaking your head as you rinse the razor. “With Logan I’m pretty sure there’s a big difference.”

“Bah, if Logan wanted to keep me out of his head, he would. Stubborn man.” He tsks softly to himself and shakes his head. “But, no my dear, he can be quite loud if you know how to listen.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Loud, huh? And what exactly is that brain of his telling you?”

Charles gives you a knowing smile. “Oh, just little things,” he says casually with a wave of his hand, but you can tell by the look on his face that he’s holding back. “He notices you—what you do for me, this place, for him. He may not realize it himself, but his thoughts linger on you more often than he’d like.”

A flicker of hope sparks in your chest and despite yourself, you feel a blush creeping into your cheeks. “Logan doesn’t strike me as the sentimental type.”

“Logan has spent so much of his life running,” Charles continues, his tone and expression growing more thoughtful. “The loss he’s experienced has led him to believe it’s better to be alone than form meaningful connections with people. But you’ve somehow become something of a home for him. And he doesn’t quite know what to make of that.”

Your heart skips a beat as you take in his words. The idea of being a home for Logan, a comfort, feels surreal, and yet...there’s a part of you that dares to hope what Charles is saying is true. That this isn’t some fictional truth his brain has concocted, a product of his disease riddled mind. 

“Home.” You repeat the word softly to yourself, testing the word on your own tongue as if it might shatter into pieces.

Charles nods, his hand reaching for yours, his gaze warm and knowing. “Yes, home. He feels it, deep down, in a way that’s unfamiliar and frightening for him.”

You glance down at your hand in Charles’ grasp, his touch grounding you as his words settle over you. 

“Logan’s spent so long hiding from himself,” Charles continues. “I think he’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve that kind of peace.”

“And you think I can give him that peace?” you ask quietly, your eyes flicking back up to Charles’ face.

He smiles knowingly and gives your hand a squeeze. “You already have, dear.”

+++

“Want some help?”

You turn to find Logan standing in the entrance of the kitchen, hands tucked into his pockets.

It’s a rare night—one where Logan’s chosen to stay home, taking a night off from the almost endless driving he does. He’s dressed down, well worn jeans and a button-up flannel, and for once you actually think he looks comfortable.

You smile, surprised, but happy to see him there. “Sure, the company would be nice,” you reply as he comes to stand next to you. “Want to wash and dice the potatoes?”

Logan nods and rolls up his sleeves before reaching for the bowl of potatoes you had set aside earlier. You watch him for a moment as he settles into the task with a quiet focus. 

“Smells good,” he comments, gesturing towards the oven. “What’re we having?”

“Charles has been asking for beef tenderloin for weeks now, so I’m finally indulging him.” You finish trimming the last of the green beans and toss them into the bowl beside you. “You know, if you have any favorite meals you’d like me to make, you can tell me.”

Logan pauses and glances at you as he shuts off the tap. He clears his throat and says, “You already are.”

You blink in surprise as Logan’s words sink in and then the realization dawns on you. A soft smile spreads across your face as you piece together the extent of Charles’ meddling. You can’t find it in you to be annoyed and only feel a mix of amusement and fondness towards the old man as you chuckle softly to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asks, raising his eyebrow as he catches your expression.

“Oh, nothing,” you say, waving him off with a smile. 

Logan doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t pry as he picks up the knife and begins to deftly dice the potatoes. You watch him for a moment, captivated by the simple domesticity of the task. It’s in direct contrast to the man you’ve seen numerous times before, brooding and gruff, brimming with an almost untamed violence. 

It suits him, you think, this quieter version of himself.

You both finish the prep with relative ease. He helps you set the table as the rest of the food cooks, plates clinking softly as he sets them down. You busy yourself with finishing the green beans in a garlic butter as you wait for for the tenderloin to rest enough to carve into. 

“Ah, my dear, this smells wonderful,” Charles announces as he rolls into the kitchen, a warm smile on his face. “And you managed to pull Logan out of his room. What a treat.”

Logan snorts in response, giving Charles a pointed glare.

“I dare say it’s because the company has improved much as of late,” Charles says, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he glances between the both of you. “We all know he’s not out here for my benefit.”

You laugh as you bring the dishes to the table, noting the faintest of blushes creeping along Logan’s cheeks. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Charles.”

“As you should, dear. Your personality is quite sparkling.” He looks over towards Logan. “Isn’t it, Logan?”

Logan’s eyes land on you as he answers, “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Dinner begins quietly, the three of you settling into easy conversation as the first few bites are consumed. Both Charles and Logan hum in delight and a warmth blooms within you watching them both. This—this is the simplicity you’ve been craving with Logan.

As the meal continues, Charles launches into his usual repertoire of stories, those of the school and his students, his words brimming with nostalgia and pride as he talks. Logan sits back in his chair, arms crossed as he listens to him speak, shaking his head fondly at some of the memories.

“You know,” Charles begins, setting his fork down with an air of mischief, “I don’t think I ever told you how I met Logan, have I?”

Logan’s head snaps up. “Don’t, Chuck.”

But Charles is already smiling at you, ignoring Logan’s warning. “It’s a good story, dear. See, Logan had quite the career as an underground cage fighter.”

You lift your brows in surprise and you glance over at Logan, who’s thoroughly unamused by Charles’ choice of topic. “Cage fighting, huh?” you ask, unable to suppress your curiosity. 

Logan shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stabbing at his potatoes with a little more force than necessary. “It wasn’t a career,” he mutters. “Just a distraction. Way to get by.”

“Mmm, yes, perhaps,” Charles chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Regardless of the reason, it lead you to this exact moment. Didn’t it, Logan?”

Logan narrows his eyes at Charles, though the glare is only half-hearted. “You make it sound like all it all had some grand purpose.”

“Did it not?” Charles says gently, his tone shifting into something more serious. “Kept you alive, for one. But more than that, it brought you to us. To me.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes darting towards you. “To her.”

The words hang in the air and you glance over at Logan, whose expression softens just slightly. Without thinking, you reach across the table and give his forearm a gentle squeeze. His eyes meet yours, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips.

Charles watches the exchange with quiet satisfaction before clearing his throat. “Well, I believe my work here is done,” he announces, wheeling himself back from he table. “Logan, fancy a game of chess? I haven’t made a player out of her yet.”

You laugh to yourself as Logan follows Charles into the living room. After clearing the kitchen from dinner and loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, you join them both in the living room. Tucking yourself into the couch, you read while the two of them play, the clinking of wooden chess pieces and the occasional dry quip from Charles filling the room.

From your spot on the couch, you glance up from your book every now and then to watch them. Logan’s brow furrows in concentration, while Charles’ face is more relaxed as they play. You smile to yourself, wondering how often they played like this in the past, when times were simpler.

You’re not sure when you fell asleep or how long you’ve been out, but you’re jostled awake as two large, warm arms wrap around you, holding you close as you’re lifted off the couch. Logan’s familiar scent—cigar smoke and pine—fill your nose and you blink up to find him walking you down the hall towards your room.

“Logan?” you mumble, voice thick with sleep. “D’you really cage fight?”

Logan chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I really did.”

“Did it hurt?”

“No.”

You blink slowly, your sleep-laden mind struggling to process his answer. “Not even a little?” Your voice is barely audible as you nestle closer into the warmth of his chest.

“Not in the way you think,” he answers, nudging open the door to your room with his foot.

You’re too drowsy to ask what he means and instead you hum softly, a noncommittal sound that Logan feels more than hears. Lowering you onto the bed, he moves with a gentleness you’ve never felt from him before. He brushes a strand of hair from your face and pulls the blanket over you before he turns to leave.

Your limbs are heavy, eyes barely open, but you call out softly—“Logan?”

He looks back towards you. “Yeah?”

“I’m glad Charles found you,” you murmur, closing your eyes.

Logan doesn’t answer, but you swear you feel the lightest of kisses against the top of your head before he leaves.

+++

It’s deep into the night when you hear the front door finally open. Your heart flutters against your ribs as you swing out of bed, unsure of what condition you’ll find him in. He was expected back two days ago, those extra hours away feeling like an unfathomable eternity. 

You find him sitting at the kitchen table, dress shirt hanging off one shoulder, the rest of his clothes rumpled and bloodied. A large gash oozes from his shoulder and you can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips. 

Logan looks up at you, eyes narrowed and lined with exhaustion. “Don’t look at me like that,” he grunts, tugging off the rest of his shirt. 

“How else am I supposed to look at you?” you ask, taking a tentative step forward. “No phone call or text letting me know you’re not coming home and then you waltz in after midnight soaked in blood and covered in wounds.” Unshed tears burn in your eyes but you will yourself not to cry. 

“Didn’t ask you to care about me,” he bites back, but his tone is more weary than argumentative. 

“Oh, fuck you, Logan,” you snip, but your tone lacks venom.

He ignores you, pushing up from the chair with a heavy groan and limps over towards the cabinets. He shuffles through one of them, pulling out the makeshift sewing kit before sitting back down. You watch as he attempts to thread the needle, growing increasingly frustrated when he keeps missing. 

Shoving down your own frustration, you pull up a chair next to him and reach for the needle and thread. He pulls his hands away from you, turning in the chair to keep you away. You chase after his movements, finally grabbing his wrists and removing the supplies from his grasp.

“I don’t need your help,” he growls. 

You sigh, tired of this same argument, this same endless loop every time he comes home injured. “Goddamit, Logan, just let me help you.”

He drags his gaze up to yours, eyes tracing the lines of your face. His chest still heaves with heavy breaths, but you can see the anger bleed from him. He nods once, turning just enough so that you have access to his wound. Threading the needle, you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, ignoring the flinch he gives at your touch. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you whisper. 

Logan huffs. “It’s a needle, darlin’. It’s not gonna feel nice.”

You try to ignore the flip your heart does at his use of the word darling. Despite his earlier gruffness and proclivity to push you away, Logan has softened to you over the last couple of months. Since that first dinner you shared, he’s joined you and Charles more often. Or if he comes home late, sought out the leftovers you’ve kept for him. He’s engaged in conversation, offering small pieces of himself, pieces that you’ve cradled close and nurtured. 

But there’s a tension between you, thick and heavy in the air, and you wonder if he feels it too. Feels that same undeniable pull you’ve always felt in his presence. You’d like to think so, otherwise you were doomed to love him silently, your feelings for him bound in the quiet of your mind.

“Just trust me,” you say. 

Slowly, you release your power, warmth spreading from your fingertips, easing his pain and discomfort as you begin to stitch him up. You try to ignore the heavy press of his gaze on your face and you can almost hear his unspoken thoughts, his words still stuck on his tongue.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his shoulder relaxing as you continue to work.

You glance up at him then, finding his expression softer than you’ve seen it. “A mutant is a dangerous thing to be, Logan,” you answer, your voice soft. “Few people know what I can do. Those I trust.”

For a long moment, Logan just looks at you, his eyes unreadable. Then, a rough, tired sigh falls from his lips. “You coulda told me.”

You take a steadying breath, his words lingering in the space between you. “Maybe,” you say, your fingers brushing against his skin as you continue to stitch. “But you don’t make it easy to talk to you.”

Logan lets out a low huff. “No. I guess I don’t, do I?”

You finish the last stitch, securing the knot. Your fingers linger a touch long than necessary, the warmth of his skin a comfort you’re loathe to lose just yet. Slowly, you lift your gaze to his and you feel your heart beat solidly against your ribs as he looks back at you like he’s seeing something there he hadn’t allowed himself to before. 

Logan’s voice is low when he finally speaks. “Why you keep stickin’ around? Watchin’ me come home time after time covered in blood?”

“Because you deserve it.” The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. “Even if you don’t see that.”

He doesn’t respond, not right away, as he continues to watch you, his eyes tracing the lines of your face. Then he reaches up for you, fingers curling around your wrist, his skin warm and rough against yours. He holds you there as if grounding himself in your presence, his thumb drawing random patterns against your skin. The gesture is simple, but vulnerable and open in a way he rarely shows.

“I’m no good for you,” he murmurs, glancing down at where he’s touching you. “For anybody.”

“How ‘bout you let me be the judge of that?” you answer, your voice steady. “You’re more than you think you are.”

Logan clenches his jaw, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features, and you know deep below the surface he’s waging a war against himself, one he’s been fighting for far too long. His thumb stills on your wrist, his grip loosening slightly, but not letting go. 

Placing your hand over his, you give him a soft smile. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

+++

You’re surprised that he doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to brush you off or push you away as you gently nudge him towards the bathroom. He still gives you a dubious glance as he looks down at the tub, but you just ignore it, moving past him to run the tap.

You give him privacy to undress and get settled before you reenter the bathroom. The sight of him, as large as he his with his knees pulled up to his chest, makes you laugh, garnishing a terse look from him.

“You find this amusing?”

“Big man in a little tub? Yeah, I do,” you reply with a smile. “Just relax, Logan. This’ll be our secret.”

He huffs, but does seem to visibly relax, resting his arms over his knees. You kneel down in front of him, resting one hand gently against his forearm as your other reaches for the washcloth. You can feel the tension release from his muscles as your power floods through him and he breathes out a soft, “Oh,” as all the pain and discomfort is eased from his body.

You wonder how long it’s truly been since he’s felt like this, unburdened by the pain and suffering of his own body. Your heart aches for him as you slowly begin to wash him, rubbing soft circles over the scarred flesh of his back, rinsing away the blood dried to his skin. 

Even battered and marred as he is, you still find him beautiful—you always have. When you first started working with him all those months ago, you felt that pang of attraction when you met him, you’d have been blind not to. Ruggedly handsome, so strong and sure of himself. But you know that wasn’t all that drew you to him. Deep down, below all the tough, seemingly impenetrable exterior, you saw the man he truly was. Someone born of scars and rough edges, yet gentle. Someone who would selflessly put himself before others, even at his own expense. 

You let the cloth linger a moment longer against his skin before dipping it back into the water, watching as his blood rinses from the fabric. Squeezing the excess water out, you press it back against his collarbone, tracing the warm cloth along his neck and over his shoulders. Logan doesn’t move, his eyes half-closed, his expression relaxed in a way you’ve never seen before.

Something deep tugs at you as you realize how vulnerable he is right now, how trusting. He hides behind a gruff exterior, his true self guarded so carefully so that he doesn’t let people in, doesn’t open himself up to the hurt that trusting another person can bring. But maybe you’ve finally cracked through, broken down a little bit of that wall he surrounds himself with.

The warm water drips from his skin as you continue to wash him, letting your fingers trail gently along the newly cleaned lines of his arms. Logan shivers at your touch, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he seems to lean into it, his breathing deepening, muscles falling even more slack. 

“Feel nice?” you ask in a murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, finally glancing up at you through his half-lidded gaze. “’S very nice,” he replies, his voice rough.

“Good. You deserve it,” you say, repeating your sentiment from earlier.

You feel a flicker of warmth as his eyes meet yours and he simply nods. It takes everything in you to not smile too widely, to keep the moment gentle, but you take his acceptance to heart. 

Running the cloth down his ribs, you pause when you feel the misshapen knot of a bruise beneath your fingers and glancing down, you find a deep purple hue coloring his skin. Your eyes dart to his with worry, knowing that an injury like that will take him at least a week to heal, if not longer, in his weakened state. That with every breath he’ll feel the pain of his muscles pulling and the bruise spreading if you’re not touching him.

Dropping the washcloth in the water, you press your palm against his side and take in a deep breath to steady yourself. Then, a warmth spreads from your skin into his as you pull his injury from him, feeling his skin knit back together, feeling his abused muscles realign themselves under his skin. A dull, yet sharp ache, blooms along your ribs as you continue to pull his pain into yourself, erasing the injury from his body. With a final gasp, you draw back, your fingers now running along unmarred flesh knitted whole. 

Logan tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze as the back of his knuckles brush against your cheek. His eyes flicker to yours, holding your gaze, and for a moment, the room falls into a deep quiet.

That pull between you, the magnetic force that you’ve felt since the beginning, feels amplified now. You’re acutely aware of every inch of space between you—how small it is, how easy it would be to close it. How badly you want to close it. You swallow, feeling the tension coil in your belly as he continues to hold your gaze, unblinking, but more open and raw than he’s ever been before.

“What are you doing to me?” he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat at his question, voice rough and laced with something between wonder and disbelief. As if he can’t quite fathom what you’ve done for him—what you’ve given him so freely.

Logan’s eyes search yours, his fingers drifting from your cheek to trace along your jaw, lingering with a tenderness that belies the man he presents to the outside world. His gaze is steady and intimate, as if he’s trying to understand you in a way that goes beyond words. But you say nothing, your heart pounding too loudly in your ears to form a reply.

“You took it on yourself, my pain?”

You simply nod, distracted by the way Logan’s fingers continue to brush along the edge of your ear, tracing the lines of your face as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. 

“Why?”

“Because I want to,” you whisper, unable to resist the pull of his hand against your skin, the warmth of his touch that you feel with every fiber of your being. “Because it’s the one thing I can do to help you.”

A beat of silence passes, the air thick and heavy with unspoken words. He exhales, shaky and deep, letting his hand slide to the back of your neck. The calloused pads of his fingers press gently against your skin, anchoring you in place and you can feel him pull you closer, his gaze dropping to your lips, his breath mingling with yours in the small, intimate space between you.

“I shouldn’t want this, want you,” he says, voice so low it’s almost a rumble. “But, fuck, I do.” 

His confession is raw, leaving him unguarded for the first time in a long time and before he can pull back, before he can throw those walls back up around himself, you close the gap, resting your forehead against his. You bring your hand up to touch his face, thumb brushing over his cheek as you breath him in, feeling the heat radiate between you. 

Logan’s hand slides further along your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he finally, gently, presses his lips to yours. His kiss isn’t demanding or rushed or filled with passion, but a lingering connection, the promise of something more. His lips are softer than you imagined, his touch more careful than you expected, as if he’s afraid he’ll break you. Slowly, his thumb traces circles against your cheek, steadying and soothing, pulling you closer. 

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed. His breath is warm against your skin. “I don’t wanna push you away anymore,” he murmurs.

“Good because I don’t want you to.”

Logan lets out a breath, a hint of a smile finally softening his features. 

Reluctantly, you pull away and pick the washcloth up again, intent on finishing what you started. The water turns to rust as you wash him of blood and grime, making sure you reach each cut, each bruise, each scar on his body that makes up the map of who he is. 

You turn off the tap and hand him a towel, averting your eyes as he stands, wrapping the towel low across his hips. Logan reaches for you, tugging on the collar of your shirt to pull you closer. You stumble a bit as he pulls you in, surprised by the insistence in his grip. Logan’s eyes meet yours, an intensity behind his gaze that makes your breath catch.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, hand slipping along your jaw, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. 

You’re drawn forward as Logan’s lips find yours again, but this time there’s an urgency behind the kiss, a desperation and need he’s no longer trying to hide. He holds your face gently in his hands as he deepens the kiss, his nose pressing against yours, his beard scraping against your skin and you find yourself melting against him.

This is what you’ve been craving since you met him. Despite it all—the rage simmering just below his surface, the sharpness of his exterior, the sometimes shocking callousness of his words—you always knew there was a tenderness underneath, a softness that even his tortured past couldn’t erase. 

Logan’s hands drift from your face, trailing down your neck and tracing along the curve of your spine as he presses you closer until there’s no space between you. The dampness of his skin bleeds into your shirt and you gasp into his mouth when he shifts his hips just enough and you feel heat of his erection against your thigh.

He pulls away from your mouth long enough to husk against your lips, “I’m old, not dead.” His teeth nip lightly at your bottom lip. “I’ve gotta beautiful woman lettin’ me kiss her, what did you expect?”

Your fingers trail along the edge of the towel slung low across this hips and a thrill runs through you as you feel his abdominal muscles flutter beneath your touch. You peer up at him, noting the flush of his skin, the black of his eyes as you tug the fabric just enough to loosen it. “How long has it been since someone has touched you, Logan?” you ask, your breath warm in the space between you.

Logan’s hands urge your hips closer, seeking friction as he starts to slowly rut against your thigh. You hear him swallow as your fingers dip below the fabric, brushing along the damp hair at the base of his cock. 

“F—fuck,” he groans, guttural and low, his head dropping down to your shoulder. “Since before you.”

The weight of Logan’s confession presses into you and in that moment you want to give him everything. Wrap him in all the love you can muster, show him something other than pain and suffering. 

You move your hand from the towel, allowing the fabric to fall from his waist and pool forgotten on the floor. Logan’s breath catches as your fingers wrap around him fully, the heat and weight of his cock pressing against your palm. 

A ragged groan escapes his throat. “Christ,” he mutters, voice thick and vibrating against your skin. “You don’t gotta—”

“I want to,” you interrupt, slowly and deliberately dragging your hand along his length, tracing the vein along the underside of his cock with your fingertips.

Logan’s hips jerk involuntarily, seeking friction, chasing your hand, and you oblige, tightening your grip just enough to elicit another groan from him. 

“What do you like?” The question lands in the sliver of space between you, your strokes still light, teasing.

“Firmer, more ah—” He breaks off as you tighten your grip on the upstroke. “Fuck, yes, like that, sweetheart.”

A shiver runs down your spine as his hands find your waist, fingers clutching at you almost hard enough to bruise. His breaths are growing uneven, each exhale warm against your neck as he fights to maintain some semblance of control.

“You keep that up,” he rasps, lips grazing your ear, “and I’m not gonna last long.”

His admission sends a rush of pride through you and you tilt your head back to look at him, your thumb brushing over the sensitive head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. Logan’s eyes meet yours, dark and heavy-lidded, his expression raw and unguarded. You like him like this, such a large, imposing man boiled down to pure wanton need. 

“I don’t mind,” you reply, keeping your movements steady, your strokes firm yet gentle. You focus on the subtle shifts in his breathing, the way his fingers grip you tighter each time you find the right rhythm. “Just wanna make you feel good, Logan.”

He leans forward, capturing your lips into a kiss that’s both rough and messy, teeth nipping at your lip as his tongue licks into your mouth. He groans are muffled against your mouth as his hips begin to thrust in time with your strokes, his movements growing more erratic as he chases after his release. 

“Can’t believe—ah, fuck—can’t believe how good you’re makin’ me feel,” he growls against your lips.

You smile into his mouth, your free hand brushing along his hipbone as your strokes quicken. His whole body tenses, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing, his abdominal muscles taut as he teeters on the edge.

“Let go, Logan,” you say. “I’ve got you.”

With a strangled groan, he comes, his release spilling over your hand, hot and thick. His body shudders against yours as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him close as he continues to thrust lazily into your grip, your own movements slowing as you guide him through the aftershocks. 

For a moment, neither of you speaks, then Logan lifts his head, his hazel eyes soft as they meet yours. “You walked into my life and I knew—I knew—you would ruin me.”

You smile to yourself, unable to stop the thought that floats into your head—he’s ruined you as well. 

+++

The text comes in at a little over one AM—hurt.

You jump out of bed, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you slip into one of his discarded flannels and head out into the night. Pacing the driveway, your heart jumps into your throat at every passing headlight, your thumbnail almost bitten down to the quick as you wait for him.

The minutes bleed into eternity until you finally see the limo turn down the long drive and it takes all your willpower to not run and meet him halfway. You’re bouncing on your heels as he finally comes to a stop, the driver’s side door opening with a faint groan of steel. 

Your heart stutters in your chest as he emerges from the car, blood soaking through his shirt, dark and spreading, as he steps towards you on shaky legs. Logan’s face is pale in the moonlight, his breathing uneven and shallow and white-hot dread shoots up your spine as you see his arm hanging limp, two of his claws unsheathed and dripping blood.

“Oh, fuck, fuck!” you gasp, rushing to his side.

Logan tries to wave you off, gritting his teeth as he grips the doorframe. “”M fine,” he grits, but the tremor in his voice betrays him. 

You reach for him, hands already attempting to steady him as his knees buckle and he collapses to the ground beneath him. “Careful. Claws,” he rasps as his left hand seeks purchase against your shoulder.

“I don’t fucking care about your claws, Logan,” you snap, although you both know your anger isn’t at him. You glance up at him and for once you think you actually see fear in his eyes. “What happened?”

“Gas. Robbery.” Each word punches out of his chest, the effort to speak sending tremors down his limbs. “Got ‘em.” He nods down towards his limp arm, claws still unsheathed, but slowly, so slowly starting to retract.

He winces as you help him peel off his coat to get to the shirt underneath. Your fingers shake as they trace the holes the bullets made—one in his shoulder, dangerously close to his lungs and the other just below his ribs. Hooking your fingers through the fabric, you rip it from his chest—the wounds are deep and his skin is hot and slick with sweat.

Panic claws at you and unshed tears burn in your eyes. You’ve seen Logan hurt before, but this—this was different. His breathing is painfully shallow, his usual gruffness and resilience absent. 

“Logan, you’re not healing,” you whisper, your voice shaking as your fingers stain with blood. Logan simply grunts, trying to wave you off, but lacking the strength. “I can’t…I can’t lose you. I can help.”

Logan’s eyes widen as he grabs for your wrist. “No. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care!” you shout. “I love you, dammit, and I’m not just going to sit here and watch you die!”

Before he can protest, you press your palms over his wounds, the familiar warmth of your power surging through you as it spreads from your palms into his torn flesh.

The pain hits you like a freight train.

It’s sharp and relentless, searing through your shoulder and into the softness of your belly like molten fire. You gasp, biting back a scream as your body jerks instinctively away from the intensity, every cell in your body demanding you withdraw from the torture. 

But you don’t stop. You cling to him, tears streaming down your face as you channel your power into him, knitting his flesh back together. You can feel it, the way his muscles, bones and tissue rearrange themselves, months of healing taking place in mere moments. Every second feels like an eternity, but you refuse to let go.

You’re dimly aware of Logan yelling at you to stop, his own pain momentarily forgotten as he watches you endure his agony. 

Black dots dance in your vision as the last of his wounds come together, the spent bullets clinking to the gravel and you finally collapse against him, trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The fire in your body begins to dull, fading to a cold, hollow ache as Logan wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight against his chest.

“Hey,” you mumble against him, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re okay now.”

“Me?” Logan’s voice is low, disbelieving as his hand cradles the back of your head as if you might shatter. “You’re the one—why the fuck would you do that? You could’ve—dammit, you—”

His words break off, his forehead dropping to yours as his breath shudders against your cheek. You can feel the tension radiating through him, warring with himself between his gratitude and anger, between his guilt and the love he’s too afraid to speak out loud.

“I told you why,” you answer, lifting your head to look up at him. 

Logan’s jaw clenches, his words caught in his throat, but his eyes say everything is voice won’t. You don’t need him to say it, not yet, but you can feel it, pressing just below the surface.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

+++

There’s a reverence in which Logan washes you. 

Steam swirls around you as he works the thickly lathered loofah over your shoulders, down across your collarbones and down along the soft planes of your stomach. The water rinses away the faint metallic tang of blood, leaving behind the fresh scent of soap. He continues with a silent determination, as if the act of washing you can erase all the pain you’ve taken from him.

You know better than to convince him you’re fine, that the pain is always temporary, that it only lasts for a few minutes, sometimes just a bit longer. That the pain is something you’d endure for him again and again if he’d let you. 

His thumb brushes along the underside of your ribs, searching for a wound you know he won’t find. You reach for him, lacing your fingers together with his. He blinks up at you, hazel eyes holding far too much worry for such a stoic man.

“I’m not going to break, Logan,” you say softly.

A wordless noice escapes his throat as he removes himself from your grasp and continues to work, ditching the loofah in favor of his hands. His fingers are warm and calloused against your skin as they glide lower, down over the swell of your hips, over your thighs, down towards your knees. 

His touch morphs from one of care and comfort to one more sensual, simmering with unspoken tension as his fingers rest in the hollow behind your knee. You glance down at him, water droplets catching in his hair, running off the slope of his nose. 

Though you’ve seen him bare before, you can help but trace the lines of his body—the broadness of his shoulders, the well defined muscles of his chest, the sturdiness of his thighs, the scars that mar his skin. The sight of him stirs something deep within you and you feel your pulse thrum beneath your skin.

“Logan,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the sound of the water.

He looks up at you then, eyes locking with yours. A storm swirls within them, a mix of guilt, affection and an intensity that takes your breath away. Leaning in, he presses the barest of kisses to the inside of your knee before he rises to his full height, pressing you close.

“D’you mean what you said before?” he asks, voice low.

I love you, dammit!

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation.

Logan exhales sharply, the tension he’s been holding coiled in his muscles loosening as he loops his arms around your waist. “I’m not very good with words,” he admits, his breath fanning across your damp skin. “Can I show you?”

There’s no mistaking the meaning behind his words and you can only nod, your voice catching in your throat. 

His lips find yours, mouth moving over yours slow and deliberate as if he’s savoring the taste of you. The first touch is a spark, the second a fire, and by the third, it’s an inferno that engulfs you both and leaves you breathless. Logan kisses you like you’re his anchor, his salvation, his touch desperate and full of everything he can’t yet put into words.

Your fingers slide into his hair, gripping the strands at the nape of his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss. He groans against your mouth, the sound swallowed in the space between you. His tongue brushes against yours, teasing and exploring and you respond in kind, your nails scraping along his scalp.

Logan’s control is fraying. You can feel it in the way his teeth nip at your bottom lip, the way his hands press along the curve of your spine, the way he can’t seem to find enough of your skin to touch, to caress. A low growl rumbles through his chest as you slip a hand between your slick bodies, finding his cock, thick and heavy against your belly.

You give one slow drag of your palm along his length before he’s gripping your thighs and forcing your legs around his waist. His mouth leaves yours, trailing down to the curve of your jaw as he presses you against the wall, the coolness of the tile a direct contrast to the heat of your skin and you can’t stop the gasp that escapes your lips. 

Despite his age, the metal bones inside him slowly poisoning him and causing him human aches and pains, he’s still able to hold you up solidly with one arm as the other trails along your hip bone and dips down to where you’re warm and wet. 

“This all for me?” he asks in a murmur, sliding a finger along the seam of your cunt, just barely brushing against your clit. 

Your breath hitches and you grip his shoulders, nails pressing lightly into his skin as you nod. Logan’s eyes darken at your reaction, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” you finally manage to whisper. “Always for you.”

“Good,” he growls, leaning in to nip at the skin just below your ear. The deep rumble of his voice vibrates through you, his touch deliberate and almost torturously slow as he slides his fingers through your folds, spreading your slickness with a focused and unrelenting precision. 

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your head tilting back against the wall as he finally presses his thumb to your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to have your thighs trembling around his waist. 

“I got you,” he coos against your skin, his lips trailing from the pulse point in your neck to your collarbone. His teeth scrape along the curve of your shoulder, his free hand gripping your hip tighter to steady you as his fingers continue to tease and coax. “Lemme make you feel good.”

Every nerve ending is afire beneath him, every motion, every stroke of his fingers against your cunt leaving your mind reeling with pleasure. Your nails dig further into corded muscles of his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor yourself to. You pull back when you see the tiny, crescent shaped cuts marring his skin.

His eyes snap up to yours, sharp and molten. “No, do it,” he urges, fingers still moving. “Mark me with somethin’ pretty.”

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp. 

“Say my name again,” he demands, his voice rough and commanding. There’s a quiet desperation in his tone, as if hearing it grounds him. Grounds him to this moment. To you. 

You can’t help but obey, whispering his name like a prayer, and he rewards you by slipping one long finger inside you, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure along your spine. Logan watches your face intently as if memorizing the way you react to his touch. When he adds a second finger and slowly begins to thrust his hand, you cling further to him, the heat inside you building to an almost unbearable intensity.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and reverent. “You’re so beautiful like this. So wet and warm and tight around me.”

His words barely register in your mind, too focused on the way his fingers curl and thrust inside you, finding that soft spot that makes your eyes roll back. He’s relentless now, his thumb pressing hard against your clit as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

“Logan, I’m so close,” you whine, your hips beginning to roll against his hand, seeking just a bit more friction, forcing his fingers deeper inside of you.

The tension coiling low in your belly finally snaps, your orgasm washing over you in waves that make your whole body shudder as you cry out his name. Logan holds you through it, his hand continuing to thrust against you as he draws out every ounce of pleasure from you, his own breathing ragged against your skin.

When you finally come down, Logan presses a kiss to your temple as he helps you unwrap your legs from his waist and carefully sets you down, keeping you close. 

You tilt your head to meet his gaze, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I didn’t think you’d be into shower sex, old man,” you tease with a smile.

His laugh is low. “I can make exceptions. I need a bed to fuck you properly, though.” 

“Prove it,” you challenge.

+++

The heat and intensity between you doesn’t diminish as Logan helps you out of the shower and guides you down the hallway towards his bedroom. A shiver of anticipation crawls up your spine as you get closer, knowing that once you cross this line, there’s no going back, that he will have claimed you fully.

You scoot back onto the bed, watching as he approaches you with a fire in his gaze that doesn’t waver. He climbs onto the mattress, knee pressing down between yours as he cages you in from above, gently pinning you beneath him. 

Leaning down, his lips brush against yours, teasing. “Still wanna challenge me, sweetheart?” His voice is a low gravelly growl that sends a prickling rush of arousal down your limbs.

“Always,” you reply breathlessly, arching into his touch as his hands slide down your thighs, parting them with ease. 

His grin is sharp as he leans back to take you in fully and you acutely feel the weight of his gaze against your skin. He traces his calloused fingers over your damp skin, along the dips of your collarbones, under the swell of each breast, mapping the curve of your hips as if committing you to memory. Dipping his head, he leans down between your legs, his beard grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and you can’t help but shudder at the sensation.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says, almost to himself, his voice dripping with desire. He drags his lips higher, brushing along your damp cunt, his breath hot and tantalizing. “And all mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone has you clenching around nothing, heat pooling low in your belly and your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer. But he ignores your silent plea, almost deliberately testing your patience as he kisses you everywhere except where you want him most.

“Logan, please,” you gasp, the ache between your thighs almost painful.

“Patience,” he chides with a smirk, though his own resolve seems to be thinning. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer before he flattens his palms against your thighs, opening you fully to him. Then, his tongue is on you, lapping at you with flat, broad strokes in a rhythm that quickly has you teetering on the edge.

Logan’s focus is unrelenting, his low growls of approval vibrating through you as he works you over with an enthusiasm that proves to you this is about more than just pleasure—he’s claiming you, showing you just how much you mean to him. Making you his. 

Your thighs tremble around him and his warm, rough hands hold you steady as he slips one, then two fingers deep inside of you. It’s embarrassing how quickly you come as he thrusts his fingers against that spot inside you, your second orgasm of the night crashing over you as his name falls from his lips in a breathless moan. 

Before you can properly catch your breath, Logan is moving from between your thighs, making his way back up your body, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. His lips finally find yours in a kiss that’s messy and desperate and you can taste yourself on his tongue, sharp and bright, and the intimacy of it sends a thrill through you. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he groans against your lips, his voice wrecked as he grinds his hips against yours, his cock hard and insistent against your hip. “Could spend the rest of my life between between those thighs.”

“Why stop there?” you tease, your lips tugging into a smirk. “I thought you said you’d fuck me properly.”

Logan’s eyes darken, your challenge seeming to light something dark and primal in him. His grin is all teeth as he sits back on his heels, hands curling around your hips and pulling you down the bed like you weigh nothing until your hips are flush with his. “You gotta mouth on you, sweetheart. Should we see if you can still talk stuffed full of my cock?”

The weight of his cock brushes against your slick folds and you gasp at the sensation, your nerve endings exquisitely sensitive. Logan grips himself at the base, giving himself one languid stroke before running the thick head along your cunt, teasing you with shallow thrusts. Each slow, deliberate stroke of him sliding against you leaves you desperate and aching and you lift your hips in search of more.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So needy. Bet you’ll take me so well, huh?”

“Yes,” you breathe, nails digging into the muscles of his forearms. “Please.”

He presses into you then, the stretch of his cock making your jaw drop as he takes his time, sinking in inch by inch, filling you completely. Logan’s gaze is locked on yours, heavy and possessive as he watches every flicker of pleasure cross your face. 

“Fuck” he groans when he’s fully seated against your hips, his body trembling with the effort to stay still. “You feel…so fuckin’ tight. So damn perfect.”

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as he starts to move, pulling out torturously slow before thrusting back in harder, setting a rhythm that’s relentless and consuming. Each stroke of his hips has you crying out, your body arching into his as you meet him thrust for thrust.

“Takin’ me so well, sweetheart,” he growls, his fingers gripping the flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise as he continues to pound into you. “Like you were made for me.”

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing in with your whimpered moans and Logans own ragged groans. He leans down, bracing himself on his forearms, the wiry hair on his chest teasing your nipples as his lips find your neck, biting and sucking marks into your skin that feel like promises.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in deeper, your heels digging into his back as the coil inside you begins to tighten once more. He feels it too, the way you body clenches around him, and his pace falters slightly, his breaths coming faster.

“C’mon,” he rasps against the pulse point on your neck. “Wanna feel you come. Wanna make you fall apart.”

It doesn’t take much more—just a few more well-angled thrusts that hit that spot inside you and the tension finally snaps, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling. Logan’s finesse is slipping, thrusts growing erratic as chases his own release.

“Come Logan,” you manage in a whisper. “Come for me.”

His hips stutter as he groans your name, spilling into you as his body tenses, lazily thrusting against you as he wrings out the last of his pleasure. He stays deep inside you, still for several moments before he shifts just enough to collapse against your side.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, the only sounds in the room being your heavy breathes and the pounding of your heart. Logan rests his head against your chest, heavy and sweat slick between your breasts. You brush at the strands of hair against his forehead before running your finger along the old scar on his cheek.

He lifts his head to look up at you, his gaze soft yet still simmering with hunger. “I do, you know,” he murmurs. His fingers brush idly against your skin. “Love you.”

A smile spreads across your face, warming blooming in your chest.

“I know.”

+++

You wake before he does, rolling over to find him prone, face buried in the pillow he hugs close to his chest. Sunlight filters in through the half slatted blinds, catching on the silver in his hair and beard and you can’t help but admire how handsome he looks, how at peace he is beside you. He’s relaxed in sleep for the first time since you came here. You’ve heard his growls and yelps of terror that echo in the night, seen the claw marks that pierce his sheets.

Your mind filters back to last night and how he looked as he came apart inside you, how desperate and needy he was for your touch upon his skin. The memory of his gasps and groans send a rush of warmth over your skin, making you dimly aware of the ache between your legs. Logan, so guarded, so unyielding and seemingly unbreakable, trembled as he came, his voice rough and wrecked as he called out your name. You shiver thinking about it.

You want to hear it again. But not now.

Resisting the urge to reach out and brush the hair from his forehead, you leave him undisturbed and slide out of bed. Padding into the kitchen, you find Charles sitting in his chair at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread out in front of him. He looks up at you with a warm smile as you start a pot of coffee, the machine humming to life. 

“Ah, I see,” he comments, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You glance over at Charles, his eyes back on the paper in front of him, but his smile still paints his face, sly and knowing. Heat creeps up your neck as you busy yourself with the coffee. “Are you reading my mind?” you ask, trying to force nonchalance into your tone.

Charles chuckles softly and taps at his temple. “I don’t have to. You’re projecting. And quite loudly, at that.”

You bite your lip as you fill your mug, leaning against the counter as the coffee warms your hands. You attempt to clear your mind, trying to think of anything mundane—the weather, baseball, laundry. Charles just shakes his head. “Relax, my dear. What the two of you do together as consenting adults is none of my business.”

“Oh, God,” you groan, your cheeks aflame. “That’s what I’m projecting?”

“Not that explicitly, no. You think more in feelings, rather than words. But they’re quite powerful emotions and rather hard to ignore when they’re radiating as strongly as yours are this morning.”

You bury your face in your hand, peeking at Charles through your fingers, which only seems to amuse him further. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” you mutter. 

“Perhaps,” Charles says with a laugh. “But you’re helping him. Healing him. And that, my dear, is worth everything.” 

Before you can respond, you hear the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Logan rounds the corner, hair tousled from sleep, his body still bare except for the pair of low slung sweatpants clinging to his hips. His eyes find yours first, softening in a way they rarely do for anyone else as he scratches at the back of his head and mumbles, “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” you reply with a smile, thankful for the distraction. You pour a second cup of coffee and offer it up to him. “Coffee?”

Logan grunts in affirmation, moving towards you, but instead of reaching for the mug, he loops an arm around your waist, pulling you against him. He buries his face in your neck, beard scraping against your skin as he sighs. “Didn’t like wakin’ up with you not there,” he breathes into your hair, his voice so low you almost don’t hear him.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“S’okay,” he says softly, pressing the lightest of kisses just under your ear. “Next time, wake me.”

Your heart stutters against your ribs at his open display of affection, the softness and warmth in which he holds you, and the promise behind his words. From over his shoulder you see Charles give you a slight nod, a bright smile on his face before he turns his attention back to the newspaper in front of him.

You think back to what Charles told you all those months ago, about how you were a home for Logan. Those words echo in your mind as you feel Logan’s steady weight against you. He’s so different now, soft and unguarded and in that moment you know.

You’re home, too.

[i2sunric]

𝐖𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 (p.sh)

PAIRING: knight!sunghoon x queen!reader (f)

SUMMARY: after your parents death, you were forced to be crowned queen of the north realm and decided to take a young sergeant as your personal guard. however, you can’t ignore the evident tension between the two of you, that will lead to some… illicit affairs. well, it never happened if nobody knows, right?

WARNINGS: 1800s au. mentions of war and death, fencing terms, sexual tension, unprotected sex (they didn’t have condoms, did they?), masturbation, dirty talk, missionary, fingering, cream pie, angst if you squint (like, really squint), mentions of scars, pet names (sweetheart), i abused the world ‘would’. i know. lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 20th August 2024

WC: 6k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey y @destinyhoon (oneshot) @indigoez @astratlantis @shuichi-sama @skaterhoon @simsungsims @hoonatic @sammie217 @hoonics @kissesforthefangirl @woorcve @laurradoesloveu @capri-cuntz @whateverhoon @woninluv @cyjhhyj @alienqbrain BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED.

NOW PLAYING: War Of Hearts by Ruelle

a/n: honestly, i don’t like it. the idea was good, the outcome not so, but let me know your thoughts. i literally don’t know old english, my knowledge comes from pride and prejudice and bridgerton, im sorry (i gave up by the end and it shows). please LIKE & REBLOG (or don’t, cause this is the worst fic i’ve ever written lol)

You hadn’t realised just how drastically your life could change overnight until you woke up to the news that your father, the ever so powerful king of the North realm, had died in war.

Soon, your teachers were making you learn about strategies and alliances, not about history anymore, your legions kneeled before you, ready to be at your service.

You had to watch your mother, the woman you looked up to, being consumed by the grief of her dead husband until the grim reaper decided to make them reunite.

Leaving you all alone. Helpless, bearing a burden so heavy it crashed your shoulders.

In just the span of a month you found yourself leading a kingdom through war, sending hundreds of warriors to their death sentence.

The crown weighed significantly on your head, your desk was full of scrambled letters and quills dripping ink, and if it wasn’t for your most-trusted maid, Ella, you would’ve certainly already died of hunger, leaving your people without a ruler.

Fortunately, the same day of your coronation, the first day of you being a queen was also the first day of a young sergeant.

He was the youngest of all, just like you being the youngest of the monarchs, and was leading the loyal legion.

Doing a better job than you, you had to say. He was diligent, perfect in his tasks and polite whenever you interpellated him.

His name was Park Sunghoon, and it didn’t take much for you to nominate him as your personal royal guard.

He was an attractive man, barely a couple of years older than you but he indeed towered you by much.

Sunghoon’s face was sharp, with a defined jawline and hardly any trace of baby-fat left.

Despite his frail appearance, you knew he had defined muscles hidden under his white guard uniform, you had seen it.

Even if you were busy with your tight schedule, especially after your coronation, you still found the time to peek at him.

In the morning he’d train the royal legions, helping new warriors. In the afternoon, he would follow you through your travels around the realm, visiting villages and other castles.

The days you stayed at the castle he’d occupy his afternoons by doing some training alone and some evenings he would stand out of your bedroom to guard.

And Sunghoon? Well, he was as attracted to you as you were.

It always sent jolts of excitement whenever he was around you, walking you to your activities and always keeping an eye for possible harms.

Especially one day, when Ella ran towards him with a bucket full of water when he was guarding your bedroom “Sergeant!” She panted, “Please, would you be so kind to bring this into her majesty’s room? I need to get another one.”

Sunghoon was quick to nod “Of course.” He replied politely and took the heavy — for her, not so for him — bucket from her hands.

Ella sincerely thanked him and hurried away to complete her task while the young guard opened your bedroom door.

When his eyes raised to your figure, he saw you standing there… naked. Probably expecting your maid to enter and certainly not your personal guard.

Your hands quickly shot to cover your dignity, your cheeks tinting a deep shade of pink as you breathed “Dear lord.”

Had he been more reckless, he would’ve dropped the bucket, but he managed to keep his polite demeanour.

“My sincere apologies, my lady, I should’ve knocked.” He turned slightly to the side so as not to look at you, but still managed to peek from the corner of his eye.

“D-doesn’t matter..” You murmured, reaching for the nightgown on the chair of the desk and quickly slipping it on “I just didn’t expect it to be… you, sergeant.”

Sunghoon nodded, “Where do you want me to place this?” He asked, raising the container of water.

You stepped aside, hugging your arms like you were afraid your nightgown could reveal your body to him once more. Not like he would complain.

“Inside the tub would be great.” You replied, watching as he lifted the bucket and dropped the hot water in it.

Sunghoon dared to look at you only then, bowing his head slightly “I apologise again. I did not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

You let out a small breath and offered him a warm smile. You were always so kind and thoughtful to everyone, it made him want to lock those who dared to criticise you in the dungeons and make them all perish.

“Worry not,” Your voice was gentle, like a ray of sunshine through the storm “I forgive you, after all, it was an accident.”

Sunghoon thought that if he ever had the chance to take a glimpse at your perfect, naked body, he would’ve taken it right away.

But he chose against letting you know and opted for a “Thank you, my queen.” He bowed, “Anything else you need for me?”

“No, thank you.” You said “You can go back to your duty.”

He nodded and headed to the door, hesitating for a second and then walked out.

The image of your naked body was hard to remove from his mind. Sergeant.

Your curves, your dips, the colour of your skin, your breasts and your pretty pussy… Sergeant?

He wondered what you would feel like if he touched you, tasted you— “Sergeant!”

The voice of one of the royal guards snapped Sunghoon out of his thoughts. He cleared his throat “Yes?”

“It’s my turn,” He said, his eyes blinking faintly “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, worry not.” Sunghoon nodded and gave his farewell to the guard before walking to his chamber.

Since you had labelled him worthy of being your personal knight, his bedroom was in the same wing as yours, unlike all the other knights in the legion that stayed in the West wing.

He entered his chamber and closed the door behind his back, the room was dark except for the moonlight shining from the window.

It was better that way, he enjoyed the natural light, rather than the artificial one from the candles that also smelled bad and spread smoke in the room.

Sunghoon sighed, quickly removing his uniform to put on some more comfortable clothes, some black pants and a white, sleeved shirt.

He dropped down on the bed, another quiet sigh leaving his lips.

He rested one of his arms behind his head while he played mindlessly with the laces of his shirt.

It was stronger than him, his mind kept replaying the same scene over and over again.

Your body.

Perhaps, it was that you were so modest, despite literally being the ruler of the kingdom, or it was the fact that you were literally his type.

But he was drawn to you, the same way a donkey was to the apple in front of him. Maybe not the best example, but you get it.

At the thought of your flushed face, he felt his pants growing tighter. At your plump and tender lips, he palmed himself to soothe his growing desire.

At the memory of your perky nipples and your breasts, his hand slipped inside his trousers until he pulled them down to his ankles.

Sunghoon knew he couldn’t be loud, but the soft whimpers and groans that left his lips weren’t contained.

He imagined it was your hand, the one providing him relief, that you were down on your knees, batting your eyelashes at him.

“Oh yes, you’re so good.” He whispered, squeezing the base of his thick cock, it twitched.

The tip was angry red as he heavenly stroked it, never focusing on one place more than the other.

If it were you, would you lick his tip? Would you squeeze his balls and take him in your mouth?

Would you ever fit him all?

“Take my cock,” He groaned, thrusting his hips upward to fuck his fist “Take it like a good girl.”

He pressed two fingers on the tip of his length, edging himself “You like to tease, my lady?”

So many filthy scenes played in his mind, keeping him company as he felt the sweet sensation in his lower stomach.

“I’m so close, sweetheart.” He groaned, moving his hand so fast it almost hurt his wrist “You want it on your breasts? Of course.” He kept moving until he saw white, “Take it.”

He was left spent, dirty white all over his sheets as he tried to even his breath.

Sunghoon fell asleep with a smile on his face that night, and he woke up even better after you visited his dreams and showed him how much you wanted him.

…Too bad it wasn’t real, right?

����♡𓆪

After your little and awkward interaction with Sunghoon, the previous evening, you decided to go find him during his late afternoon training.

You would’ve lied if you were to say it didn’t turn you on, the thought of being seen by him in such an intimate manner. But that, he mustn’t know.

He was wearing a black sleeved shirt and a pair of trousers of the same colour, a great contrast with his skin.

You quietly tip-toed, walking towards as he stroked in the air with the fencing sword.

His movements were calculated, precise and so mesmerising you hadn’t even realised you were right behind him until the blade stopped right beside your jugular.

You gulped “Good evening.” Sunghoon widened his eyes and quickly placed himself into a more polite position, removing the swords from your neck “I'm so sorry, my lady, I didn’t see you coming.”

You just smiled at him “You seem excellent at fencing.” You commented, your fingertips trailing the blade of the sword, careful not to cut yourself.

“Fencing is one of my favourite parts of training, my queen.” He replied, his tone serious.

You hummed “Is that so?” The way the sunset kissed his skin, how his hair was perfectly combed and matched with his fit looked straight out of the erotic novels you hid under your bed.

“I’ve always wanted to learn this type of art.” You informed him “Though, it would be too scandalous for a woman to do it, wouldn’t it?”

Sunghoon’s gaze was soft as he commented “There’s nothing scandalous in wanting to be able to defend yourself.” He threw you a french sword “Even if you have a whole legion before you.”

You swiftly caught it, circling around Sunghoon while he did the same.

“Nah ah,” He was quick to correct “Eyes on the enemy’s, never on the sword.” You diverted your gaze from the sword to his chocolate, warm eyes.

“Great,” Sunghoon praised. “You must study your enemy if you have the time, watch his body language.”

He stroked again and you barely missed it. A second time and you docked it.

At the third, you blocked it “You slightly blink your right eye when you strike.”

Sunghoon smiled proudly, “Yes, that’s right.” You squealed happily, making him slightly widen his eyes.

If it wasn’t the best sound he’d ever heard.

“Now, your strike isn’t bad, especially in second and third, but your position can be better.” He dropped his sword and walked behind you.

“Bend your knees.” He commanded and you obliged again, following his instructions “Your arm shouldn’t stay that far… tilt your elbow.”

“Your back is already straight,” His fingers trailed the laces of your corset, feeling your spine underneath them “But your chin should be tilted… like this.” He tipped your chin up with his index finger.

“How about how?” You whispered breathlessly, feeling the coldness of his skin against your burning one.

“Better, but not perfect.” Sunghoon replied and quickly put space between the two of you “Still, you’re one of my best students.”

You smiled happily and was about to reply when Ella called you from afar because dinner was being served.

You sighed “I must go.” You said, slightly hoping he would keep you with him.

However, obviously, he just nodded and bowed. “It has been a pleasure, my lady.”

As he watched you walk away, he hoped you hadn’t felt the proof of his desire pressed against your back when he fixed your position… the proof he had to fix before anyone could notice.

𓆩♡𓆪

Sunghoon’s footsteps echoed through the dark hallway as he made his way to your room. He wasn’t sure about the reason as to why you called him, given the fact that he was supposed to be patrolling the main gates, but it seemed clear when he noticed you had already sent the guard outside your room to rest.

He stood in front of your bedroom door, the hallway only dimly lit by the few candles on the walls.

There was something in his mind that told him he was still in time to turn his heels and simply ignore your late-night visit request, even if it would eventually get him in trouble.

Still, he aight and placed his hand on the doorknob, quietly opening your bedroom door and entering.

Out of precaution, he locked the door behind him and made a few steps towards you, nevertheless keeping some distance.

“My queen,” Sunghoon began, “I thought you’d be asleep by now.” His tone was quiet, almost concerned.

You were standing in front of the large window that gave you a nice view of the royal gardens, the moonlight illuminating the room as well as a few candles on the tables.

Despite the late hours, you were still wearing your pistachio green gown, your favourite one. The one that once belonged to your mother.

It gave you a sense of comfort, reminiscing the days where you would drown in the fabric as you played queen and princess with her.

You deeply wished it was still a game.

“I’ve been having trouble sleeping.” You replied, still giving him your back.

Sunghoon cleared his throat. Yes, he’d seen you in that gown the same morning, but now, in the intimacy of your chamber, it made him want to drop to his knees.

He made his way so that he was standing just a few steps behind you “Any particular reason for your lack of sleep?” He inquired.

You sighed softly. The moon made your doe eyes sparkle, as if they held the stars in them, “Perhaps, thoughts of the upcoming war.”

Sunghoon’s hands hitched to hold yours, to give you the comfort you needed without any paternal figure to rely on.

Still, he kept them clasped behind his back. The need to be respectful of your position was still in the front of his mind.

“It is not confirmed yet,” He tried to reassure “The other kingdoms may decide not to attack anymore.”

You tried to find reassurance in his words, but even if your people thought so, you weren’t naïve. “They killed my father,” You gulped. “It’s just a matter of time before they come at me next.”

And that was true, everytime you ever tried to close your eyes to seek some rest, your mind would play any possible scenario.

You being slayed, you being beheaded… your kingdom going in flames.

“No one will touch you,” His voice was soothing, like a hand pulling you out of deep water, preventing you from drowning “Not while I’m here.”

You finally allowed yourself to look at him, afraid that if you did it the second you heard the key of your room twisting you would’ve kissed him.

His hair was still perfectly in place, his forehead in sight. His porcelain-like skin glowing under the rays of the moon, caressing his cheeks.

You offered him a polite smile “You seem confident, sergeant.”

Sunghoon let the briefest of a smile form on his lips “Confidence comes with the job,” He said, softly “It is my duty to protect you, my queen, and I take that very seriously.

“What else does your job offer?” You asked, fully turning your body towards him “Apart from private fencing lessons and a twenty-four-seven guarding.”

His breath hitched slightly when you stood in front of him, he hadn’t even realised the vicinity you two had until he had to tilt his head down to stare at you. It would be so easy to reach out and touch you, to feel your skin against his hands.

Sunghoon’s gaze slowly dragged from your chest up to your face. “That’s it, mainly,” He said, his voice a little rougher than before. “Though… my duties extend to anything you ask of me, my queen.”

“Anything?” You murmured quietly, your eyes widening.

He wanted to touch you so badly, to pull you against him so he could kiss you and touch you anywhere and everywhere. But he had to keep the professional veil going, even though he knew you were baiting him.

He nodded, his eyes on yours “Anything at all.”

You batted your eyelashes, trying to seduce him without boldly doing so “Is that so, sergeant?”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched, struggling to keep his composure and hoping you weren’t able to see the effect of your presence.

He took a deep breath before replying “Yes, anything you ask of me.”

You gulped, your heart pounding in your chest as you gathered the courage to put into action your plan “I believe I need to unwind,” You stated “Any ideas?”

Sunghoon’s mind was immediately flooded with ideas, most of them very, very inappropriate for the moment. He bit his lip and tried to keep a straight face.

He considered keeping up the professional front but quickly decided against it. He was tired of forcing himself to maintain control.

“I do have a few ideas, my queen,” He said, his voice a low rumble. “Mind sharing them with me?” You asked.

Sunghoon stepped closer to you, so close that your bodies were almost touching. “My ideas may not be entirely appropriate, my queen,” He replied, “Would you like to hear them anyway?”

You closed briefly your eyes, just the brief feeling of his body near yours sending jolts of fire through your veins “I’m all ears.”

His eyes roamed over your face and body, taking in every single detail. He was practically salivating, desperate to touch you in any way possible.

Sunghoon leaned even closer, his breath now hot on your skin. “I have things I'd like to do, my queen,” He whispered in your ear. “Wicked things, to distract you from your stress.”

You let out a shaky breath, shivering from head to toe “Wicked?” You questioned.

Sunghoon felt his control slip as chuckled slowly, “Oh, very wicked, my lady.”

He brought his lips to your neck, planting soft kisses up and down your skin, taking you by surprise.

However, he kept his hands firmly by his sides, restraining himself from wandering. “I want to do things that would be highly inappropriate for a sergeant to do to his queen.”

“And who says so?” You breathed out, aching for him, your eyes flattering closed.

Sunghoon hummed against your skin, his lips moving to your collarbone. “That would be the royal laws,” He replied quietly, “Among other things.”

“I could get punished for this, you know.” He said in between kisses. “My actions are considered disrespectful.”

“I could change the law,” You replied, hooking your arms around his neck “For the night.”

His hands immediately went to your hips, grabbing you and pulling you even closer to him. “Just for the night, my queen?” He murmured against your skin, his lips trailing kisses up your jaw “I might want more than just one night.”

You chuckled lowly, “How do you know so already, sergeant?”

sunghoon’s hands moved from your hips to your thighs, caressing them through your nightgown, his thumbs tracing patterns against your skin.

Sunghoon pulled back to look at you, his eyes darkened significantly. “I'm quite sure, my queen,” He said, “The things I want to do to you are not something I can do just once.”

You shivered at his words, and the hungry way he was shamelessly looking at you. It almost seemed unreal, the polite soldier losing his cool in front of you, “How about you show me what you can do tonight, first?”

He looked at you, his gaze dark and intense, before leaning in and pressing his lips against yours in a rough kiss.

You moaned and gripped his shoulders tightly and he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth desperately, like he was starving.

You tip toed, desperate to reach for him, to feel his lips on yours and make you forget all the duties you had.

Sunghoon chuckled against your lips, amused by your struggle to reach his height. He pulled back, a smirk on his face. “Too short for me, my queen?”

Without warning, he lifted you up with ease, and he continued the kiss.

You wrapped your legs around his waist to steady yourself, thanking yourself for not having worn an underskirt that would’ve made it impossible for you to straddle him.

Sunghoon groaned against your mouth as you wrapped your legs around his waist, the kiss becoming more desperate and rougher.

He moved his lips from your mouth and attacked your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and bites as he went. One of his hands moved from your thigh to your butt, squeezing it appreciatively.

You groaned and let your head fall back, goosebumps filling your skin in reaction to his lips.

Your fingers tried to tug his blue uniform jacket, desperate to remove any clothing between the two of you.

He gently helped you to remove it, chuckling against your neck at your eagerness.

You rocked your hips, needing to feel him, to soothe the aching sensation between your legs.

He pressed his own hips back onto yours, you could feel the proof of his desire for you, secluded in his pants.

“You have no idea how hard it is not to take you right now,” He thrust upwards, making you gasp.

“What’s stopping you, sergeant?” You asked breathlessly, you knew he was trying to restrict himself, to draw a line that shouldn’t be crossed.

But you didn’t care, all you had in mind was how good his touch was on your skin, his lips on yours and how better it would’ve been if he was inside you.

“Nothing,” Sunghoon whispered in your ear, his breath causing your body to shiver “Absolutely nothing, as long as you’re not opposed to it.”

You chuckled, looking down at yourself “Does it look like I’m against it?”

Your sweet laugh only made him madder and he kissed you, tasting your lips “No, not at all, my queen.”

“Then, take me.” You whispered on his lips, your hand caressing down his arm, still clothed from his sleeved shirt.

Sunghoon shivered under your touch, your words breaking the last strand of self-restraint he had. He grabbed your hips, suddenly carrying you to the bed and dropping you down on it.

He quickly dropped to his knees between your legs, his hands on either side of you, trapping you in “You won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” He warned.

Your hair formed a halo around your head, spread around the mattress. Your chest was heaving up and down as you replied, “That's fine by me.”

Sunghoon hummed appreciatively at the sight of you splayed out on the bed underneath him. You looked divine, like an angel sent to drive him insane.

He connected his lips to yours once again, his hands moving behind your back as you propped yourself on your elbows.

His skilled fingers worked on the laces of your corset, undoing them.

You frowned, pulling away “Experienced much?”

Sunghoon chuckled softly as he got the corset undone, pulling the fabric off you and discarding it on the floor.

He shook his head before replying, a smirk on his lips. “Just a few,” He said. “and I have been fantasising about this moment for a while now.”

“Have you?” You whispered, your hands caressing his chest, where the v-neckline of the shirt exposed it “Have you thought about me late at night, sergeant?”

Sunghoon sighed softly, his eyes closing briefly as he confessed “Yes,” He said “Every night I’ve wondered what you would taste like, how soft you were, what your moans sounded like.”

His words only made you bolder. “Have you touched yourself wishing it was me?”

Now that the corset wasn’t restricting your air capacity, it also made the dress fall down your shoulder, exposing them to him.

He leaned down and pressed gentle kisses on your skin, trailing them up to your ear “Yes, my queen. I’ve touched myself wishing it was you, craving your body and soul.”

You let out a shaky breath, the sweet sensation warming your lower stomach “Perhaps, I have done the same.”

Sunghoon groaned loudly against your skin, his body shuddering at your confession “You’ve touched yourself, thinking about me?”

You flopped back onto the mattress and hummed “Yes.”

He was completely losing it, the thought of you touching yourself, thinking about him, driving him crazy. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to regain some composure.

“Tell me more,” He rasped, his voice a low rumble. “Tell me what you've done, what you've imagined."

You bit your bottom lip, afraid to voice out your late night secrets.

“Go on, my queen.” His voice was soft and soothing, his hips just barely pressing against yours “I won’t judge you, I can’t… Can I?” He let out a quiet chuckle.

You breathed out “I’ve thought about your fingers,” You gulped “Touching me in places no one has touched before.”

“Where?” He whispered, his nose grazing your cheek “Tell me.”

Instead of speaking, you took his hand and slowly guided it down your body, you were still covered by your dress but he could still feel your core beating under his touch.

So, in one swift movement he placed his hand under your skirt, feeling just how damp your underthings were, making you gasp.

“You’re so wet for me.” He murmured, “Is this how you are around me?”

You nodded, all drops of self awareness down the drain.

Sunghoon smirked, taking your hand with his free one and placing it on the front of his pants, making you feel his hard on “That’s what you do to me.”

Amazed, you started to palm him, letting your hand feel “I do?”

“Yes,” He whispered, his hips bucking against your touch “All the time.”

“Please,” You pleaded, “I can’t take it anymore, I really need you.”

Sunghoon sighed “There’s no turning back from this, my queen..”

“Y/N.” You blurted out, eyes taking in his reaction.

Without having you to explain, he knew what you meant. You wanted him to call you by your name, crossing a boundary that would be hard to build back.

Still, he reached behind your back and unzipped your dress, slowly slipping it down.

You laid underneath it, the only thing separating you from him was your lace underwear, your upper body bare for him to see.

Sunghoon rested his chest on yours, his fingers grazing your clothed core as he whispered in your ear “Y/N.” Making you moan.

You nodded, your arms wrapping around his neck to steady yourself “Sunghoon.” You breathed back.

“Y/N..” He murmured, slipping your panties to the side and teasing your entrance with his digits “My pretty, pretty girl.”

Your eyes flickered closed, senses awakened by his single touch.

“You’ve never done this?” He questioned, gathering all your juices in his fingers, your pussy clenching around nothing.

You shook your head, your mind already a puddle of nothing “No.”

“Then I need to get you all nice and lose, mh?” Sunghoon murmured, inserting one of his fingers inside your wet folds.

You gasped, your back arching against him at the intrusion “Oh lord.”

The sensation was so new but so welcome, you had never really dared to finger yourself, your orgasms were given by clit stimulation only, so when his digit thrust into you, your body jolted with each one.

Sunghoon’s lips attached to your left breath, tongue swirling around your nipple and you thought you couldn’t feel any better until he curled his fingers and found your sweet spot, making you moan out loud.

“Shh,” He cooed, pressing one hand on your mouth while his teeth gently grazed your abused nipple. “You don’t want anyone to find out what we’re doing, don’t you?”

You were quick to shake your head, but as he thrust a second finger in your pussy, you grunted.

One of your hands went to the back of his head, your fingers knotting his perfectly combed hair “S-sunghoon.”

You bucked your hips up, needing him to stop and continue at the same time “Feels so good.”

Sunghoon chuckled lowly, both his fingers brushing against your sweet spot “I know, Y/N.” He murmured “Let me take care of you.”

You nodded mindlessly; you thought that even if he asked you to hand over the kingdom you would’ve nodded anyways.

You whimpered, your other hand digging in the flesh of his shoulders from the amount of pleasure you were feeling.

“I’ve got you.” He whispered, brushing his thumb on your bundle of nerves “Relax.”

You could feel the knot in your stomach tighten with each thrust of his fingers, just a brief pain from the intrusion making your head spin.

“Oh lord,” You breathed out, “I think I—“ Another broken whimper left your mouth.

Sunghoon nodded, understanding you and crashed his lips on yours, drowning your moans in.

Another thrust of his fingers got you falling apart under him, your whole body trembling.

It took a good couple of minutes and his soothing words to calm you down, your breath still laboured but at least you could keep your body still.

You opened your eyes back and met his own, he offered you a sweet smile “You’re perfect.” He whispered, kissing your forehead.

You smiled back at him, slowly releasing your strong grip around his neck. “This has been… amazing.”

“I’m glad, my— Y/N.” Sunghoon quickly corrected himself, “But… we don’t have to do anything more.”

You frowned, worry coating your features “Was it because you didn’t feel good? I can help—“

He was fast to shake his head. “No, of course not.” He caressed your cheek “I just don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“You will not.” You sat up, looking inside his eyes to convince him “I want it, Sunghoon, I want it with my whole body and soul.”

He closed his eyes and dropped his head, as if he physically restrained himself from reaching out to you and take you in all the ways someone can be taken.

“I want you so much it’s driving me insane,” He breathed out, resting his forehead against your chest “My sweetheart, I would love to make you mine… will you allow me to?”

You nodded “Yes, please.” You tugged at his shirt, needing him to remove it.

Sunghoon complied, tossing it to the floor as well as his trousers, leaving himself bare to you.

At first, you hadn’t understood why he was so reluctant to be intimate with you, but as soon as your eyes met his bare chest, you did.

Your breath hitched at the sight of a wide scar all across his chest, looking like half a cross.

“Sunghoon…” You whispered, your fingers trailed over it. He flinched but quickly relaxed under your gentle touch “What happened to you?”

His eyes were so vulnerable and he looked like a lost boy, not like the sergeant of a legion. “I will just say that I had a close contact with a blade, back when I was still training to become a knight.”

He gulped “I understand if I repulse you—“

“No,” You quickly took his face in your hands “No. You’re beautiful.”

He frowned, as if not understanding what would you ever find beauty in such a scar.

Seeing that he wasn’t believing you, you laid on your back and wrapped your arms around his neck, taking him down with you.

Your hand reached to pump his shaft and it was as if he died and came to life again, nothing like those nights he touched himself thinking about you, could prepare him from this.

You slowly aligned him with your folds and nodded, wanting him to make the first move.

He let out a pained sigh and gripped your waist, finally pushing in you.

You were still wet from the foreplay and as well as your cum, but it didn’t mean you didn’t feel some pain from his thickness.

He moved slowly, his breath fanning your cheeks while he brushed his nose against your skin.

“How does it feel?” Sunghoon whispered in your ear “Mh? Tell me, Y/N.”

Your skin was sweaty and hot, “So good.” You murmured back, tightening your hold on his neck “Faster, please.”

You begged him so sweetly and politely he couldn’t refuse, his hips moving against yours slightly faster “You want to make love?” He questioned “Or do you want me to take you like how I’ve wanted since I laid my eyes on you?”

“Take me.” You choked out, your eyes squeezing from the pleasure “Hard, I don’t care.”

Sunghoon circled your waist with his arm and held you tightly against him, you could feel the shadow of his scar on your chest.

His hips snapped on yours so fast even the bed started creaking, and you secretly hoped no servant was walking by to hear your show.

“Open up.” Sunghoon said and you obliged, opening your mouth.

He gathered some saliva in his mouth before spitting in yours, watching as it went down your throat.

You hummed, gulped it, tasting him “Jesus Christ.” He shook his head, his cock twitching inside of you.

“I don’t think I can last longer.” He squeezed his eyes, his fingers digging in your hips as he tried to restrain himself.

“Don’t you dare unless I cum again.” Your fingers went to stroke your bundle of nerves fast “Together.”

Sunghoon hummed, his own movements getting sloppy but never faltering as he chased his high.

“Y/N.” He groaned, one of his nails piercing your skin, adding just the right amount of pain to send you over the edge.

“Now!” You cried out, your body shaking with your second orgasm of the night.

Sunghoon let out a deep growl and emptied his seed in you, coating your clenching walls.

“So perfect.” He kissed the top of your head, his voice soothing after the intensity of the night “You’re perfect.”

He got up and took a napkin from your table, carefully cleaning your legs while also prepping kisses on your inner thighs.

You were sure that if your body wasn’t tired you would’ve mounted him.

Sunghoon reached into his clothes but your hand darted out to stop him “Stay.”

His eyes softened, pondering between staying or leaving. He opted for the first.

You had never felt happier than falling asleep with the sound of his heartbeat next to your ear, aimlessly hoping it wouldn’t be the last time.

But your relationship made it so that he was forced to peel himself away from you when he thought you were asleep, gathering his clothes and quietly slipping out of your room.

And it was the best decision, soon, you would’ve had to find a husband, make an heir for your real, rule it with all your attention.

Good thing, late night was made to unwind, and it never happened if nobody knew… did it?

[dixonsbrat]

𖥔 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐀𝐏 𖥔

summary ; your relationship with daryl only deepens when he reaches an all new level of vulnerability with you.

notes ; daryl dixon x girlfriend!reader, established relationship, fluff + angst, mentions of scars.

do not transfer, translate or share my work to any other sites.

daryl’s eyes stay locked on you as he slowly shrugged off his shirt, the scars and markings on his olive-toned skin now fully visible in the dimly lit room. large jagged lines of damaged tissue stretched along his back, some old and overlapping, while others were newer and more defined. each one told a story of the battles he had survived. the pain he had endured. every one of them making him the man you had grown to love.

you knew daryl had scars, just as you all did, but you had only ever glimpsed his before in passing - an accidental run-in while he was changing - but this was different. this was deliberate, a conscious choice he was making to bare not just his skin, but a part of himself that he typically kept hidden. the act alone spoke volumes about the growing trust he had implemented in you. no matter how hard he tried to remain his usual stoicism and keep you at arms length, you had weaselled your way into his heart, and there was no turning back now. 

“i told ya, they ain’t pretty,” his voice is low and rough as he spoke, a hint of insecurity in his guarded gaze.

“no, they aren’t,” you say softly, agreeing with his comment as you slowly and cautiously step towards him. “but they’re a part of you, of who you are, and i think you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever met.”

daryl’s body tensed slightly as your fingers gingerly touch one of his larger scars, the rough callused skin shifting beneath your light touch. his breath hitched for a moment, his gaze locked on you through the mirror before him, watching every movement closely. 

no one had ever touched his scars before, not like this, but he doesn’t pull away. instead, he stayed still, letting you explore the map of his history etched deep into his flesh. it was like electric jolts through his system, the way your soft touch sent a shiver across his skin under your fingertips. no one had ever touched him with such tenderness, especially not his scars. the air around them seemed to crackle with tension as he gazed down at you, the weight of your words and touch hitting him deep in his heart. 

his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper, “ain’t nobody ever called me ‘beautiful’ before.”

“... you are.” 

a soft whale escapes his lips as you wrap your arms around him, pulling him back into the comfort of your soft embrace. the feel of your body against his back shoots sparks through his core, and he subconsciously leans into your touch, craving more of the soothing warmth. 

he feels your lips graze his shoulder blade, the tenderness of a kiss sending a shiver down his spine. the gesture almost undoes him as you nuzzle into him and he lets out a low, shaky breath.

“do you not think you are?” you ask. 

he hesitates for a moment, his rugged features etched with a mix of vulnerability and self-doubt as he struggles with the unfamiliar praise. 

“dunno,” he mutters, voice gruff. “never thought of myself as beautiful, just a tough old redneck who’s been in a few fights.” 

he glances over his shoulder at you, dark eyes assessing, waiting for your reaction. the walls he had built up over years of pain and rejection are starting to show cracks, revealing the deeply insecure man underneath. the man that very few people got to see.

“that may be who you think you are, but that doesn’t mean it’s all that you are.”

his gaze locks onto yours, raw and exposed. he’s not used to having someone see him, not just the scars on his body, but the scars of his soul. his throat feels tight, but he manages a raspy reply.

“yeah?” he cocks his head slightly, his usual gruffness undercut with a hint of vulnerability he can’t quite hide. not with you. “what else am i then?”

with each word you speak, you press a kiss to his back, “you’re a strong… courageous… loyal… caring… stubborn…misguided��gentle…man, who deserves far more than this world can offer him.” 

with each word and each kiss, daryl feels a wave of emotion well up within him, his defences slowly crumbling. the way you speak about him, your words dripping with genuine sincerity, stirs something deep inside of him. it’s almost too much, and he has to resist the urge to pull you into his arms. 

he huffs out a wry, amused laugh when you call him stubborn, “and i’m just supposed to believe all that?”

“like i said… stubborn.” you press one more kiss to his back, smiling into it. 

daryl can’t help but let out a husky chuckle as your lips press into his back once more. his head dips down, trying to hide the slight blush that creeps across his cheeks at your teasing. 

“yeah, guess you’re right on that one,” he mutters, grudgingly admitting defeat. he then glances over his shoulder, his gruff exterior crumbling a little more. “you forgot somethin’ though.”

your eyes narrow playfully as he now turns to face you. his arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you against his muscular frame in a gesture that’s both tender and possessive at the same time. his dark eyes are intense as they look down at you, searching yours for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. 

when he speaks, his voice is softer than usual, and there’s a slight nervous twinge to his tone, “you forgot to say i’m yours.”

you smile, leaning up to kiss him but stop just before you do, your lips barely brushing against his, “that’s just a known fact, sweetheart.”

the closeness of your lips against his was enough to make sparks dance under his skin. but your coy response, that hint of a tease in your voice, does him in, and he’s powerless against the magnetic pull between you both. when you finally close the distance and kiss him, he responds almost immediately, the kiss deep and intense right from the start. 

his arms tighten around your waist, his hands splaying across your lower back to pull you even closer, eliminating any space between you. his lips move against yours in a desperate dance, a silent affirmation of what you both already knew. 

when you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged and his heart pounding as if it wants to leap out of his chest. he gazes down at you, a mix of awe and wonder in his eyes as he takes in the vision of you, your swollen lips and flushed cheeks. he looks almost dazed, as if he’s trying to process the fact that you, a creature of such beauty and kindness, exists in his crazy, unnatural life.

a small, disbelieving chuckle escapes him as he speaks, “the hell’d i do to deserve you?”

“everything. you did everything to deserve me.” you reassure him, his heart swelling in his chest as you do. 

he lets out a shaky exhale as you kiss him again, his hands gripping your waist a little tighter, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go for even a second. 

when he speaks again, his voice is low, rough around the edges with unguarded emotion, “don’t you ever leave me.”

“even if i did, i know you’d find me,” you run a hand through his hair, an adoring smile on your face as his eyes flutter shut at the touch. he lets out a low hum, the corners of his mouth curving up into a rare smile. 

he opens his eyes to look at you again, his gaze filled with a mixture of adoration and determination, “i’d tear this whole world apart to find ya if i had to.”

“and i’d be waiting for you.”

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 HE'S THE SERPENTINE, HE'S MY COLLAR!

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you're finally back in yokohama after spending three years abroad dealing with mori's foreign business. the last person you want is to see dazai osamu, the wounds of his abrupt betrayal still too fresh for comfort. unfortunately, he decides to take matters into his own hands by showing up at your office in the middle of the night.

(wordcount: 7.1k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, f!receiving oral, gunplay, knife play (ish), spitting, pussy drunk!dazai (as always), light choking, overstim, office sex, semi-public/public sex, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys. GUYS. i had so much fun writing this, this is finally usurping in paper rings and picture frames as my fav fic that i've written. HAHAHH. i hope you guys like it too!!

You hear the door to your office swing open, and you press your lips together tightly, irritation swimming through your head as your grip tightens on the pen you’re using to fill out your paperwork. It’s already late—you’re tired and your head hurts, but you can’t leave the building until Akutagawa comes to hand you the report for his failed mission so you can pass it up to the boss. And you know that whichever subordinate this is, it’s definitely not Akutagawa because the boy would rather claw his own throat out than walk into your office without knocking. 

Which means it’s some upstart new recruit who has no manners and is likely going to make your night worse. You think being away for so long did some real damage to your reputation—three years ago, the lower ranked mafiosos avoided your floor like the plague, they didn’t barge in like they owned the place, but then again, you also had a certain dark-haired executive (ex-executive now, you remind yourself bitterly) lurking around your floor constantly trying to get your attention, and if people weren’t nervous enough about you, they were definitely terrified of him.

“Five seconds to explain why you came into my office without knocking or I’m putting a bullet through your fucking skull,” you say, voice acerbic, not even bothering to look up, the fingers of your free hand closing around the gun you have holstered at your side. 

“There’s a few too many cameras in the hall for my liking to stand out there and wait for you to open the door.”

The fact that he manages to dodge the bullet shot in his direction is testament to his skill, but you’ve known Dazai Osamu long enough to know that when he dodges to the side, nine times out of ten, he dodges left, so you drop your pen as soon as you pull the trigger and swipe the knife laying haphazardly on your desk, launching it in his direction. You watch as his eyes widen just a bit when it impales the wall right next to his ear, just barely nicking his skin—both a warning and a threat.

“My, my, bella, you’ve gotten faster the past few years,” Dazai grins, unperturbed, smile as reckless and lazy as the day he left four years ago as he plucks the knife from the wall. “I’ve missed you too.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Dazai?” you ask, voice cold and sharp as your finger rests against the trigger of your gun. “How did you get up here?”

“Security’s gotten lax since I’ve been gone, I guess,” Dazai shrugs, but his eyes dance with mirth as he makes his way over to your desk. “You should probably do something about that.”

“Dazai,” you say, keeping your voice low and trying to reign in your temper. There are no cameras in your office, but the hall leading here is littered with them, hidden ones that were recently installed that he wouldn’t know about, if any one of them caught his face and it’s reported to Mori… “You think I won’t drag your ass to Mori myself? What the fuck are you doing?”

You’d have to, or it would be your head on the line for betraying the Port Mafia—you know better than anyone the treatment that traitors get, considering you were the one that dealt with them up until you were sent abroad three years ago to handle Mori’s foreign politics. 

“I don’t know, will you?” Dazai counters, head tilted to the side as he takes a seat on top of your desk next to you, a smile on his face that makes you think he knows something that you don’t.

“Maybe,” you answer, finger twitching on the trigger as you keep your gun pointed in his direction. 

Dazai is completely unbothered, leaning down until his nose is nearly brushing yours, lips tugged up in an unbearable smirk. 

“Then do it,” he challenges, and you glare at him, jaw tight and eyes hard. He reaches out, fingertips brushing your skin, and you feel like you’re on fire beneath his touch. You hate that your body still betrays you to him. “Don’t look at me like that, bella. I won’t even resist, I promise, as long as you promise to be the one to put a bullet through my skull, so your face can be the last thing I see. Ah, that would be a lovely death, wouldn’t it?” 

“You’re a fucking freak, Dazai,” you spit out, but make no move to get up or grab your phone. “What is wrong with you?”

Dazai doesn’t respond, only winking at you. Instead, his gaze shifts to the side and his hand drops from your face to his lap again. You hate even more that you miss his touch immediately. 

“You still have my couch,” Dazai notes to himself quietly, an odd tone to his voice as he stares at the dark couch in the far corner of your office, where he’d bundle himself up under blankets to avoid Chuuya, because Chuuya used to avoid your office like the plague when the three of you were younger.

“It’s my couch,” you say tightly, even though you know no one has touched it since Dazai left, and the ugly orange blanket he liked so much is still draped over the back of it, and it probably still smells like him. Your throat feels swollen, and you steel away your emotions and continue with, “I’ve hardly been back here since you left, anyway. What do you want, Dazai?”

“I heard you were finally back in Yokohama,” he says. “I wanted to see you.”

“Fuck off,” you say roughly. “So you decide to break into the main base of the Port Mafia and come all the way up to my office? You know where my apartment is, you could’ve shown up there. What do you really want?” 

“It’s the truth,” Dazai says easily, and his dark eyes meet yours—both of them, you note, and wonder when he decided to shed the bandages that covered his right eye. “I was at your apartment for a bit, I got impatient and came here instead.”

He’s telling the truth.

Oh, you realize—the clogged feeling in your throat is coming back, you force it away again and lean back in your chair, looking away from him to turn your gaze to the window. It’s well past midnight already, the moon is high in the sky and the stars are glittering above. In the distance, you can see the Ferris Wheel of Cosmo World glowing a bright purple color and a string of flashing red and blue lights as the police chase after someone.

“Why?” you ask finally, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the two of you. 

“I told you,” Dazai says quietly, and your eyes turn back to him. He looks… happier, you can’t help but note. A sick part of you feels jealous—you’re not sure if you’re jealous because he’s free and you’re still stuck in this place, or if you’re jealous because he’s happier and he’s happier in a life without you. You think it might be the latter. “I miss you.”

“Don’t give me bullshit, Dazai,” you snap, still trying to push away all of the feelings you’ve repressed for so long. “Get out of here before you find yourself killed. I’m not going to turn you in, but I’m not saving you if you get caught.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Dazai tells you, voice sharp in a way that it only ever is when he’s starting to get annoyed. “I-”

A knock at your door cuts Dazai off mid-sentence. Both of you freeze, Dazai looks at you as if waiting to see what you’re going to do, and you can so easily finish this now, let whoever is at your door in and drag Dazai back down to the torture room where he belongs, but instead you find yourself reaching for him. Your hand intertwines with his hair roughly, and you revel a bit in the hiss that escapes his lips as you yank him off the desk and roll your chair backward, kicking the back of his knee so that he crumples to the ground and you can push him beneath your desk. 

You lower your gun to your lap so you can keep it pointed at him and then glance down at him—he looks caught off-guard and disgruntled at being manhandled, but you think it's a bit funny how cramped he looks under there. 

“Not a single word,” you warn before fixing your chair and raising your voice. “Come in.”

Akutagawa wastes no time stepping into your office, nodding his head in respect as he makes his way over to the chair on the opposite side of your desk, a bundle of papers in hand. He doesn’t hand you the pile right away and he looks uncharacteristically nervous, and you raise your eyebrows, wondering what the issue is. 

“I am… unsure how to fill out some of the report,” Akutagawa says, unable to meet your eyes as he stares at the windows behind you. “The operation was… not a failure but not a success. The whole mission was in disarray, I do not know who was doing what at certain points.”

You stare at Akutagawa. “What do you want me to say to that?” you ask him, leaning back in your chair. “It’s your job to know that as the field officer for the mission. If you can’t handle that, Hirotsu will take back the position on the next major operation.”

Akutagawa bristles. “I can handle it,” he says, voice clipped. “This mission was just more chaotic than-”

“Than usual?” you ask idly, watching as he stiffens as your interruption. “This was child’s play, it’s unlike you to make excuses, Akutagawa.’

“I’m not making excuses,” he says immediately, “but…”

Akutagawa continues talking, but your attention is ripped away when you feel Dazai shift beneath the desk. You press your lips together tightly, stiffening as his hands rise to your thighs, spreading them a bit so he can settle between them. You glance down, he’s already peeking up at you, dark eyes glittering in a way that has you on edge. 

Don’t you dare, you warn silently, but Dazai only takes it as further encouragement, pressing his lips to your clothed inner thigh, you can feel the warmth and wetness through your slacks. It takes all of your self-control to not inhale sharply when he starts trailing open-mouthed kisses up your thigh until his mouth is hovering right above your cunt. 

You press the muzzle of your gun against his temple. 

He smiles. 

Your jaw clenches as he licks a long stripe between your legs through your slacks, making sure to press his tongue down hard over where your clit is hidden through your clothes. Akutagawa is still talking, oblivious to what’s happening beneath your desk as he airs his complaints about the mission. You could stop Dazai, place your foot on his shoulder and push him off of you, but you don’t, notably—you don’t want to acknowledge that though. You only vaguely hear Akutagawa’s issues, something about interference from a third party—the SDUP? What the hell were they doing there?— and Kajii blowing up an escape route. 

“Give me the report,” you say, cutting him off mid-sentence, and holding out your hand. You’re grateful that your voice comes out steadier than you feel with Dazai trying to tongue fuck your through your pants. 

As you lean forward to rip the papers from Akutagawa, you tense, feeling something sharp press against your inner thigh. Sitting back in your seat and glancing down, your eyes cut down to Dazai, who still has the knife you’d thrown at him and is using it to cut open your very expensive slacks.

You have half a mind to drive your foot into his face, but you refrain. If only barely.

It’s a miracle that you can keep your breath steady, because as Dazai cuts your pants, he kisses every inch of open skin that’s revealed to him. His lips are warm, wet, familiar—so familiar that your legs are instinctively spreading for him, giving him more room to work.

Your eyes scan the report but the words are just jumbled letters and not making any sense. Every time you try to understand, you feel Dazai’s teeth graze your thigh as he marks up your skin. You tense when you feel him bring the knife much closer to your cunt, to finish cutting off the material—you press the muzzle of your gun harder into the side of his head, warning him to be careful. You glance down only to see a hazy smile on his lips as he winks up at you, as if he’s drunk just off of the idea of what’s about to happen.

He works efficiently as always, freeing your lower body of your slacks and panties as quickly as possible, and he wastes no time burying his face between your legs. Your lashes flutter and the grip you have on your pen tightens dangerously, you think it might snap. Dazai’s tongue slides between your folds, lapping up the slick that had begun to pool—you know that if Akutagawa wasn’t sitting a few feet away, Dazai would be making a snide comment about how he knew you wanted him.

Dazai’s tongue flicks over your clit—you can feel him staring up at you, watching for every little reaction, the way your lip tightens as you bite back moans, the way your eyelids unconsciously start to slide shut, the way your breath is just a bit heavier than it usually is. 

This is so dangerous, you think to yourself desperately. If Akutagawa of all people figures out that Dazai is here-

You nearly choke when Dazai shifts a bit underneath the desk to kneel at a better angle, grateful that Akutagawa seems to be too busy wallowing in his own mistakes to notice your struggle. Your gaze  snaps down again, his eyes have fluttered shut as he buries his face deep into your cunt, nose pressed to your clit as he pushes his tongue into your hole and you can feel the way he lets out a silent, but shaky breath, barely holding back a moan.

You notice his free hand slide from where it was propped on your thigh down to his beige pants, fingers fumbling with the button as he desperately tries to slip his hand beneath his waistband to touch himself. You kick his wrist hard, using your foot to pin it against the side of your desk, watching him wince and withdraw his hand, looking up at you with those big brown eyes you can never say no to. 

God, he’s pathetic, his lashes are wet and his cheeks are flushed, eyes glossed over with pleasure as he looks up at you and you know you’ll let go of his wrist if he looks at you like that any longer, so you turn your gaze back up to Akutagawa, who’s staring at his lap and waiting for you to finish the report.

“Get out,” you tell him, voice sharper than you intended. Akutagawa’s eyes snap up to you, brows furrowed in confusion. “Go, I’ll handle this.”

“But-”

“Your job is to take orders, not question them,” you bite out, watching frustration flash across the boy’s face as he rises to his feet. You’re not usually this harsh with the kid, but you’re not sure how much longer you’re going to last and Akutagawa cannot be in here when you cum. You can feel the heat pooling in your stomach and that familiar hazy feeling clouding your mind. “Out, Akutagawa.”

Akutagawa inhales sharply but nods, turning stiffly on his heel to leave your office. As soon as the door to your office clicks shut, Dazai is pushing the chair backwards until the back of it hits the windows behind you, shifting into a more comfortable position as he resumes fucking you with his tongue in earnest. 

He moans into you, wanton and shameless, any restraint he had because of Akutagawa’s presence is long gone. While he was careful to not make noise before, now the sloppy sound of his tongue dragging in and out of your cunt drowns out any other noise in your office, he sucks and slurps, he’s so disgusting, like he can’t get enough of the taste of you, a man who’s been starved for years.

The knife clatters to the ground as he reaches up with both hands to grab your thighs, sliding them over his shoulders so he can push his tongue even deeper inside of you. Only sheer pride drives you to push away the creeping fog as Dazai’s tongue slides back up between your folds to draw figure eights around your clit.

“I should pull the fucking trigger, pulling this shit when he was in here,” you spit out, head falling back as a breathy noise escapes your parted lips when Dazai sucks gently at your clit. He moans again, as if the idea itself turns him on—it probably does, he’s always talked about wanting to die between your thighs. “You’re a fucking freak, Dazai.” 

He lets out a puff of air, you can’t tell if it's a laugh or another moan, maybe a mixture of both, but he’s too focused on drowning in your cunt to respond. Four years without him and you’ve forgotten just how good Dazai is with his tongue, working your body as easily as he did when the two of you were eighteen and seeking each other out before meetings and between missions for a quick fuck. You hate it—you hate that he’s treating you as if nothing has changed and you hate even more that your body is this responsive to him. 

Betrayal, you think, your own body betrays you for him. Again.

“Fuck,” you gasp the word out when Dazai rolls your clit between his teeth gently, sending a jolt through your body that throws you off just enough for that fog you’ve been fighting off to finally win. You choke over a moan, head pressed back against your desk chair, forearm coming up to press against your forehead as your eyes slide shut. Your free hand finally finds its place in his hair, tightening around his dark locks, he lets out a whimper against you, tongue flicking over your clit. “Like that. Just like that.”

You can hardly keep your head on straight as he traces letters around the sensitive bud, you try to figure out what he’s spelling but you’re too far gone. Your head is light and your chest is heaving. You’re barely able to bite back moans as your thighs tighten around his head, hips rocking against his face. You don’t even know if he can breathe, you don’t think you care, so close to the edge that your entire body is tingling and trembling; you don’t think he cares either from the way he’s moaning into you.

It takes one last suck, one last swirl around your clit, and you’re crying out his name, spots dotting your vision as your grip on his hair tightens, pushing his face impossibly deeper into you as you grind your hips against his face. God, it feels never-ending, a noise too close to a sob nearly escapes your lips as Dazai ardently laps up all of your cum, not letting a single drop go to waste. You can’t remember the last time you’ve cum this hard—with him, probably, you realize bitterly. None of the one-night stands you’ve had over the past few years have ever compared to him.

You’re still reeling even as you force yourself to straighten in your seat, not willing to let him know just how badly you’re thrown off by how intense your orgasm was. Your head is still spinning, vision still blurring, but you lift your leg and press your foot to Dazai’s shoulder, kicking him back and forcing him out from his position between your thighs. 

He grunts, looking thoroughly disgruntled as he falls back on his ass, pouting up at you as he tries to catch his breath. He looks debauched, lips swollen and wet, your cum smeared on the lower half of his face. His cock is straining against his beige pants and his eyes are still glazed over; he’s looking up at you with an expression that’s nothing short of reverent. 

God, he’s gorgeous. 

You hate him. 

You’ve missed him. 

You shift in your seat and Dazai is lifting himself to his knees, immediately leaning closer, a hazy smile on his lips as he angles his face up and pointedly parts his lips, sticking his tongue out. You know what he wants and the heat that had been slowly dissipating returns with a vengeance, breath catching as you look down at him.

“You’re gross,” you tell him, watching the corner of his lips quirk up even as he keeps his tongue out and waiting.

You don’t deny him. You never can. 

You shift forward, rising to your feet and reaching out to grab his chin, angling your face down. Your grip is too tight, it’ll leave bruises behind and you think that’s the least he deserves so you only tighten it a bit more as you lean over him. You don’t give him what he wants, not right away, letting the saliva gather on your tongue as you observe him, the way his pupils are blown wide and his chest is hardly rising and falling, as if he can’t even let himself breathe in anticipation.

Disgusting, you think again, but it’s fond this time, much to your displeasure.

You decide to put him out of his misery, letting the spit dribble from your mouth down to his. His eyes roll back as soon as it hits his tongue, and your hand slides from his chin to curl around his neck—not tight, just firm enough to feel the way his throat bobs as he swallows.

He lets out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering back open as he looks up at you, entirely blissed out. Your hand slides down more, curling around the ugly bolo tie he’s wearing in place of the black one you’re used to. You tug it hard, beckoning him to his feet; he acquiesces, albeit on shaky legs. 

Immediately, his hands find your hips as he pushes you against your desk, spinning you around to face it before his hand presses between your shoulder blades, pushing you down to bend you over it. Your eyes widen at the sudden change in demeanor, something you’ll never be able to get used to no matter how many times you fuck him; it always caught you off guard back then, it still catches you off guard now. He pulls off the remnants of your destroyed slacks and immediately is grinding his bulge against your ass, a low moan spilling from his lips. 

“How many people have you been with?” he suddenly asks, and you can hear him fumbling to unbutton his own pants. There’s an edge to his voice that you don’t like—something caught between jealousy and possessiveness, and you nearly want to scoff at it.

“What the fuck, Dazai?” you spit out, appalled and not expecting the question. “None of your damn business.” 

You turn your head to the side to rest your cheek on the desk, looking back at him from the corner of your eye. His eyes are still a bit hazy but there’s a tight expression on his face, reminiscent of the one that would be directed toward you whenever he stumbled in on you entertaining anyone other than him years ago. 

“Humor me,” he says, voice cold and eerily familiar. If you weren’t looking at him and if you couldn’t see the tan coat and bolo tie, you’d think you were talking to Dazai Osamu, Port Mafia Executive, and not Dazai Osamu, Detective. 

“A lot,” you finally tell him, feeling the way he stiffens behind you. “I don’t keep count. You?” 

You think he has some nerve asking when he’s probably slept around t-

“None.”

“Bullshit,” you snarl immediately. “How many? Don’t fucking lie to me, Dazai.”

“None,” he says again, gaze lifting from your back to meet yours, his eyes are dark—too dark, too still. Maybe he hasn’t changed as much as you assumed, because the way your chest swells with a confusing mixture of fear and arousal is far too familiar. “You’re the only one allowed to touch me.”

His gaze drags back down, with his pants unbuttoned, he lifts his free hand to caress the swell of your ass, a contemplative expression on his face as he stares down at you, his other hand still pinning you down to your desk. If your heart wasn’t thudding in your ears from sheer anticipation, you’d be irate over the fact that you were letting Dazai Osamu fuck you over your own desk in your own office, but you can’t bring yourself to care now.

“They never made you feel like this.” It’s a statement, not a question, and you want to scoff at his arrogance, but you can’t because he’s right. “They don’t know your body like I do.”

This time you do scoff. “You don’t know shit, Dazai. It’s been four years.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker back up to you, the way his lips curve up into a smile is dangerous.

“No?” he questions. 

A challenge. You never back down from one, not from him. 

“No.”

His smile sharpens.

“I know that after you cum for the first time,” he murmurs, rolling his hips forward. You bite back a moan when you feel the tip of his cock slip between your folds. “The second time comes right after.”

True to his words, your jaw falls slack and your entire body seizes as Dazai thrusts into you, splitting you right open on his cock. The moan he lets out is pornographic, and you wish you could see the way his head falls back and his eyes roll into his skull, but your own vision is white and you’re choking over a sob as you feel the familiar stretch of his cock against your walls.

“There you are.” Dazai has the nerve to let out a breathless laugh and another groan as he stills with his hips flush to your ass, feeling your walls spasm around him as you cum just from the feeling of him pushing inside of you. The hand he has placed between your shoulder blades slides up to curl around your throat. With a firm grip, he pulls you up so only your thighs are pressed against the edge of your desk, back flush to his chest as you gasp, reeling from the suddenness of your second orgasm. You can feel him smile as he nudges his nose against the side of your head, lips pressed to your ear. “The third time takes a bit after the second, but I’ll fuck you through it. Maybe a fourth too.”

“Dazai,” you gasp, eyes blown wide as your head falls back against his shoulder. You don’t know what you’re trying to say, maybe hold on, or wait, because you know you’ll embarrass yourself if he doesn’t give you a second to recover.

He hums in response, and the slow rolls of his hips, the drag of his cock against your walls, it has your head in the clouds, body trembling. Your lips part to speak but no words leave them, and right when you think you can finally force the words out, Dazai draws his hips back and snaps them back against yours hard. Your lips part in a silent moan, only the hand around your throat and the one pressed to your lower belly holds you up as Dazai fucks you at a brutal pace. 

His face drops to the crook of your neck, he moans into your skin, teeth scraping hard as he kisses recklessly up and down every available inch. He’s going to leave marks, you realize, and that’s dangerous now that you’re back in Yokohama because you don’t need any of the other executives to get suspicious, but even if you wanted to tell him not to, you don’t think you’d be able to. Whatever little coherency you had left in your thought process does not translate when you try to speak, the only things leaving your lips being shaky moans and gasps of Dazai’s name.

“Made for me,” Dazai groans. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to make the air you breathe in shallow, your head feels light and you’re not sure if it’s because of his grip or if it’s the feeling of his cock bullying so deep into you that you can feel his tip pressing up against your cervix. “Waited so many years for this, feels even better than I remember, pussy’s made for me, isn’t it?”

Dazai babbles into your ear as he fucks you, tongue just as filthy and unbridled as the day he left. Shameless. He’s so shameless. Doesn’t even care that anyone could walk into your office and catch the two of you; doesn’t care that if anyone does, he’ll end up executed. He’s fucking you in a building full of people that want him dead and all he cares about is how your cunt feels wrapped around his cock.

Your breath hitches as Dazai shifts you to bend over just a little more, still keeping your back flush to his chest but fucking you at a new angle—one that nearly sends you spiraling over the edge for a third time. 

“Gonna give me your third now?” he pants. His hand on your lower stomach slips down, lithe fingers dipping between your folds to search for your clit—your back arches against him when he finds it, a sob spilling from your lips, vision swimming with tears. Dazai laughs again, this one is strained, catching over a moan as your walls convulse around him. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, you’re so tight.” 

Unconsciously, his grip on your throat tightens, cutting off even more air. You can hardly breathe, you can hardly think—each thrust of his hips has your head spinning, ripping the little air you can inhale right out of your lungs. The tip of his cock rubs against that spongy spot inside of you every time he snaps his hips against yours, the quick circles he rubs on your clit are electrifying. 

Your cheeks are wet, breath ragged, vision spotty. One last thrust, one last circle, and you’re wrecked, sobbing out his name as your legs give out, only held up by the way he has your thighs pinned to your desk and his hand on your neck. You cum all over his cock so hard that you think you black out for a second, your mind fuzzy and pins and needles pricking all over your body.

Dazai doesn’t stop. He fucks you through your third orgasm, relishing in the way your body twitches and trembles, too sensitive for his touch. 

“Your fourth will come quick,” he gasps. His pace is erratic now, chasing his own release. Your ears are ringing, heartbeat thudding in your ears, the wet, sloppy sound of his cock driving in and out of you resounding through your office. “I don’t think I’ll last for five. Shit, shit, I’m close.”

You have to force yourself to move. You want to see him when he finishes. Your hand wraps around his wrist, nails digging into his skin to try to get his attention. It takes all of your will power to push the two words from your lips: “Flip me.”

He does. Without any sort of hesitation, his hand drops from your throat to your waist. His cock slips out of you for a split second and your cunt aches at the loss, but Dazai is immediately pushing himself back into you as he hoists you up by the thighs, sitting you down on your desk and wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Even through your blurry vision, Dazai is a fucking sight. His dark hair is matted to his forehead, pink lips swollen and wet, cheeks flushed. His eyes glazed over and half rolled back as he chases his high. God, he’s stunning. You’ve missed him. You’ve missed him.

You’re not thinking as you lift your hand to cup his cheek, sliding around to the back of his head to pull his face down to yours, moving on pure instinct. You drag him down to press your lips against his and Dazai is gone. The moment your lips touch his, he’s moaning into your mouth, hips stuttering against you as he spills his cum deep inside of you, and he’s right, because the moment you feel his cum filling you up, warm and thick, so much of it that you can feel it dribbling around his cock, the stickiness smearing against your thighs and ruining your desk, you’re pushed over the edge for the fourth time.

This one is weaker than the rest, not a single noise escapes you but your jaw goes slack and Dazai whimpers into your mouth when he feels your walls tightening around him again. But he takes advantage of your pliancy, pushing you back gently so that your back is flush to your desk. He follows you down, keeping his chest pressed to yours as he maps out your mouth with his tongue. He rolls his hips against yours, slow and deep, fucking his cum deeper into you as the two of you slowly come down from your highs. He slants his lips against yours to deepen the kiss, hand coming up to cup your cheek, his other sliding up and down one of your thighs. 

It’s too intimate. You tell yourself that you only let it happen because you’re reeling from overstimulation but you know it's a lie.

You don’t even know how long you stay in that position with him. It could only be a few seconds, a few minutes, it could’ve been an hour for all you know, laying on your desk with him pressed on top of you, kissing you so passionately that it makes your head spin as much as the orgasms did. 

Finally, you press your hand against his shoulder, signaling for him to get off of you. He does, albeit with a reluctant sigh. You stare up at the ceiling as Dazai shakily rebuttons his pants, making his way over to the closet where you still keep your spare clothes from when you have to stay over at the office to work. 

What did you do?

You’re hyper aware of how swollen your lips are, of the marks littering your neck, of the cum dribbling out of your cunt, staining your desk. 

If anyone finds out about this-

You don’t get to finish the thought, because Dazai comes back over to you. Neither of you speak as he takes a tissue to clean up his cum from your thighs and as it dribbles out of you, nor do you speak when he shifts you into a sitting position, helping you pull on a new pair of panties and a new pair of slacks.

He stands in front of you, dozens of indecipherable emotions rocketing across his face as his dark eyes search your expression for something. You don’t know what, and you don’t even want to look at him but you can’t draw your gaze away from him.

After what feels like forever, he finally speaks.

“I missed you,” he says, voice hoarse as he lifts a hand to cup your cheek. 

You turn away from his touch, ignoring the hurt that flashes through his eyes. 

“Why don’t you believe me? You think four years has changed how I feel about you? I thought you knew me better than that.”

“It’s been four years,” you say, and you hate that your voice wavers a bit. You blame it on still being hazy after your orgasm but you know it’s a weak excuse. You hate that he still has this effect on you after all these years. You hate that you always give into him, and you hate that you know you’ll never get enough of him. You want to hate him, but you can’t. “Knowing how to fuck me isn’t the same as knowing me as a person. I barely know you anymore. You barely know me. And it’s not like you were open with how you felt four years ago. So, forgive me if it’s a bit hard to believe, Dazai.”

“You wear the same perfume. You still shoot with your non-dominant hand for some god forsaken reason. Your lips still twitch whenever you get annoyed even though you do your best to stop it. You-”

“Stop.”

“You still talk to me like you hate me even though your eyes are all soft and you’re leaning in toward me.” Dazai doesn’t stop, and to your horror, he’s right—you had begun to lean in to him instinctively as he spoke. You try to shift away from him, but he follows, fingers grazing your cheek, chest brushing yours. You don’t pull away this time. “I still wear the same cologne you bought me for Christmas because it reminds me of you—I spent two months trying to figure out where you bought it when it first ran out. I don’t carry a gun around as often, but when I do, I still try to do that stupid flipping trick you tried to teach me when we were seventeen—I still can’t do it, almost shot myself in the knee last time I tried.”

The laugh he lets out at the last sentence is hollow. He hesitates, as if he wants to continue but isn’t sure if he should. You can feel his blunt nails scraping gently against your skin, his palm warm against your cheek. You want to pull away but you’ve missed him, no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, and you find yourself sinking into his touch. You’ve always questioned why Mori sent you away for so long, angry because you figured he thought you were weak when it comes to Dazai and he didn’t want to risk anything. 

Only a few days back in Yokohama, and you’re already proving him right.

“I’m not the same person,” you tell him, something desperate edges at your tone. Desperate to convince him, or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I still love you,” he rasps, voice quiet as if he’s scared to admit it even to himself, and your heart is suddenly lodged in your throat as you stare up at him with wide eyes, the words he refused to tell you back when you were teens ringing through your head over and over again. “I’ve always loved you. Thought about you every day. I missed you so much.”

“I should hate you,” you say, swallowing thickly, unshed tears blurring your vision. “You didn’t even say goodbye. When Mori said you defected in the middle of a mission, I laughed in his face. Not because I didn’t think you’d never betray the Port Mafia, but because I didn’t think you’d ever leave me without saying anything.”

“If I said goodbye to you, I never would have left,” Dazai tells you quietly, the admission echoing in your years. “And I had to leave. I had to.”

“I should hate you,” you repeat, voice a bit weaker now, and you feel pathetic for falling apart like this in front of him. But it’s Dazai, he’s always had this effect over you. You suppose some things haven’t changed, because that certainly hasn’t. 

“I know,” he murmurs. 

You inhale deeply, shaking your head as you push yourself off your desk and straighten out your clothes, trying to get your head back on straight. You should’ve known better than to think you’d be able to come back to Yokohama and pretend that Dazai Osamu didn’t exist, for better or for worse, the two of you would always find your way back to each other. Mori was right to send you away, although you suppose the man is rarely wrong anyway.

Dazai doesn’t say anything, watching you with an unreadable expression as you search through the ruined piles of paper on your desk for the report that Akutagawa had handed you. Your eye twitches when you realize that it’s stained, realizing that you’re going to have to rewrite the whole thing because you can’t submit a cum-stained report to Mori.

Dazai snorts behind you, as if realizing your predicament. The look you give him is lethal, he silences himself quickly. 

“Don’t get yourself killed on the way out,” you tell him, grabbing your black jacket off your chair and swinging it over your shoulders as you look back at him. “If you make it out of here alive, I’ll see you at my apartment later. Then we can talk.”

His face twists. “What? Wait, don’t leave me here,” he panics, nearly tripping over his feet and your desk chair to follow after you. “Help me sneak out.”

“You got in here yourself,” you say dismissively. “Get out yourself.”

The noise he lets out is pathetic. “You do hate me,” he accuses. 

“No, I could never,” you admit quietly. His expression softens a bit, but you give him a sharp smile. “But I’m definitely not going to make things easy for you. Akutagawa is still out here prowling around. So is Chuuya, actually. Said he’d be at the office all night today. Good luck, you’re gonna need it.”

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (08)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 6.5k

Aliyah's Notes: i fucking hate this so much. i dont like anything about this chapter but the next chapters are gonna be yummy. hope u enjoy this trash :)

You stepped through the threshold into Rafe’s penthouse, and you were immediately struck by the space—clean, modern, and surprisingly immaculate. The quiet hum of New York City below faded, giving way to a silence you didn’t expect. The place felt polished, with clean lines and a minimalistic aesthetic that was entirely different from the messy and chaotic persona Rafe projected.

The living room opened up to an expansive view of SoHo’s city lights, stretching out in glittering rows beneath the vast windows. Soft, ambient lighting spills over sleek furniture—a large sectional couch in dark charcoal, a glass coffee table with a few tasteful magazines stacked in one corner, and a matching armchair positioned just right. Everything was so... neat. Even his shoes by the entryway were perfectly lined up.

You hesitated just inside the doorway, suddenly hyper-aware of the tension still knotted in your chest. After everything tonight, the walls of this calm, organized space almost seemed to close in around you, amplifying the turmoil still spinning inside your head.

“You can come in, you know,” Rafe’s voice broke the silence, snapping you back to the moment. He was standing beside you, watching as your eyes roved around the room. “Promise, there’s no trapdoor waiting to drop you,” he added, his attempt at humor softening his tone.

You managed a weak smile, stepping fully into the apartment. “Yeah, of course, no—uh, I guess I just… expected it to look different,” you admitted, letting your fingers drift over the cool surface of the console table by the door. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere.

“What did you expect?” He grinned, kicking off his own shoes and motioning for you to make yourself comfortable. “Mountain of pizza boxes? A shrine to myself?”

The corner of your mouth lifted, and despite yourself, you chuckled. “Something like that.”

“Thank you.” He placed a hand over his heart with exaggerated gratitude. “I’ve put a lot of work into fooling people into thinking I’m a responsible adult.”

That got another smile out of you, and for a moment, the silence settled into something comfortable. You took a few tentative steps further into the space, letting yourself take in the polished decor, the subtle hints of personality hidden in the smallest details—a leather-bound book resting on the side table, a worn-in baseball cap hanging from a hook by the door, the faintest scent of coffee lingering in the air.

“Here, let me take your jacket,” Rafe offered, holding out a hand. His voice was calm, and there was a warmth in his eyes as he met your gaze. You hesitated, gripping the edges of your coat a little tighter before relenting, letting him slide it off your shoulders and hang it neatly by the entryway.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No problem.” He gave a gentle nod, gesturing toward the couch. “Why don’t you sit for a minute? Or, if you want something to drink, I can grab you some water?”

The idea of sitting felt almost foreign to you, as if your body couldn’t settle even if you tried. “Water sounds nice,” you said, though your voice wavered as you followed him to the plush couch, perching awkwardly at the edge.

Rafe returned a moment later, handing you a glass of water. You muttered a thank you, taking a slow sip as he settled down beside you, keeping a respectful distance. For a while, the two of you just sat in silence, the soft hum of the city outside the only sound filling the space.

After a beat, Rafe broke the silence. “Wow,” he began, glancing sideways at you, “Tonight was insane.”

You nodded slowly, his words sinking in. For a moment, it felt like everything was too quiet, too still, and your mind began to race, searching for something—anything—to fill the silence.

As if sensing your discomfort, Rafe tried to lighten the mood, leaning back and stretching his arms across the couch. “So,” he started, an easy smile playing at his lips, “not to brag, but I make a mean cup of ramen. Best in New York. You hungry?”

The words landed like a trigger, setting off a wave of anxiety that you’d tried so hard to keep at bay. You felt your throat tighten, your heartbeat quickening as an overwhelming rush of emotions began to build. His casual offer had hit a nerve, and suddenly, the walls of the penthouse felt like they were closing in.

“I don’t… I don’t need anything,” you replied sharply, your voice wavering as your grip tightened around the glass of water. But Rafe’s well-meaning gaze didn’t falter, and the pressure inside you began to build, spiraling out of control.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice still gentle, still concerned, as if he wanted to make sure you were truly okay.

The question, that seemingly innocent offer, tore through you like a wound reopening. It was as if he’d taken a crowbar to a door you’d worked so hard to keep shut, prying it open until every raw, painful memory began flooding in, drowning you. Your breaths came faster, shallow, the room closing in around you as you tried to hold yourself together.

“No, I don’t want anything to eat! Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Your voice rose, sharper than you intended, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge of something dark and manic. The walls seemed to close in around you as the noise in your mind grew louder and louder. “I don’t want to eat! I’m fine, okay? I don’t need anything!”

Rafe’s eyes widened in surprise, and he leaned back slightly, hands raised in a calming gesture. “Whoa, hey… I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought… maybe you’d want something, that’s all.”

His words were gentle, but they only fueled the fire. “Everyone thinks I need to eat,” you continued, almost hysterical now, your voice shaking. “It’s always about food, isn’t it? Do they think I’m starving, or that I can’t take care of myself? I don’t need anyone to tell me to eat, or to make sure I’m doing it right, or to ask if I’m hungry every five seconds. I can take care of myself. I don’t need—”

Your voice cracked, and suddenly the weight of your own words hit you, the admission cutting deeper than you’d realized. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop the flood of emotions that had finally broken free. All of the pressure, the expectations, the shame—it all came crashing down, suffocating you.

Without waiting, you shot to your feet, stumbling as you rushed toward the bathroom. Your breaths were coming in ragged gasps now, your heart hammering in your chest as you slammed the door shut behind you. The mirror loomed in front of you, but you couldn’t bear to look at your reflection, couldn’t face the hollow, haunted expression staring back at you.

Instead, you leaned over the sink, gripping the edges until your knuckles turned white, trying to keep the nausea at bay. But it was too much—the panic, the shame, the weight of Rafe’s eyes on you, seeing everything you’d tried so hard to hide. With a shaky breath, you turned away from the sink and sank to your knees, the familiar wave of nausea rising as the tears spilled over, thick and heavy.

The sound of your own sobs echoed off the tiled walls, and you buried your face in your hands, feeling the last of your composure slip away. It was a battle you’d fought alone for so long, a pain you’d hidden from everyone, even yourself. But here, in this stark, sterile bathroom, the weight of it all felt like too much to bear. The shame, the desperation, the need for control—it all crashed over you like a wave, drowning out everything else until you were left gasping for air.

Your throat burned, and the nausea twisted deep in your stomach, leaving you hunched over the toilet bowl. You gripped the sides of it, trying to will the shame away, trying to breathe through the crushing weight of panic that made it hard to even look up.

Then the door opened, and you froze, shoulders tensing as you felt his presence behind you. You wanted to scream at him to go away, to leave you alone, but before you could, you felt his hands on your back, warm and steady, rubbing gentle circles along your spine.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here,” he murmured, his voice low and calm, completely different from the usual playful, cocky tone. He crouched beside you, one hand reaching to hold your hair back, careful not to touch your face but close enough to keep it out of your way. It was a kindness you hadn’t expected—a tenderness that caught you off guard, that almost made it harder to keep from crying.

“Rafe…please…just go,” you choked out, voice barely a whisper. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

But he stayed, his hand warm on your back, grounding you as your breaths came faster, rougher. “I’m not leaving,” he said quietly. “I don’t care about seeing you like this. Just focus on breathing. I’ve got you.”

Your shame deepened, the tears spilling over as the familiar cycle took hold, and you couldn’t stop it. But Rafe was right there, anchoring you, holding your hair gently and murmuring quiet reassurances as you retched, his hand never leaving your back.

When the worst of it passed, you slumped forward, feeling completely spent, the last shreds of your dignity scattered. You could barely bring yourself to lift your head, and when you finally did, you couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. “You…you should’ve left,” you mumbled, your voice trembling as you wiped at your cheeks with shaky hands.

Rafe ignored your words, shifting so he could reach for a washcloth by the sink. He dampened it with warm water, and before you could protest, he gently tilted your chin, dabbing at your face with a gentleness that almost broke you. “Shh. You don’t have to say anything.”

The warmth of the cloth felt soothing against your skin, and the quiet intimacy of the moment—of Rafe here, with you in your most vulnerable state—left you speechless. He wasn’t supposed to see this side of you. This was meant to be an arrangement, something on paper, and yet here he was, his touch gentle, his gaze filled with an unexpected tenderness that left you feeling more exposed than ever.

Once he finished wiping your face, he reached for a glass of water, holding it out. “Here. Just rinse. You’ll feel better,” he murmured, his voice calm and steady, as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

You managed a weak nod, your hands trembling as you took the glass. After rinsing your mouth, you set it aside, still feeling hollow and raw, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Rafe didn’t pull away. He simply stayed close, watching you with a quiet patience that made your heart ache.

Then he reached into the cabinet, pulling out a tube of toothpaste. He unscrewed the cap, squeezing a bit onto a fresh toothbrush before handing it to you. “Here,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours. “Trust me, it’ll help.”

His steady presence, his calm, unhurried movements, made it impossible to hide. You took the toothbrush, swallowing hard as you glanced away, barely able to hold back the fresh wave of tears that threatened to spill over. “You…you don’t have to do this,” you murmured, your voice breaking.

“I know,” he replied, his voice a soft murmur as he leaned back against the counter, staying close without crowding you. 

You closed your eyes, brushing your teeth in silence, every movement feeling surreal, like you’d stepped into someone else’s life. Rafe’s presence, his quiet support, felt too real, too genuine. For a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine that it was—all of it. That he was truly here for you, that you weren’t alone.

When you finally rinsed and set the toothbrush aside, he reached over, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “There,” he said, his voice warm. “Better?”

You nodded, though words felt impossible. He offered a soft smile, his hand lingering at the edge of your shoulder. “You’re okay,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to keep this all to yourself, you know?”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the ache of those words settle deep inside you. This was supposed to be fake—a carefully crafted arrangement, a performance for the public eye. Yet here he was, holding you in a way that felt so real it hurt.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

He shook his head, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “It’s all right. You don’t need to apologize.” For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence settling around you like a gentle blanket. Then, he tilted his head toward the hallway, his voice low and warm. “Come on, let me show you where you’ll be sleeping. You look exhausted.”

You nodded, the fight in you all but gone, and let him guide you down the hall.

He led you down the hallway off the living room, his hand light on your shoulder as if he was afraid to push too hard, but still determined to keep you steady. The quiet around you felt different now, no longer suffocating, but soothing. The weight of your earlier breakdown lingered, and you were acutely aware of his presence, the warmth of his hand anchoring you even as your mind replayed your outburst. But he said nothing, just kept moving forward, offering a silent comfort that, strangely, made you feel safe.

He opened the door to a room on the right, flipping on the light to reveal what appeared to be his guest room—if it could be called that. The room was filled with clutter: a stack of boxes against one wall, a few stray bags on the floor, and clothes that hadn’t quite made it into the closet. It was the only part of his home that didn’t feel curated, and you almost laughed at the mess, a strange relief filling you at the imperfection.

Rafe rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost embarrassed as he glanced around the room. “I, uh, haven’t really had the time to keep this room… organized,” he admitted, shooting you an apologetic smile. “Usually, it’s just storage, but—well, it has a bed.” He gestured to a neatly made bed tucked into the far corner, the only part of the room untouched by the chaos.

A small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips. “No, it’s perfect.”

Rafe’s expression softened, his hand dropping to his side as he watched you. “Good. I’m glad,” he said quietly. He took a step back, giving you some space as he gestured to the dresser by the wall. “There should be some extra blankets in there if you get cold, and if you need anything else…” He hesitated, meeting your eyes. “Just let me know. I’ll be right down the hall. Or, actually,” he added, seeming to correct himself, “I’ll probably be downstairs on the couch, but I’ll leave the door open. You know, just in case.”

What he didn’t say was that he couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at him. After seeing your outburst, and watching you throw up, he couldn’t bring himself to fully leave your side. He’d stay close enough to hear the slightest sound from your room, ready to be there if you needed him. The open door was his quiet reassurance: he wanted to be close enough to protect you, to do anything possible if the night took a turn.

You nodded, a quiet understanding passing between you. Despite everything, despite the tension and confusion that had brought you here, there was an undeniable comfort in his presence tonight.

Rafe lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching as you settled onto the edge of the bed, hands twisting nervously in your lap. You were still reeling from everything, still shaky, but the exhaustion was starting to settle in, weighing your limbs down. He looked at you, something unspoken flickering in his eyes, before he gave you a small nod and turned to go.

But just as he was about to close the door behind him, he paused. “Oh, wait. Here.” He pulled open a drawer in a nearby cabinet and took out a plain, oversized T-shirt, holding it out to you. “Thought you might want something more comfortable to sleep in.”

The kindness of the gesture caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stared at the shirt in his hands, your heart unexpectedly warm.

“Thank you, Rafe,” you murmured, taking the shirt from him. The fabric was soft between your fingers, worn in a way that felt comforting.

He gave a soft, almost shy smile. “Anytime. Get some rest, alright?”

You nodded, watching as he closed the door halfway, leaving it just slightly ajar, a sliver of light from the hallway casting a gentle glow across the room.

Once alone, you changed into the shirt, the fabric falling around you in a way that was oddly comforting, like being wrapped in a part of him. You slid under the blankets, pulling them up to your chin, and tried to focus on the steady rhythm of your breathing. But even with the warmth of the bed and the security of the walls around you, sleep wouldn’t come. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind replayed the events of the night.

Minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last. You tossed and turned, shifting under the blankets as you tried to settle, but your mind wouldn’t quiet, the unease creeping back in. Finally, with a sigh, you sat up, clutching the edge of the blanket as you tried to weigh your options.

You could hear the faint murmur of the TV downstairs, the soft hum of sound carrying through the quiet penthouse. Something about it felt reassuring, like a reminder that you weren’t alone here, even if everything in your mind felt isolated and dark.

Almost on autopilot, you slipped out of bed and padded toward the door, pulling it open quietly as you stepped into the hallway. Your feet moved almost without thinking, carrying you toward the staircase and down into the living room, where Rafe lay sprawled on the couch, his gaze fixed on the TV. He looked comfortable, one arm draped over his head, his eyes half-closed, the flickering light from the screen casting shadows across his face.

As you approached, he noticed you, his expression shifting from surprise to a warm smile. “Can’t sleep?” he asked, sitting up a little, his tone gentle.

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself as you stopped just a few feet away. “I… I just couldn’t quiet my mind.” You hesitated, glancing at the empty space beside him on the couch. “Would you mind if I… joined you?”

Rafe’s eyes softened, and he patted the cushion next to him. “Of course. Here, take a seat.”

You eased down beside him, feeling the warmth of his presence as he settled back, his arm stretching out along the back of the couch. For a while, you just sat there in silence, the quiet hum of the TV filling the space between you.

After a moment, you took a steadying breath, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I’m sorry… about earlier. About… the way I reacted.” Your voice trembled slightly, and you kept your gaze fixed on your hands, avoiding his eyes.

Rafe shook his head, his tone firm but gentle. “You don’t need to apologize, Y/N. Not for that.”

You managed a weak smile, feeling a twinge of relief at his understanding. “It’s just… sometimes I feel like everyone’s always watching me. Watching what I eat, what I do, how I look.” The confession felt raw, vulnerable, but sitting here with him in the dim light, it felt almost safe.

Rafe’s gaze was steady, attentive, as he listened to you, his hand resting on the back of the couch just inches from your shoulder. “I get it,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes it feels like no matter what you do, someone’s waiting for you to slip up.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the understanding in his eyes. “I… I guess. I didn’t expect you to understand.”

Rafe’s expression turned thoughtful, almost pained, as he shifted, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I know that feeling more than I’d like to admit. It’s like… I’m always trying to be someone for my family, or at least… the son my dad wanted. And after my mom died…” He hesitated, his voice catching slightly, and he looked away as if he was afraid to let you see the rawness in his eyes. “I guess I felt like I had to fill a space I didn’t even know how to reach.”

Your heart twisted, a soft ache blooming as you watched him open up. You saw him differently in that moment, the weight of expectations he carried, the vulnerability he kept hidden behind the confident mask he showed the world. Slowly, you reached over, placing your hand over his, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers. “I’m so sorry, Rafe. I didn’t realize…”

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “It’s not something I talk about much. But… I guess it feels different with you.” His thumb brushed against your hand, the light touch sending a warmth through you that you couldn’t ignore. There was something in his eyes, something unspoken, a tenderness you hadn’t seen before, and it made your heart beat just a little faster.

The warmth in his voice, the sincerity, made your chest tighten in a way you hadn’t expected.

You managed a small smile, feeling a strange warmth settle over you. “Thank you, Rafe… for tonight. Really.”

He reached over, gently placing a hand over yours, his touch reassuring, grounding. “Anytime.” His voice was low, sincere, and the intensity in his eyes made your heart race, a warmth spreading through your chest that you couldn’t quite ignore. “I know this started out as a… as a deal, but I’d be more than happy to talk to your family, if that would help.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you felt a softness in your chest that you hadn’t felt in so long. No one had ever made an effort like this for you. You squeezed his hand gently, meeting his gaze with a warmth that mirrored his own. “Thank you, Rafe.”

For a long moment, you just looked at each other, the quiet intimacy of the night wrapping around you, pulling you closer. His thumb traced slow, comforting circles over your hand, the warmth of his touch sending a thrill through you that you hadn’t expected. You didn’t know when it had happened, but something had shifted between you. 

As the quiet settled around you, the intensity of the moment began to ease, replaced by a warmth that made you feel unexpectedly at peace. Rafe still had his hand over yours, his thumb brushing soft, idle circles across your knuckles, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth as he looked at you.

“What?” you asked, noticing the spark of amusement in his eyes.

He shrugged, leaning back a little, though his hand didn’t leave yours. “I don’t know… you just have this look right now. It’s kind of cute.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, right. After everything tonight, ‘cute’ is the last thing I’d call myself.”

Rafe’s smile softened, and his eyes held a kind of warmth that made your chest flutter. “No, seriously,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “You’re always beautiful, but right now… it’s like you’re letting go of something. And that’s what’s cute. You’ve got this calm about you, like you’re finally breathing easy.”

You blushed at his words, warmth spreading across your face. “I… I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Say nothing,” he replied softly, his thumb still tracing small circles over your skin. “Just let me say something. I’ve been a mess lately… and I know I’ve been distant.” He hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering away. “I owe you an explanation. About ghosting. The last two weeks… I know I hurt you.”

Then, just as you were about to look away, unsure of where this was going, Rafe continued; “I’m sorry for disappearing on you. I should’ve talked to you, explained. But I didn’t know how. I still don’t really know how…” He trailed off, his voice faltering for the first time since you’d sat down. “I didn’t want to mess things up, and I thought that if I kept my distance, it’d be easier.”

The honesty in his words made something ache in your chest, but it wasn’t just frustration anymore. There was understanding there too, a quiet sympathy for the walls he had built around himself, the things he wasn’t willing to confront until now.

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly. “Why pull away?”

Rafe’s lips twisted into a rueful smile. “I don’t know, Y/N. I don’t know why I do half the shit I do sometimes.” He shook his head. “But I didn’t want you to think I was using you. I didn’t want you to think this was just about the deal. Because it isn’t,” his gaze meeting yours, and the vulnerability in his eyes hit you like a wave. “Something happened,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “With my family.”

You frowned, trying to make sense of what he meant. “What do you mean?”

He let out a long breath, like the words were difficult to get out. “It’s about my dad—but it’s… more than that.” His fingers traced the edge of the couch, his eyes avoiding yours as he searched for the right words. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. I didn’t want you to think I was a mess.” He paused, then let out a humorless laugh, almost bitter. “But I am.”

Your heart sank as you watched him, the walls he had built around himself starting to crumble in front of you. Rafe’s eyes were distant now, focused on something you couldn’t see.

“My dad called me two weeks ago,” he continued, his voice tight. “He’s always… well, he's always trying to control everything. He told me I had to come to this meeting with him—something about my career and how I was handling things, how I’m not living up to the expectations he set.” He shook his head, a frustrated sigh escaping him. “But that wasn’t the worst part. It wasn’t just him. It was my stepmom, too. They’ve been pushing for me to change, to be more like my sister. She’s got this perfect life, the one my dad’s always wanted for me. And I don’t know how to explain it, but that day, I just… I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t keep pretending I was someone I’m not. So I shut off my phone. I just…” His voice trailed off as his hand dropped into his lap, the frustration still evident in the tension in his shoulders.

You listened in silence, the weight of his words sinking in. You had always seen Rafe as someone in control—confident, cocky, never afraid to face any challenge. But now, sitting here beside him, you saw a side of him you hadn’t expected. A side that was raw, real, and 2human.

“I couldn’t talk to you because I didn’t know how to handle it,” Rafe admitted, his voice softer now, more vulnerable. “I saw your texts. All of them. I just… I didn’t know what to say. I thought if I ignored it, it would be easier. But it wasn’t. And I’m sorry. I hurt you, and I should’ve been better. I should’ve communicated. I don’t expect you to just forgive me right away, but…” He paused, taking a deep breath.

Your chest tightened as you processed everything he was saying. It wasn’t just about the deal anymore, and it never had been. It was about everything he had kept buried deep inside of him—the weight of his family’s expectations, the pressure of trying to live up to something he couldn’t even define.

“I… I don’t know what to say either,” you whispered, your voice shaking a little. “You’ve hurt me, Rafe. You disappeared for two weeks without a word, and I didn’t know why. And it wasn’t just the silence—it was the feeling that I wasn’t even worth telling the truth to.”

Rafe’s expression softened, and he looked like he might say something, but you raised your hand to stop him, needing him to understand before he tried to apologize again.

“But I get it now,” you continued, voice a little stronger. “I get that it wasn’t about me. It wasn’t because of something I did. And maybe that helps, a little. But I can’t just pretend it didn’t hurt, Rafe. I’m not that strong.”

His eyes flickered with regret, and he nodded slowly. “I know. And I’m sorry. I really am.” He was still so vulnerable, still unsure of what the next step was, but something in his eyes—something raw and genuine—made you believe him.

The room fell into silence again, but this time it wasn’t the same heavy silence. There was understanding, there was pain—but there was also the unspoken possibility of moving forward. You weren’t sure where it was going, or what would happen after this, but for the first time in two weeks, you didn’t feel completely lost. You could see the cracks in him, and maybe, just maybe, you could help him heal them.

Rafe was leaning close, his hand resting over yours, fingers brushing softly. His thumb traced lazy circles across your skin, it felt like a reassurance. His gaze flickered down to your lips before meeting your eyes again, and you could see the hesitation there, the uncertainty, but also the longing.

You could feel the way your body responded to him. The way your chest tightened, how your breath hitched every time his thumb brushed your hand. And then, as if something finally clicked between you both, you leaned in, closing the distance just a little bit more.

Rafe’s eyes flickered down to your lips again, and this time, there was no hesitation. His hand, still covering yours, shifted until his fingers curled gently around your wrist, guiding you closer. His breath brushed against your skin as he closed the space between you, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

You both paused, breath mingling, sharing the same fragile moment. His eyes searched yours one last time, like he was trying to read you, to make sure you were truly there with him, in this moment. And then, without another word, his lips brushed against yours—a gentle touch, hesitant, as if he was testing the waters.

But when your lips met, it was like everything inside of you unraveled. His kiss was soft but insistent, like he couldn’t hold back any longer, like this was the one thing that could break through all the tension, all the confusion, all the weight of the unspoken things. And you kissed him back without thinking, without second-guessing, as if everything inside of you had been waiting for this exact moment.

His free hand lifted, gently cupping your face, his thumb grazing over your cheek as his lips pressed harder against yours. The kiss deepened, a slow, aching rhythm that made your heart race. You could feel the emotions, the vulnerability, the rawness in every touch, in every second of the kiss.

When you finally pulled away, it was only just enough to breathe. You rested your forehead against his, both of you trying to catch your breath. His eyes were closed for a moment, as if savoring the closeness, before he opened them, meeting your gaze once again.

“So…” You began, your voice light but purposeful. “About this whole marriage thing.”

Rafe blinked, pulling back, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “What about it?” 

You smirked, feeling the words roll off your tongue before you could stop them. “I don’t know, I just keep thinking about how weird it’s going to be to call you ‘husband.’”

The effect was immediate. Rafe froze for a second, his gaze locking on yours, wide-eyed, as though the word had sent a shock through him. You noticed the way his breath caught, the way his hand tensed around yours, and the flush creeping up his neck.

“Wait, what?” He stammered, trying to mask the surprise but failing. “You’re—seriously, you just said ‘husband’ like it was nothing?”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “Well, it is a word I’m going to have to get used to, right? You’re going to be stuck with it, whether you like it or not.”

Rafe let out a low, almost nervous laugh, but you could see the way his mind was clearly spiraling as he tried to regain his composure. “Yeah, well… I mean, it’s just—uh, it’s a little weird to hear it come out of your mouth. You know? ‘Husband.’”

You couldn’t help but smirk at the way he was tripping over his words, clearly caught off guard by the casualness with which you said it. 

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll feel more natural once we’re actually married.” You gave him a wink, knowing exactly how to throw him off balance.

But Rafe was looking at you differently now, his eyes softening as they flickered over your face. You could see the way his jaw clenched and unclenched, his gaze lingering on your lips before he snapped his focus back to your eyes, clearly struggling to rein in whatever thoughts were spinning in his mind.

And then, as though he couldn’t contain it anymore, he leaned in suddenly, pressing his lips to the side of your face, just below your ear. It was a quick, almost frantic kiss, like he couldn’t resist any longer. The next moment, his lips were on your temple, then your cheek, the soft, warm press of his mouth against your skin like an involuntary response.

You blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of it all, but a small, surprised laugh escaped you. “What was that about?” you asked, breathless from the unexpected affection.

Rafe pulled back, his expression almost shy now, like he hadn’t meant to do it but couldn’t stop himself. “I don’t know,” he muttered under his breath, not quite looking you in the eye. “You just… you said it again. And you looked so fucking pretty right now. I couldn’t hold myself back.” He was talking to himself more than to you, the words tumbling out as his hand found its way back to yours, his fingers curling around yours as though grounding himself.

You were silent for a moment, studying him with a mixture of amusement and something else—a warmth that spread in your chest, a recognition that maybe, just maybe, this whole marriage thing wasn’t so bad after all. His reaction was unexpected, but it made something stir in you. You felt a little giddy at the way he was reacting, the way he was unraveling in front of you. There was something so raw about it.

“Rafe,” you said softly, your voice teasing but with a deeper hint of affection now. “You’re really freaking out over the word ‘husband’?”

He gave you a sheepish look, a little embarrassed but still leaning in a little closer, as if he couldn’t help himself. “It just—did something to me, okay?” His voice dropped to a low whisper, eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes. “I don’t know. The way you said it… made me feel something I wasn’t ready for.”

Before you could respond, he kissed your cheek again, this time slow, deliberate, as if he was trying to savor the moment. He pulled back just enough to glance at you, his lips brushing against your skin as he murmured, “I swear, you’re killing me with that word.”

And then, almost without thinking, you whispered the word again, dragging it out just a little for dramatic effect. “Husband…”

His eyes closed at the sound, his breath catching in his throat. His reaction was instant. His hands cupped your face just as you had done, and suddenly, his lips were everywhere—across your forehead, along your jawline, down the side of your neck—each kiss soft, urgent, as if he couldn’t get enough. It wasn’t frantic, but it was definitely filled with a need that he wasn’t trying to hide anymore.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly between his kisses, your heart racing from the sweetness of it all. “Rafe,” you murmured through your laughter, “are you okay?”

He pulled back for a second, his forehead resting against yours as he let out a breathless chuckle. “Am I okay?” His voice was soft, almost incredulous. “I’m better than okay. I’m…” He stopped, looking at you with a look that was so intense, so unguarded, you felt it in your bones. “I’m kind of losing my mind over you right now, sweetheart.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the warmth in his eyes catching you off guard. The words hung in the air, a confession he hadn’t meant to make but couldn’t help. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your own composure. This wasn’t the time for heavy emotions, not when things were still so uncertain between you both.

But as you looked at him, his lips still slightly parted, his breath mingling with yours, you couldn’t deny the pull that had formed between you, something that felt more real than the arrangement you had set out to create.

“So… about that husband thing,” you said, a teasing smile curving your lips. “You sure you can handle it?”

Rafe chuckled, pulling you a little closer, his hands now resting on your waist as his eyes softened. “I’m starting to think I might be in trouble.”

“Trouble?” You raised an eyebrow, playfully narrowing your eyes. “Only if you keep kissing me like that. Otherwise, you’re fine.”

He smirked, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Good to know,” he whispered, “I’ll make sure to keep kissing you then.”

chapter nine

[writingmochi]

part 1

cast: heeseung ✗ fem.reader (ft. the peeps, enhypen, and other idols)

synopsis: when you told your long-term rival and latest hook-up, heeseung, that you are pregnant with his child; you didn't expect said topic to be involved in your rivalry!

genre: romantic comedy, slice of life, coming-of-age, slow burn, drama, rivals since childhood to [redacted], college/university au, pregnancy au, future parents au, fluff, angst, mature content (explicit smut)

word count: 24198 (24.2k) out of 60550 (60.5k)

warning(s): pregnancy (what did you expect?), so many curse words!, description of explicit sex (in a flashback sense), rough sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, manhandling, vomiting, mention of drugs (marijuana, alcohol), mention of blood, dark humor (if there is something that i forgot, let me know)

message of the moon: remember that this story is fiction and do be careful and read the warnings at the top. all the idols mentioned here are not what they are in real life.

first fic of 2024! i've ideated this since like 2022 and it's here what the heck!! this is part 1 of 2 of a 57k-58k word count one-shot (yes, this is supposed to be a one-shot) but tumblr hates me so i have to divide it into two. thanks for the 200+ notes on the teaser/character intro and i hope you enjoy it!

soundtrack (spoilers for part 2!) | part 2

prologue: a town called valentine

it was valentine 2002 when you and heeseung first met. well, if you consider babies who can’t even talk to each other will know of each other. you have to thank both of your moms for that—getting pregnant around the same time and giving birth in the same year as well.

but the earliest—vivid—memory you have of him was on valentine 2005. you hid behind your mama’s leg as she talked with someone: another adult. you glance around the outside space you’re in, the plants and pathway unknown to you as mama can see your eyes wander with your tiny mouth agape when you look past the other adult to recognize the widening door right beside them. you heard your mother giggling with the other person as they converse about something your 4-year-old mind wouldn’t be able to understand.

“(y/n) sweetie! say hi to auntie.” your mama caresses your hair with her hand as she guides you to stand beside her, her hands moving behind your small set of shoulders before you. the small hands reached for one of hers, holding it tight as you stood beside her.

“hello…” you looked up to meet a beautiful woman. her eyes are wide as they remind you of the mother deer you last saw when you watched bambi with mama and papa. and you can feel a ticklish feeling inside you as you watch her eyes smiling softly at you. as she smiles at you softly.

“hello (y/n)! you’ve grown so much since i last met you.” her hands give a wave, making you raise your hand up as you mirror her while you pick up your mama’s chuckle. the lady moves back, extending her arm as you see a clean hallway full of photos on one side and a cabinet full of shoes on the other. some of them looking similar to your own shoe size.

“please come inside. i’ve set the toys so she can play with them if she wants.” the lady—well, auntie—said as your mama guided you inside with her trailing behind. sitting on the hidden seating area by the cabinet, she helps you take off your shoes before opening her hands to let you hold them. she lets you walk in front as both of you enter a big room with a sofa in front of a television. as per told by mama every time you enter someone’s home: sit down beside mama or papa as you waited for the homeowner to guide you next. the back of the sofa is too tall for your height now and you let your hand graze against the side of the soft sofa when you encounter a large mat laid in between the sofa and the screen.

your brain tingles when you find a few toys you can name—like the ones you own back home—while a few of them you don’t recognize at all. eyes on the toys, you throw away whatever your mama has told you and tug her hand to let her know the existence of them. looking up, she looks down at you, glance at the pile of toys left behind, and gives nods, making you grin as you both sit on the playmat. your eyes immediately look at blocks stacked shaping like a house; its triangle roof, square walls, four windows, and door makes you easily imagine it. you crawl towards it and the box beside it, finding the other blocks left behind as you pull some of them out to make your own little house. as you slowly stack up the blocks—hearing the sound of wood tapping against each other—you heard the sound of giggling coming from behind the sofa.

“sorry, he just finished taking a bath.” auntie said to your mom who was behind you, walking closer to the sofa as you turned your head to face her. that’s when you see another person walking into the room with a small pitter-patter heard behind them. the steps are getting louder and louder as you see a small figure enter the room, walking towards the person laughing. the person wipes his face with his small hand before pausing, turning his head to you.

“hi heeseung!” you heard your mama say as the boy’s laugh slows down and he looks at you and your mama. auntie, who now looks more like the bigger version of the boy, steps in to help him move and sit down beside you. you see him crouch down as you can see his face clearer. yet, his eyes wander on the house made of blocks—his house—and the house you’re making; wider by one block than his.

“that’s (y/n). you were too young to remember but auntie and i always bring you two to playdates since you’re not even one year old. she’s the same age as you.” you heard auntie say as you felt your mama help you to scoot closer. his hand reaches for the box of blocks as you place the final block on your house while he’s pulling out more blocks. you look at the boy’s action as you feel mama, with her larger hand, holding onto your smaller one. your palm is now open as you see heeseung was told to do the same by his mom, putting away the blocks on the mat. your hands meet each other as you say your name. mama helps in closing your fingers, wrapping your hand in his as he follows.

“my name is (y/n).” the boy’s hand also uses the same force when you shake it. both women let go of their children’s hands as both of your little hands are floating, connected, and shaking. your eyes meet his as he looks back at the two houses made of blocks.

“my name is heeseung.” he smiles.

-

1. stay soft, silly

the way the corner of his mouth twitches makes you think outside of the plan you are executing now, nearly done in telling him what he needs to know.

your hands rested on top of your stomach, feeling a little bulge that was not there a month ago. his ice americano contrasts with your hot jasmine tea as you sit across from each other. years upon years of history went on pause for this moment. for a truce that you are proposing.

“and they’re mine?” heeseung sounded. your eyebrows folded, looking down at the swollen part beneath your stomach as you pouted your lips, holding back your giggling as you glanced back at him.

“i haven’t had sex with anyone this past month besides you. so, yeah. the baby is yours.”

it’s funny, you see. with the amount of carefulness you and your friends have taught you of the college hook-up culture you got roped into, you never expected to hook up with your rival. yet tension does what tension does, and it snaps as you both stumbled to kiss each other.

when it comes to your “relationship” with heeseung, the closest to a positive one was when you were in kindergarten, as you’ve known him before by the amount of playdates both of your mothers set up.

little did they know that one time at a playground during one of those playdates, you were left alone to play with your sandcastles as heeseung ventured to play with the other boys, running around the sandpit playing tag and how you see the familiar little jeans pants walks in front of you, knocking the castle down and flying the specks of sand to your face with your slower reaction speed—because of your younger age—not making you close your eyelids quicker. your eyes watering as you wail out, getting the attention of your mama but not the jean-wearing boy’s attention as you hear his mom telling him to stop. apologizing is simple for your younger self, just a plain “sorry” is okay. but when lee heeseung—who you consider your friend at that time—said “sorry” with a grin on his face, you caught onto the impression that he was not sorry at all.

at age 7, you came back from the cafeteria to your class to find heeseung and his gang of boys pulling on a girl’s hair, the familiar sadness showing on her face as you caught her eyes. you’ve known that they’ve played “dirty” and have been teasing other girls in your class before—just not you, which is strange in itself. with a tense set of hands, you push the boys away with your might and stand in between them, helping the girl who cowers behind you. you look down to watch heeseung on the floor, teeth showing and face crunched as he sees the scratch from when you pushed him near his elbow.

“what was that for?”

“to stop you. she doesn’t like it.”

one of his boys helps to pick him up on his feet as you can see him limping. your arms still wide as you protect the girl as best as you can. he pushes his sweaty bangs off his face as you can define the same gaze he had given you when you were 5 at the playground, now fiery. and you exude the same thing with your glare as you see the other boys helping carry him out to the nurse's office, his eyes staying on yours as you feel the girl’s hand holding you back from not walking after him again.

stickers become score markers as you and he tried to compete to get the most out of them, which comes with being nice and clever during classes. you were 10 when you had the same class as him once again, having to compete to be the quickest when raising your hands. but also the lowly giggles you give each other as you both realize just how wrong each other’s answers that comes with the teasing annoyance. it also comes in gym class as the teacher divided you up into different teams during team games—basketball being the most competitive as you are familiar with it. heeseung doesn’t hesitate to run towards you if you have a ball and try to dribble it across the court, pulling it as you try to pass it to your teammate, resulting in a tug-of-war where you both just don’t want to let it go. even with the whistling from the teacher as one teammate gets a hold of it to continue the game, you instead continue to have a screaming match with him.

it continues through middle school as you remember him not hesitating with his power to slam his dodgeball at your stomach during another gym class, making you curl up on the floor as your friends help you to the nurse's office, hearing him screaming “that’s what you get from stealing my lunch” as you remembered the taste of the chocolate bread you pick up from his tray yesterday. at high school as you and him argue in front of the vice principal about each of your club’s fundings, him with his basketball club who is already so successful with their winnings money that they can’t seem to let go to help other clubs who are staying afloat. even with your school having pride in the basketball team and other sports club achievements—making it a staple for the students to watch at least one game during their high school years. you never went to one as you rather babysit your neighbor’s kid for money than watch heeseung’s smug smile as he won another mvp trophy for that tournament.

when college came and you got into hybe uni as a business major, you didn’t expect to see heeseung on campus. you’ve known that since he focuses more on basketball in middle school, you are winning when it comes to academics. but when his smirking face tells you he got into hybe with a full scholarship because of basketball, your heart plummets into the fathoms. you were glad that he’s not in the same faculty as you, but the college environment is so small that your acquaintances recognize each other. you can’t seem to stay away from him who still has his smart for balancing his gpa and non-academic activities.

so when your lips met his own as you sobered up after having the party busted by the police, your mind is telling you to out-better him in lust and pleasure.

“who can make each other cum the most? never thought of you as that filthy, (l/n)”

the grip of his hair on your hand tightens as he trails his own to get a grip of yours. both of your heads now straight as you can’t look away from each other even if you want to.

“i take that you’re saying that because you don’t know how to make girls cum with your dick, lee.” you chuckled. heeseung’s gaze is still meeting yours as he pushes your head forward, making your forehead touch his as he mumbles something only you can hear.

“i know i can make you cum on my dick just by the way you’re clenching your thighs, baby. how do we tally the score?”

“start a kiss on the lips when you know you can’t hold back?”

“deal.”

“by the way, who won?” heeseung asked, leaning his body forward on the table as you peer down at his position from you, holding yourself as you stretch your back to help with the pain.

“how many times did you cum? and don’t fucking lie.”

heeseung’s bed is rocking beneath you as he folds you up in half, your knees on either side of you as he pounds into you. gasps fall out of your mouth as you pull on his hair, something you realize he likes after the amount of groan coming out of him from when you tug him. praises come out of your mouth as you try every method you can to turn him on first; to make him cum first. but the way he is pushing down on your abdomen makes you clench harder.

“look at how you’re clenching onto me. you’re close, aren’t you?” he whispered as you felt the breeze blowing onto your saliva-stained neck you are certain had hickeys on it. heeseung had to remind himself that he couldn’t kiss your lips, no matter how delectable they were, changing to kissing your neck.

“n-“ you moan as heeseung’s hand traces down to grip your ribcage, pulling you closer to him so he could find another angle to reach you deeper, pleasuring you both in return. “no.”

“don’t lie to me, (y/n).” his head pulls back from your crook as you watch his bangs faltering from the hard pounding to his mattress. “god, you’re so fucking hot when you’re under me.”

“fuck, just like that.” you retaliate with your own dirty talk, hands holding his waist so he could stay longer in your cavern as you grip him. but when you sense his breath against your skin, nose upon nose touching, the grip on his waist trails up as you cup his face. nodding your head as you feel him getting faster, you pull his head down and make his lips meet yours. you bit your bottom lip as your muffled moans vibrated between the two of you. your body giving up for a moment as he continued to thrust into you, making you let go as you let out a silent scream when you felt the moist gushing against him inside you. heeseung’s lips are unhesitant to kiss between your eyebrows as your body calms down from shaking, eyes rolling back to their original place as you continue to caress his cheekbone before a surge of energy comes back to you. you push him to the side, placing him down on the mattress as your hands grab both of his wrists to rest beside his head.

“i can feel you twitching inside me, hee. i know you’re close,” you said as you bounce on his lap, feeling the way your essence fell out and how much slick is on his penis because of you. as you have the upper hand, you decide to tease him by falling on him slower than the pace you have familiarized, making his wrists flinched under your hold as you click your tongue.

“you like how my walls are sucking you?”

“fuck, yes,” he mumbled under his breath.

“yeah..?” you replied as you leaned forward, making heeseung reach up to kiss your areola as best as he could.

“come on. you don’t wanna cum again?” heeseung asked in such a whiny voice that makes you snicker at how needy he has become. you decide to continue your teasing when you trail your nose along his face as you give a tiny kiss underneath his earlobe where you see the hickey you made on his clavicle. you move your hips so slowly as you feel how he becomes more erect even when he’s inside you.

“you’re the one who denies it yourself. i’m currently helping you here.” you poke your tongue and trace down his adam’s apple to his chest, reaching his nipple and giving it a suck. heeseung’s hip shoots up into you as he wants to take control. your hand moving closer to his palm with the grip that is getting loose as he pushes both his arms to let go of your hold. yet, you pull them back up as you reposition your fingers to interlock with his, withholding what he wants to make you move faster as he thrusts up into you.

you stare at how his doe-like eyes are begging for you after the number of times you have hated and feared the same eyes. how it glistens with tears because of how uncooperative you are even with your pace getting faster. with that, you lean forward as you stretch his hands and place them on your moving hips, letting them go so he can grip it hard as he tries to chase that feeling once again. you drape yourself above him as his blown-out eyes stare right at yours, his orange fiery flame meeting your own blue.

leaning forward more as you sensed one of his hands resting on your back, you brush away his hair that is sticking on his forehead as you whispered the death blow.

“you can cum in me-“

he leans up to connect your lips with his as you understand the signal, making your hips help to stimulate him more. his tongue flicking out and even wetting the skin around your lips as he moans out your name, letting out an exhale as your forehead is on his.

“want to breed you…” he whispered as you nodded, knowing just how much you like cum staining your walls as you give him a peck.

“breed me then.”

as he spoke to you about when he cums in your walls cowgirl style, you couldn’t help but snicker at the memories of his newly known breeding kink and your own creampie kink makes the resulting bun in your oven, making him flick your hand as you stare at him.

“that’s one for you and one for me- what are you thinking?” the way his voice pitches up at the end of the question makes you giggle even more.

“i swear-“ you lean forward as you realize the stage you are in, “the way our kinks create them,” you point down to your stomach.

“with the way your body shivers when i cum in you,” he said as he also leans forward. “i knew you like it. but i didn’t realize how feral you got because of that.”

“how feral we got, heeseung. fucking correct that.”

“oh fuck!” you moaned out into the mattress as heeseung held your hips up when he thrusts back into you from behind. you can sense how every time he pounds into you, his release is coming out alongside him as the wet clapping noises penetrate even the sound of both the cricketing bed frame and both of your moans. his hand goes up to your head and pulls your hair as the other pushes against your stomach, making you bend back towards him as the moans you let out of your mouth are clearer. his lips sucking another hickey onto your shoulder as you lean your head back on him to widen his access. your hands gripping onto both of the hands that are now resting on your abdomen and one on your breast, respectively.

“who can make you feel like this?” the question triggering you right away.

“y-you.”

“say my name, baby,” he said as he kissed your cheeks, making you turn your head towards the side as you opened your eyes to meet his, continuing to pleasure you into oblivion.

“heeseung…”

“go on.” he squeezed your flesh and you bit your bottom lip.

“heeseung!”

the hand on your abdomen leaves to crawl to your nub as your free hand reaches up to his nape, letting you connect your lips with his as best as you can. your body doing gymnastics before it is overcome by your second wave of cum when heeseung stops and twist your upper body to connect both of your lips fully. with his hands enveloping you, you push both of your body down as you let him spoon you.

grinding your hips against him, you reached down to gather both your cums as you give it a lick, making heeseung groan as he helps you push against him. “fuck, (y/n), how are you still so tight?”

“only for you-“ you reply as you shift away, just wanting to kiss heeseung, but then you remember the rules. with your shoulder, you push heeseung so he lays back on the bed as you lie on top of him. your knees folding so you can put your heels on the mattress as you lift yourself up and down on his shaft. you push your hands against is so you can sit and let you see the messiness yourself: both of your thighs are now covered in whiteness as you continue, realizing how sticky your skins are against each other. instead of letting you observe the messiness, heeseung pulls your upper body back to his as he also folds his knees and pushes his heels to the bed, thrusting upwards and making the pace quicker.

both of your moans combine with each other as he rests his arms around your midriff so you can’t move away from him. your head tilts to look behind you at the way heeseung is closing his eyes. as the point of your nose touches his skin, he doesn’t hesitate to turn to you and brought your lips onto his as he gives a few sputtering thrusts before you felt him cumming in you once again, making you fuller than ever.

“and that’s another two for each of us,” you replied as heeseung let out a snicker.

“still a tie, huh?”

“yeah, but we decided on a tiebreaker, right?” he responded with a hum.

with how sweaty, sticky, and tired you both are, you decide to do a tiebreaker with you sitting on his lap in a lotus position. your breath meeting his as both of you work in tandem (with a little burst exerted once in a while) to make any of you cum first and declare to be the winner of this messed-up game you made. heeseung licks the skin below your neck and plays with your breasts as you let your fingers experiment with his nipples and the way your nails scratch against his back muscles. you know that both of you are exhausted because the only sound that comes out is the small moans and whines left over. you looked down to see the messy environment you made between both of your crotches, making you scoop it up as you lift your cum-covered forefinger to your mouth, sucking it in, before pulling heeseung’s head so you can let him taste both of you.

his wide eyes glance up at you as he puts on a show to make you turn on more, swirling his tongue around your middle finger as the hand that was holding your shoulder blade reaches to your face, making his thumb pressing against your bottom lip so you can suck it. your hips grind on him faster, bouncing a few times, as both of your moans are muffled by both of your fingers. pulling your finger back, a string of saliva connected it and his lips as you cup his cheek. heeseung bites his lip as he pulls the thumb out to see your swollen lips. as you stare at each other—thinking back to the past few hours that have gotten you here in this position—you sense something strange within you. something so unfamiliar when you stare at him than the other moments you blatantly glare towards him. with the way he glances around your face as he connects your forehead with his, you recognize he might have sensed the same things too.

you don’t remember who is the first one to reach out, but as both of your lips connect, you let yourself envelop him as he did you. both of you not stopping and helping each other out as both of you cum in quick succession. not letting go of each other’s lips as you both pull away slowly; looking at the string of saliva connecting both of you as you stare at each other.

“we don’t need to discuss that.”

“no, we don’t,”

both of you replied right after the other as you see heeseung looking away from you to glance at the window beside the table. you glance at the condensation forming on the glass of his americano before glimpsing towards the booth where he sat. a duffle bag beside his backpack; you guess it will be for his basketball practice, it is near the college basketball season after all. but as you glance up at the man himself—you notice how different he has been since you were children. the way he muscled up and the baby fat on his face sheds away from the amount of sports he has to consume weekly. but, with all the invisible scars you both inflicted on each other from then until now, you weigh in just how ridiculously complex your relationship is that you don’t know if he wants to agree with it or not.

“well, now that you know…” you started, rubbing your hand against your sweater paws, “you don’t have to contribute to their life.”

heeseung hums, turning back to look towards you with confusion written on his face.

“it’s okay if you don’t want to get involved in taking care of them. it’s hard enough to be a senior-year college student, let alone raising a baby. it’s my choice to keep them, so i have to take responsibility for that.” you grabbed the now lukewarm cup of tea as you take a sip from it, placing it gently on the small plate as you continued with, “especially knowing how complicated we are.” you use your forefinger to point between him and you.

the man’s face is hard to read. he jutted his lips, biting the inside of his cheek as you see him blink whilst looking towards you, trying to get a read on you as well. being 8 weeks pregnant, you just wanted the meeting to end because you have all the other things you need to organize: telling the girls about your pregnancy diets and symptoms, telling the university about them and maybe they could give you leeway with the tests and studies, setting up appointments for with the ob-gyn and the doula of your choice, and telling your parents.

your parents who knew heeseung’s parents.

this will be awkward as fuck to experience.

“and i wish we could have a truce for the next 40 weeks.” you said, already with an exasperated voice that seemed to even surprise heeseung. “with this lifelong rivalry going on and how both of us doesn’t even want it to stop, please just… give me a slack to take care of them as best as i could.”

when you expected heeseung to reply with an okay—knowing your status as an expecting mother to at least give you some slack—you were met with a piercing gaze instead. how he looks between your face and your hidden stomach behind the table. he rests his hand on the table when you watch him considering something, and you didn’t even fucking guess he will do what he does.

“no.”

“what?”

“no. there’s no truce.” he leans forward, recognizing the gaze in his eyes as you just want to punch it out of his face for even thinking about what he’s thinking.

“no fucking way you’re thinking about this.”

“why not, (y/n)? think you can’t take care of yourself enough for the baby?”

your palm is now against your forehead, brushing against your face as it trails down when you let out a groan, “you’re trying to make a rivalry on taking care of this baby…” you let out your guess as heeseung lets out his signature smirk and a voiceless ‘bingo’.

“how? they’re in me, heeseung.”

“by giving them good nutritious food, interacting with them, i don’t know. but i know from knowing you for years that you can’t take care of yourself, knowing you have three other roommates-“

“you also have three other fucking roommates. sheesh.” you shake your head as you lean back. “anything for the baby has to go through me first, you know? i can deny it if i want.”

“then we can argue who’s right. they’re my baby too and i have the right to be involved even if you don’t want to.” your phone vibrates after heeseung’s brash reply as you see the silent alarm of your next schedule of the day. you tug the strap of your bag to your shoulder and gulp the rest of your tea.

“whatever, i have another thing to do.”

“does it involve the baby?”

“no. unless you wanna join my research class.”

you stood up from the booth as you straightened your sweater down, making heeseung glance at your abdomen before looking back at your face. “just so you remember: i’m doing this for the baby, not you.”

rolling your eyes, you flip him the bird as you walk away from him to your only class of the day, making heeseung let out a strangled smile.

-

“what the- what do you mean?”

the game continues as the other three guys look towards heeseung who is obliterating them with his king dedede, the sound of the fighting comes from the tv of their living room apartment as his fingers nimbly move on the switch controller, making the other three characters fly from the platforms as the familiar “game!” announcement calls.

the boys are sitting in various ways; beomgyu and jeongin are on the floor and jimin is beside him. the soundtrack of the super smash bros ultimate is playing in the background as heeseung smiles.

“i’m gonna be a dad.”

jeongin, the closest to the main port of the switch, quits the game as beomgyu lets out another loud shout—outside of the game—and jimin, who is sitting besides him, shakes his body with outstretched arms.

“BROOO!” beomgyu rubs his hand across his long hair as he faces heeseung fully, who is regretting not recording the reaction of his best buddies about this.

“how does heeseung, who doesn’t even like hooking up, get someone pregnant?” jimin asks to himself but also to the others as jeongin now stands in front of him, shielding the tv from his sight.

“forget that. who did you knock up, lee heeseung?” jeongin cuts through as heeseung leans back against the headrest of the couch. a mix of expressions showing on his face cause he doesn’t know if he has to laugh, be angry, be sad, or what else. he lets out a sigh as he picks the right voice tone to tell them.

“it’s fucking (y/n).”

“okay, now hold on!”

jeongin jumps, shedding the stern aura that he just created a few seconds ago. heeseung glances down at beomgyu who has his jaw dropped with jimin gripping on heeseung’s shoulder very hard.

“SINCE WHEN DID YOU TWO HOOK U-“

“shush!” jimin stands up and covers his hand on jeongin’s mouth, not wanting another complaint from the neighbors both horizontally and vertically.

“when?” beomgyu asked jeongin’s questions concisely as heeseung glanced towards the sofa and the kitchen right beside the front door of their apartment.

“you remember the party that got busted by the police?”

“yoon keeho’s party?”

“yeah, that one.” jimin acknowledges beomgyu’s answer as heeseung continues.

“long story short, (y/n) was alone and i went past her, teasing her for seeing that her friends left her behind when the police showed. she was tipsy which she shows by how easily stumbles. so i dragged her with me to our apartment when we escaped. i don’t know where you guys were, but she’s gotten a bit too annoying so i have to sober her up. we talked, and the tension was just too…” heeseung remembers as he was the one reaching for your face, to tell you to shut the fuck up, but the tension melted away before both of you proposes the game that you did. “so, we did it. and she asked me to meet up this morning and told me the news.”

“and what are your thoughts?” jimin asks, making the high-stakes emotions lower as he lets his friend talk about what he is feeling.

well, for heeseung, shock was an understatement. when he heard you utter the three words to him as he asked you what makes you want to meet up, never did he expect that to come out. surely, he has a breeding kink, and he had expected that to happen. but you told him you’re leaving early to get a plan b pill. maybe it didn’t work, but he doesn’t want to assume much about your body. then, he can sense the hidden sheer happiness blossoming within him. he wanted to smile and give you a hug, but then he remembered that it was you. that outside of his bed that night, you didn’t see him as a friend.

for someone who doesn’t hook up with people, heeseung knows how the hook-up culture works. he had heard multiple women fucking his three roommates from within his room and he could use his noise-canceling headphones against them. people might presume he is picky—a basketball jock who stays hidden and doesn’t want to hook up with anyone unlike his younger teammates—but the level of comfort is different when he has to do it with someone he doesn’t know and that’s why he rather stayed away. you? well, you are an anomaly.

though close because of your upbringing, he doesn’t know you outside of what he knows. that you were the kid who broke his truck even after he said sorry for ruining your sandcastle at that playground. that you were the kid who pushed him to the floor back when you were 7. that you’re the girl who he competes with to get the most stickers and not letting go of the basketball even though he stole it from you correctly. that he saw you stealing the bread from his tray as he came back from the vending machine. that you were the one telling the vice principal his basketball club doesn’t need as much money as they do because of their successful run, not knowing that their assistant coach stole the winning money.

so when you decide to create walls from your words, try to spin it so he doesn’t have to care about his baby, he had to say no. it’s as if you’re trying to keep the baby to yourself and not letting him in even though it takes two to tango. so, he found the most relevant way: competing for who takes care of that baby the right way—even if they’re in you. he doesn’t even think far from that thought no matter how ridiculous it is as now he realizes what a logistical nightmare it’s going to be.

“you’re making a game out of taking care of your own child but not your baby mama?” jeongin questioned after hearing heeseung’s rambling about this.

“yup…” heeseung paused, a pregnant pause. “and i need all of your help.”

jimin’s face changes as he hears the way heeseung described his face, rubbing his palm against the creases forming on his forehead as he can’t comprehend how beomgyu easily accepts his role. jimin’s head perks up at heeseung calling his name.

“yo!” jimin replied.

“since you’re the only one out of us who has a direct connection to (y/n) through chaeryeong, you’ll be my eyes, okay? asked about (y/n), how she’s doing, and all that stuff.” heeseung nodded as he expectantly looked at the boy who stood beside jeongin.

“gotcha,” he replied, his eyes wide as heeseung turned towards jeongin.

“innie, you’re my source. find any article about pregnancy and what my role is gonna be as a dad. yadda yadda yadda. all that stu-“

“i do you one better, seung.” jeongin said as heeseung lifted his eyebrows at him, tilting his head.

“my mom is an ob-gyn doctor.”

-

“miss (y/n)!”

“wear this!”

there is sounds of pitter-patters all around you as you sense the weight getting heavier on your figure. a small cape hanging off your shoulders and a crooked crown on your head, you sit down cross-legged against a round table full of toy food and kitchen utensils. girls and boys alike sit on the chairs by the table with their own capes and crowns, playing around with their cups as they all have a tea party—with the other side of the room playing with legos.

“here is your tea and cake.” you see the girl beside you giving the plate of rubber cake and an empty tea cup.

“thank you, princess rami.” picking up the teacup into your hand, you let out a loud slurping noise to drink it, before flinching away as you fan your tongue.

“i’m so sorry. is it too hot?” rami asked as you shook your head.

“i’m okay. thank you for asking,” you replied as best as you could.

“you must be careful, princess rami.” the boy across from her spoke as you tilt your head to him.

“i’m alright. prince yujin. i will be more careful with the tea.” he gave out a smile as one girl called out.

“if we are all princes and princesses, how should we call miss (y/n)?” hyunseo asked across from you.

“well, miss (y/n) should be a queen!” woonhak replied enthusiastically.

“but if miss (y/n) is a queen, should she have a king?” hyunseo continued.

“or another queen. i have two queens at home.” yujin filled in as you gave off a smile with the implication. but then the kids started to bicker with each other as you looked around the room once again.

as you entered high school, you were determined to beat heeseung in another way other than school-related activities. and what other way by being independent and richer than him at a young age? so you raked your head of a simple work that can help you gain more pocket money when one of your aunts asks you if you can babysit their daughter and how she will pay you. seizing the opportunity, you get to take care of your baby cousin as you go to your aunt’s home to help her with her food and stuff. hearing your enjoyment by the dining room table, your mom suggests more opportunities to babysit children of your family members from both sides—to your youngest uncle’s 4-year-old son and your oldest cousin’s 6-month-old baby—you have an array of skills gotten from doing childcare as your mom recommend you to babysit her juniors’ children at work, making you who wanted it for the money now wants it for the children.

it needs a certain level of charisma to charm a child so they can listen to you and with the array of children you had to babysit, you’ve met and adapted as best as you can to all of them. from being the calm tutor for a baby who is training his motor skills to help a child practice balancing on a bicycle, you understand what a child wants under their tantrums. that love you give and the love you accept makes you want to contribute more to childcare. so you started volunteering in non-formal schools and orphanages, helping to at least make their days a little better. and that’s why you worked part-time as a daycare attendant since you entered university as it is a more established institution where you can shuffle your study schedule alongside your work schedule, meeting kids who are being sent here that are still younger than school age. it reminded you of your own childhood and you’re hoping that your inner child could be happy and satisfied that you let her feel that feeling again.

“guys…” your spoken voice cuts their conversations, and they all turn to you. “a queen doesn’t have to have a king or another queen by their side. a queen can stand alone too.”

“but wouldn’t that make the queen lonely?” rami questioned, making you pout your lips as you still can’t comprehend just how blatantly honest children are that it pierces through each layer of your heart to find the right spot.

“yes, the queen will be lonely. but she also has her princes, princesses, knights, counselors, and more around her. love doesn’t always come from one person, it can also come from a group.” you replied, making the group rowdy up as they converse about love and being independent—well, ‘lonely’ as they called it—when you feel a light pat on your shoulder.

turning your head, you see a younger girl other than those around the table holding a paper, stretching it towards you.

“for you, miss (y/n)…”

you slowly pick the paper from her small hands as you observe the drawing. a simple figure made of circles and triangles with different colors. a pink filled-in shape on one side of the triangle with the circle-shaped and another taller one holding the figures hand, a yellow crown-shaped drawing on top of a circle with a smiling face inside.

she drew you.

“awww. this is so sweet and nice.” you return to look at the younger girl, a warm smile showing on your face, “thank you, hyein.” you rub your hand on her hair—something you remember she likes—as her smile widens before she runs away towards her table, where she has a few more papers scattered.

you glance at her before looking at your own stomach, unconsciously rubbing it as you can feel your own child inside you now growing along with time. then, it all came so suddenly when you felt yourself regurgitating, hand coming up to your mouth as you stood up as fast as you could towards the staff bathroom. knocking open the door of the open stall, you kneeled down as you puke out your lunch for today, feeling your gag reflexes kicking in. you sensed a hand soothing down your back as you reached for the flush to drain it down the toilet bowl.

“you okay, (y/n)?” you hear the familiar voice of your supervisor, yoonah, behind you. nodding your head, you reach for the toilet paper and tear it apart as you wipe the remains and saliva off your lips. reaching for the crown that fortunately doesn’t fall when you puke your inside, you hold on to it as you stand up and veer around to the sink to clean your mouth, gargling and spitting out as you wipe the droplets of water from your lips.

“how is it going with the pregnancy?” she asked as you watched her reflection behind yours in the mirror. you nodded your head and chuckled.

“didn’t vomit for the past three days and i thought that was enough, and well, here i am.” you stare at your face, seeing your eyes glistening with tears with the number of times you had to cough out until your phlegm came out. you turn your head to face your boss as she gives you a solemn smile.

“so, i have already talked to hr and we agree to have you reduce your work day to just one per week. you can enter anytime between the weekdays depending on your schedule because you have lots of things to juggle with your ob-gyn appointment. we don’t want to weigh you down more.”

you looked sideways when yoonah didn’t seem to see you being glad of it. though it helps with not exerting your body—as per doctor park’s request—it will definitely reduce your money because of the appointments and others. you haven’t told your parents yet and maybe you can ask them for more money after but with the way your friends have already helped ease your part of the rent so you have enough money for your own diet and consultations; you don’t want them to provide more for you.

“that’s great and all, but what about my pay? can it be adjusted? it doesn’t have to be 200%. like, do I only work one day for a pay of two like usual? or is it the regular one day pay? if it’s the latter, maybe a 25% increase will be great? for the consultations and others…” you said, not realizing that you had a few stray tears leaving out your eyes. nice fucking job, hormones.

yoonah picks up the crown from your head and she places it above your head, straightening it up as it rests right at the top of your head, “i will take about it to hr. you know that i’m on your side with this.” she pats your shoulder as you let out a faint “thank you” and see her walking away out of the bathroom. you brushed the tears away as you wet your hands to help unswollen them, even if it is for a bit. staring at yourself in the mirror, you pull your body up straight as you turn sideways, rubbing your abdomen as you can feel the life being put into you; piece by piece, cell by cell, forming into a human being.

as your feet enter the room one by one, tons of footsteps greet you as you look down to see the crown-wearing kids you are playing tea time with approaching you. their faces showing weariness so explicitly that you feel your heart tugging at them.

“are you ok, miss (y/n)?” hyein—the first one to be there—spoke as she was surrounded by kids taller and older than her. you notice someone holding onto your hand with their tiny one, seeing rami brushing the skin as you feel soothed.

“i am now. thank you, hyein,” you replied, letting your body fall as you kneeled before them, seeing the number of children you have taken care of for the years you had worked here. in your mind, it seemed ridiculous to think of your next move, but in a way that they have taught you so much about taking care of others, it’s proper to tell them yourself.

wiping the corner of your eyes as you feel your hormones acting up again, you speak, “what do you know about your moms?”

“mommy is very sweet to me,” hyunseo replies as she steps forward to stand next to hyein, their height difference looking so cute.

“mom is the one that picked me up from here.” woonhak also replied when you can see his mom’s smile on his own from the number of times she picked him up and showed that same smile.

“both of my mamas are the best in taking care of me and my brothers.” yujin added as there were more children rambling about their mothers, creating a wall of cacophony that seemed more like the background noise you heard each week as you worked. their voices dwindled as you looked expectantly at them one by one, a smile urging them to wait for something to come out of you.

“well, you see, i’m going to be just like your moms.”

yujin was the one that caught on first as he stepped closer and hugged you. while the others still looked confused, he turned around to looked at them and state it himself.

“MISS (Y/N) IS GOING TO BE A MOM!”

“miss (y/n)!”

“no wa-“

you heard the surge of children hugging you as you laughed out loud, seeing yoonah by the door as she also followed your laughter while you were surrounded by the children who were either hugging you or asking you questions.

“settle down, children. miss (y/n) needs a space to take a breather.” yoonah spoke up as she approached you who has a grin on your face.

“you said that you don’t have any king or queen?” yujin said as you felt your cheeks getting warmer, he now held onto the crown that slipped down your head from the number of kids that is surrounding you. while you could feel a hand on your stomach as you looked down to see hyein sitting down—remembering that she also has a pregnant mother with a little sibling on the way for her.

“it, it will be hard for me to explain it to you, but…” you felt yoonah’s hand on your shoulder as you glance at the closest clock in the room—finding the time for them to go home has come. “your moms are waiting for you to go home.”

you push yourself up to stand as yoonah guides the kids to pick their items up by the cabinets as you stand up straight, seeing the children walking around you when you see rami stepping beside you, arms wide open as you crouch down to give her a hug. you felt other sets of arms surrounding you as you giggled, pulling away your arms as the children noticed it.

“i’ll see you all next week!” you stated as yoonah brought all of them to the door of the daycare before opening them, seeing all of them going to their respective parents and guardians as a few of them acknowledged you. you turned around as you started your usual clean-up process, picking up the drawings that the children made and putting them in their own folders so you can give them to their guardians when they graduated, putting back the toys into the boxes, returning the costumes back to the wardrobe as you place the robe and crown you were also wearing, and you wanted to do one more thing, but you heard someone clearing their throat.

“i’ll clean the furniture and floor. you have done so much and you needed to eat and rest.” yoonah told you as you sighed, knowing that you seemed to be hungrier after you vomited out your food.

“thanks, boss.” you winked as she chuckled, bringing yourself to the staff room with the drawing that hyein gave to you—pinning in your mind to collect it with the drawings the kids you’ve taken care has made for you.

when collecting your things into your backpack, you glance at the paper that you printed out from your laptop as you scan the words, seeing your inked signature on the bottom as you see the blank space with the name right across from yours. heeseung’s name.

since he decided to be involved—you remembered while you talked to your faculty about your pregnancy and how they asked who the dad was, you decided to bring him up as a “student from another faculty.” it might make him think twice if he wants to be involved or not because he will get his name pin up on a note somewhere, which will be noted to his coach, lecturers, and more of his status. you are ready to be mentally burnt by the judgment your peers might give you, but is heeseung also ready?

you haven’t thought of the way you’re going to give heeseung the letter when you see minjeong’s name from your vibrating phone as you pick up the things you are bringing home and you hear yoonah talking as she sees you already leaving.

“carpool picking you up?”

“yeah, my roommate and her boyfriend.”

“okay, take care of yourself and i’ll follow up with your request.” you felt yoonah giving you a side hug as you gave a smile and wave when you pushed the door open. you breathed in the outside air to see the dark gray chevrolet camaro parked near the front of the building. walking to the back seats, you opened the door to be met with the music playing as minjeong greeted you.

“how’s work, (y/n)?” she instantly asked as sungchan lurched the car to a drive when you glanced at the bags of things beside you.

“freaking embarrassing. i vomited suddenly when i hadn’t vomited for the last 3 days but the kids reacted to it pretty okay. and i told them i’m gonna be a mom.”

“that’s so sweet!” she said, glancing back from her seat in front of you as she reached to touch you, making you sit in the middle with the console right in front of you as you see sungchan’s playing with the volume of bluetooth-connected car radio play the song that sounds so minjeong—which you can recognized right away.

“what did you guys do today?” you wiggled your eyebrows as you heard sungchan’s laugh from the way he looked at you from the rear-view mirror.

“you know what me and jeongie usually do, eat, shop, fuck, repeat-“

“no, we didn’t fuck today-“

“we did a quickie before we left to pick (y/n) up, winter.”

“okay! ughhh…” minjeong said, rubbing her face in embarrassment before replying, “i brought him to this cafe that has all these criterion collections that aren’t available on any of the streaming services we own. so i bought so many dvds for us to watch.”

“which are?”

“older movies, foreign movies. you did say that you enjoyed watching japanese movies, so i bought some of them for us to watch.”

“fuck, i love you so much for that, kim minjeong.” you replied as you heard sungchan’s little tsk, making you both giggle as his possessiveness is showing at the most ridiculous time.

“so, (y/n),” you hummed to sungchan’s starter words, “you haven’t told me who is your baby daddy.”

“guess!” you tugged yourself forward as your face was between their seats.

“how should i guess when i never see you hook up with people?” he replies as you glance at minjeong who is just watching him, an amused smile on her face.

“what if i say it’s song eunseok,” you mentioned his fellow frat bros.

“eunseok is dating that junior of his he has classes with. and he’s a loyal guy so i don’t think so.”

“what about park jisung? he’s hot in my eyes.”

“you don’t seem to be the kind to hook up with your junior,” he replied, making you squint your eyes.

“zhong chenle? he’s a fellow biz major like i do.”

“you’re definitely not his style.”

“now, that’s rude.” you hunch yourself back on the back seat as minjeong’s giggles compete with the music playing.

“you’re gonna be so shocked if we told you who he is.” she added as you nodded along, “two hints though: he’s our age and he’s a fellow jock-“

“that’s too much, jeong-ah.” you cover her mouth as her muffled nagging rings in the car. you can feel her lapping your palm, tickling your nerves and making you pull away as it’s now sungchan’s turn to have a giggling fit while watching his girlfriend and her roommate bickering. the trip was close between the daycare you work and the apartment tower you rented off-campus—but since you’ve mentioned to your roommates that you’ve been having back pain and vomiting sessions, they decided to help you out by being by your side as they drop you off or picking you up—just like what chaeryeong did as she drop you off to work before going to the dance studio.

so, when you stare out to see the small lobby of your apartment, you’re already with your backpack tucked to you as you open the door of the backseats. sungchan helped widen the door for you before going to the other side to help minjeong with the things she bought from their date. as you stood by the tiled floor of the lobby, minjeong gave sungchan one last kiss on the lips as you heard him say, “bye, babe! bye, (y/n) and hope you rest!”

“see you next week, baby.” the girl said as both you and her are waving your hands at the boy, who has entered the car driving off into the ending sunset of today. stepping inside the entrance of the apartment, you and she enter the empty elevator as you catch a glimpse at what other things minjeong had bought when you see a box from a chicken fast food brand, making your mouth water as you think about it, but you knew that you’ll be nag by dr. park for eating junk food.

pushing the handle after you put the pin on the keypad, you enter and instantly kick your shoes off as you are met with ryujin who is tying her hair up, walking towards you as she helps with minjeong’s bags. the apartment was left as you remembered this morning: a few scattered papers from either you or ryujin’s homework, the weighted blanket by the sofa now folded, and the smell of hot choco on the coffee table alongside ryujin’s laptop as you remembered that she only has online classes today.

“what did you bring?” ryujin wiggled her eyebrows as she rummaged open the bag that you’d seen when she instantly brought it to the kitchen counter when you saw her already cooking something. out of all four of you, you and ryujin are the ones talented in cooking so it’s not a surprise to see her cook for herself, but when you see the large plate that is places beside where the stove is, you know she has been making dinner for all four of you—as only chaeryeong’s the one who is not finished with her work today.

“why did you bring back fast food, minjeong? we promised to also have (y/n)’s diet.”

“that’s my leftover. chan said that the boys had too much stuff in their fridge so i brought it to us.” you then felt minjeong’s hand behind your lower back as she stood beside you, “hope you are okay with that.”

“of course, i’m okay.” you give minjeong a smile. “all of you aren’t obliged to follow my diet cause i know you love red meat, jinnie.”

“it feels wrong if i don’t follow you, though.” ryujin replied as you and minjeong go to your separate ways—she walked to her room while you stepped into the kitchen to see the food that minjeong brought. the chicken was a leftover but you also see her bringing back different meats and seafood.

“i almost forgot to ask you, but can you give me the list of the food that you can and can’t eat? just so i can help with the recipes and so we can pre-made food.” ryujin said as she put her arms behind your back, soothing you as you viewed her making japchae and beef on the pan.

“will do, ryu.” you give her a salute as she gives your cheek a squeeze before you let her be. taking your bag handle as you step towards the direction of your room, the bell of your apartment rings as ryujin turns towards you, making both of you tilt your head as you volunteer to get to the intercom.

when you press the button, the screen shows you someone you don’t expect to see as you can recognize the wolf cut hair you’ve seen while scrolling on your instagram. your footsteps immediately go to the door as you hear the ringing “hello”s from the intercom, opening it up to see the boy you’re trying your best to mask your feelings for with a box.

“heyya, (y/n)!” he replied as you widened the door to gaze at the box.

“h-hi beomgyu.” you give him a small smile as you try your best not to lock your eyes on him. to be having a crush on a boy like him is ridiculous, especially knowing that he is your RIVAL’s best friend. and the fact that you still have a crush on him since high school to then be found being in the same uni as him. if he doesn’t have heeseung by his side, you know you will brace yourself to approach him first. but now with his success as an indie musician, you know you are probably in a losing battle knowing just how spicy heeseung talks about you knowing that he has so many fans aiming at him and how you can’t compete with them—not as much as yeonjun though.

“wha, what’s this?”

“it’s for you.” he pushed the box towards you as you tried to peek inside when you felt a presence behind you.

“let me get that.” another pair of hands open by your side and you see the smirk on beomgyu’s face falter to see ryujin pulling the box against her.

“hi ryujin,” he said, a slight tremble in his voice as you finally be able to look at him with your heart eyes before back at ryujin.

“beomgyu,” she replied before leaving the door to put the box away. you eye the boy who is staring at the empty space for a few seconds too late before you are back in his attention, returning to the cheeky smile you adore.

“thank you for that!” you felt your palms getting sweatier than ever, rubbing one of them against the door to dry it.

“you gotta have to thank heeseung for that.”

the way beomgyu named he-who-shall-not-be-named shutters your fantasy as you were met with the reality. of course, it’s from heeseung, not from the boy you had a crush on—even if it means that the baby daddy trusts his best friend so much to tell him that he is having a baby with his rival. beomgyu seemed to be the nicer guy between the two. so, a girl can hope, right?

“oh yeah, wait for a minute!” you were so caught up in the way heeseung terrors you and slips back into your mind and how you wanted to slam the door when you heard his name when you remembered the paper that he had to sign. you pull the paper out of your folder as you pull one of your sticky notes and write a simple note to him. giving a smile to beomgyu, you handed him the paper as he stared at the words printed on it.

“give it to heeseung and send it back to me after that, or if he wants to submit it himself, then that’s fine. i have to give the contact person the info if he decides to send the paper to the administration himself.”

beomgyu nods as he chuckles at your note before giving a last “i will” before walking and waving away, making you close the door as you wonder how did he know where you lived. eh, that’s fine. you got to see what heeseung gave you as the box rested on top of the counter right beside ryujin who was pouring the japchae into the bowl.

slowly opening it—scared that he might have a jack-in-the-box mechanism inside it—you were met with plastics covering greens as you tugged a few of them out to be met with a bunch of fruits and vegetables still packed in their grocery’s packing. your shoulder meets ryujin’s as she took a glimpse at the new ingredient you picked out of the box.

“from beomgyu?”

shaking your head, you feel a piece of paper inside the box as you pinch it between your fingers. straighten the creases, you see the scribbles on the note as you read it in your mind.

eat them for the baby’s health and your own sanity - lhs

“heeseung,” you replied after you finish. ryujin gives a small hum as you catch the smirk on her face before you shove her with your shoulder. both of you open the plastics of the greens, vegetables, and fruits that heeseung bought for you, ryujin saying out loud the names of the greens as you and her bounce ideas of what kind of food she can make to cater to your diet.

“kale, cabbage, broccoli…” she picked another vegetable, carefully pulling away the plastics as the waft of the smell entered the kitchen. you knew of the vegetable, but being pregnant equals being sensitive to smells. and the way that you instantly wretch at the smell makes you scurry away from ryujin.

“hey, who rang the be-“

minjeong was pushed away as she saw you opening the door of their shared bathroom, making her turn around as she heard you wretch out the remaining food and saliva inside of you that is followed immediately by a flush from the toilet bowl. she walked to the kitchen to see ryujin holding stems of leaves on her hand.

“well, now we know she can’t eat arugula.”

the chime of the lock unlocked rings alongside the opening of the door of their apartment as ryujin and minjeong stare at it, seeing chaeryeong trying to breathe as she takes off her sneakers.

“WHY IS JIMIN PESTERING ME ABOUT (Y/N)?”

-

thumps and squeaks are what beomgyu heard as his eyes gazed at the lights coming out of the gymnasium. his feet working in tandem echoing through the night as he took another glance at the paper, another step away from the door as he pulled the handle to see a bunch of boys running around the wood-floored gym. beomgyu’s eyes searched for heeseung as he bit his lips, not wanting to be late for his own band practice with the boys.

turning towards the bleachers, he’s seen one of the boys that beomgyu remembered being on heeseung’s profile. his hands on top of his knees as he leans forward to see the 3 x 3 half court game beomgyu realized isn’t a part of training—but more of them having fun. he is taking a glimpse at heeseung who is muttering a curse word under his breath because the ball was stolen from his hold.

“hey, uh, sheep!”

the boy turns towards beomgyu with squinting feline-esque eyes before they widen, realizing who called him.

“your jersey has ‘yang’ on it. so i called you sheep.”

“nah, that’s okay. you’re beomgyu hyung, txt’s guitarist…” the boy stands up, their height almost the same as each other, but beomgyu knows that the kid can grow taller—from both basketball and his unfinished puberty phase, probably.

“i’m jungwon! i’m guessing you’re here for heeseung hyung?”

beomgyu glanced down at the paper as he nodded, “i couldn’t stay until he finished cause i have band practice. so, this document is for him to sign.” he told jungwon what you told him as his ghost patted himself on his shoulders for being right. beomgyu uses his thumbs to point behind him after jungwon picks up the paper that he pushed towards him and gives him a thumbs up before a loud "thank you" rings as the gymnasium door opens, leaving jungwon with a slight chuckle creeped out of his lips.

the boy couldn’t stop his curiosity as he turned the paper so he could read the writing, skimming it down as his eyebrows as he couldn’t stop his speech before it was too lat-

“HEESEUNG HYUNG IS A DAD?!”

jungwon’s shout makes movement screech to a halt as he looks up at his boys, also staring at heeseung, who is glaring at jungwon and the paper he is holding. but, his reaction speed was too slow to pull it off his grips as heeseung lost against the other five boys who had huddled towards jungwon.

“shut up!” sunoo exclaimed.

“it’s true, sun,” jongseong replied as he could hear jaeyun and riki screaming and laughing before they scurried to run around heeseung.

“who is this (y/n), hyung?” jaeyun speaks into his ear, making heeseung grimace as the three walk towards the crowd with sunghoon now holding onto the paper.

“isn’t (l/n)(y/n) your senior, jjong?” sunghoon calls out, making said boy read carefully the name with the signature on top.

“oh yeah! we had a marketing communication class together. didn’t know you knew her, hyung.”

heeseung steps in between them as he snatches the paper out of sunghoon’s grip in a quick frame. his eyes scan the paper that is written—the letter to the university administration about your status—and he can see his name printed on the side of the paper from yours. then, he finally read the note you have sticking onto the paper.

sign it and give it to the administration office. if you’re serious.

“won, it’s your turn to play,” he said as the boys stared at him. “i have things to do, plus i have a morning class tomorrow.”

“okay, hyung.” jungwon’s answer was followed by his offer to the older boys to continue the match as he felt another hand holding onto his forearm, turned to see the youngest boy with a small smile on his face.

“you gotta have to let us meet this (y/n) noona. i bet she’s pret-“

“go back to your place, riki-kun. jake’s calling for you.”

“hey, lanky. come on before i make you and jungwon switch.” jaeyun’s voice penetrates through the conversation at the correct moment as the smirk on heeseung’s face is growing. they’re leaving him alone as he walks towards his backpack and duffle bag—finally feeling the surging soreness from pushing himself hard while training and off-training. sure, it’s excessive. but the tournament is a month away from now, and he had to train for that, knowing that the matches would be back-to-back if he passed the quarter-finals.

the wood of the bleachers screeches beneath his body as he pulls out his pen, staring at the paper one last time—trembling breaths coming out from him. who knew that a single signature could hold so much power?

yet with how you are trying to deter him, to remind him that signing this will mean that the whole university will now know lee heeseung is a future father: that actually made him shake. he could feel the boiling anxiousness giving a few pumps of steam into his mind, clouding the plans he had already made in his mind from the information jeongin told him. he knows the future scenarios on both sides.

but fuck it, right? he’s not usually caring about what other people perceive. so what if he is known as a dad in nine months? but, he had to think about the parental leave you’re proposing—it might actually make him graduate late.

yet, the view is clear as he lets his pen glide on the paper.

the baby and your scowling face as you realize that his doing is the one that makes that baby so healthy.

tucking the paper in between his laptop and his wireless earbuds on his ears, he waves goodbye to the boys who are playing with sunoo giving a beautiful lay-up before he pushes the door to get out of the gym. the streetlights shining the pathways as he still can see students roaming around the campus at night—most are going to the library to maybe pull an all-nighter.

the screen illuminates his face as he scrolls down at the text jimin had sent him about you. but he had to do another victory lap first when he dialed the generic full name’s number.

“hello?”

“that will not work, (y/n).”

heeseung heard the grainy chuckle in his ear as he let his muscles’ memories take him home in the night's dark. eyes staring at the path that opens up onto the sidewalk where sparse vehicles are going about on the asphalt streets.

“so you sign it?” he caught the way you sigh against your phone while heeseung is focusing on both the conversation and what jimin texted about your condition.

“and i’ll be giving it to the office.”

“hmm, okay…” heeseung’s eyes scan through the words, letting his face contort and relax as he consumes it to his mind before it’s broken by a grainy sound of metal from your end.

“also, thanks, by the way. for the arugula. made me vomit my stomach out.” heeseung heard you reply as it slowly became more mumbled, hearing you eating your dinner’s food as the noises of the night came back into his cochlea, shaking his nerves as only white noises entertained him as he looked around—seeing his apartment building at the distance.

“and don’t make jimin ask chaeryeong about me again. she’s traumatized now and we have each other’s number saved.”

heeseung didn’t want to save your number at first. but when his mom brought him to her meeting with your mom, catching up after a long time and discussing that both of you have been accepted by the same university, they insisted that you both to have each other’s numbers saved. “for emergency sake, so you both have each other to rely on.” his mom explained, making him discreetly roll his eyes while you continue to listen to your music without giving a glance to him. yet, you’re the one that gave him your phone first so he can type his number, making a small “:p” the first thing you text to him.

“i’ll tell him.” he clicked his tongue as he caught the way you omit another information from him.

“but you’re not gonna tell me you have a doctor’s appointment next week?”

“how’d you kno-“

“jimin, from chaeryeong, and so, from you.” his smile gets bigger. “gotta have to thank jimin for that one.”

“so you want to join? what if you have a class?”

heeseung’s feet brought him to the lobby of his apartment building, his vision now on the elevator as he stated something so obvious to him.

“i have questions and i rather miss class than leave it unanswered.”

-

your hands are tugged inside your hoodie’s front pocket as you wait for your name to be called. the usual soreness is tamed as you let chaeryeong massage your back carefully, relaxing most of the tender muscles that are holding you up. you can see a little bump protruding out of your stomach that was not there when you discovered you were pregnant in week 8.

remembering the way you have to buy five pregnancy tests is ridiculous when your only symptoms are headaches and vomiting. but it quickly escalates to morning sickness and how you notice just how sensitive your senses have become—the way your fingers realize little grains of crayon as you pick up the kids’ drawing to how you’re triggered by little noises coming out off your room. it feels too strange for it to be food poisoning and with all five tests showing two blue stripes: all the problems you have faced for the past month—why your period is late, the morning sickness—all click inside your mind.

your girls were the first ones you spoke to, recalling how they waited in front of your shared bathroom as you flipped the tests around, hitting you one by one with the truth of your condition. then tears start to show as overwhelming emotions compete to show dominance and you hear chaeryeong’s voice from behind the knocks on the door. you open the door to feel them hugging you as you show them the tests, how they can’t wait to be your baby’s cool aunts from differing perspectives as they know of your history related to children, pregnancy, and motherhood from taking care of so many children, how your parents open up to you about why they couldn’t give you a younger sibling, and the responsibility you are willing to take care for them. at that moment they hugged, you’ve already fallen in love with your baby and you are determined to let them have a happy life.

the obstetrics and gynecology department’s walls were more pastel than the other parts of the hospital. maternity pack posters hanging as you read the words, planning your next steps as you waited by the door to your doctor. your fingers interlocked and thumbs twirling around each other as you attentively listen to the open door and your name being called. scouring your eyes around, you saw a little playground area for kids barren as you eyed the small set, mothers around you waiting also for their appointment—some with a sleeping baby in their hands, another with a large bump. the atmosphere is so serene that you can collect your thoughts and arrange them for the next seven months from your due date.

“hey, (y/n).”

your eyes blink as you turn around in your seat to face forward once again, looking up to find the familiar face you’ve been thinking about for the past few days.

heeseung wears a simple hoodie like you do, both of his hands tucked into the front pocket as the strap of his bag crosses his chest. a thin-lipped smile on his face as you didn’t see his usual resting bitch expression.

“heeseung…” you reply as you gnaw on the inside of cheek as he stands there, “i haven’t gotten the call from the doctor yet. so you can sit down.” your eyes glance quick at the vast space beside yours on the sofa you are also sitting down. he gave a quick nod before sitting on the space beside yours, a noticeable space between the two of you as you both lean more against each of the tables placed as the barriers between the sofas. even if you felt a piercing presence beside you, you tried your best not to look at him. the phone call when he called you was the last time you spoke with your voice to him—you having small talk with him as he found in the hospital doesn’t really count—yet he still gave you another box of ingredients for your unborn child this week, no arugula this time.

well, you are glad to see beomgyu more and you don’t mind seeing beomgyu every week if he’s the one that does heeseung’s errands for his child.

both of you stare forward at the doors and wall in front of you, nearing mirroring each other even by the slight twitch of both of you wanting to look at each other. but, also not really. the tension is stronger than when you told him you’re pregnant with his child. the fucking effects of the continued declaration of rivalry as you can calculate how far both of you are willing to push even for the past week and you can guess what you both will push more for the next 7 months.

“miss (l/n) (y/n)?” the door opened as the nurse spoke of your name making you jump up from your seat as heeseung followed behind you to enter the doctor’s room.

“(y/n)!” the young doctor said enthusiastically as you sat down on the chair in front of the desk.

“doctor park!” you answered, cadence matched hers.

“how have you- oh.” dr. park looks at the man entering behind you, looking between the three women in the room and the empty chair near the door before he hears her speak, “is this the dad?”

“yes, i’m the dad, lee heeseung,” he replied steadily as dr. park, who is standing up, shoots her hand out to him.

“i’m dr. park jihyo, (y/n)’s ob-gyn doctor. didn’t expect to meet you as (y/n) said that the dad might not be involved.”

heeseung’s eyebrows were raised, chortling as he realized what you implied, “after she told me, i decided to be involved.” his eyes peek from the side to see you giving a stare with no movements on your lips, sitting down on the chair beside of yours as you want to continue with your appointment.

“well, welcome to your tenth week of being pregnant. how are you feeling?” dr. park asks, looking at you with a warm smile as you see the nurse taking care of your document.

“the morning sickness kinda gets pretty worse and overflows out of the morning. definitely more sensitive towards scent, flavor, and texture. i also have already sensed growth on the bump since it is a bit more protruding than usual.” your hand unconsciously caresses the hoodie covered in your stomach, feeling the tenderness of the skin that is just muscles of your abdomen being pushed to cater to the baby.

“your stomach and intestines are being pushed by the uterus as the fetus grows and it’s very normal. since we already did the blood and urine test and went over your family history back in your first appointment, we can go to an ultrasound to check the growth of your baby.” dr. park replied as she nodded at the nurse who instantly walked to the bed and set things up for your scan.

“i’m sorry to bother you, doctor. but i have a question.”

your head shifts towards heeseung as he asks, the doctor just giving him a nod.

“(y/n) said to me she’ll get a plan b pill after our… time. yet, she still got pregnant, but isn’t that still supposed to work?” the way his voice pitches makes you hold on to a smile, recalling to when you asked the doctor the same question in your first appointment. you gave the doctor a big nod for her signal.

“well, (y/n) said to me she consumed a plan b pill less than 24 hours after your intercourse. but plan b pill, or levonorgestrel, works by delaying the release of the egg from the ovaries. she also said that her period, which started around a week or two weeks before she discovered she was positive, was late. so, we can assume that while you two have sex, (y/n) was already in her early stages of ovulation with the egg being released into the fallopian tube and the egg got fertilized.”

heeseung nods along with the doctor’s words as you remember the same explanation given to you in the previous meeting. you’ve tried using pills before but you know it will affect your hormone and physical health in the long run—you are not a serial fucker unlike a few people you recognize—so you rely on protection like condoms and morning-after pills right after that. heeseung not wearing one makes you want to laugh at how funny the scenario is and how you can just remain rivals for the rest of your life if you remind him to put on the rubber.

the nurse calls for as you follow her, stepping out of your shoes as you lay down on the bed. she gently brushes your hoodie up as your skin is exposed while she also pulls the band of your pants down below right above your underwear line. the chairs move as you glance at heeseung following dr. park as she takes the seat beside you to check on the machinery. the liquid is cold as it touches your skin as your eyes catch heeseung who is looking at the exposed stomach where his unborn child is.

as the transducer spread around the gel on the stomach when you feel it pressed down, you looked at the screen across from you hanging on the ceiling as the doctor moved around, marking the size of your uterus. you heard her gasp as you turned to look at her warm smile that widens into a grin.

“congratulations to you both!” she replied as she continued to move the transducer around, making you and heeseung realize that there’s a fetus inside you, but not just one.

“TWINS?!”

-

2. katana-like knife

heeseung gazes at the ultrasound he is holding with both hands, seeing the way the doctor has assigned twin 1 and twin 2 on the screen. the twins are in different sacs; he remembered what the doctor said, making them fraternal twins. she also says that not only you were ovulating when you two fuck, but you were releasing two different eggs around the same time and he got both of them pregnant.

he recalled both of you doing a hilarious staring contest as you couldn’t stop yourself from making funny faces as the doctor described the growth of your twins. fucking heck, he hadn’t told his friends that he was having twins. how his body trembles as the realization hits him while he’s looking at his babies—yes, plural—makes him even want to be more attentive, to now realize that he had two to take care of. and those two make him know you have to adjust your diet once again.

if it weren’t for him buying ingredients, he doesn’t think you would adapt easily to what the babies need. he’s won on this occasion. but what comes next?

his phone vibrates on the table as he takes a glimpse of the text message showing on the lit-up screen.

(l/n) (y/n): i’m heading home for the weekend. my parents will definitely see that i’ve been knocked up.

even he can see it as he had walked past you before on campus. you’re now wearing more oversized clothing pieces—t-shirts, hoodies, cardigans—as he realized the slight bump on the surface of them. it’s been over two weeks since that check-up appointment and the growth has been faster than he expected.

(l/n) (y/n): not asking you to join me.

(l/n) (y/n): if you aren’t brave enough to take the consequences, i’m fucking winning this :p

“that’s it” he shakes his head as he tugs the ultrasound picture into his wallet before putting it back in its place, hands opening the messages.

lee heeseung: threatening much. i’m in.

if you want to make this a competition, let’s make this a competition.

lee heeseung: hey mom. sorry for texting you randomly. but i’m going back home for the weekend.

all he had to do was wait, as he could hear the sound of his mom talking with your mom on the phone about how their children would be home together, asking to meet up.

and that moment goes exactly as he had expected as he drove the car with you in the passenger seat, leaning against the door as you both let the radio play boring-ass repeating pop songs from some random radio station. none of you seem to react, just to make each other annoyed enough to know who will concede and connect to bluetooth first—even not listening to good-ass music is a competition between you both.

you sighed extra loud as you listened to an old-ass pop song from the mid-2010s the radio seemed to have a lifetime contract for it to play for fucking ever. you wish you were the one driving now, but you didn’t bring your car for this semester because it needed maintenance and you were in a healthier mood for this year. you catch a look at your phone, seeing your mom asking where you are right now as auntie lee has arrived at your home—cooking up the food for all your family to enjoy.

“which one is your car’s bluetooth?” you gave up on hearing the radio station as you playfully checked every menu to find the bluetooth menu.

“the brand of the car, duh,” he answered, still focusing on the highway as you remembered that it’s nearly a few exits away from the side of the town you and he grew up in. he took a glance at the bluetooth speaker as he sees,

“‘mitski’s brainchild personified’? you liked her that much?” he actually snorted, making you see the name on your phone on the screen in the middle of the dashboard.

“shut the fuck up. she’s my comfort musician, just like kaede from slam dunk is your comfort character.” the way your fingers lightly tap against your phone, makes him chuckle as he can hear you holding onto your emotion from not spilling through your words, not commenting on how you mentioned his liking for slam dunk as if you remember it so well, even if it also stuns him.

you’re playing a playlist of yours that is just… instrumentals. a perfect playlist to hear whilst commuting as you let yourself take a breather from this world. eyes gazing to the window outside as you rested your phone on your lap. the scent of heeseung’s cologne accustomed your memories as you let the music speak while you both remained quiet. maybe, because it is an instrumental track that you both couldn’t comment on, that he can’t take a jab at your music taste unless you put on mitski or boygenius, that it gives a soundtrack so vague it resembles the way you perceived your relationship to each. sure, you still hate him for everything he has done to you in the name of winning. but, with two babies on the way, the concept of the rivalry between you both is there yet so blurry. which one is a concrete rivalry? which one is the softer one? why should you trust what he gave to you? why did he join in to take care of them?

the car zooms fast on the highway, yet you can see slower cars on the outside of the highway and faster cars zooming past you on the other lane. it’s like what your dad had said before—"you don’t feel how fast life is until you look at other people’s lives"—and to think that you will be home in overtly large clothing to hide your bump to know that he’s going to be a granddad just concretes the idea of that in your mind. you turn your head to glance at the backseat, seeing the shopping bag you had prepared besides what heeseung also has for his family, who he’ll meet at your house.

stepping out of the car, you stood at the carpool of your house filled with cars—other than yours and your parents inside the garage—when you watched your mom and heeseung’s mom walk out of the porch, barefooted, to greet you. the warmth of your mom’s hug felt so overwhelming that you had to sink your emotions as you blamed your hormones for making you too sensitive.

the interior of the house feels so lively from the last time you went home during the semester break. maybe it’s because of the way your mom has another guest in the form of the lee family and the smell of the delicious you know both of your moms had made together with their aprons still on as they guide you inside. even as they walked to the kitchen, you could hear them whisper.

“since when did (y/n) and heeseung arrive here together and in the same freaking car?” auntie lee asks.

“(y/n) didn’t bring her car this semester so i guess she doesn’t wanna waste any more money for transport.” mama answered.

both of your moms have always tried to make you close and you’ve always tried to tone down your rivalry in front of them, effortlessly acting in front of them as nice friends when you give him a snide look behind their backs any chance you can get. your bickering can escalate so much that you will have a shouting match in the arcade as heeseung doesn’t want to give up his time to play for you, making both of your moms force you to apologize to each other before that bickering returns at school’s classes where they’re not there for you two to mediate. maybe that’s why you don’t perceive heeseung as an enemy. merely a rival; because your mom never talked bad about heeseung no matter what happened between the two of you and it seems that heeseung’s mom has also done the same to him.

the two shopping bags sit on the coffee table as you watch both of your dads talking about dad stuff. heeseung’s attention is on his phone as he’s typing something on the screen while you unconsciously rub your stomach hidden beneath your top, waiting for all of them to settle down around the coffee table as they want to open the shopping bags together.

“what did you bring me?” mama asks in a sing-song manner as heeseung’s mom giggles beside her. you stood beside heeseung with your hands behind you as the husbands looked at the similar-looking gift boxes in each of their wives’ hands.

“don’t tell me. is it the jewelry i showed you those months ago, hee?”

“nah, it’s not. dad’s planning to buy that one for you.”

heeseung’s dad’s face turns into a scowl, seemingly angry as if his son has spoiled his plan while the boy just widens his smile before gazing back at his mom.

“well, together?” mama asked to his mom.

“yeah, 3, 2… 1!”

the box opens as you’re holding your breath, also holding back your smirk as you can view the way papa’s eyebrows crease as he can’t believe what he is saying. heeseung’s mom was the first one to openly express her shock by literally jumping from her seat and box thrown towards his dad’s as he took a good stare at it, making you glance at him you actually won the bidding on who would be shocked first between the two.

“NO, FUCK- WAIT?!” his mom stares between the two of you before your mom jumps from her space to also gaze at you, holding onto the paper. giving him a nudge with your elbow. you didn’t expect him to wrap his arm behind your shoulders.

“yeah… the babies are ours-“

“no fucking way!” your mom actually shouted as she hyperventilates while heeseung’s mom covers her mouth, contemplating on what to do when she felt her body being squished by her best friend, hugging her tight as they turn to hug each other while heeseung’s dad gives his box to your dad so he could see it clearly.

“since when are you two together?” papa asked as you tried to let heeseung’s grip from your shoulder.

“uncle, we aren’t together. we just hook up and-“

“WE’RE GOING TO BE IN-LAWS.” you can hear mama cheer as both of the women twirl around the small space, making you feel even more guilty for breaking the immersion as you stop budging away from heeseung’s hold. rolling your eyes, you stare at heeseung and lean in close to his ear, whispering.

“bad fucking idea…”

“at least they’re happy, right? well, i won because of that.”

mama interrupts both of you as she gives you both an enormous hug while heeseung’s mom comes from behind. you could see the tears coming out of mama’s eyes who rested her head against your shoulder.

“ughh, too tight.”

“stop it, honey! (y/n) looks so uncomfortable.” papa reminded.

“oops, sorry!” your mom lets go of her hold as heeseung’s mom slotted between the two of you as she pushes in on the excess fabric of your clothes, making you grip both sides of your top and pull it backward so she can see your bump already showing.

“hi, baby!”

“it’s babies.” heeseung’s dad cuts in as his wife follows with, “there’s two of them?”

“i swear to god.” heeseung’s old man brushes his face, unbelievable that his wife didn’t see the two sacs from the ultrasound as you give your mom a nod, her hands carefully holding onto your waist.

“fraternal twins,” you confirmed to her as you watched another batch of fresh tears coming out of her eyes.

“hello, you two. you’re going to have the best mom ever.”

“and dad too.” heeseung’s mom replied as she moved to stand in front of you two, seeing his grown son seemingly glowing as she spoke of him being the best dad to his two unborn children.

“okay. i gotta have to make the red meat well done then.” mama cuts out as she hastily moves to the kitchen to cook back her meat-based meal, letting auntie lee replace her place as she caresses the bump gently.

“how long has it been?” she asked as you opened your mouth to reply.

“we did the ultrasound two weeks ago. so it’s week 12 now.” heeseung cuts you off as she gazes back at her son.

“what have you two already prepared?”

“we gave a letter to the university for future parents and they agreed to let me take online classes entering 5 months because i only have three classes, one is that's doing a study case, and they let heeseung have parental leave if i give birth. i haven’t found the right doula yet but my supervisor at the daycare has a connection to one and i think it will be her. she has given me the number so i just have to text her,” you answered.

“is it near campus?” she replied.

“yeah, because i don’t want to graduate late. that’s why i decided to stay near campus during it.” you have thoughts on if you should just take a break this semester to focus on your pregnancy or not multiple times by now. but, of course, the rivalry comes back as you still want to keep pace with heeseung and your friends who will be graduating next semester.

“you should take a semester leave, (y/n).” heeseung cuts off your thought as you peek at him.

“i’ve already got what i wanted from the uni and it’s fine, heeseung. i can keep up.”

“well, you can, but what if you don’t take care of the babies?”

“of course, i can take care of the babies-“

“not by being stressed over college.”

“heeseung-“ you turn your body towards him as you grip both of his upper arms, firm hands holding him as you stare down at him. “i know what’s best for me. i know what my limits are. i’ve trusted you enough with the food but you should also trust me to know how to take care of myself outside of nutrition.”

your teeth are grinding against each other as your fiery gaze stays on him, even as you let go of the grip. it stays for a few more seconds as you turn back to head to the dads who seem to be forgotten by the sofa, seeing papa teary-eyed as he hugs and kisses your head before you let heeseung’s dad hug you.

his mom turns towards him, cupping his cheek. “she knows what she’s doing, heeseung.”

“but how should i know it’s right? cause that’s not right for me. my friend’s mom said that a pregnant woman should focus on preparing herself for her birth and doing college doesn’t seem to prepare her for that.” heeseung sighed as he looked at his mom, not expecting a slight hurt on her face.

“i was still doing my job when i was pregnant with you, heeseung. your dad trusted me for that cause he knows my limits, might be even more than i do. let her be and you might learn that she knows how to take care of herself, too.” her hand brushed away the fringe on his forehead, eyes glistening as she let out a small warm smile at him. the hurt falling away as heeseung sees her mom’s signature smile of knowing before she brought him in his arms, hugging him tight as he glances at you who is giving him a small look with a tight-lip smile before you turn away to the dining room.

-

heeseung stares at the glow-in-the-dark stars sticking on the ceiling. his back being stretched out on the floor as he laid on the comforter beside the single bed where you’re still playing with your phone. he remembered how he begged—trying to persuade—his parents to bring him home with them. but knowing that he’ll only be staying for one night and you two are “together”, they decide for him to stay with you instead. you can see how his fuming breath was held as you glanced at him with an unidentifiable look at the dining table, his parents believing you would let him stay in your bed.

but he insists on lying down on the floor, knowing the history between the two of you they don’t know, as you silently agree.

printed pictures still hang on one side of the room when he looks at them as long as the bedside lamp is still on. he remains silent, eyes tired from looking at his phone so much to distract him from his reality when he hears the rummaging movement on the mattress as you put the phone on the table.

“well, night, heeseung.” the click of the lamp is big in the white-noised room as darkness envelops the space, letting in the moon and streetlights outside beam their shine inside. your eyes easily adjust to the surroundings as you puff your one-less pillows on the bed to find the right position—knowing the ache of sleeping in the wrong position when you are carrying two fetuses inside you.

“since when did you work in a daycare?”

the man’s words overcome your action as you brush the cover of the pillow.

“why do you wanna know?” you put the pillows in the right position as you lay your head and back against it.

“since your mom proclaimed that you’ll be the mom ever.”

heeseung is reminded of the way you look when your mom says that, a look of pride coming out of your eyes as you unconsciously nod knowingly. even if you and him are close by proximity—by being your moms’ children, by being schoolmates, by having roommates who stay in proximity with each other—there’s still something that you don’t know about each other. because if the opposites know, they can use it as leverage to bring any of the two down.

“had a few babysitting gigs during high school days. i started to like it more and decided when i go to hybe, i’ve volunteered for a non-formal school for children and more. i decided to do a part-time job at a daycare and yeah…” you replied, laying down by your side as if you could see heeseung beside you when he is, in fact, below you.

“it doesn’t match with your major though.” heeseung gives a snide comment as you sigh loudly.

“so what if a business major can’t connect with my passion for childcare- fuck me.” you stopped to remind yourself to stop taking the bait from heeseung because you know he was making these comments to break your confidence within yourself. you could discuss how making and taking care of a business could resemble making and taking care of a child, but with the way he had pissed you off today in more ways than one, you rather stick that thought to yourself and instead, take offense towards him.

“why did you wrap your arm around my shoulders?”

heeseung glances towards the bed, seeing your silhouette on the top forming a dark shadow because of your comforter shielding it.

“i had to. so they know the babies are ours,” he replied with the thought that first came to mind after he already had his arm behind you—blaming his underlying consciousness for doing that.

“and it makes them believe we’re together when we’re not. look at us now.” both of your arms stretch out of the comforter to tell him just how big the situation you got yourself into cause how many white lies must you tell your parents to hide that this is because of a hookup, not because you are romantically linked?

your staggered giggles drop as you try to glance downwards at him, the arm nearest to the floor left hanging as heeseung didn’t comment on what you said. “well, this just got more complicated.”

“our situation is complicated since the start, (y/n).”

“well, i know who to blame for making our strings get more tangled with our parents cause fuck you, heeseung.”

he saw the lone middle finger standing tall from the silhouette of your figure before you picked yourself up and lay all your weight on the bed, turning the other side as heeseung followed; both of you staring at the opposites of the room, knowing that your bodies needed to rest so you can face each other again in the morning.

the time between that night and how you both lived after you went back to your own places near campus was a week when you texted him about the doula that you had told at your parent’s home. the car was left in neutral with the handbrake lifted as heeseung waited at the daycare where you work. his eyes gaze at the differing modes of transport each guardian is picking up the kids with before looking at the lobby as he sees you and another attendant saying goodbyes to the kids. he watches as a few of them hug you and even a few let their cheek rested against your growing bump before you take a glance forward at them who is going back to be with their parents, noticing his car for a few seconds before you return inside to take your items.

the backpack is hanging off your shoulders as you take another sliced fried potato from the container when you enter the passenger’s seat beside his driver’s one, resting your back against the seat with your bag there to support you. “hello! i’ve sent you the address, right?”

he stares at you with his squinting eyes, “you should not eat that.”

“it’s cravings, heeseung. it’s totally normal. the doula can count me on that.” you chew another fry as heeseung lets out a mumble under his breath as he moves the handbrake and puts the gear to drive, reeling the car forward as he drives you to the doula’s office. both of your moms have suggested several doulas for you to choose from, but you reminded them you’re having twins. so having a doula who specializes in taking care of moms birthing multiples will be helpful as it is also your first time.

playfully, you fly a french fry like an airplane towards heeseung as he drives, like the usual time you try to feed kids at the daycare. it nudges against his lips a few times before he bit it, pulling it off your fingers; making you let out a chuckle cause he can’t even resist it himself.

the parking lot was pretty barren as you only saw a few vehicles when you both walked out of the cars. you adjust the backpack once again on your back as the chime from the car tells you it is now locked as you enter the office building.

thanking the receptionist, you and he stood in front of the doula’s office as you knocked the door.

the door opens as a soft-spoken woman says from the inside, “miss (l/n)(y/n)?”

“yes, i am.”

“oh, come in. come in.” the door widened as heeseung could see the things inside the large office room. a desk in one corner and a cabinet stood behind it. accolades and certifications by the desk with a sofa on the corner beside the door. a box of what seems to be baby toys beside the sofa as posters are hanging on the wall. from the anatomical look of a baby inside their mom’s uterus to words of encouragement towards mothers.

“i’m haseul. nice to meet you.” the woman shook your hand as she then glanced at heeseung who was still wandering around.

“oh, uh, this is heeseung, the babies’ daddy.” you refer to his name as he looks at the lady, shaking her hand as she looks between the two of you.

“so, both of you aren’t married or dating-“

“no, we’re childhood friends and hooked up, and this happened.” heeseung blurts out as you raised your eyebrows, poking your tongue in the cheek. haseul nodded her head as she let both of you sit down in front of the desk.

“first, congratulations on the twins. you must be nervous to find that out.”

“of course, especially as a first-time mom. but, i’m feeling pretty okay.”

“that’s good, i’ve also sent you the questionnaire for you to fill on your plan for giving birth…” haseul’s voice traces out as heeseung glances at the portrait frame of her holding onto a baby with a mom, a glance at the book about post-partum, and a baby doll on top of the cabinet right in front of a corner window. he could only catch onto some words he recognized from jeongin telling him—birth, dilation, cramps, anesthesia, cesarean—as he sensed himself getting overwhelmed, especially when he had the second preliminary match in two days and his gig in being the documentation for a baseball match for hybe uni too.

his thumbs caressed his fingertips as he sensed the sweat forming on his palm, the same feeling he has every time he has to go to match. to then realize just how ready you seem by how eloquently you say the words for your requests to the doula like you’ve grown up much more than he is even though both of you are the same age. sure, he felt the leverage the first time when he sent you food and a few tips he makes beomgyu do; but his knowledge couldn’t compete with yours and it scares him to know he is losing his stance from above you. to know that you’re much more ready than him.

“heeseung…” he heard someone calling for him, before something wrapped around his wrist, taken aback to see you brought him back to the room he was in.

“sorry… what did you say?” heeseung replied as haseul gave him a warm smile.

“i’ve heard from (y/n) that you have known some knowledge of pregnancies but i could give you some sources to read because it is your first time as a dad as well.” the woman said to him calmly, looking at heeseung as if she can read his body language. your hold on his wrist stays as you rub the inside of his wrist with your thumb. “we have also discussed that (y/n) will try the normal route with water birth and if she can’t handle it, she’ll be going with cesarean. we could also do an appointment every two weeks as both of you are students now, but it is best if you come so you can understand each process as she is entering the second trimester.”

“i understand. i’ll try my best to set my schedule so i can join her.” heeseung glanced at you, who was giving a nod before you let go of your hold as he seemed to be anchored back in the room. the woman gives a small smile as she starts a lecture on the process of pregnancy, childhood, and parenthood. another class that heeseung doesn’t want to get in the first place, but knowing his determination to be the best dad ever—as what his mom believes him to be—he follows along with writing notes in his book as you have with your laptop. the class that he has to pass so he can take care of his children as best as he can.

-

even with the music booming from around his space, heeseung still felt like something was different. his eyes rested on the plastic-colored cup filled with a concoction of alcohol he didn’t know—he could taste the gin and what seemed to be fanta in it. the sigma mu’s frat house lits up in motion as he eyes the way the expensive big-ass speakers are scattered around the room, gazing at the familiar faces of his peers and juniors he has seen while walking around campus.

something stirs within him as he eyes his friends who are here—beomgyu who is by the speaker as he talks with the dj, jimin with his dance crew friends, jeongin with his class friend, while heeseung sits with sunoo and sunghoon on either side of him. that’s when he caught onto the silhouette of some familiar faces every time he comes across a certain person; every time he comes across you.

“excuse me, gang.” heeseung would like to thank himself for being able to stand up so stable even with the nearly empty cup, excusing himself from his basketball teammates to walk towards the frat boys of sigma mu to find the vp and his girlfriend by his side.

“winter…” he calls with the nickname he heard you and others call her before as said girl turns towards him with her boyfriend’s arm still behind the sofa.

“lee heeseung.” she spoke out with a grin on her face, “what makes you come in front of us?”

“i was wondering,” ‘fuck it’ heeseung drinks up the whole liquid that remains inside the cup, hoping that his alcohol tolerance still be able to support him to be stable, “has (y/n) ever talked to you about a doula check-up or some other thing?”

“she should’ve told me if there’s gonna be a checkup but i don’t think there is one nearest from now.” minjeong replies as she lets sungchan take care of her drink so she can comfortably talk to the boy in front of them.

“ah, really?”

“yeah!” minjeong replied before giving another smile. that’s when someone crashes to wrap their arms around minjeong and sungchan, making the two jump as they turn to see ryujin’s head between both of them before giving minjeong a peck on the temple.

“hey, (y/n)’s baby daddy. whatchu up to?”

heeseung chuckles as he looks between the two girls—”no wonder you have them as your friends, all of them are similar after all”—before he opens his mouth.

“just checking what’s (y/n) up to-“

“well, she’s not here. for your information.” ryujin lets out a smirk, “you must really wanna talk to her about something.”

“a doula appointment.” sungchan replied, “and you know how (y/n) is about…” the boy glances at, “him.”

heeseung’s teeth grit against each other as he senses they are hiding something from him. maybe because of your doing so you can prove to everyone that he isn’t as committed to his children as he spoke about.

“you and minjeong aren’t home, so i presume (y/n) is with chaer-“

“someone’s calling my name?”

heeseung sighs as he turns towards the voice of chaeryeong who is holding two cups of drinks as she gives one to ryujin.

“he’s asking about (y/n).” minjeong nods toward chaeryeong when she lets out a small ah before turning her head to stare at heeseung.

“since chan here invited all four of us at the frat party, she really wanted to be here but, of course, cause she’s preggo with YOUR children, she couldn’t. but all of us went out of the apartment together and she was holding a duffle bag of some sort.”

“where is she going?” heeseung doesn’t hesitate to ask, making your three friends look at each other and giggle.

“you seem desperate enough. she’s at the park near our apartment complex. she complained about needing a light workout because of how much her back is hurting.” ryujin said as heeseung could picture the park, knowing where you lived because he had picked you up for your trip back home for the weekend.

“okay, thanks all of you.” heeseung places the cup on the table beside the sofa where minjeong sits and turns away, letting the sense of fresh air flowing inside the frat house guide him to the nearest exit as he arrived on the pavement, feeling the stuffiness inside him getting lighter as he gave a text in his group chat he’ll be leaving early.

the walk there was pleasant, to say the least, because the suburban town the campus is in is pretty sparse compared to the city where heeseung and you live. there is enough place for it to be called a big town but not enough skyscrapers to be called a metropolis. and with the inconsiderable amount of apartment complexes available near campus, he already pinpointed the park where you might be.

crossing the black-and-white stripes, he arrived at one of the entrances of the park where he still could see a few people doing their activities inside—night jogging, playing chess under the streetlights, and a couple who was on a date. he was reminded of what ryujin said about how you might need exercise, but the duffle bag says to him you might stay in one place rather than walking around the park as the main event of your exercise time.

heeseung’s feet instantly brought him to the place that he had gone before in this park as it is the same park near where sunghoon, jay, and jake live—maybe they live in the same complex as you do—when he finds the silhouette lightly jog behind the trees from the path he is on. the sound of rubber meeting the concrete slaps across the night’s atmosphere as he sees you in the middle of the basketball court, wearing a sweatshirt where he could see the bump pushing against the fabric. the basketball bouncing between your palm and the ground creates the familiar sound as you jog toward the ring and shoot your shot. the ball hits the backboard enough that it bounces into the basket.

“fuck yes…” you exclaimed as you grabbed the bouncing ball into your hand, heaving as you brushed the sweat of your skin right underneath the spotlight shining on the court.

that’s when you pick up the scraping on the concrete and clap when you turn around to look at the last person you want to see tonight.

“you still got it,” heeseung commented, making you scoff as you took a few steps back so you stood adjacent to the free throw circle. holding up the basketball between your hands as you tried to remember the position before pushing towards the ring. the basketball curves as it hits the edge of the box instead.

“dammit!”

“you spun your ball,” heeseung replies as the ball flies into his arm, naturally guiding it into a dribble as he walks towards you.

“i didn’t.”

“your wrist was twisted and it makes your hand doesn’t flop straight towards the ring.” he walks towards your side as he shows you the way to hold it, making you glance at the arm muscles that form from holding the ball so much as he throws the ball, creating a perfect arch that it bounces on the back of the rim before it flies and the basket catches its fall. your body immediately reaches for it before heeseung can as you return to your spot whilst dribbling alternating between left and right.

“i know.” you lightly roll your eyes as you grab onto the basketball once again, wiping your sweat palm against your sweatshirt before you feel the right grip as you return to your position, reminding yourself to let the ball fly and not twist your ball before you threw it.

you heard a click of the tongue as you saw a pair of hands reaching to hold yours, making your hand move to the position as you picked up heeseung’s breath beside your ear. startled, your shoulder nudges against his chest as you hear a small “ack” before you throw the basketball, seeing it twirl in the air. you can hear heeseung saying “i told you so.” before it bounces against the backboard, but you are ready as you stride towards it to grab the ball before heeseung catches it and you quickly do a layup, gliding the ball as it bounces right at the small box above the rim as it bounces inside. you turn your body to face him, head tilted with a smug smile as the ball bounces before it rolls to heeseung’s feet.

but the smile falls as you see heeseung who is in his element, walking back to the three-point line and shooting his shot as the ball, once again, creates a perfect arc. the basket catches it into its net as heeseung walks towards the center of the court with a wide grin on his face. the ball bounces near you as you hold it and dribble once more, glancing at it, the court, and heeseung once again as you shake your head, scolding yourself to take things slow for your and your babies’ sake. the sudden epiphany makes your eyelids flutter as you dribble away at a steady walking pace around the court.

your footsteps are met with another as heeseung’s legs stride towards you, a smirk on his face showing as he replies, “that’s why you were put in the point guard position.”

“hmm…” your reply is small as you continue to dribble away the basketball, making you and he walk around the court together before he cuts through the silence.

“why did you stop playing basketball in high school?”

your body stood still as you let your muscle memory do your job of dribbling the ball, shifting your head towards his even if you look away.

“you were, well, it seems to be still are, good at it,” he added.

the memories of your first year in high school from the extracurricular showcase come back as you are already determined to stop playing basketball, focusing on doing something else that you were interested in.

“i got tired of it,” you replied, but heeseung seemed to notice that it was not all the truth.

“and…”

the ball stops bouncing as you hold it against you, wrapping your arm across your front along with the ball as you glare at him and reply, “you.”

��me?”

“yeah, you. i stopped playing because of you.” you turn around and set your eyes on the bench where your bag is. your water bottle calling for you so you can hydrate yourself as you give in.

“really, huh? wow, that was another victory i didn’t expect-“

“fucking hell, heeseung. that’s why- this-“ you gulped down your saliva, “what you become because of it is why i stop. i know our moms are outstanding basketball players at their time and we’ve gotten the signal to be like them but-“ you hold back as you throw the bottle inside the bag, holding yourself down as your hands form fists.

basketball has always been a large part of your life before you were even born. your mom and heeseung’s met because of their love of basketball as they became skilled players together. your mom and dad meet up because of basketball. you still remember the amount of pictures of your parents in their high school days in their basketball jerseys in the photo albums. even if they don’t pursue it professionally, it still becomes a large part of their life as it also spills onto you.

with the amount of time you have interacted with children—as it makes you see your own experience as a child in a different view—many of them like to mimic what their parents do before they form their own sense of self. you can see it with the way one child at the daycare is always playing doctor with dolls, figures, and plushies because one of their parents is a doctor. you were like that. you’ve heard and seen just how impactful basketball is to your mom that you want to be just like her, making you join the teams during your elementary and middle schools.

to see and feel the influence of your rival during practice and tournaments around you was overwhelming.

the tug-of-war between the basketball in between both of your hands is just the beginning of what kinds of rivalry you and him have during practice. even if your coaches assigned you to the same team, you or he, depending on who is first, will reach out to the coach to be put into the other team. even if you two had to practice together, hidden aggression is flying to the roof, which includes passing the ball so hard that it had even made your nose bleed. as time goes on and the many matches you and he have to compete in as you two have to watch each other to “encourage” each other’s team, you had notice the way you fell out of love of basketball because of how there are more bad memories associated with it even if you were being trusted as a captain for one season and scoring many buzzer beaters to let your team and school win the tournament.

“you’ve become so much better with it as i lost interest. i still remember when the coach brought me to the nurse’s office cause you passed the ball so hard that it hit my face. in the middle of practice for the last season in middle school, that’s when i knew…” you take steps closer as you now stand in front of him.

“i knew i’m in a losing battle against you.”

your muscles twitched as you wanted to let out a smirk when you noticed the hidden expression heeseung failed to hide, the little shock he had gotten to show. yet, the emotion that is enveloping you held it down, as you now had to tell him the truth. why your rivalry seemed to expand outside of the scope that both of you are in.

“that’s why i quit basketball. that’s why i decide to pursue my own path even with you tailing behind me to comment on my every move. because i am sick of you. yet, i held back. i had to retaliate, just like what i did on that fucking playground when we were 5. cause i’m not afraid of you even though i know i’ll lost in the end.” you chew the inside of your cheeks as heeseung seems to read your face while letting his brain figure out what you meant.

“that’s why i wanted a fucking truce.”

with the way your facial muscles contort, it hurts you more and more as you feel the tears of pain forming, harboring the feelings you have felt for nearly two decades now. with your hand raised, you wiped the small drop of tear as you let out a huge breath, feeling just a bit of the weight in your rivalry falls off—right along with you.

as you let your body sit on the concrete ground, you push yourself back slowly as you settle and lay on it. heeseung’s conflicted face peeking from your vision while you’re trying to blur it out by focusing on the night sky. though the light pollution is still around you, you can still see tiny specks of stars behind the shadow of clouds of the night. stretching your back on the ground as you let your backbone rest after trying to make you stand upright while carrying two growing fetuses.

eyelids close, you let nature take control in calming your emotions and let heeseung process the information himself. the first time you truly open up yourself behind the mask of your persona—maybe when he stays the night in your childhood room is one as you recall your feet resting against his sleeping figure, contemplating if you want to wake him up or not before gazing at the dusting basketball that you decide to bring back to your apartment after papa helps in blowing more air so it doesn’t sag too much.

the sound of rustling leaves seems to be louder as you rest still, hearing a muffled thump beside you as you open your eyes, looking at your feet to then find another pair lying down right beside yours.

“you’re the one that was throwing a fit and ruining my toy truck after i apologized.” you sighed as you took a peek to see heeseung’s head turning towards you, asserting dominance once again before looking back. you knew that if you replied with the same vibe to assert your own dominance, it would actually break you apart faster than the rate that you are now. however, you have one question that will be the right one to ask him about.

“did you mean that?”

“‘mean’ what?”

“the apology? did you mean that? cause i want you to look at it from my eyes, lee.”

heeseung traces back to that memory when he sees you teary-eyed face and his mom beside him, the boys he was playing with snickering on the side as they saw him getting in trouble with his then-friend. the “sorry” mumbled out of him with his eyes on you but mind on the boys, who seemed to not snicker at him, but at you for being a pissy fit. but, deep down, he knew…

“i meant it.” his reply makes you turn your head, mirroring his form as you let out a slight pout.

“with that smile you were giving? hell no-“ you rolled your eyes.

“i genuinely meant it. the boys that were there, they were behind you and they were laughing at us. i had to juggle facing you and them. i had to look fierce yet still can give you an apology. maybe that’s why you see the smirk that you see. i was a fucking child, (y/n). we’re not as good as we are not in hiding complicated emotions to only let out one.”

your chest rises and falls as you see the apology smirk in a different light. you don’t know if you should easily believe that or not, but after taking it into consideration, you could feel a small part of your inner child healing up before you realize the damage that you also have done to him.

“if it is genuine; i’m sorry, then. about the truck. you know how i felt now and why i did that.” you return to look at the sky once again as you hear the rustle beside you before peeking at heeseung who is also staring into the night, listening to him humming before you return to gaze back again.

“what would happen if i actually have the emotional intelligence to know that you were sincere that day?” your words cut off the silence as you felt the guilt pouring for it to be transformed into humor that was reciprocated well by heeseung’s chuckles.

“well, we wouldn’t have these two.” he playfully poked your belly, making you let out a small shriek before holding onto his wrist as you held his hand down between the two of you and you pivoted your head to see him.

“in all seriousness, i think we might have been the friends our moms see us to be because let me tell you, they see us differently than what we are having.” his words are replied with a hum as you added,

“i notice that too. glad we can be more civil in front of them.”

“we still could, you know.”

with the way you didn’t hold on to his wrist tightly, you felt the limb moving under your touch before his palm rested underneath your own. the wind blows against your sweaty top as it gives you shivers from the cold, hoping that your own temperature and a lifeline can help warm it up. and you can feel it warmer as you see heeseung pivot to mirror you. his fingers slid between yours as if he knew the little shivered breath you led out.

“have each other’s backs. emulate what they want.”

your eyes are galloping to the way the spotlight shines half of his as the other one is cast in shadows from facing the concrete. you could smell a faint scent of alcohol on him but with the life in his eyes, you knew he wasn’t drunk. the way his eyes are also peering with slight twitches as before connecting with your gaze.

pushing one side of your upper body, you cup onto heeseung’s cheek as he leans up to connect your lips. your shoulder is pushing down against the ground as heeseung’s grip on your hand tightens, making it steady as you can hear his muffled hum from your kiss. your fingers curl to hold yourself up better before you feel his other hand reach for your waist and push you down so you both lay on the side.

both of you take turns to take a breath as you sense the tip of his nose brushing against yours. every time you let out a breath, the other’s lips linger before connecting once. your legs curled as you felt the ticklish sensation surging through your nerves before heeseung pushed your lower back so it could stay for one last long kiss before he pulled away. your noses touch each other as you feel his hand on your waist trails to your bump, pressing it down gently as you lean back to see him looking down at the body he is holding. then, his eyes flick back to you as he can sense you slip away, turning yourself away from him as you push yourself up with your arms.

grabbing the lone basketball and putting it in the duffle bag, you zip it up and shift to find heeseung now upright, yet still with his legs stretched out on the ground.

“baby steps, heeseung.” you pull away before giving a small salute.

“baby steps.”

your voice echoes as heeseung watches you walk away, biting his bottom lip before a chuckle falls out of him as he knows he had to text you back his question about the appointment, knowing that you will reply to him.

-

beomgyu breathed out as the elevator opened up to the now familiar hallway, holding onto the box that he had still had to bring even if heeseung already told him he’ll do the next one himself because of what he told him. the box held fresh ingredients that jeongin also pinpoint—courtesy of his doctor mom—on what you should eat, considering now that there are two of them inside you. beomgyu couldn’t help but feel melancholic knowing that this was the last time he’d probably visit your apartment complex as… well…

but, other than bringing you today’s box, beomgyu is here to pick you up for the doula appointment as heeseung will follow suit after practice. even his bandmates are weirded out as to why he has to do the errands, but knowing that they’re in the process of rest mode whilst preparing to create new music and focusing on academics, he allows it, especially with how long he has been best friends with the guy.

he huffs as he positions the box again against his upper body, sliding his pointer finger to the bell as he picks up the familiar bell sounding in the room. but it seems like there’s no one inside. he’s glad that he remembers the pin ryujin has given him as he pushes inside the door to see the clean empty living room of the apartment he has been in countless times when he had to put the box in himself. pushing off his shoes, he walks to the kitchen and places the box on the island counter before rushing towards the intercom to turn off the bell.

that’s when he heard the noise of something familiar.

a guitar strumming sound of chords and the changes he recognized.

beomgyu took tiny steps towards one of the ajar doors in the hallway as the realization of the familiar sound widened his eyes. of course it was familiar to him, it was his song.

the nearly acoustic rendition of “skipping stones” with a familiar voice he had heard makes him peek through the door to find you sitting cross-legged on your bed, holding a nearly all-white guitar as you strum while having headphones on your head, singing the daylights out as your window lets the stream of lights in through the window. he lets you sing as he can see you glow—jeongin had mentioned to him that pregnant women have this whole glow on them. maybe that’s what he was seeing in you. the way your fingers glide against the fretboard with your eyes on it or close as you sing the lyrics makes beomgyu mesmerized.

the last ring of strings strummed is heard from your rumble speaker when you notice clapping from outside of your headphones, making you look up to find beomgyu behind your slightly open door. his clapping turns to hollering as lets out a wide thin smile before looking away; you don’t want him to see you flustered. that is when you realize why you’re here.

“oh fuck, the doula appointment.”

“yeah!” beomgyu replies outside as you quickly tidy the guitar up into your case and you step into your wardrobe to grab some more clothes that are much more appropriate for your appointment.

“sorry, about that. beom.”

“nah, no worries. i can wait.”

“thanks!” you close the door as you quickly change your clothes, deciding for a flowy blouse with a rubber-banded culotte, needing to remind yourself to buy maternity clothes because you are slowly running out of clothes that fit you. you wore a bit of sunscreen as you got a message from mama telling you to embrace the pregnancy glow your friends seemed to notice is exuding out of you as you’re in the second trimester. wearing the eau du toilette that doesn’t make you as dizzy—unlike perfume—you open the door to see beomgyu leaning against the wall where it hangs a frame of you and your roommates in photo booths.

“you ready?” he held his hand out as you nodded, you put your hands out before beomgyu grabbed the strap of the bag from your hold, startling you before you returned to your usual state. if your face isn’t warm enough, it’s now warmer from the embarrassment.

the walk down to his car is silent as he helps with buckling the seatbelt to the side. seeing how much your stomach is rested underneath the strap makes him giggle as you recognize the smell of pot from beomgyu’s very appropriate old sedan car.

“hopefully you aren’t high while driving me.” you give a cheeky grin.

“of course not. heeseung will actually kill me if he finds that i dui with you.”

beomgyu twists the key of the ignition as the car turns on—yes, that’s how old his car is—as the sound of a loud rock song plays from the rock fm you recognized. his hand reaches for the button as you react,

“no need. i’m okay with it.”

he hums as he reaches for the volume to turn the sound down, not letting the rattling of the sound in the interior startle you as he pulls the car out of the parking space and into the road.

“can you check the quickest route to the office?” beomgyu said as he brushed his wolf-cut hair.

“of course.” you lean back against the leather seat as you open the map app on your phone, telling beomgyu the roads to the doula’s office. the song has changed to a familiar song by tom petty playing as you notice how beomgyu glances at you.

“what?” you called out with a few chuckles.

“i didn’t expect you to like my song, well txt’s song.” his reply is met with your own giggle as you lean back.

“even if i hate heeseung. that doesn’t mean i have to hate his friends, you know?”

your eyebrow is raised as he gives another quick look before focusing on the road, “if you don’t believe me, i’ve been a fan of band your band since, like, sophomore year when you formed.”

“why? i really wanna hear from a fan's perspective.”

your giggle warms his heart as you answered, “i just relate to it, ya hear? a band that talks about the hardships of finding oneself and the struggle of growing but in a more intelligible way other, especially ‘skipping stones’ from your newest album.”

both of beomgyu’s hands are on the steering wheel as you feel the brake of the car before turning to the curb of where the office is, parking nearest to the entrance as the car stops and he pulls the hand brake. both of you sitting inside as you waited for heeseung to arrive in a few minutes from the last time he texted you.

“why ‘skipping stones’ specifically?”

“hmm…” you suppressed the grin that is threatening to go out before replying with, “interpreting self-struggle with the idea of skipping stone is… in it of itself, very poignant. to correlate the body of water with your own and the stones you’re throwing as the struggle you’re facing.” you let out a huge sigh, “i don’t know- it’s something i understand, especially if someone else is doing the skipping stone to you, feeling that emotion sinking into you, replacing the water’s place…”

you glanced at beomgyu who was definitely staring at you, his hands on his lap as he let out a solemn smile, agreeing with what you said. you quietly nod and take a sharp intake, trying to find the right words to cut the rising awkwardness between the two of you, “other than that, the freaking dissonance on the harmony is so good. it gives a sense of unbalanced buoyancy as if you’re a leaf floating on the water and the skipping stone makes it unstable. great job on that.”

“thanks!”

“of course.” you nearly slapped yourself for leaning closer to the middle console, but beomgyu seemed to not react as much when you felt a bit of your finger touching his. “can’t wait for the next release. no pressure.”

the corner of beomgyu’s lips rose as he giggled, a boyish grin on his face before his expression changed, “don’t worry, me and the band won’t let the fans down.” he replied as you leaned back, head nodding. that’s when you hear the rumbling of the car right beside yours as you see the appearance of heeseung’s newer model car.

“gotta go. thank you so much for bringing me here,” you said as beomgyu helped pick your bag up from the backseat.

“of course, (y/n). gotta have to thank heeseung for letting me do so, but hey…” you felt his hand reaching and now touching your wrist, making you turn your body while nearly opening the door.

“i've known you since high school but we never hang out together cause of heeseung. maybe we could hang out, with your girls and my guys? if heeseung is already melting his ice down then i think that’s okay for us and our friends to hang out. it’s up to you, though.”

you suppress an amused smile as you think about it. thinking about how long have you been crushing on the boy in front of you and how you wanna shake heeseung a thank you for letting him do the errands, maybe even to your noise-canceling headphones that make him notice just how much you like him- no, his band. yeah.

“i’ll think about it. heeseung and i don’t have a formal truce yet but based on what we talked about last time, maybe it could work.”

“sweet-“

you heard a knocking on the door before you turned around to catch heeseung’s silhouette behind the glass window.

“i’ll talk to the girls so we can arrange a time.”

“me too with the guys.”

“okay, bye beomgyu.” the car door unlocks as you nuzzle the door open while hearing beomgyu’s own “bye” from the driver’s seat. heeseung helps to hold the door as you step out.

“thanks for her ride, gyu.”

“don’t mention it, hee. we might even have to ride with her often.” beomgyu said right as the door that heeseung held closed. the engine turns on as the car drives off the parking. you stand right beside heeseung as he looks at you, who still has a lingering smile on your face.

“why are you smiling, (y/n)?”

he lightly nudges your palm with his as you turn your head to him.

“you’ll see, hee.” as you took off towards the office, leaving heeseung once again alone as he then followed you.

part 2

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[jk-kiwi]

Warmth of December

Warmth of December (18+) Characters - Sergeant JK x Y/N reader (woman) Genre - slow burn (?), strangers to lovers, basically everything is war themed, the story takes place in old time but is not an accurate representation of real life events, pretty much an old mentality on how things should be and about how people should act, THIS is fiction.  

Summary - Everyone wants a chance at freedom once a brutal war starts taking place, this also means that taking risks and dangerous paths is part of it. But what would you do when a chance for survival appears before you? Will you reach out and take it? Warnings - war stuff (blood, death, mentions bad things done to women, weapons and fights, etc.), angst, drama, fluff, fictional characters, 5 years age gap (20/25), older Jk, suggestive/smut, Jk is kinda cocky/arrogant and sometimes a jerk, he gets better after a while and becomes a total sweetheart, Jk hits a women once (not you), mentions of enslavement, women are kinda treated like objects that have no function other than being obedient housewives that must listen to their husband, mention of chastity/virginity, a lot of mixed feelings, slight aggression towards the reader, mentions of pregnancy.

MINORS PLEASE STAY AWAY! Warnings for the not so holy parts (18+) - they get naked in front of each other without doing it, mentions of soft and hard manhood as well as female parts, reader is inexperienced, they take things slow at first, it’s consensual, I won’t detail what I’m about to write because I’m embarrassed so read at your own risk, no heavy/crazy stuff though I think, they do it 3 times along the story, has some other suggestive parts. X<

Author’s note - Y/L/N Y/N stands for your first and last name. Also, NEVER in my life have I written smut, first time (probably last) don’t come for me if it’s bad, please. BTW It’s been a while since I’ve written something, this is also the longest one I've ever wrote. If there are any mistakes please let me know!

Enjoy!  Word count - 19k

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30 August 1955

“Keep quiet!” Poor heart beating out of your chest.

Step by step and you were almost out of this hell hole. You started clenching your long skirt tighter while the other three girls were following tightly through the thick blanket of rusty leaves. Escaping through the forest was not an easy task, especially for young women and since this damned war has started, more and more people seek liberty and justice. 

But it’s not that easy to seek freedom.

Around every corner you can find soldiers waiting to attack, and once you get caught by one of them, it’s game over. Dragged in a hidden place, if not taken right there and then for their own sick pleasure, losing all hope of a good life and just succumbing to the dark and shameful path you will have to live, if they pity you enough to let you do so.  

Every person wants a chance at freedom after all, right?  And because of this you are forced to take the risk. Either make it safe over the border, through the woods and get to a small town where you can start your life all over, or fall into the hands of the devil himself.  “I’m scared…” The youngest one of us, Mai, says, tears pooling in her eyes. At only 16 years old she’s forced to take such harsh decisions in order to gain safety. 

“Calm down, if you make too much noise we will get caught, that’s what you should be truly scared about.” Yun-Mi tries to reassure her, hoping she will calm down and not get us in trouble. With cold hands you push the bushes in front of our faces and look over to the hill we have to go across. Over the sun covered land we can see the thick border of trees, that’s it! That’s the last part we have to cross. After days of hiding and countless sleepless nights of looking around, we have finally made it.

”That’s it, right Y/N? That’s the border.” Jia, the oldest one exclaims in eagerness. “Yes, after that…we are finally free.” You can say, slight uneasiness crawling into your head, almost like you could predict something bad was going to happen. The three girls smile and hug each other, happy that they finally can get away from what the war has brought. “Let’s go then, what are we waiting for?!”

Oh, only if it was that easy. Perhaps this was the hardest part of all, beside the fact that this area was the most watched over because many attempted to cross over, the emptiness of the hill made the perfect chance of being spotted.

“Let’s go by the tree line, it’s much safer.” With a plan set, You try to take the lead.

Safe to say, the place looked deserted, the sun was almost setting and the only thing you could hear was the gentle sound of the wind. It was dangerous, luring people with its quiet demeanor, thinking you are safe until you wake up on the ground with a gushing gunshot wound and one or more soldiers on top of your body. With slow and steady steps the four of you go along the tree line, skirts raised above the knee level. If the nuns at church you used to live all these years would see, they for sure would pass out. 

“It seems clear.” Jia point’s out, looking around. And so you thought, until your head turned to look through the thick tree trunks, scanning the area below. In a split second making eye contact with a guy who was down at the river, he was watching you. 

Your blood ran cold, his head turned sideways, almost confused like, wondering if his mind was playing tricks. But when you saw him take his rifle out looking through the scope to confirm that what was happening was, in fact, the horrifying truth you will be living. “Get on the ground.” You managed to mutter when you saw him signal to someone while taking better aim, a horrifying grin spread across his face. 

“What?” The others ask. Your cold hands grab Mai by the shoulder, pulling her down with you, while yelling at the other two. “Get on the ground, now!” With your head down the only thing you could hear was a deafening shot. Looking back you see Jia holding her arm, bright red liquid staining the white fabric of her dress. All four of you fall to the ground, screaming and crying, finally grasping the situation. 

You try to keep composure, to look for a place to hide, but you were like a lost bunny that just fell into their prey's trap.

Dragging Mai away, Yun-Mi helping Jia follow, even though she screamed in pain and wiggled in shock. Looking around you try to find the best spot to hide, already hearing their footsteps getting closer. Still, you had some time to try and get away. 

“There!” you point at the overgrown bushes and piles of dead leaves and branches. They for sure will think you ran away and not look through the debris. So you get close, Yun-Mi stuffs Jia’s mouth with her apron to try to stop her screaming. 

“Keep quiet! They're going to catch us!” she manages to whisper, the girl nods and swallows the fear and pain she feels knowing this is the only chance for survival. And then you see one, pretty tall and muscular, a dark green hat covering his eyes, weapon in hand looking ready to strike anytime, clearly a soldier. Close to him another wonders, looking around cautiously trying to think of your steps.

You cuddle closer, hiding away in the leaves, eyes shutting tight holding your breaths. 

The two boys go down the path, while a surprising third goes up the hill towards the borders to check. That’s it, that’s our end. Knowing you are close they will continue to search until they find you, and then, God forbid, what’s going to happen. You try to think of a strategy, head running wild with possible solutions, in your madness I barely notice Yun-Mi’s hand tagging lightly on your skirt. “Y/N…” she whispers and then gulps. And so you open your eyes to see another pair in front, big and dark eyes scanning you like a predator. You reach under your dirty apron and slowly pull out the emergency knife you carried all this way, pointing it in his direction. He chuckles and tilts his head, amused by your bold reaction.

“Leave us alone!” You say, seeing his tongue pushing the inside of his cheek, his gaze still curious, but instead of doing something the only thing does is look around for his mates. 

That’s our chance! 

In an instant you try to launch at him and hit with the knife. With one hand he catches your arm, making the knife hit the ground. 

You wince in pain and he does not stop his actions, one of his knees presses over the knife while he maneuvers you around, your face hitting the ground roughly. 

You try to resist, but he catches your other hand and straddles your back making you unable to move under his heavy weight. 

“Get away from her!” Mai tries to come closer to hit him but his hands are quick, taking his pistol and pointing in her direction. “Have any other surprises left in you, pretty girl?” He says, hands starting to wander under my apron searching for other potential weapons making you feel disgusted. 

Though in fear, Yun-Mi drags her shaking body over, begging the man on her knees, her voice soft. “Please, I beg you, let her go!” The others crying too, probably aware of what was about to happen, seeing their fate being sealed through what was happening to you. “I have no intention of doing that, but I must say, you are some brave girls. Going around all this road for a chance to escape, on your own? No other man? Just four young girls.” He laughs a little, chilling your bones.

“Must say you have a lot of balls. You know what happens to people like you, right? If not, then I can only warn…not nice things.” He rises a bit, letting go of your arms, pistol pointed at the back of your head. “Turn around, I want to see your face.” You obey and turn around, the man still on top of you, his eyes boring along your body making you avoid his gaze.

“Hmm, not bad. How old are you? 18, 19?” Rough hand comes in contact with your face wiping the debris that got stuck before gripping at your jaw, turning your head to look at him.

“I asked you a question, therefore you should respond. Aren’t you in a bad position? Why are you making stuff harder for yourself?”. “I’ve just turned 20.” You spit through clenched teeth.  

He hums, seeming satisfied with the response. In a flash he gets off of you, putting his pistol back in his carrier, taking my knife from the grass. Quick footsteps being heard in the distance. 

“Sergeant! Have you found them?! We lost track!” An older guy approaches you. “Yes, four of them, pretty young. All girls by the way.” He says boringly. 

“Oh my! They really are pretty. What a delight.” Three other guys gather from behind, eyes praying over you, their faces plastered with sinister grins. “So, what do we do with them, sergeant?” asks another impatiently, hoping to get a green card for some potential hideous actions. The guy who found you, despite his appearance, looked to be the youngest, but also seems to be the leader. 

His body was pretty muscular, black hair almost covering his eyes, one of his hands covered in tattoos. He looked at you and caught your gaze again. You can see how his hand dips in his military jacket, searching for something before responding to his mates. 

“To be honest, we should follow the rules, right? All that are caught are enslaved, no other funny businesses." The three whine but obey his orders. 

His body crouches to your level, putting the knife under your chin making you gasp and close your eyes.”But I feel a little pleased with today's catch. To see such young women trying to fight for their lives in such a brutal world, tsk tsk, truly a pity.” He pushes the knife upwards, making you tilt your head with it. 

“Who wants to live from here?” He says delighted, devious plan coming together in his mind. 

Is he a sadist or what? Playing with your feelings for his own pleasure, enjoying seeing you suffer and making you beg for him to let you live?

The three girls start begging, even Jia, who’s body became pale from all the blood loss, raises her hands to pray for forgiveness in front of the soldiers. So you do what seems the best option, you wrap your hands around his one that holds the knife, pressing lightly, but enough feeling a warm droplet of blood drip down. “Would you look at that?” He doesn't even flinch, but you could see his muscles contracting in trying to hold the knife steady. “Let go. Do you want to die?” His face was stern, but amusement was growing behind his facade. “Yes, I would rather die than get dragged to who knows where, letting man touch and spoil me over and over like a slave. I refuse to go to that hell, so kill me.” He snatches the knife away, your head hitting his knee from lack of balance. You could hear his laugh seeing how pathetic you are in front of him. “You know…I really like you, very bold.” He gets up from the ground, his hand throws the thing he searched from under his jacket in your lap. You take it in your hands, it was a cold, shiny and silvery tag. It reads “Sergeant” on one side, with a few stars engraved showing his status, on the other side it’s only what I can figure it’s his name “Jeon Jungkook”. You look up at him, hands holding the cold chain, already knowing what it meant. He smiles cockily at you.

“Congratulations! I think you can call yourself a lucky lady, you know. If you think the place I was supposed to shove you was hell, then what can I say baby, I guess I just brought you back to heaven.” He says delightedly, before signaling his man to take your friends. 

You can hear them screaming and crying, trying desperately to free the grip these devils had on them. You bow your head down, refusing to witness the grotesque scene unfolding in front of your eyes. Jungkook comes over and with one arm he snatches you from the ground. “You need to wear it sweetheart, people will grow suspicious otherwise.” He puts the necklace over your head, sealing your faith as well. “Let’s go.” He says while dragging you with him, from now on his property to mess with. You tried to feel even in the slightest relieved, you were given a chance at a new life after all, right? 

The silver military pendant is only given as a token of proof for married women with high military men, showing their status and letting others know not to mess with them. But why did this feel different? Why you?

“I should be happier.”, that’s what you told yourself…happier that you lost your friends? Or that you are at the hand of such a man, someone you don’t know, that could use you like a puppet whenever he wants? 

You should've just taken the chance and stabbed yourself right there and then, only if you weren't such a coward. In the end, you just followed him around like a lost puppy, letting him drag you where he wanted, your body and soul now his to play with. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Shortly you two arrived at what seems to be a military camp, night already setting in. Your friends, nowhere to be found. 

The guy presumably named Jungkook took you to one of the tents, his by the looks of it. 

“We will leave tomorrow morning, I will show you where to wash up and I will bring you some clothes to wear.” He took off his jacket and boots laying back on the singular bed while you stayed close to the entrance, like a lost lamb. “Why are you doing this to me?” You ask quietly, breaking the silence, your eyes staring at the ground. Jungkook only sighed, didn't even bother to look your way. “You said you don’t want to go there, didn’t you? I fulfilled your wishes so be happy. You are not there, are you?” You didn’t know what to say or do, why did he even want to do this in the first place, it didn’t make any sense. “It does not make sense to me. Do you save all types of girls this way? If so, why not my friends too.” Now his attention was full on you, he sat up and looked at your figure. 

“Are you always such a pain? You got it better than the others, I gave you my tag, you get to marry a high rank military man, everyone is happy!” 

I scoff “I am not! I don’t understand your reasoning in wanting to marry me in the first place, I am just a low commoner that is basically a run-away! Why did you decide to save me and where did your men take my friends!” I ask authoritatively.  Jungkook groans, throwing his head back. “You really are a pain! If I knew I would’ve never taken you, maybe the crybaby would’ve been better.” He mutters the last part, but you hear it anyway. “I don’t need a reason to do this, I just wanted to. End of discussion.” He says making you look away annoyed. 

You see him get up, his body coming closer to yours. 

“Also, you better not tell a soul about this. If they ask, I just found you in a village and took you over because I fell in love with you, understood?” His presence was scary all of a sudden. Tall frame hovering over yours, dark eyes staring dangerously. 

“I saved you, so you owe me. If you say you wanted to cross the border and I took you in out of pity, or anything else that will bring trouble to me…then I will not hesitate to send you to a place worse than hell itself.”

You gulped even though your throat felt dry, he was intimidating.

“Those girls are not your friends anymore, we don’t speak of them, and if you want to live good then you follow what I say and are obedient to my words, understood?” His hand comes over to grab your cheek, not as rough as before, but with much more authority. You can only comply under his underwhelming presence. 

“Understood…” And with that he grabs your hand and a set of clothes, taking you to where the shower area is. 

… “So what do you think, prestigious?” He asks while you look around scanning the area. It was not much, but decent enough. It felt more like a communal shower than the prestigious luxury he was talking about. A simple room with a few shower heads and walls for a bit of privacy.

“You can shower wherever, the water is a little cold, but it’s still August, you should be fine.” And so you go behind the wall, slowly starting to undress. That is until you hear a whistle from behind the wall. 

“Why are you still here?!” You ask in horror only to make him laugh in response, already enjoying the situation. “I can’t let you THAT alone, what if you run away?”. “Don’t worry though, I promise I won’t peek, I’ll have all the time in the world to gush over your body.” He says suavely, making you gasp 

“I can’t do this like that! I am a woman after all, what about my chastity? Have a little decency!” You say in rage “And how can you even say such lewd words!”

“Relax, I will just stay here. I won’t just barge in like an animal. Plus isn’t it better? What if someone else decides to come and shower? You’ll be my wife soon, I will have to carve their eyes out if they see it before I do.” You were disgusted to say the least, such unscrupulous man. You sigh and with the little patience you had you decided that maybe it was for the best and just went with it. Jungkook seemed to keep his promise, every now and then your head peeking to look at what was he doing. 

He was leaning on the wall, arms crossed over his chest and eyes closed, he seemed tired. The peace around you was nice, but part of you was also longing for some discussion. 

After all, he was the first person to talk after all this time, of course, other than your now “not to speak of” friends. 

So you decided to break that silence and try to get to know him a little. “So, I should get to know you a little, I think.” Jungkook only hummed. “Jeon Jungkook is your name, as I recall from the tag, also a sergeant?” 

“Yup, I am him in flesh and bones.” “How old are you?” “24, 25 soon.” He was pretty stiff with his answers, but at least you hoped he responded honestly to your questions. 

You tried to think of some more stuff to ask, but Jungkook beat you to it. “How about you, I responded to all your questions, but I don’t even know your name.” “My name is Y/L/N Y/N” you tell him. “Pretty name.” He adds.

“So…Y/N, where are you from and why did you decide on doing these things?” You close the water and grab the towel Jungkook prepared. 

Sitting deep in thoughts while drying your hair, the bathroom became quiet.

 “It’s fine if you don’t want to say, I was just curious.” You can hear him taking a big breath of air before his steps start taking towards the door, he was leaving. “From a small village in the south.” You bluntly say, making the man stop in his tracks, his back facing you.

“I don’t have a family if you’re wondering, I grew up in the church. I wanted a better life since there was only misery there, that’s why I left.” 

You see the boy turn around, his eyes scanning your body, only wrapped in the towel, small droplets of water falling from your hair to the ground.

“It’s not polite to look at a girl like this, I didn’t wear my clothes yet so please just turn back around.” Embarrassment and shyness take over when you feel his deep stare, never being watched as exposed as now. 

He complies however, turning his body around, staying in front of the door, almost looking like he’s guarding it. 

“I see, so you are a church girl.” He snickers “I figured since I’ve seen you for the first time, the clothes gave it away pretty well, not to mention you look scared every time I get an inch closer.” “Is that a bad thing?” You ask. 

“Nope. Just so you know, I’m not exactly into practicing stuff like this, does not match my personality.” He says before exiting. Letting you put on the clothes Jungkook gave, most probably his.

“How did you become a sergeant at such young age?” You cautiously ask him while going back to the tent. “My dad is the general of the east side of the army, I worked hard to match his steps, but in the end I got stuck as a sergeant and was given my pluton.” 

The man opened the tent to let you enter, him following right after. 

“How are you not married yet? Especially having such a function and family, aren’t girls throwing themselves at you at any given chance?” Your bold question takes him by surprise.

“You became even bolder I see, already asking me personal stuff? Are you worried I have a wife and kids at home?” He asks cockily, making you look back at him with wide eyes.

Sure you have your doubts, but your thoughts were still pure, asking just to get to know him better. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think my question was intrusive. I wasn’t under any means doubting you!” I rush to say, my cheeks heating up making him chuckle again. 

“Don’t be so stiff, sugar, I was just playing around. Plus, you have the tag, don’t you, so no other women are involved.” He closes the tent letting behind him, inside only the small oil lamp give in some light.

Without care he starts pulling at his t-shirt, leaving his upper body exposed in your sight.  

Your eyes go wide, cheeks brighter than they were already, your hands fly up to cover up your vision. “Oh my lord! Have some decency, I am also here!” 

In the end you close your eyes and turn your back to him. However, when you can feel his muscular chest stick to your back you stiffen up. 

He leans down, his breath gently caressing your neck. “I wonder what are you going to do after we get married? Hide around and let me play catch with you, little one?” You gulp down, pressing your legs to the nightstand in front of you, his hands come from behind resting on the wooden surface, your face pure red now.

“You know…you’ll have duties to take care of as a wife, I am a man after all, I have my needs.” His lips brush ever so slightly to the side of your neck, leaving a lingering feeling on your soft skin. You never felt like this before.

“Jungkook…please” You breathlessly say while trying to get away from his hot embrace. But he only chuckles once again getting away from you. 

You can’t turn around, eyes fixed on the back of your hands while you can hear him taking his shirt on again and searching for a new set to wear. “I’ll go wash up too, go to sleep and don’t think of running away. This is my camp, I’ll find you.” 

And so he leaves. With shaky legs you lay on his bed. It smelled manly, a little bit like the forest, but it also had a sweet scent to it. Soon you get engulfed by the peace and quiet around, finally falling asleep in the comfort of his scent. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you woke up in the morning, Jungkook wasn't here. You can’t recall him entering the tent after he left for the shower nor getting close to you again. But soon enough his footsteps enter the confined space making you sit up. 

“Slept well?” He asked while starting to gather his stuff, putting everything into a big wood box. You just stared at him blankly trying to process everything happening. 

“I asked if you slept well, sugar.” That damned nickname again. “Yeah, I guess you could say so, better than caves and leaf beds.” He hums, pleased. “Then we should get going, people are waiting for us back in the city.” He throws next to you what seems to be your clothes, now washed and dried overnight.

You go out after you’re done and with Jungkook’s help you step for the first time in a car. 

You can see some men get in the front seats while others help boarding up all types of boxes and gear.

“Do we leave for good?” I ask looking outside the window “Do you want to live in the forest?” He says mockingly. “When I said you were lucky it wasn’t a joke, today we are supposed to swap places with another pluton, if you were to cross today, your fate wouldn’t be as lucky.” 

You didn’t know what to say after that, part of you wanted to let Jungkook know you are at least a little thankful for his acts, but your mind drifts to the thoughts of Mai, Yun-Mi and Jia. You hope they are safe.

Jungkook forbade you to talk about them, telling you that his man won’t dare to stand in front of him, let alone say something about what happened. And safe to say he ensured that if you were smart enough you would live a peaceful and decent life by his side, outside of ruins and misery. … Entering the city you were slightly mesmerized, it was not of luxury, but at least it wasn’t run down or bombarded like the place you came from. 

You stopped after a long ride in front of a pretty big house, with a beautiful front garden and even a fountain and a swing on the side. 

“We are here” Jungkook said, getting out of the car and helping you out, once again, showing a warmer side to you. “What is this place?” You asked, looking around, trying to take in every detail. 

“It’s my family’s house, let’s get inside.” But before you could take on, a lady’s screams could be heard.

“Jungkook, my days, you’re back!” The lady, looking young as well, with long and black hair flowing down her shoulders, beautiful clothes and even well done make-up jumped in his arms, hugging him tight, her lips coming in contact with his cheek.

“Hey! Long time no see!” Jungkook hugged back, bright smile on his face, and for the first time you felt weird, almost…small like. 

Yes, you only knew him for a day, but the fact that he wants to marry you out of the blue yet he’s having women jump him right when he arrives home makes you feel just a little strange, like you didn’t fit in the picture. “I thought you weren't coming back this month at how long it took! Did you eat well? You seem a little thinner than last time I saw you.” The woman lets go of him with one arm, starting to feel around his biceps for any muscle loss. Jungkook smiles even more, his head bowing a little, letting a giggle out. “I’m fine, Yuna, just tough business getting the best of me.” The girl named Yuna seems to finally notice my awkward presence, she tilts her head, eyes locking into mine, her smile disappearing quickly. “Who is she?” 

Finally the two part ways and Jungkook remembers that he also brought you along. “A shit, yes, You almost forgot.” He clears his throat scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. 

Coming closer he is taking your hand in his. “Yuna, this is Y/N.” 

His hand brushes over your shoulder coming in contact with the metal chain that rests on the base of your neck, pulling from under your ragged clothes his military tag. 

Yuna’s eyes widen when she sees you wearing his necklace, her body stiffening. You can’t help but feel like an intruder under her burning gaze. She tries to put on a smile, forced by any means. “So, you’re getting married…” That’s the only thing that managed to come out of her mouth. Jungkook smiles at you and says breathlessly “Yeah.” 

What a play pretend…

“That’s…wonderful news! I kept wondering when this was going to happen, being away from me and home all the time, I knew you would find someone to take your heart. I am so happy for you two!” Tears almost started forming in her eyes, but probably you were the only one to notice since Jungkook only thanked her lightly and started going towards the house, with your hand in his.

… “Don’t worry about meeting my father, he might seem stern, but he’s not a bad guy.” He instructs you 

“Yes.” “And don’t think he won’t like you because you are not rich or something, I am pretty sure he will be happy to know I found someone to love, even though it’s just a facade for us.” He whispers the last part.

“Yes, sure.” You were out of it, mind going blank now that you were here. He gave a small squish to your hand trying to knock some courage into you and knocked on the door, entering with you behind. “General!” He saluted, letting go of your hand, and waited for what seemed an order. “It’s fine, son, you are dismissed for today!” He got up from the chair and came over to pat him on the back. 

“I heard you did very well at the border, less people managed to escape this month, good job.” He smiled warmly. 

“Thank you, father.” They engage in some conversation that you don’t really grasp.

Instead, you stare at the ground hearing how he is so praised for doing such “horrible” things. 

Yes, it was his job after all, you knew it already. But it still felt painful thinking of all the other people that didn’t manage to escape. They exchanged some more words before his father’s eyes laid on you, same questions addressed, same acts put up. 

You only smiled at him, being as polite as possible while staying in front of such a big figure in the community. “You’re getting married!” He exclaimed with a big smile on his face when Jungkook points at the dangling tag you wear. 

“Oh thank the lord! It was about time, Jungkook!” 

Both of you were pretty embarrassed to say the least, his dad was already making plans on when the wedding should take place, where you two should stay and how many grandchildren he wanted, but to your relief Jungkook cut him short.

“Next week father, no fancy stuff, no big parties, I just want to get it done fast.” And so his smile witheres. 

“But son, this is your wedding! You will only have one, it can’t just be like this, you are a general’s son and also a highly respected member of the community!” His father argued, definitely not pleased by his son’s roughness in handling such a “big” event.

“I don’t care, I just want it done fast, you know I am not the man to celebrate such stuff. I just want to focus on future work and…my wife.” His eyes met yours, they looked brighter at you, reassuring even, making you wonder why is he so good at pretending. 

“But how about her, Y/N is this what you also want?” Your future “husband” looked a little stressed when you were addressed with such questions, not knowing whether you will comply with his act or not.

Smiling bright, you chuckle before responding. “Yes, sir, if this is what my husband wants I will comply, I trust his decisions.” You could finally see his features softening a little, relieved and happy with your answer. 

“Then…it’s set. It might not be what I dreamed of for you, but if you are fine like this then I will ask the priest to officiate the ceremony next week and move you into an apartment downtown.”

He smiled at us one last time, exchanging a few more words with his son and making the arrangements for our future before letting some maids show me around. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

7 September 1955

The days have gone by quicker ever since you got into the city. You had a nice room where you stayed alone since Jungkook’s father said it’s immoral for the both of you to share the bed before being properly wed. The food was plenty and also the facilities were high quality, and the people around seemed decently kind.

The only downside, if you could call it like this, is you haven’t seen Jungkook as often since he’s apparently very busy all the time.

However, you had your chance at speaking with some of the people around his house, collecting crumbs about him and what he truly is like. 

The place was nice, and soon you started to feel much more at peace with the future life you were going to live, finding out that despite his appearance and inappropriate runny mouth, he was a well raised man. Right now you are standing in front of a mirror, dressed in a simplish white gown, hair and make-up perfectly done and a bouquet of white flowers in your hand. This was your big day, and looking back on what happened not long ago made you realize how much you've already changed.

After today you will not be a little kid anymore, you won’t need to run away or plan a better future. Still, everything is making you unsure, giving yourself away like this, for a man you barely knew made you just a little sad. “Are you ready? Oh my, how pretty you look!” In the time you spent at Jungkook’s house you managed to get along with an older lady, Miss Min, someone that knew him ever since he was a young child. 

You talked a little and bonded over tea and biscuits in the afternoon. She was the only one that really acknowledged your presence since Yuna only gave you stingy glares and huffed when you asked her little things, clearly not being fond of you, and the others only greeted and shied away knowing you will be a sergeant’s wife. “I think I am.” You said, going over the bottom of the dress once again, making sure there are no wrinkles and then taking a deep breath. Miss Min accompanied you to the church's door, where Jungkook’s father was waiting. Since you didn’t have any parental figure next to you, he took it upon himself to lead you to the altar. Inside the place was beautiful, there was some music playing in the background, and all of the people Jungkook knew were here, everyone was either a friend or relative to him. 

His father led you to him and you took his hand into yours. Looking around once again you felt alone. His smile was reassuring in a way, trying to calm your nerves down, but you just felt empty. The ceremony went over almost too fast, the priest said what he was supposed to say until now, the moment everyone was waiting for. “Do you, Jeon Jungkook, take Y/L/N Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?” 

“Yes!” 

And then he repeats his sentence, your eyes looking into Jungkook’s. Silence took over the place waiting for your response.

What should you do next? Say yes? If this was the answer, it felt wrong. 

You could feel a squish of your hands bring you back to where you are, the reality you are supposed to live, his eyes looking sternly while waiting for your answer letting you know that blowing your cover up now was not a good idea. “Yes.” And yes you say, people cheer, but there is no smile on your face. 

In other words, you feel like crying. 

Why were you doing this? Why are you marrying this man? The ceremony continues, vows are exchanged, vows that are fake, rings are exchanged, rings that just trap you into this unreal story, tied to a man you barely met.  “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”  And now a kiss. It was supposed to be the one you love to do this with you, to take these steps with you, but it’s not and so you close your eyes, a warm and soft pair of lips meet yours for the first time in your life, the saltiness of your tears taking away from how bitter everything feels. Everyone congratulates you, they are happy, and you, once again put on your facade and tell yourself to be grateful for what you have. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Time flies and after the wedding you are in front of your new apartment, smiling and saying goodbye. 

And then you find yourself inside the living room and soon enough in the room you are supposed to share, looking dumbfounded at your now to call husband. “Take them off.” He demands, arms crossed. 

No way you’re doing this…like this! “Can’t you hear me? Take your clothes off, I want to see you.” 

Your face burns red, arms wrapped around yourself, gripping the soft fabric tighter around you. Your ears refuse to acknowledge his words.

“If you don’t then I will.” The man takes a step further and you run towards what is supposed to be the bathroom door…locked. 

“So you really want to play like this, I thought you would be more understanding.” Jungkook comes over,  his hands drag you over to the bed sitting on the edge with you in front of him.  “Take your clothes off.” Burning gaze almost rips the dress itself. There is no escape from this so you start peeling at your clothes under his stare.

First is the vail that falls from your head, next he helps you with the zipper and then there you are, all naked in front of him, hands trying to hide what’s left of your dignity. He doesn't seem satisfied however, arms still crossed, eyes still burning on your body. 

“Are you a virgin?” You look up to him in shock, eyes wide, blood rushing to your already red cheeks. 

Was this a way to shame you? Asking these types of vulgar questions, making you do such things in front of him. “Is this your way to humiliate me?” You ask, voice small. “Nope, not at all.” You feel tears burning into the corner of your eyes, arms bending even more trying to make you disappear. 

“Is this embarrassing to you?” He asks curiously. 

“Yes…” you say in a whisper, hoping to ease some of the shame he’s making you feel. 

The man gets up, still fully clothed, big hands push you gently on the bed. 

You close your eyes, expecting something to happen, but you only feel a cold piece of material being thrown over you, a blanket. 

You are looking back at him confused, wondering if he’s just playing with you or making fun of you, but when you see him take off his clothes as well, you start to panic a little, not knowing where to look. “There you go, are you feeling better now that we both are naked?” You can’t look at him, body burning up under the covers. If you could dig a hole and crawl into it you would do so. 

Once again you expect him to do something, but he goes out of the room leaving you naked on the bed. Maybe he’s crazy, you think, but when you see him return with a knife you get worried. “What are you doing with that?” Gulping you asked. “Well it’s clear you have no idea of what we are supposed to do, and, to be honest, you don’t even seem fond of having sex with me.” You gasp at the boldness of his words. “See, you can’t even bear to hear the word itself!” “Meanwhile, just the thought of doing it LIKE this, makes me uncomfortable. It can’t even get up, see?” And you look at his member then away once again, making Jungkook laugh. 

“How about the knife, what are you doing with it?” Your mind is still filled with worry.

“You see, everyone expects us to consummate the marriage, Nana Min will come tomorrow to clean up. But since we can’t right now, I need to make it believable. I will just snip my finger a little, they won’t know where the blood came from anyways.” You try to calm down, at least he’s not forcing you into stuff, it’s just that, it’s weird. Doing so much for something so fake, he’s really on the long run. With a small wince he cuts himself a little on his palm, letting a few drops of blood to stain the covers. “Done.” The boy wipes his hand with a spare cloth until the blood stops and then crawls into the bed, laying on his back. “Let’s just go to sleep.” 

You stay seated at the edge of the bed, covers still fully on you so Jungkook takes this as a sign to try and comfort you, finally feeling a little bad about the way he acted towards you. 

Gently, pulling you back, until you lay flat against the bed, he unwraps the cocoon you created around you and pulls the sheet over both of you, leaving a little space in the middle so your naked bodies don’t touch. “You’re worried?” He asks. “I am.” You respond, turning your back to him.

“We can talk if you want too, don’t be so closed around me, aren’t I your husband?” “Fake husband, Jungkook, everything about this is fake.” Jungkook hums. 

“Yes, but…it doesn't mean we can’t work it better.” He proposes. “What even is the purpose? You don’t love me and I don’t love you.” You say revolted. "Y/N. How can I explain this to you?” He sighs. 

“I know we don’t know each other, and this is a play pretend right now, but we can work it out, we just need some time?” “Time for what?” You sound defeated, and so you feel, especially everytime you’re standing in front of this man, if you can’t read him, how can you even get close to him later on?  

“For the fact that I’m not as unfond of you as you think.” He blurts out taking you by surprise. “What?” You turn to face him, letting him see your tears, his hand coming to your cheek to wipe them away. “Come on, do you really think I would go this far for someone I want nothing to do with? Getting married, saving you and what not? I can’t say I love you right now, I just met you. But…you seem nice and I won’t complain if I get to spend my time with you.” You scoff shoving his hands away.

“So you only saved me because…I seem nice?” You prop on your elbow and look at him. “Yeah, and fierce, and determined, not someone who will beg for her life like all the others do, you seem like a strong woman who actually wants to do something in her life.” He also props himself on his elbow, looking at you with soft eyes. “I could’ve just sent you there with the others, but something in me just decided to keep you, that’s why we are here.” A fresh new wave of tears threaten to fall from your eyes “So you want to tell me, that you only got me to this point because I was appealing to you, like…an easy catch?” You scoff once again. “Yes, shitty reason, but these are my valid feelings, and I’m sorry if they hurt you.” You could feel the anger bubbling in your veins and it wasn’t even for Jungkook. He thought you were just a nice piece of meat he could have, and he was right. You just fell into his den and now he can just devour you whenever he feels like, only because you were that dumb.

You offered yourself to him without a fight since that seemed to be the most profitable option for you back then. 

“You think I’m a jerk right?” Oh and so much more, but now this is the jerk you are stuck with.

“Yes, I do, a big one, thinking of me as just an object you could have.” “You’ll learn to love me one day. I don’t plan on getting away from you.” The sincerity his eyes hold just confirmed everything you needed to know and “Never.” was your answer, deep inside knowing that this was not how things will be. Those were the last words spoken that night, before a sigh left his lips, probably tired and unsure himself of all of this.

You turned around, body seated as far as possible from him, emotions running wild, letting only time say how this will unfold. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

22 December 1955

And time truly heals, at first it felt horrible, long days spent inside these walls, your husband being away, not like it mattered that much since you two were not making it easier for each other, being at each other's throats almost everyday. 

It’s been a month since you met, and then it’s been two, then three, and things started to calm down. 

And now you stay in front of your oven, almost end of December, eyes sparkling while looking at how beautifully the snowflakes fall from the sky before getting lost in the darkness of the night. 

The smell of baked cookies fills the apartment, maybe not as big as his father’s, but big enough for you two. 

Jungkook is not home yet, or so you think, but when you feel two strong arms wrapping around you from behind you can’t help but get startled. “Did I scare you bun?” His voice was gentle, his cold embracing slowly becoming filled with your warmth. Things did get better, and he was right. 

It took a while for him to pull at your heart strings, but once he started it was way too hard to stop. 

First, it was the nicknames, then he started to give you some of the space you needed to explore what you like, coming across your knitting hobby. 

He made sure you felt spoiled, always bringing back stuff so you could cook and bake for him since you were fond of homemade food, and he became fond of your cooking. 

He became more gentle and opened up about a lot of stuff to you, and slowly so did you. It was coming along nicely, you were both learning how to love each other. “What are you making?” He asked while sniffing the air. “Just some basic cookies, Christmas is right around the corner and I need to prepare. You said we are going to visit your father and I thought we could also bring some goods to him.”

He nozzles his nose on the side of your neck, a new stuff he likes to do to bring some butterflies in your stomach. “Did Nana Min come around today?” He asks while leaving a kiss on your cheek. “Yes, she did.” 

Ever since the first night here, lady Min made sure you two had great comfort, being his maid for so long already made things easier, and you don’t want to admit it but her presence did make you two get closer faster. “You smell nice.” His hands leave your waist and start getting dangerously low for your liking. Even though you two have been married for quite some time, you were still uneasy when Jungkook initiated things further than kissing, that also being a step taken very hard in your relationship.

He didn’t want to pressure you either, into doing something you possibly wouldn’t enjoy, but as he said once, he was a man and his needs started growing a little beyond the line, especially since you two started getting way closer. Stuff like intimacy was discussed before, he knew you didn’t have experience and you found out he lingered around sometimes, from having a few flings here and there to actually going to the more “exclusive” places of your times where you can pay for such services.

You were a little horrified to find about this, but he assured it was long in the past, just when his youth was kicking in, and it’s been years since he stopped going there. However, he did say he’s never gone with a virgin, so the doubts were still there, both of you felt them.

Your body rigids when his hands slips under your blouse. “Jungkook.” You try to warn him, but his mouth starts leaving small kisses to the side of your neck. 

“Relax baby.” And you try, until one of his hands slips under your bra, cupping your right breast. You whimper a little, eyes closing and only then Jungkook knows he’s gotten you right where he wanted once again. “Let’s go upstairs.” He stops the oven, leaving the cookies half baked, slowly guiding you to the bedroom. Hungry lips come in contact with yours even before entering the room, and you could feel that everything about this is different, but you don’t stop.

You learned now that he will never hurt you or go beyond something you don’t like, you just need to tell him and he’ll stop. “Can I take this off?” He asked since your bra straps were already going down your arms under your blouse. Jungkook’s hands were already toying with your breasts, yet he still was sweet enough to ask if he could remove your upper wear. 

“Yeah, please do so.” Your small voice was not uncertain yet, truth to be told, you’ve gone a few times through him groping and kissing on your body, more or less naked, but he never dared to touch beyond that, and you always made sure to stop him out of your own fears. With careful hands Jungkook takes off your blouse, unclasps your bra and lays you down on the bed, head right between the pillows. His lips trail down from your neck to your chest, stopping right above your breast before taking your nipple right on. He manages to rip a louder moan out of you, your back arching at the feeling making him grin. His hands help you out of your skirt, now only in your pair of panties in front of him, and when one of them starts to play with your underwear that’s when you let all of your insecurities take the better of you.

“Jungkook, stop.” You rise from the bed and try to avoid his gaze, you know he’s annoyed with your behavior, always stopping him before things become more serious, but he also realizes how scary this is for you. 

Your hands grip the sheets, eyes getting teary in frustration, a warm hand cups your face. “Look at me, Y/N.” Head turning slowly, soft dark brown eyes bore into yours. “We are never getting past this if you don’t trust me.” He says a little worried. “But I do trust you…I just…don’t trust me.” You sniffle and wipe the tear that just fell from your eye. The man in front of you giggles, he pulls his uniform off, leaving him only in his boxers and he rests his head on your shoulder leaving feathery kisses. “I told you I don’t care, good or bad I want you.”

You also rest your head on his shoulder, more tears wetting his skin in annoyment with yourself. “Will you be gentle with me?” He hums, wrapping his arms around your body, dragging you on his lap, letting you feel how hard he is for you. “I will go easy, and if you feel really bad just tell me to stop.” He lays you back eyes looking for reassurance before sliding your last piece of clothing off your body, and you give him the green after so long. Jungkook feels excitement bubbling inside him and he tries not to let his feelings get the best of him at this moment. 

“You look so pretty.” His palms start rubbing your legs up and down before parting them to look right where he wanted. One of your hands makes their way down quickly, but before you can hide away he takes your hand away making you whine. 

“Don’t look, please!” You say, embarrassment running through your veins “Then what am I supposed to do? I want to see it.” His comments always bold, making you bright red for him. “I have to touch you a little, you won’t be able to take it otherwise.” You bite your lips at his remark, already too embarrassed to say anything. You saw him, not once after that night, sometimes soft, sometimes hard, he was a lot. 

It worried you a little, however, his touch on your private parts made even the clearest part of your mind cloud. He touched lightly, playing with the bundle of nerves first, making you feel stuff you’ve never felt before, and then you felt it, one of his fingers, thick and slightly rough to the feeling, entering you. “Oh my God!” Your whole body contracted. It felt weird, not exactly bad, but weird, a new feeling. 

“Shhh, relax for me.” He made sure to kiss and caress you in such a way you wouldn’t feel the second going in just after. And slowly, you whimpered and squirmed around as he was pumping them in and out. 

“I don’t think I like this.” You say, a strange new feeling already developing inside of you. “You’re just close, don’t worry, you will feel better in a second.” He picked up his pace, thumb rubbing over your clit every time he pushed his fingers into you. “This is scary, please.” 

His lips reassure you a little when they make contact with your temple. “It’s going to be better, let it out, my soul.” And you overspill, all the emotions that bottled up spill right in that moment, a wave of pleasure washes over you making you almost scream. It takes you a minute to get down from the high you just had, your husband whispering how good you did for him while his hands leave your fluttering count. You close your eyes for a little until you hear some rustling around you. Jungkook is getting out of the bed, boxers still on hard cock threatening to escape out of them. 

“Where are you going?” You ask confused, awaken fast from the mind blowing pleasure you just felt. “I’ll run you a bath, I’ll be right back.” You rush to get up, hand managing to catch his.

“But why? Are we finished yet?” He smiles gently at you and pats your head. “You are a little overwhelmed right now, you just had your first ever orgasm, my love. Don't worry about me, if we go further it might be too much for you.” 

He tries to soften your grip and go but you hold even tighter. “No!” You jump out of the bed with wobbly legs, dragging him towards the bed and making him sit down on the edge. “You’re just working me up for nothing? I’ve been waiting for this and now that I have the courage you stop? What kind of man ar…” You try to revolt and anger him a little. And you also obtain what you want, he turns you around manhandling you, face in the sheets, his hard on pressing on your bum making you gasp. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, I won’t be able to stop if we continue.” 

You turn your head to the left looking up at him, eyes clouded. “Maybe I don’t want you to stop.” He growls a little, warning you. “This attitude you have! Y/N, I don’t want to hurt you in any way, it will just make this experience bad for you.” 

He lets go and you turn around. “Please, I want this.” You beg him to please your wishes making him sigh once again, head dropping, finally giving in to your desires. “Just…hit me if it hurts or I don’t stop.” He crawls back in bed, sitting once again on top of you, his hand slip his boxers off, knocking the breath out of your lungs when you see him stand so tall in front of you, hand gripping his hot cock, his eyes clouded by his own desires.

“Spread nicely for me, love.” And you do so, much more confidently this time, excited even. Jungkook looks down at you, seeing how small you look under him, a little unsure if he really wants to continue, but you seem so excited to finally let things happen, so he caves in. Pumping himself a few times he rubs up and down to collect some of your left over wetness, his hand guiding the tip at your entrance. “It will hurt .” He warns. “It’s fine, I trust you, Jungkook.” You whisper, making his heart skip a beat knowing that you trust him so much. He bites his lip and with a small nudge he pushes lightly past the ring of your entrance looking over for any reaction, anything and he will pull out instantly.

You seem quiet and calm so he gathers some more courage to push just a little further, just until his head is in, and then he looks over to you seeing the signs already, tears pulling in your eyes and fists lightly clumping his pillow. 

“I’ll stop.” “No!” You say once again, more determined to try new stuff with the man you are finally in love with. ‘But you are in pain, love.” He coos softly. “Just do it please, it’s not that bad.” Jungkook pushes further and further until he is almost fully in, his face comes closer to yours just to kiss your lips and face and soothe the pain away, letting you adjust to the new feeling, giving him a nudge when you feel ready.

“I’ll move now, tell me if it’s too much.” And he slowly pulls out, a few droplets of blood staining the sheets. You moan harshly when he pushes in again, this time fitting all of himself inside you. 

And he holds you through the pain until you start to claw at his back, more sounds coming out of the both of you. “It’s starting to feel good.” You breathlessly say while the man above you seems to have his mind almost out of this world. It doesn't take much for the feeling to start appearing once again, warm bubbles forming in your tummy. “I’m close.” You say calmly, knowing what’s about to happen. “Me too, baby.” Your husband whispers breathlessly.  

Jungkook’s starts being a little rough making you whine while your walls contract at the sudden peace. “It’s just me baby, relax for me.” He says making you melt in his embrace. 

In a second the bubbles burst making you arch your back, scratching Jungkook’s with your nails in the process. And soon you feel it, the sloppy pace, the trembling and the even warmer feeling within your walls. Maybe you were inexperienced, but you knew what this meant. “Jungkook, did you…” Both of you were trying to catch your breath. “I’m sorry…I came inside…I told you I can’t stop.” The boy was ashamed, not being careful could lead to greater consequences, and he, for sure, did not want to knock you up on the first night you shared your love. 

Slowly he pulls out, looking at the mess he’s made, saying sorry once again. “If I get pregnant, you’re in big trouble, mister.” You laugh a little pulling him down for a kiss. 

“But until then let’s wash you up, you must be tired.” He says picking you up and carrying you in the bathroom. Life just gets sweeter and sweeter from a point, that’s what everyone says. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

4 March 1956 Thankfully you didn’t manage to get pregnant from your first try, or second, or third, and the many more that followed after. At a point you even wondered if it was possible for you to carry. But your husband was not worried, he always said “When’s the time, it will happen.” 

To be honest, you think he was just grateful he didn’t have to worry about protection. You were at Jungkook’s family house right now. He was on his border shift and whenever that would happen, you would stay over with his father and the others. 

Winter was finally over, flowers started to bloom again and the weather was pretty warm for the beginning of spring. 

You were waiting patiently, it was time for your husband to return and everyone waited eagerly ever since they heard this month, due to their skilled squad, nobody managed to pass the border. 

You got used to it by now, old events long forgotten, your mind and soul accepting Jungkook’s work more and more, after all it was also part of him. Playing with the chain of your silver necklace, rocking on the swing in the front garden, looking outside through the thick fence at the various people passing by. Humming gently while letting the breeze run through your locks, a surprised voice calling your name. “Y/N?” You look up, eyes widening in surprise, happiness washing over you at the sight of Yun-Mi. She looked ravaged, her clothes were pretty dirty and she had some visible bruises on her, not to mention the prominent belly she was carrying. You wanted to say hi, to ask her how she’s doing, what happened all this time, worried about how did she end up in this state, but before your body to make a move Jungkook’s words came up in your mind “Those girls are not your friends anymore, we don’t speak of them, and if you want to live good then you follow what I say and be obedient, understood?”So you stop, you can’t do this. You avert her gaze and slowly get off the swing, turning your back to her, feet rushing to get inside. You hear her scream, her hands open the gate running after you. “You can’t do this to me! Why are you pretending you don’t know me?!” “I don’t know you! Please leave, this is private property!” You look back, she’s struggling with all that’s going on, but you don’t stop. In front of the door Yuna appears out due to all the noise and screams. You look at her expecting to call some guards, or do something about the situation but she just sits there, a small grin plastering her face in satisfaction. Within seconds, you fall to the ground, your feet tripping over a stone. Yun-Mi’s body turns you around, getting her form on top of you, one of her hands gripping your hair while the other hits the arms that tries to cover your face. “Get off me!” You scream in pain. “How can you do this! Filthy bitch! You don’t know me anymore? You don’t want to know what I went through while you lived a good life?!” And she hits even harder, tears coming out, running on your face. You close your eyes expecting more, but the only thing you can hear is her yelping. With trembling hands you try to arrange your hair. Looking up, your eyes only see the very furious figure of your husband, his hands gripping Yun-Mi’s hands above her head. 

“How can this happen in my yard, on my property!” His soldiers drag Yun-Mi’s body out of the garden while she’s pulling up a rage fit, screaming insults. Jungkook doesn't look at you first, his eyes lay on the girl in front of his house, who’s now avoiding his gaze, his father coming out from behind her shock plastered on his face. 

“What is happening here?” He rushes over to see my state. Jungkook grits his teeth, heavy and fast steps taken towards Yuna, both me and his father turn around to watch him. His hand came in contact with her arm, pulling her towards him. “Why did you let this happen?” Yuna bows her head, avoiding his glance. “Yuna, I’m asking one more time. Why did you let this woman hurt my wife?”  She looks at him through her lashes, biting her lips, spitting venomous words between her teeth. “She deserves it for stealing you away from me.” Slap Her face turns to the side, eyes widening and tears gathering in them. The man shakily exhales, his hand running through his hair in anger. 

“If you ever let my wife get hurt and do nothing about it, I will throw you out on the streets. Remember who brought you here and be grateful, not a greedy bitch who wants a married man’s attention.” With a low, dark tone he tells her. He’s finally coming closer to you, his father scolds him for hitting a woman, but he doesn’t seem to care. He tries to be gentle with you, but you can see he's still full of rage. “Are you okay, my soul?” You shake the dust of your dress, brushing your hair back, collecting the few strands that fall. “Yeah, I’m fine, a bit scuffed, that’s all.” He sighs, helping you get up from the ground. “Let’s get you inside and clean your wounds, I have something to discuss with my father.” He takes your hand in his and helps you inside the house, passing by Yuna whose body was on the ground, shaking from all the crying. Lady Min took care of you while Jungkook and his father went into his office to discuss. It didn’t take long to hear the shouting and arguing, at a point even some glass smashing to the ground.

“Oh my, what is happening in there? Today is not a good day.” She bandages you with worry and by the time she is done your husband storms more enraged out of his father’s office. “Come on Y/N, we’re leaving.” Using your name surely startled you, after months of being used to praises, your name felt strange coming out of his mouth. “You are not doing as you please, Jungkook! This is not your decision to take!” His father screams while going after him. “You can’t make me stay, this is my life! I’m 25 for fuck’s sake! I am allowed to make my own decisions!” And with that his hand grabs yours, pulling you out of the house, and pushing you into the backseat of his car. 

His dad still screaming after his son, but he wouldn’t turn back. He buckles up into the driver’s seat and drives you home. … “Pack up, tonight I’m coming for you.” He said sternly after you two entered the house. “Jungkook, what’s happening? Where are we going? Why were you fighting with your father?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, annoyed. “Answer me, please.”  You could see him clench his fists. “Pack up I said! And don’t ask stupid questions!” He growls violently back at you. Startled by his anger, you bow your head and nod, a little scared by his actions. What was happening to him all of a sudden?  You wanted to have answers, to not be in the shadows, clearly he didn’t want you to know. But you could only wonder, did something bad happen? Your husband sighs and comes closer to you, pulling you into his embrace, finally trying to calm his nerves down. “I’m sorry, love, didn’t mean to scream at you. Just pack up and I’ll explain to you on the way.” He kisses your temple going out of the door and right back at the car, leaving you alone in the cold and empty house.

… Packing up was definitely a challenge for you since there were many things you had now and don’t know if you need, but after a few hours you think you finally have everything essential down. 

The sky is dark now, a car stops in front of your door, and one of Jungkook’s soldiers boards your items in the trunk. In the backseat, your husband reads over some documents, his eyes soften when he sees you enter, he is way calmer now. “Hey.” His hand comes in contact with your hair, brushing gently through it. “Hey” You respond with a small smile, hands fidgety. “I know you are confused, but don’t worry. I’ll explain everything to you.” And he does. He told you how some of his soldiers died in a border attack, and how he was tired of doing this work, always seeing his mates pass away. He put up a petition to move departments and work in city patrolling and other governmental work instead, and it got approved. 

Not by his father though, who taught he doesn't have to move away in another city and work with the government, that sparked the argument between the two. He insisted on his son staying close to home since the war was getting rougher with many more enemy squads were coming closer to habitable places, the borders being attacked more often. 

But Jungkook made his decision, he was a 25 years old man after all, he needed to think about his whereabouts more and also take into consideration all ways to keep you safe. 

And now there were you going, another city, another house, another life to live. Looking into the night, part of you was conflicted. You knew your husband only wanted the best for you and himself, but leaving behind all that he knew, friends and family, was this really a good decision?  Your thoughts were all over the place with everything that happened too. I guess you could say your husband noticed your worries since he took you into his embrace, cuddling you close to the heart that was now beating only for you, your eyes slowly closing while listening to it, letting go of your worries for tomorrow.

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21 July 1956 

Months have gone by fast in the new city. At first, accommodation was hard. You knew no one and making friends was not an option when Jungkook, a highly seen sergeant now working with the government, was your husband. 

The place was poorer than the one you lived in before, that’s why people avoided you, being commoners made them afraid to engage so they don’t end up in prison or enslavement. In this case you remained alone, now already used to the feeling. However, your husband was more often at home since his duties didn’t make him take so much time apart, mostly working in the place you are settled. This also makes it easier for you to get even more closer to each other, almost a year passed since your meeting. Dates occurring more often, just like right now.  The last few days it rained quite a bit, but now the weather is starting to warm up again, making it perfect for spending your time out. And after spending so much boring time in your house, you filled a little basket with goods, took a nice blanket and urged your husband to get out for your little picnic, it was his day off after all, he should enjoy it. “Come on, Jungkook! Be a little faster!” You found yourself on a little hill right outside the city, it was pretty similar to the one you had back home, but with a better view and not as dangerous. You let your basket down, hands spreading the blanket nicely between the taller grass and the pretty summer wildflowers. Your husband chuckles at your eagerness, his back laying on the blanket while watching you rummage through the goods. “I hope I didn’t forget anything at home.” His hands pat your back urging you to lay down next to him. “We will enjoy what you brought, honey. Just sit and enjoy for now.” You sigh and shoot him a glance, but quickly conform and lay next to him staring at the clouds in the sky. “There are many clouds today, I hope it won’t rain.” Jungkook hums next to you, closing his eyes, enjoying the summer breeze. “I want to do it.”  You sit up so fast, clearly taken aback by his words, making him grin. Sure, you learned the hard way that he is the type of man who gets what he wants when he wants it, but right now? “Are you serious? This is supposed to be a nice evening that we both enjoy!” You nag at him. “And we will both enjoy it, I promise.” His arms wrap around your waist, dragging his body closer, lips make contact to your clothed thigh. 

Your hands try to push him away, but he doesn’t budge. “Jungkook, not now! We are in the open eye and…and what if someone just stumbles across us doing inappropriate things? That’s only going to ruin your reputation and make me want to vanish from the face of earth!” You try to fight back but in vain, his hands push you down to lay back on the blanket, his body hovering above you. Your hands grip his biceps, trying to stop him from running your skirt upwards, but when his sweet lips melt on the side of your neck you loosen up a little, letting him do whatever he wants. Soon enough the skirt of your dress is ridden above your waist, panties long forgotten to the side. Jungkook smirks while looking at how wet and glistening you are. “I missed this, I’ve been so busy lately that I forgot how pretty you look.” You slap his hand lightly, being embarrassed. He hums thinking about something, while you just lay there expecting his touch. “Is everything alright?” You ask, a little worried when he doesn’t touch you. “I’m contemplating on what to do, my fingers are dirty so I can’t use them, and going without prepping you will hurt.” 

Oh…he was just so thoughtful that it just melted you. You wanted to tell him that he can just put it in, you’ll endure. But before you can say anything his lips come in contact with your warm clit. You gasp in shock, fingers already tangling in his hair to try and push him away. He’s never done this to you before.  “Oh my lord! What are you doing!” But he doesn't budge, he only sucks harder around your folds, making you lean your head back moaning loudly. One of his hands pushes you down before coming to spread your thighs even more. His lips and tongue working wonders on you, almost making you forget about everything around, but getting you so, so flustered by all the slurping and licking sounds that fly in the air. Soon you feel your high coming and when the tip of his tongue brushes past your entrance you lose it, a high pitched moan leaving your throat while stars start to appear in the day sky. You breathe heavily, chest running up and down, legs shaking. Jungkook emerges from the skirt that fell down over his heads, lips glossy and grin almost as big as his pride from making you come so fast. “I think you are prepared enough now.” He pulls your skirt back up, gripping your legs and putting them over his shoulders, almost folding you in half. 

“I don’t want to know where you learn all of these nasty things from.” You say, finally getting back to your senses, only for a short time though. He laughs and pushes in, his cock sliding in and bottoming out instantly at how well prepped you were. “Would you look at that?” He cockily says. It only took him a few seconds of accommodation before starting to thrust quickly into you, making your breast almost spill from the confinement of your top. His lips eagerly nudge at your neck, hands not letting your legs slip from his shoulders. “Don’t worry, sunflower, you were the first one to try this one, until today I only see it done by others.” He whispers in your ears, making you clench tightly around him. Your arms grab him by his neck, pulling him closer, sweet sounds pouring into his ears making him hiss. “I’m embarrassed right now, you always pull stunts like this.” He laughs wholeheartedly, peace never slowing down. 

He gets up from your chest, eyes staring lovingly into yours before he stretches upwards, making him go even deeper if possible, also taking a moan out of you when you feel his tip gently nudge your cervix. “You’re a little deep…” Your heart flutters, fingers gently caressing his face. You could feel so much love all around you. Feeling your second orgasm come close, you turn your head looking at the sky above. It felt like you were the only ones under it at this moment. “I’m close, love.” You say. Jungkook’s peace also starts to wither, getting close to his own high. “Me too, my soul.” In an instant the love blooms between you two, your bodies burning up with passion and desire, the knots untying letting you claim each other once again. Both of you breath heavily, sweat running down your foreheads. He doesn’t pull out, but his arm reaches above your head, pushing him a little deeper once again, making you whine.

He comes down quickly not to hurt you, placing a daisy in your messy hair. “My beautiful flower.” He whispers, rough hands caressing the soft skin of your face making you blush even more. He collapses on top of you, your legs falling off his shoulders, but still feeling a little uncomfortable from all the soreness that’s appearing.  “Can you pull out, please?” “Nope.” He raises his head smiling smugly. “I’m getting sore.” “Sorry baby, but I’m starting to get a little worried by now. It’s been a year yet you are still not pregnant, not that I’m eager for a child, but I wonder what’s happening here.” He smiles and pecks your lips quickly.

“So these are your worries now? Weren’t you the one who said when it’s time it will come?” You scoff. “But it’s been long, what if you can’t get pregnant?” 

You frown a little, baby talking was a pretty sensitive topic, especially after so much trial and error. You didn't think it would affect you in any way, you were still young and if it was to come you will be more than happy to welcome a little bundle of joy. 

Jungkook didn’t seem very fond of the idea of having a baby either in the beginning, always saying how he was too busy to care for one. However, you are a little hurt now. Giving him a child is a dream of yours, but if that doesn’t happen, is your relationship going to stay the same? Maybe he will leave you for someone else that can give him one. Worry and insecurity starts growing into your veins. “It hurts, can you please get off.” You start to wiggle and he finally complies, pulling out and wiping you clean with a napkin. “It hurts badly? Did I hurt you?” He also grows worried, pulling your leg to inspect whether he hurt you badly or not. “It seems just like any other time after we’ve done it? Where does it hurt?” He asks, concerned. 

“Here…” You point to your heart, hurt more by the thoughts of him possibly leaving you for someone else then the soreness between your legs. 

He takes your hand in his and looks over you with worry. “Why? Is it bad, do we need to see a doctor?” You shake your head sitting up. “Will you leave me?” He tilts his head holding your hand close to his chest. “Leave you, no. Why would you think that?” “Because I might not be able to bear your children.” You sniffle. He laughs and puts your palm under his shirt, right where his heart sits. “Do you feel this? It beats for you and you only. Even if we can’t have them, this, what I feel for you…will never fade away, trust me.” The sincerity in his eyes and words make you tear up, cuddling closer to his chest to listen to the way his heart beats. And you stay close, holding each other until the sun almost dies down, enjoying his presence and eating all the goods you made. Packing everything up, Jungkook helps you on your feet, hands grabbing the basket and blanket. Thick and dark clouds covering what’s left of the sun. “I think it will rain tonight.” “Yes, so do I, we better hurry. I’m already dirty and I don’t want to wash up in the rain.” With quick steps you get back to the city. Welcomed by agitation right from the beginning. You grasp Jungkook’s hand tight and stick closer to him. “What is happening?” He asks, concerned.

We make our way into the madness, the rain starting to pour all of a sudden. Nobody can say anything, they just wander around, running and gathering what seems to be their belongings. Are they leaving? With heavy steps and hearts you arrive in front of your house, a car filled with military men waiting in front. “Stay here.” Jungkook instructs you, leaving the basket in your hands and covering your head with the blanket. 

You try to get closer to hear what’s happening, but all that you can see is Jungkook’s worried eyes. He gulps thickly and turns to you for a brief second, finally letting you see his glossy eyes. Without a word he jumps in the car and leaves. You remain alone on the streets, clothes drenched, the wooden basket falling from your hands on the ground. You stare into nothingness not wanting to believe that he just left without an explanation after sharing so much love. After what seemed to be an eternity, your sore and cold body finally moves. With shaky hands you pick up all the food that spilled on the road, most of it washed by the rain. Unknowingly tears start running down your face. You gathered everything and went inside. It was warm, but you just felt cold. 

After you wash up and lay in bed you can finally let all your emotions run wild, painful sobs being heard around the room in hopes of someone hearing them.

All you could do was wait…wait for his answers, wait for him to return home.

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19 August 1956 It’s been almost a month. A month since Jungkook left and never returned. You waited for a sign, you waited for him to show up at your door and jump in your arms. You always told yourself that no apologies can make you forgive him for this, but the truth is that you only needed to see his eyes, to feel his warmth and you know you will forget anything that has happened. You tried getting answers, but nobody knew much. You asked other military man to drive you to where he was, knowing that they knew where he was, but in vain. You were stuck for almost a month in this city, living like a widow instead of a happy wife. But now you know, a soldier came into the city and you overheard him saying how General Jeon was on death bed due to being injured in an attack in the city, his son getting ready to take his place. You almost fainted out of shock, not wanting to believe that was the truth, the reason your husband left without a trace. With the little power you had, after being drained out for so long, you gathered some necessities and jumped in the first communal carrier that was passing through the old city you lived in. And there you were, after many hours spent on the road, feet planted in front of the Jeon family house. The look of the place now eerie due to the attack of the enemies. You step inside the big garden, once decorated with pretty flowers, now only dirt and mud covering the yard, even the swing was just a pile of broken wood. Getting closer to the door you could feel your feet soften, shaking hands come in contact with the door knob. You enter, the house seeming devoid of life. Putting the little suitcase you carried down you scan the place for any movements. From the corner of your eyes you could see Jungkook’s father's office with a slightly open door. Your feet take slowly towards it, peeking through the gap. A figure sits lonely in the chair, head resting on the desk. Your heart skips a beat when you notice the messy hair of someone you know very well, Jungkook. Slowly you make your way in admiring his sleepy figure after all this time. His eyes carried dark circles under them, tired by all the work he had to do. Your hand makes its way to his locks, now just a little longer than you remember, but just as soft. You can’t help but let out a sigh at the sight of him, slight pang growing in your heart. He must have felt your touch, stirring in his sleep until his eyes opened and looked at you. He is shocked, jumping from his chair, strengthening his posture looking like he’s just seen a ghost. 

“Long time no see.” It’s the only thing you can say after so long. You had so many questions you wanted to ask, but it was hard to form them. “Y/N…” He mutters, hands rubbing his eyes in confusion, wondering if you would disappear. But you are still here, yet too calm. 

“You came.” He says. “You left me.” You respond.

He avoids your gaze, conscious of his actions and behavior. “I had no choice, my father is sick, I had to return, and…” “Stop, Jungkook.” He looks up at you, goosebumps appearing on his skin from your stern voice. “I don’t want to hear your nonsense, you left me. Why did you leave me?” He puts his hand on his forehead, eyes closing, trying to think of something to say. “I didn’t leave you, this is temporary, I would’ve returned to you, I would’ve come back home.” He argues back.

“When? I waited for a sign from you for almost a month.” You sniffle, eyes burning with tears that threaten to fall, the feeling way too overwhelming. 

“I waited for a letter, or a call! Someone to just appear at my door with any information. Hell, anything would’ve done!” You spit out in a blurry rush, afraid that he might just disappear again, leaving you alone and cold.  

“But you? You just left me there without any care, to rot and die from missing you so goddamn much…” You try to swallow the boulder you feel in your throat, but nothing can stop the feelings who already overspiled. Jungkook turns his head, eyes getting teary as well. “I had no choice, Y/N. He’s dying...” “And so was I!” Your fist hits his desk, rage burning like the salty tears that run on your face. “I was dying little by little everyday! I lived with you being away because I knew you would return. But now…you left without a word, I was worried sick! I didn’t think I'd see you again!” You bite your lip, the pressure making it almost bleed. “Stay out of it.” Your shoulders slouch, figure softening at his words. “Go back home and stay out of it, Y/N.” He looks sternly at you, after all this time still pulling this stupid obedience game. You’ve had enough. “If you don’t want me here and just continue to push me away, throwing me into the shadows then so be it, but don’t expect me to welcome you into my house, or my bed, or my heart anymore.” You grip with cold hands the tag that you wore for almost a year. In a swift motion, take it down from your neck, making Jungkook widen his eyes. “Don’t you dare!” He says, voice shaking. “Screw you.” Your hands throw the tag on the floor, landing right at his feet, turning your back to him you run out of the room, forgetting about everything else. Jungkook's body is stiff as a stone, head trying ever so hard to process what just happened. He missed you, he missed you like crazy. He imagined in his head the way you two would meet again, the way he would make it up and make you forget that he was even away. 

He ached to have you in his arms, to feel your touch, to kiss your lips. Now all that he could do was grip the piece of cold metal in his hands, sobs leaving his body uncontrollably. 

A warm hand places itself on the crown of his head, hoping that this was not the end, that you came back and forgave him, that he didn’t just lose you forever. It was Lady Min, however. Her eyes soft and warm, holding so much pity for the boy she raised all these years. “Oh my Jungkook. My swell little boy.” She pats his head while he cries and sobs, just like she was doing when he was just a small boy. “I-I lost her. Right?” He says through hiccups making her sigh.

“You only lose something you don’t care about anymore, Jungkook.” Her hands wipe his tears and help him back on his feet. “You are a soldier yourself, young boy. Are you going to lose without a proper battle?” He wipes his tears and calms down, holding the chain tightly to his chest. “No. I don’t want to let this happen.” “Then what are you waiting for? You’ve surely made many mistakes, but we are all humans after all, it’s in our nature to make mistakes. Y/N is a sweet girl, she will forgive you.” Jungkook gets a little courage from her reassuring words. “Go after your girl, Jungook. Don’t let her break away from you.” He nods and rushes after you, hands holding the tag like his life depends on it. … Things were just as heavy for you, already regretting having such attitude towards your husband. It was getting late and you needed a place to stay, since your old apartment was most probably sold already. You sigh, trying to wipe the remaining tear stains of your face, until a hand grabs your arm. You turn away alarmed, sensing that coming your way was only trouble. A man. His uniform was one of a soldier, face grinning from ear to ear, making goosebumps appear on your skin, this guy ment danger. 

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing at such late hour? Should I accompany you home?” You gulp and try to take your arm out of his grip, keeping as well as you can composure. “I’m fine, my husband’s waiting for me.” You say trying to free up once again, hoping he gets the signal and leaves you alone, but instead, another guy makes its way towards you two. “Is there a problem here?” He asks, looking at the shorter guy in front of him. You look pleadingly, hoping that he will instruct the one in letting you go, but you are so wrong. “She’s alone at night, in such place, I figured I could help her get back home.” 

The other guy laughs and shakes his head. “It’s pretty late, you are right.” And then you see it, the nasty stares you get, the way his hand goes ever so slightly upper on your arm. “Let go of me, I am a married woman, if my husband finds out both of you will be killed.” You try to say confidently, after all it’s the truth. You just gave them a chance to not experience their eyes being carved out, because if he finds out they touched you, not even begging and praying would help. “Come on, don’t be so stiff, it’s just some fun we can have before you get home, doesn’t it sound tempting?” You shake your head, finally understanding their motives. The other hand moves to pull out Jungkook’s tag, only to touch nothing in return. 

You threw the tag at him. You start gulping harder, body tensing up and muscles starting to shake. “Let go of me, I am not joking, my husband is in high military, if he finds out you will be tortured!” The men only laugh, the second guy comes close to you, gripping your hands from the back, while the first one plays with the ties on your top. 

“Let’s see what we have here.” He says untying your top, your cleavage now on sight. “Let me go, this is your last chance!” You try to wiggle out, but it’s in vain, they are way stronger and bigger than you. His hands work fast, dragging your top low enough for your bra to be in full sight, his disgusting hands pull down your arm one strap. “Oh! So pretty, do you see this? Such a tasty dinner for us.” Tears fall once again while you still try to resist, the soldier's hand reaches to cup your breast through your bra, but it never touches it. Everything stops in time for a second and you look at his wrist, blood rushing, a huge hole in it. The soldier looks confused until the pain and shock starts to kick in and he falls to the ground. The other one lets you go, trying to run away but two more shots could be heard, and he falls to the ground with a wound on each leg. You cover your chest with your arms, looking in the distance to see your husband. Eyes burning red in anger, in his hand shining the piece of metal you needed back so much. 

He rushes over, putting his hands on your shoulders to examine whether you got hurt or not. You feel too ashamed to look at him, other men have touched and seen your body. His hands put your necklace back on, his jacket is gently placed over your shoulders. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I am here now.” He grabs your trembling body in his arms, caressing your head and back, shushing and calming you down. He grabs you even closer while some of his men appear at the scene, he made his whole pluton to look after you. 

“Sergeant! What’s your order?” The men salute him with respect. “Get them away and I don’t care what you do to them, just don't have mercy, they touched what’s mine.” He said through gritted teeth, a dangerous, dark look on his face. “Yes, sir!” They all comply and try to take the two who are crying and begging for their lives, but Jungkook doesn’t budge, he just holds you close to him until you get back to the house. … After he made absolutely sure you weren’t hurt, he let you take a bath, saying he wants to discuss once you are ready for bed. And he stayed truthful to his words this time. Entering the room also ready for bed, he comes closer to you letting his body rest. “We should talk.” You hum, turning your body away from him. “I know you are upset with me, and you have the right to be so. But I love you, Y/N, I would never want to do something as cruel as leaving you all by yourself. I should’ve explained myself first instead of just leaving like an idiot.” He comes closer to you wrapping his arms around your form from behind. You shy away at his touch. “Please, don’t hide from me, I’ve made mistakes, I know, but I am so, so sorry, forgive me.” He whispers, his nose buried in the back of your neck. You want to cry, and it’s not even for the reason he thinks, you feel disgusted about what happened. “I’m dirty now, right?” You ask biting your bottom lip. “Dirty? In what way?” He slowly asks. “They’ve seen and touched, I’m disgraceful.” you say while your hand presses the tag closer into your skin. Jungkook rests on his elbow and turns you around so you could lay on your back. Hi other hand cups gently your face. “You are not dirty nor disgraceful.” His hands caress your features gently. “Don’t feel that way, please.” “But they touched me, they almost saw me naked.” 

Jungkook leans down and kisses your eyes, then goes lower and lower, spilling praises along the way, his lips stopping at the nape of your neck. “If you really feel like this then how about you let me see and touch? I would make everything go away, my sun, you would only remember my eyes and lips on your pretty body after this, what do you think?” You look away and lightly tug at the top, loosening it for him to see and touch, and he complies. “That’s my girl.” His touch was gentle, cupping everything he could, kissing everywhere was skin.” 

It felt intimate, not lustfull or filled with desire, just intimate. His hands gently run up and down your waist while his mouth runs over every little crevice making you forget those two disgusting men even exist, imprinting only Jungkook’s lips and scent in your skin. “Are you better now? No more bad thoughts?” He asks, head resting on your chest. “Yes, and I also want to say sorry, I shouldn't have reacted like I did, it only led to trouble.” He smiles and kisses between your breasts once again, then looks up and also captures your lips in a slow and tangy kiss, something to remember. After your quick reunion, Jungkook tells you all that has happened in the city and with his father, and how the government wants him to take his father’s place and become a general. You listen to all his worries, you cry together and laugh together, sharing some love in between. You stay up all night just talking and catching up, and until dawn arrives he also reveals that you two have to move away again, in the countryside this time. They have a vacation house there, and since the enemy started getting closer and closer, it would be best for you to remain in a safer and unpopulated area. Even though not pleased with the plan, you comply, knowing that he only wants what’s best for you, and getting you hurt or potentially killed is not in any of his strategies.

After all that you fall into a deep slumber, entangled in each other’s warmth, even though both of your heads were clouded with worry, you at least have each other, and from now on without any run-aways. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

11 September 1956 After all that happened you wanted to stay and celebrate Jungkook’s 26th birthday, still hoping for some more time together, however, you were shortly after sent alone to the location of his vacation home. A beautiful, cozy house, with a big yard and a lake behind. It looked straight out of paradise. Jungkook kept sending you letters when he was away and couldn’t contact you on the landline, he promised to come and visit somewhere around mid september, before he will take on a dangerous mission, trying to annihilate all the enemy’s camps from your region.

You were scared to say the least. You were seeing him less and less and now he was about to go to war and fight for your region’s freedom. But you waited patiently, hoping that he will arrive soon so you can get a piece of his love once again. Possibly even the last, but you didn’t want to let those thoughts linger around your mind, he was a strong guy, you knew he could lead such missions with minimum damages done and high success rate. And so you waited, day after day, from sunrise till dusk. He promised you, and you knew he would come. Tonight was no special, September began warm in the beginning, but right now the cold started to settle more and more. It was just like you were feeling, the warmth you once felt was slowly losing its power, making you grow colder without him by your side. Putting one more log in the fireplace you sit down, eyes glaring into the open flames who burn hot and red. It’s quiet. But not even the quietness lasts long once you can hear a car stopping in front of your house, heart starting to beat faster, mind racing. He’s home.

With quick steps you rush to the door opening it, in front of you a tall figure, dressed in military attire, his smile bright when he sees your figure. You jump in his arms knowing he will catch you, and he does, even though outside was cold, his arms felt just as warm as ever. His lips even come in contact with yours, leaving a sweet feeling behind. “You came.” Voice barely a whisper, fighting back tears since you’ve cried too much lately. “I promised.” He also whispers to you, leading you both back inside, you still wrapped around in his arms. Once your feet were on the ground you could examine him, wondering if he’s eating properly, or taking care of him the way he always did. He looks almost the same, only his eyes seem a little tired, but they hold so many emotions that is easy to forget about it. “I can’t stay long.” He says, voice sweet but sad, you look down, staring at his feet. “You just came, now you have to leave?” You ask a little upset. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, tomorrow we set trace for the first camp. I wish I could've come sooner to spend some time with you, but I had so many things to take care of, they didn’t allow me to leave.” His hands caress your cheek, taking in that you were upset, making his heart swell with pain. But it was for the best, his duty is to keep the people safe, you being his first priority. 

And since the attacks started being more and more aggressive, his only choice was to send you away from population until he manages to take everything under control. “When will I see you again?” You ask, biting down the sobs that want to erupt. A war could take months if not years. Jungkook bites his bottom lip and looks away from you, his voice a whisper when he says “I don’t know…”. You fall on the rocking chair, head in your hands, breaking down in the end. He comes closer and kneels in front of you, resting his forehead on top of your head, breathing heavily while trying to surpass his own tears. “Please…just stay tonight.” You mutter, looking up at him with doe, teary eyes. “I can’t, love.” He tries to resist his desires to hold and love you. “You can leave in the morning, just stay tonight, please!.” You plead, and plead, begging him to hold you tight like your life depends on it. He swears and looks away, getting up from the ground and straight to the phone on your wall, finally giving in. He calls at his base to inform them he will be there first thing in the morning, but he can’t make it tonight. He turns to you giving a small smile. “You see the things you do to me? Didn’t I say a while ago to not bring me trouble?” You laugh and open your arms for him, not taking long to feel them wrap around you. “I wonder how you didn’t see I was trouble from the first time we met?” Your voice suave, enchanting even, luring him in even more. “Oh God, how I missed you.” He says leaving kisses down your neck. “Didn’t you say you weren’t a believer when we first met?” He grins at you unbuttoning your shirt, eyes never leaving yours, making you feel hotter than the fire burning next to you. “You start to believe a little when this is the woman you have next to you.” You laugh caressing his hair gently, looking how he manages to take off your top, bra following right after. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you like this, still the hottest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He says managing to make you blush. “Let’s go upstairs.” You say trying to pull him up, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, his arms carry you to the couch nearby, laying you down on it with him on top. “Here?” You ask unsure. “Yes, here, I can’t risk letting too much time pass by.” His hands worked fast, stripping you both of your clothes and turning you around to lay on your stomach. “What are you doing?” You ask looking back, but he doesn’t respond, only maneuvers your body in such a way that your bum is up in the air, making you exposed for him. 

“Jungkook, what is this?” You ask concerned. “Relax, I’ll make you feel good in just a bit.” And then you feel it, the tip of his member running slowly from your bundle of nerves till your entrance. You gasp at the feeling, having been deprived of touch for so long made you so wet and ready. He runs up and down a few more times before you could feel him penetrate your warm walls. “Honey, this is.” Your words get stuck in your throat when he fills you up fully without any warning or preparation, but you were so excited to have him again that he just slid right up without much worry. “You take me so well, so ready for me all the time, didn’t need preparation either.” He says, hands gripping the flesh of your ass firmly while moving in and out. “I missed you, that’s why.” You manage to make out through your moans. He whines when he realizes he touched your sweet spot, making you yelp loudly, hand thrown back trying to grip his wrist. He starts going a little faster making you see stars and shapes all around the room. “I’m close.” You say, high approaching at a rapid state, but in your disbelief he denies you and stops, pulling out completely making you whine. “Why? I was almost there.” He’s never denied you in the past, why now? “Don’t be greedy, soul. I need to have you for a little longer. Who knows when I can get another glimpse at this sweet pussy.” You gasp in embarrassment as he turns you around, your hands already gripping his strong back. He kisses you once again, longer, harder and so much sweeter before entering you again. This felt different than anything you’ve done with him. Hot bubbles of pleasure were bursting around you, both your bodies warmer than the burning fire. It felt so raw and so pure, just sincere love being exchanged like it was for the last time. Getting closer to the edge once again, your husband seemingly close too, this time. He rests his head on your shoulder, his breath tickling your neck. You scratch his back when maybe the best orgasm he’s ever given you washes over, followed by the feeling of warm cum stuffing your walls. For a few minutes the only things you could hear in the room were the creaking of the fire and two bodies trying so hard to catch their panting breaths, foreheads resting against each other. 

Jungkook raises his head to look at your figure, your eyes closed in a blissful haze. He smiles sadly knowing he can’t be here much longer, lips coming closer, catching yours in another kiss. “I love you.” He says, your eyes meeting just like the first day, this time instead of terror, only love and care could be seen. “I love you too.”

All night was filled with love, your two bodies melting into one another in front of the fireplace. Jungkook made sure you knew how much he loved you and assured you that you will meet again someday. Opening your eyes, trying to adjust to the light that was peeking through your bedroom window. You scanned the room remembering the events that happened last night making you smile, turning around you expected to see the face of your sleeping husband, but the bed was cold. You frown, knowing what it ment, he already left. 

He did say goodbye last night, but you were too tired to acknowledge it. You get up from the bed, legs almost giving up. You were dressed up in warm pajamas and even cleaned out, he must have done it for you while you were falling asleep. Going down the stairs, the house was empty, the car was not in front of your door anymore, the fire long gone. On the kitchen table there was a singular piece of paper, a letter. “My dear wife, Y/N. I’ve been gone for so long the past few months, busy and away. Forgive me. I know I might have never been the best husband for you, I always felt like I’ve been depriving you of the freedom you always craved for. But, believe me, all that I do is for you to get that freedom one day. I might be a hypocrite, making you wait over and over for me to come home just to give you bits and pieces of what you truly deserve.

And I thought of letting you go, having you achieve your own dreams and goals, but I am a greedy man…

It does not matter how far you run, it makes me run even faster after you. It does not matter how much you push me away, it just makes me want to come to you even more.

So, please, forgive me for everything. Not being there for you, letting you in the dark, wandering around uncertain paths. 

And in my shame I ask for you to wait for me once again, carry the thought of me in your head, and the tag I gave you close to your heart so you don’t forget me.

Until we meet again, my soul.

Yours to love, Jeon Jungkook.”

Soft tears fall onto the piece of paper, making the ink run, you fall to the ground clutching the piece close to your chest. 

How can you even forget him? You are so grateful for what he’s done for you. You smile, wiping your tears. The silver tag dangling in the air. You bring it close to your lips, leaving a warm kiss on his name, the name of the man who makes you feel so much. “I’ll wait for you, my love.” You whisper, clutching everything tight to you, praying he’ll come home safe and unharmed. One day you’ll have him back in your arms again.

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31 December 1956

The last day of December.

Outside heavy snow is ripping through the night sky, letting a thick layer gather on the ground. In the suburbs a house could be seen, on the front porch the snow has been swept away. Looking towards the house, the man admires the scenery in front of him. Inside only a small light could be seen coming out from the front window, lighting his way. He takes small steps through the crunching snow, feet planted right outside the door when he’s hit with the warmth of home. His home. He doesn’t knock, only opens the door slowly, letting his frame inside.

In front of the fireplace, rocking on a chair, a woman could be seen. Her hands quickly knitting what seemed to be a small blanket. His eyes warm up at the sight in front of him, and she finally acknowledges his presence, stopping her hands to look at him. He smiles, taking a step closer until his eyes widen in surprise. With love filled eyes she looks at him, while her small hands uncover what seem to be the small outline of a belly. “Welcome home.” She says, opening her arms, making his eyes burn with happy tears, gently throwing himself in them.

Resting his head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat,

December has never felt so warm before.

[livinginshambles]

I want to be loved first | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.0k

Summary: Established relationship and angst: James still loves Lily, it's clear to you. You try to ignore the way your heart aches when you always seem to be second on his mind, knowing you will never compare to her and unsure how much more you can take.

Notes: Its happy ending again, sorry guys. I'd say no beta, we die like fred, but that feels too soon so anyway, spelling and grammar mistakes probably.

Masterlist

____________________________

People have often told you that you need to toughen up and grow a spine. That your lack of backbone had everyone trample on you like you were a crosswalk, and you could definitely say that they were right.

Perhaps that's why you were crying in the middle of the night because of James Potter. He was laying behind you, pressed against your back with an arm draped over you. His face was hidden in the back of your neck, breathing steadily against it as he slept peacefully, unaware of the heartache he was causing you when he whispered Lily's name. Again.

When he'd done it the first time, your blood had run cold, goosebumps showing up and littering your bare arms. Tears had prickled in your eyes at his barely audible, mumbled confession. "Love you so much Lily."

You had turned around to face him and your rustling had woken him up. Eyes still closed, he'd groggily shifted and pulled you against his chest. “Everything alright, love?”

“Yeah, just a nightmare,” you had responded in a small voice. Your answer had him finally open his eyes, somewhat concerned. He had lifted his arm to yawn against it and then settled it back on top of you in such a way that his hand had easy access to your nape, drawing circles in an attempt to calm you.

“I've got you, love. Nothing can hurt you, as long as I'm here,” he had assured you.

Ironic.

So now here you were lying down, your tears were freely rolling down your face and you were glad that the curtains of the bed were closed, leaving you in a private space, despite sleeping in the boy’s dormitory. It would be another sleepless night for you, it seemed.

When James stretched his arms to reach for you about four hours later, he frowned and sat up, confused at the lack of your presence. He pushed the red drapes aside and peeked into the room. Sirius was still asleep, face down. Peter was most likely curled up inside the pile of blankets on his bed and Remus was sitting up in bed, a book in his lap.

Even though it was the weekend, and you were anything but an early bird, you slipped out of bed in the early morning. You were sure that your eyes were red and puffy and didn’t want James to mention it.

He looked up when he heard James and raised his eyebrows in question when he noticed no one else behind him. “Have you seen Y/N?” James asked, sleep still heavily laced in his voice. Remus shook his head in thought. “No,” he whispered quietly, an eye on Sirius beside him. “I’ve been up since four in the morning though.”

James’ frown deepened. That meant that you had snuck out before that. But why? He got dressed impressively fast and descended the stairs to the common room. You were sitting at the tip of your chair, deeply engrossed into your transfiguration assignment, several books piled, some laying open, scattered across the small table.

You felt two arms securely wrap around you, almost melting in their designated position. “Morning,” James kissed your cheek.

You bit your lip, took a breath, and cast your hurt feelings aside. You turned your head and flashed him a smile. “Good morning, Jamie.” James took the opportunity of your head, tilted upwards at him, and dipped down to press his lips softly against yours, pecking you once, twice. “You’re up early,” he commented and nudged you. He slipped behind you, body fully relaxing into your back now.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you replied honestly and you leaned back into him. You laughed softly when you noticed his eyes drooping. “You’re tired, Jamie. Go back to sleep.” James made a sound but didn’t move, instead slouching even more against you.

“Hm, no, I missed you this morning. I’ll stay here,” he decided and drifted off to sleep. You didn’t doubt that he loved you.

“Go on a date with me next Friday,” James asked you while he was escorting you to your herbology class. You looked up at him surprised. “A date?” you dumbly repeated, trying not to be too excited about the prospect of a date. James usually ended up having things to do that he really couldn't get out of, so you would always end up canceling your dates.

James laughed and slung his arm around your shoulders. “Exactly. You and me alone. I was thinking of a picnic by the lake, no one else around, and maybe we could snog, but I’m also down to cuddle.” Your eyes crinkled up amusedly. “Don’t you have Quidditch, Jamie,” you raised your eyebrows. “You always have Quidditch practice after class,” you pointed out.

“Not next Friday. I already checked to make sure I didn't double book anything, and I warned Pads that I'm not taking on any new pranks until next week to avoid detention.” he grinned. “Friday will be one of those rare days when I have time to have my girl all to myself the entire afternoon.” His face then turned apologetic. “I know I don’t have much time to take you out, so Friday'll be perfect and I’ll make it up to you.” You threw your arms around his neck and hummed appreciatively in it. “I’d love that.”

James wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in for a kiss. “Prongs!” Sirius shouted from a distance. “Everyone is already waiting for you for Quidditch practice, how far are you going to escort her? I mean the greenhouse is on the other side of Hogwarts, mate,” Sirius complained but he blew you a dramatic kiss that James waved away with a sour look.

“Go on,” you laughed and untangled yourself from his arms. He quickly pressed a kiss to your lips and sprinted off towards the Quidditch field.

James dropped into the seat next to you. “Long time no see, love,” he said. You snorted. “James, I saw you two hours ago.” James shrugged, and flirtily smiled. “I said what I said.”

Professor McGonagall entered the classroom and class started. You were jotting down everything she said in a neat handwriting, knowing that James would end up asking to lend your notes, of course by offering kisses in return.

You glanced beside you and were surprised to find him hunched over his notebook, scribbling away. Impressed at the thought that he was actually paying attention, you couldn’t help but peer down at his notes and saw that he was sketching a girl.

Though he wasn’t the greatest artist, you could clearly see that the girl on the paper looked nothing like you, and instead had features that were strikingly similar to Lily. When James looked up from his drawing and glanced to his right where she was sitting, her eyes focused on Professor McGonagall, you felt your heart constrict again, but still decided not to comment on it. He was free to draw whoever he felt like drawing, you reminded yourself.

Jealousy is ugly.

You were sitting in the library, helping a third year with Defense against the dark arts theory, when James barged in, earning several disturbed looks and a threatening glare from the librarian.

“James?” you called to him quietly and motioned for him. James’ eyes spotted you and he slid over to you, wringing his hands together, biting his lips and his eyes darting around.

“You’re nervous,” You remarked while you eyed him up and down. “Or you feel bad. What is it?”

James let out a deep sigh at your bluntness, though he supposed it would be better to get straight to the point. “We can’t go on a date next week, I’ve got prefect stuff, gotta patrol.” You stared at him, your disappointment was visible on your face and James looked at the ground.

“But you already had patrol this week? Isn’t it every other week?” You asked, a bummed out look on your face.

“Well, actually, Lily asked me if I could do rounds with her next week,” he admitted. “Her usual assigned partner was injured during Quidditch practice apparently.”

“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say. You were pretty sure she could ask anyone else for next week or just do the rounds herself as you’ve seen James do it alone for two weeks too when his assigned partner had gone home for a family emergency.

“Is it really vital that you have to go?” You couldn’t help but ask.

"I already said yes." James offered an apologetic smile. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. We can go on a date the week after.” There was a pause and then, “Actually that’ll probably have to wait for the week after that.”

'Imagine having to schedule a simple date, three to four weeks in advance and even then not being guaranteed that nothing would come in between,' you sighed.

You shrugged, a sudden wave of defeat and exhaustion crashing over you. Why did you have to compete for your boyfriend in the first place? 'How tiring', you realized.

You waved him away. “It can’t be helped, I guess,” you somewhat coldly told him, and turned back to the student next to you who was awkwardly looking away. James stood next to you in silence for a moment, still looking at you. You looked up at the lack of the sound of receding footsteps and looked at him questioningly, waving your hand in a ‘what is it?’ manner.

“I can tell her no,” James said, something that looked like a pout on his face. He hated making you feel bad, despite constantly but unconsciously doing it.

“You don’t want to tell her no,” you retorted.

"I would for you.”

“Well, considering that you haven’t told her no by now and are instead here telling me that we have to rearrange our plans, I think you should just go help Lily with rounds.”

James was taken aback by your bitter tone, eyes immediately wide, alarmed that you were really affected by his decision. “Love, I-“

You waved your hand again. “No, I’m sorry,” you apologized before he could. You rubbed your eyes in an exhausted manner. Jealousy was not a good look, you reminded yourself again. “Just really looked forward to that picnic with just you and me.”

“We’ll still have that picnic another time though,” James tried to assure you, but you were no longer looking at him. He realized that the conversation was over and that you wanted to be left alone right now.

“I love you,” James tried one last time and you sighed. " I love you more.” Your words resonated even after James left, knowing that they might be more true than you wanted to admit. You cleared your throat and when you faced the girl next to you, she shot you a sympathetic look.

The last drop was during Potions class. Potions was something you were good at. Maybe not better than Severus Snape, but you did excel in it.

So, if there was one class in which you expected James to want to be your partner, it was Potions class. Perhaps it was arrogant of you to assume such a thing, because when Professor Slughorn had announced that everyone would be paired up, and asked James who he wanted to partner up with, you hadn't expected him to glance at Lily first, which resulted in Professor Slughorn pairing the two together before James could say your name, which in his defense, was what he was planning on saying.

Without sparing you a glace, he left your table to take the seat next to Lily's. Sure, it was mostly a miscommunication issue on Slughorn's part, but did James have to skip over so happily?

“Love you so much, Lily.”

The words repeated in your head when you saw him look at her so fondly and before you could stop yourself, you scribbled a message on a piece of paper, in which you asked him to meet you in the tower, before sending it his way.

You had clung onto James because you were absolutely in love with him and refused to lose him. But it really was a futile battle, you would never compare to her. His first crush, first love, first kiss if you count that one time during ‘spin the bottle’ and his first heartbreak. You’ll always be second, even if he genuinely loves you.

James snapped his head up at you from his attempted conversation with Lily when he got your note, suddenly remembering you, but you were laughing, engrossed in a conversation with a flustered Peter who had almost set the two of you on fire by adding the wrong ingredient. When you left class, you saw James and Lily still talking while calmly packing up.

James entered the tower, holding the note that you had passed him during class. He was smiling cheekily and quickly skipped over, arms ready to wrap around your waist as he leaned in for a kiss, no doubt thinking you asked him to sneak away for a snog.

“We need to talk,” you stopped him, and his grin fell from his face, a serious expression now adorning it. “Everything alright love?” he asked, an odd feeling growing inside of him at your tone. He was suddenly rather unsure if he really wanted to.

'Nothing better than to rip the band aid off', you thought.

“I want to break up.”

There was a long moment of silence while James was registering your words, repeating them in his head over and over again to see if there was any chance that he could have interpreted that incorrectly.

“What?” He eventually said out loud in disbelief. Though he wanted to step forward, reach for you and hold you tightly as if to show that he wouldn’t let you go, his body was inwilling to move.

“Why are y-, I thought we were good?” The crack in his voice didn’t go unnoticed by you. Your heart ached for him, but you were determined to stay strong and say your piece for once. To voice your thoughts and go through with tough decisions that you knew would be for the better.

“We’re not, James,” you sighed. “I know that you know that.”

James shook his head in denial. “No, I don’t know that,” he insisted. His brain was racking through all the instances where he did something wrong and - with the exception of next Friday's date - came up blank.

“But you love me,” he stated, mostly to himself, but it came out more of a question. “Of course,” you confirmed without hesitation.

James’ body finally unfroze, and he surged forward, his hands fumbled to hold your hands. “And I love you,” he stressed, panic starting to rise up. “I love you so much, I’ll take a Veritaserum potion if you want. I just, why would you-, I don’t understand the problem-,”

“I know you love me, James. The problem is that I love you so much more,” you calmly interrupted him. James’ eyes scanned your face to look for answers because none of it maded sense to him.

“I want someone who loves me as much as I love him. Someone who gives me all his love, not just a part that he managed to set apart for me too. And I want to be loved first. Not second. I don't want to be a consolation prize because your first option didn't work out.”

James’ eyes flickered in realization, but his head was still shaking in denial. “I am that someone,” he urged, trying to convince you. He shot you a pleading look. “I love you first, I swear.” He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, and you pulled it away from his grasp.

“Not first,” you shook your head sadly. “Not when you call for Lily in your sleep, and whisper that you love her.” You watch as James’ frown deepened, mixed expressions crossing his face in surprise, confusion and even bewilderment.

Would he not even admit it?

“Not when you have us rearrange our plans for her, when you draw portraits of her during class, or when you practically jump to be her potions partner. I'm not stupid, James. I see the way you look at her.” You continued to list off the things that happened just this past week, not even bothering to mention all the things that bothered you the past months. Your eyes looked sad and tired, and you took another deep breath. “So, I want to break up.”

James felt like crying, his mind thinking back to everything you said, and knowing that you were right. “I’m sorry,” he tried. “I’m an absolute twat, I know that. I promise you I don’t love Lily, she’s just still very important to me.” You offered him a sympathetic smile.

“I know she’s important to you, I just think that maybe you don’t know what or who you want. And I won’t share my boyfriend anymore, I’m selfish like that,” You joked halfheartedly. James didn’t react, save for wrapping his arms around you. You allowed James to embrace you and he buried his head in your hair, his eyes closed as if he wanted to go to sleep and forget this was happening.

“Okay,” James whispered. What else was he supposed to say?

You closed yours as well. James would get over you in no time, you were certain. You two hadn’t been dating for that long, and perhaps James could find a happy ending in Lily after all.

James had sort of avoided you after that. You thought he was doing it because he was angry, but in reality, he was just scared that he would burst into tears the moment he saw you, and he refused to watch you laugh happily, swatting your friend while he wanted nothing more than to hold your hand again.

His mind had completely become occupied by you and he stayed in bed over the weekend, mostly wallowing in self-pity and misery.

When Monday started, he had skipped all classes and only dragged himself out of bed for Quidditch practice and patrol with Lily. Walking next to her in silence, occasionally glancing at her, he felt his stomach sink again. How ironic that when he looked at Lily, all he could think about was you.

James walked through the corridor on Friday, on his way to the courtyard to meet up with Lily again to do rounds with her. He hadn’t been able to sleep peacefully without you. At first, he had been thinking about every instance where he prioritized Lily over you, and it had him curse himself out in his pillow. He missed you. It was so ridiculous, but he missed you to the point that he would curl up in bed with a stomach ache.

He had finally drifted off when at some point in the middle of the night, he had been shaken awake by Sirius.

“What?” James had asked, his throat dry and raspy. He’d looked around, disoriented.

“Thought you were having a nightmare Prongs. You kept mumbling her name. How much you loved her,” Sirius had handed James a glass of water.

James became wide awake and sat up straight in panic. “Lily?” He had asked Sirius, his stomach turning with nausea. He still couldn’t believe that he really talked about Lily in his sleep when you were lying next to him.

“What? No, Y/N’s name of course.” Sirius had corrected him. 'Of course,' James shook his head at Sirius’ words. “Figured you were reliving your breakup,” Sirius had explained.

James was looking through the passing windows of the castle where he could see the lake in the far distance. Suddenly something in his brain clicked. What in Godrick's name was he doing, avoiding you? Why was he giving up on you without a fight? You both loved each other; he was just the idiot who couldn’t sort himself out. But it didn’t take him longer than a terrible week to open his eyes.

James’ pace increased and he ran through the corridor. “No running in the corridors young man,” a portrait commented, but he paid it no mind.

Lily was already waiting for him and raised her eyebrows at his disheveled state and the basket that he was carrying. “I can’t do rounds with you today,” he puffed out. “I told Y/N that I would take her out for a picnic and then you asked me if I could help, and I agreed, but it’s so stupid because I should be-, I am choosing her,” James ranted. “I’m not letting you come first, or even second.”

Lily wasn’t really sure what James was rambling on about but gave him a kind smile, nonetheless. “Well, what are you waiting for,” she encouraged him. “Sounds to me like you shouldn’t be here, but somewhere else.”

“Yeah, I definitely should.”

You sat by the lake, skipping stones from a sitting position, not that you were having any luck. You hadn't seen James in a while because he avoided you, and you felt sadness wash over you. You were sure that he would get over you quick enough, but you wondered how long would it take for you to get over him?

You heard rustling behind you but kept facing forward. It was only when a delicious smell reached you, that you turned around, slightly annoyed that someone would really choose this spot to have an afternoon meal at when they could’ve sat literally anywhere else near the lake, as well as choose this moment when you wanted to act like a depressed main protagonist gazing in the distance.

You were, however, not prepared to see James stand behind you, out of breath and making his way over to you, a blanket and food spread out behind him. He didn’t really need to say anything. You understood from the way he showed up here, a hopeful expression on his face.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you got up, dusting yourself off.

"Hi," James breathed. An unsure smile formed on his face when you waved back. "I uh, I brought food." He awkwardly motioned to the picnic behind him and you couldn't help but smile at his adorableness.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere else,” you couldn’t help but lightheartedly remark. James let out an airy chuckle, immediately relaxing at your open demeanor.

“100% sure I’m where I should be,” he affirmed. He considered his words and corrected himself. "Where I want to be."

His words had you take off in a sprint towards him and James opened his arms to catch you when you jumped, locking your legs around him. Ironically enough, it felt as if a weight had fallen off of James. His head fell against your shoulder and he shakily laughed while your blouse stained with tears of relief.

"I'm really sorry," he looked up at you, still holding you steadily. You leaned down to press your forehead against his, and your hands came up to his cheeks. "You made up your mind," you said, but it came out like a question, and James nodded hastily.

"And you'll make it up to me."

"Of course," he earnestly replied. "I want us. I'll fight for us." You closed the gap between the two of you.

“I love you,” he whispered breathlessly against your lips.

Not first or second, not more, most or less. He just loves you.

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[chestersturniolo]

“Do you think I want this? To keep you hidden like some dirty secret?”

Chris Sturniolo x fem!reader

based on this request

- angsty angsty angst, resolved!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Chris sat across from you, his eyes down, his fingers nervously picking at the edge of his hoodie sleeve. You could tell from the way his jaw clenched that he wasn’t taking what you said well.

“Chris, I just… I want us to be normal-” you said softly, trying to ease into it. You leaned forward, your elbows on your knees. “-we’ve been together for over a year now. It feels like I’m hiding from your life, I just want to be part of it”

He shook his head “You know why we can’t do that-” he said firmly “-It’s not that I don’t want to. I do. But you’ve seen what happens when anyone even thinks we might be dating someone. The rumors, the hate… the threats”

Your chest tightened. You had seen it, firsthand. Some of the girls in their circle had faced vile messages just for being friends with Chris or his brothers. It was toxic, vicious. But you weren’t some random girl from the internet or just a casual friend. You were his girlfriend, the person he loved. Didn’t that matter more?

“But we can’t keep doing this, Chris-” you pressed, your voice rising with frustration. “-I love you, and I know you love me. But this… sneaking around, hiding from the world? I don’t know how much longer I can do it…”

Chris’s eyes flashed with concern, but then the stubbornness took over. “Y/N, I care about you. The minute we go public, you’ll be a target. They’ll tear you apart, and I can’t stop that-” He ran a hand through his hair “-so i wont let it start”

“Well I don’t want to hide anymore!” you exclaim, louder than you meant to, but you were at your breaking point. “I want to go out on dates like a normal couple! Dinner at actual restaurants, walks in the park, watching movies at the movie theatre—in public, not just on your couch, hoping no one’s watching your house!”

Chris stood up, starting to pace the living room. “Do you really think it’s that easy? You don’t know what you’re asking for!-” His voice was louder now, echoing through the space. “-once it’s out there, we can’t take it back. There’s no turning it off. I just… I’m trying to protect you”

Your heart ached at his words, but you couldn’t shake the hurt that was building inside you. That had been building inside of you for months and months. “You’re not protecting me, Chris. You’re suffocating me”

The silence after those words felt suffocating in itself. His pacing stopped, and for a long moment, the two of you just stared at eachother.

Chris’s pacing picked back up, his frustration more apparent with every step. “Do you think I want this? To keep you hidden like some dirty secret?-” His voice cracked, and you could see the pain in his eyes. “-You think I don’t dream about being out there with you, showing everyone how lucky I am? But I’ve seen what they do. You’ve seen it! It’s not fair, but it’s real”

You clenched your fists, trying to steady your voice, but it came out shakier than you wanted. “I know it’s real, Chris. But I’m not some fragile thing you need to protect from the world. I can handle the hate. I can handle the rumors. What I can’t handle is pretending I’m not with you—like what we have doesn’t even exist outside of these four walls!”

He rolled his eyes in frustration “And what if you can’t handle it? What if they come after you, after your family, your friends? They don’t just stop with hate comments, you know that. They’ll dig into your life, they’ll twist everything. I don’t think you really get how far this can go y/n!”

Your frustration surged, the bubbling anger finally spilling over. “Of course, I get it, Chris! I’m not naïve. I see the way people talk about you guys, but I love you, and I’m willing to take that risk. I’m sick of feeling like an outsider in your life!”

“You’re not an outsider!-” Chris snapped, stopping his pacing again to look at you, his voice desperate. “-You’re my whole life, and that’s why I can’t let you get hurt like this. I can’t do it”

“You’re not letting me choose, Chris!” You stand from the couch, stepping towards him. “This isn’t just about you. It’s my life too. I should get a say in how we live it!”

He froze, his jaw tight. He took a deep breathe, before lowering his voice. “I’m trying to protect you..why can’t you see that?” he says, dragging his hand over his face.

Tears of frustration welled up in your eyes as you fought to keep your composure. “Because it doesn’t feel like protection—it feels like control. I want to stand next to you in public, and if that comes with hate, then so be it. I’m not afraid of them. I’m afraid of losing you because we’re hiding something that should be real”

For a second, it looked like Chris was about to respond, but he just stood there, defeated, staring at you like he didn’t know what to say.

“Maybe you’re right” you said softly, grabbing your bag off the couch. “Maybe I don’t understand how hard this will be. But I know I can’t keep living like this”

Chris reached for you, his eyes pleading

“Y/N wait , don’t go, please. Let’s figure this out”

But you couldn’t. Not now. Not when you felt like you were drowning in this fear he refused to let go of. You needed air, space, time to think. Without another word, you left, the door closing behind you far too loudly, sealing the argument inside.

~~~

Days passed without a word from Chris. Each night felt heavier than the last as you lay in bed, staring at your phone, waiting for a text that never came. You missed him. Despite the fight, despite everything, you missed him.

By the time a week had passed, the silence between you was unbearable.

It was a surprise when you heard the knock on your door that night. When you opened it, there was Chris, looking as disheveled as you felt. His eyes were red-rimmed, like he hadn’t been sleeping much either.

“Hey…” he said, almost inaudiible

“Hey….” you echoed, stepping aside to let him in.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You stood there, facing each other in the middle of your living room, the weight of the past week like a fuck off elephant in the room.

“I..I’m sorry-” Chris finally said, “-I hate that we fought. I hate that you felt like you had to leave. But… I’ve been thinking about what you said”

You crossed your arms, unsure if you were ready for what he was about to say.

“I know I’ve been too protective-” he continued, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “-I just… the thought of something happening to you because of me? Because of who I am? It messes with my head ma, n I couldn’t live with myself if you got hurt because of this. Because of us”

Tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them away. “Chris… I know you’re scared. I get it. But I’m scared too. I just… I want to be with you-” you trail off , the tears you tried to blink back now rolling down your cheeks “-i want to go public chris” you whisper.

He nodded slowly, his expression softening. “I know. And you’re right. We’ve been together long enough to deserve that. If this is what you want, we’ll do it. But… we have to be careful. I don’t want to rush into it and then regret it later”

Relief washed over you as you stepped closer to him. Chris pulled you into his arms, holding you tight. “I don’t want to lose you. And if going public is what you need… then we’ll make it work. I just need you to know it won’t be easy”

You rested your head against his chest, taking a small shaky breath. “I know it won’t be easy. But I’d rather face it together than keep pretending like we don’t exist”

He sighed, his hand running through your hair. “Then we’ll do it. But… let’s be smart about it- slow, one step at a time, m’kay?”

you nod against his chest “We’ll be okay”

Chris pressed a kiss to the top of your head, squeezing you close,

“We’ll be okay”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

a/n; thankyou sm for the request! loveddd writing this!!

also chat i think im suffering with a small case of writers block, so im sorry for the lack of posts fic wise but im tryna push through, love you all

- 𝑺𝒂𝒈𝒆 ♡

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[solecize]

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ten years of being one and the same with jungkook as the country's it couple is the perfect disguise for the reality of a tumultuous relationship hidden behind the scenes.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you welcome your boyfriend back to the country with a surprise party, just as the clock is ticking to say goodbye again. the big day is almost here and enlistment brings couples either one of two things: a ring or a breakup.  𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: idol!jungkook/female idol!reader and fictional versions of various idols 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. idol au, on-and-off relationship, angst, i swear there's fluff, and themes of first love, growing up, struggles with fame, and marriage (ish) 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. portrayal of a toxic couple (implications of emotional abuse and control), infidelity, foul language, substance use, underage drinking, mentions of the covid-19 pandemic, sexually suggestive content  𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. based off of "you're losing me" by taylor swift. this is a fictional portrayal of real-life people that implement some aspects of real-life events. the series is told in non-chronological order. note that the main character is a member of a fictional idol group. more warnings may be added as the story is written. join the taglist here! ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤm.list | next

you say, "i don't understand, " and i say, "i know you don't" we thought a cure would come through in time, now i fear it won't

TODAY’S TOP HEADLINE: bts’ rm, jimin, taehyung and jungkook set to enlist in the coming weeks! ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤautumn 2023

the confrontation   when it rained, it poured and you felt like you haven't seen even a glimpse of the sun in ages. there was a nagging feeling in your gut that it was too far gone, but like everything else for the past ten years, you swallowed it down and swept it under the rug. bad feelings didn’t exist in your relationship. that was the unspoken rule. yet, it was growing more and more difficult to mask the disappointment in your eyes or the frown fighting your lips. today marked the worst of your attempts.

  seoul was unusually calm tonight and it scared you. when you moved to the city ages ago to begin your journey as an idol trainee, it was nothing but intimidating for your meek, pre-teen self. eventually, over time, your love for the city bloomed and it was truthfully because of jungkook. once young teenagers that arrived to seoul alone, you found solace in each other and embraced the change as one. he made you fall in love with seoul the same way he made you fall in love with him. dates, nightclubs, late night adventures, and years worth of moments within the city limits. 

  however, the streets were as hushed as you were, as you gripped your steering wheel like a robot. 

  the decision had been long made and you knew it was going to come around at some point, so there was no use in fighting it. after going without seeing your boyfriend for months, it should have been nothing but pure excitement.

  “you’re awfully quiet,” murmured jungkook, glancing over at you from the passenger seat.

  you were already annoyed to begin with, when he mentioned that he was going to have a driver pick him up from the airport, instead of asking for you. it felt like he didn’t even expect to have you waiting for him, considering the two of you had been apart due to his time working in the united states. you thought he’d be insisting for you to be the first person he saw once he came back. these frustrations were on top of several other things, which you’d been dreading to confront for even longer of a time.

  and then, there was also the velvet box you spotted in the background of one of your facetime calls. you didn’t bring it up, but it was living in your mind everyday since. with jungkook’s big day fast approaching, there were a lot of conflicting ideas in your head.

  you shrugged. “i’ve been filming long hours. not getting that much sleep.”

  the look jungkook gave you read that he knew that you weren’t being a hundred percent honest, but he didn’t say anything. his eyes returned to being fixated on his phone.

  after over ten years of knowing each other, you and jungkook could see through each other like glass. the only problem was that nobody ever wanted to speak up. you feared the glaring possibility of other buried conflict dating further back into the relationship because of this dynamic.

  you didn’t think you deserved the blame for the tension in the air. there were several things in your mind, but jungkook wasn’t exactly a person who could easily mask their emotions. something was off with him, too, and you needed to figure out what it was. you could only hope for the best case scenario because otherwise, it was going to be your worst nightmare. there was no situation you could fathom where his behaviour was a result of an in between. 

  keeping your voice casual, you asked, “who are you texting?”

  “my mom.”

  you held back a sigh - jungkook was never particularly keen on involving you with his family. though you’d been together since he was sixteen, you always felt like he kept you an arm’s reach away from that part of your life and you never understood why.

  “oh. tell her i say hi,” you said and he hummed in response. 

  whilst you weren’t in a talkative mood, it wasn’t like jungkook was doing anything to keep the conversation flowing either. you guys obviously texted and called during his time away, but the present atmosphere was awkward, like there was nothing to talk about after his grand return. you hugged and kissed at the airport, asked how his flight was, and that was that. driving him felt like a business endeavour, rather than welcoming your long-term partner back to the country.

  after a few minutes, jungkook finally looked up from his phone. upon peering out the window, he grew confused and turned to you.

  he questioned, “where are we going? the apartment is in the other direction.”

  “just wait,” you assured, forcing a small smile. “take off your hoodie and put on what i have for you in the backseat.”

  there was a shopping bag sitting behind jungkook’s seat and he reluctantly reached over, revealing a silk ysl shirt that you picked up that very afternoon. sighing, he did as you asked and made the change. you didn’t care to look over at your boyfriend’s shirtless body, too irritated at the curtness of the conversation.

  you just wanted to get to the destination, the heavy silence becoming too much for you. there wasn’t even music on. you found yourself focusing too much on it, as you finally pulled up to the infamous hotel azure. somehow tucked away in the busy songpa district, it is unassuming to the civilian eye, but a well-known name amongst the circles of south korea’s entertainment industry. you didn’t “make it” in entertainment until you attended a party at hotel azure.

  jungkook shifted in his seat. “what is this?” his tone was demanding, which immediately put you off. “the plan was to go home.”

  to be fair, the last time that the two of you were at the azure hotel, jungkook wound up with a bloody nose after getting into it with an not-to-be-named yg idol at one of jackson wang’s wild parties. you weren’t even sure what happened yourself, bleary eyed for the majority of the night with several substances in your body. hotel azure was for idols at the top of the world with everything to lose, a favourite place of yours around 2018. it was now a place that you actively tried to avoid, but made an exception for the special occasion.

  “calm down,” you shot back, not letting him get away with the voice he used. “just wait, i said.”

  “i’m tired, y/n,” jungkook pleaded, as you stopped the car for the valet to take. 

  you ignored him - it wasn’t like it was up to you - and unbuckled your seatbelt, not waiting a second for jungkook. 

  not only did you pick up your boyfriend from the airport, you also spent hours meticulously preparing your appearance for the night. it didn’t seem like jungkook noticed, other than at the airport, when he questioned why you were wearing high heels. 

�� you never wore heels unless you were working, but that changed when you met jungkook. he loved it when you wore heels and by the time your respective trainee debts were paid, made it a point. you bought platforms with the anticipation of how your boyfriend would go crazy over them. jungkook gifted you designer jimmy choos and pradas whenever you guys got into a fight. it made you feel your prettiest and he showered you with compliments every time.

  now, he looked at you oddly for it, like you were doing too much.

  jungkook eventually gave up and followed you in without a word, watching you take off your trench coat to reveal a stunning baby pink two-piece dress. the colour glittered under the low lighting of the hotel lobby and the corset accentuated your curves in all the right aways. except, he still did not say a word. this made you frown.

  you handed off your coat to an employee and jungkook did the same. the lobby was empty, but you and jungkook knew exactly where to go, making a beeline for the elevator and pressing the button to move up to the penthouse suite. 

  “why didn’t you warn me about this?” he grumbled under his breath, adjusting his shirt in the mirror.

  because that’s how surprise parties work, you wanted to reply. unfortunately, this was not a surprise party that you wanted to celebrate, so you didn’t even try to keep jungkook excited. you were both quiet, irritable, and only wanted to go home. 

  you said, “this is the part where i cover your eyes and lead you out.”

  jungkook complied and you placed your perfectly manicured hands over his line of vision. other than sharing a hug and kiss earlier, this was the closest you’d physically gotten to your boyfriend in months. your hands were cold and you were close enough that he could hear your breathing - all too uncomfortable. 

  the elevator dinged and you nudged jungkook to step forward. the penthouse’s lights were off, but you could make out the shuffling of feet from behind the kitchen counter. it looked like everything was set up and pristine. then, in just a beat, the entire room lit up and you removed your hands from jungkook’s eyes.

  “SURPRISE!”

  the floor rumbled, voices roaring and bodies popping out from different places - behind pillars, couches and the bar. jungkook’s eyes brightened in a way that you had yet to see since reuniting with him earlier and it made your heart sink. you hadn’t realized how dull his demeanour was around you until something else actually made him smile.

  his closest friends and family gathered in the penthouse and there was a large, golden banner that hung from the walls that said “welcome back jungkook!” the other wall was decorated with another banner, but this one said “good luck rm, v, jimin and jungkook!” 

  jungkook’s older brother was the first one that enveloped him into a bear hug, nearly squeezing the life out of him, then his mom. this was followed by the remainder of his band mates that managed to make the party. you awkwardly stood off to the side, a wide smile plastered on your face to mask your despondence. it seemed like jungkook’s exhaustion only existed when he was sitting in a car with you, as his laughter echoed throughout the room.

  you caught jungkook’s eye and he already knew how you were feeling. while he exchanged words with other friends, it was namjoon who pulled you to the side.

  “hey. you guys did a really great job with the party,” you started, looking around.

  the penthouse of the azure hotel was a thing of beauty, with ceiling high windows that looked over the lights of seoul. everything shone and glimmered - the city skyline, the perfect marble floors, the expensive liquor bottles, and hell, even the perfect teeth of the myriad of a-list south korean celebrities gracing this exclusive party. there wasn’t a wrong way to ever throw a party there, but the group made an extra effort to make jungkook’s homecoming a special one. 

  jungkook was swarmed by several people, all asking about his time in america and how exciting it was. those were the words you used to describe it for him, too, when you sent him off months ago. you watched him take shots with mingyu and eunwoo. 

  namjoon shook his head, “no, no. this wouldn’t be possible without you,” he said and then glanced at jungkook, “and i’m sure he knows it, too.”

  the boys, despite it also serving as a goodbye party before their enlistments, had been helping you plan the surprise for weeks leading up to jungkook’s arrival. it was one of the longest times jungkook had been apart from them and from the country in general, so they wanted to make it extra special. though you were the main mastermind behind the gathering, you initially didn’t want to do it at all. 

  “yeah, i hope so,” you replied, as you poured yourself a glass of white wine. “you guys all deserve it.”

  over the years, jungkook’s band mates slowly became some of your friends, as well. it was somber goodbye for you in all kinds of ways. everyone was preparing to send them off with good luck and high spirits. 

  the boys were also preparing in their own way. you noticed that taehyung and jimin’s girlfriends were missing from the party, which only confirmed your speculations. 

  “it was just bound to happen,” said a voice.

  it was taehyung who joined you and namjoon in a quiet circle at the corner of the living room. all of the boys looked a little bit sad, despite the celebratory atmosphere, but you read a different kind of story in taehyung’s eyes. 

  he smiled with a hint of gloom. “you’re looking around for her, right?”

  as a fellow idol and also a girlfriend to a member of one of the biggest groups in the world, taehyung’s girlfriend grew to become one of your close confidants in the past few years. you guys were polite before, but this connection created a specific bond that couldn’t be understood by anyone else. however, you hadn’t heard from her in a few days and with her absence at taehyung’s goodbye party, you put two and two together. 

  to his side, namjoon clapped a hand on his friend’s back. “sorry, man.”

  “i hope it was cordial,” you mustered up, ignoring the growing heaviness at the pit of your stomach. you could only hope you weren’t next.

  taehyung replied. “she understood, but she wasn’t happy. regardless,” he sighed, “we’re still so young. her career is just blowing up even more, i feel like i’d only be holding her back.” 

  that was the way it went. when enlistment rolled around for most couples, it was either breaking up or a ring. you looked at your feet, not knowing what to say. 

  “jimin also told me that he broke things off with - “

  a loud yelp squeaked from taehyung, who was abruptly jabbed in the side with namjoon’s elbow. the latter cleared his throat and you recognized that look. namjoon only made that face when he pulled the leader card and needed to put someone in their place. you figured that your worries were transparent to those around you.

  namjoon cleared his throat. “not in a chatty mood?”

  while you greeted people during the set-up of the party, you realized that you had yet to actually try socializing. things were awkward with jungkook’s parents, who you long suspected didn’t approve of you for various reasons. in general, most people were interested in chatting with the boys, which you didn’t mind. it was a gathering to send them off, after all.

  “not really. you guys should go mingle with your friends,” you said, taking another sip of your wine. “it’s your party.”

  “i hope i’m not overstepping, but did you and jungkook get in a fight?” taehyung asked.

  you blinked slowly. “no. does it seem like it?”

  “just seems like he’s nervous about something,” he commented and you noticed namjoon glare at him once more, as if to shut up.

  for the first time that night, you felt a glimmer of mixed feelings that left you wondering. why would he be nervous? the big visual forming in your mind was a diamond ring. you and jungkook had contemplated marriage in the past year, but it was also the source of many arguments. you weren’t even sure you wanted to get married now, but your mother had been getting into your ear about you getting older. then, there were your respective companies who lost their shit at the idea. but, what really mattered, was jungkook’s opinion. he seemed to wave it off or change the topic at every opportunity, so your hopes for a ring lived in the back of your mind. 

  despite this, taehyung was right. jungkook looked nervous. he’d been irritated at being dragged to his surprise party - you wondered if it was delusional enough to believe that he had plans for the two of you, instead. 

  for the rest of the night, you continued to keep to yourself. you weren’t lying when you told jungkook you were tired, but you were determined to stay as long as you could and pretend that you and jungkook weren’t stealing mysterious glances at each other for the entire evening. it was obvious and only made you anxious. 

  a few hours later and the party only grew in numbers and in noise. you thought you lost him in the crowd, until you left to refill your nth drink and found him talking to his cousin.

  the two were smiling and laughing, as his cousin appeared to be showing jungkook pictures on his phone. you assumed it was her newborn daughter - she gave birth just two months before her fiance was to be discharged and now that he was back, the wedding was just around the corner. you remembered jungkook telling you that she was proposed to on the day of his enlistment. 

  jungkook caught your eye and he immediately looked away - what the hell was that? he even turned slightly and you couldn’t read his lips. something was going on. you watched him shove his hands in his pockets and you swore you saw the shape of a small square inside.

  eventually, you grew tired of the tension in the air and the music began to make your head pound. the longer you thought about your partner, the greater your anxieties grew. there was a chance you even just although it was late in the year and a fresh sheet of snow adorned the streets of seoul, you decided it was best to step out into the balcony to take some time to breathe. 

  nobody else was there, thankfully, and you let out a shiver when you stepped out. the peppermint air dispelled the haze in your head and in your heart, as taking a deep breath was the greatest relief you felt all night. though your muscles remained tense and you knew you wouldn’t last out in the cold, the balcony was a welcome change.

  you weren’t sure how long you were outside when the door creaked open and just by the footsteps alone, you knew who it was.

  “your guests will miss you,” you said, not even looking behind you.

  at this point, you were hugging yourself to stop shivering. a rustle later and you felt a thick blanket drape over your shoulders, the wool of its make completely enveloping you with much needed warmth. you relaxed your shoulders, but couldn’t look jungkook in the eyes.

  “something’s wrong. tell me.”

  jungkook’s wine stained lips were pulled into a frown and although he hid it well when he was chatting away with his friends and family, you could see the exhaustion in his eyes. he sniffled a few times and you knew why, but you decided to bite your tongue. it was his party and he was an adult who could celebrate whatever way he wanted. it was also clear that neither of you had the energy to argue. instead, to his surprise, you raised an arm and gestured for him to come closer.

  he sidestepped towards you and although you were shorter, let you wrap some of the blanket around him. his cold arm snaked around your waist and you tensed up again at his touch.

  you continued to look out into the skyline. “i was going to say the same for you.”

  “i’m really thankful for the party, love,” he ignored your question and pressed a kiss against your temple.

  you mumbled under your breath, “it wasn’t easy." this was the first time all night that you were comfortable enough to physically touch jungkook and you suspected alcohol played a role in relieving the tension between you two, but it was always going to be easy to fall right back into routine.

  and just like that, you felt a stinging sensation in your eyes. tears welled up and blurred your vision, which only made you turn your head away further from your boyfriend. he caught this immediately, his instincts nothing but natural when it came to you, and pulled you right into his chest. 

  the sound that came out of your mouth sounded nothing like you. the sob was desperate and helpless. it was akin to a toddler who couldn’t do anything by themselves. your voice cracked with each body-shaking sob and you didn’t have the guts to conceal it. your head was buried into jungkook’s new shirt, ruining it, but he only stroked your hair and wrapped the blanket tighter around the two of you.

  “it’s okay. . .” jungkook cooed and for what seemed like the first time in a while, he sounded like himself. 

  it wasn’t like jungkook had undergone a drastic change from his time in america, but it was a gradual shift that you felt over a longer period of time. you attributed to the fact that you were no longer teenagers and things weren’t going to be the same as it did ten, even five years ago. that was what you told yourself, but you weren’t sure why you still held on to the old jungkook you knew.

  in that moment, he sounded like the fifteen year old boy you met in a convenience store again. he sounded like the jungkook who wrote you disgusting love songs that were horrible, but you adored anyway. he sounded like the man who you talked about children and a big house and an annoying dog with. 

  as you found the bravery to finally pull away from jungkook’s comforting embrace, you looked up and saw that future in his eyes. his features softened, but he looked sad. your heart sank once again.

  “you’re not just crying because i’m enlisting, are you?” he finally spoke, just above a whisper. his tone was certain, barely a question - after ten years together, jungkook knew you better than you knew yourself.

  you froze. there was nothing else you could do but shut your eyes tight, pretending that this wasn’t really happening.

  after a beat, you found your voice. “listen. . .we both know what happens after a man enlists. look at taehyung and jimin. look at your cousin.” 

  over the years, you and jungkook had gone through hell and back. you thought the worst day of your life was when dispatch leaked the news that you were dating five years ago, but you were able to recover. you thought it was the worst day of your life when your breakup was witnessed by the entire world, but you were able to recover. you even thought the worst day of your life was when word got out that you and jungkook got back together, effectively proving that you were weak and were the type of girl to crawl back to her ex. you recovered then, as well.

  at the second part of your sentence, you felt jungkook physically tense up.

  “is that why you’ve been acting weird lately?” he replied.

  you don’t know where it came from, but something triggered a spark of anger in you. still, with a tear stained face and a runny nose, you opened your eyes and met his. this was not something you would be able to recover from.

  you said, “it hasn’t just been lately, jungkook. you know exactly what’s on my mind, we’ve been talking - “

  “ - and you know what my answer has been, baby. you know what kind of position i’m in,” he interrupted, breaking apart from your hold and the blanket he brought for you.

  he wasn’t wrong. you did know what kind of position he was in. one of the biggest stars in the world and he had everything to lose, especially with the anxieties looming in the air for him and the rest of his group. every one of them were on their toes as soon as their enlistment dates were finalized, fearing their fade from the spotlight. you and the rest of the world knew that it was bullshit, that the bts was going to be forgotten just because they were going into the military for a few years. 

  marriage would surely ruin that further, right?

  you said, “and you know what position i’m in.”

  the careless joys of your early twenties had come and gone, which left you at the mercy of your mother’s constant talks about marriage. not just her, but other family members and even some of your friends. after all, you and jungkook had been together for ten years and you were pushing thirty sooner or later. 

  you also had your own fears in regard to your career. jungkook once laughed when you expressed your worries about the public no longer finding you young and pretty, but it was a real fear. most girl groups didn’t last more than a few years. many of your contemporaries had long said goodbye to their idol persona and went their separate ways from their band for a new life. you were considered a lucky one to remain with your group and maintain relevance, but for how long? was it time for you to finally settle down? you weren’t granted the same longevity as jungkook’s renowned group and you weren’t bitter about it, but nervous.

  snowflakes began to fall once again and as one fell on your eyelashes, you noticed jungkook’s jaw clench. 

  “we’ve talked about this,” he said and you knew your wandering thoughts about a potential proposal were too good to be true.

  you began, “look, i know that things are different for people like us. . “ but, things were changing. in recent years, you watched several of your peers get married and have children without losing their spot in the limelight. 

  “y/n. . .what made you think i changed my mind?” jungkook sighed, pacing back and forth to calm himself down.

  “i just thought. . .”

  “i’m sorry, but i wasn’t going to propose before my enlistment.” this time, jungkook’s frustrations melted away and there was genuine sadness in his voice. 

  he stepped closer to you and put his hands on your waist. you didn’t know what to say. you really had been pretending that his strange behaviour was because of a hope that seemed impossible now. 

  you took a deep breath. “you never said no. you made it seem like you were considering it.”

  that was what silenced jungkook. it was true, there was never an outright refusal from jungkook. he would say things that implied he would talk to his company again or “with time” it would come. he gave you just enough reassurance, but never confirmation. 

  continuing, you said, “and you even indulged in keeping the fantasy alive with me. you’re sick for talking about honeymoon destinations with me and suggesting songs we could dance to.”

  “hey. i’ve said time ands time again that there is no future where you aren’t by my side,” jungkook tried getting you to look at him, but every time he moved, you turned away. 

  there was no reason for you to make eye contact. you felt like a fool and if you met his eyes, you knew you would just burst into tears again. then, you thought about your conversation earlier with your friends and your vision became wet again.

  “were you planning to break up with me before you enlisted?”

  “what? no,” he responded, but you weren’t convinced. 

  you responded, “it was going to be inevitable, wasn’t it? like jimin and taehyung. you were going to be done with me.”

  this time, jungkook forced you to look at him by the chin and your shoulders dropped. there was a crease in between his eyebrows that you don’t remember seeing even just a year ago. he looked more tired than he did as a rookie with barely survivable living standards. 

  “time really goes by, huh?” you murmured, fighting to keep your voice stable.

  “we were never going to break up, love,” jungkook maintained.

  still, his words didn’t penetrate further than surface level. you were left numb and the chill of winter in seoul had nothing to do with it. you wished that someone would just call jungkook away, but the party inside continued on without him. 

  “you bought a ring. i saw it when we video called.”

  jungkook’s lips parted. you knew it. you knew you weren’t losing your mind. over the last ten years, you made some crazy accusations for all kinds of reasons. this time was different and you saw it on his face.

  even after what seemed like forever, jungkook couldn’t find words to say. the longer he waited to speak, the faster your heart began to race. 

  he rubbed his temples and finally, he spoke. jungkook spoke and you immediately dropped the blanket he brought for you, dashing right back inside. you walked past every single attendee and ignored the few that cried out your name. you didn’t care what it looked like. you just knew you had to get out of there.

  jungkook said there was a ring. he began to open his mouth and explain further, especially when he read the horrified expression on your face, but you wanted no part in it. there was no room for you to think about what that meant. you only saw red.

  you weren’t sure why you wanted a proposal so badly. you knew you didn’t care that much about what your mother wanted and getting married was no solution to the prospects of a dying career. you were second guessing if your wishes for a wedding were even genuine. 

  on the other hand, maybe you intended for the wedding to be a solution to a dying relationship. 

LATEST NEWS: hybe dismisses reports that bts’ jungkook and S.IREN’s nova are engaged, seeking legal action against gossip website that went viral for spreading the false rumour

@butnotmontana @rinkud @kookiescutie @nlr1606 @claireshelby @xtrataerrestrial @whoa-jo @tinyxrose @lavendersugarplum @bangtans-momma @firelcrds @sstrongstyle

[reidmarieprentiss]

Breaking Point

Summary: Spencer has a partner, his partner is not necessarily a great person. You really just want to connect with him, he is your roommate, Penelope's, friend after all. But Spencer just does not seem to like you, can you change that?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: Spencer has a partner, implied bisexual Spencer, non-graphic cheating, emotionally distant partner, controlling partner, Spencer is sassy and kind of mean, mention of Spencer's drug problem, insecurities

Word count: 14.6k

a/n: i know i can treat you better than they cannnnn -- happy one day early post !!!!

main masterlist part two

The evening was typical for you—a night out with the team at one of their usual spots, a lively bar that served as the backdrop for many of their post-case celebrations. You were perched on a high stool at the bar, sipping on a cocktail Penelope, your roommate, had insisted you try, something bright and fruity with just the right amount of sweetness. The music was loud enough to make conversation a bit challenging, but not so much that it drowned everyone out.

You leaned back slightly, your eyes casually scanning the room. Derek was engaged in a playful argument with JJ about some obscure movie reference, and Rossi was deep in conversation with Hotch. Everyone seemed relaxed, their faces lit with the glow of well-deserved downtime.

But then, something caught your eye—a flash of movement at the other end of the bar. Spencer, the quiet and reserved member of the team who had always been somewhat of a mystery to you, was engaged in what looked like a rather intense conversation with someone you didn’t recognize. The contrast between Spencer’s usual timid demeanor and the animated gestures he was making now piqued your curiosity.

You leaned closer to Penelope, who was sitting beside you, tapping away on her phone as usual, her fingers a blur of activity. "Who’s that?" you asked, nodding toward Spencer and the unknown person.

Penelope glanced up from her screen, following your gaze, and immediately sighed, rolling her eyes in a way that suggested this was a scene she had witnessed more times than she cared to count. "That’s Eli," she said, the name laced with a tone that was hard to miss. "Spencer’s partner."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Spencer has a partner?" The revelation blew your mind. You'd known the team for over a year, seen and been seen in all sorts of situations—some more embarrassing than others—and not once had Spencer ever mentioned having a partner. It was like discovering a hidden chapter in a book you thought you knew well.

Penelope gave you a knowing look, her lips pressing together as if she were debating whether or not to continue. You nudged her lightly, urging her on. "What is it? You can’t just leave me hanging."

She sighed again, this time more softly, and leaned in closer so that only you could hear. "It just doesn’t seem like they’re very happy together, you know? They always seem to be arguing about something or other. I don't think I’ve ever seen them have a normal conversation."

You turned your attention back to Spencer and Eli, who were still deep in conversation—if you could even call it that. From where you were sitting, it looked more like Eli was doing most of the talking, their tone sharp, while Spencer listened, his face a mask of confusion and quiet frustration.

"Why does he stay with them if they’re so unhappy?" you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. 

Penelope shrugged, taking a sip of her drink before responding. "Spencer's complicated, you know? I think part of him feels…responsible or something. Like he has to make it work, even if it’s not working."

You nodded, still watching the exchange between Spencer and Eli, feeling a strange mix of emotions. Part of you was shocked that Spencer, someone who always seemed so put-together, was caught up in a relationship that didn’t seem to bring him any joy. And another part of you, the part that had always felt a bit of an inexplicable attachment to him, felt a pang of something else—something almost like protectiveness.

"I never would’ve guessed," you murmured, more to yourself than to Penelope. 

"Yeah, well," Penelope replied, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "There’s a lot about Spencer that’s easy to miss if you’re not looking closely."

As the night wore on, you couldn't help but keep glancing in Spencer's direction, wondering what else you might have missed about him over the past year. The more you thought about it, the more you realized how little you actually knew about the man who had somehow managed to become both a puzzle and an enigma in your life.

—

You’re not sure what brought on this new damn near obsession with Spencer Reid, but ever since you found out about him having a partner, you’ve been thinking about him differently. It was as if knowing he was capable of being in a relationship made you want to be the one who showed him what a healthy one looks like. The thought had wormed its way into your mind and now, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop thinking about him in your daily life. 

Whether you were at work, at home, or out with friends, your thoughts always seemed to drift back to Spencer—his quiet demeanor, the way he fiddled with his hands when he was nervous, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about something he was passionate about. You found yourself daydreaming about what it would be like to be the one who made him smile, the one who could take away the stress you’d seen him carry.

Weeks passed, and you tried to push these thoughts to the back of your mind, but they always crept back in. So when Penelope proposed a night at Rossi’s, you jumped at the opportunity, hoping that maybe being around him might help you understand why you were feeling this way.

When you arrived at Rossi’s, the place was buzzing with laughter and conversation. Penelope was already engaged in a lively discussion with Derek and JJ, and Rossi was busy pouring drinks for everyone. As you scanned the room, your eyes landed on Spencer, standing off to the side, a drink in hand. He was alone—no Eli in sight.

Your heart skipped a beat, and before you knew it, you were making your way over to him, driven by an urge to finally talk to him alone. Maybe this was your chance to get to know him better, to bridge the gap that had always seemed to exist between you two.

“Hey, Spencer,” you greeted, nudging your elbow gently against his as you walked up next to him.

“Oh, hi, Y/N,” he replied, his voice carrying a hint of confusion as he looked at you. It was as if he wasn’t quite sure why you had come over.

“How are you?” you asked, trying to sound casual, though your heart was beating a little faster than you’d like to admit.

“Fine, thanks,” he nodded, his gaze drifting away from you almost immediately. “And you?”

“I’m great, thank you!” you answered with a smile, hoping to ease the tension that seemed to hang in the air between you.

But Spencer didn’t reply. Instead, he stood there, clearly feeling awkward, his eyes focused on some distant point in the room. You bit your lip, trying to think of something else to say, something that might spark a real conversation.

“So…I didn’t know you were seeing someone,” you ventured, letting out a small, nervous laugh, hoping to lighten the mood.

At that, Spencer stiffened. He finally turned to look at you, his expression hardening in a way that caught you off guard. “Well, you don’t really know me, do you?” he said, his tone colder than you’d ever heard it before.

“What?” you asked, taken aback by his sudden shift in demeanor. The sharpness in his voice sent a jolt through you, making you feel like you’d stepped onto thin ice without realizing it.

But he didn’t stop there. “You don’t know me at all, Y/N,” he continued, his voice carrying an edge of bitterness as he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Why would you be privy to intimate details of my life?”

The words hit you like a slap in the face, and you stood there, stunned and at a loss for words. “Oh—I don’t know, I’m sorry,” you stuttered, your confidence crumbling as you tried to process what had just happened. You had expected many things from this conversation, but this level of hostility wasn’t one of them.

“Yeah, okay,” Spencer muttered, a bitter laugh escaping his lips as he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you standing there, violently confused.

You watched him retreat, your mind racing to understand what had just happened. The warmth and excitement you had felt moments ago were now replaced by a cold, sinking feeling in your chest. What had you done wrong? Why had he reacted that way?

As you stood there, the lively chatter and laughter of the party continued around you, but it all felt distant, muffled. All you could think about was Spencer’s harsh words, and the way he had looked at you—like you were a stranger, like you had crossed a line you didn’t even know existed.

“Hey mama, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. You good?” Derek’s deep, familiar voice cut through the fog of your thoughts, grounding you back in the present. 

You blinked a few times, forcing a smile onto your face as you turned to face Derek. “Huh? Oh yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, doing your best to sound convincing. “It’s good to see you!”

Derek didn’t seem entirely convinced, his brow furrowing slightly as he studied you, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he smiled back, his usual warmth returning as he pulled you into a quick hug. “Good to see you too, girl. Let’s get you back in the spirit of the night, huh?”

You nodded, grateful for his easy going nature as you allowed yourself to be swept back into the flow of the evening. Derek had a way of making everything feel a little lighter, and as the two of you rejoined the group, you found yourself easing back into the laughter and conversation around you. It wasn’t hard to get caught up in the fun, especially with Penelope’s infectious energy and Rossi’s endless supply of stories.

But no matter how much you tried to focus on the good vibes of the night, there was a nagging thought at the back of your mind—a quiet, persistent echo of your brief and bewildering interaction with Spencer. You couldn’t shake the image of his face, the sudden hardness in his eyes, and the way his tone had shifted so drastically from the Spencer you thought you knew.

You stole a glance across the room, where Spencer was now engaged in a conversation with JJ, his expression relaxed, his laughter genuine. It was as if nothing had happened at all, as if your exchange just moments earlier hadn’t rattled you to your core.

The contrast was jarring, and it left you feeling even more confused. How could he seem so unaffected, so nonchalant, after what had just transpired? It was like the sweet, shy man you’d come to know had been ripped away in an instant, replaced by someone who was colder, more distant, and completely unreadable.

You couldn’t help but wonder what you had done wrong, why such an innocent question had triggered such a reaction from him. It was just one question—one that, in hindsight, seemed harmless. And yet, his response had been anything but.

“Hey, earth to Y/N,” Derek’s voice snapped you back again, this time with a playful nudge. “Where’d you go just now? I was asking if you wanted another drink.”

You blinked, realizing you had zoned out again. “Oh, sorry! Yeah, I could use another one,” you said, offering him another smile. This time, you meant it. Maybe another drink would help you forget the odd tension for a little while, help you push Spencer out of your mind.

—

That night, as the evening began to wind down, you noticed Spencer slipping out quietly after saying his goodbyes to everyone but you. A pang of something—hurt, maybe?—struck you as you watched him head toward the front door, his figure receding into the night. You tried to brush it off, telling yourself it was just the lingering awkwardness from earlier, nothing more.

But then you noticed something out of place—Spencer had left his satchel behind, the one he always carried with him, filled with books, notes, and who knows what else. Without thinking, you grabbed it and rushed out the door after him, your heart pounding with adrenaline and the hope of another chance to talk.

“Spencer! Wait!” you called out, your voice echoing in the cool night air as you ran down the driveway, the gravel crunching under your feet.

Spencer, already halfway into the passenger seat of the car, paused at the sound of your voice. He looked back over his shoulder, his expression immediately shifting to one of mild annoyance when he realized it was you. For a brief moment, you wondered if he was hoping it would be anyone else but you.

“You left your bag,” you panted, holding it up as you caught up to him.

“Oh,” he replied, his tone flat, his eyes glancing at the bag as if it was the last thing on his mind. “Thanks,” Spencer added, his voice barely above a mumble as he took the satchel from your hands. 

You forced a smile, trying to ignore the awkward tension hanging between you. But just as you were about to wish him a good night, your eyes shifted to the driver’s seat where Eli was sitting, glaring at you with a cold, suspicious gaze that sent a shiver down your spine. The intensity of their stare made you falter, your words catching in your throat.

“Have a good ni—” you started, but before you could finish, Eli’s hand jerked the car into gear, and the tires screeched against the pavement as they peeled out of the driveway. The door barely had time to close behind Spencer before they were speeding off into the night.

You stood there, breathless and confused, watching the taillights disappear down the road. The cold night air seemed to wrap around you, a stark contrast to the warmth that had filled Rossi’s home just minutes ago.

You couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that had settled deep in your chest. The way Spencer had looked at you, the way Eli had glared, the way the car had sped off as if they couldn’t wait to leave you behind—it all left you feeling more out of sorts than ever.

—

The next time you saw Spencer, it was completely by accident. You were excitedly attending the grand opening of a vintage bookstore that had been on your calendar for months. The store was rumored to have an original copy of Pride and Prejudice, and you were determined to get your hands on it. As you approached the entrance, ready to join the line that had already started forming, a tall, familiar figure caught your eye.

Spencer was standing off to the side, hunched in on himself as he spoke into his phone. His posture was tense, and his voice, though hushed, carried a tone of desperation and frustration that made you slow your steps.

“—you said you would be here! You know how important this is to me…” His voice wavered, and he paused, listening to whoever was on the other end of the line.

Your heart ached as you watched him, his expression filled with hurt and disappointment. His next words were spoken with an urgency that tugged at something deep inside you.

“I went to your comicon, waited all night in line to get a video game for you, and I did that…thing! This morning, remember?”

You couldn’t hear what Eli was saying, but from the look on Spencer’s face, it was clear that whatever it was, it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. You could hear the strain in his voice, the way it shook as he tried to hold back his emotions.

“Eli,” Spencer sighed, the sound so full of defeat that it nearly broke your heart. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “I never ask you to do anything…it does matter! It’s not stupid…okay. Yeah. Bye. Love you too.”

As he ended the call, you watched as he put his phone in his pocket, his shoulders slumping as he sniffled, clearly trying to compose himself. The vulnerability in his posture made you want to reach out, to comfort him, to tell him that he deserved so much better than this.

But before he could see you, you quickly made your way past him and into the line, your heart racing. You didn’t want to embarrass him by acknowledging what you had overheard. It felt too private, too raw, and you knew that if the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t want someone to witness such a moment of weakness.

Little did you know that Spencer had seen you walk by, his heart sinking further as he realized you might have heard his conversation. The idea of you knowing how he couldn’t even get his partner to come to a bookstore—a place that meant so much to him—was mortifying. It was bad enough that Eli had chosen to watch football with their friends instead of joining him, but the thought of you knowing about it only added to his embarrassment.

Spencer fell into line a few people behind you, trying to shake off the lingering feelings of rejection. He wished that the rift between you two didn’t exist, especially on a day like today. The thought of walking through the store with someone, discussing books, sharing little discoveries, was something that would have brought him immense joy. But now, with the awkwardness hanging between you like a thick fog, he knew it wasn’t possible.

As the line moved forward, you tried to focus on the excitement of the bookstore’s opening, but you couldn’t help but steal glances back at Spencer. He looked so alone, so isolated, and it made your chest tighten with an emotion you didn’t quite want to name. The bookstore should have been a place of happiness for him, but all you could see was the shadow of his disappointment.

You had managed to find the original Pride and Prejudice that you wanted, and your heart felt so full it was almost overwhelming. This book meant the world to you, bringing back memories of your grandmother reading it to you when you were sick as a child. The familiar scent of old pages and the sight of the worn, delicate cover brought a lump to your throat, but it was the good kind, the kind of feeling that reminded you of warmth and love.

As you clutched the book to your chest, savoring the moment, a voice came from behind you, pulling you out of your reverie. “Great choice, I can’t believe they have an original.”

You turned, surprised, to see a very attractive stranger standing there. They had strikingly beautiful eyes that seemed to draw you in, making you momentarily forget where you were. “Yeah, it’s my favorite,” you replied with a bright smile. “I’m so glad I was able to get it.”

“Shane,” they offered, extending their hand with an easy, confident smile. “Nice to meet you.”

You took their hand, feeling a pleasant warmth from the gesture. “Y/N,” you said, your smile widening. “Nice to meet you too.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly after that. You and Shane chatted about literature, the excitement of the new bookstore, and your mutual love for classic novels. Their enthusiasm for books mirrored your own, and you found yourself enjoying the banter, feeling a sense of connection with this person you’d just met.

What you didn’t realize was that Spencer was watching from afar, his heart twisting in knots as he observed how easily you interacted with new people. It was something he envied—how naturally you navigated social situations, how the friendly vibes seemed to radiate off you in waves. Anyone could see how nice you were, how approachable, and it only made him more aware of the tension that had built up between the two of you.

He wished things could have gotten off to a better start between you. But every time he thought about trying to fix things, that cold interaction from the other night lingered in his mind, making him think it was too late. And now, seeing you so effortlessly connect with someone else, someone who had already made you smile, only deepened the pang of jealousy in his chest.

As you made your way to the register, Shane walked with you, continuing the conversation. Just before you reached the counter, Shane asked, “Hey, would it be okay if I got your number? I’d love to keep talking about books and maybe grab a coffee sometime.”

You smiled, feeling flattered by the request. “Sure, I’d like that.” You exchanged numbers, feeling a small flutter of excitement as you parted ways with Shane.

Meanwhile, Spencer watched from a distance, the jealousy tightening its grip. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the effortless way in which you interacted with others, or if it was the fact that someone else had gotten your number so easily—something he knew he could never have done. Either way, the feeling gnawed at him, making him feel even more isolated than before.

When it was your turn to pay, you glanced back and noticed Spencer standing behind you in line. His eyes were downcast, his expression unreadable, but you remembered how upset he had been earlier. Knowing he was having a bad day and sensing the awkward vibes that had developed between the two of you, you decided to do something small to brighten his day.

Leaning in to the cashier, you whispered, “Could you estimate how much his books would cost?”

The cashier smiled and nodded, quickly scanning the stack of books in Spencer’s hands with their eyes. They told you the amount, and you quietly pulled out your bills, paying for Spencer’s purchases along with your own. Without saying a word to him, you took your bag and left the store, hoping that this small act of kindness might bring a bit of light into his day.

As Spencer approached the counter, still lost in his thoughts, the cashier smiled warmly at him. “You’re all set, sir. The woman in front of you already paid for your books.”

Spencer blinked, momentarily stunned. “She… she did what?” he asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

The cashier nodded, still smiling. “She paid for everything. Said she hoped you’d have a good day.”

Spencer stood there, dumbfounded, holding the bag of books as if it were the most precious thing in the world. His mind raced, trying to make sense of why you would do something so kind for him when he had been nothing but cold to you since you met. The memory of your most recent awkward exchange at Rossi’s house replayed in his head, and guilt washed over him like a tidal wave.

Why would you do such a kind thing? He didn’t deserve it, not after the way he had treated you. And yet, you had done it anyway, without a word, without expecting anything in return.

As Spencer left the store, the bag of books clutched in his hand, he was overwhelmed by a mix of gratitude, guilt, and a growing sense of something missing. He’d had doubts about his relationship with Eli before, but he had always convinced himself that this was just how relationships were—messy and full of compromises.

But after seeing your kindness and how effortlessly you connected with others, Spencer couldn’t help but wonder if he was missing out on something better. For the first time, he questioned whether he deserved more than what he had settled for with Eli. Your simple act of paying for his books had cracked open a door in his mind, making him realize that maybe there was a different, happier path he could take—one that might even include someone like you.

—

When Spencer walked into the bullpen that Monday, he immediately noticed Penelope animatedly talking with Derek and Emily. The moment she heard someone enter, her eyes lit up as she saw him.

“Reid!” she exclaimed with her usual enthusiasm.

Spencer couldn’t help but smile as he walked over to her instead of heading straight to his desk. “What’s up?” he asked, his tone light and amused.

“Look!” Penelope gushed, thrusting a book into his hands with excitement.

Spencer glanced down, recognizing the book instantly—it was a first edition of a title he knew Penelope loved. His eyes widened in genuine awe. “Wow! Where did you find this?” he asked, marveling at the rare find.

Penelope sighed happily, clutching her hands to her heart. “Y/N got it for me! I couldn’t make it to the new bookstore, and she knew how sad I was, so she bought this to cheer me up!”

Spencer processed this new piece of information, feeling a warmth spread through him. Of course you did, he thought to himself, you’re the nicest person ever. “That’s… that’s really great, Garcia,” he said with a sincere smile.

“Isn’t she just the sweetest?” Penelope beamed, taking the book back and staring at it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Derek chuckled, adding, “Yeah, mama. That girl is a gem. I’m glad someone is treating you good when I’m not around.”

Spencer nodded, his mind lingering on you. It was just another reminder of the kind of person you were, and it made him think even more about what he might be missing out on.

"Something brewing in that big brain?" Emily teased, noticing Spencer had gone quiet, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

"Hmm?" Spencer responded, looking up at her, momentarily pulled from his reverie.

"Are you okay, Reid?" she tried again, her voice tinged with concern.

Spencer shifted uncomfortably under the weight of their stares. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just... haven't had my coffee yet," he replied, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

Derek chuckled, sensing Spencer's discomfort. "Rossi just made a new pot. I'll go grab a cup with you, pretty boy."

Spencer nodded gratefully as the two men headed to the breakroom, which was mostly empty, save for a few agents from other departments who were too engrossed in their own conversations to pay them any mind.

"Do anything fun this weekend?" Derek asked casually as he started making his coffee, glancing over at Spencer with a curious look.

Spencer allowed himself a small smile as he replied, "Yeah, I went to that new bookstore. They had their grand opening."

Derek thought for a moment, then asked, "Did you see Y/N there?"

Spencer's hand froze mid-stir, his expression faltering. "Oh, uh, no," he said, clearing his throat awkwardly, clearly caught off guard by the question.

Derek narrowed his eyes, not missing the way Spencer suddenly seemed on edge. "Alright, spit it out, kid," he pressed, sensing there was more to the story.

"Spit what out?" Spencer sassed, attempting to deflect, but his tone lacked conviction.

Derek just sighed, giving him a look that said, Don't bullshit me. "I've noticed you don't necessarily... enjoy Y/N's company. Did you run into her? Was it weird?"

Spencer let out a sigh, knowing there was no point in trying to hide it from Derek. "Yeah, I saw her," he admitted quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor. "But it wasn't weird. I mean, not exactly. It’s just... complicated."

Derek raised an eyebrow, waiting for Spencer to continue. "Complicated how?"

Spencer hesitated, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I think she might have overheard me on the phone with Eli... They were supposed to come with me to the bookstore, but they didn’t. I was upset," Spencer shrugged, trying to downplay the hurt in his voice.

Derek softened his gaze, sensing the vulnerability in Spencer’s words. "I’m sorry, man. Did they give a good reason?"

Spencer shrugged again, his eyes welling up as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "Um, they said they needed to watch the football game. Something to do with the fantasy league they’re in."

Derek rolled his eyes, his frustration evident. "That is not a good reason. Eli should have known this was important to you."

Spencer cleared his throat, staring intently at his coffee, willing the tears not to fall. "They knew... I don’t know if they cared."

"Reid..." Derek began, his voice gentle, but Spencer quickly waved his hand, cutting him off.

"No, no. It’s fine—we talked about it," Spencer said, his voice wavering but firm, clearly wanting to move past the topic.

Seeing that Spencer didn’t want to delve deeper into the matter, Derek decided to let it go for now, though he still hadn’t gotten the answer to his earlier question. "What does that have to do with Y/N?"

Spencer sighed heavily, the weight of his embarrassment pressing down on him. "She was walking past during the end of the call. I think she might have heard me, but she was too polite to say anything. I don’t know… I’m just embarrassed. My own partner wouldn’t show up to something that important to me, and she probably heard how pathetic that sounded."

Derek frowned, his heart going out to his friend. "You’re not pathetic, Reid. You’ve just been dealt a rough hand. And Y/N… well, she’s not the kind of person to judge you for that. If anything, she probably feels bad that you were hurt."

Spencer nodded, though the shame still lingered. "Yeah, maybe. It’s just hard, you know? I don’t want her—or anyone—to see me like that."

Derek gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "I get it, man. But Y/N… she’s good people. Maybe talking to her might help, even if it’s just to clear the air."

Spencer considered Derek’s words, the idea of reaching out to you both comforting and terrifying. But deep down, he knew Derek was right. It wasn’t too late to make things right, and maybe—just maybe—you’d be the understanding ear he desperately needed.

After parting ways with Derek, Spencer realized he’d forgotten to mention how you had quietly paid for his books at the bookstore. Wrapped up in the emotions of their conversation, it had slipped his mind. But as he returned to his desk, the memory resurfaced, and he found himself holding onto it like a cherished secret.

Spencer wanted to keep that moment to himself, a private reminder of your kindness. It had meant more to him than words could express, especially in a time when he often felt overlooked. Your simple act of generosity was a bright spot, making him feel seen and cared for in a way he rarely experienced.

—

Thursday evening marked your first date with Shane, and it was everything you had hoped for. They had called earlier in the week to make plans, and you were excited to have someone showing genuine interest and making an effort. Penelope had eagerly offered to help you get ready, her expertise in all things beauty proving invaluable.

"Pen, you’re seriously the best," you gushed as she applied the finishing touches to your look. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Penelope giggled, her eyes twinkling. "Probably show up looking a lot less flamboyant!"

"And we would not want that," you teased with a smile, savoring every moment of girl time with your roommate and best friend.

When Shane arrived to pick you up, they were the epitome of courteousness—opening doors, pulling out your chair, and keeping the conversation lively throughout the evening. It was an amazing first date, made even better by Shane’s undeniable attractiveness. You enjoyed yourself thoroughly, feeling a spark of excitement about where this could lead.

Meanwhile, across the restaurant, Spencer sat at a table with Eli, his view of you unobstructed. What should have been a special anniversary dinner had been overshadowed by the effort it took to even get Eli to agree to go out. Spencer had to beg them to celebrate, with Eli initially resisting, claiming they didn’t want to spend the money. Spencer had insisted it was worth it, that their relationship was worth celebrating. Eli eventually caved, but only because they didn’t want Spencer to start crying—again.

As Spencer watched you laugh and smile with Shane, he felt a sharp pang in his chest, the desire to drown his sorrows in a bottle of wine nearly overwhelming. The contrast between your joyous date and his own crumbling relationship was stark. Eli sat across from him, more interested in checking their fantasy football league stats than in engaging with him.

Of course, you would go on a date with the attractive person from the bookstore. In Spencer’s eyes, they were everything he wasn’t. It made sense that you’d find happiness with someone like that, while he watched his own chances at joy slip further away. It was just another reminder that good things, happiness, were always just out of reach for him. As he sat there, barely holding back his tears, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of his own choices, the realization that he had pushed away someone who might have brought him the kind of happiness he saw reflected in your smile from across the room.

After Shane paid the bill for your dinner, causing you to swoon at the kind gesture, the two of you walked toward the exit, Shane’s hand resting intimately on your lower back. As you passed by Spencer's table, you couldn’t resist saying hello, the expensive wine Shane had ordered loosening your tongue.

“Spencer! Hi!” you greeted excitedly, your smile wide.

Spencer looked up at you, clearly caught off guard, his expression quickly shifting to a polite smile. “Hello,” he replied, trying to mask his surprise.

“What are you doing here? Is this Eli?” You turned to the person sitting across from him, offering a warm smile.

Eli, however, gave you a cold, sinister look. “Wow, beauty and brains, what a catch,” they remarked snidely, directing their comment at Shane.

The sarcasm completely flew over your head, and you responded cheerfully, “I think you’re pretty too! It’s so nice to meet you, and Spencer, so good to see you! Bye!” You gave a little wave, before taking Shane’s hand and dragging them toward the car, their laughter following behind you. Shane, having had much less to drink, simply smiled, amused by your tipsy enthusiasm.

As soon as you were out of earshot, Spencer grew even more quiet, while Eli’s anger simmered, their face contorting with irritation.

“What the fuck was that?” Eli asked, their voice low and venomous.

Spencer’s head snapped up, startled by the harshness in Eli’s tone. “What? Y/N? She’s drunk,” he replied, trying to defuse the situation, though he felt increasingly uncomfortable under Eli’s glare.

“No shit, Spencer,” Eli scoffed, rolling their eyes with frustration. “But why did they say hi to you?”

Spencer fumbled for an explanation, feeling cornered. “Umm… I guess we’re kind of friends by association?” he offered, his words uncertain, as even he wasn’t sure how to define your relationship.

Eli’s eyes narrowed, their anger intensifying. “I told you not to talk to her. I asked you to do one fucking thing in this relationship—how hard is it to not talk to some dumb bimbo?” they snarled.

Spencer shrank in his seat, feeling like a scolded child. His embarrassment was palpable as he tried to explain, “I can’t help that she’s Penelope’s roommate. I like to be civil.”

“Civil, sure,” Eli spat, their tone dripping with contempt. “But I’m serious, Spencer. Don’t. Fucking. Talk to her.”

Spencer sat there, shrinking further under Eli’s gaze, a sense of helplessness washing over him. The contrast between your cheerful, lighthearted demeanor and Eli’s seething anger left him feeling more isolated than ever. The joy you had shown in such a simple greeting only highlighted the growing chasm between him and his partner, making him question, yet again, why he was holding onto something that felt so toxic and damaging.

—

It was a few weeks before your paths crossed with Spencer again, and during that time, he couldn't help but wonder if Eli had somehow managed to keep you away from him. But today, here you were, standing in the bullpen with Penelope’s phone in hand, panting slightly from your rush to deliver it.

“Y/N! You’re a lifesaver!” Penelope cried out, pulling you into a tight hug.

You laughed, catching your breath. “I don’t even know how you made it out of the house without this thing, I thought it was attached to you!”

Derek and Emily joined in the laughter, clearly enjoying the interaction. “Baby girl was excited to come in today—they gave her a new monitor,” Derek teased, grinning.

“Ohh, show me!” you clapped your hands in excitement, your enthusiasm infectious.

As you followed Penelope to her office, you passed by Spencer’s desk, giving him a soft, “Hi, Spencer,” your voice low and warm.

But Spencer didn’t look up. He simply stared down at the file in front of him, his mind far from his work. Eli’s threat echoed in his head, reminding him that he couldn’t talk to you. The lack of response went unnoticed by everyone except for you and Emily.

After you disappeared into Penelope’s office, Emily walked over to Spencer’s desk, her expression concerned. “Reid…? Is something wrong?” she asked cautiously, her voice gentle.

Spencer looked up, shaking his head as if to brush off her concern. “No,” he replied curtly, but his tone was anything but reassuring.

Emily wasn’t convinced. “Okay, well, it’s just… you ignored Y/N pretty harshly. I think she was just trying to be nice.”

Spencer knew it was an overreaction, but the turmoil in his mind was overwhelming, clouding his judgment. He felt cornered, and before he could stop himself, he snapped, “Oh yeah, Emily? Is that what you think? I’m sure you’re right, seeing as you know everything.”

With that, he abruptly stood up, storming out of the bullpen, leaving Emily and Derek in stunned silence. 

Rossi, who had been quietly working at his desk nearby, looked up, his brow furrowed with concern as he fixed Emily and Derek with a questioning gaze. “Is he using again?” he asked, his voice heavy with worry.

“Fuck,” Derek muttered under his breath, quickly getting up to chase after Spencer, his heart pounding with fear and urgency. 

Emily exchanged a worried glance with Rossi, both of them hoping that whatever was going on with Spencer could be addressed before it spiraled out of control.

"Reid, wait up!" Derek called out as he watched Spencer stride quickly down the hall, his pace fueled by frustration and confusion. Spencer, too caught up in his thoughts, didn’t stop or even acknowledge Derek's voice. But Derek was determined, and he quickened his pace, finally catching up to Spencer and grabbing his arm, halting him in his tracks.

"Kid, I need you to tell me right here and now if you’re using again," Derek panted, his concern clear in his voice.

Spencer's face immediately morphed into one of shock and offense. "What? No! I’m clean," he replied, his tone defensive but honest.

Derek sighed deeply, relief flooding him. "Okay, thank God."

Spencer frowned, still reeling from the accusation. "Why would you think that?"

Derek looked at him intently. "Did you hear yourself just now? You were out of line with Prentiss. She was only trying to help."

Spencer let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and sharp. "Isn’t that what everyone wants to do? Help poor, defenseless Spencer," he said sarcastically. "Why can’t I ever just take care of myself?"

Derek gave him a sympathetic look, his concern deepening. "That’s not what I meant. I’m just worried about you. Is it more stuff with Eli?"

The mention of Eli’s name set Spencer off again, the anger bubbling back to the surface. "Christ, is there no privacy anymore?" he snapped, his voice tight with frustration.

Derek held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I’m not trying to invade your privacy, man. I just want to make sure you’re okay. You’ve been off lately, and I’m concerned. We all are."

Spencer’s shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of everything pressing down on him. "It’s… nothing, Derek."

Derek nodded, his tone softening. "It doesn’t seem like nothing, kid."

Spencer looked down, his voice small and almost defeated. "Can you just… stop being a big brother for a second?"

Derek’s expression softened even more as he asked gently, "Who do you want me to be?"

Spencer let out a weary sigh. "I don’t know… a wizard? Then maybe you could help me go back in time."

Derek started to ask, "Why do you need–" but before he could finish, his phone rang, the familiar tone signaling a new case. He glanced at the screen, then back at Spencer with a resigned look. "Time to go."

Spencer nodded, the moment slipping away as the reality of their work took precedence. But as they walked back toward the bullpen, Derek couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more going on beneath the surface—something that Spencer wasn’t ready to share yet.

—

When the team arrived back from the case, Spencer dreaded going home. He hadn't talked to Eli since the day they left, sending only a brief text to let them know he was heading out on a case and another just now to inform them he was back. But as usual, there were no messages waiting for him in return. Eli had done this before—the silent treatment. It was their way of letting Spencer know he had messed up, though the reason was often unclear until Eli decided to spell it out.

As Spencer approached his front door, the familiar feeling of anxiety settled in his chest. He knew what awaited him: the cold, silent disapproval from Eli, followed by the inevitable confrontation. It was why he was dreading going home, but there was no avoiding it.

When Spencer unlocked the front door, he was greeted by the sound of football blaring from the TV, and not much else. The usual signs of Eli’s presence—a drink on the coffee table, their shoes kicked off haphazardly—were all there, but the silence from Eli themselves was telling. 

He announced his presence quietly, hoping to gauge the mood before he ventured further into the house. Without much of a response, Spencer headed to the laundry room, deciding to busy himself with washing his clothes. It was a mundane task, but it gave him something to focus on, a way to delay the inevitable confrontation.

What Spencer wasn’t expecting was for Eli to suddenly come up behind him, wrapping their arms around his waist and kissing the back of his neck. The affectionate gesture caught him off guard.

“Hey, baby,” Eli whispered, their voice soft and intimate.

“He–hey, Eli,” Spencer stammered, unsure of how to respond. He couldn’t tell if this was going to lead to something good or if it was just a precursor to another argument.

“I missed you while you were gone,” Eli mumbled, their lips trailing across Spencer’s neck, planting gentle kisses along his skin.

“Yeah?” Spencer sighed, tilting his head slightly to give Eli more access, his body instinctively responding to the affection despite the uncertainty gnawing at him.

“Mhm, it’s so lonely here without you,” Eli murmured, continuing their gentle assault of kisses.

That evening, Spencer found himself in the company of a sweet, loving, and cherishing Eli. It was a side of his partner he didn’t see often, and he was left wondering what he had done to deserve this sudden tenderness. But instead of questioning it, he allowed himself to be swept up in the rare affection, choosing to savor the moment rather than dwell on the why.

For that night, at least, Spencer let himself believe that everything was okay, that maybe this time things would be different. Even if it was just for a little while, he wasn’t going to complain.

—

You got a mysterious text from Shane, asking if they could come over to talk. You agreed, of course, but a nervous feeling settled in your stomach. Things had been going really well between the two of you—multiple dates, kisses, and they had even met Penelope. But as you opened the door to let them in, you immediately sensed that this wasn’t going to be good news.

"Hey, Y/N," Shane greeted with a sigh, giving you a sad smile. "Can I come in?"

You opened the door wider and motioned for them to enter, trying to brace yourself for whatever was coming. The two of you sat in the chairs by the window, the tension palpable as you waited for Shane to speak.

"What’s up, Shane?" you asked cautiously, your heart already preparing for the worst.

Shane sighed again, scratching the back of their head, clearly uncomfortable. "Well, I really respect you, so I felt it was only fair to tell you face to face... that I met someone. Someone I want to pursue things with exclusively."

Your heart sank. Of course, the one genuine person you meet found someone better than you. "Oh," was all you could manage to say, the word barely escaping your lips as you processed the rejection.

"I’m sorry, Y/N," Shane continued, their expression full of pity. "You’re a lovely person, and I really enjoyed our time together. But I just—"

"You don’t have to explain," you interrupted, forcing a small, tight-lipped smile despite the ache building in your chest. "I get it."

Shane frowned, clearly feeling bad, but they didn’t push further. They stood, clearly sensing that it was time to leave. "I really do wish you the best, Y/N. You deserve someone amazing."

You nodded, but the words felt hollow in the space between you. After you closed the door behind them, you sank into your chair, the weight of disappointment settling heavily on your shoulders. You hadn’t expected this, and now you were left alone, wondering why this always seemed to happen—just when things seemed to be going well, they unraveled.

As you sat there, staring blankly out the window, the weight of the rejection settled deep into your chest. You tried to convince yourself that it wasn’t a big deal, that these things happen, but the familiar voice of self-doubt crept in, louder and sharper than ever. Of course they found someone better. Why wouldn’t they?

You couldn’t shake the feeling that it was always you—never enough, never quite the right fit. You replayed the last few weeks in your mind, analyzing every detail, every moment, searching for where you might have fallen short. Maybe you weren’t interesting enough, not exciting enough, not worth sticking around for. 

What if I’m just not the kind of person people choose? The thought gnawed at you, sinking deeper into your mind. Every small flaw, every insecurity felt magnified, and you couldn’t help but wonder if this was just how things would always be. Always second place. Always left behind.

—

Meanwhile, everything between Spencer and Eli seemed to improve dramatically. Eli was suddenly attentive in ways Spencer hadn’t experienced in a long time. They bought Spencer flowers, cooked him dinner, and even made an effort to engage in the things Spencer loved—whether it was sitting with him through documentaries or accompanying him on long walks through the city.

Spencer wasn’t sure what had sparked this radical change in Eli, but he didn’t dare question it. Part of him was afraid that if he asked, the magic would break, and everything would go back to the way it was before—the cold indifference, the emotional distance. For now, he clung to the fleeting happiness, allowing himself to believe that maybe this was the turning point he had been waiting for. 

But in the back of his mind, a quiet voice whispered that good things never lasted for him, and any moment, it could all disappear. He knew better than to get comfortable, but for now, he basked in the attention, unwilling to let go of this brief glimpse of a perfect relationship.

Eli had never been one for grand gestures, but lately, everything felt different. Spencer came home one evening to find a bouquet of brightly colored flowers on the kitchen table, their fragrance filling the room. 

"Hey, you’re home!" Eli called from the kitchen, a warm smile on their face as they stirred something on the stove. "I made your favorite—pasta with garlic bread. Thought you might like something comforting after your day."

Spencer blinked, his mind racing as he tried to process the shift. He set his bag down, cautiously approaching the flowers. "You… got these for me?" he asked, his voice soft, unsure.

Eli chuckled and walked over to him, wiping their hands on a dish towel before wrapping their arms around his waist. "Of course, I did. You deserve it, Spencie."

Spencer smiled, though his brow furrowed slightly in confusion. This wasn’t like Eli at all. "I… thank you. They’re beautiful." He leaned down to smell the flowers, a wave of warmth flooding him, but a lingering doubt hovered at the back of his mind.

Later that week, they were sitting together on the couch, something they rarely did. Eli had insisted on watching one of Spencer’s favorite documentaries, something about ancient civilizations that Spencer would usually watch alone.

"I never knew this stuff was so interesting," Eli commented, their head resting on Spencer’s shoulder. "Why didn’t you make me watch this with you sooner?"

Spencer looked down at them, unsure of how to respond. "I didn’t think it was really your thing," he admitted, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the fabric of Eli’s shirt. "You’ve never really… wanted to before."

Eli sat up slightly, turning to face Spencer, their hand coming to rest on his knee. "Well, I want to now," they said, smiling softly.

Spencer’s heart swelled at the words, but the confusion deepened. This was everything he had wanted from Eli for so long, but the sudden shift left him off-balance. Still, he wasn’t ready to question it—not when things were finally good. He forced himself to smile back, leaning in to kiss Eli’s forehead. 

"I appreciate that," he whispered, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. "I just…I’m happy."

Eli kissed him softly on the lips, pulling him closer. "I love you, Spencie," they murmured, their words sweet and tender. "And I want to make sure you know that."

Spencer wrapped his arms around them, his mind swirling with unanswered questions. He wanted to ask what had caused this change, what had made Eli suddenly decide to be the partner he had always hoped for. But the fear of losing this fleeting happiness kept him silent. He wasn’t ready to risk it all, not yet.

—

Penelope had been watching you closely for days, her eyes filled with concern. She knew something was wrong, but you had been keeping your walls up, retreating further into your sadness after things fell apart with Shane. Every attempt she made to drag you out of the apartment had been met with a firm, “I’m just not feeling up to it, Pen.”

But Penelope wasn’t one to give up so easily. "Come on, honey, you can’t just sit here and stew over that idiot forever," she urged, practically bouncing on her feet. "We need to go out, have some fun, and remind the world who the hell we are!"

"I don’t know…" you trailed off, glancing at the TV as though it had something to offer. But you knew it didn’t. You just didn’t have the energy.

"Y/N," Penelope said firmly, placing her hands on her hips, "I love you, but sitting in pajamas while watching reality shows for the third night in a row is not how we get over this. You are coming with me."

You sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to relent. "Fine," you groaned, finally giving in.

Penelope’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Yes! Shower, now. I’m doing your makeup, and we are going to paint the town red!"

It wasn’t long before she had you dolled up, feeling like a different version of yourself. The two of you hit the town with one goal: to get drunk and forget all about stupid people like Shane. JJ, Emily, and Derek met up with you at the bar, and soon you were all dancing up a storm. The music, the energy, and the friends surrounding you were doing exactly what Penelope had intended—they were lifting you out of your funk.

You loved the attention you were getting, and it was absolutely helping you feel better about everything that had happened. The compliments, the laughs, the warmth of your friends—it was like a balm to the hurt you had been carrying.

After a while, you started feeling parched from all the dancing, so you drifted away from the group to grab some water at the bar. As you reached the counter, you bumped into someone.

"Oh, I’m sorry," you yelped, turning quickly to see who it was you’d run into.

To your surprise, the body turned around, and there, standing in front of you, was Eli. Your stomach dropped slightly, expecting some snide remark, a cutting comment like the ones you’d heard before.

But instead, Eli let out a light laugh. "No problem!" they said with a smile, their tone unusually friendly.

You blinked, taken aback by the unexpected response. Even Spencer, standing next to Eli, looked just as surprised, his brow furrowed slightly at Eli’s easygoing attitude toward you.

"Uh… thanks," you said, forcing a polite smile, still not entirely sure what to make of the encounter.

Eli nodded, still smiling, before turning back to their drink, leaving you standing there, feeling slightly bewildered. You couldn’t help but glance at Spencer, who gave you a small, almost apologetic smile, as if to acknowledge how strange the moment had been.

The interaction left you feeling a bit off-kilter, but as you grabbed your water and headed back to the dance floor, you pushed the weirdness aside. Tonight was about you, about having fun and moving on. Whatever Eli’s sudden kindness meant, you weren’t going to let it throw you off track.

Soon, you couldn’t just brush off the strange interaction because, much to your surprise, Spencer and Eli joined the rest of you on the dance floor. It was a sight you hadn’t expected.

“Whoa, pretty boy! I didn’t think you’d show!” Derek cheered, clearly having invited Spencer without anyone else knowing.

Spencer gave a half-smile, looking awkward as he stood on the outskirts of the group. “Yeah, uh… Eli thought it would be fun,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, his discomfort obvious.

“Well, loosen up, genius!” Emily called out, playfully nudging him. “We’re here to have fun.”

Eli, however, had no problem jumping right in, grabbing Spencer by the hips and guiding him into the rhythm of the music. Spencer’s movement was stilted, clearly uncomfortable with the attention, but Eli didn’t seem to mind, dancing all around him, their hands sliding over his shoulders and down his sides. The contrast between Spencer’s stiff posture and Eli’s free-spirited movements made for an interesting sight.

You tried to brush it off, but the more you watched, the more an odd sense of jealousy began to brew in your chest. It’s just because I’m newly single, you told yourself, trying to rationalize the pang of envy. But it didn’t feel that simple, and as you watched Eli spin Spencer with a grin, you couldn’t help but wonder why it bothered you so much.

Penelope noticed your mood shift immediately, her eyes following your gaze. She knew you too well, and it wasn’t long before she saw you slipping off the dance floor, making your way outside for some air. She wasn’t surprised at all—you needed a moment to clear your head.

What did surprise you, though, was when the door opened a few minutes later, and Spencer stepped out, his hands shoved into his pockets as he came to stand next to you. The cool night air felt refreshing against your heated skin, but Spencer’s presence made your heart race slightly, unsure of what to say or do.

Neither of you spoke for a moment, the silence hanging between you like a thread waiting to be pulled.

“You okay?” Spencer finally asked, his voice soft as he looked at you, the concern clear in his expression.

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light despite the heaviness in your chest. “Yeah, just needed some air. It was getting a little... crowded in there.”

Spencer nodded, his gaze drifting down the street before returning to you. “Yeah, I get that,” he said quietly. He shifted his weight, looking almost as uncomfortable out here as he did on the dance floor.

You glanced over at him, curiosity tugging at you. “You don’t really seem like a club guy,” you said, half teasing.

Spencer chuckled awkwardly, his shoulders rising and falling in a small shrug. “I’m not,” he admitted. “I, uh, don’t really dance. Eli’s more into that.”

You nodded, watching him for a moment. There was something in his eyes—something that made you feel like he wasn’t entirely thrilled to be out here either.

“Eli seems really into it,” you said, testing the waters, unsure why you even brought it up.

Spencer’s smile faltered for a split second before he nodded again. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice quieter this time. He didn’t elaborate, and the silence between you grew, filled with unspoken thoughts and emotions that neither of you seemed ready to address.

After a moment, you decided to break the tension. “I didn’t expect to see you out tonight.”

Spencer chuckled softly, kicking at a loose pebble with his shoe. “I didn’t expect to be out, to be honest,” he admitted. “But, well... here I am.”

You smiled, feeling a strange connection in that shared sentiment. “Yeah, here we are.”

Spencer didn’t know why he followed you. Maybe it was the way you quietly slipped away from the group, or maybe it was something deeper—a feeling he couldn’t quite explain, like an invisible string pulling him after you. He had hesitated for a moment, glancing at Eli before deciding he needed to step outside.

“Hey, uh... is it okay if I step out for some air?” Spencer asked, trying to sound casual.

Eli’s eyes flickered toward the door, then back to him. “With Y/N?” they asked, their tone neutral, but it made Spencer catch his breath, suddenly nervous that Eli might get upset in front of everyone.

Spencer swallowed hard. “Is that... okay?” he asked tentatively, trying to gauge Eli’s reaction.

Eli’s face softened, a sweet smile forming as they nodded. “Yeah, Spencie! Go check on your friend.”

Relief washed over Spencer, though a small knot of confusion lingered. Eli’s sudden sweetness left him feeling a bit unsettled, but he didn’t question it. Instead, he gave a small smile in return before quietly making his way outside to join you.

As he stood next to you in the cool night air, the questions he had about Eli faded, replaced by an inexplicable need to be there with you, to share this quiet moment away from the chaos of the night.

You and Spencer remained side by side, chatting politely, both enjoying the quiet reprieve from the crowd inside. The cool night air felt refreshing, a stark contrast to the warm chaos of the dance floor.

“Are you, uh—still seeing that person from the other week?” Spencer asked awkwardly, his words stumbling out as he glanced at you.

You stiffened slightly at the mention of Shane, the wound still fresh, not something you wanted to discuss right now, especially not here. "No," you said simply, hoping to leave it at that.

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting away before he coughed. "Oh," he mumbled, then added, "I’m sorry. They’re an idiot."

You couldn’t help but smile, the warmth of his words cutting through some of the lingering pain. "Thank you," you said softly, genuinely appreciating his attempt to comfort you.

Spencer nodded, and when he finally looked at you, something in his expression changed. His eyes locked with yours, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to stand still. He realized in that instant that what he felt looking into your eyes—this connection, this spark—was stronger than anything he’d ever felt with Eli. Every moment he had shared with Eli over the course of their relationship paled in comparison to what he felt standing there with you now.

The realization hit him like a tidal wave, both exhilarating and terrifying. He wasn’t sure what to do with this feeling, and the fear of what it meant gripped him tightly. Spencer wasn’t ready to confront it, but in that moment, he knew something had shifted between the two of you. And that scared him more than anything.

—

The next time you saw him, Eli was by his side once again. The team was gathered to celebrate Aaron Hotchner’s birthday with a fancy dinner followed by a play, and the atmosphere was light, filled with laughter and easy conversation. The dinner had been delicious, and everyone was in high spirits as you all made your way to the theater, excitement buzzing in the air.

Finding your seats, you realized the universe must have been playing some sort of twisted joke. The numbers on your tickets had placed you directly next to Spencer. It seemed innocent enough—JJ was on your other side, and Eli sat beside Spencer—but the proximity between you two felt charged in a way that was hard to ignore.

The lights dimmed, and the show began, captivating the audience almost immediately. You focused on the performance, but you had no idea that Spencer's mind was far from the stage. Since the moment you walked into the restaurant tonight, Spencer’s mind had been a chaotic kaleidoscope of images of you. The way you looked, the way you moved, the sound of your laugh—it was overwhelming.

Sitting so close to you now, he felt a primal, almost feral need stirring inside him, something he'd never experienced so intensely before. It was beyond mere attraction; it was hunger. He could barely focus on the play as his thoughts drifted to you again and again.

Spencer’s chest tightened with guilt as his mind began slipping away from innocent thoughts. At first, his musings were harmless, but they quickly escalated to PG-13, and then further, to places he had never allowed himself to go before. He couldn’t shake it, this wild, uncontrollable pull toward you. He wanted to tear his thoughts away, but every fiber of his being was hyper-aware of your presence next to him.

It was horrible—he felt like he was betraying Eli, even though the thoughts stayed locked inside his own head. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as he tried to suppress the desire building within him. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about you like this, not when Eli was sitting right next to him. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the intense attraction coursing through his body. The guilt gnawed at him, but the desire burned even stronger.

He felt trapped, stuck between the relationship he had and the undeniable draw he felt toward you. And in that dark theater, surrounded by his friends, Spencer’s thoughts were anything but innocent.

During intermission, Spencer excused himself, practically fleeing to the restroom. Once there, he splashed cold water on his face, hoping to wash away the guilty, indecent thoughts that had plagued him throughout the first half of the play. What the hell is wrong with me? he thought, staring at his reflection, trying to regain control of himself.

Meanwhile, you headed to the concession stand, grabbing a lemonade. It came with a straw, which you twirled absentmindedly as you made your way back to your seat. You settled in, sipping slowly as everyone found their spots again.

When Spencer returned and sat next to you, he tried to focus on anything but you—the play, Eli, anything—but his eyes kept drifting to your lips as you wrapped them around the straw, sipping your drink. The way you casually sipped, completely unaware of the effect you were having on him, made his throat dry.

You noticed his lingering gaze and raised an eyebrow, suppressing a small smile. "Want a sip?" you offered, holding the drink out toward him, your voice teasing but light.

Spencer hesitated for a second, knowing that accepting it would be a bad idea. But then again, what harm could one sip do? "Sure," he replied, his voice low, almost strained.

Instead of taking the cup from your hand, Spencer leaned over, resting his hand lightly on your thigh as he bent toward you. His touch sent a jolt of warmth through you, and your breath hitched as he brought his lips to the straw still clasped in your hand. He took a slow sip, his hand remaining firmly in place, his fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of your dress.

Your face flushed a deep crimson, the simple act of him drinking from the same straw suddenly charged with an intimacy you hadn’t anticipated. You glanced quickly at Eli, but they were preoccupied, furiously typing away on their phone, not even noticing what was happening between you and Spencer.

As the lights flickered, signaling the end of intermission, Spencer pulled back, the drink slipping from his lips, but his hand stayed where it was, resting warmly on your thigh. The lights dimmed once more, and the play resumed, but Spencer’s touch remained, grounding you in a way that made it impossible to focus on anything else.

Neither of you said a word, but the unspoken tension between you hung in the air, heavier than ever. You didn’t dare move, and neither did he. And as the minutes passed, you could feel the weight of that moment, the quiet acknowledgement that whatever was happening between you was more than just fleeting glances or stolen moments.

Spencer’s hand stayed on your thigh for the rest of the show, and you tried to rationalize it. It’s probably just the wine he had with dinner, you thought, convincing yourself he was just feeling a bit more friendly than usual. After all, the two of you had bonded that night at the club, and maybe this was just an extension of that. Still, the warmth of his hand lingered longer than it should have, sending ripples of confusion through you.

When the lights came back on and the play ended, you quickly stood, clapping in applause and efficiently removing Spencer’s hand from your leg. You didn’t want to dwell on it, but the moment left you feeling uneasy. As the theater cleared, the group gathered outside to say their goodbyes, but you found yourself avoiding Spencer’s gaze.

Leaning over to Penelope, you whispered, "I’m not feeling so great. I think I need to head out."

Concern flashed across her face, but she didn’t question you. "Of course, babe. Let’s go."

After wishing Aaron a happy birthday, you and Penelope left before you could make any eye contact with Spencer. Your thoughts raced as you hurried away, unsure why he had acted the way he did. You didn’t hate what had happened, and that made it worse. He has a partner, you reminded yourself, the guilt settling heavily in your chest.

Meanwhile, Spencer and Eli made their way home as well. The silence between them was thick with unspoken tension, but when they arrived, Eli wasted no time initiating an intimate night. Spencer let it happen, going through the motions as his mind drifted back to you. He felt a surge of guilt and self-loathing. As Eli’s hands moved over him, Spencer’s thoughts were filled with the image of you, your laughter, the feel of your thigh beneath his palm. It made him feel like a monster, like he was betraying not only Eli, but you as well.

But what Spencer didn’t realize was that he wasn’t the only one with someone else on his mind. As Eli kissed him, their thoughts weren’t on Spencer either. The unspoken fractures in their relationship were growing wider, with both of them secretly imagining someone else, locked in a cycle of unaddressed desires and unvoiced doubts.

—

It was October now, and Halloween was rapidly approaching—Spencer's favorite time of year and his absolute favorite holiday. The excitement had been building for weeks, and it was palpable. He loved everything about Halloween—the history, the traditions, and, of course, the chance to dress up and lose himself in the festive spirit.

But as the holiday approached, so did the Halloween party you and Penelope were throwing. The entire team had been invited, along with their partners and a few other friends. It was going to be a night full of fun, laughter, and celebration, and you couldn't wait to show everyone the apartment, which was fully decked out in spooky decorations. 

Though you were looking forward to the party, there was one thought that kept crossing your mind: Spencer. He’d be there, of course, with Eli by his side. It was hard to shake the feeling that no matter how much time had passed since that strange, tension-filled evening at the theater, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The truth was, you knew you couldn’t have him—he was spoken for, and no matter what had happened or hadn’t happened, he was off-limits.

But that didn’t stop you from hoping your costume might catch his eye.

You’d spent extra time picking out the perfect outfit—something that was fun and playful, but with just enough edge to make an impression. Part of you wondered if he would notice, if he would look at you the way he had during the play. Even though you knew it was dangerous territory, the thought lingered in the back of your mind.

As you finished adjusting the final Halloween decorations, you glanced around the apartment, satisfied with how everything had turned out. The anticipation of the party and seeing everyone—especially Spencer—left a mix of excitement and nervousness brewing inside you.

One night, you thought. One night to celebrate, to have fun. Just let it be enough.

By the time people started arriving, your apartment had been fully transformed into a Halloween wonderland. The living room is draped in warm, spooky hues of purple and orange, with bats hanging from the ceiling and a wreath made of autumn leaves and tiny pumpkins framing the window. The couches are decorated with plush pillows and blankets, and a coffee table sits adorned with jack-o'-lanterns, flickering with eerie candlelight, surrounded by scattered fall leaves.

The hallway leading to the party area is wrapped in dark, twisting branches and shimmering orange lights, creating a haunting yet whimsical path. A skeleton sits at the dining table, illuminated by the warm glow of string lights that crisscross overhead, casting playful shadows along the walls.

Further in, an archway framed with grinning pumpkins welcomes guests into a dining area, bathed in the glow of purple lights. Jack-o'-lanterns of all shapes and sizes line the walls, giving the space a playful but eerie ambiance. It’s the kind of atmosphere that will make the party unforgettable, setting the perfect tone for the night.

You and Penelope stood by the door, greeting your guests as they entered your neon-lit, spooky apartment, handing out glowing necklaces as a fun touch to set the party's mood. Amid the excitement and stress of hosting, you nearly forgot that Spencer would be walking through that door any minute now. Your thoughts had been focused on making sure everything was perfect, greeting the steady stream of guests, and keeping the energy light and fun.

Just as you were handing another glowing necklace to a guest, the front door burst open, and in strolled Derek, as confident as ever, with Emily on one arm and JJ on the other. Emily looked striking in her sleek Morticia Addams costume, with her sharp features highlighted by her dark makeup, and JJ exuded playful fierceness in her Kill Bill-inspired outfit. Penelope, as usual, was a burst of color and creativity in her neon-pink, revealing Alice in Wonderland-esc cat costume.

Derek, dressed as a dashing fighter pilot, took one look at you and Penelope, his eyes wide with exaggerated awe. “Wow! My god, you gorgeous ladies are gonna give me a heart attack!” he playfully swooned, placing a hand dramatically over his chest. 

Penelope grinned, striking a pose next to you, her Cheshire cat grin almost matching the one she had painted on her face. "Careful, Morgan. You might need to be resuscitated."

You couldn’t help but laugh at the exchange, but your heart fluttered slightly as you realized that any moment, Spencer would be walking in, and you wondered what he would think when he saw you in your costume.

The whole team had arrived about 20 minutes ago, with everyone dressed to impress, save for Spencer. You couldn’t help but worry he wasn’t going to come, despite his excitement about Halloween. You tried to stay positive, especially since everyone else seemed to be in good spirits. Even Hotch and Rossi had put in some effort, dressing up as Men in Black, though it was hardly a stretch from their usual look—very creative you thought with a smirk.

The party had started in full swing, laughter and music filling the room, but you couldn’t shake the slight disappointment. What if he doesn’t show?

Then, suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Without thinking, you crossed the room and swung it open, your jaw practically hitting the floor when you saw who was standing on the other side.

There, in all his unnervingly handsome glory, was Spencer—no Eli in sight. He was dressed as Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, complete with a suit, raincoat, and an ax slung over his shoulder. His normally disheveled hair was slicked back, and the blood splatter across his face made him look dangerously alluring. You could feel your heart stutter in your chest.

You stood there with your hand still on the door, staring at him for far too long to be socially acceptable. But Spencer wasn’t faring much better. His eyes had widened when he saw you in your Ghostface costume—though this was your take of the infamous killer, your fitted corset and thigh-high slit showing more than enough to leave Spencer speechless.

His lips parted slightly, the two of you caught in an awkward, electrifying silence. Neither of you moved or spoke, both seemingly frozen in the moment. You tried to find something to say, but your brain refused to cooperate. He looked breathtaking, and from the look in his eyes, you were certain he thought the same about you.

"Uh… wow," Spencer finally managed, his voice low, almost reverent.

You blinked, snapping out of your trance and feeling your cheeks heat up. "Spencer… you… look…" You trailed off, biting your lip as your eyes roamed over his form again.

"Yeah," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your costume. "You too." He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly but never taking his eyes off you.

You stepped aside, finally remembering your manners. "Come in," you said, your voice breathless.

As he walked past you, your heart fluttered wildly in your chest. Tonight was going to be interesting.

“Boy wonder!” Penelope squealed as she caught sight of Spencer walking into the party. Her arms flung open dramatically before pulling him into a big squeeze. 

"Hey, Pen, great party!" Spencer laughed, his voice warm as he returned her embrace.

JJ approached, tilting her head curiously. "Where’s Eli?"

Spencer didn’t seem fazed by the question as he shrugged casually. "Oh, their friend is having a party tonight too. They might stop by later, but I wouldn’t count on it," he replied with a small laugh, seemingly unbothered by Eli’s absence.

Derek, being a sharp observer of Spencer’s moods, raised an eyebrow. “...And you’re cool with this?”

Spencer just smiled brightly, brushing it off with a light chuckle. “Yup! We don’t have to do everything together.” He laughed again, the sound easygoing and relaxed.

Everyone seemed to accept his answer, nodding along before the party really began to kick into gear. Laughter and conversation flowed easily around the room, the energy of the Halloween festivities keeping everyone entertained.

But despite the natural rhythm of the night, you couldn’t quite shake the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. Something about Spencer seemed off—not in a bad way, but different. He seemed almost too happy that Eli hadn’t joined him. There was something about his energy, a lightness that hadn’t been there before, and the more you watched him throughout the evening, the more you wondered what was really going on beneath that bright smile of his.

You were in the kitchen, pouring yourself a drink, when the sound of footsteps behind you caught your attention. Without hesitation, you glanced over your shoulder and saw Spencer standing there. Instinctively, you turned to face him, not wanting to give him the chance to sneak up on you.

"Hello, Spencer," you greeted with a warm smile, trying to mask the sudden nervous energy that surged through you.

"Y/N," he nodded, stepping a little closer. "You know, maybe we should team up. Might make things easier," he added with a smirk, his costume and demeanor making him look every bit the psycho he was dressed as. The sight of him like that sent your heart racing, and to your dismay, you found yourself stuttering.

"Wh–what? You, an–an–me?"

Spencer just laughed, the sound low and amused. "Ghostface and Patrick Bateman? We’d make quite the team."

You chuckled nervously, trying to shake off the butterflies in your stomach. "Oh, hah, yeah, you’re right. So, um, who’s our first victim?" you asked, playing along with the joke.

Spencer rubbed his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. "Hmm… I’d say we start with the Men in Black. Take out the authority first."

You couldn’t help it—the laugh that erupted from you was genuine and loud, a real cackle that caught you off guard. You quickly covered your mouth, embarrassed by how loud it was.

But before you could fully hide, Spencer reached out and gently grabbed your wrist, lowering your hand. "Don’t cover up," he said softly, his eyes locking with yours. "I like your laugh."

His touch sent a warm shiver down your spine, and for a moment, the playful atmosphere shifted into something heavier, something unspoken hanging between you both. You smiled, the blush creeping up your cheeks, unsure of how to respond to the sudden intimacy.

"Thanks," you murmured, your heart thudding in your chest, the moment feeling far more charged than a simple Halloween joke should have been.

You cleared your throat, turning back to focus on your drink, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "So, um, how do we take them out?" you asked, trying to keep the conversation light and playful.

Spencer tapped his chin in mock thought before flashing you a mischievous smirk. "Let's make it a game," he said, his voice low, adding to the playful tension between you. "We have to turn off their glowing necklaces without them noticing. If you’re successful, you get a point. Most points by the end of the night wins."

You grinned at the idea, nodding in agreement. "Alright, you’re on."

And just like that, the game began. You and Spencer spent the rest of the evening sneaking around the party, laughing and conspiring together like mischievous children. You’d catch each other’s eye from across the room, silently plotting, and then spring into action, working to stealthily turn off people’s glowing necklaces without them noticing.

Every time one of you was successful, you’d stifle giggles, slipping back into the crowd with a triumphant grin. The whole dynamic between you and Spencer had shifted into something new—something light, fun, and undeniably flirtatious. Your shared laughter echoed through the room, drawing the attention of the other guests.

It didn’t take long for people to notice the change. Derek raised an eyebrow at the two of you, watching as you and Spencer darted around with smiles and whispered jokes. JJ and Emily exchanged knowing glances, clearly curious about this unexpected shift in your relationship. Even Penelope caught on, throwing you a sly look that said she’d definitely be asking you about this later.

Everyone seemed to be wondering the same thing: Since when did these two get along so well?

But you didn’t care. For the first time in a long while, you were having fun—real fun—with Spencer. And, despite the attention from everyone else, you weren’t ready for it to stop.

—

As the night wrapped up, the energy was still buzzing. Everyone had enjoyed themselves, and the party had been a huge success. You felt a sense of pride as you waved goodbye to your guests, making sure everyone had a designated driver or had called a cab. Once the last person had left, you closed the door, feeling the peaceful silence settle in.

But the quiet didn’t last long.

Penelope wasted no time, immediately bombarding you with questions, her eyes wide with curiosity. "Okay, spill! What was that? You and Boy Wonder sneaking around, giggling like a couple of high schoolers? Since when are you and Spencer all… flirty?!"

You laughed, still riding the high of the evening, but you could see the concern in Penelope’s eyes. She leaned in closer, her expression softening as she lowered her voice. "Look, I loved seeing you have fun tonight. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you smile like that," she admitted, "but I just want you to be careful. Spencer and Eli seem very happy together, and I don’t want you getting hurt."

You hesitated, knowing she was right. "I know, Pen," you sighed. "It’s just… it was harmless fun, you know? Nothing serious."

Penelope gave you a look, the one that said she wasn’t buying it. "I just don’t want you caught up in something messy," she said softly. "You deserve someone who’s all in, not someone who’s already got someone else."

You nodded, appreciating her concern, but at the same time, you couldn’t shake the way Spencer had looked at you tonight, the way you’d both laughed together like nothing else mattered.

Meanwhile, Spencer drove home in silence, not having had a single drink all night. His mind was still racing from the party, the memories of sneaking around with you and laughing filling his head. The evening had been… unexpected. He couldn’t deny that he’d had fun, maybe more fun than he’d had in a while.

When he pulled into the parking garage, he noticed Eli’s car wasn’t there. He assumed they were still out, maybe spending the night at their friend’s place. It wasn’t unusual for Eli to stay out late when they were with friends, and Spencer didn’t give it much thought as he unlocked the front door and walked inside.

He moved through the apartment quietly, heading down the hall to the bedroom. But what he didn’t expect—what stopped him dead in his tracks—was the sight that greeted him when he opened the bedroom door.

There, in his bed, was Eli. And they weren’t alone.

It took a moment for Spencer’s brain to register what he was seeing, but when it did, the shock hit him like a tidal wave. The person with Eli—the one tangled up in the sheets, very clearly entwined with his partner—was none other than Shane, the same person who had taken you on a date.

His heart pounded in his chest as the weight of the betrayal sank in, the scene before him twisting his stomach into knots.

Shane looked up at the sound of the door opening, pulling away from Eli and quickly covering both of them with the blankets, their face contorting into a mix of shock and confusion.

“What the hell?” Shane yelled, voice panicked.

That finally snapped Spencer out of his state of shock. “What the hell? What the hell! Get out of my fucking bed!” he screamed, his voice cracking with raw emotion.

“Your bed?” Shane’s face instantly fell, their eyes darting to Eli, whose expression was now cold, almost indifferent. “Are you married?” Shane asked, their voice trembling with fear and disbelief.

Eli scoffed, pushing themselves out of bed, making no effort to cover up. “No,” they said with a lazy shrug, “this is Spencer.”

“And who is Spencer?” Shane asked, sounding utterly heartbroken.

Spencer’s voice trembled with emotion as he stood frozen in the doorway, tears welling up in his eyes. “Yeah, Eli... who is Spencer?”

Eli rolled their eyes, casually pulling on a robe, unfazed by the entire situation. “My partner,” they said dismissively, as if it meant nothing.

“What?” Shane cried out, turning to Spencer, tears streaming down their face. “I am so sorry, I had no idea. We—we’ve been seeing each other for weeks.” Shane’s voice cracked with guilt and devastation.

Spencer felt like he should have been more hurt by the revelation, but the truth was, Shane’s emotional investment was far greater than his own. He saw now why Eli had been so suddenly attentive and kind—there had been someone else.

“It’s—it’s fine,” Spencer muttered, running a shaky hand through his hair, trying to keep it together. “I’ll, um, I’ll stay somewhere else tonight. Eli, let’s talk later, okay?”

Eli just nodded, entirely unaffected. “Cool.”

With that, Spencer grabbed a few things and left the apartment, feeling numb and hollow.

—

Back at your place, you and Penelope were still sitting on the couch, talking about the party, when there was a sudden knock at the door. You exchanged a curious look, not expecting anyone else to stop by at this hour.

Penelope shot up, tiptoeing over to the door and peeking through the peephole. She gasped loudly before rushing back to you, whispering in a hurried panic, “It’s Spencer!” And then, without any warning, she dashed off to her bedroom, the unmistakable sound of the door locking echoing through the apartment.

You let out a long sigh, standing up and making your way over to the door, wondering what could have brought Spencer here so late. You expected him to say he’d forgotten his phone or maybe just needed something small.

But when you opened the door, Spencer didn’t say a word.

He didn’t ask for anything, didn’t explain himself. Instead, he stepped forward, his eyes heavy with emotion, and before you could even react, he reached out, grabbing your face gently but with a sense of urgency. Then, without hesitation, Spencer pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was both desperate and full of longing.

The world seemed to stop in that moment, your heart pounding as the warmth of his lips consumed you, every thought and question vanishing into the kiss.

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

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[marysfics]

Shifting Glances

Week after week, you see her in the waiting room.

Angst, Trauma, EMDR, Comfort, Fluff

Note: In this story, you'll find references to EMDR therapy. I’ve undergone EMDR therapy myself for several years, and while it has been challenging, it has also brought me relief. It's important to note that EMDR can be a unique experience for everyone. The way it's depicted here reflects my personal journey. If your experience with EMDR is different, that's completely okay. Feel free to share your thoughts, but let's all remember to approach these discussions with kindness and respect for one another's experiences.

The clinic smells of antiseptic and lavender-scented air freshener, a juxtaposition that somehow fails to be comforting. You’ve gotten used to it by now, the muted tones of the waiting room, the low hum of the fluorescent lights, and the way the receptionists’ voices hover just above a whisper. It’s always the same, except for her.

You glance up from your seat near the corner, fingers nervously playing with the hem of your shirt. She’s there again, across the room—her presence nearly impossible to ignore. She’s sitting with her head tilted down, long blonde hair cascading over her shoulder, a face mostly hidden under the bill of a cap. Still, you know. You’ve learned to spot the details by now. She’s always wearing loose sports gear, her left knee often taped in some fashion, crutches sometimes leaning against her seat.

You’re not a sports person, so at first, she was just another face, another person passing through the clinic, but then she became something more—a mystery. You’ve stolen more than a few glances during the weeks you’ve sat waiting for your turn. The routine was nearly identical: you both arrived at the same time each week, a brief flicker of acknowledgment between your eyes before you both looked away, as though there was something too dangerous in holding that gaze for too long.

Today is no different, except something feels heavier. There’s a quiet ache in your chest that refuses to leave. EMDR therapy—Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing—it’s exhausting, and today, it feels impossible.

You know you’ll be going through the usual: being asked to relive memories, to feel things you’ve spent years suppressing, and to heal what’s been fractured inside of you. It’s tiring and it leaves you feeling hollow at times, especially when you leave. The vulnerability in those sessions never fails to drain you, and you always wonder if it’s helping or just opening old wounds.

You steal another glance at her, curiosity buzzing beneath the weight of everything else. She has that same air of exhaustion, though you assume hers comes from something more physical. You don’t know her, not really. Just a face, a woman who happens to sit in the same room as you once a week.

But today, you notice something else. Her fingers fidget more than usual, her eyes flickering between her phone screen and the door. Anxiety. She’s nervous too.

The nurse calls your name, interrupting your thoughts. You stand, giving her one last glance, but this time, you don’t look away as quickly as you usually do. To your surprise, her gaze meets yours for the first time in weeks—really meets it. There’s something in her expression, something you can’t quite name. Maybe recognition. Maybe sympathy.

Your feet feel heavier than usual as you walk to the nurse, but there’s a buzzing under your skin now. Her eyes linger on you even as you turn your back, a weight you feel but don’t dare acknowledge. The conversation between the nurse and your therapist is distant, your mind still locked in that fleeting moment of connection.

Why did she look at you like that?

The door closes softly behind you, and you sit down on the familiar couch in your therapist’s office. The room is softly lit, the same as every week, but today it feels different. Or maybe you feel different. Your mind is already racing, though not about the usual memories that drag you under.

“Ready to start?” your therapist asks, her voice calm, grounding you slightly.

You nod, but your mind keeps tugging back to the waiting room, to her—what’s-her-name—sitting there with those tired eyes that somehow looked straight into you. It’s not like it was the first time you’d stolen a glance. But it is the first time she looked back.

The session moves forward in a blur. The rhythmic back-and-forth of your therapist’s fingers in front of your eyes, the instructions to focus on your memories, to feel them without being overwhelmed by them. But today, it’s harder. Harder to concentrate. Harder to dive into the past when your present is hanging on the thread of something unspoken in that waiting room.

Why did she look at me?

The therapist’s voice blends into the background as your eyes follow her hand back and forth, back and forth—trying to focus, trying to do what you’re supposed to. But the room feels wrong today. Usually, this process grounds you, pulls you deep into the recesses of your mind, where old wounds wait to be confronted. But today, your mind is somewhere else entirely.

More specifically, on her.

You’ve spent weeks perfecting the art of pretending she doesn’t exist. A stolen glance here, a quick look away there. She’s always been on the periphery, a quiet presence you’ve never acknowledged out loud. It’s become part of your routine—pretending not to notice her, letting her fade into the background like the murmur of the clinic around you.

But today, she didn’t stay in the background. Today, she noticed you. She looked at you. Not the polite, disinterested glances you’re used to exchanging with strangers in waiting rooms, but something else. Something charged.

Why did she look at me like that?

The therapist’s voice cuts through your thoughts, soft but firm. “Stay with me. What do you feel right now?”

What do you feel?

You swallow, trying to push the image of her from your mind, but it doesn’t budge. Her eyes—the way they held yours for just a second longer than necessary, how something flickered in them before she quickly looked away. Recognition? Or maybe something else? Sympathy? Sadness?

“Um, I feel… I don’t know,” you admit, shaking your head slightly, trying to focus. You’re supposed to be processing your pain, your own tangled memories, but your brain is stubbornly clinging to the way her fingers fidgeted in her lap, the way her leg bounced with impatience. The way her shoulders seemed to carry an invisible weight, just like yours.

Your therapist doesn’t push, though her eyes study you carefully. She shifts in her seat, slowly moving her hand back and forth again, drawing your focus back.

“Stay present,” she repeats gently, and you try. You really do. You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in slowly, trying to feel something other than the strange energy still buzzing under your skin.

But as soon as you open your eyes again, your mind is back in the waiting room. You can almost see her sitting there now, shoulders hunched, the corner of her lip pulled between her teeth as she stared at her phone, looking anxious—maybe even upset. Was it something on the screen that bothered her? Or was it the reason she’s here at all? The knee she cradled with unconscious care, as though even sitting still caused her discomfort?

You don’t know her story. You barely even know her name. But you can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more under the surface, something that runs deeper than just an injury or a tired glance. Something that mirrors your own pain in a way that feels unsettlingly familiar.

“Can we take a break?” you ask suddenly, your voice sounding too loud in the quiet room.

The therapist pauses, her hand still mid-movement. She lowers it slowly and nods. “Of course. Do you want to talk about what’s on your mind?”

You hesitate. Talking about what’s on your mind usually means revisiting the same memories you’ve been unpacking for months. Trauma that you’ve carried with you like a second skin, the kind that weighs you down and makes you feel like you’re suffocating in your own body. That’s what therapy is supposed to be for—that pain.

But right now, it’s not the past tugging at your mind. It’s the now. The girl sitting across from you every week, the unspoken weight of her presence lingering in your thoughts like a slow burn.

“I… I’m just distracted,” you say, your voice quieter now, unsure.

Your therapist doesn’t press, just nods in understanding. “That’s okay. Sometimes our minds drift when we’re processing a lot. We can pick up whenever you’re ready.”

You nod, grateful for the reprieve, but your mind keeps spinning. The session feels heavier today. Usually, the weight is familiar—the kind of weight you’re used to carrying alone. But now there’s something—or someone—else filling your head, making it hard to sort through your usual patterns.

Why did she look at me like that?

You replay the moment in your mind again, trying to decode it. You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything, that you’re overanalyzing a simple glance. People look at each other all the time. She probably doesn’t even remember it now, back to whatever’s pulling at her in her own life. But still… the way her eyes lingered.

Your thoughts tumble into a messy loop of frustration and curiosity. Did she feel something too? Or was it all in your head? She’s a stranger. Just a face you’ve seen in passing. You don’t know her, not really. But somehow, that one glance has you questioning everything.

The therapist’s voice breaks through again, softer this time. “Do you want to try and continue?”

You nod, even though your mind is still miles away from where it should be. As the therapist raises her hand again, beginning the familiar motions in front of your eyes, you take a deep breath, hoping this time you can focus.

But even as your gaze follows the movement of her hand, your mind drifts back to the waiting room, back to those tired eyes and the way they seemed to see something in you. Something you’re not sure you want to face.

And for the first time in weeks, it’s not your own memories that are haunting you.

As the session drags on, the rhythm of your therapist’s hand becomes background noise to the thoughts that swirl relentlessly in your head. You try to bring yourself back to the task at hand, back to the healing process you’re supposed to be focused on, but you feel adrift, untethered.

Her eyes won’t leave your mind. That flicker of something—connection, maybe—that felt so intense in that brief glance. You can still feel it, like a pulse that’s not entirely your own.

It feels ridiculous, honestly. This isn’t supposed to happen. You’re here to heal, to peel back the layers of yourself and work through the wreckage inside your mind. You’re here to process your trauma, not to get caught up in the orbit of a stranger who happens to sit across from you once a week. A stranger you don’t even know by name.

Still, the thought of her consumes you.

Why did she look at me like that?

The question hammers in your brain, louder now that you’ve allowed yourself to acknowledge it. There’s a strange comfort in the idea that maybe she sees something in you, too. That maybe the weight she carries isn’t so different from your own. You’ve been drowning in your own pain for so long—what would it feel like to share that with someone who understands? To find recognition in someone else’s eyes?

Or is that just you, projecting?

Focus. You need to focus.

You force yourself to sit up a little straighter, your hands gripping the edge of the chair as your therapist’s voice drifts back into your awareness. You know she’s watching you carefully, noting the way you’ve been distant, distracted, ever since you walked into the room. You haven’t been present today, haven’t really felt anything but the odd, lingering sensation of her—the woman with the tired eyes and the worn knee brace.

You wonder what she’s here for, what injury brought her to this clinic. You’ve pieced together the clues over the weeks—her knee, the way she sometimes leans on crutches, the soft wince she tries to hide when she stands up. Maybe she’s an athlete, or used to be. You’ve caught glimpses of logos on her clothing that hint at something sports-related, but it’s not your world. You wouldn’t know.

Yet despite not knowing, you feel it—the heaviness in her, the same way you feel it in yourself. There’s something unspoken, something you’ve both been avoiding in your stolen glances.

The therapist’s hand passes in front of your eyes again, and you try to refocus. You try to reach for the memories she’s guiding you toward, the ones you’re supposed to be reprocessing. But the memories feel hazy today, like they’re distant and out of reach. Usually, they’re so vivid—too vivid. But now, they’re dulled by the present, by the way your mind is pulling you somewhere else entirely.

“Let’s take another pause,” your therapist suggests, her voice patient but concerned.

You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, nodding gratefully. The tension in your body eases just slightly, but your mind is still racing.

“I think…” you begin, your voice hesitant. “I’m just not all here today.”

Your therapist waits, giving you space to elaborate. You know she’s used to this. Distraction is common during these sessions, but you’ve never felt this kind of restlessness before. This kind of… preoccupation.

“There’s… someone,” you admit finally, the words slipping out before you’ve had time to really think them through. “In the waiting room. I keep getting distracted thinking about her.”

Your therapist tilts her head, curious but not judgmental. “Someone in the waiting room?”

You nod, feeling a little foolish now that you’ve said it out loud. “Yeah. I don’t even know her name, but we’re always there at the same time. We’ve never talked, but today… today she looked at me differently.”

Your therapist stays quiet, letting you find your words. Her patience helps, but it also makes you feel exposed, like you’re admitting to something fragile and uncertain.

“And it just—it’s been stuck in my head,” you continue, your voice quieter now, as if saying it louder might make it too real. “I don’t know why it’s affecting me so much. It’s just… I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You’re not sure what you want from this confession. Reassurance, maybe? Validation? Someone to tell you that you’re not losing your mind over a brief glance from a stranger?

Your therapist’s expression softens, but she doesn’t immediately dive into analysis. Instead, she asks, “What do you think it is about her that’s sticking with you? Is there something familiar, something that reminds you of yourself?”

The question lingers in the air between you, and you feel your chest tighten. It’s not something you’ve allowed yourself to fully consider. The way she looks at you. The way she seems just as weighed down by something invisible. The recognition, maybe, of pain.

“I don’t know,” you say, but the words don’t feel entirely true. “Maybe.”

Your therapist nods thoughtfully, but doesn’t press further. “It’s normal to connect with others in ways that might surprise us, especially when we’re going through difficult things ourselves. If she reminds you of something—of yourself, of a feeling—it’s okay to acknowledge that.”

You nod, but your mind is still racing. What is it that you see in her? Is it really just a reflection of your own pain, or is there something more? Something in the way she carries herself, the way her eyes met yours like she was trying to say something she couldn’t put into words.

“Do you want to explore that more?” your therapist asks gently. “Or would you rather focus on something else for now?”

You hesitate, feeling torn. Part of you wants to dig into it, to figure out why this woman has such a hold on your thoughts. But another part of you feels scared—scared of what you might find if you look too closely.

“I’m not sure,” you admit quietly. “I guess… I’m not sure if I’m ready to.”

Your therapist nods again, understanding. “That’s okay. We can take it at your pace. But if you want to talk about it more, we can always come back to it.”

You feel a strange mixture of relief and apprehension. Talking about her—about that glance, that moment—feels like opening a door you’re not sure you want to walk through. But at the same time, you know that you’ll think about it for the rest of the day. Maybe for longer than that.

As the session winds down, your mind is still preoccupied, but there’s a little more clarity now. Maybe it’s not just the glance itself that’s bothering you. Maybe it’s what that glance represents—the possibility that someone else sees you in a way you’re not used to being seen. That someone else might be carrying their own weight, just as heavy as yours.

And as you step out of the therapist’s office, back into the familiar waiting room, your eyes instinctively search for her. For the woman who has somehow taken up so much space in your mind.

But now, her seat is empty.

And suddenly, the room feels a little colder without her presence.

The week drags on in a strange, heavy haze. Every day, your mind keeps drifting back to her—back to that brief, fleeting glance that’s somehow managed to burrow deep under your skin. It’s ridiculous, you tell yourself. You’re overthinking it, turning something meaningless into something monumental. You’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, hiding yourself behind carefully constructed walls, and now, one moment with a stranger has you spiraling into obsession.

You try to shake it off. You try to focus on work, on your routine, on anything but her. But it’s like a splinter in your mind. No matter how much you push it away, it’s always there, just under the surface. You catch yourself replaying the moment over and over again—the way her tired eyes locked with yours, the faintest flicker of recognition passing between you. Did she feel it too? Or are you imagining it?

On Wednesday, you find yourself walking past the clinic—deliberately, even though you don’t have an appointment. You glance through the glass door, half-expecting to see her sitting there, leg bouncing nervously, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket. But the waiting room is empty, and the sight of it leaves you with a strange hollowness in your chest.

What if she doesn’t come back?

The thought gnaws at you. It’s irrational, but the possibility that you might never see her again—that this inexplicable connection could vanish as quickly as it appeared—makes you feel like something important has slipped through your fingers. Something you didn’t even realize you were missing.

Get it together. You need to move on.

But by Friday, the restlessness is back in full force. You find yourself lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering. Wondering if she’s thinking about you too. Wondering if she felt the same pull, the same strange energy lingering between you.

Maybe you’ll never know. Maybe it’s better not to know.

But as the next week rolls around, you feel a nervous anticipation building in your chest. Your next appointment is coming up, and the thought of seeing her again—of what might happen this time—has your mind racing in a way that feels almost… dangerous.

What if she’s there?

What if she’s not?

The questions twist and turn inside you, and by the time your appointment day arrives, you’re practically buzzing with a nervous energy you can’t quite contain. You tell yourself it’s stupid, that you’re being irrational. You’re supposed to be focusing on your healing, not obsessing over some stranger you’ve never even spoken to. But the truth is, you haven’t felt this alive in a long time.

When you walk into the clinic, your eyes immediately sweep the waiting room. For a moment, the space feels empty, cold. But then, there she is—sitting in the same spot as always, her knee braced, her posture tense. She’s staring at her phone again, her fingers tapping the screen, but you notice the way her leg bounces restlessly. There’s a tension in her shoulders, a tightness in the way she’s holding herself, like the weight she’s carrying is a little heavier today.

You pause just inside the door, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. You weren’t prepared for this, not really. Seeing her again feels like stepping into a current you can’t control. You want to look away, to keep pretending she’s just another person passing through your life. But instead, you find your gaze lingering on her, the same way it did last week.

And then, just like before, she looks up.

This time, there’s no hesitation in her gaze. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the room falls away. The world outside fades, and all you can feel is the intensity of her stare, the weight of something unspoken passing between you. It’s like you’re both suspended in the same moment, tethered by something invisible and undeniable.

You freeze, unsure of what to do. Should you smile? Look away? Say something? But before you can make a decision, she shifts in her seat, straightening up slightly, her gaze flickering with something you can’t quite read. There’s recognition there, yes, but also something deeper. Something like understanding. Or maybe even… curiosity?

Your throat feels tight, your pulse quickening. You don’t know what to do with this feeling, this connection that seems to be growing stronger with every second you hold her gaze.

And then, she does something you didn’t expect.

She nods.

It’s subtle, just a small dip of her head, but it feels like a monumental shift. Like she’s acknowledging you—not just as a stranger, but as someone… more. Someone she’s noticed, someone she’s maybe been thinking about too.

Your breath catches in your throat, and before you can stop yourself, you find yourself nodding back. It feels awkward, stilted, but it’s the only thing you can think to do in the moment. It’s not much, but it’s something. A bridge, maybe. A connection.

You take a seat across from her, your body tense with nervous energy. You can feel her presence, like a subtle pull in the air between you. Neither of you speaks, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. It’s charged, filled with all the things you’re not saying, all the questions you’re not asking.

The door to your therapist’s office opens, and her familiar voice calls your name. You stand up, feeling a strange reluctance to leave the waiting room, to leave her behind. But as you turn to head toward the office, you steal one last glance at her.

She’s still watching you.

And for the first time in weeks, you don’t look away.

The session that follows is one of the hardest you’ve had in a long time. The therapist guides you through your memories with a gentle persistence, pushing you to confront parts of your past that you’ve been carefully avoiding. Today, it’s not just the weight of your own pain that feels unbearable—it’s the weight of everything you’ve been holding back for so long.

Your memories of childhood are raw, jagged, and unsettling. You find yourself reliving moments of fear and isolation, the sting of harsh words, the bruises you tried to hide. The sessions are usually a mix of distant recollections and present-day reflections, but today, the past crashes into you with a force that makes it hard to breathe. Your mother’s anger, her frustration, her harsh words—they’re all too close, too real. It’s like the boundaries between then and now have dissolved, leaving you exposed and trembling.

When the session ends, you barely manage to pull yourself together. Your eyes are red, streaked with tears, and your face feels hot and heavy with emotion. You nod to your therapist, a wordless acknowledgment of the work you’ve done. You need air—space to breathe and let the turmoil inside you settle.

You stumble out of the office, the hallway seeming longer than usual. You make your way to the clinic’s entrance, your steps unsteady, your mind still tangled in the remnants of painful memories. The cool air hits your face, and you stop just outside the door, letting it wash over you. It feels like a fleeting reprieve from the storm raging inside.

And then, you see her.

She’s standing there, just outside the door, her back to you. You recognize her immediately—Alexia. She’s wrapped in a coat, her arms crossed tightly in front of her. You can see her shoulders trembling slightly, and as you watch, she turns and looks at you. Her eyes are red and swollen, tears still glistening on her cheeks.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The silence between you is heavy, filled with unspoken understanding. You can see the same rawness in her face that you feel in your own. It’s as if both of you are caught in the aftermath of a storm, trying to find a way to navigate the wreckage.

Alexia takes a step toward you, her gaze meeting yours with a vulnerability that makes your heart ache. “I didn’t expect to see you,” she says softly, her voice wavering. There’s a tremor in her tone, like she’s struggling to keep herself composed.

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come. The sight of her—so open, so unguarded—strikes a chord deep within you. It’s not just about the glance you shared or the way you’ve been obsessing over her. It’s something deeper, something you’ve been grappling with in your own way.

“I…” you start, but the words fail you. Instead, you take a tentative step toward her, the distance between you shrinking as you both stand in the cold air, the weight of your shared pain hanging in the space around you.

Alexia looks down, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been coming here for a while. I didn’t think anyone noticed.” She pauses, her eyes meeting yours again, filled with a mix of sadness and curiosity. “You looked at me today like you understood something. I felt the same way.”

Her words hit you hard, echoing the thoughts that have been circling your mind all week. It’s as if she’s voicing the unspoken connection you both felt—the shared weight, the recognition of each other’s pain.

“I didn’t mean to stare,” you finally say, your voice rough from the emotions you’ve been grappling with. “I just… I saw something in you. I don’t know what it was, but it felt familiar.”

Alexia nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. “It’s strange,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. “I’ve felt like I was carrying this alone. And then you came in, and for some reason, it felt like… like maybe someone else understood.”

The shared understanding between you deepens, and you feel a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, you’re not as alone as you’ve felt. The connection you’ve both sensed, the unspoken recognition—it’s not just in your head. It’s real, and it’s giving you both a moment of connection that you’ve been craving.

Without thinking, you reach out, offering her a small, hesitant smile. “If you want to talk… or if you just need someone to be here,” you offer, your voice steadying despite the tears still lingering in your eyes.

Alexia’s gaze softens, and she nods. “I’d like that,” she says quietly. “I think I’d like that a lot.”

Part 2

[lavenderspence]

To Lean On You | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content Warning: post prison!Spencer, mentions of addiction, prison talk (typical for the prison arc), gun use, mentions of death, suggestive themes, idiots in love, angst, so much angst.

Word Count: 8.6K

Summary: You and Spencer wasted years, truths hidden, feelings uncertain, and a fear of the unrequited. It took ten weeks, isolated, silent, and broken, for the realization to strike. There was no life, if you didn’t have each other. 

A/N: It’s finally here! Wow, writing this was a wild ride, honestly. Over a month of writing, blood, sweat, and tears poured over it (there were in fact some tears). This is also the first thing I’ve written in 3 years and I'm very happy to finally be out of my slump. It's probably the angstiest thing I've written ever, and at the same time, I feel like it's not the greatest, but deep down, I still love it, haha. Let me know if I've missed any warnings. And, enjoy and any feedback is appreciated. <3

Here are some of the songs I listened to while writing this if you want to get into the mood:

Hearts by Jessie Ware

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived by Taylor Swift

Lost Without You by Freya Ridings

In This Shirt by The Irresponssibles

masterlist

79 days, 3 hours, and 27 minutes - that’s how long it’s been since he got arrested in Mexico.

70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes since you saw him being pulled out of the courtroom after he was deemed a flight risk and denied bail. 70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes have passed since you last saw him.

65 days, 7 hours, and 11 minutes, since he was transferred to Millburn Correctional Facility, and this whole nightmare, had started. 

Per Penelope’s carefully crafted schedule, every team member has made numerous trips to visit Spencer - every member except you. You’d only made one trip out, and that had been 3 days after he’d been transferred.

March 4th, 2017

It’s been 8 days since you saw him led in cuffs out of that courtroom, where Penelope had broken down in Luke’s arms, everyone too shocked to make a sound. He’d looked back, his eyes meeting yours briefly, and it had been as if you’d almost seen your reflection in the mirror, every emotion had run between you both in a matter of seconds. 

Shock, you’d almost been sure they would grant bail, and you’d be able to take him home. Almost. 

Fear, for his future and his well-being. Fear of the uncertain. 

Desperation, the desire to run to him and take him into your arms, finally, and to not let go. 

Except you’d held his gaze for as long as you could before you’d looked down and turned your head to save him from seeing you break down in tears. You’d made a hasty escape after that, not sparing any of your teammates a glance, and walked out of the courthouse, stopping by a tree outside. The urge to curl up into a ball and hide, pretending none of this had happened, was strong, and then a hand wrapped around your shoulder. You had turned around, only to see Rossi and one of his sad little smiles, the ones you rarely saw.

“It’s going to be okay,” he’d said, squeezing your shoulder. ”The kid is strong.”

You’d sniffled, trying to hide the tears in your voice. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I am," you’d whispered in despair. 

You were better than you had been 8 days ago, calmer. Although still heartbroken, you were looking forward to seeing him, seeing with your eyes that he was okay. Garcia had seen him, 2 days ago, before you’d been sent out on a case.  

“He looks good. I mean, as good as that big genius brain of his can look in prison. His eyes were sad though, really, really sad.” She’d paused as if to assure herself it would be alright, “I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing you, sweetness.” She’d squeezed your hand, but her statement hadn’t rung true. 

Your hands were shaking, you weren’t sure what from. The anticipation you’d felt? The nerves? Or the words you had a hard time coming to terms with.

“I’m sorry, but your name isn’t on Spencer Reid’s approved visitor list,” the guard at the checkpoint had said after rechecking the list. 

“There has to be a mistake, I made an appointment,” you insisted, feeling yourself unravel. It wasn’t possible, you knew for a fact you were on that list, Emily had made sure of that.

“Look, lady. There are only 10 names on that list, and yours is not one of them. Now, you need to move, because there are people here waiting to see their loved ones.” you’d hiccuped and turned around, walking to the lockers to unlock your gun, badge, and phone. 

“I’m here to see a loved one.” You’d wanted to scream, but you knew it would have been futile. There wasn’t anything you could do at that moment. 

You walked to your car, dialing Emily’s number, “This is Prentiss.”  

For a second, only your breathing could be heard over the sound of the wind, and then a tiny sniffle. You wiped at your eyes and nose, and then spoke up, barely, “Why am I not on Spencer’s approved visitor list?” 

“What do you mean? Every member of this team is on the list. So is his lawyer and Diana, even Derek,” you could hear the surprise in her voice, yet you couldn’t keep calm any longer.

"They refused to let me see him! I made the appointment, Emily, and I came, hoping I’d finally see him hear his voice, and ask him-” Your voice broke mid-sentence, and after taking a deep breath, you continued, “Ask him if he was okay, and I was denied because out of the 10 names on that list, it seems mine’s not one of them.” You finished defeated, barely above a whisper.

All was silent for the moment, save for what you could hear was Penelope’s voice on the other end of the line, quietly asking what was going on, “Let me call Fiona and the warden, and I’ll see what happened. Meanwhile, I need you back here, because we just got a case.” Her voice wasn’t leaving anything up for discussion. Still, you couldn’t go, not until you saw him. 

“Emily-” she cut you off.

“It’s not a discussion. I’ll resolve this, but I need you here and your head in the game. Am I clear?” Her voice was stern, but maybe that’s exactly what you needed. Maybe.

“Yeah, clear. I’m on my way back.” You took a deep breath and started the car and the journey back to Quantico, but your mind stayed right there, on the bars that kept you away from the one thing you held dearest. 

As it turns out, there was nothing the warden or Fiona could do. Even Emily Prentiss, Unit Chief of the BAU, couldn't “resolve” the situation. Days, weeks, and months passed, and for 70 days you couldn’t see him, isolated out, not even knowing why.

“-to be in the courthouse in one.” You snapped out of your thoughts, only catching the end of the sentence, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. You were tired, and it had little to do with the fact that you had been up all night, going over all the evidence with the team and tracing Lindsey Vaughan’s steps to a T in an attempt to exonerate Spencer and finally bring him home. 

You were exhausted, both physically and mentally. You’d been up for more than 24 hours now, but then you hadn’t been sleeping all that well to begin with. Every single night was spent wondering how Spencer was doing, and every time you closed your eyes, you saw him in that cell in Mexico. 

His eyes were red, high out of his mind, barely coherent, dirty, and injured - a far cry from the person you were used to seeing every single day - energetic, passionate, and brilliant. After 12 years, if there was one image you wished to erase from your memory, it was this one. Not all the blood you’ve seen spilled, every victim, be it men, women, or even children, all the horrors of the job, but this. Maybe it made you a bad person, but there was nothing worse than seeing the one person you held dearest at their lowest and not being able to do anything to stop it.

Every waking hour that you weren’t on the job was spent wondering how he was doing and if he was okay. If he was healthy, unharmed, and safe, or as safe as an FBI agent could be in prison. But most of all, the one thing that had kept you up at night, slowly destroying your sanity and making you question everything, had been the one question you couldn’t seem to get an answer to. 

“Why doesn’t he want to see me?”

You’d asked everyone and had waited with battered breath for an answer, a clarification on the matter, and it never came. As shocked as you had been at the notion that you wouldn’t be seeing Spencer for an indefinite amount of time, your team had been even more shocked. They knew the kind of relationship you and Spencer had, how close you’d become over the years, and how much you relied on each other. 

You’d asked every team member, you’d asked yourself, you’d even asked Spencer in a few of the letters you wrote to him, and then there had come a point where you just stopped. 

You were torturing yourself more than enough, day after day, and every single night, asking yourself a question you wouldn’t get an answer to. Not as long as he was locked up in that hellhole and you were out here, trying to keep together the pieces of something, that was on the verge of breaking. 

You felt a hand taking hold of yours, and for a second, you tensed up. Pulled out of your thoughts, you looked up and were met with chocolate brown eyes, full of worry - Emily’s eyes. 

You glanced around the room, only to realize it was empty, save for the two of you. You hadn’t felt when the others had left, that’s how deep in thought you had been. 

“Where did you go? I’ve been calling your name for a while now,” she spoke gently, squeezing your hand. If you were honest, that’s the first time she asked you anything about the situation. You’d spent weeks suffering in silence and trying to pretend that you weren’t slowly dying on the inside. 

You briefly thought about lying, it wouldn’t be the first lie you’d told since Spencer had been incarcerated, but you didn’t have it in you to hide anymore. 

And so, for the first time since Spencer’s hearing, you told the truth.

“Nothing makes sense anymore, Em,” it left you in a whisper, “I’m barely holding it together. I feel like I’m drowning sometimes, and just when I breach the surface, I’m pulled back in. My mind, it’s...I question everything, all the time. My mornings start with thoughts about him, and my nights end with tears over him, over this entire…this nightmare. I keep waiting for my alarm to go off, to wake up and realize that this has been a plot of my imagination, some cruel joke my mind has conjured, designed to show me... "Your eyes welled with tears, prepared to admit something you should have long ago. Emily gave your hand another squeeze, prompting you to continue, and so you did, admitting it for the first time aloud. 

“Designed to show me that I can’t live a life that doesn’t have Spencer in it.” You wiped at your eyes, willing your tears at bay. When you dared to look up, you were met with the eyes of the only other person besides Spencer who has been a constant rock in your life for the last 11 years. What you saw in her eyes then wasn’t surprise like you’d thought, but relief. It took you a moment to fully read her, but it was like a switch had gone off when you finally did. 

“But you’re not surprised to hear this, are you?” you smiled sadly, a light laugh leaving you. 

“I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t have my suspicions, and I’d be an even worse profiler,” she smiled at you, “Plus, there are some feelings that you just can’t hide,” you blinked, and then you blinked again. You hadn’t come right out and said it, and yet she knew, she somehow knew. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” you tried to backtrack, but you knew it was a losing battle. Emily knew you well enough to smell your bullshit from miles.

“That’s exactly how you meant it, and don’t even try to deny it. I see it every damn day. It’s how you leave the room whenever you hear someone talk about visiting Spencer. You don’t want to hear how he’s doing because you wouldn’t believe it, not unless you see him with your own eyes. But you can’t, so you’ve resigned yourself to the torture of not knowing instead of giving yourself the smallest amount of peace by asking. You’ve been suffering in silence for almost three months, too stubborn to say anything, thinking you were doing yourself a favor. And what for? You’re crying yourself to sleep every night and coming to work the next morning, pretending everything is fine when clearly it’s not. You think you’re fooling everyone, but the only person you’re tricking is yourself. And how’s that working out for you?” she had a point, and it’s not like you weren’t aware of that fact. You knew what you were doing wasn’t okay or healthy. You had the most stable support system imaginable to get you through the hardest parts. It was hard, though, especially when the person who was suffering the most was the person who’d taken your heart with him. 

“Way to call me out, boss.” you were just about ready to end the conversation, you couldn’t take any more of this. You’d promised each other long ago that you wouldn’t profile each other but you had a feeling that was exactly what Emily was doing right now. Maybe not on purpose, and with every good intention imaginable, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want one of your best friends to try to understand you based on behavioral analysis right after you’d spilled your soul out to her. 

“Just calling it the way I see it, someone has to,” she smiled, but then she shook her head a little before continuing. “What I want to know is why you didn’t say something earlier. You know I would have been there to listen, and so would have the team.” Damn, Emily Prentiss.

You didn’t have to think hard about it, you’ve been ruminating over everything for days. You were trying not to, but whenever your mind wasn’t focused on a case or the many drinking nights spent in Penelope’s purple adobe, that was where your mind would take you.

“Out of fear, I think,” you started, unsure for a second, still nervous to admit it. It wasn’t exactly what she was asking, but it was a start, “I was afraid, and I still am. I’ve been baiting myself into thinking it was just some sort of fondness, a little stronger than that which you feel towards a friend, and far lesser than what it actually is. I thought that if I didn’t say anything, I could go on lying to myself, and nothing would have to change, we wouldn’t have to change. Because words hold meaning, and an admission like that holds weight. What would I have done if it was just me who felt like this? I would have ruined the one thing we’ve both cherished for over a decade.” It felt good to finally say all of this out loud instead of holding it inward. But then again, Emily always knew when you'd had enough. 

She’d told you time and time again the same thing Hotch had asked of her when she returned to duty after faking her death: “Let me know when you are having a bad day.”. Honestly, you’d held off long enough, and so had she. It was a whole miracle she hadn’t pressed you about your behavior earlier. 

“That’s not what I was asking,” you said, shaking your head with a smile to let her know that you weren’t done speaking. 

“Everyone was suffering as a result of what happened in Mexico, what I was feeling wasn’t any different, Emily.” You were flippant about it, you always have been. You preferred isolating yourself and hiding everything instead of seeking a shoulder to bear the weight of what you felt. 

“Our sadness came from the fact that our friend was framed. And yours? That’s different.” 

“It isn’t,” she scoffed, getting up. Now you really felt like you were about to get scolded like a child.

“Yes, it is. God, you and Spencer are the same. It’s like I’m looking at his doppelganger without the whole… IQ of 187. You share some of the worst qualities a person can have,” you laughed at that, “You are both changeophobes-” you cut her off

“Metathesiophobia, fear of change.” She only raised her hand at you, as if to say, “See, you even sound like him,” which made you laugh even more. 

“You close yourselves off after a sad or traumatic experience, silently hoping you’d be able to get through the worst of it on your own. Most of the time, it’s evident that’s not the case. You only ask for help when you’ve reached rock bottom or have no other choice, but you’ve had a choice from the get-go. Your stubbornness even stems from the same anxieties, it’s infuriating,” she seemed to calm down then, in defeat maybe, or she hadn’t been mad, to begin with, she sat down again. 

“My point is, it shouldn’t have taken you learning that he might be coming home today to tell me all of this. I’ve known for a long time that there was something far more than platonic friendship on your end. You shouldn’t have tortured yourself since his trial to try to put the puzzle pieces together. You aren’t late, you have all the time in the world to say what you feel and what you want, and rejection shouldn’t be a factor, believe me. You need to make peace with that fear because Spencer is coming home today. And whether you are ready or not, you both need to have a serious conversation.” You appreciated her determination about Spencer being released, but then again, you had more than circumstantial evidence to support the fact that he was innocent. But, as always, Emily was right. He was coming home today, and after months of not seeing each other, there were a lot of things you needed to say. 

“I know. Thank you, Emily, for everything,” you whispered, squeezing her tight. 

Spencer’s POV

The first breath of fresh air after being on the inside for months felt far more overwhelming than he thought it would be. Being in charge of your being and your responses and emotions felt almost unnatural like the feeling of it didn’t belong to him. The sound of the wind and the traffic, people’s voices, and even the simple act of getting comfortable in the leather seats of the jet overwhelmed any ability to concentrate and think straight. 

In itself, it was strange. The prison was loud, the prison commissary at breakfast, lunch, and dinner was a cacophony of prisoners talking, cells being opened, and guards barking orders. The yard was loud too, although, in the middle of nowhere, nature could still be heard - the sounds of trees and the lone birds, if he had to guess a mix of Mourning Dove and Field Sparrow. Their songs were soothing most of the time, a welcome distraction from the usual noises around him. 

Without the atmosphere he’d gotten used to and subjected to all of those sounds and people whose presence he found comforting before, he now felt almost out of place. He wanted to feel at peace, he wanted to feel free, and although he technically was, his mind was more trapped than he’d actually been in that 2 by 2 cell in cellblock C.

He kept replaying some of the hardest moments from his time in, every threat, every punch he’d gotten, and the phantom feel of the fists connecting. Luis’ blood on his hands, the smell of bleach incorporated with the drugs, the tip of the sharpened toothbrush embedding into his thigh. All he’d done to survive, harm, and more harm, only to make it out alive. 

He barely recognized himself. He’d deliberately ignored looking at himself in the small plastic mirror in his cell, for fear of seeing what he’d had to become. Gone was the Spencer who’d use his brain to get out of situations, whose obliviousness more often than not helped to balance his intellect with the socially acceptable. Gone was the bubbly personality of a kid excited to share a plethora of facts with his friends. 

In his place sat a man, tormented by the reality of the hatred felt towards him. The reality of being a pawn in a game whose complexity could have been his downfall. A man whose genius, as much of a blessing, could sometimes be a curse. A man who had felt too much and was made to experience far more loss than his quaint heart was able to take. In the end, he kept losing, be it his father, by no choice of his own. His mentor, at the hands of a killer’s insanity. His friends and loved ones, hoping for a better life or his freedom, made to rot in a place he didn’t deserve to be in. 

Some would doubt that he had anything at all left to lose. All in all, how much more could the scrawny twelve-year-old child prodigy, left to survive in a public high school, take? 

His mind had been plagued by that question for years. He’d thought about that more than he’d like to admit. After every loss, there’d been a split moment where he’d asked himself what was next. What would be the next thing life would take from him? And every time, he’d had to wonder if, next time, life wouldn’t reach for the one thing he couldn’t allow to be taken from him. The one thing that, were he to lose, he’d never recover. He had hoped, sometimes prayed, that after everything he’d seen, everything he’d lived through, this would be the one thing that’d be spared. 

Locked in that cage, he’d tried even harder to ensure that there wouldn’t be another loss in his life - not anymore. Be it good or bad, he’d done everything. For 70 days, he’d had to assure himself he was doing what he thought was right, and what he wasn’t saying, he’d be forgiven for. He’d had to dodge questions and see the disappointment in his friend’s eyes, and when that wasn’t enough of a burden to bring all of his anxieties to the surface, he’d resigned himself to reading the words of the person he was doing all of this for - you. 

He’d reread every letter to the point where the edges of the papers were worn out, even though he’d known the contents by heart on the first read. He tortured himself by looking at your handwriting, analyzing the slanting of the words and the pressure of the pen. The little stains on the paper, he didn’t have to be a genius to know, were your tears. It broke his heart, to know he was causing you this much pain. He didn’t need to be there to see it, he felt it through your words.

He often questioned if it was worth it, if he was protecting you, or himself, or maybe even what you were or weren’t.

Even now, the weight of your words sat heavily on his mind, and right by his heart, in the pocket of his jacket, he felt the weight of the 9 letters you wrote. 

As he looked over from the little window of the jet, he couldn’t help but wonder if, in his desire to shield you from everything, he hadn’t gone too far. Ultimately, was he going to be forgiven, or be forced to pick up the pieces of the reality broken by his own doing?

“Don’t do that.” JJ’s gentle voice startled him from the overwhelming nature of his thoughts. She’d spent the last 30 minutes since they boarded silently observing him, waiting for him to pick up a conversation. But he’d decided to stay num. 

In every twitch of his fingers, in his desire to get comfortable but being unable to, she could see that he was restless. If she had to guess, his mind was much the same. 

“Do what?”

She gave him a look, one, had he not known her long enough, he might have been offended by. Clearly, she was offended herself, watching him play the clueless card. 

“Spence, I don’t need to profile you to know that your mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, contemplating your decisions, and I don’t think you should. You did what you thought was right, and no one blames you for that, not for Mexico, and not for what you did after,” she spoke evenly, gathering even Penelope and Alvez’s attention from where they sat. He looked over, receiving a smile and a nod from both before focusing on JJ again. 

Rationally, he knew she was right about everything. He didn’t need to run himself ragged with everything he could have done differently, or search for the perfect way to explain, or overall, the perfect outcome of his own decisions. He knew there wasn’t one, there was no perfect way to say what he needed to, no perfect words to pick so he could fix this and erase the pain he knew he’d caused. 

Perfection wasn’t something you could strive to achieve, because there’s no such thing as perfection. The term was diverse, everyone had a different perspective on what that might look like. If for JJ, perfection was the family that waited for her at home every time she returned from a case, for Spencer, perfection was vastly different. 

For him, perfection was the rich aroma of coffee that could cause someone’s insulin to spike because of the amount of sugar in it. The softness of a book page between his fingers, or the familiarity of a book he’d read before but needed to revisit. 

Perfection was the sound of your laugh whenever he was the one to prompt the sound. The way your eyes lit up every time you listened to him babble on. Perfection was the time he got to spend with you every day, every hour, and every minute that he could remember with almost scary accuracy. 

He could sit and wonder what the perfect way to go about this was, but there simply wasn’t one, there was only the truth. And as painful, hopeful, or even a little dumb as it was, that was the best he could give.

And maybe that’s what his mind should focus on instead, the truth, in its simplest form, at its core the truth he’d hidden for months, and then the truth he’d hidden for years. 

He had wondered long enough if he’d made the right choice. He spent plenty of time focusing on the shame he’d felt, prompted by the disappointment he’d seen in his friends’ eyes whenever they brought up your name. How he’d sit, silent, or give an answer so short and angry, it’d add even more shame to the one he already felt. 

Beyond his time in prison, where he spent most of his time questioning his decisions, he spent years before that questioning himself as a person. His place on the team, his intelligence, even his failings. His inability to form relationships where he’d be seen as more than Dr. Reid, or the skinny kid, pretty boy, or a genius. A relationship that’d make him feel like simply Spencer, without the added adjectives, that sometimes made him feel like a circus clown. 

Only when he’d been locked up, had he started to realize that he’d finally built a relationship with someone with whom he could be himself. The most basic, boring, and peaceful version of himself, and slowly, all had started falling into place. 

How content he felt whenever he was around you, the desire to tell you every good or bad news he received. How when you asked about his mother, it warmed his heart, or how worried he felt when you acted stupid in the field. How out of control he’d felt when you’d gone missing last year. Or even, at the time, the unexplained jealousy he’d felt seeing you talk with another man.

Morgan had asked, once, twice, a lot, if maybe he didn’t have a crush, but he’d denied it, every time. And every time he’d question himself, he'd dismiss the idea just as quickly. 

Yet, upon being forced away from you, the pieces had started mending into one. 

Every realization he’d had was like a new broken piece being glued to the overall mosaic. And every new piece added built everything he felt about you. And it was a lot, and it was overwhelming, and so, so right, it sometimes felt wrong. Because he was inside a prison of his own doing, and you were out there, made to wait for him, for an explanation, for the truth. 

And he’d vowed to himself that the moment he was out, he’d put everything on the table, no matter how much he’d fucked up or how much he’d hurt you. He’d sit there, and he’d let it out, and if necessary, he’d even beg for your forgiveness. 

Because there wasn’t a moment in this life, he wanted to live through, without you there with him.

Your POV

You pulled the trigger, your eyes focused, and your hands steady. Three consecutive shots were fired, each one hitting its intended target. Three more followed, and then as many as it took to empty the magazine. 

You put down the gun and took a deep breath, steadying your heartbeat, trying to rid yourself of the deep-seated anxiety you felt. An odd sense of calm overtook you whenever you found yourself at the shooting range. Maybe it was the everpresent scent of gunpowder or the quiet only disturbed by the firing of a gun. Or even the possibility of escaping your rising thoughts, the desire to run or scream, sometimes both. 

There was a sense of solitude there that almost made it easier to breathe. The repetitive motion and the weight of the gun in your hands felt like second nature. 

Front sight, trigger press, follow through, just like Hotch had taught you all those years ago. As long as you held that gun, your mind was quiet, and you focused on something other than the worry you felt. 

It made sense you found yourself there shortly after Emily had shared the long-awaited good news - Spencer was finally free, and JJ, Penelope, and Luke were on route back with him. For a short moment, you’d felt the weight being lifted from your chest, and then it dropped again, now tripled. 

Suddenly, your earlier conversation with Emily had gotten as real as the target before you. Even with the sense of peace, you’d felt after, your thoughts on the matter clear, you still felt a sense of dread at the idea of seeing him. 

As if he wasn’t your best friend, the man who’d long ago won your affection and captured your heart, but rather a stranger who held your future in his hands. And he might as well be, because whatever the truth to the questions you wanted answered was, one thing was for sure.

It’d either make or break you both.

You picked up a new magazine, and loaded the gun, aiming at the target before releasing the safety. Before you fired again, you released a breath, and with it, all the feelings within you - fear, uncertainty, yearning, and the sense of madness, which, although mild, was persistent.

You fired once, twice, your aim impeccable, and then, out of nowhere, you missed. 

The hair at the back of your neck rose, your heart rate quickened, and the feeling of another’s presence in the room was unmistakable. It took you just a second to put the pieces together, the intrusion felt like anything but that. 

Instead, for a brief moment, the person brought with them a familiar feeling of calm. In the next instance, though, reality came crashing like a tidal wave, and you knew you’d run out of time. 

Your hands shook as you put down the gun. You could feel him watching you, probably standing next to the door, as if he couldn’t will himself to move closer. The anxiety was palpable in the air, although you couldn’t really say if it was yours or his, most likely, it was a mix of both.

You went to reach for your protection but hesitated. Once you took it off, there’d no longer be an excuse for you to ignore him, you’d finally have to meet the reality he’d so carefully crafted for you.

Even though you felt like you could barely breathe, the desire to finally lay your eyes on him won out. 

Without missing another beat, you took off your earplugs and then your eye protection. You could faintly hear the sound of shoes squicking against the floor. He could never stay still when he was nervous.  

You picked up on the sound of your own breathing too, the beating of your heart was almost erratic. You were waiting, what for, you weren’t sure. 

He was waiting too, for you to turn around, to lay his eyes on you. Like a sadist, waiting to see the pain he’d caused, or a masochist, wishing for his own in turn. 

70 days of slowly killing you both.

When you finally dared to turn around, it took you a moment to fully take him in. He looked like the Spencer you knew, yet there was something different about him too. Dressed in his usual suit and tie outfit, he didn’t look comfortable. His posture was rigid, almost defensive. It wasn’t a conscious decision, that much you were sure of.

His hair was longer, pushed back, curling at the ends, and he’d lost some weight. Not much, but enough to make an impression after all this time. He looked pensive, like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders, but maybe it was just the weight of the consequences he had to face.

Your eyes ran over every inch of him multiple times, intentionally avoiding his gaze for as long as possible. Seconds and minutes passed, and you weren’t really sure how much exactly. 

Spencer knew, though, of course, he did. If his fear of meeting you eye to eye was as great as yours was, you knew he was counting until the torture of the act itself was over. 

89 seconds he’d counted, although now with you there, they felt longer than the days without you did. 

When you eventually met his gaze, you felt a part of your heart chip on the inside. What people said about the eyes being a portal to one's soul couldn’t have been more right in that moment. Spencer, a man who excelled at hiding his emotions when he really wanted to, had let them out as clear as day for you to see. 

His eyes sparkled with so much sadness and guilt that it threatened to take you apart even before he had the chance to talk. Something softened within you at that moment, but in the next instance, it was like someone else took over. 

One moment you wanted to cry for him or with him, and the next you felt like your whole being needed to be let out. 

“Is that…is that all you can offer me right now? More of your silence? Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that?” The questions, a few of many to follow, had a bite to them. 

His face fell a little, taken aback by your tone. He fidgeted with his fingers, unsure what to say, or where to start. How could he answer your question? He pictured a scenario where his words flew freely, where he gave you an explanation worthy of forgiveness and a confession, so earnest that it ended with you in his arms. 

Try as he might, the words didn’t come to him, just a barely audible accusation. 

“That’s not fair.”

You scoffed, as if in outrage. A madness, one born out of so much heartbreak, took over, it was blinding. If someone had asked you to explain yourself, you’d say that wasn’t you. You’d never be so forward, almost cruel, to him, but at that moment, being mad sounded so much better than being vulnerable. Like a shield, you weren’t ready to let go of yet.

“How exactly is this not fair, Spencer? It’s the truth!” you yelled, and you felt free, finally letting it all out. “You want to know what isn’t fair, though? The way you isolated me OUT of your life! For three months, I’ve had to stand on the sidelines and beg for scraps, just to know you were okay. Every pitiful look I’d get from the people I consider family felt like another stab to the heart. That’s what’s not fair!” You were screaming so loud. It was a good thing the range was soundproof, otherwise, the whole of the BAU would have been deep in your business by now. 

If he looked surprised by the accusation, he didn’t really show it. His posture took a turn, though. The rigidity disappeared, and in turn, it opened, as if the need to comfort you overpowered the uncertainty or the mask he’d had to hold while imprisoned. 

You didn’t want his comfort, not right now. Maybe later, when all was said and done, you’d get to have a normal conversation without the frustrations of the past. At that moment, you just wanted everything out of your system. You wanted the questions, the answers, and the truth. 

His silence continued as he started closing the distance between you. You wanted to move, to create more distance, but there was nowhere to go. You were squeezed between the range, and him. Whatever else was left than to continue begging for clarity.

“It’s not fair being sent away the first time I came to see you. To learn you didn’t want to see me! Each time it was my turn to visit you, do you want to know where I was? I sat outside that fucking prison, wishing for a glimpse of the person who’s been my rock for 12 years! Holding back tears, thinking you didn’t…you didn’t care like I did. Is this what I really deserve after 12 years by your side?” You almost slipped, you almost told him, and maybe you should have, it might have prompted him to talk or to say something. But no, he stayed silent. Step after step, he limped, his cheek twitched, and his brows furrowed, but like a coward, he remained quiet. 

He was meters away from you, three more steps, and he’d completely close the distance, and meet you face to face. 

“Say something, Spencer, damn it!” Your throat burned from the strain, and he advanced even more. “Anything,” you finished in a whisper, and all of a sudden, all the fight left you, and your eyes watered and your vision went blurry. 

He was just a step away then, and when you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t help but see how they shined. 

He reached forward, one hand taking hold of your arm while the other went to hold your waist, but you shook your head. “No, Spencer, please,” you whispered. You didn’t want to find yourself in his arms, because that would be the last of your composure, gone. You’d surrender to the feel of him like you even had a choice not to. 

He didn’t stop, not until you were snug into his arms, one of his hands at the back of your neck, holding your head tenderly, but the arm around your waist held onto you as if he was scared you’d slip away from him. 

Once in his arms, you finally let go, breaking down into pieces, hoping he’d be able to hold them all from crumbling to the ground. 

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He kept repeating, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your pulse point. All the while, you could only stand, your arms at your sides, as if paralyzed.

Being in his arms felt like being home somehow. It felt so right after having been deprived of the feeling for so long. It felt like there was nothing wrong, and nothing could go wrong at that moment. 

Even though you hadn't initially wanted his comfort, somewhere deep inside, you craved his tender touch. You craved the feel of his body near and the faint scent that was so uniquely him - a mix of coffee, fall, and old paper, books. You realized then that you craved the sound of his voice too, another part of him you’d been deprived of. 

The voice of the always rambling boy that never failed to bring a smile to your face, even when you couldn’t understand him sometimes. 

And the more he whispered, his voice broken and shaky, the harder you cried. You’d thought nothing could match the heartbreak of his actions or the anger of his silence, but the reality of being held against him brought the realization that your suffering mirrored his own. 

If you’d been dying on the inside for months, he’d been on the other side of the link holding you tethered to each other, dying just as much. 

And you couldn’t hold yourself back any longer after that. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, and your arms finally circled his waist underneath his suit jacket, fisting the back of his shirt as if it were your one lifeline. 

You felt him exhale when you finally returned his touch, most likely in relief, before he dropped a light kiss on your head. 

You cried for the relief of having him back and close. For unspoken truths and time wasted, years of figuring out feelings clear as day. For all the anger, for all of his silence, for all you felt for him. 

He cried for all the pain he’d caused you and for all the time he’d wasted being alone instead of being with you. He cried for himself, he cried for you, and he cried, overwhelmed by his feelings for you. 

You clung to one another, crying, and minutes were passing and neither of you cared. Not when you had each other. 

After a while, when both your tears dried out and your cries quieted, but you still felt the need to hold each other close, you dared to murmur a broken “Why?” hoping he’d hear, hoping he’d understand. 

It didn’t take him long to mumble a reply, no longer silent. 

“All the words in the world available, and I wish I could explain.” it came out just as quietly, both of you scared to break the little bubble you’d found yourselves in. 

You pulled back from him, wanting to look into his eyes, red-rimmed and still sparkling when you felt yourself begging again. 

“Then try, please, because I’d rather know, and not understand, than not know at all.” And it was the truth. He could speak in riddles if he wanted, but you needed to know why he’d made that choice. 

You looked at him expectantly before he pushed a piece of hair back, and his hand once again settled at the back of your head, gently cupping it. 

“I wanted you safe from a world you didn’t belong in,” he admitted on an exhale, like a lifelong secret he’d gotten tired of holding onto. 

You looked at him in wonder, and it was on the tip of your tongue to tell him he didn’t belong in that world either, but just as you opened your mouth to speak, he shook his head. 

“I was ashamed when I had you removed from the visitor’s list. I didn’t want you to see me like that, like a criminal,” he started, pulling you into his arms, not wanting to admit it to you eye to eye, out of fear of being right. Of course, he was wrong, but that didn’t stop him from wondering. 

“The first time JJ visited me, they leered at her like they were being fed fresh meat, taking her in, committing her to memory. A cage full of animals. I knew then that I didn’t want that for you, and any guilt I had at keeping you away disappeared that day. It hurt me, knowing I was failing you and whatever trust you had in me,” he whispered, wishing to keep the reality of his thoughts and his feelings in a little bubble as if you only existed in it.

“I’m not the same person I was before, I couldn’t be him, even if it meant losing a part of myself in the process. I couldn’t really be a decent human being without bearing the consequences. Everything I saw, everything I did, and everything that was done to me, I don’t think I’d ever fully be the person I was before. And that too, I’m thankful I spared you from seeing.” It would explain his rigidity, a defense mechanism he’d had to get used to. 

And while everything he’d said thus far was true the biggest truth, he’d had yet to say. He had yet to really explain why he’d done what he’d done in the first place. He was stalling, still afraid, but the longer he held you, the longer he felt your heart beating in time with his, the more sure he became. 

To hell with the consequences, to hell with whatever happened after, he was right here in the now, alive, breathing, his arms around you, finally at peace. 

He pulled back, took your face into his hands, and finally whispered.

“Most of all, though, I knew I loved you enough to risk us if it meant keeping you safe.” It left him in a rush, a confession waiting to be let out for months. A feeling he’d had for years, and a moment where he could finally be open about it. 

“What…?” you licked your lips, shocked that you might not have heard him correctly. ”What does us mean?” This part of the conversation felt like you were daydreaming about it, it just didn’t feel real. 

“It means whatever you want it to be. Whatever you want us to be.” All of a sudden, it was that simple. 

“So, you love me?” You had a hard time taking it all in, yet your heart fluttered in pure happiness. “And you…you want us?” 

"Yes.” Even before you were done speaking, he was already answering. He was desperate to finally admit he was absolutely smitten by you. 

Months of figuring out your feelings, years of hiding them, a conversation to finally prompt a confession out of you, and all this time it was reciprocated. You could have cried, happiness like no other coursing through you, pure bliss. 

You wanted back into his arms, you wanted to kiss him so badly that your blood was burning from the need to feel him like you'd never been able to before. And yet, you knew there was something else you needed to do before you could finally do it.

“Spence, you don’t push away the people you love, no matter the cost. You rely on their love to help aid you when you’re at your lowest.” You gave his sides a light squeeze before you looked back into his eyes, only to see them hopeful and uncertain at the same time.

He looked hopeful, for the possibility that you might actually love him back, but uncertain because it felt like you might be pushing him away this time. 

“I can’t go through this again. Having to watch you wither away, in prison, at home, or by your own thoughts, I won’t be able to handle being pushed away again,” whispers, cries, pleas, memories full of heartbreak intertwined with present confessions full of joy. 

His eyes watered then, his lips trembling. Any sign of hope was gone, and in its’ place stood the realization of a man who’d maybe gone a little too far. He’d pushed you away, and now, it was your time to be the one sticking and twisting the knife deep, breaking his heart in the process. 

If someone were to ask him at that moment what his biggest regret was, he’d say this. This was his biggest regret, his own choices. 

A tear escaped him, and you reached up, wiping it away gently before you spoke again.

“If..if this is going to go anywhere, you need to rely on me. You need to believe that I can handle anything and everything, just as long as you are by my side. All those years of being pushed away - your addiction, Maeve and Gideon’s deaths, your mom’s diagnosis, Cat Adams - you weren’t alone then, you aren’t alone now, and you won’t be alone in the future. You’ll always have me by your side, you’ll always have my support. Most of all, you’ll have my love, but when things get hard, I need you to lean on me, and trust that I can help you because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together.” You finished on an exhale, full-on crying now. You could barely see him, but from the little you could, you saw tears streaming down his face, and a smile that grew wide, happy.

Those words, he knew them word for word. For 13 days, he’d repeat them, no longer needing to see them written down, he had them engraved in his brain. Your letters he could recite, but your final one he’d remember as long as he lived. 

“I promise to lean on you and trust that you’d help me because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together,” he whispered back, his eyes searching yours for just a moment before he pulled you in, and finally, his lips met yours. 

He kissed you, tentative at first, testing the waters. He wanted to take his time, commit your lips to memory, gentle, and plump, exactly how he’d imagined they’d feel. The more he kissed you, the more he couldn’t stop. Passion, urgency, desire - his kisses turned desperate like he wanted to swallow you whole and never let you go. 

He bit your lip gently, asking for access, before his tongue intertwined with yours and he pulled you flush against him, closing any gap left between you. Chest, hips, there wasn’t an inch where you weren’t touching. 

It felt so familiar, even though you hadn’t kissed before. So right, like no one's kisses had felt before. As if your whole lives, kissing each other was the missing piece in a complicated puzzle, waiting to be put together. Coming together as one, it felt magnetic, a feeling of euphoria, pure ecstasy, no one else mattered, no other feeling mattered at that moment, other than your hands on each other and your lips locked together. 

Time was passing by, and you didn’t care. Years of missed opportunities, hidden feelings, and long-awaited realizations all led to this moment. Starved for each other, a kiss full of fervor and even the taste of tears was present. Unimaginable, but very real.

When you finally pulled apart, he wiped your tears, and you wiped his in turn, before he gathered you back in the comfort of his arms, laying a kiss on the side of your head.

And between the four walls around you, nestled in each other’s arms, the place where no one could touch you, in a shared breath you both whispered. 

“I love you.” 

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[chvoswxtch]

promotion

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: you and frank have to deal with the aftermath of his decision.

warnings: swearing, lots of angst, a lil surprise at the end ;)

word count: 4.6k

a/n: I can't believe that this is the second to last chapter of this series. pls excuse me while I go cry. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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The last time you stepped foot in a hospital had been when your mom passed. When you walked that familiar path to her room that day, you hadn’t known then it would be the last time. You knew her fate was inevitable, and that it was coming, but you thought you had more time with her. You thought you would at least get a chance to say goodbye, but that final moment of closure had been stolen from you, just like the time you were supposed to have with her. 

That had been one of the worst days of your life, and now you were anxiously awaiting to find out if you were about to have your second, because Frank had been in a coma for the past forty eight hours and you had no idea if you were out of time with him too.

“You alright?”

In the midst of your brain cycling through the worst possible outcomes like some kind of fucked up lottery, you hadn’t heard the rhythmic tapping of a cane against the cold sterile floor. Lifting your head to the sound of the familiar voice, you just stared up at Matt for a moment. The red tinted sunglasses hid his sightless eyes, but there was a fresh bruise blooming on his left cheekbone. Knowing the shape Frank was in, you wondered how many of Matt’s injuries were hidden beneath his clothes.

“You want my honest answer, or you want me to lie to you?”

A wry smile tugged at the edge of his mouth.

“I’d know if you did.”

A faint furrow formed between your brows at that admission, and then a soft snort of disbelief left you as you shook your head and rubbed your hands tiredly down your face.

“Is that your secret to being a really good lawyer? Being a human lie detector?”

Matt shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, anxiously tightening his grip on his cane with both of his hands. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he cocked his head slightly to the side.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

After hesitating for a moment, Matt folded up his cane and took the empty seat next to you where you were waiting outside Frank’s hospital room. He leaned in a little closer, dropping the volume of his voice.

“How…how did you-”

“You have a very distinct voice, you know.”

Matt’s lips parted for a second as if to speak, and then he closed them a moment later. A dry chuckle suddenly sounded in his chest and his lips spread into an amused smile, causing faint dimples to appear within the dark grown out stubble covering his cheeks. 

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or concerned.”

“Why would you be concerned?”

“Because you know who I am now.”

Even though Matt wasn’t outright voicing his worry, you could hear it in the undertone of his voice. He must have been aware that you had written articles about the infamous Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, and now you knew the name of the man behind the horns. Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you reached over and placed your hand on top of his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Yeah, I do. You’re my lawyer. You helped put my ex in prison for life after he almost got me killed. And, you’re also my friend, who just happens to have a…interesting choice in night time hobbies.”

Matt arched one of his dark brows, a hint of humor in his smooth voice.

“I don’t know if I’d call it a hobby. Hobbies are usually fun.”

“Matt, you helped save my life, and his.”

Matt was quiet for a moment before he turned his hand beneath yours, palm side up, and curled his fingers around the back of your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze when he spoke.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

 A soft smirk gently graced the edge of lips as he nudged your shoulder with his own.

“You know, I’ve never had to work so hard to save two people in my life. Most people aren’t so stubborn and have at least some sense of self-preservation.”

“Okay, surely I wasn’t as bad as him-”

“Pretty close.”

Pressing your lips together, you rolled your eyes which earned a laugh from Matt, and he gave your hand another faint squeeze. After a comfortable silence fell over the two of you, he turned his head in your direction.

“You’re not gonna ask?”

“Ask what?”

Matt shifted in the chair and turned his body towards you, tilting his head to the side slightly when he heard the evident confusion in your voice.

“About me.”

Arching one of your brows in silent questioning, you looked at Matt curiously, and his own confusion was written clearly all over his face.

“I mean, everyone that’s found out has a lot of questions. You know, how does a blind man-”

“Matt, aliens came out of the sky and nearly destroyed New York. A giant purple asshole wiped out half the universe with a snap of his shiny rhinestoned glove, and then all those people magically came back five years later. Luke Cage has bulletproof skin. Jessica Jones is super strong. Thor is a literal norse god, Bruce Banner turns into a really big green guy, and according to Homeland Security, my boyfriend is a former homicidal maniac that is technically dead. No offense, but you being Daredevil is kind of low on my list of weird shit I have questions about.”

Matt was silent for a solid minute before a burst of laughter bubbled up and erupted from his chest. His lips spread into a wide tooth bearing grin, both of his dimples now deeply indented into his cheeks.

“Well, when you put it like that.”

Letting out a soft laugh of your own, you shook your head faintly. Matt opened his mouth to say something and then abruptly paused, turning his head towards the wall behind the both of you, his dark brows knit together. Your eyes flickered between the wall and the look of concentration on Matt’s face.

“What is it?”

“He’s awake.”

Matt barely finished his sentence before you let go of his hand and shot up out of your chair, rushing over to push open the door of Frank’s hospital room and step inside. Your heart was pounding in your ears and your hands were trembling watching Frank slowly regain consciousness, a soft pinch forming between his dark brows as he inhaled deeply through his large broken nose.

When his eyes finally fluttered open, you were already at his side. He blinked slowly a few times, faintly squinting as his eyes adjusted to the artificial light after being unconscious for two days. He glanced around the room in a state of hazy disorientation, but when his eyes eventually met yours, that blurry perplexity swiftly sharpened into clarity. For a minute, the two of you just silently stared at one another.

It was hard to see Frank like this, lying in a hospital bed, battered and broken. There were even more cuts and bruises he’d sustained after leaving you in that hallway. But even with the deep blooms of fresh bruises and the dark angry wounds that had begun to clot and heal on his face, he still looked every bit like the man you had fallen in love with.

Frank’s face was just as blank as it had been for the past two days while he was out. For a second you were worried that he had sustained some kind of head trauma the doctors had missed and that he was currently suffering from some form of amnesia, but you could see recognition in his eyes when he looked at you. He just wasn’t talking. You didn’t know if he was waiting for you to speak first or if he just didn’t know what to say after the way he’d left you, but you didn’t waste another second before firing off.

“Dinah told me about the deal you made with her. Were you ever gonna tell me?”

You didn’t bother trying to hide the anger on your face, or disguise it in your voice. For the past two days all you had been able to think about was the fact that Frank had told you he loved you and then left you behind, seemingly without intending to make it out of that situation with Billy alive. He had told you goodbye in that moment, and you had been too overwhelmed to realize it.

But when the shock faded, you were furious. 

The expression on Frank’s face was still unreadable, and the longer he went without speaking, the angrier you got. He stared at you for a moment before his gruff voice broke the tense silence.

“Yeah.”

“They found Schoonover and Rawlins both dead. Was that you?”

“Yeah.”

There wasn’t even a hint of remorse in his voice when he confirmed that he’d murdered two of his former superiors. It was firm and unwavering. Frank didn’t attempt to lie to you or defend his actions. He was completely unapologetic about it, just like he had been when he’d killed Cavella and Walker. Forty-eight hours ago, he’d wiped out Billy’s entire team like they were nothing, and there was no trace of guilt over it in his eyes.

You were still trying to reconcile the two versions of Frank in your head; the one you knew, and the one currently in front of you. The image of him in that bulletproof vest with the bloodied skull on his chest was seared into your memory.

“Why didn’t you kill Billy?”

Frank could hear the faintest of a waver in your voice, a break of raw emotion in your audible frustration and confusion. He turned his head to stare out the window on his left, though he didn’t appear to actually be looking at anything. There was a far away look in his eyes, but his face was as hard and cold as his rough voice.

“Dyin’s easy. He has to live with what he’s done.”

Letting out a dry scoff, you look a step closer towards Frank’s bed as your brows furrowed in disbelief.

“You think he’ll feel an ounce of remorse now?”

“I don't give a shit if he feels bad.”

Frank turned his head to look at you, displaying that familiar broody expression that you currently wanted to smack off of his face. He was looking at you like you’d just asked the most ridiculous question in the world.

“Every day he’s gonna look at that ugly, mangled face, and he’s gonna remember what he did. He’s gonna remember me. He's gonna spend the rest of his life rottin’ in a goddamn cell, knowin’ I put him there. Knowin’ that he had everything, and now he’s got nothin’-that he is nothin’. For him, that’s worse than dyin’.”

Revenge didn’t dull the sharp edge of Frank’s hatred for Billy, and it didn’t ease the grievance of his loss. If anything, it just seemed to rip open that wound even wider that had never really healed in the first place since that tragic day in Central Park. Getting vengeance on the three people who were the sole facilitators of his family’s murder didn’t bring Frank peace any more than wiping out all those men years ago did. Billy’s betrayal had twisted that knife further, cut Frank deeper, and you were afraid that it would never have a chance of healing now.

“Frank-”

“You uh…you should go.”

Those words were like a bucket of ice water being dumped onto your head, sobering your heartache and frustration. Frank wasn’t looking at you, and you couldn’t look at anything other than him. 

“What?”

The shock and disbelief rang clear in your breathless whisper, sounding as if the very wind had been knocked right out of your lungs, and it cut Frank to his core. He couldn’t look at you. He couldn’t see the hurt and perplexity on your face. He kept his gaze averted towards the window, a muscle feathering in his clenched bruised jaw.

“That deal I made with Madani, it’s over. She ain’t a miracle worker. She got me a second shot, she can’t get me a third one. And I don’t want it.”

“Frank-”

“You gotta walk away, Y/N. You gotta walk away, alright. You can’t…I’m not…you’re better off, alright. You’re just…you’re better off.”

“Don’t say that-”

“I am not the man you think I am, alright? I’m not. I…I’m just…”

Frank closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, and his large hands gripped the blanket so tightly that the bruises and cuts on his knuckles paled and went stark white. He muttered incoherently under his breath, letting out a shaky exhale, and when he opened his eyes they were blurry with loss and pain.

“I was done. I was…I was, I told Maria. I’d just gotten home the night before, and I woke up the next mornin’ and I was just…it hit me, ya’know? It was just time, ya’know? I wanted…I was done, I wanted to be with them. It’s where I shoulda been the whole time, ya’know? It just…I saw her face, and it hit me, and I just knew. I wasn’t goin’ back. And the kids, ya’know, I was…I was gonna tell ‘em that day. Tell ‘em that daddy wasn’t leavin’ anymore, that he was…he was stayin’.”

Frank’s tear filled eyes were darting back and forth as he stared off towards the window, his bruised and beaten face contorted in grief and guilt. The raw agony cracking in his quiet voice and the sound of him struggling to suck in a breath had you reaching out to grip onto his hand as heartbroken tears slipped down your own face. Seeing the tears slip down his face when Billy confessed to being involved in his family’s murder had gutted you, but seeing Frank cry like this…you could physically feel it breaking your heart.

“That day we went to the park, ya’know the kids, they were too old for that stupid carousel, but they just laughed and laughed and…ya’know they were smilin’ and so happy. And I was…I was too, ya’know. I was home, I was…I was with them, and I was stayin’, but I…I didn’t get to tell ‘em. And it’s my fault they’re gone. It was…it was my bullshit. I got them killed, and I nearly got you killed and I can’t…I can’t do that again, Y/N, I can’t.”

Out of all the things you were expecting Frank to say when he finally woke up, this wasn’t it. This was not how you’d imagined this conversation going. Your heart ached seeing Frank so distraught and hearing the pure anguish in his voice. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the weight of his trauma or the sting of that suffering, and you knew why he was afraid, but this couldn’t be it. It just couldn’t. Not after everything you had been through together.

When he started to push you away for a second time, something within you snapped, and it set your bloodstream ablaze.

“No.”

“Y/N-”

“No.”

Frank snapped his head up in your direction when you yelled at him. You’d lost your temper with him before, but not like this. The sheer force behind your voice and the fire burning in your eyes caught him off guard. 

“You don’t get to do that.”

Hearing the accusation in your tone, the melancholy lingering along his bottom lash line faded and his face shifted into an expression of crestfallen puzzlement. 

“You don’t get to tell me that you love me and then push me away.”

Frank’s dark brows knit together suddenly, frustration creasing along his forehead as he looked up at you and spoke in a defensive tone.

“Hey, I do love you. That’s why I’m pushin’ you away, don’t you get that? I’m not draggin’ you down with me-”

“Oh so I don't get a say in this anymore? That’s it? You’re just giving up?”

“I’m doin’ what’s best for you-”

“That’s bullshit!”

Frank watched as you let out a dry and incredulous short laugh void of any humor. His brown eyes tracked you as you walked towards the end of his hospital bed, furiously pacing and stressfully running your hands through your hair. He let out a deep exhale through his large broken nose and shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment as his face twisted up in anguish. 

“Oh c’mon Y/N. Look I know you, alright? I know that you’re brave and you’re smart and you’re strong, but you are so goddamn stubborn and I cannot let you throw everything away for me.”

“So it's okay for you to risk everything, but not me?”

Frank’s features were contorted in exasperation tinged with frustration when he finally looked at you, and your own features were a convoluted tangle of irritation, despair, and treachery.

“C’mon, don’t do that, alright? It is not the same thing-”

“You’re not even gonna try-”

“You know what I am now, alright? You know what I did.”

The hardened edge to Frank’s rough voice caused any rebuttal to lodge in your throat. He was making you face it. That complicated truth you’d been wrestling with and trying to hide from, he was shining a light right on it and shoving it right in your face without mercy.

“I did it. I murdered all those people. That’s my life, that’s my world, and that’s what I do. You really wanna be a part of that?”

The familiar sting of saltwater started to burn in your weary eyes. Frank’s aggressive demeanor visibly softened seeing the glossy evidence of how he’d upset you. He was being a relentless asshole, and he knew it, but he thought it was for the best. The further away you were from him, the safer you were. 

When you turned away from him, it tore through the remaining thin strings keeping Frank’s heart together. A faint sheen glimmered in his own eyes as he looked at the back of your head, and a devastating silence fell over the room. This time when he spoke, his voice came out quieter and much more gentle as he tried to reason with you.

“C’mon sweetheart, you…you know who I am-”

“I know you’re the man that’s saved my life more times than I can count.”

Turning back around, you looked at Frank with a heavy wave of tears threatening to spill over your lash line at any moment.

“And you’re the only person that I've ever been able to depend on, besides myself.”

There was a pleading look in Frank’s warm glossy brown eyes when he whispered your name, but you couldn’t stop.

“I know you’re the only person that’s ever taken the time to truly understand me. You listen to me. You support me and encourage me. You actually read my work. You put up with my shitty mood swings. You’re patient with me, even when I don’t deserve it. You remember things that I tell you. You make me laugh as much as you make me wanna rip my hair out. You frustrate me more than any person I have ever met in my entire life, and you push buttons that I didn't even know I had, but I have never felt happier than I do when I’m with you.”

Letting a few stray tears fall, you walked slowly around the edge of Frank’s bed, coming to stand by his side as you looked down into his warm brown eyes. 

“I told you months ago, I’m safer with you. I meant it then, and I still mean it now. Okay everything…everything that’s happened…who you were…it doesn’t matter, okay? It doesn’t change anything, not for me. It doesn’t change how I see you or how I feel about you. Okay, it doesn’t change the fact that I-”

Your breath caught in your throat as the words that had been buried in your chest clawed their way to the surface. You had known since that day at the cabin. Deep down, a part of you had always known. In the midst of waiting for the perfect moment to finally say those words, and hiding from them in fear of saying them out loud, you almost didn’t get the chance to. For the last forty-eight hours, you’d been haunted by your own mistake. 

You knew better. You knew time was too precious. You never got to tell your mom you loved her one last time, and you’d been so paralyzed by your own apprehension, you almost never got to tell Frank at all. You swore to yourself that if he woke up, if you got the chance, you weren’t going to waste it. 

“-that I love you.”

Sometimes when Frank looked at you, it felt like he could see right into your soul, and at this very moment you wanted that to be true, because you desperately wanted him to know that’s where these words were coming from. You wanted him to feel it. 

Frank swallowed thickly when he heard the crack in your voice, the irrevocable emotion in it,  saying those words he didn’t think he deserved to hear. For a moment he was speechless, and all he could do was stare into your teary gaze. 

Finally speaking the words that had been lingering in your heart for so long felt like a weight being lifted off your chest. You had been terrified that you would never get to say it back, that Frank would never know just how much you loved him. Now, you weren’t going to let him forget it. You weren’t going to let him push you away because of how he felt about himself. You weren’t going to let his past, or anything else, come between you. Not after all this time and everything the two of you had gone through just to get here.

When he opened his mouth to speak, you shook your head and cut him off.

“No. I don’t want to hear any more of this shit about walking away, because that’s not fucking happening. We’re gonna figure this out, and we’re gonna do it together. Do you understand me?”

Frank’s face fell slightly as he looked up at you, giving a subtle shake of his head with an apologetic look shining in his soft brown eyes.

“Sweetheart…there ain’t no warm, cozy ending. Not for me. Alright, when it gets out-”

“Do you really think Homeland Security is going to let it leak that they were involved in a cover up for the Punisher?”

Frank lightly clenched his jaw as he looked up at you, his eyes flickering over your face. That name had never bothered him when the media gave it to him, or when anyone else referred to him by it, but hearing it from you made his stomach twist with shame.

“Dinah doesn’t need to perform any miracles because not a single fucking person in that department is going to hang themselves out to dry like that. Homeland already has their story about what happened, and none of Billy's men are alive to contest it.”

“There’s Bill.”

“You cracked his head like a goddamn egg and his jaw is wired shut. Even when he heals, with they evidence they found on him, no one is going to listen to a fucking thing that comes out of his mouth. And Dinah is making it her personal mission from God to convict him with as many life sentences as New York will legally allow. So what’s your next excuse?”

Frank arched one of his dark brows at your snappy tone, noticing that the sadness that had previously been lingering on your face completely transitioned into a familiar expression of firm stubbornness he was used to seeing in you. His eyes dropped down to take in the way you’d placed your hands on your hips, a stance of yours he’d come to associate with defiance and rebellion. Flickering his gaze up to meet your challenging stare, amusement faintly crinkled around his eyes. 

“Guess you got it all figured out, huh?”

“You were unconscious for two days.”

Frank let out of a puff of air past his lips at your deadpan response. Glancing away for a moment, he slowly shook his head before looking back up at you, his warm brown eyes roving over your figure. Cocking his head to the side, his tongue darted out to wet his lips as the ghost of a smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth.

“Ya’know, you’re kinda scary when you’re all pissed off. Sexy, but scary as hell. Anybody ever tell ya that?”

“If you think I'm scary, you should see my boyfriend.”

Frank straightened up a little as he looked at you, his warm brown eyes searching your gaze deeply. After a moment, he dropped his head to look down at the gray thin blanket covering his lower half, brushing his thumb over the clear plastic tube connected to the I.V. in his arm.

“You’re still lettin’ me keep that title, huh?���

Frank’s voice was quiet when he spoke, almost hesitant. Crossing your arms over your chest, you turned your head for a moment as you looked around the hospital room, dragging your teeth along your bottom lip before looking back down at him with a faint shrug of your shoulders.

“I can always demote you back to bodyguard, but I'm not paying you.”

Frank let out a deep chuckle, faint crinkles appearing around his eyes as he gave a subtle shake of his head.

“Nah, I don't want that.”

Lifting his head to look up at you again, his warm brown eyes flickered over your face. He slowly reached out to grab your arm and gave it a gentle tug, prompting you to uncross your arms. His warm calloused hand gradually caressed your arm from your elbow down to your wrist, taking your hand to hold gently, but tightly, like he needed your touch to ground himself in this moment, and to anchor himself to the idea that you still wanted him.

He couldn’t wrap his head around it, and you could see a flicker of hesitation in his concentrated gaze as he stared down at your hand, brushing his thumb along the back of it. Letting out a soft exhale through your nose, you gave his hand a faint squeeze of reassurance, and you opened your mouth to speak, but abruptly paused when you saw Frank slip his free hand down beneath the collar of his hospital gown. His hand was in a loose fist when he pulled it back out, slipping the chain from around his neck and over his head. When he opened his palm, he stared down at the gold wedding band silently.

A soft crease of confusion nestled between your brows when he let go of your hand, but before you could say anything, he reached for your left hand and pulled it towards his chest. A sharp gasp caught in your throat when Frank slowly slipped the golden band onto your ring finger, brushing his thumb over it gently. It was entirely too large for your finger, but Frank grasped your hand in his gently so the ring wouldn’t slip off. 

Lifting his head to meet your stunned expression, there was a softness in his warm brown eyes and a nervous smile on his lips as he lightly squeezed your hand. He guided your palm to rest on his chest over his heart and covered it with his other hand.

“Think I’d like a promotion better.”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawksfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[hello-kuni]

thinking of you

ft. sylus

c/w: suggestive, mention of masturbation, pinch of angst

a/n: had a little thought about him

A ping from your phone broke your concentration. The screen lit up with a text notification from Sylus. It read: thinking of you. The attachment was what really interested you. Paperwork could wait for a moment. 

You drowned out the noise of your coworkers going about their jobs as you picked up your phone and opened the message, a small smile lighting your face. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Sylus to send you a random picture this early in the morning—the middle of the day for him, and late at night for you. 

Truthfully, it made overtime easier to get through. 

But the moment you opened the message you threw your phone facedown onto your desk. A few people looked your way and asked what happened. Their words flitted past you. You picked up your phone in a tight fist and headed to the restroom, the one place you could hope to find some privacy. 

You were going to kill him. 

Of all the things he could possibly send you, it had to be a picture of him jerking off. With his face clearly in the frame. 

Shameless.

And reckless.

Sylus was the one to put so much emphasis on keeping your relationship tightly underwraps, yet he goes and pulls a stunt like this when he knows you’re working. 

Your footsteps quickened as you neared the restroom. The moment you established it was empty you were already halfway done dialing his phone number. 

He answered on the first ring.

“Good, I was just about to call you.” His voice sounded strained. Huffs traveled from the other side of the line.

“Sylus,” you said, voice tight.

“Hmm. You sound mad. I like that. Keep talking.”

You warred between not giving him what he wanted and chewing him out for pulling such a shameless stunt. Your relationship was supposed to be kept hidden, but if anyone saw that—it’d be hard to come up with a believable excuse. 

Ultimately, your anger won. 

You tore into him, one word after another. You couldn’t quite understand why you so angry you were lashing out like this, but the words wouldn’t stop flowing out. 

Perhaps it was the fear of losing him that spurred you on. The fear of having to let him go. 

Sylus didn’t interrupt you, but you could make out the occasional “hmm” here and there. 

When you finally stopped, the line the line was thrown into silence. A few heartbeats later you heard a low groan on the other end. Your eye twitched when you heard it. 

There were no words left in you so you bit your tongue instead.

“It’s not enough. I’m not satisfied these days unless it’s the real thing. Do you feel the same? You should call me the next time you do, you know I’ll always come.”

“Sylus, you—”

“Sorry, sweetie, I’ve got another call. I’ll see you later. Don’t be late.”

“Bastard,” you said after he hung up.

Damn. You really wanted to finish that paperwork get home. More than ever before.