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colormepurplex2 · 7 months ago

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Shatter With Me | Waving The White Flag

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

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Jungkook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s, uh…”

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

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

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

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

“Isn’t that right?” he asks.

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

“You’re healthy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, no. You know I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm? Who?”

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

You shrug. “I wasn’t staring.”

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

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

💔💔💔

Jungkook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?” Jungkook answers on the second ring.

“Jungkook.”

“Oh, hey. Everything okay?”

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

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

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

“Why? What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he breathes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seems pretty simple, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I understand.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I think so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

Jungkook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, guys.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, too, Jungkook.”

💔💔💔

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

Jungkook

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

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

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

“You missed it.”

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

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

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

“She? It could be a boy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, is everything okay?”

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

“I’m on my way!”

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

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

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

“O-okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Yeah.”

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

“Do you want me to find a wheelchair?”

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

“Yeah.”

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

“I can come?” he wonders, hopeful.

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

“Oh, she’s not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kinda weird, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That would be great, thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is everything okay?”

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

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

“Where have you been?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is not what happened at all!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to story masterlist

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

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #dilf jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook imagines #bts smut #bts angst #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts imagines #bangtanwhq #btsfests

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vidalsbeloved · 30 days ago

Text

fly little bird, fly

Warnings: Reader gets injured, (that’s all I can think of lol)

Rio Vidal x Female reader

Words written: 2.2k

Chapter 1 : The Bird Flew Astray

1680

Darting through the woods away from Witch Hunters was the last thing you thought you’d be doing on a day like this, but alas you had to settle for it. You didn’t mean for this to happen, but someone from the village had caught you shapeshifting and reported it.

You had managed to escape your home through the window in your bedroom— but that didn’t last long, being as one of the townspeople had been walking around the outback. It was right there that you bolted, your navy dress rippling in the wind behind you.

You mutated yourself into a deer, your hooves thudding against the earth as you drove deeper and faster. It was an integral choice, better to help you drive further away than to draw back. Gunshots wrung the air around you, your heart pounding in your ears.

Of course, they knew it was you, the only deer out this time and day. There was no going back now, you couldn’t relive the moment, so you drove onward. Hoping that god or satin save your soul. Another gunshot wrung out, this time accompanied by arrows that flung past and overhead— and then, just as you focused your attention back on the path you were taking, a cobblestone wall, could be made out. You took your chance at the last second and before you could do so much as run into it, you shape-shifted into a bird— more specifically, the only bird you could think of at the moment. A swan. And flew upwards, into the sky, your wings working hard and overtime.

You could already feel the drastic change the shifting was taking on your body, the strain in your muscles. The way your wings began to quiver, but you pushed on. Flying higher and higher into the sky, over trees and land.

But still, the hunters pursued you— because you were a witch and they wanted you dead. You had known of the hunters close by, but you had never feared them, not until now. You could hear them from below, shooting up into the sky, calling out ‘Come back here, you devil.’ But you ignored them.

You knew you were a mistake— a mismatch in the very existence. You were never meant to be on earth or anywhere really, but here you were. It had taken you years to understand that, but no less did it ache your heart. Nobody wanted you, because you were everything that wasn’t human and everything that wasn’t human, didn’t want you.

You were not supposed to be here, walking the earth like it owed you when all you did was disguise yourself into something you weren’t. But that’s all you knew, you weren’t made, you were forged. You were a child of the devil, and someone had raised you from the fiery pit of hell.

You swiveled around arrows, dodging bullets and trying everything in your power to survive. One strike and that’s all it took to send you right back to your home away from home, one piercing bullet that would kill you in an instant. You may have been a shapeshifter, but that did not make you immortal. You would die one day just like everyone else, it just may take a little longer than most average human life. Being a shapeshifter meant you outlived your offspring, like you did. You had a sister once, but she had gotten herself killed. She was a witch, not you, but different. The hunters burned her at the stake. You weren’t close to her, so seeing her die didn’t have much of an effect on you.

Though you later mourned her, that was because you realized how utterly alone in the world you were. You got used to the feeling, but still every once in a while you felt an ache. A yearning to be seen, to be wanted. To feel an embrace so warm and welcoming— to understand that being different was okay and not wrong.

A sudden movement from below shooting up at you and piercing your skin grasps your attention. Being all caught up in your head had caused exactly what you feared, and now you were paying the price. Your wings twinged and then you were falling, panic gripped you suddenly and you desperately tried to get a grip and stop yourself from hitting the ground, but your wings wouldn’t budge, the pain shooting a hot shard of white pain down your back.

You heard the sound of cheering a distance away from the hunters and you were met with the sight of trees. The air shifting around you, suddenly to cool and dank. When your body collided with the ground, the pain only seemed to grow and suddenly you heard a tree branch snap and the sound of footprints. You tried to move, but your body hurt all over. You tried again, getting ahold of yourself, still in bird form, and managed to flip up onto your palmates, gripping the ground from falling over and looking around you for a hiding place. A sigh of relief washed over you when your eyes made contact with an underbrush— you bolted for it and tangled yourself with the plants surrounding it— taking advantage of your size to better hide yourself.

The hunters walked down the path and stopped, looking around for you. When they didn’t see any sight of you, they continued walking along. You stayed where you were for a few minutes longer, scared that if you made any noise, they would come back.

You slowly came out but stayed close enough to the underbrush in case the hunters came back. You don’t know how long you stayed there for when you heard a door opening in the distance, you looked up, and a green hooded figure came into view. You scrambled back into the underbrush, but not before her voice boomed out.

“Who’s there?”

Before you could so much as move to hide, the woman rounds a tree and locks eyes with your swan. Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the mysterious green-clothed woman. She asses you, then cocks her head to one side, squinting, and looks to your injured wing.

“I know you’re not a sawn,” she says. “So you can turn back.”

You hesitate— how did she know? She rolls her eyes at you. Then adds, “There not going to see you, there’s a rune around this house that makes you invisible to the human eye.”

You ever so slowly allow yourself to come back to your human form and when you do, you realize that you are naked. You go to cover yourself with your arms, only to remember one of your arms is injured. You look down at your injured arm, you have an arrow between your ulna and radius. You feel sick looking at the sight and swallow, looking away and back to the woman.

She’s looking at you with peculiar interest as if she’s trying to figure you out. You look away again, shivering, your dark messy hair coming out of its bun and spilling over your shoulders.

She breaks the silence with an aggravated huff, “Are you mute?”

You shake your head and whisper, “I….” but nothing comes out.

“You’re an interesting, little thing, aren’t you?” she says quietly, then comes closer.

You tense as she nears. She must sense your uneasiness because she’s whispering next, “I won’t hurt you, I just want to see.”

She looks you in the eyes as she squats down in front of you and asks softly again, “Can I?”

She motions her head to your injured arm, you nod and release a shaky breath when her hands gently come to yours, lifting it to inspect the damage, you whimper in pain.

“You took quite the fall back there baby, I’m honestly surprised you’re still alive,” she says, looking back up to your face.

A hand comes up to brush away the tendrils of hair that had fallen out of your bun, her eyes tracing every curve she can find on your face.

“How did this happen?” she asks.

You swallow and stutter, “S— Someone from my village caught me changing form.”

The woman scowls gently, “You’ve got to be careful, sweetheart. These people could kill you.”

“You think?” You snap, then look away, ashamed of your outburst.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

Her lips twitch up into a sly grin, “No need. You’ve been through a lot today, how about I take care of your little…” she ponders on her words. “misfortunate run in.”

Your lips quirk up at that— you nod and she pulls back just enough to remove her cape from her body and pull around your shivering form. When her skin makes contact with yours though, a jolt of energy runs down your back, gripping at the very essence of your life. You lock eyes with her and for a second you see her eyes flicker with something that you don’t understand until she moves to help you stand.

You get up onto your feet and wince as the blood rushes down into your toes, every fiber of your being aching from driving yourself too hard. She grips your shoulder tightly, steadying you as you move to take the first step— you feel yourself falling before your brain manages to catch up, but luckily for you, the woman catches you before you can hit the ground.

“Careful,”

You take in a shaking breath, nodding your head, and move to walk again. This time though one of her hands is holding your waist.

She leads you slowly to her little cobblestone house and opens the door— and you are grateful for the heat that clashes with your shivering cold form. You take in your surroundings as she moves to shut the door after getting you inside.

The space is small, the ceiling overhead, whirling with moss, that seems to grow with the exterior of the cobblestone. You bring your head down to look around your surroundings, between the space of her kitchen is a rocking chair by the fire and a bed settling up against the wall in the corner closest to a fireplace.

She leads you to the bed, settling you down before heading for the kitchen. She grabs a basin filled with water and a rag, turns back to you, and walks the distance to you. She settles down and moves to dig the rag into the water.

She looks back up to you and reaches for your arm. You flinch when the cool water touches your skin, but her grip seems to tighten.

“You’re a rare kind of witch, you know?” she says. “I’ve never seen or met a shapeshifter before.”

You swallow, “There aren’t any others out there.”

She locks eyes with yours, “What’s your story?”

“I don’t have one.”

She snorts. “Everyone’s got a story.”

You hesitate and look away. “There’s nothing much about me.”

Sympathy flashes in the woman’s eyes before she diverts her attention to the wound. “Can I at least get a name?”

“It’s Y\N,”

“Hmmmmm…. makes sense for such a pretty girl.” she winks at you.

You blush and look down at your lap, “What’s yours?”

“I’m Rio,” she says.

“Thank you, Rio,” you say softly. “For helping me. Rarely, I’m ever given such attention.”

For a moment, she pauses her work on your arm and looks back up at you. Her eyes squinted, studying you, but there was also a familiarity within them— an understanding. You feel suddenly drawn to her. You think that it’s because you’ve been alone for so long that now, potentially, you could just be desperate. But you then realize it’s something deeper, something so warm and fuzzy, you wish to know what the feeling is, you try to pinpoint it on every map in your head, only to come back empty.

It’s gone just as fast as it appeared, she looks back down to your arm and shifts it to get a better angle, propping it up with some pillows.

“I have an idea, do you trust me?” she asked.

You squinted, but replied wearily, “Yes.”

She smiled softly and lifted her hands. In a circular motion over the arrow, you see it begin to glow a dark green. Though it was still in your skin, you could almost feel as if it was shifting, but oddly enough, it wasn’t hurting.

“It’s a healing spell,” Rio says before you can ask. “Most witches use them with injuries. It mends skin and fights infection. In your case, it’s dissolving the metal.”

Your eyes widen and you look back up at her, “How is that even possible?”

She smirks at you and replies wittily, “Magic, baby.”

When you look back down, the arrow is gone. You turned your arm over and back in pure shock. You glance back up to Rio and she watches you with curiosity.

“You haven’t practiced much magic, haven’t you?”

You sigh. “I’ve had nobody to teach me, I’ve only ever had myself.”

“I can teach you.”

Your eyes widen, “Ooh no, you don’t have to—“

“I want to.”

You clamp your mouth shut.

“—But,” Rio started up, “it’ll cost you.”

You furrow your brows and ask, “What?”

“I’ll need something from you, something only you can give me.”

You swallow, your breath catching in your throat. “What do I give?”

“Yourself.”

“What?”

“Be mine.”

You contemplated her offer— you had been alone for years, and now here came Rio asking you to be hers. But at what cost? And why? You suppose it didn’t matter, after all, you were desperate.

She wanted you.

“I give myself to you, Rio.”

She smiles slightly, “Please, call me, Lady Death.”

#agatha all along #rio vidal x reader #claim me rio #rio vidal

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year ago

Text

Honey Girl. Chapter Two.

Previous Chapter. Next Chapter. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Pairing - Dad's Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky try to navigate what it means to be soulmates - and how difficult it is to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings - smut. cursing.

Word Count - 4k

Author's Note - part two!! thank you SO much for all of the love on part one - it has made me immensely happy. you're all the sweetest and i'm so grateful. i'm going on vacation in a few days, so i'm taking a hiatus for a few weeks as i won't have cell service. so, consider this my parting gift to you <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3 please, send me your thoughts, predictions, desires!! I will get excited with you!!

Masterlist. Inbox.

Sunlight streams through the billowing white curtains, rousing you slowly. The gentle breeze cools the room, salt sticking to the air. Warmth is seeping into the glass of the windows, encouraging you to kick your sheets to the foot of your bed, limbs stretching and rolling.

You wake, and for a moment, you feel perfectly at peace. You feel light, tranquil, relaxed. You flex your neck from side to side, yawning as you do it. You notice that the sun is already up, beaming into your bedroom. It's going to be a very warm day, you think. I better pack sunblock.

You glance to where your bag is thrown haphazardly on the floor, contents spilling everywhere. It's unlike you, to not put something away properly. You take pride in being a tidy person. You must have been exhausted when you got home last night.

That's when it hits you.

Bucky.

The events of yesterday coming crashing down around you like a tidal wave. Hearts racing, hands interlacing, lips melding. Bodies tangling, breaths matching, knees buckling. Two souls, tied together forever.

Your Tethering.

To Bucky. Your Dad's best friend Bucky.

His absence is suddenly all you can think about. He's not here, and you feel like half of your heart is missing. You ache. There's a discomfort that you know can only be cured by the presence of your soulmate.

You're deep in thought when your phone rings, startling you. It's Bucky.

"Mornin' sugar," he drawls. The low tone of his voice is like molten honey, gorgeous and golden.

"Good morning, Buck."

You hear him exhale at the sound of your voice.

"I know we said we'd meet at ten, but can we make it earlier?" he asks. Then, quieter, "Feel like I can't breathe without you."

He murmurs the last part, as if it's a secret. Something sacred.

"Of course, Buck. I can be ready by nine?"

"Thanks, sweet girl. I'll pick you up?"

"Perfect. See you then."

"See you then."

It's almost painful to hang up the phone. It's like there's a gravitational force in The Universe, willing you against it. You ignore it defiantly and press the red button, swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

There's something in your gut telling you that this might just be the first day of the rest of your life. You certainly can't go back to the way things were. You're not sure if you want to.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Bucky arrives at 8:45.

You're in the bathroom with the door closed, so you don't hear him pull up. You feel it. Like a magnetism, alerting you to his whereabouts. You breathe a little easier immediately, knowing he's outside.

You grab your bag and the picnic and pull on your shoes, eager to see him. You feel like a teenager again, giddy with anticipation. Apart from, this isn't your average first date. No, this is your last first date ever. This is a first date with the man you're bound to spend the rest of your life with. No pressure, you tell yourself. One step at a time.

Your heart kicks up in double time, thundering against your ribcage. You inhale deeply, cracking your knuckles. You can do this. It's just Bucky.

You bound down your stairs, practically running to his truck. Bucky's leaning against the passenger door, the wind ruffling his hair, sunlight reflecting off his steely blue eyes. He's wearing shorts and a white button up, which is blowing gently in the breeze. His sleeves are pushed up his forearms, exposing his gorgeous tanned skin. He has several shirt buttons undone, accentuating his broad chest, sunglasses tucked into the breast pocket. He looks so handsome. So classically elegant. Like he belongs in an old movie - a perfect leading man.

He eyes you carefully, gauging your reaction. You can tell he doesn't want to overstep, worried about pushing you too far too fast. You walk over and run your fingers across his exposed chest gently, tracing a path up his neck until you're caressing his cheek. His stubble tickles your fingertips, causing a smile to curl at the corners of your mouth. You finally meet his gaze, and all your stress is forgotten. You feel peaceful again.

"Hi," you whisper.

"Hi, pretty girl," he murmurs back, hands finding your waist. "You alright?"

"I'm okay. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," he grins. "So, how do you feel about a day of sailing? You, me, and the ocean, baby."

"I think that sounds perfect."

He opens the car door for you, helping you up and into the passenger seat. He climbs in, clicking on his seat belt and starting the engine. Before he pulls away, he turns and looks at you, holding your stare for a moment. Bucky reaches for you, lacing your fingers together, resting your intertwined hands on your thigh. He begins to drive away, taking you towards the ocean. Towards your future.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You know nothing about sailing.

Luckily, you don't need to. Bucky's quite content to keep you sitting pretty on the top deck while he does all of the work, pulling and tying and knotting. The crisp white sails billow in the wind, the ocean waves providing a steady, constant soundtrack. Birds fly overhead, sunshine beaming down, the wood underneath you warm and smooth. It's paradise.

You're soaking up the sun rays when you hear a click. You sit up to see Bucky holding his film camera, pointed right at you.

"Creep," you tease.

"Just want to have something to look back on. Our first day as soulmates. It's an occasion, you know," he grins.

He moves across the boat to sit next to you, thigh pressed up against yours. He's so close you can taste the spearmint on his breath. You tangle a hand in his hair, caressing the back of his head.

"I brought you a few new things to try," you tell him. "Some recipes I'm testing. I want your honest opinion. No sugar coating. Promise?"

"I promise," he winks, holding up a scouts honour. "I wouldn't lie to you, honey."

You reach over and grab your picnic basket, unwrapping various beeswax packages and laying them out in front of you.

"Okay - we have white chocolate and pistachio muffins, raspberry and lemon macarons, earl grey and lavender cookies and carrot and cinnamon cake."

You glance over at Bucky, expecting him to be deciding what to try first. Instead, you find him watching you carefully, gentle smile etched across his face.

"What?" you laugh.

"Nothing," he beams. "I just... I love it when you start talking about food. You're passionate. You light up."

"Don't make it weird," you joke, slightly taken aback by his honesty. He did promise not to sugar coat.

He reaches for a macaron, eager to try one after you mentioned them yesterday. He pops one in his mouth, and lets out a groan that can only be described as pornographic.

"Fuck," he moans. "This might be the best thing I've ever eaten."

"You promised you wouldn't lie," you laugh.

"I'm not," he chuckles, placing his hand over his heart. "I swear to you. These things should be used as medicine. They'd cure anything."

"Shut up," you tease bashfully, bumping your shoulder into his.

He tries the other sweets one by one, complimenting you immensely. He's so specific in the way he commends your baking. He comments on certain flavours, and textures, and the way everything melts on his tongue. He really takes the time to think about what he says. It's so intimate.

"You're gonna do this for a living, right?" he asks, turning to face you.

"I hope so," you confess. "It's all I want to do. Going to culinary school was a huge risk, but I did it. It was difficult, but they were also the best four years of my life. I just learned so much. I want to put it all into practice."

"I think you should. It'd be such a waste if you didn't. You're so talented, sugar."

"Thanks, Buck," you grin. "I just don't know where to start."

He thinks for a moment.

"If you could do anything, anything in the world - what would you do?"

He's looking at you so intensely, you almost want to shy away. His steel blue eyes are boring into you, reading your mind, figuring out your soul.

"I'd... I'd open a bakery of my own. I want a lot that overlooks the ocean. With big windows."

Bucky smiles gently, adoration written across his face.

"I'd be your most loyal customer," he vows. "Oh, I have a better idea - I'll be your quality control. I'll taste test everything before you sell it. You know, just in case."

"Just in case," you laugh. "Right."

"It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it," he winks.

The sound of your laughter is like dopamine to Bucky. It fires off neurons in his brain, receptors buzzing and alight. He almost feels drunk off the sound, floating above ground.

You relax into him, laying down and resting your head in his lap. He's warm, and soft, and so comfortable. You could lie here forever.

He runs his fingers through your hair gently, playing with the strands. The repetitive rocking of the boat lulls you into an easy sleep, the sunlight wrapping around you, taking the place of a blanket. Bucky watches you drift off, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

A particularly strong gust of wind wakes you, rousing you from sleep. Your fingers are interlinked with Bucky's, head still resting on his strong thighs.

"How long was I out?" you ask, looking up at him.

"Like, twenty minutes? You looked peaceful, thought I'd let you rest."

"Sorry, Buck," you chuckle.

"Hey, don't apologise. I'll take it as a compliment. You know, they say you only sleep around the people you feel safe with."

"They say a lot of fuckin' things," you laugh, repeating his words from yesterday.

"I do, though," you say after a moment. "Feel safe with you. It's not just the soulmate thing. I always have."

Bucky leans down to press his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. He pulls away and kisses the spot where you were just connected.

"We should talk about us," you murmur, sitting up to face him.

"Uh oh. Are you breaking up with me?" Bucky jokes, nudging your knee with his.

"Yeah, right," you scoff. "As if you'd be so lucky. You're stuck with me, I'm afraid."

"I'll survive," he winks. "But we should. Talk about us."

You look at each other for a moment, carefully. You notice that the ocean is reflecting in Bucky's eyes, waves gleaming and blue.

"I don't know where to start," you whisper.

"Maybe start at the beginning," he suggests, reaching out to rest his palm on your thigh, fingertips rubbing comforting circles into your skin.

"I... I think - I think we should do exactly that. Start at the beginning."

He nods at you reassuringly, urging you to continue.

"I want to start slow. Really slow. I know we already know each other, but this... this is different. We don't know each other like this."

"Like soulmates," he agrees. "It's a whole other level. A league of its own."

"Exactly. I know we're Tethered, but, I think we should treat this like a normal relationship. We should date, and just... take this step by step."

"One step at a time," he confirms. "Prepare yourself, honey. I'm about to date the hell outta you."

"Someone save me," you laugh, throwing your head back. "All those poor girls that have come before me - they had to put up with this?"

He laughs with you, the sound rumbling in his chest.

"Trust me, sugar, you're different."

Bucky leans forward and slots his lips to yours, hands going to your waist to pull you closer.

Kissing your soulmate is unlike any other feeling. It's complete serenity. Two bodies, designed by The Universe to fit together perfectly.

Your fingers thread through Bucky's hair as you move to sit in his lap, straddling him. You grind your hips forward, illiciting a groan from the both of you.

Bucky slips his tongue into your mouth, tasting the sugar there. He can't get enough. You're so sweet and soft underneath his hands, underneath his tongue. He wants more.

He tips you backwards, so you're lying flat on the deck. Bucky moves to kneel in between your legs, prying them open gently. He kisses his way from your ankle to your knee, occasionally nipping at your flesh. He likes the idea of there being a mark on you that he left. He feels more protective of you than he ever has of anyone. The feeling vibrates through his bones, fires up his nerve endings. He needs to feel every inch of your skin as soon as possible, or he's convinced he'll burst into flames.

He smooths his hands up your thighs, fingers catching in the waistband of your shorts. He shimmies them down your legs, and inhales sharply at the sight before him. You're laid out on the deck of his boat like a goddess, the white shirt adorning your body matching the white lace underwear underneath. The sun rays are beating down, illuminating you, making you glow from the inside out. Bucky can't breathe, looking at you. He feels like all of the oxygen has been stolen from his lungs, replaced with pure desire.

You're breathless, panting, chest heaving. You're shaking with anticipation, willing him to do something. Anything.

"Bucky," you whine. "Please."

He's never heard a prettier sound. It's like angel song, the way you say his name.

"Patience, sweets. I thought we were taking it slow."

"Asshole," you laugh, poking him in the chest with your toe. "You're a hypocrite."

"Am I?" he smirks, running his fingertips across the inside of your thighs.

"Yes. You can't kiss me like that and then tell me to have patience."

"My apologies, ma'am."

He leans over and kisses you again, biting your bottom lip as he pulls away. Bucky slips your underwear down your legs and tucks them into the pocket of his shorts, ignoring your scoff as you watch him do it.

"Come here, pretty baby," he murmurs, tugging at your hips to pull you closer to him.

He nudges your core with his nose, inhaling deeply. It's filthy, the action, but it makes you ache with want. He licks into the crease of your thigh next, tasting the salt on your skin. Your hand flies to his hair, tugging the chocolate strands. You whine again, and Bucky commits the sound to memory.

He surprises you by sucking your clit gently, causing your hips to buck up towards his mouth. He splays one hand across your stomach, holding you down. He uses his other hand to insert a finger into you, groaning at your warmth. He crooks it up, and you keen.

"I know, baby, I know," he coos, adding a second finger.

You're not sure if it's because of the glaring sunlight or because of Bucky, but there's a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin, dripping down your temple. You're burning from the inside out, white hot heat running through your veins.

He thrusts both fingers in and out of you steadily, curling them on the up stroke. You throw your head back, hips wriggling and writhing.

"Where you going, pretty girl?" he drawls. "Come here - that's it."

He pulls you back to him, fingers never stopping. He looks up at you, and notices that you've thrown a hand over your face, shielding yourself.

"Don't go shy on me now," he practically purrs, smiling when you move your arm away. "Most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Fuck," you moan, suddenly glad you're in the middle of the ocean. The sounds you're letting out are filthy.

"I know, pretty baby. I know."

His fingers push you closer and closer to the edge, speeding up slightly. You're whining, keening, hips bucking up into him. You can't stay still. You feel like you're on fire, red hot electricity running through you. It's never been like this with anyone before. It never will be again.

"You're close, honey, I can feel it. You're almost there," he drawls. "Atta girl. Come on, baby. You got it. Good girl."

His low, honeyed words throw you into your climax, back arching off the sun warmed wood. Bucky talks you through it, encouraging and praising you in hushed murmurs. You see stars, bright white patterns flashing behind your eyelids. The world goes quiet for a moment, and all you feel is peace.

Bucky brings you back to reality by rubbing soothing circles into the bare skin of your thigh, still muttering softly. He lets you catch your breath before leaning over and kissing you gently.

"You okay, sugar?"

You smile at him in a daze, still floating on air.

"I'm good, Buck. Very good, actually."

He laughs at your response, moving your hair away from your face. You sit up to look at him, admiring him carefully.

"You're so pretty," you whisper. "I mean, I've always known it. But now, it's so... blinding. You're the most beautiful person in the world."

He's not sure how to process your words. He's never felt so loved, so safe, so appreciated before. It's overwhelming. He doesn't know what to say - so instead, he kisses you hard.

"You're the sweetest girl in the world, you know that right?" he whispers against your lips.

He moves to sit behind you, so your back is resting against his chest. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He smells like warmth, and salt, and home.

"I don't think we should tell my parents," you say lowly, afraid to ruin the moment. "Not yet, anyway."

"I agree," he reassures. "I think we should figure this out first. Figure us out."

You lean up and peck his lips gently, pulling away to trace your fingertips over the contours of his face.

"It's gonna take a while to figure this out, isn't it?"

"That's the thing, sweet girl. We have all the time in the world."

You relax back into his arms, letting his steady heartbeat lull you into complete tranquility.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You spend all day on the boat with Bucky, soaking up the sun. Your shirts are billowing in the wind, hair blowing in every direction. The ocean rocks you both in routine motion, gentle and calming.

He teaches you the basics of sailing, sitting knee to knee with you while you repeatedly tie knots into pieces of rope. He stands behind you comfortingly as you pull and tug at the rigging, supporting you only when you ask for help.

The two of you sit tangled together on the deck, enjoying your picnic. You take a moment to rub sunblock into Bucky's shoulders, ignoring the heat that rises in your chest when he groans in delight. He's irresistible. This is more than just lust. This is a magnetism, an almost animalistic connection. It's quite literally written in the stars.

The both of you are clearly reluctant to go home. You sit in Bucky's truck outside your apartment for hours, talking about nothing and everything. You don't invite him upstairs. You know that if you do, you'll jump his bones instantly. You've both agreed to take this slow. You have to start being strict with yourselves, or you'll just keep ending up in bed.

Eventually, your stomach rumbles, making Bucky chuckle.

"You should go. Eat something."

"I know. I just... I like being with you."

He leans over the centre console to press a kiss to your lips, revelling in the way you taste like the ocean breeze.

"There's no one else in the world I'd rather be with," he murmurs against your mouth.

You pull away and take a deep breath, preparing to leave Bucky for tonight.

"Thank you, for today. It's been perfect."

"Perfect day for a perfect girl," he winks, making you both laugh.

"One step at a time."

"All the time in the world," he echoes.

"Goodnight, Buck," you whisper, moving in closer to press your forehead to his.

"Goodnight, honey girl," he whispers back, pecking your lips quickly.

He jumps out of the drivers side to help you down from the truck, holding your hand carefully. You smile at the déjà vu. He does too.

You look back at him once more before closing your front door. He's already looking at you, his eyes never once leaving your frame, smile never leaving his face.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You're curled up on the couch when your phone rings, startling you from your peace. You look at the caller ID in confusion.

"Stella? Hey - you okay?"

"Hey, you. Long time no see, huh?"

"It's been a while," you laugh. "I didn't expect a call from you."

"I'm sorry we haven't talked in so long. I've been super busy - I'm opening my own café! It has a bookshop inside it too - oh it's gorgeous, you wouldn't even believe it."

"That sounds amazing, Stella. I'm so happy for you, wow."

"I'm actually calling because I have something to ask you."

"Ask away, Stell."

"I have a sort of... proposition for you. An offer, if you will."

"You're really building the anticipation here," you chuckle.

"Sorry, sorry! So, I'm gonna need a Head Baker. I can't do it, because I'll be manager, and I'm the owner which is a tough job in itself. Opening a café is fucking difficult, you know!" she laughs, before continuing. "You'd have complete creative control - you'd design your own bakes, everything would be completely down to you. There's quite literally only one person in this world that I'd want to do this job, and it's you."

You almost can't believe what she's telling you. It sounds perfect. It sounds like a dream.

"Stella - are you sure? This is a huge deal. You want me?"

"I only want you. I can't picture working alongside anyone else. We made such a good team in culinary school, and we always said we'd find each other in the future."

"I... I don't even know what to say."

"Say yes!" she encourages, giggling down the phone.

"Yes!" you echo, giddy with joy. "God, Stella, yes!"

You're smiling from ear to ear, unable to wipe the grin off your face. Your dream job has been presented to you on a silver platter. You'd be stupid not to take it.

"I mean - when do I start? What should I wear? Do you want a set menu, or can I change it up all the time? Vegan options? Gluten free?"

"I can send you all of the boring stuff in an email - contracts, salary information, all that shit. You can quite literally do whatever the fuck you want, girl. I trust you completely. I trust your culinary skills even more."

"Oh my god, I'm so excited. Thank you, Stella. Seriously. This is just amazing."

"I can't wait to have you here with me again!"

You process for a moment, trying to make sense of what she just said.

"Wait... what? Where?"

"In California. The café is here, in California!"

You can't hear her next words due to the ringing in your ears. Your chest tightens, your hands ball into fists, your breathing becomes ragged.

There's a million thoughts racing through your mind, and you can't quite get a firm grasp on any of them.

Bucky would never leave this place. This is his home. I can't ask him to abandon his life here - I wouldn't want to. We've been soulmates for two days. What about his job? His friends? Would I leave everything behind and move across the country for him? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I can't have my cake and eat it too. He'd give everything up for me in a heartbeat - I can't let him. It's not fair.

You're suddenly intensely aware - you have to make a choice.

Bucky or your dreams.

Tag List -

@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk

tag list continued here <3

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alexiapp · 6 months ago

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Next Step With You

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: You and Alexia finally have the talk about Kids…

Note: I’ve been gone for so fucking long because of how insanely busy i’ve been but, i’m totally hoping on posting constantly and not keeping empty promises 😭..i’ve had an insane amount of writers block also so keep that in mind!! This isn’t my best work but it’ll have to do !

You never thought that you would be in love. You thought you were unlovable or maybe incapable of finding your ‘true one’. You presumed that maybe it was your strong personality or your high standards that caused these problems. You always had trouble with relationships, and had a couple horror stories when it came to your past love life. You always that you were the problem, until you met Alexia. She made you feel something that you never thought you would be able to experience. You felt giddy inside, and content. There wasn’t a dull moment between her and I.

Alexia was charming, and very charismatic and she also has a strong personality which drew you into her. Recently you guys have been entering a new chapter of your relationship. This year would be marking the 4th year you have been together. You couldn’t see your life without Alexia, it just wouldn’t feel right. You wanted to bring new milestones to you guys relationship. Everything you envision had Alexia in it.

You wanted to add an addition to you guys relationship badly..You wanted to build a family between the two of you. You only started feeling this way until you saw how attentive Alexia was towards kids, it always made you wonder how she’d be if you guys had kids. You knew deep down in your heart that Alexia would be an amazing mother, but you didn’t know if Alexia wanted to take that next step with you or if she was even ready. It’s something you’ve been hesitant to bring up, these loud thoughts always stayed in the back of your mind. You don’t wanna scare her away..imagine how crazy you’d looked if she didn’t feel the same way..i mean what if she thought you were a total nut case. This steered you away from Alexia, making you kind of cold and distance.

This situation made you second guess a lot of things. You took an immature approach, usually the average person would talk it out with there significant other in an healthy manner, but you being you, were quite stubborn and decided to isolate yourself. You started declining her offers to go out when she put the idea out there. You guys once long text messages turned into short and brief on your end no matter how hard the poor woman tried to carry the conversation.

You assumed Alexia didn’t notice how cold you’ve been ..Oh boy were you wrong. She was was in deep stress her mind was constantly racing wondering what she could’ve possibly done wrong. Trying to remember moments where she could’ve possibly said the wrong thing that might’ve hurt or offended you in any way. She was determined to get to the bottom of this and handle it quickly, she genuinely couldn’t take not having you around any longer.

After settling down and drowning in her thoughts she decided the only way to get your attention is by catching you at in unexpected moment. She decided she’d venture to your apartment without giving you any head’s up. She didn’t want you to find another excuse to brush her off and ignore her, she wanted to talk to you and get you back. She was determined and ready to do whatever it takes.

The determined blonde quickly grabbed her phone and car keys headed straight for your flat ready to corner you.

You were brought out of a day dream when you heard a knock on your apartment door. You got up and walked over to your door with confusion written all over your face. You weren’t expecting a visitor or any packages. Shock washed over you when you were met with a very agitated and worried blonde. The last person you wanted to see.

Your once confused face was replaced with a very shocked expression.

“Um..hi?” you muttered out in surprise at what you were faced with.

“Why have you been ignoring me” Said the hazel eyed woman as she pushed through into your apartment door.

“i..i haven’t been, i’ve just been very busy i-“ you said as you staggered your words.

“Don’t like to me, you know how much i hate when people lie” the blonde woman said cutting you off in your lousy excuse as to why you haven’t been very present in you guys relationship.

“You’ve been brushing me off, you’ve been texting me less and less. I want to know what i did wrong so i could fix it”. She said with fury in her voice.

“There’s nothing you can do, to stop me from me feeling how i feel right now Alexia” You said nervously.

“Then what is it! I need to know what it is so we can fix it. I want us to fix this” she said waving her hand between you and her.

“I feel like if i tell you what it is, our relationship would be over” you said with a meek expression.

“amor whatever it is we can try and get past it, i just have to know” she said gently as she walked towards you grabbing your hands as a form of comfort. She could tell you were nervous about what you wanted to say next.

“There’s things that i want to do in our relationship that you might not be ready for Alexia, and i don’t want that to jeopardize what we have.” You said conflicted on weather you should open up to her or not

“Hey, no matter what is bothering you, we can fix it and hopefully move past it..i promise” she said as she rubbed her thumb across my hand.

“I want us to have kids..i want to have kids with you, and i didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to scare you off i didn’t want you to think i’m so crazy person. I see myself starting a family with you..” You said with fear in your voice. You were almost quivering with fear on how she would react. You were shut down when you heard the woman in front of you hysterically laugh.

Oh no…she thought you were a joke, she must think you’re a loser..you told yourself, emotions bathing in a pool insecurity. You broke your hand away from her turning away in rejection. “ I knew this would happen, i just knew you wouldn’t take me seriously” you said with hurt and regret in your voice.

You turned your body away from her not wanting her to see how hurt you truly were.

“I’m sorry, come here” she said trying to make you turn towards her.

“i’m not laughing at you about what you said, i’m laughing because why wouldn’t you think i want that also?” she said chuckling lightly. She placed her fairly large hands on her face cupping your cheeks softly and said “why would i want to do that. There isn’t anyone i wouldn’t rather start a family with” she said shaking her head at your ridiculousness.

“I just thought that maybe you’d think that we’re moving to fast, i was just scared” you said looking into her hazel eyes.

“vale, firstly their isn’t anyway i could see life without you..let alone my future with you not being in it, if you told me how you felt ahead of time this wouldn’t be our outcome” she said has she brushed her thumb against your cheekbone

“Amor, you have to communicate with me when you’re feeling this vale ?” she said shaking her head to try to get me to understand. Which i nodded in response.

I leaned in and pecked the blonde’s lips, you were suddenly thrown over her shoulder, making you giggle in surprise “Let’s practice making that baby sí!” as she carried you to your apartment bedroom.

I’ll grammar check later !!

#barca femeni #woso x reader #woso community #woso imagine #woso #barca #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia x reader

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ittybittyfanblog · 7 days ago

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Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 3

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (now skeptical!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. A/N: I’ve already outlined the entire thing–now it’s just a matter of writing it, so don’t worry! Even if some chapters take me longer to update, I’m gonna finish this one way or another. Promise. *fingers crossed* Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, reader thinks she’s losing her marbles because of a certain someone

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4

“Alright—okay, don’t be stupid,” You chant to yourself as you pace restlessly from the kitchen area of your studio, to the coffee table where you’ve set your phone lying facedown. “Just open the damn thing.”

You’ve just arrived back at the condo a little past seven PM after a, frankly, productive–if not slightly distracted–day of running errands. You’re home, and you haven’t even got to unpacking the two paper bags (and a box) worth of groceries that were all but thrown carelessly on the kitchen counter, and already, you’re back to stressing over all the weird shit that's been happening lately.

Throughout the afternoon, you tried your hardest to resist the urge to check your phone, especially whenever you see the screen light up–whether it was in your hand or stashed away in your half-zipped fanny pack.

It’s at the most random times too, but always when you act on your unfortunate tendency to monologue your thoughts out loud.

Sure, it could just be some random push app notifications. Text messages from the few people that hit you up on the weekends–invitations to hang out, maybe. A few newsletters you forgot to unsubscribe from, if you’re unlucky.

But you think the timing’s far too deliberate to be purely coincidental.

“Do I get a dozen eggs or just half? What do I even need a dozen for?” (Phone vibrates)

“Oh, hey, Indomie’s on sale if you buy in bulk. How much for a box?” (Screen flashes. Twice.)

“Who the hell is holding up the line, damn–oh, it’s an old lady. Better hurry the fuck up, grandma.” (Screen flashes) “...Sorry! I didn’t mean that.”

“Ughhh… my tummy hurty…” (Phone vibrates) “What—”

“Everything’s perfectly normal. Just your average, sunny Saturday! You are an independent, capable adult… who’s fucking losing it.” (Screen flashes–after a minute interval)

Of course, you have an inkling as to what’s–or who’s–blowing your phone up; in fact, he’s never left your mind since this morning.

So presently, you’re in the middle of having a small existential crisis over what that means, for you and your sanity. No big deal.

You puff out your cheeks for a couple of seconds before letting out a deep breath. Don’t be a pussy. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation to all of this. You’re–you’re not crazy.

Landing heavily down in front of the low table, you finally grab your phone, hand shaking with the teensiest amount of trepidation. Not giving yourself any more time to think and second-guess, you flip it over, switching it back to Ring mode as you swipe up to see—

—a barrage of notifications; one popping up after another.

Some of them are what you’ve expected: plain, old push notifications from banking apps, others from varying socials. There’s one from your mom. A reminder to email her the flight tickets you still haven’t gotten around to booking yet.

And. Six banner notifications from the game. From… from–him. It’s something you’ve already braced yourself for. It doesn’t prepare you, however, for what they actually said.

A knot grows in your chest, spreading rapidly like slithering twine as your mind tries, and somewhat fails, to make sense of what your eyes are seeing.

Grab a dozen, sweetie. It won’t add much to the total cost, and you need that protein every morning. Cereal’s not gonna cut it.

You really ought to lessen your sodium intake, kitten. (and) Do NOT get the box. Stop.

Haha. A feisty one, aren’t you?

Mmm, poor baby.

I– we can talk about this later when you get home.

Each notification contains a completely unique dialogue you’ve never seen before. A play-by-play commentary specifically in response to you— to your personal remarks from earlier, spoken out loud— that there is absolutely no way anyone could still pass it off as simply being system-generated.

A faint ringing echoes in your ears as you slowly draw back, putting some distance between the onslaught of text and… you. You can’t seem to tear your gaze away from the screen, though. Even if the back of your head bumps against the seat edge of the sofa behind you from how far you’ve already leaned back.

Blinking in stunned silence, the only thing you could croak out is a strained “what the fuuuck.”

... Ping!

Still mustering the courage to face me? Don’t keep me in suspense, darling.

The sudden message jolts you back to reality. You suck in a deep breath.

… Despite everything, you can’t help but find his nonchalant response to your gradual spiral into hysterics–because he knows–a little amusing. Also rude. But mostly funny.

(It’s also probably just your brain’s last-ditch effort to find some semblance of control, but whatever.)

At this point, you know that you’re merely delaying the inevitable. Swallowing, you press on one of Sylus’ messages and it immediately boots up the game.

Instead of soothing your nerves like it usually does, the orchestral background music from the loading screen puts you more on edge; your anxiety builds up to a crescendo, harmonious to the heralding of what you know will undoubtedly change the trajectory of your life.

Dramatic, but true.

48%... 82%... 98%...

There’s a hollow drop in your stomach when the screen–finally–reveals the familiar sight of the café. The golden ambient light enters your field of vision for a split second before your eyes flit reflexively to the man standing in the middle of the screen, whose presence commandeered your full attention.

He’s wearing his motorcycle jacket–the black one with the red and white thorn(?) accents, paired along the pair of leather pants with the iconic double zipper. Aside from the black zircon studs, he’s not wearing anything out of the ordinary. Nothing is looking out of the ordinary, actually.

Holding your breath, you wait for the other shoe to drop.

“Are you waiting for me to say hello? Then–” Sylus muses with an amused lilt to his voice, sauntering closer to flick “my” forehead. There’s a beat before he continues: “That’s my way of saying hello.”

… Huh?

That’s—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. You… you don’t know what you were expecting, but this wasn’t it.

The man in front of you doesn’t look any different from how he usually does; the way that his… character animation (Should you call it that? It doesn’t seem right, given the circumstance, but you don’t know how best to describe anything anymore) flows is so–-so infuriatingly… normal. As if it’s just like any other day that you’ve logged in the game.

Where did the sentience go? Why is he reciting lines he’s programmed to say? None of it adds up.

Your mouth tries to form words, but nothing comes out. With wide eyes, you helplessly gape at him. Speechless. For a moment, you feel like you’ve actually gone mad.

A small “what’s happening?” slips past your lips. Your eyes dart across his face, trying to analyze every microexpression, any hint of sentience on him–in his eyes, in his movements.

You find none.

Mechanically, you exit the game.

“What the actual fuck?” You whisper-shout at nothing in particular, and maybe to the biggest cause of your current disconcertion; one who you thought… Who you were sure was—

Fuck it. It’s time to put your detective skills to work.

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #sylus qin

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hana-no-seiiki · 1 year ago

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WHAT’S UP DANGER?

— [ CH 01 ] WITH GREAT ABILITY COMES GREAT ACCOUNTABILITY

pairings: yandere! various (batfam, spiderverse) x miles morales! reader

tw/cw: no yandere themes for this chapter, characters get aged up later on but are teens to young adults now, reader is gender neutral but characters refer to them with masculine terms (hijo, man, dude), spoilers for spiderverse movies. but ofc since this is a crossover it won’t be completely the same.

status: unedited

[masterlist] [next]

REPLY TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST

“Mama, stop you’re covering me with your saliva—!” You groaned as you made a half-assed attempt at pushing your mother away.

It was the first day of your attendance at Gotham Visions and you weren’t the least bit nervous. Not at all. Totally. It wasn’t as if you were just thrusted into this situation with no choice whatsoever in addition to the pressure of your family’s wholeass livelihood on your shoulder. No. You were completely cool with this situation. In fact, you were so cool that you’re almost late to your first day of classes.

“But you look so adorable, mi hijo!” Your mother rubbed her face all over yours, messing up whatever you decided to put on.

“Papa what are you doing? Arrest this woman at once, for gross misconduct or whatever—“

“You do look adorable, and if I do I’d have to be fair and arrest you for vandalism.”

You freeze at your father’s not so subtle call out, before swiftly slithering away from your mother’s bear-like grip.

“Augh! I’m going to be late! Hasta luego!”

It was August. The start of a new school year for you. A new life away from your family and friends.

Gotham Visions University. A campus filled with elitists; fancy rich people. The cream of the crop. Your future school. Being a scholar there would have been fine, amazing even! If it wasn’t something you won through a lottery. You felt like a thief, an imposter. Going to a school for prodigies and rich kids as an average old joe is one thing, going to a school for prodigies and rich kid as a poor lottery student is another.

“[Y/N]! How you doing man? Lookin fancy. The uniform so fits ya.” A kid hangs his arm around you. If you were being completely honest you weren’t sure about his name, but you hung out often for basketball and other activities around the neighborhood. With the amount of people that knew you around the community, it was difficult keeping all those faces in your head so you often covered it up with nicknames.

“Psh. See ya next friday for shawarma?” You winked, cringing a little inside for your actions.

But to your utter surprise, the kid in turn blushes before giving you a massive grin. “You bet. My treat!”

And just a few seconds afterwards, he hits you at the back of the head before leaving, “Hey! Ow.”

“[Y/N]! Good luck on school dude! We’ll miss ya! Don’t be a stranger okay? We’re still friends even if he isn’t here.” He waves you goodbye before returning to your mutual posse of friends.

You wave back at them, your expression slowly turning into a solemn one. “I’ll miss ya guys too.”

Grabbing your trusty wireless headphones, you make your way down the block. Sticking random name-tags you drew this morning to distract yourself from the overflowing anxiety in your system.

Unfortunately, it never is a good idea to be so distracted when walking by yourself.

“Contra!” You hissed as your body hit the pavement. No doubt ruining your uniform that your mother painstakingly agonized over getting perfect and neat for your first day.

Then, the sound of a police siren entered your ears.

Can your day get any worse?

“What did I tell you about not looking both sides twice before crossing the streets?”

Your father’s sermon began.

This . . . was going to be a long ride.

“That I shouldn’t do it.” You replied, completely uninterested in the conversation and looking out from the window.

“You’re lucky it was me y’know! What if some deranged man decided to run you over?”

Your faced smooshed on your hand as your elbow rested on the window sill. “I’d send my cop of a father after them then.”

“Don’t act cute with me [Y/N].”

“But it works oh, so, well.”

Your father sighed, “It does.”

“But with great ability comes great accountability!

“Yeah yeah, that isn’t how the saying goes! . . . It was my bad it won’t happen ag…” Right as you were about to tune out of the interaction with your father once more you notice a bunch of people looking towards your direction.

People you knew.

And now they were taking pictures.

“Wow, aren’t you the popular kid?”

“Mier — Can’t you run the red light or shout at them or something? My poor privacy is being invaded!” You desperately tried to hide yourself with your hands but to no avail. The sounds of clicking only grow louder, and your father’s pace on the car slower.

“Yeah yeah~ not this cop.”

“Papa!”

Suddenly, the attention is ripped off of you as a loud crashing noise resounds from above. “Woah.”

Your dad flicked his tongue in annoyance as he checked the damages. “Those vigilantes! Red Hood is one thing, but that Spider-man partner of his. I swear. He just swings by without a care in the world. I just got this repaired last week!”

“I think he saved you from having to get yourself fixed as well. You know, in a hospital. The place with all the bills that just tears holes into your wallet.” You checked the situation outside, confirming the lack of interest in your situation as people crowded spider-man’s fight. “And myself from a mob too. That man’s a whole multitasker and a half.”

“If you ever get a sibling, remind me not to teach them cheek.”

“That if depends on you, yknow.” You gave your dad the smuggest grin you can muster.

Hey, if he’s going to make you face hell for the next few years you might as well give him a portion of it while you had the time.

The car halts, signaling your arrival at the aforementioned hell. “Study well. Our future depends on you, [Y/N]. Love ya.”

“I know.” You groaned, struggling a little to pull your baggage outside of the vehicle and leaving as soon as you got it secured within your grasp.

You are only able to take a few steps when your dad interrupts with the police car’s loudspeaker.

“Where’s my ‘I love you too, papa’ huh?”

“Papa! Seriously?” You screeched, unimaginably embarrassed beyond belief.

“I love you.”

“Right in front of my future peers?”

“I loovveee youuu.”

“On the first day of class?!”

“Mwah mwah—“

“I LOVE YOU TOO!” You relented. Making a sharp turn from facing the originator of your future bully’s material, towards the entrance of Gotham Visions.

Once you get in you make an attempt to greet the people there, but is cut off by their mocking voices referring and imitating the situation earlier.

The embarrassment fills you up once more and you fail to notice your path intersecting with another.

Directly bumping into people seriously knocks the wind out of a dude. That’s probably why those people in those ‘mangas’ he always made you read fell in love at first sight. They were just so light-headed that they couldn’t think clearly.

“P-pretty girl—“

“It’s nice to meet you too.” said pretty girl as she steadied your form. Noticeably less affected by the impact “You’re quite the looker yourself.”

“Ack, sorry! I just get nervous around- yeah.”

She giggled. Oh lord, even her laugh was pretty. “Lovely papa you got there.”

“Augh, you don’t have to remind me.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, slowly regaining your balance.

The bell rings. The real hell has officially begun.

Once pretty girl made sure you were alright, she began running off.

Wow, even the way she ran was pretty.

“W-w-wait, what’s your name?”

“Gwen!”

You sighed as left you behind in the crowd of students.

This wasn’t so bad, you thought. You made one acquaintance at the very least. Maybe your new life at this school would be better.

Your new life at Gotham Visions was, in fact, not getting better.

You were fumbling through the motions like a newborn thrown to the wolves. If you hadn’t built a relatively tight knit friendship with Gwen you were sure you would have ran away by now.

Everyone always ignored you when you greeted them. Your dormmate didn’t even see you as someone worthy to interact with and would often stay awake at ungodly hours doing whatever the hell he was doing on his laptop while you suffered from his ‘background music.’ Your parents only ever talked to you about academics when it was the last thing you wanted on your mind at weekends. You were always, always late to class.

You were practically falling apart at the seams.

You just . . . wanted everything to end. But you couldn’t bring yourself to defy your parents and so you brought it up to your studies. Purposely failing exams so you’d be kicked out soon enough.

“A zero. How terrible. A few more of those and you’ll have to kick me out huh?” You looked at your Physics teacher with a loosely smug look on your face. You hated Physics, the sciences and mathematics the most out of all subjects. Everything second you spent learning about it could have been spent drawing or doing something you actually adored.

You shrugged, “Maybe I’m just not right for this school.”

“If a person wearing a blindfold picked the answers on a multiple choice exam at random do you know what score they would get?”

“. . . Around 25%?”

“That’s right!” She flicked her pen towards you face before pressing the butt end of it to your paper.

“The only way they would get all the answers wrong . . . “ She then twirls around, marking your grade from 0 to 100 by placing the respective numbers to each side. “Is to know which answers are right.

“You’re trying to quit, and I’m not going to let you.” The smug look only your face slowly dissipates and transfers to her own visage. “Now I know you’ll probably try to worm yourself out of this which is why I’m calling in back-up.”

“Wayne.” The woman moved her gaze to your classmate. A strained smile on her lips as she stared him down.

You didn’t know the billionaire’s son that well, or any of your peers but Gwen for that matter. Just that he was as stuck up as his gelled up hair. Always sneering at you whenever you had to sit beside him with those uncannily pretty green eyes of his. You thought that it may have been your smell or something. Maybe he could tell how poor you are in comparison by your scent. But judging by the fact that he was just as much of a loner as you were if not more, you’re beginning to think otherwise.

“I’m assigning you two an essay, not on physics but on yourselves. What kind of person you want to be. I know you two are quite different in terms of personality and backgrounds, but I have a feeling it’ll all work out.” She walked behind the two of you, roughly placing her hands on both of your shoulders before squeezing you closer together. “And no, Damian. I’ll know if you decide to finish it all yourself. Don’t test me.”

“You two are dismissed!”

Damian takes one look at you and you can tell he’s listed a thousand things he disliked about you already. He re-secured his backpack prior to giving you one, heftily stern warning. “Listen, we’re going to meet at my house this weekend. 6pm. Don’t be late.”

“Sure! Where’s your . . .” and before you could even complete your question, he was gone. Just like that. “. . .house. . .”

You grabbed your own belongings with a moan; betting that the trust fund kid’s own probably costed a hundred if not a thousand more times than yours.

You swiftly go to your room. Mind completely empty and disassociated before an idea crosses your head.

You dial in the numbers on your phone before you could even think properly.

“Hey, Unc. Mind if I come over?”

No matter where you went. The route to your Uncle Aaron’s house was always in the back of your head. He was your true home. The only man who understood you — who made the effort to understand you.

You spot him on his couch, looking as cool and swag as ever with his legs spread a little bit apart. He laughed as you smooshed your face to his window before opening it and letting you tumble into his abode.

You lazily dropped the bag you brought filled with spray paint.

He patted your head and massaged your scalp, the stress you felt already noticed and acknowledged. “Sup little dude. You lookin’ down. Is this about . . .”

“What? No. I’ve already moved on—“You shook your head. In all honesty, the only good part about Gotham Visions was that it kept you distracted from grief. But before you could continue you spot a familiar image settled in a frame. Emotions started crashing down upon you like a tidal wave. “You . . . kept the picture.”

Aaron rubbed his thumb across your cheek as your eyes began watering, “You know I can bring you over to visit him. It’s pretty close by y’know.”

“I- I think I’m good. I came here to just chill out, y’know?”

“Let’s go, I know a spot we can let some of that pent up art juice out.”

A smile. A real one. Not one you forced on yourself whenever you met with your classmates, Gwen or your parents started to make a reprise on your face. You almost don’t remember the last time you did it because of your emotions and not due of the façade of being okay.

“See ya.”

You take one last look at the photo before rushing out with your uncle.

“Mig.”

PLEASE MAKE SURE THAT YOU CAN BE TAGGED BEFORE REQUESTING TO BE ADDED.

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frownyalfred · 6 months ago

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today’s fun writing fact: did you know that most writing coaches estimate that it takes around one hour for the average writer to write 1000 words?

I know what you’re thinking — that’s really slow! I can write that in 20 minutes. Right, but that assumes that when you started typing, you knew exactly what you were going to write — every line of dialogue your characters were about to say, every description perfectly pre-planned, etc.

And then you have to go back and edit it. And tag it. And cut out parts that don’t work and add new bits. So by the time you’ve got that “short” fic all ready to go, you’ve probably spent at least two hours on it, maybe more.

So yeah, as an author, I cringe seeing the “this was so short!!” comments on fics, even when they’re well-intentioned. Because someone just took 2+ hours out of their day for something you could read in less than five minutes and be done with.

The next time you see that author put out a 1-2k chapter, remember to do the math! And leave a comment 💜 that’s how you keep those updates coming.

#this has been a PSA #lol #writing #fanfiction #writing things #authors #author things #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfic #fic #I can write prob a little faster than that but I’m a fast typist and I don’t care about typos as much as I should lol #and even then #it’s taken years to get to the stream of consciousness level where you can just start typing and not stop

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javierpena-inatacvest · 1 month ago

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Chapter 1- Jello at Your Front Door

Summary: 15 years ago, a football and a boy four doors down makes your move to Florida a little more bearable. Now, you're not quite sure how to feel when you find out he's shown up back at home unannounced

Word Count: 5.5K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (no use of y/n, Frankie has a nickname for reader)

Warnings: Angst, yearning, mentions of death, sick parent, meeting Frankie for the first time, cute, awkward baby Frankie, a football throw Santi will never forgive you for

A/N: ... Hey.... How y'all doin'.... Remember when I said I was gonna start a different Frankie series months ago? I hope you humbly accept this as my official formal apology for not being able to get my shit together, as I present this offering to you instead 🙂 I started writing this 24 hours ago and I legitimately couldn't stop, so here we are??? I know this is a different style that what I normally write, but here's to trying new things (and hopefully finishing them). I hope you guys enjoy 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Next Chapter

You, Present

“Frankie’s home.”

You weren’t really sure how to comprehend how the combination of those two words would be one of the worst sucker punches you’d taken to your gut in the better part of the last decade.

As the sentence replayed over and over in your head, you could think of any other combination of two words that would have scared you less.

“Hurricane’s coming.”

“Bomb’s dropping.”

“World‘s ending.”

In a universe where things make sense, the response these would elicit from the average person would be reasonable, rational even. When you’ve been given a warning about the way two words have the potential to alter your reality, you can’t help but panic.

But today, you’ve woken up in a universe where things don’t make sense.

And what’s worse is, you didn’t even get a warning.

The statement shouldn’t have shaken you as much as it did. When you’d seen his truck parked in the driveway four houses down, you knew it had to be him. Anyone else in the world would be caught dead driving the barley mobile piece of metal he’d been traveling in for the better part of 20 years. But Frankie Morales was not anyone else. He’d drive that damn car until the wheels fell out underneath him.

It wouldn’t be the first time you’d gotten in a stubborn stare down with his 1989 maroon Chevrolet Silverado. You had a sneaking suspicion that today wouldn’t be your last.

“Why is Fr- Why is he back?”

You hadn’t intended for your tone to be so bitter, but the taste of Frankie’s name on the tip of your tongue left a taste in your mouth so sour, you wanted to recoil into yourself.

“Why do you think?” It was clear your mother had no interest in playing into your game of cruel intentions, barely paying you any mind as she glanced out the window, unphased by the looming presence in the Morales’s driveway, “You should go say hello.”

“No thanks, I’m not a fan of purposely ruining the rest of my day.” You don’t mean for your eyes to roll as far back into your head as they do, but you can’t help it. At this point it seems like an innate, programmed response. Simply the thought of Frankie Morales was enough to dampen your mood; an intentional confrontation was the last thing you needed.

“You’re going to have to see him at some point, you know. Can’t hide from him the whole time he’s here.”

Your mom hadn’t even given you the chance to rebuttal, disappearing from your bedroom to leave you to stew in your own resentment, because she knew as well as you that it was pointless to fight back.

At some point, you’d have to face Frankie. Today, you’d stick to hiding.

You, Summer of 1999, Age 11

26 total hours trapped in a U-Haul with your family and every item you’d ever owned was not the way you had planned to spend your last week of summer before starting middle school. You’d hoped that the nearly 3 day journey from Michigan to Florida would be long enough to help you cope with your distress. Unfortunately, you weren’t shocked that cramped quarters and unclear driving directions in the midst of uprooting your life wasn't doing much to lighten your mood.

Your parents had promised you the move would be worth it. That starting a new life halfway across the country would be good for your family. You weren’t quite sure what positives Florida posed to you, but even at the ripe age of 11, it didn’t take a genius to realize that “starting over somewhere new” was code for “trying to keep your dad alive.”

The doctors back home were thrilled to tell you about the new, potentially life saving treatment for his rapidly progressing colon cancer. You were thrilled too, until that new, life saving treatment meant moving 1,300 miles from home.

Not once did you protest- keeping your dad a living, breathing part of your life was better than having to say goodbye to your best friends, but it still didn’t mean every mile you drove further and further south down I-75 was another grain of salt in your freshly open wound.

Your parents had tried to incentivise you with all the joys that Florida would have to bring- warm, sunny weather, beaches, being a 3 hour drive away from Disney world, a bigger house, the list went on and on. And while you knew one day you’d find joy in the rewards you’d reap from your sacrifice, you had a feeling that day wouldn’t be coming any time soon.

It took too many movers to count to finally get your new house to resemble what was supposed to be a home. There was something so unsettling about seeing your furniture reassembled into unfamiliar corners of a place you’d never been. Even the things that were supposed to feel familiar and comforting now felt distant and foreign, scrambled in the walls of your new residence like a child who had shaken up a box of their favorite toys and dumped them out on the ground, leaving behind a mess for someone else to clean up.

The only solace you could seem to find in the wave of chaos that had washed over your life was the view outside your bedroom window. A quiet escape, perfectly positioned to watch the warm rays of sunset fade behind the rooftops, the night slowly shifting into shades of black and blue as your eyelids became heavy.

Each night as you drifted to sleep, you dreamt about the ways you could be saved from the lonely island you were trapped on. A sole survivor begging to be found. You tossed and turned in the sea of your twisted bedsheets, crying out that there would be someone, anyone who would risk their life to rescue yours.

On the first two nights, the only response to your pleas was a deafening silence, an insult to injury that you were destined to spend the rest of your life on a godforsaken landmass no one would ever find. On the third night, your cries carried on the winds of the warm summer air, sneaking through the cracks of an open window four doors down.

“You should go out there and play with those boys down the road! They look like they’re probably about your age!”

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed the two gangly figures racing up and down the street for the better part of the last hour, hoping they wouldn’t catch your passing glances through your living room window as you pretended to watch whatever episode of “Rocket Power” aired next on Nickelodeon. Perhaps the pair boys hadn’t noticed you watching them, but your dad had surely noticed the way you could have cared less about whatever was on the TV in front of you.

“They’re playing football, I don’t really think they’d probably want me to play.” You huff under your breath.

“You’re good at football. Probably better than they are.” Your dad laughs like it’s meant to be funny, but you know he’s serious. He’ll never admit to you out loud he wished his only child would have been a boy, but you’ve never minded playing the role of the son he never had.

And he’s not wrong. You definitely are a better throw than either of them.

“They’re gonna think it’s weird that a girl’s asking to go play football with them.” The sigh that follows this is even more annoyed than the last, now too self aware at 11 years old to revert back to the days of approaching kids you’ve never met on the playground and asking to join in without needing to worry about the social repercussions of your actions.

“Well, you can either pout and pretend to watch TV, or you could go try to make some friends. That’s up to you, Bud.” He smirks at the scrunch in your brow and flair in your nostrils, the same face he knows he makes when he’s been hit by the cold, hard truth he doesn’t like.

You know he’s right.

“Fine,” You grumble, reluctantly pushing yourself off the edge of the couch, “But if they’re dumb, I’m coming back home.”

“Atta girl. Go easy on ‘em, Killer.”

As you step outside, it feels like you’ve become some sort of jungle explorer, trying to approach a herd of wild animals in their element without startling them to the point of attack. You’d even brought a peace offering to ease the introductions, hoping that your own football would be an appreciated contribution to their game.

As you make your way down the street, you’re not sure if you’re particularly good at sneaking up on the boys, they haven’t noticed your presence, or worse, they’re actively trying to ignore you in hopes that you’ll go away.

“H-Hi.” You stammer, half attempting to wave at the back of their heads, nowhere near close to catching their attention.

“Hello?” This time it’s a little louder, slowly taking a few steps closer, “Hi?”

God, maybe it’s a fourth option you hadn’t considered and they’re both deaf.

“Hey!”

This one finally catches their attention, causing both boys to turn around cautiously, not sure whether they’re more shocked that someone’s interrupted whatever play they’re about to run, or that the person who’s interrupted them is you.

All of three of you stand in silence for a moment, mind racing in curiosity as you take in the image of clumsy limbs and messy mats of hair stuck to sweaty foreheads. The one boy is shorter, thick, jet black curls sprouting from the top of his head and arms crossed over his chest with a scowl on his face that’s not quite mean, but most definitely not welcoming.

The other, taller and lankier, a mop of dark brown hairs twisting at the nape of his neck, eyes soft as he glances back and forth between you and his friend. His demeanor is much different, almost nervous compared to the boy standing next to him, fits balled in the pockets of his shorts while the adam’s apple he still needs to grow into bobs in his throat.

For as much as no one wants to draw in the silent standoff you’ve entered, you started this mess, so you might as well be the first one to fold.

“H-hi. Sorry, I um, I didn’t wanna interrupt-”

“I mean, you did.” The shorter boy mumbles, wincing as the nervous one slaps him in the chest with the back of his hand. “Jesus, what was that for, asswad?!”

“Let her talk!” He grunts, sneering at his friend before turning back to you, his face much kinder now than the expression he just gave to his friend. “Sorry. You can um, you can keep talking if you want. Sorry about him.”

You try not to laugh at the exchange, but it’s hard not to smirk at the way the two have managed to put themselves on display in the thirty seconds you’ve spent talking to them.

“It’s okay. I um- I just moved in down the street. That green house over there.” All of your eyes shift as you point behind you, signaling where your journey had begun a few moments ago, “I was uh- I was wondering if you guys wanted another person to play with? I- I brought my own football.”

“Normally you only need one football to play football, duh. Do you even know how football works?”

In an instant, your heart sinks to your gut, eyes dropping to the ground to watch your feet start to drag across the pavement, back to where you came. But before you can lift the sole of your sneaker from the cement, a voice stops you.

“She obviously does or she wouldn’t ask, numbnuts! C’mon, Santi, don’t be a dick.”

Although it’s not directed at you, it’s enough to bring your attention back to the kinder boy, no name yet, but quite positive it’s not also Santi (or asswad). The two of you lock eyes for a moment, a strange sort of calm running through you as his slight half smile reveals his brace covered teeth, looking at you in a way that makes you feel just a little less small.

“Yeah, you can play with us. I’m Frankie, by the way.”

Frankie.

There’s something about his name that fits him so perfectly. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but you know from the way it rolls off your tongue that it just feels right.

“Hi, Frankie. I’m Mackenzie.”

Frankie’s hands are now out of his pockets, a line of defense dismantled after hearing your name.

“Hello? Have we forgotten about me? There are three of us here, remember?”

“This is Santi. Well, Santiago, but we all call him Santi.” The way Frankie rolls his eyes at his friend tells you everything you need to know about their friendship, giggling at the way he dramatically pouts as he introduces him.

“Mackenzie? Isn’t that, like, a last name?” Santi asks, still not yet warmed up to the idea of you, but intrigued enough to ease how tightly his arms are crossed.

“And? Isn’t Santiago the capital of Chile?” You sass, your mater-of-factness and quick wit making Frankie unintentionally snort.

“Alright, touché, Christopher Columbus.” Santi mocks, acting tough to try and hide the pink blooming in his cheeks.

“I like Mackenzie. I think it’s cool.”

There’s something about the way he says it that you know he means it, wondering why the way hearing your name fall from his lips churns your stomach in a sensation you’d never felt before this moment.

“Yeah, well, just so you know, Frankie is short for Francisco.” Santi interrupts, trying to find a way to get a jab back at either you or Frankie, at this point he doesn't really care which.

“Well, last time I checked, there wasn’t a Francisco, Chile.”

That one sends Frankie into full blown hysterics, boyish snickers taunting his friend, whose attempt to save his namesake has left him the butt of the joke.

“Will the two of you clowns just shut up and throw the ball? If you’re gonna let her play, Frank, can we at least make sure she can throw?” Santi whines, using every ounce of prepubescent strength he has left to play into his unbothered facade.

“You can use your ball if you want.” Frankie suggests, shrugging at his indifference to the ball held in your hand compared to the one held in yours.

“No! If she’s playin’, she’s usin’ our ball!” Santi’s voice trails further away with each step back he takes, settling himself in the middle of the street a few feet down from where you and Frankie stood, not willing to take any more risks when it comes to you, even if it’s something as stupid as a football.

“Fine by me.” You shrug, happily obliging to his request, Frankie giving you a silent nod of reassurance as he passes his football off to you.

It’s only now you notice he’s nervous again, one hand back in his pocket as he wriggles his toes in the ends of his worn sneakers while you size up your toss, knowing he’s worried that Santi will never let him live it down if the ball can’t make it more than three feet in front of you.

Neither of you would know it then, but the silent exchange you make with Frankie as you line up your throw would be the first of many unspoken promises you’d keep to him. What seemed like a simple task, to prove worthy of his friendship by throwing a football, would turn out to be the most important promise you'll ever make to Fransisco Morales.

You weren’t ever going to let him down.

“You can go further back.” You shout, almost offended by the distance Santi had chosen to stand away from you.

“If you can make it this far, I’ll be impressed.”

“You promise you’ll go get it after I throw it past you?”

“I promise, Joe Montana, throw the damn ball.”

You shrug at Frankie, like he’s supposed to know what comes next. He’s too scared to question either of you, all he can do is let his eyes dart back and forth between you and Santi, knowing there’s no world where both of you can prove your point. What scares him more is that he trusts you more than his friend.

You line your fingers up on the laces, gripping the leather like your life depends on it. In a way, it does. With a step forward, your arm hurls the ball, two of the three of you standing dumbfounded in the street as you watch it soar further and further past its intended target, spirling through the sky until it bounces off the cement with an acrobatic roll, three times the distances of where Santi had placed himself.

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. You just smile and shrug- it's the best “I told you so” you could give them.

“Fine. She can stay.”

To this day, it’s the closest you’ll ever get to a compliment from Santi.

“Nice work, Kenz.”

Your stomach flips. You try to blame it on the adrenaline of it all, that there was no way a compliment so simple had you wiping your sweaty palms over the denim of your shorts, trying your best to erase any evidence that he was the reason your heart was racing out of your chest.

Now it’s 15 years later, and as much as you hate him, you still can’t get that goofy, brace faced smile out of your mind.

Frankie, Present

There’s a reason he shows up at 1 A.M. Everyone’s asleep. If the world is asleep around him, he’s safe from having to deal with anyone, at least until morning. There’s a part of him that wishes he would have parked his truck down the street, tricking you into thinking that he wasn’t even there.

It’s hard to justify when you’re the reason he’s back home in the first place.

When he got the call from his mom, he knew he had to come. He didn't want to, but he knew he’d hate himself forever if he didn’t.

“Hey, Mamá.”

“Francisco, how quickly can you make it home?”

“Mom, I told you, I’m not-”

“It’s Doug. He’s in hospice.”

“Fuck. How um- how much longer do they think he has?”

“When I talked to Michelle, she said they were hoping for a few more weeks. But I’m not sure. He doesn’t look good, mi amor. If you want to say your goodbyes, now’s the time.”

“O-okay. I can probably be home by tomorrow. Gonna be late though. Is uh- is she, um-”

“She’s here. For about a week or so already. She keeps looking over at your empty spot in the driveway just like she did all those years you were away. Waiting for you, Francisco.”

It’s the lump in his throat and ache in his chest that gets him home an hour and fifteen minutes faster than what his GPS said it would. He’s not sure what delusional part of his mind thinks that maybe you’ll be waiting for him when he pulls into the driveway. Maybe it’s the same delusional part of his mind that pictured you sitting there, cross legged on the concrete, staring up at the sky to count stars like sheep, waiting for him to come home all those years ago.

He’s also not sure why it hurts so bad when he shows up and you’re not there.

Frankie feels like he’s 16 again, sneaking into his own house in the wee hours of the night, digging the spare key out from under the doormat, attentive to the practiced pattern of how to avoid squeaks in the hinges as he turns the lock behind him, careful not to wake a single sleeping soul. He tiptoes over the 4th stair to the second floor and barely taps the 7th before he finds shelter in his room, successful from his journey.

Every time he comes home, he can’t help but laugh at the fact his mother refuses to change anything about his bedroom. Everything is in the same place it was the day he left for the Air Force, down to the pile of unfinished homework from his Senior year of high school stacked on his desk. Each time he sees it, he’s never sure if the source of his laughter is nostalgia or irony. Maybe it’s a little bit of both.

When he looks at the picture frames scattered across his nightstand, a 17 year old Frankie stares back at him, tall and gangly, arms too big for his own body, an awful haircut he begged his mom to let him get. It was the year he discovered how much he couldn’t live without a hat, simply out of necessity for the 6 months it took for his hair to grow back out. You were the first one to tell him how cute he looked in the one hat he already owned. He bought three more in the weeks to come.

He wonders what the 17 year old in those pictures staring back at him would think of him now. If there’s one thing he knows for certain, it’s that high school him would have beat the shit out of him for the way things turned out, scrawny limbs and all.

It seems like the military has taught him how to sleep anywhere besides his own home, keeping company with the shadows dancing on his ceiling in the moonlight, tossing and turning in the tattered sheets of the twin sized bed his mom promised she’d upgrade when he got big enough. To this day, he and his mom both know he was never begging her for a new bed because he had outgrown it, he just always wanted to make room for one more person.

He clocks 3 and a half hours of sleep as good enough, creeping out of his house the same way he had come in, making the 5.4 mile trip to Benson Park to watch the sun rise. Frankie’s always hated running, it’s just as much of a surprise to him as it is to everyone else that he keeps doing it. It makes his knees hurt like shit and his lungs feel like they’re being strangled by rubber bands, a cruel cycle of self punishment he can’t seem to shake his addiction for.

He’s sat on the same side of the bench underneath the ancient Blooming Dogwood since the first time he came here. He tried one time to sit on the other side. He’s superstitious enough to believe his one time fuck up has had a lasting effect. The bench is so hidden at the back of the park, he likes to think that the two of you are the only ones to have ever found it. No one else has ever burst through the bubble of secrets shared between the two of you there, leaving the wood grain to be stained with memories and moments that have shaped the both of you, good and bad.

It’s the first place you ever told him about your dad. It’s the first place he ever told you about his. His dad was already nothing but memories by then. It makes him sick to his stomach that soon, that’s all you’ll have left, too.

Frankie, Fall of 1999, Age 11

“How much longer do we have, Frankie? I feel like my legs are gonna fall off!”

“Quit being such a baby, you’re fine!”

“Next time we have to ride our bikes this far, I’m pulling an E.T. and riding in the front basket of your bike.”

“Perfect, you look just like him.”

“Frankie!”

“Kidding, kidding!”

Frankie’s never had a friend like you before. Sure, he’s got Santi, but it’s not quite the same.

Santi took some easing into- five years ago, when Frankie moved onto Everett Street, he became a friend by force, not choice. Santi staked his claim on him, seeing Frankie as a gift sent straight from heaven, finally having another boy his age to play with after too many years of being sentenced to dress up and tea parties from his 3 older sisters.

Santi was everything Frankie wasn’t- loud, assertive, the kind of friend who grabs you by the hand and drags you along with them whether you liked it or not. There’s times now, after a half a decade of friendship, that Frankie still questions the way Santi’s brain is wired, but Frankie’s too good of a friend to ever make a fuss about it.

You, on the other hand, needed no easing into. From the moment he met you, watching you toss that football so far past Santi that he was convinced it would disappear on the other end of the street, Frankie had been mesmerized by you.

There’s something about you that makes him feel a weird thump in his chest every time you’re together. Everything about you gives him comfort in a way he can’t describe, a safety he’s felt with very few other people in his life until now.

There’s just something about you. He still hasn’t been able to quite pinpoint what it is.

Whatever it may be, it’s enough to invite you on a bike ride to the back of Benson Park instead of Santi.

“Do you even know where we are? I don’t think there’s any more park left past this point, Frankie.” You huff, slowing the wheels of your bike behind him as you come to the edge of a steep rolling hill, nothing left in front of you but acres of empty land and tall grass.

“Yeah, I do. Maybe we just passed the trail on the way in. We’ll just- We can just find it on the way back.”

He knows you know he’s fibbing, but he wants your trust that he won’t lead you astray more than he wants to tell the truth.

“Okay. There’s a bench underneath that tree. Can we just sit for a little bit before my legs turn to jello?”

You’re already halfway off your bike before he can respond. Even if he had said no, there’s no way he’d leave without you.

“Fine. What flavor jello?”

“Whatever flavor is your least favorite so you don’t eat my legs, Francisco. That’s just weird.”

The two of you laugh, tossing your bikes to the ground as you bottoms find the wood of the bench you’d pointed out, you on the right side, Frankie on the left.

“My mom only ever gets the red kind. I don’t even really like it that much. Don’t worry, you’re safe, Kenz.”

“I don’t really like it either. But we have every flavor at my house ‘cause that’s like, all my dad eats.”

Frankie starts to laugh like you’re playing a joke on him, trying to pretend your dad’s diet exists exclusively of artificially flavored gelatin, but your sudden silence and the way your voice drops to the ground right with your eyes tells him he’d better stop snickering.

“Your dad only eats jello?”

“Well not only, but a lot of it, I guess.”

His face scrunches with a mixture of confusion and concern at your sadness. He’s never heard you this quiet before.

“Um, w-why?”

The silence is almost deafening. He’s not sure why he should be so concerned with asking about jello, but he’s too curious to let it go. He selfishly wants to know what about it makes you so upset, because he just as selfishly hopes there’s something he can do to make you feel better.

“My dad has cancer. He’s really sick. He can’t really eat a lot, but jello’s the one thing he can keep down most of the time without, like, throwing up or whatever.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, like you’re worried someone else will hear and spill the rest of your secrets right along with this one. You say it like he’s the only one in the world you want to hear it.

“I’m- I’m sorry. That sucks.”

Frankie blames it on his instincts, the way his hand finds yours, outstretched on the bench. He touches you like he’s handling a baby bird who’s fallen out of its nest, delicate and careful, calculated, hoping you won’t try to fly away in fear. Instead, your hand welcomes his, scooting closer to the weight of his palm resting on top of it. He feels you give in as you let him carry you back to safety of the tree you’ve descended from.

“It’s okay. That’s why we moved here. The doctors in Michigan said that there were even better doctors here who could maybe help make his cancer go away.”

“And then maybe he won’t have to eat as much jello.” He takes a gamble with the joke, but it pays off with your surprised snort, “Sorry, that was stupid. I shouldn’t be joking about it.”

“I mean, it was, but it was funny. It’s okay, my dad jokes about it, too. He always says, one day, it’ll be funny, so might as well make that day today.”

His heart warms as he watches a small smile return to your face. It heats the pink in his cheeks when he realizes he was the one who helped bring it back.

“Your dad sounds nice.”

“He is. Even though he doesn’t feel good a lot of the time, he still always tries to come to my soccer games and stuff. I know he can’t be like what he was before he was sick, but he tries to be. What about your dad?”

Frankie prays you don’t notice the way his heart sinks like he noticed yours. He chews on the inside of his lip so hard, he thinks it may bleed. He wants to lie, but he knows that you’ll know. You always know.

“Um, I don’t- I don’t really see my dad.”

It’s you now who's grabbing his hand, offering him the same type of safety net he’d made for you. He’s barely known you two months. He’s known Santi for five years and all he knows is that his dad doesn’t live with him. Frankie didn’t want to tell him, he’s not sure he’d understand. There’s a strange sensation that swirls in his gut, because he wants to tell you. You’d laid the first brick in the foundation of trust between the two of you. The least he can do is help you keep building.

“Oh. Why don’t you see him?” He sees you’re prying, but not in a way that hopes to expose him. He knows you’re prying because you want him to let you in, to get a peek at what's behind the curtain. It’s a locked door most people in his life will ever get access to, but he’ll let you have a spare set of keys.

“I never really knew him. My mom said he left when I was a baby. She says she’s always been happy it’s just me and her. That it was easier to live with one less person than to live with someone who was mean.”

“Your mom sounds like a wise lady.”

He appreciates the fact humor was your first response, too, it makes the sting of ripping the stitches off a still-healing wound hurt just a little less.

“Yeah, I guess so. Still kinda wish I had a dad, though, ya know?”

“You can borrow my dad whenever you want. As long as you don’t mind super embarrassing, stupid jokes.”

“Are they as bad as mine?”

“No. They’re worse.”

Neither of you would have minded staying just a little bit longer, but the bright reds and yellows of the setting October sky remind you both that the parents you’ve opened up about are expecting you back before night washes over the quaint suburbia of your town. The bike ride home is much quieter than the one there, but the simple silence seems to speak louder than anything he’d have to say.

The next day, Frankie would raid the cabinets of his kitchen for every last packet of jello he could find and bring them all to your front door.

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 11: It's Giving Kidnapping?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 10.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it) and because there is an unwanted sexual advance (not Soldier Boy) (it's more someone making the reader feel uncomfortable and the person talking to the reader, not so much touching, but it's still there and it's wrong), Violence, Swearing, Mentions of sex, Thoughts of Sex, Kidnapping, GASLIGHTING, Threatening, Denial, A whole lot of denial, Sexism, Creepiness, Manipulation, Talks about weed, Super manipulative trash man, And another Super Manipulative Trash Man but this time he's even more creepy, Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Reader POV

"So where is it that we're going again?" You ask your brother Darren while looking absentmindedly out the passenger side window of his car watching the other people on the bridge.

The sun was shining, bathing the interior of the car in a warm light, the clouds puffy and the sky a beautiful blue that faded into the background behind the iconic New York Skyline as the buildings raised their hands to worship the beautiful day. It was the perfect day for you to grab a paper back and a cup of iced pineapple tea and make your way to Central Park, instead you were stuck in a car with your brother who was taking you God knows were.

"I told you it's a surprise." Darren replies, hitting the gas to cut off someone in the fast lane who honks at him, but Darren only flips them the bird and continues to speed down the bridge.

You had been in the car for over thirty minutes, a car that Darren said was a "loan" from his new BFF, the same person that he was ecstatic about you meeting.

The car was fancier than what you were used to, state of the art with butterscotch colored leather seats so supple and smooth that it felt like you were being hugged by the passenger side chair. The windows were made of thicker glass and you guessed that they must be bulletproof given how sturdy they looked, not to mention they were also darker than average so no one could see into the vehicle, but you could see out. The car was four doors and was made by a European company that you'd never heard of, but you were sure it was expensive. The car probably cost more than the entire inventory of "Please Don't Die" and the building the shop inhabited.

This is weird. You think to yourself, squeezing the leather seat in your hand.

Most of the "friends" your brother introduced you to were as down on their luck as Darren and just as eager to ask for a loan from anyone they could. You'd never met one that could afford a new car let alone a car that looked like it should be owned by the wealthiest man in New York City.

Your frown deepens as you try to figure out where the two of you are going and who it is Darren wants you to meet.

Truthfully, Darren was acting like you didn't hate surprises, you did. Every time your brother dropped by unannounced made you furious. You'd told him over and over again to call first, but no matter what you did each time he showed up without so much as a text.

You sigh audibly. "I just want to be prepared for wherever it is we're going."

"And I told you it's a surprise." His hands tighten on the wheel as if you're annoying him, before he glances over at you with a tight smile. "Come on sissy, it's like you don't even trust me."

The word "trust" makes you frown at him and drags you back to your apartment thirty minutes ago when Ben told you that you were stupid and "too trusting." You didn't understand why Ben got so mad at you going with Darren.

He's my brother, what did Ben think was going to happen? And why was he so angry?

You cross your arms over your chest and lean back into the plush seat.

Who did Ben think he was? He's not my dad! And I am not just some stupid little ditzy girl who needs a big strong man to protect me! I am a grown woman who has survived this long without someone like him butting into all of my business.

The more you sat there in the car, the more your frown deepens, and the more angry you became. You didn't understand why he treated you that way when you hadn't done anything to warrant his temper.

He's just a temperamental petulant child who thinks that he knows everything and that his opinion should be treated with the highest regard!

Usually, you would feel bad about what you had shouted at Ben about his old team and about his son, but not right now. You didn't understand why he was getting so angry and why he cared so much about what you were doing with your brother.

Does Ben really think that Darren would do anything to hurt me?

The whiplash that Ben kept putting you through where he seemed to care and then he didn't was getting old quick…

"Do whatever the fuck you want. It's not like I give a shit about her."

You wince as Ben's words ring in your ears making something stick in your chest. They had hurt more than you thought they would, maybe because you were starting to care about Ben and you thought that he was starting to care about you.

Because what other reason would he walk with you to work, pick you up, and bring you coffee sometimes? And why did he seem to be almost worried when Darren suggested that you meet his friend?

But he doesn't care about you. He's made that much perfectly clear.

You chew the inside of your cheek contemplating the conversation the two of you shared. Maybe I did say some things that were a little harsh, but Ben was being a total dick and he deserved what I said!

A flash of Ben and you tangled in one another this morning comes roaring back bringing a wave of heat flashing through you. Your cheeks flush and the wildflowers growing on the opposite side of the bridge outside of the car all flare bright pink in the sunlight when Darren drives the car past them.

You had been so close to kissing him, so close to letting yourself sink into his warmth and lose yourself in all he was. He was so strong and broad and warm in all the right ways, not to mention he looked really cute this morning with his eyes still a little hazy from sleep and his dark hair falling forward into his face, mused just slightly against the pillow. You could still feel his body laying on top of yours, but the weight wasn't oppressive, it was perfect, like a weighted blanket that made your anxiety fade away. The feeling of his powerful chest beneath the palms of your hands as you dragged them up to tangle his hair ghosts through your body.

Despite Ben's gruff exterior those few soft moments this morning you wished hadn't slipped through your fingertips, you wanted to kiss him, wanted to feel what it was like for him to kiss you softly as if he wished to savor you. The one you'd shared outside your apartment was hungry and frenzied, but you had a feeling deep down in your gut that the kiss Ben and you would have shared on the couch would have been different. The moment felt different too. The way he looked at you, the way he smiled when he noticed the apple tree flowering, and the way he held you close to him with care.

No. I am not going to think about any of that right now. He was a jerk for no reason and even if he wasn't Ben said he didn't care about me. Which is exactly what I've been trying to say since I first met him, he doesn't want to date me, he just wants to fuck me and move on.

When you'd walked out of your bedroom in a fresh outfit, Ben had already gone, and Jake had answered you back saying that it was okay for you to take the day off. Jake rarely said that it was a bad idea, he had said that he would "miss you" but instead of that filling you with warmth it did absolutely nothing. You figured that it was because of the fight Ben and you had. The anger, frustration, hurt, and rage was still currently swirling around your head and whenever it came to a peak you'd get a flash of how good it felt to wake up with Ben on top of you.

"How did you meet your friend?" You ask to keep your mind from wandering back to Ben.

"The usual."

"Usual, meaning?"

"Met him at Richie's poker game, we hit it off." Darren adjusts the radio and flips it to an 80's rock song that you can't remember the name of.

You sigh. "You owe him money don't you?"

"No I don't!" Darren clams up, his hands tightening on the wheel for a moment. "Well, just a little…"

Typical, just typical. Should have brought my damn checkbook.

"I thought you said that you didn't need money?" You pinch the bridge of your nose doing another mental calculation of how much you could give your brother.

"I don't, we worked something out." Darren answers vaguely, turning off of the expressway and onto a side street.

The buildings outside the window begin to be more and more spaced out, becoming more industrial. Each one you pass is fenced in and are quickly changing into giant warehouses and desolate streets. There aren't any other cars on the road with you and you hadn't seen another person in a few minutes.

"Well this looks… murdery." You frown at another empty warehouse with rusting sides and a roof that’s caved in.

Why are we all the way out here?

"It's not murdery, it's just eclectic. Don't be so judgmental." Darren rolls his eyes at you as he makes a left turn in front of a warehouse that is larger than the others, but in much better shape.

It's fenced with barbed wire swirling along the top of the chain links, but there's a man standing at the gate with a leather jacket, sunglasses, and a clip board, the first person you’d seen outside of the car since Darren got off the expressway. He gestures for Darren to roll down the window with the clipboard.

"Hey there Joe." Darren says smoothly, leaning his elbow on the window frame, the picture of ease.

"Darren." Joe states eyes falling on where you're sitting in the passenger seat. "That her?"

"Yeah this is my sister." Darren flashes the usual smile, the one you've seen him use countless times when he needs to schmooze someone or close a "deal."

"Hi." You say awkwardly, smiling at the man identified as Joe.

Something about this feels wrong. Why does he know who I am? I thought I was just meeting Darren's friend?

All Joe does is frown at you. "Doesn't look like a supe."

You turn to look at your brother surprised. Darren knew that it was something you didn't share with everyone, that it was something you only revealed when you had to.

Darren shrugs it off with a laugh. "She is, trust me."

"Hmm." Joe grunts. "And you're late. The boss doesn't like it when people are late."

"Sorry it was her fault. Told her to put on something nice and you know how women are." Darren is completely in his element, gesturing with his hands, and smoothing down any ruffled feathers.

But the whole situation makes you more uncertain.

Who was "the boss?" Is that Darren's friend? And why the fuck did he tell Joe that I was a supe?

You pull on the end of your long sleeved blouse nervously. Darren hadn’t let you leave the house before approving your outfit and finally when you'd walked out of your bedroom wearing a long sleeved green with white polka dot blouse and a pair of dark jeans and your converse he had said that you were "presentable" but then insisted that you leave your hair down.

It made you feel like you were about to go to a job interview. You didn't understand why Darren made you change so many times or why he cared what you wore to meet another one of his skeevy friends. They never seemed to dress up to meet you, so why should you dress up to meet them? Not to mention Darren wasn't wearing anything different than his usual outfit.

He was wearing his black army jacket over a pair of black ripped jeans and a Meatloaf t-shirt. He'd changed out the gauges in his ears for black pointed spikes and the two rings in Darren's right eyebrow were now bright blue. Darren runs his hand over his buzzed hair, giving you a flash of his onyx skull ring on his thumb.

"Yeah I get it, my old lady does the same thing." Joe eyes you appreciatively and winks. "Cleans up nice though."

"Thank you." You reply dryly.

Joe waves Darren through and as he does, you see a gun in a holster hanging against the left side of his chest under his leather jacket.

"Darren what is this? Why was he armed? And why the fuck did you tell him I was a supe?" You shout at your brother as soon as he rolls up the window.

"Oh well, my friend is kind of important and Joe is just some extra security." Darren pulls the car into a parking spot just outside of the building. He says it like you're overreacting, but you didn't think you were. This entire situation was suspicious. "I told him you were a supe because he's just trying to keep my friend safe. He asked an honest question and I didn't want to lie to him."

Bullshit. Darren doesn't give a fuck about lying to other people.

Sometimes you even wondered if Darren gave a fuck about lying to you. That thought was usually brushed away by the reassertion that Darren was your brother and you trusted what he said.

But everything about this situation made you feel odd. You didn’t understand why Darren had to bring you here to meet his friend or why his friend wanted to meet you in the first place or why his friend seemed to need so much security. You'd never had one of Darren's friends ask to meet you before, most of the time you just showed up to meet Darren and they were there scratching something in public that they shouldn't be.

"Come on Darren, you know how much I hate telling people that I'm a supe-"

"Relax. It's already done, let's just move on." He waves a hand, ignoring you.

"Please, tell me what I'm doing here. This is more than me just meeting your friend."

"Hey." He brings his hand down on yours where it rests on the middle console. "I know you're nervous, but I would never do anything to hurt you." Darren's blue eyes are wide with sincerity. "Do you really think I would?"

"Well-" You bite the inside of your cheek.

He's your brother. He wouldn’t hurt you. You say it to reassure yourself, but it doesn’t stick completely.

"Come on." Darren sighs it as if he's genuinely upset that you thought he would. "I'm your brother, I'm your only family and I love you sis. I just want to do what's best for you. And my friend is really nice and he keeps saying that he wants to meet you. Not to mention he's loaded and I know that you struggle with things like that and he said that he'd help you out."

"What?" You sputter in surprise. "Why would he do that? Why would you talk to him about me?

"Because he's a nice guy and I like to brag about how amazing you are to everyone I meet." Darren smiles. "Now come on I don't want to keep Eli waiting and we're already late."

"Eli?"

It was the first time that Darren had used his friend's name and somewhere at the back of your mind it rang a bell.

"My friend. You're gonna love him. Come on I don't want to keep him waiting." Darren repeats as he gets out of the car first, but you stay in it for a second absorbing the entire situation.

You had half a mind to text Butcher or Annie, something about the whole situation made alarm bells go off in your head, and as mean as Ben had been, you wondered if he was right, if this was something you should be worried about.

And weirder still a piece of you wished that Ben was here with you. You didn't know why, but you did.

Instead of calling or texting someone, you discretely unlock your phone and check that the tracking software Annie and you downloaded to keep tabs on one another when you moved into the city was on. No one else knew about it, in fact the app was disguised as a period tracker on your home screen so if someone were to take your phone all they would see is another general app and they'd immediately pass over it.

You'd never had to use it before in an emergency situation. Annie and you both used it when you went on a date with someone you barely knew as an extra precaution in case the guy turned out to be a freak or a secret cannibal. The horror stories you saw on the internet made you worry about that and the last thing you wanted to do was go on a date with a guy who had a taste for human flesh or wanted to turn you into a skin suit.

You open the passenger side door of the car and step out into the sunshine, tucking your phone into your pocket back pocket while looking up at the building. It glints a dull gray in the morning light, but the general appearance of the building does little to make you feel better about the whole situation. Memories of all the other times you met Darren's friends came flitting back across your mind, all of which occurred at a fast-food restaurant or a random poker game or a bar. Not to mention you'd never had one of his friends specifically ask to meet you before and you'd never met one in the middle of nowhere at a warehouse that was fenced in and patrolled by armed guards.

Darren adjusts the collar of his jacket flipping it down before he looks back at you. "Come on."

"Darren I don't think-"

Darren looks up to the sky with a heavy sigh as if your apprehension is annoying him. "Sis come on." He walks closer to you. "That asshole, Ben, is in your head. Are you really going to trust some random guy you live with or me? Your own flesh and blood?"

"Well-"

"Have I ever put you in a dangerous position before?"

"No."

"Exactly. I care about you so much and I would never do anything to hurt you." He takes your hand, eyes soft in the morning light. "I love you. You're the only family I have left that matters. And I promise if anything in there makes you uncomfortable we can leave. Just say the word."

"Really?"

"Yes." Darren nods once. "Fuck, sissy I'm not taking you here against your will. If you don't want to go in we don’t have to, but you said that you would come with me and you never break your word. Not to mention it would make me happy."

He's my brother. He loves me. He would never hurt me. It's going to be okay.

You let out a soft breath and squeeze his hand. "Okay."

Darren leads you to the thick metal door and opens it for you so you can walk in first and as soon as you do, you stop mid-step. The inside of the warehouse is covered with tables, but they're not empty, each table holds more weed plants than you can fit inside your entire apartment. The room is so green that you have to squint for a moment for your eyes to adjust from all the brightness outside. There are large fluorescent lights hanging above each table trying to give the plants the sunlight they need, but the plants don’t look good.

The plants are wilting, dying, and some have a strange black substance that fans out over the leaves in a vein-like pattern, choking the green that remains. Dead plants in piles are stacked on the edges of the room, already succumbing to whatever the hell was wrong with them.

You'd never seen a plant have something like that before. Even the energy given off by the plants is not the usual one you feel when surrounded by so many, it feels wrong, sickly, almost oppressive. You've never felt something that felt so wrong from any of the plants that you had encountered in the past.

You walk up to one of the tables, examining the black veins that are creeping along the gentle bend of the leaves up from the stalks. "What happened?"

"No idea." Darren shrugs. An unlit cigarette is perched between his lips and he's searching through his jacket pockets for his lighter. The one he'd had for years that looked like a silver dragon. "Eli said that he came back from somewhere and he found them like this."

"Oh."

"Do you think you can fix them?"

"What?" You turn to look at him incredulously. "This is weed. This is illegal why the fuck would I fix this?"

"Come on. Don’t be so high and mighty." Darren groans. "They're plants. You've told me countless times that you hate it when plants suffer. Well all of these are suffering!"

"Not the same thing!"

"You're telling me if Newton's dad's cornfield was suffering you wouldn't wave a hand and work some of that plant lover shit to save it?"

"That cornfield is his family's livelihood this is-"

"It's Eli's livelihood. It's how he makes so much money!"

"Is this why you brought me here?" You shout crossing your arms over your chest. "To fix all of these?"

"No. I wanted you to meet my friend and he's waiting for us so we might as well fucking go." Darren grouses, turning to walk up a rickety staircase that leads to the second level of the warehouse.

But you don’t believe him, because why else would Darren bring you to a place with a plant related problem, not to mention why would Darren get so angry when you refused to.

Did he really think I was going to fix an entire warehouse full of weed plants? The last thing I'm gonna do is help Eli cultivate his crop.

You weren't surprised that Darren's friend wasn't as above board as everyone else. You knew that your brother tended to get involved with people who weren't as law abiding, not to mention your brother's moral compass didn't always point North when it came to other people, but you didn't think that he would involve you in something like this.

Occasionally the moral boundaries you had were pushed when it came to what you did for Butcher, but at least he respected you when you said no.

Darren continues to stomp up the stairs angrily, another reason why you believed that Darren was lying to you.

He knew that if he mentioned any of this I would never come with him.

He throws open the door at the top of the stairs not bothering to knock and you follow behind him, fuming.

The room just inside is not what you were expecting. The entire wall to the left is made entirely of glass giving whomever is inhabiting the room an amazing view of the water beyond, water that you didn't realize was so close when Darren pulled up to the building. There's a giant wooden antique desk at the back at the room with a large maroon leather desk chair sitting behind it and two smaller leather chairs in front of the desk. A few bookshelves line the non-windowed walls, but there's no one else in the room, just Darren and you.

Where's his friend?

Darren sighs and exhales a breath of smoke, before he turns to look at you with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry sis. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I know that you've always been more on the straight and narrow than me and I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"What?" You weren't expecting him to sound so sorry, if anything you thought that your brother would have started yelling at you all over again. Why is he apologizing.

"Yeah." He rubs a free hand over the top of his buzzed hair sheepishly. "I shouldn't have gotten so mad about it. Of course you don’t have to do anything you don't want to do."

"Thank you." You sigh. "And I'm sorry. I do hate to see plants suffer, but that out there is different than what I do regularly."

"I know. And I don’t want you to be uncomfortable" Darren grabs your hand with his free hand, before he looks around the room. "Guess Eli is also running a little late huh?" He smiles and it reassures you that you've been forgiven.

"Yeah. Weird that he's not here. Especially when Joe said he was waiting for us and-"

"Oh shit!" Darren interrupts you, lets go of your hand and smacks himself on the forehead. "I completely forgot."

"Forgot what?"

He's frantically patting down his pockets looking for something. "I was supposed to call Richie. I told him I would and I-" He continues to check his pockets, the cigarette still burning between his lips. Darren talks around it. "Can I borrow your phone real quick? I think I left mine in the car."

"But-"

"Please it'll take like, two seconds. I told him that I'd meet up with him later and I want to take you to lunch after this to make up for all that shit." Darren nods his head back towards the door where the tables of weed plants are.

"Oh you don’t have to take me to lunch Darren, I can-"

"No." Darren smiles. "I want to. It’s the least I can do, driving you all the way out here and making you meet Eli."

"Um-" You look around the empty office expecting Eli to materialize out of nowhere. "Sure. But please make it quick. I don’t want to be in here alone with this random dude."

"He's not a random dude, he's my friend. And he's a gentleman, definitely a better person that that dick you have at your apartment." Darren waves a hand before he takes your phone. "You'll be fine. And we can go wherever you want for lunch."

You frown at Darren's comment about Ben as he disappears out the door and leaves you in the large office.

Honestly you did think that Ben could be a dick at times, but there were other times when he was almost sweet, well, sort of at least.

Not before he left today.

You think about what you yelled at him, about him needing people, but just wanting to push them away. That you were sure about. You believed that Ben did need people, but he had so many trust issues about everything that had happened in the past that it made him suspicious and not want to admit it to himself. That and you figured if he believed he was such a "manly man" he thought that it was ridiculous and feminine to admit that he needed someone.

Which again, you thought was stupid because you'd always seen emotional maturity in a man as an attractive trait. You liked when men could be vulnerable around you, you liked when they were honest, and you liked when they had the confidence and security to break around you so you could help them. And you found yourself wanting to help Ben, even though you thought you shouldn't.

He's not a bad guy, he's just got a ton of trust issues, machoistic ideas, and an inability to open up to anyone.

You tap your fingertip against your bicep where they were crossed in front of your chest and make your way to one of the bookshelves to look at the books. Some were antiques, others were versions of classics that you had read when you were a child, but you were sure that each volume was worth more than the apartment building you lived in. Some of the spines were so faded that you could just barely make out the flecked golden lettering and others were in another language that you couldn't understand.

Honestly, you could see yourself sitting in the big maroon chair curled up with one of these books, reading through the book with a large cup of tea while looking out over the water and admiring the iconic New York Skyline across the bay. It was a nice office, but your mind began to drift back to the quiet moments Ben and you shared a few days ago when you curled up on the couch beside him and read through your current obsession while he sat with the paper on the other side. It was nice and you were surprised that the two of you could share such a quiet moment together without ripping each other's heads off.

Maybe I should call and apologize. You think to yourself while you stroke your fingertip down one of the spines. I shouldn’t have said those things about his team or his son. And yes maybe he shouted some things at me too, but maybe he also feels bad and he's just not man enough to tell me that he's sorry. Or maybe he doesn’t give a fuck and he couldn’t care less about me.

The words he snarled at your brother, vibrate through your head again.

"Do whatever the fuck you want. It's not like I give a shit about her…"

You hear someone come through the door and because you expect it to be Darren, you don’t turn to look at him.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting darling." The voice says in a warm and low rumble, the ends tilting in an accent that you can't place. But your entire body freezes, because you knew that voice.

You slowly turn to look at the man who just entered the room eyes widening.

"Ms. Worthington. It is so nice to see you again. How was the drive?" Elijah Black asks with a pleasant smile, one eyebrow raised at you. "Not too much traffic I hope."

Elijah Black looks almost exactly the same way he did at the fundraiser a few days ago and the use of the fake last name you used only reminds you that he hadn't forgotten meeting you. His greying black hair curls behind his ears in waves that have been slicked back over his head. More of his sun-kissed golden skin is revealed to you, showing tattoos that curl up his muscular arms and disappear into the rolled up sleeves of his navy dress shirt. The top two buttons are unbuttoned revealing more of his muscular chest and the dark ink that swirls up from his pecs and licks up onto his collar bones. He's wearing a gold chain to offset the dark swirls of the tattoos, but he still is built like a body-builder, bigger than Ben across, not taller, but taller than you.

Oh fuck. This is not good.

You reach for your phone in your back pocket, prepared to send an emergency text to Butcher and Annie, the one you should have sent before when you were outside, but talked yourself out of. But then you remember that Darren still has your phone and he's not back yet.

"Mr. Black. Funny seeing you here." You clear the fear from your voice, fighting the shudder of fear when you watch Elijah's eyes trace up your figure, clinging to places that make you wish that you hadn’t worn something so tight.

"Please call me Elijah." He purrs, taking another step forward into the room. The door is closed behind him and Darren is gone. "I was disappointed when you used a fake name the other night. I was hoping to get to know you better." Elijah almost looks a little hurt, before his lips twitch into a smirk. "Of course Soldier Boy also seemed to be opposed to the idea, but he's not here now is he?"

"He's outside actually, just give him a second."

"You’re a terrible liar." Elijah chuckles. "I'd hate to see you try to play poker."

"Well give me a chance and I'm sure I'll surprise you."

Elijah is blocking the only exit. The windows could be an option, but it would mean that you’d have to throw something at it or you'd have to throw him through the window. You were strong, but not strong enough to do something like that. Not to mention you had a feeling that Elijah was a supe. The way he carried himself with a careful confidence seemed dangerous.

"Oh I can’t wait to see just how many surprises you have." His eyes trace up and down your body again in a way that makes your throat tighten and a wave of revulsion prickle over your skin. Even though you're wearing a long sleeved shirt and pants, you feel naked under his gaze.

"Darren said that Soldier Boy and you had a fight." Elijah taps his fingers against the edge of the wooden desk. "I hope he didn't hurt you."

Why did Darren tell Elijah that we had a fight? And where the fuck did my brother go?

"That's none of your business-" You say taking a step back moving around the back of the desk, preparing to run the other way and make a break for the door.

Elijah shrugs. "I like to know everything about the women I get involved with."

"We're not involved. I don’t know a fucking thing about you." You spit backing away.

This is bad. This is very bad.

There weren't any plants in the room and you didn’t have any seeds with you. The other option would be the plants out in the warehouse, but each time you tried to reach for them, all you could feel was the sickly energy they had, and honestly it was making you feel a little bit nauseous. You’d never encountered that before, usually plants made you feel stronger, but they were all so sick that it was overwhelming your senses. You wondered if Elijah planned that.

"Well let's change that. I'd love for you to get to know me better." Elijah continues to move forward through the room slowly. "It’s a pity that the two of you had a spat, especially because you seem to care so much about him and he seems to care about you, and especially because what he said must have hurt you, but I suppose it's better for me."

Ben doesn’t care about me, but Elijah doesn’t have to know that. If he knows who Ben really is, then he knows how dangerous he is, and if Elijah thinks that Ben will come to get me, that might be everything I need to make him back off.

"Why is that?" You inch around the table with Elijah following after you.

He's still smiling as if he believes that he's won.

"Because he won't come to save you if he hates you. Darren told me that the things you said to him were quite cruel. And I guess none of your team will be coming either."

Darren heard what we yelled at each other and he just pretended not to. He knew that Ben and I had a fight. He knows that Ben is Soldier Boy. Why would Darren do this? He's my brother-

"Of course my team will come to get me. They're on their way right now. And if I were you I'd let me go now, before this becomes an even bigger problem than it is." The lie isn’t completely out of your mouth before Elijah starts to laugh at you.

"No. They're all in Boston, including Soldier Boy." Elijah's smirk grows like the cat who caught the canary. "A thing about those anonymous tips, none of them seem to be that helpful. But Butcher wanted to catch that electric buffoon so badly I thought I might as well give him a push, not in the right direction unfortunately. I was hoping that Solider Boy and you would catch him the other night. He's been causing some trouble for me. Someone like him is bad for business, especially when I'm expanding into auto-motives."

"Oh no. The drug business isn't working out for you? So sad." You snark eyes flicking to the window for a minute and wondering if you could grab a chair and throw it out before he stopped you.

Elijah looks delighted. "I see you've noticed the problem. A rival of mine broke in and poisoned them, and instead of throwing away that much product and wasting more money I thought of you."

"What about me?"

"Well, your brother mentioned something in a game about his sister being able to 'make plants grow.' Honestly, your brother has a problem keeping his mouth shut about lots of things, but I was intrigued. He didn't see the value of such a gift as I did. And when Darren accumulated such a large sum of debt after the game I offered a deal."

"And what deal is that?" You take another step back, not looking away from Elijah.

"You."

Your entire body goes cold. "He wouldn't do that. My brother wouldn't do that to me. He wouldn’t give me to you as fucking payment!"

Because that was what Elijah was suggesting, he was suggesting that Darren would use you to pay off his gambling debts. Darren had done some shitty things in the past, but this seemed to be too much for him.

He wouldn’t do that to me. I'm his sister not some stranger. Darren is a lot of things, but that is too cold to consider.

"Oh my darling." Elijah sighs and throws you a pitying look. "He did. Do you really think he had to call someone? That he left his phone in the car? He needed your phone so you wouldn't call Butcher." Elijah looks at you as if you're a kicked puppy in need of solace. "But don't worry. I always take care of my toys, especially ones that are as beautiful as you."

"If you touch me I'm going to-" You begin to snarl at him

"You've got spirit." He smiles continuing to move towards you as you back away towards the door. "It always makes it more fun. More of a challenge to break."

"Stay away from me."

"I can't wait for you to beg for me to touch you."

"I mean it." You leap backward to grab the doorhandle, but as you do Elijah lunges across the room, grabbing your right arm to pull you away from the door.

He's still holding on and you bring your foot up between his legs hoping to find something soft, but when you do Elijah only laughs and tightens his grip on your arm and you hear a high-pitched snap that vibrates through your body.

At first you don’t understand what the sound was, but a wave of pain surges up and you realize the high pitched snap was the sound of your right arm breaking. The nausea comes roaring back, but the pain is almost excruciating as you try to pull your now broken arm from his grasp.

"Don't worry." Elijah purrs again. "I'm going to take good care of you."

And it's the last thing you hear as everything goes dark.

Soldier Boy POV

4 Days Later…

Ben leaned back in the faded floral cloth armchair in the corner of the crowded motel room, his head thrown against the back of the chair, as he takes a hit from the blunt in between his thumb and forefinger. The other people in the room continue to bicker and shout at one another pouring over a map and a laptop on the lone table pressed under the window in the corner of the room and it was ruining his buzz.

It had been four days since Ben had been shoved into the back of a car and taken to Boston, four days of listening to Butcher bitch and moan about why none of them could locate the electric supe, and four days since Ben had last seen you.

He exhales a cloud of smoke remembering the conversation the two of you had before he left. Honestly, he hadn’t meant to make you cry and he had no idea where any of what he shouted at you came from, but he was just so damn frustrated about the way your asshole brother was treating you and how damn trusting you were that he just exploded.

Everything he told you, he thought was obvious and something that you could see for yourself. And yet you stood there, eyes wide with tears, while he shouted those things at you and then you had the audacity to yell back at him.

He'd never met anyone so completely clueless and trusting before and it was infuriating. He hated that you let that asshole use you, hated how submissive you got whenever your brother brought up the fact that he was your only family, and Ben hated how you couldn’t see what was directly in front of your face.

All he'd wanted to do was tell you to be careful, and instead he insulted you. And then he'd had to listen to you cry to yourself quietly in your room like you also hadn't insulted him.

Why the fuck do I give a shit? She's just being damn hormonal and never wants to listen to anyone, but herself.

Ben's frown deepens when he remembers what you shouted back at him. He'd never allowed anyone to speak to him that way, then again no one had ever had the balls to and he respected that. Well, respected it, but wished you would fucking stop.

Worse still was that Ben didn't understand why he couldn't stop thinking about you. He'd never had that happen before, usually all it took to get a woman out of his mind was a quick fuck with whatever walked by, but that hadn't worked when he tried it last night.

He'd changed his location on tinder and gone out with a girl who looked nothing like you, and seemed to be the stupidest person Ben had ever met. This time he had bought her dinner, and Ben could feel himself zoning out while she talked about nothing at all. He thought of you while she talked, thought about how you always seemed to speak with purpose and how when you spoke about things they always seemed interesting and important. Not to mention he liked it when you talked because he wanted to learn more about you. You were so different than the women he'd met over the years and it was refreshing. Ben didn't like that he felt that way. He'd never been one for talking, he thought it was fucking boring, but for some reason talking to you was different.

The only time his date shut up was when Ben took her back to her apartment and yet on the walk home all Ben could think of is if you were okay. He didn't like that he had left you with your brother and he had been debating to tell Butcher to fuck off and follow Darren and you, but he hadn't wanted to after you said all that shit about his son and his old team.

Why the fuck do I give a shit what happens to her? All we do is live together. I'm not fucking her, I'm not-

He wasn't used to worrying about someone else, but he was worried about you and again Ben didn’t like it. He didn't like it so much that he almost walked back around the block to his previous date's apartment to see if she was ready to go for round three, but he didn't. Instead he went back to the motel room and tried to sleep, but he couldn't.

Over the past four days, each time Annie's phone rang or chirped he perked up hoping that it was you on the other line and every time it wasn't he seemed to sink further into the chair.

Ben puffed on the joint, but it wasn't as soothing as it had been in the past. The buzz wasn't taking the edge off the thoughts he had of you and it only pissed him off more.

Ben hadn't ever met anyone like you before. You were different and most of the time he never understood you, but he liked that about you. He liked that you were different than all the other women he had met in the past and he liked that you seemed to surprise him. He also thought that was why he liked talking to you, because he wanted to learn more about you so he could understand more.

Ben had never wanted to do that with anyone before, most of the time he just moved on, but not you. As much as he hated to admit it, it was making him want to spend more time around you, because you were interesting, odd, but interesting.

Especially because you kept refusing to sleep with him. It was a point of pride for him, being able to work whoever he wanted into bed with him, but not you. He had tried time and time again to get you to sleep with him using every trick in the book and yet, nothing.

Ben's mind flashes back to the other night at the party when you told him that you wouldn’t sleep with him was because you thought he "threw women away." It struck a nerve more than he thought it would when you said that to him. In fact, women had said similar things to him in the past, but he'd only laughed in their faces, but when you said it to him, it hit something deep inside that he thought he had locked away a long time ago. And weirder still Ben didn’t like it when you said that he wasn't "one for relationships" as if he couldn’t do it if he really tried.

I can do anything.

Ben downs the scotch in his other hand considering what you said and thinks of Countess. He thought that he'd loved her, he'd been in a relationship with her, an open one, but still it was something.

He remembered when you said that sex meant something to you and Ben had never met someone who felt that way before. Someone who thought that sex was special and should be shared with someone you loved. It was weird for him to consider that and Ben supposed that the only way he was ever going to have sex with you was if you fell in love with him or if he fell in love with you.

Yeah, like that'll fucking happen.

He rolled his eyes at the thought. He didn't think that he'd ever be able to fall in love with someone like you. Not with someone who infuriated him as much as you did and was so different than him in every way. Not when you made him angry and annoyed all the time because you refused to listen, talked back, and yelled at him.

The memory of you in his arms when he woke up four days ago surfaces and Ben swallows. He was going to kiss you, and you were going to let him, he knew it.

When he'd kissed you outside of your apartment the first night he came home with you, he'd only done it to make Mike leave you alone, but he hadn't expected to like it so much. And he'd wanted to kiss you badly when he woke up next to you. He thought you looked cute, your body soft against his, your hair flaring out over the pillow, your eyes wide, and your lips supple and welcoming. He'd wanted to trace his thumb over your lower lip, wanted to taste your lips again, and lose himself in everything you were.

I sound like a fucking pussy.

Ben sighed to himself again and closed his eyes, hoping to drown out his thoughts of you with the conversation Butcher and Annie were having over the laptop. MM was cleaning a gun and glaring at Ben while Kimiko and Frenchie were talking in rapid fire sign language that Ben couldn't understand and he wished you were there to translate or at least there to talk to him.

It's always so boring when she's not here.

Ben froze, thumb and middle finger pressed tightly on the blunt. He'd never done that before, never wanted a woman around to talk to, but that was what he meant. Even with Countess it was different. He wanted her around for a good fuck but they didn't talk about anything important and they certainly didn't sit around on the couch and watch his old films and he never sat with her while she read a book.

Ben's mind went back to the other day when you'd sat with him quietly on the other side of the couch, your gaze so focused on the pages of a book that you hadn't seen him watch you read. He noticed that when you did, you sometimes stopped breathing, like you'd forgotten that you needed to and whatever was in the book was more important than oxygen and that you sometimes formed the words with your lips as you did. Ben didn't know why he thought it was so interesting when you read, but he couldn’t look away. Sometimes during the day he'd have some free time from Butcher and he'd walk past the plant shop to see what you were doing and would see you sitting at the counter reading to yourself. He always thought about going inside, but you looked so peaceful that he didn’t want to interrupt you.

It was better than when he found you talking with that idiot Jake. Ben rolled his eyes to himself at the thought of your boss.

He definitely wants to fuck her. Ben sighs crossing his legs. And she wants him to. She shouldn't. She needs someone that'll actually be able to handle her. That guy's built like a fucking twig, not to mention he's not a supe.

Ben's jaw tightened with the thought of walking in on the two of you fucking in the apartment. You had made a rule about Ben not having any women there, but you'd never said anything about you bringing back someone. You hadn't yet and Ben hoped that you wouldn't bring Jake there anytime soon. His grip on the arm of the chair tightens to the point that he pierces through inside to the stuffing. Ben wasn't sure he'd be able to go into the apartment to listen to the two of you, let alone smell him all over you when you were done.

It was bad enough when you'd come back to the apartment smelling like the plant guy and Ben didn't want to experience what it was like after you'd had sex with him and have to smell him all over you. That also made him a little confused. Ben had fucked plenty of women who had significant others, women who threw themselves at him, and he hadn't cared about sharing. Not to mention Ben didn't get jealous, ever, whenever Countess had messed around with someone else at Herogasm Ben would watch, but with you… The sound of the arm of the chair breaking in his hand is audible when he thinks about someone else touching you, but no one else notices.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Why do I care? She's infuriating! And she's always so damn angry with me all the time that I'm pretty sure she'd never let me kiss her ever again let alone touch-

"Hello?" Annie held her phone up to her ear interrupting Ben's train of thought. "Oh hey Jake what's-"

Ben perked up at the sound of Jake's name with a frown. He hoped again that while he was gone you wouldn't sleep with him.

"I'm worried, I haven't heard anything from her and she didn't come in for her shift this morning." Ben heard Jake say on the other side of the line referring to you.

His muscles tensed slightly. Ben hadn’t wanted to leave you there with your brother, something about the guy made him antsy. Ben had met men like him in the past, men who used things like family and love to manipulate people into caring about him. He knew that Darren was your brother and you were just so kind and open that you would do whatever he asked without question.

Darren knew that. He knew exactly what to say to her to get her to give in.

Ben wondered how much you’d let Darren get away with in the past and quietly made a promise to himself that he wouldn't let Darren get anything out of you ever again for as long as Ben was around.

"Do you think she's running late?" Annie asks diplomatically, but Ben doesn’t miss the way her eyebrows scrunch together and the worried look she throws Hughie who is sitting across the table looking up at her.

"Not three hours. I tried to text her and when she texted back the message was weird." Jake presses.

"What do you mean weird?"

"Well, she used a lot of emoji's and she never does that."

Ben watched Annie's smile pull down into a frown. "Huh. Here I'm going to try to call her and I'll call you back okay."

"Sure."

Annie hangs up the phone and scrolls her finger on the screen to find your number.

"Everything alright?" Hughie asks leaning back in his chair.

"I'm not sure." Annie puts the phone up to her ear again.

Ben can hear the ringing on the other side of the line and he finds himself leaning forward, waiting for you to answer.

"Come on. Pick up the phone." Annie whispers while tapping her foot on the ground.

When you don't she opens the text thread of messages the two of you have and texts you. When you moved to the city the two of you had come up with phrases and words that you used to warn each other of danger. Annie insisted on it. Two single women living in a big city meant that the two of you were targets even if you were supes and as capable as the two of you felt handling your own, it was a comfort to have someone else.

Annie: Hey babe! I'm thinking about dying my hair blue again. Thoughts?

She waited patiently staring at the screen. Ben couldn't help but watch her with interest, he didn't know what was going on, only that Annie seemed to be worried. Something that he had never seen her be.

You: Hey girl! I think you should go for it! You always rock it.

Ben hears Annie's sharp intake of breath and rises from his chair understanding that something is wrong.

"Fuck." Annie mutters.

In middle school as an act of rebellion, Annie had tried to dye her hair blue with a box of cheap hair dye the two of you bought at the pharmacy in town while Annie's mother was away. But when it was done, something had obviously gone wrong. The dye must have been old or maybe just too cheap to do any good because it had dyed Annie's hair a vomit colored green. And to make matters worse, Annie had a terrible allergic reaction. It was that day the two of you realized that she was allergic to the chemicals most hair dyes. Her entire head had swelled up and she had to go to the Emergency Room.

Not to mention when Annie's mother showed up she told Annie she "deserved it" for doing that to her hair. The only way the Doctors could help her was to wash her hair out with bleach and then when that didn't work they cut it all off.

Annie had to wear itchy wigs for months after.

The correct response you were supposed to have was:

"Fuck no. Do you want to shave your head again?"

"Butcher-" Annie says raising her eyes from her phone.

"Yeah?" He doesn't look up from the map in front of him, trying to find out where the supe is hiding.

"We have to go back." She touches his shoulder to get his attention.

"Why?" Butcher looks at her annoyed, and he was. He had devoted a lot of man power to finding this supe and a lot of his own personal time. The last thing he was going to do is to come up empty handed.

Annie says your name. "Is in trouble."

"What do you mean?" Ben asks.

"She didn't show up to work today and she never just skips." Annie explains. "And we have code messages we made and she answered wrong." She holds out her phone to show Butcher the text thread.

“Hair dye?” Butcher still doesn’t look convinced.

“She knows I’m allergic. And she didn’t show up to work today.”

“Maybe she slept in-“ Butcher didn't want to drive all the way back to NYC for no reason, not when he believed he was close to catching the electric supe.

“She loves that job. And yes maybe she runs late, but she’d never just vanish or not go into work without calling Jake.” Annie pulls her phone back and begins to swipe through.

“What are you doing?” Ben questions. By now he could feel something unfamiliar tightening in his chest, a weird feeling that he couldn't place.

“We share our locations with one another.” Annie replies typing something on her phone. “I just have to find the app and-“ She looks down at the screen for a moment before raising it so Butcher can see. “See look! Why would she be all the way in Brooklyn?”

“Maybe that’s where her brother took her.” Ben grunts taking another puff from the joint in his fingers, hoping that it will relieve some of the weird tension he was feeling, but it doesn't.

Annie swivels her head around to glare at Ben so fast he gets whiplash. "Wait a minute. Darren's in town? Why didn't you say anything?"

“Yeah. Fucker spent the night four days ago.”

“And you left her with him alone?"

“He was going to take her to meet his friend-”

“For fucks sake Ben, why didn’t you just slather her in honey and tie her to an ant hill?" Annie shouts waving her hands dramatically at him.

Guess she doesn't like him either.

"Well-"

Annie isn't interested in what he has to say, instead she begins to type something on her phone and raises it one final time to her ear.

"Where the fuck is she?" Annie snarls into the phone and it doesn’t take Ben much time to figure out that she's called Darren.

"Who?" The voice of your brother fills the phone and Ben's hands clench together into fists at his sides.

Ben can tell he's lying from just one word and he feels rage begin to replace the odd feeling, licking up against the walls of his chest like an unquenchable fire.

"You know who you fucking leech." Annie spits.

"I don’t know. I took her back to her place after she met my friend. Think they hit it off." Darren sounds casual and Ben can almost imagine the sick smirk on his face.

"If you’re lying, I’m going to roast you alive like the pig you are."

"Oh baby the way you talk to me."

"Darren I’m serious."

"I don’t understand why you’re getting your panties in a wad Annie. She’s fine. I took her back to the plant shop four days ago after she met my friend, because she wanted to go to work. I haven’t heard from her since."

"Darren-" Annie begins to say, but Ben crosses the room so fast he didn't remember moving and snatches the phone from Annie.

"Listen to me you little shit." Ben growls into the phone. "If she's fucking hurt I am going to show you what it's like to be turned inside out."

"Whoa easy there Benny boy I don’t know who the fuck you think you are but-"

"For your sake I hope you're telling the truth, because if you're not there's going to be no where for you to hide from me and there's not going to be enough left of you to wipe up with a tissue." Ben hits the off button on the phone call and as he does he realizes that everyone in the room is staring at him with wide eyes, but he ignores it.

"Oi what the fuck was that mate?" Butcher says, but Ben ignores him.

"You can either give me the fucking keys to your car or I can take them from what's left of you." Ben snarls. "You get to pick."

Butcher eyes him for a minute, considering. "Come on yank, let's go."

A/N: And we have the reappearance of Elijah Black who is just as creepy as he was the first time. Maybe more? Wanted to throw in a little bit of Ben POV because it's a lot of fun to write and he's just so conflicted about everything, not to mention just as clueless as the reader when it comes to how he really feels.

As always thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are not required, but are always appreciated. Feedback is always welcome. If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this series please let me know :)

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307 @libby99hb

@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro @quietlybitchy @tinydancer40

@roger-that-cap @megara0224 @miskwaadesiwag @rainyeggvoidpurse

@soldiergrimes @tiffsbagels @podiumackles

@ifyouwerethemoon @ririshkin @peachhiz @fitxgrld @sukunassfinger

@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @ej13928 @deans-spinster-witch @kr804573 @modiddys-blog

@acciosherlockholmes @minas-fantasies @fireskyy

@n-o-p-e-never @nesnejwritings @am0rem @tpwkcalli @momggn

@fitxgrld @whimsicalcherry @ladysparkles78

@spxideyver @zepskies @impala67stellawinchester

@reidtomewinchester @samanthadegaro @glossy01 @nikimisery

@tunnelvisionlove @incandxscents @winchester-stark @samahanta

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #jensen ackles #soldier boy #soldier boy x female reader #jensen ackles soldier boy #soldier boy/ben #the boys amazon #the boys fanfic #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fic #soldier boy fanfiction

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reidingandwriting · 1 month ago

Text

Dog Days Are Over > w.w. & l.h.

Word Count: ~3.3k

Pairing: Wade Wilson (Deadpool) x Reader x Logan Howlett (Worst!Wolverine)

Warnings/Contains: Alcohol, average language usage for Deadpool universe, suggestive reference, some referenced violence, allusions to murder, references to Logan's background, Logan's a little emotionally constipated and doesn't cope Well, nightmare, hurt/comfort, a little angst, reader gets a little sad in this one, Logan also gets sad in this one, but happy ending!

A/N: I swear this ending feels so conclusive but I Promise there will be more coming soon for the boys. Working on a NSFW chapter and I am. So So Normal (lies) about these guys so I want it to be Perfect, but I should have it up SOON.

Previous chapter / Next chapter

You’re not sure when exactly the dynamic between you, Logan, and Wade shifted. It was subtle at first and suddenly you realized. You realized just how much time you spent with the two men. Realized that you all of your free time was spent with at least one of them, and the times you weren’t with them? You missed them like crazy. You yearned to be around them.

They had recently gone on some work trip, and you could barely stand being without them. You texted the both of them frequently, even with their minimal responses due to… whatever work they were doing. You were vaguely aware of all they did when they were gone, knowing who they were, but they tried to keep you separated from their less than legal occupation.

It had been about a week since you had seen them (six days, twenty hours, and approximately thirty six minutes) and you were convinced you were going to lose your mind. And then finally, god fucking finally, when you were laying on the couch, you heard the familiar knock on your front door. You jumped up, almost tripping over the coffee table in your haste to open the door. “Shit!” You groaned, rubbing your shin before opening the door. There stood Wade and you were on him before he could say a word.

Wade picked you up, supporting you by your thighs as he held you. He was uncharacteristically quiet as he carried you inside, kicking the door shut behind him. You started to tug his mask off, frowning when you saw him.

“Damn, did I get uglier out there?” Wade joked but you could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

“You look upset.” You paused for a moment. “And you’re alone. Where’s Logan?” Wade tightened his grip on you before he sat down on your couch with a sigh.

“Drinking. It,” another sigh. “It was a hard week.” As Wade talked, he rubbed his hand up and down your back, a grounding method he often used. Needed to feel you, knew you were safe. If he was with you, he was safe. You were safe. “We almost had him. He was almost okay.” Wade dropped his head to your shoulder, and it was your turn to rub at his back, leaning your head against his. “Fuck knows I wanna be shitfaced right now, but you’ve domesticated me. Turned the stray into a pet. And no, readers, that is not foreshadowing any pet play from me in future smut. Not kink shaming, just kink asking why.”

“You sure you’re not drunk right now?” You asked and Wade pouted up at you. You brought your hand to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against his lips. Wade pressed a gentle kiss to your finger and you smiled, heat blossoming across your cheeks. “We should probably go get him, shouldn’t we?” You asked and Wade gave you an apologetic look. “Let’s give him a little longer before we start the wolf hunt.”

“While we wait, I demand spooning. Having depravations, actually. I think I could die.” With a soft laugh, you fell back against the couch with Wade, welcoming the way he immediately buried his face in your hair. One of your boys was home. Time to get the other one where he belonged.

You were grateful Logan was a creature of habit, when you found him quickly after walking into the bar you worked at. You walked towards the table he sat at, his back to the wall in a quiet corner and you scuffed your foot against the ground when you got close. You knew he didn’t need the warning, knowing he likely heard you and Wade speaking the second you walked in. But he looked so out of it, you were worried. You took a seat across from him, observing him.

You wanted to talk to him solo first. Hoping seeing you would be enough to get him home, at least. You could smell the whiskey in the air around him, noticed the way his shoulders were hunched. He looked like the version of himself that walked into the bar a couple months ago. Your heart clenched in your chest when he finally looked up, there being a look in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. He looked… distant. Detached from himself and everything around him.

“Yes?” You flinched at the tone of his voice, the roughness of it.

“Just wanted to come check on you. Wade made it home and you weren’t there. I’ve missed you.” You kept your voice soft and Logan sighed.

“‘m fine, bub. Just needed a moment alone.” Logan set his glass down, gaze shifting towards the table. “Just a minute.”

“You ready to come home? Or do you need a little longer?” You wished you knew what was going on in his head. You could see the gears turning, knew he still wasn’t quite there with you. Physically, sure, but mentally? He was gone, and you were unsure if he was trapped from a week ago or back even further. You hadn’t seen him this stuck before and you didn’t know how to proceed. You should’ve brought Wade over. As different as the two were, they understood each other. He’d know what to do.

“Yeah.” Logan exhaled as he stood up, startling you. “Let’s go home. ‘m pretty tired. Know Wade’s gotta be, too.” And that was that. Logan held his arm out, an invitation, and you tucked yourself into his side. Together, you walked to where Wade was watching, and you shot him a worried look. Wade nodded, a barely perceived motion. He fell into sync with the two of you, and all three of you headed home.

You woke up to mumbling. You continued to lay there, eyes closed, thinking it was Wade sleep talking again. Then you heard the rustling of the covers, felt the thrashing. You opened your eyes, blinking as you adjusted to the darkness- only a faint glow from the hallway nightlight (after a few too many late night face plants after tripping on something in the hallway)- lighting up the room. The mumbling grew louder and you looked over at Logan. His brows furrowed, his chest quickly rising and falling as his sleep talking became more urgent. Panicked.

“Logan?” You whispered. You glanced over to where Wade was out cold; wanting to wake him, but hesitating. “Logan.” You reached out. Your hand barely touched his arm before he woke up, grabbing your arm. “Lo-“ You were cut off by a gasp as he flipped you over, straddling you. The sound of his claws unsheathing as his fist landed just a couple of inches from you.

A few seconds later, you watched as recognition hit Logan, awareness taking over his hazel eyes. He looked less frantic, less like a cornered feral animal. The calm lasted all of three seconds until his gaze traveled to where his fist laid- claws buried in your pillow.

“Logan,” you whispered when you finally found your voice again, but it was too late. Logan was up and out of your room before you could even sit up, and you took a few deep breaths to settle yourself. It was a nightmare. He’d never, ever hurt you. You knew him, trusted him. This thought would’ve been reassuring, until you realized. While you knew him, knew he wasn’t a threat. You also knew him. You knew how he viewed himself. Knew that he’d blame himself.

“Ev’rythin’ okay?” Wade mumbled, the commotion starting to wake him. You leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips.

“Be right back. Nightmare.” Wade seemed to wake more at that and you gave him a sad smile. “If I’m not back in a few minutes, come on out. I need, need to talk to him for a minute.” Wade nodded and squeezed your hand once before you got up. You walked to the living room and frowned at the sight in front of you. Logan sat on the couch, leather jacket on and struggling to tie his boots on. His hands trembled as he cursed under his breath, muttering something you couldn’t quite decipher. “Lo.. where are you going?”

“Not sure. I need- need to get out of here. This was a mistake, all of it.” Logan’s words were jumbled, his breathing erratic. “I’ll have Wade get all my things.”

“Get your things? Why do you-“ Realization hit you like a bucket of ice water and your mind was screaming with panic, desperation, but most of all, hurt. “You’re leaving.”

“I am.” Logan’s eyes wouldn’t meet yours as he stood. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“You, you can’t just leave. Talk to me, Logan. I can help-“

“No, you can’t! You don’t understand anything, and you never will.” Logan had never raised his voice at you, and you felt frozen in place. The room felt so much bigger, colder, and you felt small under his gaze. “How could you? How could I ever think this would be worth anything?”

“You don’t mean that. I, I know I don’t get it. I’ll never completely understand how your brain works, how Wade’s works. I’ll never understand everything you’ve been through and everything you still deal with every day. But I want to try. You’re worth it to try.”

“I can’t. I can’t do it, bub. It’s not worth it. This,” he gestured between the both of you, “isn’t worth it. I was deluded to think it was.” You couldn’t do anything but watch as he walked towards the door, opened it, and closed it with a quiet click without looking back.

“Sweetheart? I heard the door, is everything- hey, what happened?” You turned to Wade, cheeks wet with tears, and you slowly sat on the couch. “Where did Logan go?”

You didn’t respond; you couldn’t. You opened your mouth, but no words came out. A choked sob left you and you buried your head in your hands as sobs racked your body.

“Come ‘ere,” Wade said as he sat beside you, pulling you into his lap. “I gotcha, princess. I got you.”

Wade felt helpless and he fucking hated feeling helpless. You were miserable. You flipped between borderline manic- keeping yourself busy with work, picking up extra shifts, going on runs, baking like crazy- and catatonic. Wade would order in dinner, try to coax you into eating, and basically acted as your literal support system. Helping you shower, practically attached to your side as you walked.

It had been almost two weeks since Logan disappeared, the only communication he’d had with either you or Wade being a text to Wade with an address for him to drop his things off. And Wade waited. And waited. And waited for Logan to show up, katana in hand. Ready to turn the bitch into a kebab and drag him home, kicking and screaming all the way. He wanted an explanation, if nothing else.

But Logan didn’t show that night. Wade had waited hours, had almost fallen asleep waiting for the brunette to show up. Wade eventually went home and dropped by the next morning- all of Logan’s things gone. Al hadn’t seen him, he hadn’t been at your bar. The Wolverine had disappeared just as quickly as he had reappeared in this timeline, the only physical traces of him being the bottles of whiskey in your fridge and the now discarded (after Wade managed to pry it from you) pillow he had punctured. The mattress would have to be replaced later, Wade didn’t think you could handle parting with it yet.

It was the middle of the night, sometime in his third week of going MIA, when Wade caught a glimpse of him again. Logan lingered in a dark alley, ever the fucking lurker, and Wade stalked over to him.

“Hey, furry!” Wade called out. Logan barely had time to react, eyes flashing briefly with recognition before Wade’s fist collided with Logan’s nose, the crunch echoing.

“Fuck!” Logan cursed and Wade shoved him against the alley wall.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t cut your fucking head off and splatter your pretty little blood all over this wall,” Wade’s voice went rough, threatening. Wade’s mask was off in the safety of the alley, and Logan stood still as the blade of his katana pressed against his throat. His eyes were bloodshot, the dark circles under his eyes reappearing. He looked rough, and not in the hot and rugged way.

“How is she?” Logan rasped and Wade pressed the blade down further, a sliver of satisfaction hitting him when he saw the slight cut on Logan’s neck.

“How do you fucking think, dipshit? Miserable. Have to carry her to bed every night because she sits there. Staring at the front door, waiting for you to walk in the front door.” Wade dropped his weapon, kicking his boot against the wall as he tucked the katana back in its sheath. “She misses you. We miss you, peanut. Fucking furious with you. Worried about you, too. Mostly just want you home where you belong. Even if you’re in trouble with the missus.” Wade walked over and leaned back against the wall and let his head fall against Logan’s shoulder. Logan wrapped an arm around Wade’s shoulders and both men exhaled, a little shaky.

“Missed you, bub. Missed the both of you. Was at the house earlier,” Logan admitted. Wade, for once, stayed silent and let him talk. “I was just about to knock on the door, and I couldn’t. Not after how I left.”

“She may bitch slap you when you come in. Rightfully so.” Wade nudged his head against Logan’s shoulder. “But it’s not home without you. We’ve missed you so much.”

“As long as you’ll have me, I’ll be back.” Logan tilted his head to look at Wade. Wade’s gaze turned soft and he leaned up, slowly, giving time for Logan to shove him off. He didn’t press his luck, kissing the corner of Logan’s lips, letting his own lips linger.

“Come on,” Wade whispered against his cheek, and Logan shivered. “Let’s go home.”

Well, that wasn’t the welcome Wade expected. He had walked inside first, leaving Logan outside as he greeted you with a quick kiss. He told you someone was waiting to see you outside, and you felt your stomach begin to twist. It couldn’t be…

But it was. Your mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water, as you stared at the man you loved. The man who broke your heart. The man you wanted to slap the absolute shit of, but also the man you couldn’t wait to hold again and kiss the breath out of. After.

Your hand moved through the air faster than he could react, the contact echoing throughout the room. Your hand stung and you could see the red glow blossoming on his cheek. You looked between Wade and Logan once, twice, three times before you ran down the hallway and locked yourself in the bathroom. Was it a foolproof method to keep them out? In theory, no. Either one of them could bust the door down like it was nothing. In practice, however, you were a fucking genius. You sat with your back to the door, knowing they wouldn’t risk hurting you.

You had been in the bathroom for a while, your joints aching slightly at how long you’d been on the cold tile floor. You were growing tired and you wanted to lay in your bed, but doing that meant facing Wade and Logan. Fucking Logan, you thought and your head thudded back against the door. Moments later, you heard the sound of someone on the other side slide down the door.

“You don’t have to talk to me, but I hope you’ll listen,” Logan said. “I’m not the good guy who gets to have a happy ending. And god, I feel so close to having one. With you and Wade. God, that felt weird to even think about.” Logan chuckled. “So I did what I did best and I ran. Like the dangerous guy I am.” You sat in silence, listening as he spoke. “You mean… so much to me, and that terrifies me. I would do anything for you, no matter what it cost me. And then I almost killed you that night.”

“I try so hard to keep you away from that part of me. I’ve always been a weapon, it’s what I know. It’s all I knew. They saw the animal I am, and they used me. I did horrible things, unredeemable things, and then suddenly I meet you. Someone who tries to help me see that maybe, just maybe, I’m more than the violent dog I was born to be. You’re showing me a new chapter of my life that I was too afraid to want. And in my attempts to avoid fucking it up, I hurt you. I fucked up.” Logan’s head leaned back against the door with a soft thud. “I’m not asking for you to forgive me. Not asking to be welcomed back, or to get another chance. Just needed you to know it wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you the way I did. I’m sorry.”

A long stretch of silence passed. Logan wasn’t sure if you heard him, if you had listened. The door opened, Logan bracing himself as he started to fall back, the door having supported most of his weight. A shuffling sound followed and suddenly, you were in his lap. You wrapped your arms around him, your grip on him tight as you rested your head on his shoulder.

“You ever do that again, I’ll find a way to castrate you.” A huff of laughter left Logan and he hugged you close.

“I’d deserve it.”

“You would.” You looked up at him, hazel eyes finally meeting yours again. “Think I need one last thing before I can forgive you.” You looked down at his lips then back up at him. A silent question.

“Fuck, yes,” Logan whispered as he leaned down, lips brushing against yours. A content sigh left you the moment your lips touched and you ran your hands up to his hair, gripping slightly. Logan groaned, a low noise, as your lips moved in tandem. He deepened the kiss, relishing in the whine you made as he explored your mouth, a needy little noise.

“If you two are fucking, I think I deserve to be a participant!” Wade called from the living room and you pulled apart, giggling as you looked up at Logan.

“Missed you,” you said after a minute. Logan tightened his grip on you before he stood, carrying you back to the living room.

“I missed you, too.” Logan took a seat beside Wade, you positioning yourself so you could sit with both of them. You stayed in Logan’s lap but stretched your legs out onto Wade’s. The three of you talked for what felt like hours, eventually moving to bed.

You weren’t sure when exactly the dynamic shifted. When you, Logan, and Wade became You, Logan, and Wade. When the casual flirting became more. When the not so secret longing turned to lingering touches, kisses and breathy laughter, and officially moving in. God, you’d always remember the look on Logan’s face when you gave him a house key the next morning.

Logan stared at the key, a million different emotions hitting him at once. He could feel yours and Wade’s watchful eyes on him, until he finally look up. His eyes stung with tears that threatened to spill as he choked out a ‘Thank you’ that had your eyes watering as well. He had a home. He belonged somewhere. Belonged to two people he’d destroy the world for, one of them being an obnoxious merc who would burn the world down for fun, and the other being a human who was just as stubborn as him, determined to make him see that maybe. Just maybe. He deserved the home he was given. He deserved the love he was getting.

And for once. Maybe he started to believe it.

Taglist: @flower-majesty-anon @scarlettsoldier @asdorlia

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seospicybin · 2 months ago

Text

TEST DRIVE.

Changbin x reader. (s,f)

Chapters: #1 / #2

Synopsis: Changbin made a perfect plan on how to spend a day with you only for the weather to ruin it. (4,1k words)

Author's note: Just a quick fic of sweet and sexy boyfriend biker!changbin that will make you go 😳🥰☺️💗💘💓❤ or it could be just me.

Changbin has crafted the perfect day for the two of you. He plans to take you on a morning ride, watching the sunrise as he cruises down the highway, followed by breakfast at your favorite diner, and then a scenic ride to a nearby town to explore new places together.

However, the weather has different plans for both of you.

Rain pours steadily outside, and the gray sky casts a gloomy shadow in your bedroom. Yet, it creates the perfect atmosphere for snuggling under the covers.

What starts as lazy morning cuddles quickly turns into something more heated, and before you know it, the duvet is thrown off the bed, and both of you are completely naked.

Even in the dim light, Changbin looks magnificent. Every muscle in his body flexes under your touch, hot and firm against your skin. As he kneels on the bed, holding your legs by the knees, you get the perfect view of him in all his glory.

Slowly, he runs his hands down the inside of your thighs, and you can’t help but part your legs for him, exposing yourself completely. His eyes darken with lust as they drop to your wetness, and he swallows hard, the sight clearly affecting him.

“Horny eyes,” you tease with a sly smile.

Changbin doesn’t even try to hide where his gaze is. His hands stroke up and down your legs as he softly mutters, “You’re gorgeous… beautiful. I still can’t believe you.”

One thing about Changbin is he never says things he doesn’t mean. His voice carries pure admiration, and it sends a flutter through your chest.

You let out a shaky moan as he starts to push into you, slow and steady. The sensation makes your breath catch, and when he thrusts forward, your head nearly bumps into the headboard.

His hand immediately flies to cradle your head. “Are you okay?”

You laugh softly. “Yeah.”

He grins, eyes playful. “I'm sorry.”

“No. Don't be sorry.” You grip his biceps, feeling the power behind them. “Do that again.”

Changbin might seem tough on the outside, but you know how gentle he really is. Beneath that exterior is someone who moves with care, making sure every motion is filled with intensity and purpose. He lifts your hips slightly off the bed, angling just right to send waves of pleasure through you.

All your previous lovers with their below average sex games are distant memories now that you're experiencing the intense pleasure of lying under Changbin. The way he moves, deliberate yet passionate, is unlike anything you’ve experienced before.

“This is what we should be doing at six in the morning,” you murmur with a breathy smile, your hands drifting to your chest to tease your own nipples for extra sensation.

The rain taps softly on the window, but the rhythmic slapping of his hips against you quickly drowns it out. He lifts one of your ankles to rest on his shoulder, leaning in as he thrusts deeper, his gaze locked on your face.

“I think I’m going to die,” you moan dramatically, your body trembling beneath him.

He smirks, that cocky look only making him more attractive. He keeps the pace steady, driving you higher and higher toward your peak.

You reach out to touch him, but your arms are shaking too much, finally falling back above your head as you surrender to the pleasure.

“Don’t stop, please,” you beg, breathless.

“I won’t,” he whispers, lowering himself so his body presses against yours. He kisses your skin, trailing from your breasts to your mouth, kissing you with intensity.

“Do you know what I want right now?” you ask, your voice soft as his lips hover near yours.

He smirks again, eyes twinkling. “Tell me, baby.”

You wind your arms around his neck, pulling him close. “I want your cum all over me.”

His eyes widen slightly, clearly enjoying your request. “Yeah? You want that?”

“Yes,” you murmur, your voice laced with desire.

That’s all he needs to hear. Changbin moves faster now, his thrusts growing more urgent as he chases his own release.

"Ou, yes, please."

“Give it to me.”

“Cum all over me.” you continously moan, watching as he teeters on the edge, his breathing becoming ragged.

With a low groan, he pulls out, leaving you feeling empty for just a moment. He grips his cock, pumping it as his eyes stay locked on you, your body open and ready for him.

The first hot streak of his release splashes across your chest, followed by more across your breasts and stomach. You gasp, a satisfied smile spreading across your face as you take in the sight of him, powerful and spent. You reach for him, pulling him down for a deep, lingering kiss.

In the hazy aftermath, you whisper in his ear, “Do you know what I want now?”

He chuckles softly. “Coffee?”

You laugh, nodding. “Yeah.”

“We’ll get you cleaned up first,” he says, glancing down at the mess he’s made on your skin. “I’ll start the shower.”

He kisses you once more before getting off the bed, his strong back flexing as he walks toward the bathroom. Despite the rain, this morning is perfect, and you smile to yourself, enjoying the best morning sex and the best view you could ever ask for.

Even though the rain has stopped, Changbin figures it’s too late to follow through with his original plan, so the two of you decide to go out for lunch instead, making the most of the clear skies while the sun is still shining. He’s already downstairs, warming up the engine of his bike, which has been drenched in rain all morning.

You step outside, slinging your bag across your chest, and immediately catch sight of him. His figure, relaxed but commanding as he checks his bike, makes your heart skip a beat.

"Can you stop looking so hot?" you ask, teasing him with a playful smirk.

Changbin looks up from his bike, puzzled. “What?”

You gesture with your head toward a group of girls hanging out by their car across the parking lot. They’re giggling, clearly eyeing him, and one of them even dares to wave.

“Sorry, ladies, he’s taken,” you call out possessively, shooting them a glare that could cut through steel.

Changbin can't help but chuckle. You look so cute right now, fiercely protective and full of sass. He quickly strides over and presses a kiss to your lips—not just for your sake, but to prove a point. He’s yours, and he’s proud of it.

But apparently, it’s not enough. As he swings a leg over his bike, the girls call out, "Call me!" with exaggerated confidence.

You roll your eyes, but Changbin just shakes his head, revving the engine as the two of you ride off. He’s used to the attention, but it means nothing when you’re the one by his side.

Since you only had a light breakfast, you decide to go all out for lunch. The two of you order plenty of food, and Changbin already knows he’ll probably end up finishing most of your meal for you. But it doesn’t bother him at all—he loves watching you enjoy yourself, and your joyful smile makes him happier than anything else.

“Is it good?” he asks, his voice soft as he watches you take another big bite.

You nod excitedly, cheeks full of food. “Mm-mmh.”

He reaches across the table, gently pinching your cheek. “Eat well, baby.”

After lunch, you both hop back on the bike and take a short ride to the pier, the same place where he took you on your first date. The two of you grab ice cream and sit by the water, watching the waves lazily lap against the shore, even though dark clouds occasionally pass by, blocking the sun.

Out of nowhere, you ask, “Do you think we’d still be together if I hadn’t said hi and told you you’re cute?”

The question catches him off guard. He hadn’t really thought about it, but now that you mention it, the thought of a life without you makes his chest tighten. If he hadn’t responded to you at the traffic lights, his life would be completely different. He might still be single, riding around aimlessly, not knowing the kind of happiness you’ve brought into his life.

Changbin playfully grins. “I’d find you and tell you you’re cute.”

You burst out laughing, and he can’t help but smile with you. He doesn’t even want to think about the other possibilities—what could’ve been if you hadn’t crossed paths. Just the thought alone makes his heart ache.

Looking up at the darkening sky, Changbin notices the shift in the weather. “I think it’s going to rain again,” he comments as he climbs back onto the bike.

Instead of hopping on behind him like you usually do, you circle around and straddle him from the front, holding onto his shoulders and facing him. The sudden move catches him off guard, and he nearly struggles to keep the bike balanced for a moment.

After parking the bike more securely, he wraps his hands around your waist, steadying you. “Is this how we’re going to ride now?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You flash him a sly grin, your arms looping around his broad shoulders. “Uh-huh, yes.”

Changbin chuckles, pulling you closer, his hands instinctively gripping the back of your thighs, lifting you higher. “I like it, but it might be a bit… distracting.”

“Distracting how?” you ask innocently, placing soft kisses along his jaw and then on his lips, teasing him further.

He smiles against your lips, his hands continuously rubbing the sides of your thighs, but he can’t help himself—his fingers squeeze your ass gently, sending a shiver down your spine. “Utterly distracting,” he murmurs.

Without you, his days wouldn’t be nearly as colorful. You’ve brought so much joy and warmth into his life, and he’s grateful for every moment with you. He cups your jaw tenderly and leans in, kissing you deeply. It starts soft and romantic, but quickly turns more heated, more intense. You both know you’re making a scene for anyone nearby, but neither of you seems to care.

When he finally pulls away, it’s with great reluctance. He presses one last kiss to your lips, lingering there for a moment longer before whispering, “We’d better head home before the rain hits.”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “Okay,” you agree, your voice soft and full of affection.

As you finally climb off and settle onto the back of the bike, the sky above rumbles quietly. Changbin revs the engine once more, and the two of you take off, racing against the rain, hearts full and content.

It’s never a dull moment with you.

As Changbin rides through the city streets, you can’t help but let your hands wander, feeling the solid contours of his body. When the lights turn red, he offers his hand to you, letting you hold it until it’s time to ride again.

Every so often, you give in to your playful thoughts and squeeze his chest muscles. He chuckles and gently brings your hands back around his waist, only for you to catch him off guard and do it again. His soft groan in response only encourages you further.

When Changbin finally pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building, he turns off the engine, but you don’t move. You cling to his back, refusing to get off the bike.

“Let’s go,” he coaxes gently, rubbing your arm with his gloved hand.

“No,” you mutter, your helmet still on, your voice slightly muffled.

“Okay, then we’re going to stay here all night,” he sighs, leaning back against you as if to settle in. His tone is playful, but you can feel the warmth of his body and the comfort in just being close.

After a moment, he taps the visor of your helmet. “You,” he says softly, “off the bike.”

You shake your head, firmly planted against his back.

With a sigh of mock defeat, Changbin gets off the bike. He then grabs you by the waist and effortlessly lifts you off, setting you on the ground.

“Let’s get inside before it rains,” he says, taking your hand as the first drops start to fall.

He’s right, of course. By the time you both reach the lobby, the rain is coming down in earnest. You pause to collect your mail and packages, and without asking, Changbin picks up a few of them to carry.

“What are these?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“Just a few things I bought online,” you reply casually, pressing the button for your floor in the elevator.

“You bought a lot,” he comments, sounding almost surprised, but quickly adds, “Not that it’s bad, just... a lot.”

“Because... I have money to spend,” you say with a proud smile.

Once inside your apartment, Changbin sets everything down on the table and heads to the kitchen for a glass of water. When he returns to the living room, he watches you rip open the first package. The contents look unfamiliar to him—small, sleek items.

“What are those?” he asks, genuinely intrigued.

“Lip liners,” you explain, heading to your vanity to try one out. When you come back, your lips are painted in a soft, pale pink.

You sit on his lap, leaning close and pursing your lips at him. “What do you think?”

Changbin gazes at you, taking in the subtle change. “It looks good on you,” he says honestly, his hand finding its way to your waist.

Your smile widens as you lean in, your lips still puckered for a kiss. He obliges, giving you a soft, closed-mouth kiss, his hand gently cupping your jaw.

When you pull back, he grins. “How does it look on me now?”

You laugh, noticing the faint transfer of your lipstick onto his lips. “Even better,” you tease, giving him another quick peck.

You continue to open more packages—makeup, skincare products, hair accessories—until you reach the final box. As soon as you crack it open, a fragrant smell fills the room.

“Oh! We should try one of these tonight,” you gasp, holding up a bath bomb.

Changbin looks at it, unfamiliar. “What’s that?”

“Bath bombs!” you say, excitement evident in your voice as you hand him the box.

Without waiting for him to respond, you’re already heading toward the bathroom. “You pick which one we use, and I’ll get the bath ready.”

The bath bomb turns the water a soft pink, filling the bathroom with a sweet, citrusy scent. You slip into the tub first, and Changbin follows, carefully lowering himself in to avoid splashing too much water. He leans back against your chest, and your arms automatically wrap around his waist. You kiss the back of his neck, then rest your hand across his broad chest.

“I love that you’re big,” you murmur as you gently scoop water and let it drip over his chest.

“And why is that?” he asks, his hand rubbing your thigh under the water.

“Because there’s a lot of you I can hold,” you reply softly, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek.

This moment feels different to Changbin. He’s had relationships before, but none like this. It's obvious that he admires you and he doesn't shy away from showing that to you but what makes you different from the others is that you reciprocate the same to him. With you, he feels just as admired, cared for, and fully himself. It’s a kind of intimacy he’s never experienced, and it’s both comforting and exhilarating.

“My big boy,” you sigh happily, turning his head so you can kiss him. He relaxes into your embrace, feeling completely at ease as you hold him, the warmth of the water and your closeness enveloping him.

After a moment of quiet, you speak up. “Baby, I want you to answer some questions.”

“Okay,” he replies, his voice soft and relaxed.

“I’m going to say a statement, and you’re going to rate it. One to ten,” you explain.

“Alright,” he agrees, curious but ready to play along.

“For example, when I say ‘She’s a 10 but she smokes,’ you rate it based on your personal preference. Got it?”

“Easy. Two,” he answers without hesitation.

You smile, appreciating how quick he is to play along. “Okay, first one: She’s a 10 but she’s a fangirl of a book character.”

Changbin thinks for a second. “Still a 10. No problem with that.”

You nod approvingly. “She’s a 10 but she spends a lot of money on makeup.”

His eyebrow quirks up, but his answer is confident. “Still a 10.”

“Why?” you challenge, already knowing why.

“She spends her money on things that make her happy,” he says simply, “and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

You grin. “She’s a 10 but she can be moody.”

“Everyone gets moody sometimes,” he replies, growing more confident. “Still a 10.”

“She’s a 10 but she’s a picky eater.”

Changbin groans because he's actually don't like picky eaters and you're one of them. However, he tolerates you because he likes you, he only needs to encourage you to try some food you don't like.

“Dinner might be a struggle but... 10.”

You tilt your head to look at him with narrowed eyes, "You don’t sound so sure."

"Okay, maybe... 9?" He honestly shares with a wince.

You don't respond to his corrected answer and continue with the next question. “She’s a 10 but she’s obsessed with you and wants to touch you all the time.”

This makes Changbin smile wide. He knows exactly who you’re talking about because you're doing it to him right now.

“Eleven,” he says without hesitation. “You can touch me all you want.”

You chuckle at that. “Who says I’m talking about me?”

“Oh, sure, yeah, they're not about you,” he teases, pulling you in for another kiss.

As the night deepens, the soft patter of rain turns into a roaring thunderstorm. The sound is a rhythmic lull, a backdrop to the warm comfort of the bed you and Changbin share. Neither of you bother with clothes, opting to snuggle close under the thick covers, seeking the shared heat of each other’s skin.

You lay on top of him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he rests on his back. His head is turned to the side, offering you the perfect view of his exposed neck. You take full advantage, peppering his skin with delicate kisses, starting from his collarbone and working your way up.

"You smell amazing," you whisper between kisses, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of him.

Changbin’s eyes flutter shut as he lets out a soft sigh, his hand gripping your waist while you lightly nibble on the shell of his ear. He groans, the sound deep in his chest, as you touch one of his sensitive spots. His body responds to your every touch, and you can’t help but giggle, feeling a rush of affection for him.

"I want to snort you," you tease, your lips brushing against his ear before making a slow, deliberate trail down his front.

In the darkness of the room, you feel his muscles tense under your kisses. You burrow further under the duvet, making your way down his torso. Your lips finally meet his hardening member, and you feel his breath hitch in response.

"Oh, baby..." he sighs, his voice raspy and full of need.

He can’t see you beneath the covers, but that only heightens his other senses. The soft press of your lips, the heat of your breath—it all becomes magnified. You kiss and lick along his length, your tongue tracing every vein and curve, driving him to the edge of his control.

His hips lift off the mattress as your mouth finally wraps around him, inch by inch, until you take him fully. His breath is ragged now, every sigh and groan evidence of the pleasure coursing through him.

"Baby..." he moans, his hand finding the back of your head, encouraging you as you move with purpose.

You work him with your hand and mouth in sync, savoring the way his body responds to your touch. The muffled sound of the rain outside, combined with the wet, sloppy sounds of your movements, fills the room.

When you slow your pace, pulling away, you replace your mouth with your hand, keeping the stimulation steady. You re-emerge from under the duvet, the soft glow from the storm outside casting shadows across your naked form.

Changbin’s eyes darken with lust as you smile down at him, your hair tousled and lips swollen.

"There’s my beautiful girl," he whispers, his hand resting on your waist as you straddle him.

"Did you like that?" you ask coyly, though his whimpers have already given you the answer.

His hands slide up your sides, brushing past your ribs as he looks up at you. "Come here," he rasps, his voice low, "let me kiss that sweet mouth of yours."

You lean in, letting your face hover just above his. He cups your cheek with one hand, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips.

"This mouth," he murmurs, "it knows how to make me feel so good."

He pulls you down into a kiss, hard and deep, his lips moving against yours with raw hunger. His arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against his body, leaving no space between you.

"Baby," you breathe, pulling away slightly, your lips still brushing against his. "I'm not done yet."

His brow arches, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Oh?" he asks, his voice laced with curiosity.

You sit up again, your hand resting on his chest as the other slips between your bodies, your fingers finding his cock. Slowly, you rub him along your slick folds, coating him with your essence, teasing him with every movement.

Changbin groans, his hands gripping your thighs as you position him at your entrance. You slowly sink down, taking him inch by inch, allowing your body to adjust to his size.

"Always taking me so well," he mutters, his voice thick with desire as his hands tighten around your waist.

You gasp, your body trembling as you roll your hips, the sensation of him filling you making you moan softly. The two of you find a rhythm, your movements slow and deliberate, savoring every moment.

"How are you so good, hmm?" Changbin grunts, his hands roaming your body, squeezing your thighs, your waist, your breasts. "How do you always feel so good?"

You clench around him on purpose, earning another low groan from him. His hands find your rear, guiding your movements as you begin to pick up the pace, bouncing on him now.

The sound of your skin slapping together mixes with the rain outside, creating a symphony of pleasure.

"Keep going, baby," he encourages, his voice strained with need. "Keep going."

Your nails dig into his chest as you ride him faster, your head tilting back as the pleasure builds. You’re close, and so is he. He grabs your neck, forcing you to look at him, his eyes locked on yours.

"You're going to make me cum, right baby?" he growls.

"Yeah," you whisper, breathless, a smile tugging at your lips.

"That’s right, baby. That’s my girl," he murmurs, pulling you down for a heated kiss, your lips meeting in a frenzy of passion.

Your bodies move in perfect sync, working together to chase that final release. Changbin bucks his hips up into you, matching your rhythm, his grip on you tightening as he feels you begin to tremble above him.

"So close," he groans. "Come on, baby, cum with me."

Your body responds, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you cry out, your walls tightening around him. Changbin lets himself go, his hips thrusting up into you as he cums, his release spilling inside you. You collapse onto his chest, both of you breathless, your bodies covered in a sheen of sweat.

Changbin’s arms wrap around you, his fingers tenderly brushing the hair from your face. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

"Absolute 10," he whispers, his voice filled with affection.

You look up at him, a tired but happy smile on your face. "Huh?"

"I don’t care if she’s a fangirl, a picky eater, or impulsively spends her money on makeup," Changbin says, his smile growing as he gazes at you. "She’s an absolute 10."

You lean in, kissing him softly, pouring all your love and adoration into that single kiss. He kisses you back just as tenderly, letting you know how much he adores you in return.

Despite the day’s plans being derailed, Changbin knows it’s perfect. He’s spent it with his perfect 10—you.

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