#like let the argument rest now guys

[softgcf]

"wilhelm shouldn't have abdicated for simon" can we please go back to the days where people watch tv with their eyes open? the way it was explicitly stated by wilhelm himself that he didnt give up the crown for simon. it was a FACT that he did it for HIMSELF because he doesnt want to be the crown prince or king from the start. where do you think all these issues came from? I understand that people can be disappointed with the ending but completely missing the point of wille's dilemma is giving selective comprehension. literally the reason why he went to that club that got him sent to hillerska was because he wants to be normal and be around "normal" people. he felt conflicted about his role because he feels like he has to do it for the sake of being born in the royal family.

simon wasnt the reason why he gave up the crown. id like to think he is the catalyst in wille's life, and discovering erik's past was his last straw to finally leave and choose his path.

[deathbxnny]

Maybe a part 2 of the arcane characters saying things they regret, but they're apologizing because I can't live after reading a angst 🫠

Making up with Arcane characters after a bad argument. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Ekko, Sevika x Gn!Reader

(Previous part)

Fine, fine, here is a happy part two guys. Take it as an apology for the tears and pain I've caused.✨️

Content: Swearing, accusations of cheating, slight angst, making up, fluff, potential spoilers for season 2, established romantic relationships, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

》VI

She knew that she had fucked up. There was no way to deny or refute it either. And your absence was further proof of that.

You were always there for her, even when things got bad and she became even worse. No matter how much she yelled or drank, you were there afterward to nurture her back to health. It was so unfair of her to expect it still, after all she had said to you. She hated herself. She hated how weak and pathetic she had become. How she can't even stand straight anymore from the alcohol and couldn't win a single game since she had lost you.

And instead of Caitlyn haunting her like she used to, it was only you now. But you were crying every time. Asking her why she hated you so much. Why she couldn't care for you the way you cared for her. Why you were always the second choice despite having been there since the start.

Why, why, why.

Gritting her teeth against the headache, she made her way through the dark, familiar lanes to your small home that you once shared together. She had to talk to you. She really, really had to. Even if it's far too late now after a week of silence in-between the two of you. She had taken the time to reflect and think about everything, especially about your relationship. And it made her realise that nothing in this world was losing you too.

Knocking on your door, she nervously waited as she heard your footsteps quickly approaching her from inside. You opened the door carefully, ironically just how she had taught you, before freezing at the sight of her. She gave you a weak smile, attempting to look calm and friendly, but it still scared you off. "Hey cupca-" You tried slamming the door into her face mid greeting, but her foot was faster to jam itself in the way.

"H-Hey! Wait, please hear me out!" "Fuck off, Vi. I'm not in the mood to hear more of your bullshit. Go back to Caitlyn since I know how badly you want that!" You never cursed, and every word you spoke made her flinch. She, for some reason, didn't expect you to be this mad. But it hurt, and she deserved it. Another thing she underestimated was, unfortunately, your strength since you somehow managed to push her away and shut the door again. "Come on! Please! I... I didn't mean what I said. I just... have been losing my shit ever since what happened. The guilt is killing me, and I know it's not an excuse! You're right, I have to stop this shit! You're right, I need to stop treating your love for granted!"

She didn't know if you were even listening to her anymore, but it didn't stop the tears that burned in her eyes. "I don't give a damn about Caitlyn like that! I never did! It always you for me. You... you cared for me when no one else ever wanted to, and I was such an idiot for not appreciating it more." Her hand slammed against the wood in defeat, her head coming to rest against it as her body trembled. She was so scared of losing you. This can't be the end. "Please. Please just give me another chance to prove myself. I know I'm a fuck up but I swear I'll do better now."

Vi nearly fell right through your house entrance when you opened the door wide with a teary huff. "God, you're such an idiot... get in already before the neighbors complain." You didn't let her reply as you simply dragged her inside and locked the door again. The pitfighter watched you do so with a gentle gaze, one that felt so familiar to you. "... Fine, I'll give you another chance... but no drinking or fighting anymore. Please." You whisper to her, and she nods quickly before engulfing you in a warm hug.

She knows that she isn't fully forgiven yet, but she'll do everything in her power to prove herself worthy of your love again.

》CAITLYN

"You're still up." Caitlyn's voice was calm and gentle now, so different from the stern and cold tone it had before. You ignored her, however, knowing better than to fall for this again. She always got like this when she knew she had screwed up and was trying to crawl back into your good graces. But this time around, you didn't allow it that easily. You refused to speak to her if she hadn't come back to apologize. And yet... you couldn't help but allow yourself at least one sharp dig at her. "And you're late to bed once again. But I suppose Officer Nolan's 'report' was just that interesting, no?" You were perhaps the only person in all auf Pultover that could ever accuse her of something so scandalous as adultery and get away with it.

It certainly would have been amusing if Caitlyn didn't feel so sick at the thought of you believing that.

Sighing, she placed her hat onto a clothing hanger, her jacket following suit. You were facing away from her on the bed, trying to read a book and rest, despite the pain in your heart. It was hard being angry at her when you loved her so deeply. But her insults had struck much deeper than that.

The bed dipped behind you, and soon enough, you felt her strong arms surrounding your body and her nose tickling your cheek. "I'm sorry, my love. I really am. I... have lost my cool, and that was wrong of me." You scoffed at her words, finding them too shallow for the pain she had caused earlier. Yet you struggled to get out of her strong grasp on you. It felt desperate. And you hated the warmth and security that it made you feel. "If that is all you have to say, then you can leave." You hissed out weakly but couldn't find any malice in it. Just heartbreak, that solidified in more tears burning in your eyes. "Because how... how could you ever say that I could betray you? Do you know how that makes me feel? Do you care?"

Caitlyn hummed against the nape of your neck soothingly, a way to acknowledge the plight she had caused you without revealing her own tears. The grief had made her into a monster. A monster that hurt its friends, family, and most importantly, you. It was unforgivable, and yet she wanted to prove herself worthy of you anyway. She wanted to show you that she hadn't changed deep down like everyone claimed. She was still yours.

"... I will find a way to end this war and resolve it peacefully as soon as I can. I swear it to you." She began, her voice low and gentle, as she listened to the sound of your hiccups and sniffling. This wasn't what she wanted. "And I apologize, truly, for what I called you... I know that you are loyal and trustworthy. Much more than I ever could be... I'm still your Caitlyn." The last part was whispered quietly, as she tried everyone in her power to not break down in front of you like this.

She hated what she had become deep down. She knew it was wrong and that her mother must've been turning in her grave at the sight of what she had done. But what she couldn't handle at all was you hating and leaving her.

There was a moment of silence before you turned to face her and immideatly hugged her impossibly close as you cried into her arms. She rubbed your back lovingly, understanding that this was your way of accepting her apology. But forgiveness will still be a long journey she was willing to take.

For now, she'd rest in your embrace thankfully.

》JINX

Deep down, you knew that she didn't mean what she said. She never would do anything to hurt you. Silco's death was just killing her more than anyone could have expected, and it was hard for everyone to deal with. But you just couldn't take the pain and hurt she caused you anymore. You've been there since day one. You were always at her side. You always took care of her when no one else wanted to. And you understood her better than she did herself. But it was ultimately just not enough. Or so you thought.

The young girl that was now dragging you through the lanes reminded you of her too. She didn't speak a word to you, and for some reason, you didn't have it in you to protest against her odd actions either. She somehow seemed to recognize you the second you bumped into her. And that was enough for her to take your hand and lead you to a very familiar hideout. Perhaps it was fate that brought you here again when you needed Jinx the most.

"Hey kid, who's our little guest-?" The rest of the young woman's words died on her tongue, and it left you simply staring at each other. There was a familiar haze in her eyes, one that you often saw when the voices were taking over. She once mentioned that you sometimes became a part of her hallucinations during longer absences, and that reminder alone made your heart ache. You shouldn't have run away that day. But what other choice did you have? She didn't trust you anymore. She didn't think you should be together anymore. Why were you even here?

"S-sorry... I'm just going to leave..." You muttered as your ears rung and that familiar burning in your eyes made your sight blurry. You felt suffocated and somehow also angry, wishing she could just see how much you loved and cared for her. But just as you were turning away to run again, her strong hand was quicker and held you back by your arm. "Wait. Let's just... talk, alright? Like we always do?" That was your thing. Whenever things got bad, you'd sit down and talk calmly to her about it. She used to scoff at it every time... yet she was the one who suggested now for once. Something about it shook you so hard that it made the first tears finally spill at the recognition she had given you for all the work you've put into her.

Jinx panicked a little at that, unsure of how to comfort you, yet at Isha's stern frown and cross of her small arms, she just hugged you for the first time in a while. And god, did she miss it.

Perhaps it was good to show the little girl a picture of you after all.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I swear, sweetie! I... I won't ever say stuff like that again. Just don't leave me. Please don't leave me. I just, I was just-" You hushed her by just hugging her tighter and shaking your head. "It's okay... just hold me for a while. We can talk later... I missed you so much." You whispered, voice breaking into sobs. Jinx hummed weakly and sighed against your hair, the familiar scent making her relax and feel better at last.

Isha grinned to herself behind you before quickly sneaking off to let you talk things out.

》EKKO

To say that the entire firelight hideout was pissed at him would be an understatement. Absolutely everyone disagreed with the way he treated you, and the side eyes he got very much confirmed this. But the worst part of it all was definitely you avoiding him like the plague.

Every time he entered a room, you were the first one to leave in a hurry. Every time he tried speaking to you, you either ignored him or found an excuse to get away. Every time someone even mentioned his name to you, your mood seemed to dampen. And that hurt so much that it killed him. This isn't how he wanted you to feel about him. He was your boyfriend, damnit it. Yet he acknowledged that he was failing at his job way more than he should've allowed himself to. He had to fix this somehow.

Ekko couldn't just lose you over his own foolishness. You were the one person who motivated him to keep going even on his worst days. You were the light he fought for. The person he battled to come home to every day. He couldn't handle your absence any longer, especially at night when he laid wide awake in your empty bed without you.

And so, he finally had enough and cornered you one night up in the tree during a patrol you had together. One, he definitely didn't pull the strings for to happen. And ever the one to abide by his orders despite your current dismay, you were now avoiding his gaze whilst you watched your sleeping home below. It was peaceful and calm, but the pain lingered between you two too much to enjoy the moment. He didn't know how to break the deafening silence, and it made him think of backing out on his initial plan... until you surprised him by speaking up first.

"I'm... sorry for avoiding you. I didn't mean for this to become your last resort. I just... didn't want to be a burden anymore." "Wait, wait, wait... who said that you were a burden, I... I should be the one apologizing right now. Because I was wrong about every fucking thing I said to you." The words spilled out in panic at the mere thought of you blaming yourself. He never wanted you to feel like this. It made him feel even worse about himself. This wasn't right. "You're not useless. You do so much for us, for me, and I take it all for granted like the asshole I am! And I fully acknowledge that now... I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. There is no excuse for it." He shook his head in disappointment at himself, wondering if this was it now. He'd understand if you broke up with him now... but instead, you seemed to be in the mood to surprise him alot today.

"Did you... like the food I made you?" He blinked at your question in confusion, yet answered honestly. "Best thing I had all week." "Then I guess I'll forgive you... just don't do that again." Ekko chuckled weakly at your words, relief filling his senses whilst he pulled you close to press a kiss to your head. "Would never dream of it... wanna ditch patrol and fly around town?" You mirrored his sly smile, glad he had the same thing on his mind as you did. "Sure thing. But let's make it a race."

He let you win.

》SEVIKA

She took some time to cool off after your argument and returned later into the night with a clearer mind. Sevika had actually reflected on what you had said to her, and she knew you were ultimately right. She was extremely overprotective and stubborn, two things that didn't mesh well and often ended in her thinking you couldn't take care of yourself. Even if she knew better than to actually believe that.

You were strong, especially mentally. It's what drew her into you to begin with. But with the fall of Silco and a war being on the verge of breaking out against Piltover, she had no choice but to make sure that you never left her sight. And if you did, then you had to be somewhere she knew was safe and away from all the chaos she dealt with daily. It helped her focus and stay calm to know that you're okay. Yet despite how much she cared, she still fucked it all up for herself again.

And now she had to fix it, something she was never good at.

She felt awfully guilty at the sight of the things you've lovingly prepared for her, now laying forgotten and cold on the kitchen counter. She truly didn't deserve someone as kind as you. And yet she considered herself too selfish to let you go.

Slowly approaching the bedroom door, she paused to hear if you were awake or not. Unfortunately, you were, but she only knew this from the faintest sound of your sniffling and sobbing that drifted through the wooden door. Sighing to herself, she knocked once, deciding to just rake things slow and as calmly as possible. You had sustained an injury after all, and her mind was reeling at the thought of it getting worse without any proper care. "What do you want?!" Your weak voice yelled at her, and it made her frown. Yeah, you were definitely beyond pissed.

"I want to talk." Her gruff voice said, and it may have sounded like a demand if the underlying care and worry didn't overshadow it so clearly. Your silence made her initially think you were ignoring her until the door slowly opened and revealed your disheveled form. "... well, go ahead." You muttered, one hand cradling the side of your hip that was clumsily bandaged up by you. You were never good at stuff like that.

"Let me take care of the wound whilst we're at it. Can't have ya dying on me because of an infection." She sighed out before simply dragging you to your shared bed and pulling out your medkit. You didn't protest or complain and let her do as she pleased, whilst you carefully listened to her speak with an unreadable expression.

"Listen. I... get it. I really do. The way I treat you isn't right, and I know you're grown enough to take care of yourself, but... I can't risk losing you too now. It drives me crazy to think about. Even if that ain't much of an excuse, and I get that too." She was never this honest before. Usually, she simply deflected or blamed someone else. But here she was, for once admitting openly to being the problem. "Just... be more careful out there. That's all I ask of you. I won't comment on it otherwise anymore though, unless you're in serious danger. I promise." Finishing the last of her bandaging, she hummed at it now looking much securer. This way, you are sure to recover much faster.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded your head at her words, deciding to give her another chance to prove herself. You understood where she was coming from after all. "Okay, fine. I'll accept your apology... if you help me cook." She grinned at that slightly with a casual shrug. "Fine by me, if I get a taste of your heavenly cooking, sweetheart."

[soleilapproves]

The one where Toji gets a buzz cut.

Masterlist

-•-

You dropped the grocery bags on the ground when you were greeted by your boyfriend.

But not out of excitement or happiness.

“No! Your glorious hair!” You dramatically walked to him so you could take a closer look at the damage. Toji, being the evil man he was, laughed at your response. “What d’ya think? I hated my hair covering my eyes while I was on missions so I tried something new.”

“Something new? You look like a felon!” You groaned as your hands roamed around his scalp, hoping for a miracle that would grow his hair back.

“Alright, that’s too far. I thought chicks dug this look.”

“Not on you! Maybe some weirdo that doesn’t look like an assassin for hire.”

“But I am one.”

“That’s besides the point, Toji. You’ve hurt me. By cutting off your hair you’ve also cut off any ties you had with me.” You sulk.

Toji was starting to feel self conscious even when he knew the adjustment phase would go away. “Do I really look that bad, doll?”

“No, but-“

“There’s a but? Okay, that’s it, I’m not touching you from now on. Since I look so bad, you can come to me when you find me attractive.” Okay this was turned into a real argument and you started to get agitated too.

“Fine! Let’s see who’ll last longer.”

Toji simply scoffed and walked back into his man cave.

Who knows how long you guys were planning to do this for?

-•-

A long time. You both can go without touching each other for a long time. It had been a week and a half without any physical intimacy but the relationship was normal, you both spoke about anything and everything. Neither of you were showing signs of caving in (or were just that good at hiding it).

It was a quiet afternoon. Toji was out buying some last minute ingredients for dinner and you were starting to miss him. And as much you hated to admit, the buzz cut was growing on you. Just the other day you had to fan yourself when you saw Toji doing pushups where he looked like an underground fighter prepping for his next match.

To distract yourself you decided to spend your time calling your friend instead. You put her on speaker while you organized your closet.

“Girl, what do you mean it’s ugly? It’s all the rage right now.”

“I know. I hated it when he first got it and now all I can think about is pouncing on him. Ugh, I hate myself.”

“You live together. Just go touch him, you fool.”

“No, I’ll lose and I can’t lose to him. He’s always winning bets between the two of us.”

The conversation went on for a few more minutes until your friend had some urgent business to attend to.

You turned around to grab the rest of clothes and shrieked when you saw a tall figure standing in the door way.

It was Toji. “Did you hear everything?”

“I’ve been here since you admitted that my haircut was hot. Do what you will with that info.”

You sighed as you sat down on the bed. “I guess that means you win.” He could tell you were pouting even when you were turned away from him. He smiled at your childishness and gathered you in his arms and made you lay on top of him as he laid down on the bed. “There, you won.”

“No, it doesn’t work like that. I admitted that I wanted you first so you’re still the winner.”

“Then you’ll be happy to know I’ve been thinking about pouncing on you since the day I got my haircut. I wanted to do it out of spite cause I knew you’d cave in but then we made that stupid bet.”

“Ugh, I’m so stupid. You do not look bad at all, Toji. In fact, you look like a hot felon. The type of felon that has a girlfriend who visits him.” You mumbled as you played with the collar of his t-shirt.

“Uhuh, and does she do overnight visits?” He then started attacking your face with kisses as you start giggling.

It was you and your hot felon against the world.

[lokissweater]

“i would never lie to you.”

{toge inumaki x f!reader}

summary: inumaki’s always coming home to you from missions coughing up mass amounts of blood and completely overdoing it while fighting curses with his cursed speech technique. and no matter how many times you tell him to be careful, he just doesn’t, arguing with him, giving him the cold shoulder, and completely unaware of the reason behind why he fights so hard when he’s out there— that reason being of course… because of you.

warnings: angst, fluff, cursing, toge and reader have a lil argument but it’s more the aftermath, slight sexual mention but it’s literally once and nothing LOL, no smut!, toge thinks he’s not doing enough SNIFFF, angst with comfort, toge is DEVOTED to you, aged up characters, pet names, afab!reader.

word count: 2.3k

authors note: short n sweet one!! wanted to give you guys a break from my MLA format essays i always make y’all read LMFAOOO!! this one is SHO SOFT AHHHH :] i hope this keeps you guys fed in the meantime while i write the next one! i love you and i love you all ALWAYS MWAAHH <33

————————————————————————

toge inumaki hates it when you don’t talk to him.

as if he doesn’t do that enough already, toge absolutely despises when you both get into arguments or heated discussions and you turn a cold shoulder to him— needing space to unwind and prevent yourself from lashing out even more, to let the situation simmer down.

he understands it. believe him he does— you’re upset and angry and you need time to cool off… but toge is stubborn and needy and just doesn’t care, needing you and only you, him going absolutely crazy at the silence in your shared apartment that he was starting to hear random ringing in his ear drums.

so as he sat on the couch, eyes unblinking as they stared off into the darkness of the living room as the sun had already began to set, you upstairs locked away— he wanted nothing more than to open his mouth and let his cursed speech force you to come downstairs and talk to him.

but he didn’t, though the thought was definitely tempting, as toge vowed the day that he laid eyes on you to never ever use his cursed technique on you, even if it was harmless, an oath he wanted to carry with him until his very death bed and until he was six feet under.

his ears perked up then at the quiet sounds of the upstairs room door knob twisting and clicking open, soft padded footsteps making their way down the hall and closer to where he was, feet sticking against the cold tiles of the kitchen floor.

at the sight of you with your hair a little disheveled, your eyes so red and puffy, and an arm wrapped around yourself as you rummaged through the fridge looking for fuck knows what and not sparing a single glance at him— toge felt like a fifty pound gutting weight was resting on his chest and crushing his heart.

you had both argued about something you always seemed to circle back to almost every week. but this time, you were sick and tired and fed up, seeing as toge was never going to try and understand the situation at hand through your worried eyes.

every time toge was out for a mission, you would spend your days anxiously throwing yourself over the couch or trying to keep yourself busy with random activities like baking or scrapbooking (which you deemed later meaningless), all within the sole purpose of trying to get your mind off of your boyfriend and the recklessness he always seemed to pull while on missions, regardless of how much you begged and pleaded with him to be more careful and aware of his health.

toge inumaki had such a powerful and lethal cursed technique that frightened and astonished you all at the same time, a conflicting feeling to have when he had to leave you in the middle of the night or during the early hours of the morning to run around and fight curses… but always coming home to you warm and loving and safe.

but not right now.

not when toge had literally come home this morning with not even two steps in the door and he was already on his knees, coughing up strings and loads of crimson blood, it pooling on the floor as he had used his cursed speech to the highest degree today and had you a crying mess thinking he was dying.

and he always did that. always. today was just the worst of them all, him without a fault coming home with excruciating pain in his bruised and clawed up throat, the cough syrup medicine he usually downed like water having absolutely no effect anymore as you scrambled around every time trying to find a solution, toge brushing off your distressed and frightened rambling as if his health wasn’t a big deal, and as if how much it affected you wasn’t a big deal either.

upon you closing the fridge, toge slowly stood from the couch and carefully walked over to you, his throat still in pieces but his mind lurching and guilty over how upset you were at him.

he slowly raised a gentle hand and placed it on your shoulder, you shaking your head somberly in response— your back to him.

“i don’t wanna talk right now toge i’m sorry…” you mumbled, rubbing over your tired sore eyes.

he squeezed your shoulder, insisting.

but you only shook your head again.

toge huffed and placed both hands on your shoulders this time, physically turning you around to face him— his eyes soft and his eyebrows pinched together in pure concern for you.

you peeked up reluctantly, but the sight of his face and the events from earlier flashing through your mind only made your bottom lip wobble and the bottom of your palms shoot up to dig into your eyes, more stinging tears flooding in and slipping through the corners of your closed lids.

his heart fucking broke.

“why don’t you care toge?” you hiccuped. “i worry myself sick every time you leave for a mission and— and that’s fine because it’s what you do but you never take care of yourself!”

he gently pried your shaking hands away from your eyes and wiped your tears softly with his thumbs, caressing your cheeks after— wishing so badly, more than anything in this fucking world, to just be able to speak to you like a normal human being instead of resorting to words scrambled on a piece of paper or text messages on a screen.

he gently placed a little timid peck to your nose before releasing your face and fumbling around in his pockets for his phone, tapping it awake once he retrieved it and opening his notes app to write out a sentence.

he flipped and faced the screen towards you, the brightness making you squint a bit.

“i do care i swear. i just always forget when i’m in the middle of it and i’m sorry baby.”

“so you keep forgetting after what feels like the fifteenth time i’ve told you?” you wiped more tears from your cheeks. “how— how do you think it makes me feel when you come home and you’re coughing up blood all over your clothes and the furniture huh? all over me?”

he sighed softly through his nose and went to type again, but you continued.

“i get scared toge that one day you’ll push yourself way too far and then you just won’t come home. you scare me when you cough up so much blood like that!—”

toge tugged you in then with his unoccupied hand and wrapped his arms around you, pushing your head in and stuffing your face against his chest— the scent of his freshly washed t-shirt filling your nose as you cried softly.

fuck he felt like such a douche.

he typed for a moment behind your head, a pit in his stomach that only grew in size the longer he heard your little sniffles.

toge pulled back a bit, his arms still keeping you in place but just enough so that he could lower his phone and show you his message.

“please please don’t cry. i’m really sorry okay i really am and honest to god this won’t happen again.”

you nodded meekly and he flipped his phone back, quickly typing again and showing you once he finished.

“i feel like you think i don’t care but that’s not true at all. part of the reason why i try so hard when i work is because the more curses i fuck up the safer you’ll be when you’re out there without me.”

you laughed a bit at his wording, and he beamed at that, typing.

“i love you pretty girl. and im sorry i always get blood everywhere.”

“oh i don’t care about the mess baby, i care about youu,” you whined lightly and wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him in tight.

“and i love you too, a lot… like an embarrassing amount that strips away my dignity.”

he chuckled boyishly and pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his body stuttering slightly as a single thought grazed his mind— the same thought that’s been in the crevices of his brain since he asked you to be his.

you felt his tension and pulled back.

“what?”

toge bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at you, his weight shifting as he contemplated telling you something he didn’t want to burden or upset you with, the pad of his thumb softly rubbing over your chubby cheek.

you quirked an eyebrow. “what? are you cheating on me?”

he burst out laughing and shook his head, kissing your forehead before dropping his hand from your cheek and pulling out his phone again.

he typed for a minute then showed you.

“me not being able to speak to you like a normal boyfriend should or respond to you whenever makes me freaking useless. so i push myself out there to keep you safe because that’s literally the least i can do for you, since i can’t even do the bare minimum.”

you gasped softly. “toge huh? this is—”

he shook his head once more and you stopped as he typed again.

“i always try to make you laugh with the things that i do or whenever i text you because i’m afraid that one day you’ll get tired of me not being able to talk to you and you’ll leave. which is also something i would never blame you for and understand.”

your heart squeezed in the worst excruciatingly way possible, completely baffled and mortified to the fact that toge was thinking about things like this and wholeheartedly believing it without you noticing or him saying anything to you about it.

he typed again.

“that’s why i cosplay as gojo when i leave for missions and come back a dumbass with blood in my mouth. that’s why i forget when you tell me to be careful because the need to be something for you is way fucking greater.”

“togeee!” you sobbed, bursting out crying like a little baby as you were moved and haunted by his words simultaneously, your arms engulfing him as he desperately shot his hands out and quickly wiped your tears again, shaking his head frantically as if pleading with you not to cry.

“how could you ever believe that?” you nudged him away and hiccuped, your eyes serious. “why haven’t you told me about this? everything you just said is literally propaganda.”

he chuckled, but you could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“toge, why do you think i’ve been with you for so long? do you think i’m just dicking around?”

“dicking around on my dick?”

you swatted his phone away. “no! not right now.”

you both shared a small giggle, twinkling eyes looking at each other.

“if i felt like you weren’t doing even the bare minimum, i would’ve been gone before you had the chance to put this ring on—”

his gaze drifted down to the black shiny heart promise ring on your ring finger that you held up for him, and he smiled softly.

“baby what you do for me everyday is above and beyond the bare minimum. i’m happy. i’m so happy to be with you that you not doing enough has never crossed my mind and it never will.”

you slid your arms around his neck and pulled him down a little, gently. “i’ve never cared about your ability to speak. i fell in love with you, who you are, and the fact that i did without you having to iterate words to me? olympic sport.”

toge rolled his eyes playfully at your comment, and you stood on your tippy toes and kissed the tip of his pretty nose then. “all men do when they talk is lie anyways…” you tilted your head. “but i know you’ll never lie to me.”

“never.” he mouthed silently.

he bundled you up in his arms and lifted you like you were nothing, him carefully leaning in and pressing his lips to yours as if you were a fragile little thing— kissing you so devotedly, warmly, his forehead resting against yours once he pulled apart after greedily getting his daily fix of you.

“i know your job as a jujutsu sorcerer pays the bills and comes with you putting yourself in difficult situations… and my job doesn’t even compare, but please don’t overdo it for my sake. i want you to come home, okay?”

you know it’s selfish… he should be saving lives no matter the cost.

but he was your man. was it so bad to just want to keep him for the rest of your days? to get the chance to grow old with him, and buy a little quiet house on the country side like you always joked about in the late hours of the night with him? drinking cool glasses of lemonade on the porch?

“please don’t always be the hero.” you whispered guiltily. “but if you must… just keep me in mind while you do it.”

you’re always on his mind. he hopes you know that.

toge breathed softly through his nose and smoothly set you back down, the pads of your feet making contact with the icy tile flooring as his hands dragged up from around your waist to the sides of your head, him pushing a hard kiss to your cheek as if to seal your request.

“do you promise?” you mumbled.

he pulled back and held his little pinky out for you, and you giggled, linking yours with his firmly.

“you can’t go back on it okay? you used your pinky it’s legally binding!” you warned, a silly smile on your face. “don’t lie to me and break it.”

toge grinned and leaned towards you as he bent down a bit— your gaze locking with his as he looked at you at eye level with his hands on his knees, him mouthing his next words, slowly.

words that made your cheeks buzz a cutesy pink, words that he took seriously, and words that tied you to him and the little house by the countryside he wanted so badly with you, as those words solidified how much he truly truly loved you— him hoping you always knew.

“i would never lie to you.” he mouthed.

taglist!! <33: @saebaey

[zhelin-thames]

Now pay interest - 10% per year

Masterpost

As the Bat-family processed what had just happened, Jason was already plotting.

“So,” Jason began, a wicked grin spreading across his face, “does this mean we have a ghost King in the family now? Because I’ve got so many questions.”

“Focus, Todd,” Damian snapped, though his own curiosity was evident in his furrowed brow. “That... entity was clearly powerful. Father, why did you not inform us of this connection sooner?”

Bruce didn’t even glance up from his computer. “It was irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant?” Dick exclaimed, gesturing wildly. “A glowing ghost guy just popped out of a portal in our cave to collect a debt, and you think it’s irrelevant?”

Tim, typing furiously, pulled up the mission logs from Bruce’s early years. “Okay, I think I found the mission in Prague where this all went down. It says here... wait. Danny wasn’t just some guy you ran into. You trained with him in the League of Assassins?”

Steph leaned over Tim’s shoulder to read. “Wait, what?! He’s an assassin ghost King?”

Jason let out a low whistle. “This just gets better and better.”

Duke raised his hand, hesitant. “Uh, just a thought… if he’s the Ghost King, doesn’t that mean he has control over, like, all ghosts? Including... uh, Lazarus Pits?”

Everyone froze. Slowly, they all turned to Bruce, whose expression darkened slightly.

“Yes,” Bruce admitted reluctantly.

“Holy crap,” Jason said, leaning back with a stunned look. “He’s the reason the Pits freaked me out after I came back, isn’t he? I thought it was just the resurrection thing, but you knew he was tied to them!”

Bruce’s silence was answer enough.

“I want to meet him,” Cass signed firmly.

“Seconded,” Duke added. “He seems cool.”

“No,” Bruce said, finally standing and cutting through the rising chatter. His tone was firm, brooking no argument. “Danny is not someone you want to get involved with.”

But before Bruce could elaborate, the room was bathed in green light again.

Danny reappeared, now sitting cross-legged in mid-air, holding what looked like a spectral clipboard. “Forgot one thing,” he announced casually.

Bruce’s glare could have burned through steel. “What now?”

Danny smirked. “I want interest. Fifteen years is a long time to wait for sixteen bucks. So let’s say... ten percent per year?”

Jason cackled as the rest of the family broke out into laughter. Even Damian couldn’t entirely suppress a smirk.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose again. “I’m not paying you interest.”

Danny shrugged, grinning. “Guess I’ll have to stick around until you do. Hope you’ve got extra space, because I’m moving in.”

The Batcave erupted into chaos. Jason and Steph cheered, Tim frantically calculated how much Bruce technically owed, and Bruce’s patience reached its breaking point.

“Fine,” Bruce growled. “But you’re staying in the guest room.”

Danny floated down, looking entirely too smug. “Deal. Now, who’s up for pizza? I’m starving.”

[st4rpiece]

sleeping separately after an argument pt. 1

SFW

characters: luffy, zoro, usopp, and sanji x fem! reader summary: how the strawhat boys would react to you sleeping alone after an argument CW: mainly fluff, slight angst others: not proofread, lowercase intended, and pictures found on pinterest

—————

Monkey D. Luffy

luffy doesn't handle conflict well, especially not one with someone he cares deeply about. after the argument you guys had earlier, he would never suspected that you would sleep else where for the night.

at first, he would brush it off, thinking you just needed some space and that you would return to your shared room soon. but, as the night wore on, he'd find himself restless. constantly tossing and turning unable to lay as comfortably as before now that he was alone. luffy would eventually get up and wander over to your old room.

knowing him he’d poke your face (gently of course) while whispering, "hey, are you still mad at me?" his big eyes would reflect genuine concern and confusion. but because you were asleep you couldn’t respond, so he would get into your bed and curl up next to you, determined to be close even if you were still upset. you’d wake up the next day to a goofy grin and a sincere apology, as he was eager to make things right.

Roronoa Zoro

arguments with zoro are often intense but short-lived. so when you decide to sleep separately after a fight, zoro (like luffy) would be taken aback. however he, unlike luffy, would initially be too proud to go after you. so instead he’d brood silently, replaying the argument in his head while sharpening his swords.

you were the dramatic one. right?

as the night deepened, his stoic façade would crack, causing the gnawing sense of regret to seep in. he’d eventually get up, quietly making his way to your old room.

“babe?” his voice was uncharacteristically soft cautiously enters the room. after seeing your sleeping figure his demeanor immediately softens.

without a word, he'd lie down on the floor next to your bed, his presence a silent apology. he would wake up before you like usual but after breakfast he would pull you aside giving you a gruff but sincere apology, his actions speaking louder than his words.

God Ussop

usopp is sensitive and prone to overthinking. after any argument, he'd probably be filled with anxiety and self-doubt. which would worsen after you decide to sleep separately. he'd pace around, muttering to himself and crafting elaborate scenarios in his head of what this could mean.

is this it?

do you not love him anymore?

were you going to break up with him?

eventually, he'd muster the courage to approach you, armed with a heartfelt speech. ready to kneel beside you and pour his heart out with the promise to do better. but after walking to your old room and seeing you sleep so soundly his resolve would soften. not wanting to wake you he would leave telling himself that he’d apologize in the morning.

instead of going to bed though he would go to his factory deciding to make you a small gift to show his sincerity. he would place that along with a short an apology letter by your door. hoping to give you a better apology in the morning.

Vinsmoke Sanji

sanji would be devastated if you chose to sleep separately after an argument. unlike usopp, he wouldn’t overthink it. he knows you love him just needed some space. despite thinking that, he would never let you go to sleep upset especially not at him.

so he'd spend the majority of the night in the kitchen, preparing ingredients for tomorrow and making you a midnight snack.

with a tray of food on hand he’d softly knocks on the door of your old bedroom, his voice both gentle and cautious. “my love? i brought food. can i come in so we can talk?”

your lights were on so he knew you were up, after waiting for a minute or so he would let out a relieved sigh as you opened the door and making room for him to enter.

you guys would spend the rest of the night talking about your argument except this time with a much clearer head. once he knew that you both were on the same page he would bring you back to your share room to sleep.

—————

hi guys! thanks for reading, this is my first attempt at writing hc so idk if i did it right lol but it was fun!! i also have a couple more characters in my draft using this idea. i’ll post them if this does well (fingers crossed).

part 2 is posted!!

[clockwayswrites]

5 Times the JL Learned Batman was Married and the 1 Time They Met the Spouse.

One. Two. Three.

“I am sure that it is clear to everyone that the mission was almost a complete disaster.”

“Almost?” Superman asked with a smidgen of a smile.

Hal thought it was brave and very, very stupid of Superman to ask that while Batman was glaring at all of them like he’d squish them if they were just small enough for him to step. And if it wouldn't get his boots too dirty.

Batman’s glare narrowed to focus on Superman alone. “We’re alive. Barely.”

“Batman—”

“No,” Batman shut down Supes’ argument with a barked word. “No. While you might be unconcerned, not all of us are indestructible, Superman.”

That finally made Superman lose any amusement that he had and he look away from Batman, properly cowled. Hal felt a little sorry for the guy, but also Supes deserved that. Not all of them were naturally bullet proof and Batman didn’t even have any powers (it seemed).

“Everyone write up a report: what went wrong, what little went right, and what we should do differently. We will discuss it next week. Expect there to be more training sessions scheduled soon,” Batman ordered.

And then he turned and left with an overly dramatic flare of his cape.

“What?” Hal asked.

“He’s just… leaving?” Superman asked. He sounded a little lost.

Batman didn’t just leave when there was work to be done.

Diana rested a hand on big blue’s shoulder. “I believe you rather overstepped, my friend.”

Oh he was more hurt than any of them knew.

Hal jogged after the retreating form. “Hey, hey Spooky, wait a sec!”

Batman’s shadowed form almost hunched forward on itself as he stopped but didn’t turn around.

“What?”

“Just…” Some of Hal’s bravado left him now that he was actually having to ask; luckily Hal had bravado in spades. “I wanted to make sure you were too badly hurt. You took some hard hits out there and like you said, not all of us are bullet proof.”

Hal wasn’t sure if Batman would answer. More, Hal wasn’t sure if Batman would answer him of all people. They had found more of an understanding with each other lately: Hal let Batman do the planning and Batman trusted Hal (a little) to break the plan in the field, but they still clashed a lot.

Then Batman let out a weary sounding huff of air. “There is nothing major. Everything will heal, though I could use plenty of ice and a good whiskey.”

Hal let himself chuckle at that. “Man, I feel that. A good whiskey, or lots of bad beer, sounds good. I just wanted to make sure. You’re rushing out of here like there’s a fire on your ass. Would hate for you to be bleeding out or something.”

Another long pause that Hal tried not to fidget through.

“It’s late. I would like to get home to enjoy my anniversary while there is still any of it left.”

“Your— oh, shit, yeah man, get out of here!” Hal said, waving Batman away.

What the hell, Hal wondered as he watched Batman sweep away for a second time, Spooky was married?

[crookedteethed]

⋆ ★ you and rafe having a argument midfuck...

18+ smut (pinv), squirting, cursing, angst, spit kink, high-key toxic relationship, (accused) cheating, Toxic!Manipulative! Rafe, mentions of ocs

a/n: putting this fic out until I'm done writing part two of how I slept with your father. Also thanks for all the love and support 💕

You'd been lying on your side; your leg rested on the curve of Rafe's shoulder. Your hand, the one that wasn't periodically stimulating your clit, had been clenched in a fist with your head resting on top of it. 

Your body moved with each hard thrust of Rafe's thick cock, and though the pleasure of Rafe's length never failed to make you feel good, you stayed there emotionless, staring bitterly into the cerulean color of Rafe's eyes.  

You couldn't help but wonder how you had arrived at this point, where physical pleasure no longer carried any emotional weight. The once-intense connection between you and Rafe had momentarily faded, leaving only a hollow emptiness in its wake.

Rafe had been staring at your glistening slit and your little hole, outstretched and turning red from the never-ending penetration of his cock. 

He figured something was wrong with you because you hadn't moaned, not even when he let a glob of his spit plop down onto your pussy and fucked it inside of you; you usually liked when he did stuff like that. 

And though Rafe could have asked if there was something he'd done wrong (which he was sure he did), he didn't risk it; after all, you'd let him fuck you to sleep, so you couldn't be that mad at him. 

"Switch." he told you, moving your leg from his shoulder and resting both your legs on his sides, where he slotted his body between you and started fucking you in missionary. 

"Do you think Courtney fucks good?" You asked.

Rafe stilled inside you momentarily, taking a moment to match a face to the name "Courtney".

He slowly begins moving inside your warmth, the sound of bodies connecting going "plap...plap...plap".

"Who's Courtney?"

You leaned up to where you rested on your elbows, now your nose, and eyes leveled with Rafe's. 

"Y'know, that red-head chick who bartends at the country club." You said. 

Rafe had told you 'no,' that he didn't know any red-headed girl named Courtney who bartended at the country club, but deep down, he knew exactly who you'd been talking about. Everyone at the country club knew of Courtney--particularly the guys, having given her the nickname "cherry" for her loud red hair and double d size tits. 

"The girl you always give good tips to and always joke with, that's Courtney, that should jog your memory." You said.

Rafe had a feeling you wouldn't let this go, so just as he adjusted himself on his knees, and pulled both of your calfs on his shoulders, He pretends to realize, saying "Ah, that's Courtney."

"Yeah, her." you say.

The both of you stayed silent for a moment, Rafe's cock still plunging deep inside of you. There had been a moment when you'd felt the tip of his cock kiss your g-spot, causing you to roll your eyes to the back of your head and clinch hard around his length.

"Fuckk." he drags, kissing your temples, and squeezing your left breast.

"So, do you think she fucks good?" You ask again.

"Who?" Rafe plays dumb.

"Courtney, who else?"

"How should I know?" Rafe grumbled, agitation wrangling over his face, and as a consequence, his grip on your hips tightened, and he started fucking into you faster, and just for the sake of your comfort, you retracted your legs back to your sides.

You looked down to where you and Rafe connected; it had been a gaudy mess of spit, sweat, and arousal--the result of trying to get yourselves off for hours. 

As Rafe pounded into you, you found it suddenly hard to keep your composer. It was challenging to hold yourself up on your elbows and even more difficult to form a coherent sentence that didn't involve long pauses, quiet moans, and panted 'fucks.' 

But you had to confront Rafe about Courtney. Now would be the only good time, and he couldn't walk away or turn this into a big screaming match. 

He had the serenity of your pussy to keep him calm and rooted. 

So you pushed through the immense feeling of pleasure. 

"Why'd you ask me about Courtney?" 

Rafe may have been cruising on uncharted territory, but he just had to know what you have heard about him recently. 

"Well, you know how every fucking kook goes to the country club?" You asked, and Rafe hadn't said anything. "And you know how all of our friends are kooks and you know how people talk?" Rafe kept fucking into you. 

"I heard while I was away in Venice for my father's birthday, you were seen with Courtney." 

"No shit." Rafe said. "She's the bartender at the Country club, and I go to the bar a lot, y/n." 

And as if it was possible, Rafe brought your ass and pussy closer to him, his cock nudging that spongey spot inside of you repeatedly. 

And though you wanted to drag this moment for as long as possible, you also wanted that knot in your belly to finally snap. 

"Outside of the bar at the Country Club, Ray--Can you rub my clit?" 

Your breath hitched at the rough flesh of Rafe's thumb, circling your little bud. 

"At one of your parties, to be exact." You panted. "Everyone said the whole night you looked like you wanted to fuck her, so that's why I asked; I wanted to know if you think she would fuck better than me; if so, you can fuck her and not me.” you scold.

As time went on, it felt like the amount of pressure Rafe applied to your clit increased, and the feeling of his cock slotting in and out of your cunt seemed to be never-ending, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. 

"Shit." He cursed; you assumed he was close to his peak as well. "And who the hell is everyone?" He said over the sound of flesh slapping into flesh. 

"My friends." You mewled. 

"Those jealous bitches? Trina--isn't she one of your friends? She was practically on my dick all night, but because your friends said I was talking to another girl that's not you, I'm the bad guy? Fuck that." he spat, his thrust getting deeper and deeper--more sloppier. 

"Rafe, I'm--I'm." you moaned. 

"Shut up, I'm talking now. I'm getting sick of your shit, Y/n. Just because of your insecurities, I can't live my life. How am I going to be in a relationship with someone that constantly accuses me of cheating?" 

Just then, as Rafe's hips hitched from him spilling inside of you (unbeknownst to you), you came undone. You'd been a squirter, so you squeezed your eyes tight as your cunt gushed uncontrollably around Rafe's cock. 

Some of your arousal soaked Rafe's pelvis, the sheets of your shared bed, and even some splashed onto your stomach. 

Rafe had gotten to you. 

As he got up and put his disregarded clothes back on, you sat on your knees on the edge of the bed, watching him. 

"I'm sorry, Rafe. Don't be mad at me. I should have thought things through." you cried. 

"You're always saying that shit." He spat, putting his shoes on. 

You brought your palms to your teary eyes as Rafe hovered over you. 

"I expect my bedsheets to be replaced by the time I get back." He said. 

"Where are you going?" you asked him.

"Don't you have a tracker on my car or some shit? You'll find out." He scoffed, and with that being said, he left. 

Truth be told, you hadn't put a tracker on Rafe's car—nor his phone, which he was grateful for because if he had a tracker on him, he wouldn't be picking up Courtney from her shift at the country club, where they would fuck in his car for about an hour, pick up something to eat, probably fuck again, and then he'd drop her off on the south side of the outer banks.

And to be even more truthful, Rafe would feel like him fucking Courtney wouldn't entirely be his fault; after all, he'd gotten the idea from you. 

[noxiwrites]

Forbidden

Synopsis ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

The new teaching assistant is too hot for his own good, distracting most of the girls in your class. You’re not too bothered by him, he’s just another pretty face- until you get pulled by him for failing the class. It’s every girls wet dream, getting taught by the hot new teacher- and you find yourself slowly falling into a sickly sweet situation.

Warnings ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

Age gap, inappropriate touching, arguments, angst, eventual smut, obsession, hidden relationship, public sex.

Word count ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

2.3k

Add yourself to my tag list | Masterlist

I II III IV V

Chatter mulls through the room as you sit quietly at your desk, reviewing some of the content for the final year of your class here. You can tell everyone is excited, the final year of this four year course upon you.

You, on the other hand, were less excited. The pressure of the material was very demanding already and you just wanted to get on top of it, keep it down to a minimum so it wouldn’t collapse your entire life.

A door opens at the back of the classroom and the chatter is suddenly gone, a stiff silence falling over the rest of your classmates as they take in someone who is definitely not your teacher, stood at the desk at the front of the class.

Immediately, you hear the hustles of chatter from all the girls in class as they take in the very obviously handsome man stood waiting. He grins, looking around the room and soaking up the attention. You roll your eyes and scoff, not bothered by his pretty face as you look down to review the material for what felt like the ten millionth time.

“Okay guys, enough chatter, let’s get started,” his voice scratches at the back of your brain, something about the way he sounds making you turn all mushy.

“So, you’re probably wondering where Dr.Mendez is, right?” A murmur of agreement washes the room and you glance upward, watching as his hands clasp around a book, stance all flexed as he leans against the edge of the desk. You can see him scanning the room and your eyes meet for a second, him flashing you a brief smile before you’re looking back down, again.

He’s hot. He’s making you all flustered, no doubt like all the other girls in the class- and it frustrated you. You’re just here to learn.

“Well he’s swamped with other classes this year so I’m stepping in to teach, you’re stuck with me,” you can hear the smugness in his tone, basking in the attention from the girls fawning over him.

“I’ll die a happy woman stuck with you, sir,” a whiny voice giggles from behind you and you already know it’s Kendra, a self centered bitch who has done nothing but make your life living hell while being in this class.

He laughs, thanking her, before moving on. You look up again, watching him as he strides around the desk to take a seat on the front of it and opening the book in his hands.

“I’m Rafe by the way. I’d prefer if you guys just called me that,” he looks around the room, thumbing the page he’s currently on as he takes in the entire class. Again, your eyes meet and he smiles again, something you don’t return as you expectantly wait for him to move on with the class.

“Right, so, I’ve been filled in on what you guys have been learning for the past three years, and this is your last year, yeah? Very important.” A chorus of further murmurs flow from the class and Rafe, now you know his name, nods. He slaps his knee, standing as he walks back to his laptop, clicking some buttons before it connects to the large projector.

“I won’t keep you waiting then, let’s get started shall we?”

By the end of the three hour class, you’re exhausted. You’re so ready to climb into your car and get home, climb into bed and have a fat nap. As usual, you’re one of the last to leave class, hating getting caught in the throngs of people all leaving with the same goal as you.

Kendra and her cronies are stood talking to Rafe at his desk as she giggles and twirls her hair around her finger about something he’s saying, and you roll your eyes as you shove your book bag further onto your shoulder and descend the steps down the the bottom of the class.

It really makes you want to scoff, how fucking sleazy she is- really, the guy has just started to teach the class and she’s already trying to get her claws into him. You wonder, sometimes, how she managed to get into an advanced class, but then you remember she was born into money, her perfectly bleached blonde hair and always perfectly manicured nails reminding you of that.

“See you later,” you hear Rafe say and you turn, to see his focus completely on you instead of Kendra. Her scowl could kill if it were possible, mad that his attention is on you rather than her. You smile and nod, waving goodbye before rushing for the door and leaving.

It’s cold out in the parking lot, and you regret parking your car at the far side this morning when you were in a better mood. You’re thankful, however, that this is your only class today and you can just go home and sleep.

The drive to your apartment only takes fifteen minutes, traffic light as a slight drizzle begins to fall on your windscreen, rolling your window down to scan your badge to get into your estate gate.

Your cat greets you through the window of your ground flat as you pull into the parking spot in front of it, turning the engine off and grabbing your stuff before rushing to the door, leaving down to greet whiskers as you close the door.

“Let’s go to bed, eh?” You ask, and he purrs, following you down the hall. When you’re finally relaxed in bed, you find yourself thinking of the new teaching assistant, wondering if he knows what he’s signed himself up for.

“Good morning guys, we ready to start?” Rafe asks the room, cup of something steamy in his left hand. You can hear Kendra giggle from behind you and you just know she’s twirling her hair in her fingers, which makes you sigh.

Today, your friend, Molly, had decided to turn up. You’re grateful, telling her about yesterdays events in a hushed tone as her eyes grow wider the further you tell.

You drop your eyes down to Rafe to see him setting up his PowerPoint again, clicking away on his keyboard.

“Yeah and he literally said goodbye to me, and she was all like grrrr and scowley like? I didn’t do anything,” you tell her, Molly flashing a frown over her shoulder to signify her displeasure. She hates Kendra just as much as the next person.

“To be fair, he is very attractive. I’d be mad if I put that much into my appearance and you stole his attention just like that,” she snaps her fingers to give you an idea of what she means and you blush. You definitely didn’t steal his attention, he was just saying goodbye. Right?

You both fall into silence as Rafe begins talking to the class about different formulas, all the basic stuff that you noticed at the beginning of the content paper. This class is shorter, only being an hour and a half, before you’ve got another class in the afternoon with another teacher.

As you work through the slides, you find yourself glancing at Rafe more and more. You had to give it to him, he was very attractive. Buzzed hair, sharp jawline and sparkly eyes that everytime they looked into your own, sent you dizzy.

Alas, he was your teacher. It begged the question in the back of your head of how old he was, because he didn’t look much older than you to be honest. The slides soon come to an end, Rafe clapping his hands as he thanked everyone for turning up today. Everyone grapples to leave, Kendra hanging by his desk as he lazily entertains her while typing away on his computer.

You bid Molly goodbye as she rushes off out the door, desperate to see her boyfriend before he goes to his next class, leaving you to pack your things as you earwig on what Kendra is saying.

“I think I could do with some extra tutoring, Rafe,” she twirls her hair around her finger again, eyes blazing down at him. Rafe grins, laughing up at her before going back to his computer.

“You’re fine Kendra, I reviewed your papers from last year. No tutoring needed,” you can practically hear the sarcasm from here, and you’re sure Kendra is one more comment away from bursting into tears and ringing her father because the teacher won’t fuck her.

“Oh, okay. If you say so Rafe, but I’m always free,” she scrapes her fingers along his desk, and act that makes you wince as you walk down the steps.

“See you next week, Rafe,” she drawls, before throwing you a scowl, leaving the classroom. You’re about to follow, not wanting to stop and chat, but Rafe does so anyway.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to speak to you, actually,”

You turn on the spot, swallowing despite suddenly having a dry mouth. You walk back, standing in front of his desk as he closes his laptop and smiles up at you.

“I uh, had a look at your papers from last year,” he begins, but you can’t help your mind from racing already.

“What? I’m not doing anything wrong am I?” You ask, words rushing out of your mouth like you’re spewing.

Rafe shakes his head, eyes never leaving yours. “No, no. I just think you’re lacking some certain aspects that could definitely help you be the top of the class,”

You breathe out, not realising you weren’t breathing at all. He grins, lazily, as he begins to toy with the edge of one of the books on his desk.

“I think I can help you be the best. I’d like to tutor you, if you’d like the help. You can say no and still pass the class but I think the extra help will get you to the top,” he concludes, fingers dancing along the edge of the book.

“I uh, I don’t know. I don’t think that’s very fair one other students,” you quip, pushing your bag up your shoulder. As you do, your skirt pulls up your legs a bit more and you see the brief second his eyes flicker down, before looking back up at you and gulping.

“I can see that, yes. I just think you have the most potential,” you eyes wander back down to his hand, now playing with the edge of the book, other moving up to rest under his chin.

He has nice hands, you think, and immediately want to slap yourself. He’s your teacher.

“Uh, thank you?” It comes out as more of a question and Rafe laughs, circling the edge of the book. You have to pry your eyes away from it.

“You can think. Let me know next Monday, after class. Have the rest of the week.” You nod meekly, smiling lightly at him as you bid him goodbye, heading for the door.

“Oh, and before I forget, make sure you read up on pages one hundred to one hundred and sixty for next week. I know you like to get ahead.”

“You’re going to say yes, right? I mean it’s a no brainer,” she continues, rambling. Truth is, the more you’ve thought about it, the more appealing it sounds. You’d love to be top of the class, make your dad proud, and rub it in Kendras face, like a reminder that money can’t buy grades.

“Like imagine? What if he tries to make a move on you, I mean look at you? Why would he not? Oh my god, this is perfect,” she almost yells, before taking a sip of her wine. You’d not actually thought about that part of it, choosing to mostly ignore it.

But then, if that were his motive, who would he ask you and not Kendra? She was the better option for something like that. You would like to think that it wasn’t one of those deals, that he actually wanted to help you, and that was the part that was convincing you.

“I think I’m gonna say yes, but just for the tutoring, I wanna get better grades,” you tell her, taking a sip of your own glass of wine. Whiskers jumps down from the windowsill next to you, fawning around in your lap before collapsing down and falling asleep. You scratch his head, looking over at your friend who wiggles her eyebrows at you.

“But you wouldn’t turn him down if he made a move, no?”

“I don’t know Mol, he’s just another pretty face to me,” you say, looking over at the tv. You were trying to watch twilight, until you got distracted by rambling Molly who only comes out after some wine.

“Cmon, he’s so totally into you! Turning down Kendra to then offer the exact same thing to you,” she declares, pushing your shoulder back. You have to admit, there may be some truth in her statement, because why would he do that for you but not her?

“I just hope I actually get taught what I’m missing,” you say, causing Molly to roll her eyes. “You’re not missing anything, you’re already one of the top in the class, he just likessss you,” she drawls the likes, making you giggle at her as you bite the edge of your wine glass, contemplating the pros and cons of letting Rafe be your tutor.

You’re going to do it.

Note ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ Hello!! First series I’m actually excited to write ! Teacher Rafe is just 🤩 much love, let me know what you think <3

Check out a teaser for a new series here <3

[reidmania]

Hey😁 you said request were open and i was wondering you could write a spencer reid fic where him and the reader get into a petty argument or something and he says something a little mean and has to grovel to the reader because she’s upset? I love your work by the way and you can add or take away whatever you want👍😊

not so funny | spencer reid

summary; after a rough day, Spencer accidentally takes his frustration out on you leading to a lot of guilt and grovelling.

warnings; spencer is mean, fem reader, he calls reader a bitch but he makes up for it, arguments, hurt x comfort, crying, it ends up being pretty cute.

an; ITS MY BIRTHDAY GUYS!!!!

“Come on spencer” You almost groaned as your voice itched with irritation, your hands flew up before dropping by your side. You were stood in the kitchen, trying to make dinner but the pasta on the stove and vegetables half cut on the counter were long forgotten.

Spencer spluttered, “You aren’t listening to me!” He groaned, bringing his hands up to his face dragging them down over his eyes as he turned his body away from you to the side. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes — this entire argument was pointless.

It started all because Spencer had come home after a bad day and was slightly snappy with you, just briefly and when you made a joke about it — he didn’t seem to take it as a joke.

“It was a joke — God” You sigh, turning back to the vegetables you were dicing before he walked in the door after work, but honestly with the annoyance bubbling in your chest you doubted you should be responsible for a knife right now.

His eyes widened, “But it’s not funny! You were just being a bitch” He mutters out, shaking his head before the realisation of his words fell on him the same time they fell on you.

Your entire face fell. Never had Spencer called you anything like that — he had commented repeatedly how much it pissed him off when peoples partners called them names like that. He had never been anything other than gentle with you.

He said your name as his eyes fell on your face. Before he could even open his mouth to apologise you were pushing past him to walk away. His hands reached out to grab ahold of your wrist as he repeated your name but you only flung his arm away from yours and you continued walking to the bedroom.

Spencer stood with his head in his hands as he knew better than to follow you right now. All the anger he had felt from the day that had built up slipped away when he saw the look on your face. — Hurt. He hurt you all because he had a crappy day.

He heard the bedroom door slam shut causing his shoulders to flinch slightly. He wanted nothing more than to follow you and spend the rest of the night apologising to you, he didn’t think there was anything he could do to express how sorry he was.

But he knew better than that. He knew it would just annoy you more if he walked in there right now and that was the last thing he wanted.

Instead he spent the next hour in the kitchen finishing the dinner you had started making — He knew wouldn’t taste nearly half as good as it would if you made it, his cooking skills no where near as good but he found himself doing it anyways.

He relished in the slight distraction but it only did so much as his mind continued travelling to you and the words that had left his mouth. He didn’t mean them. You weren���t a bitch. You were nothing of the sorts and the fact that he had even let that slip sent guilt coursing through his veins.

The day had been nothing but shit. To say the least. Everything was going wrong and Spencer couldn’t shake the annoyance. It didn’t help that right before leaving he had gotten into an argument with Morgan about something on a past case.

He didn’t mean to take his bad day out on you, he never did.

He finished the dinner, but the appetite he once had disappeared as it replaced the spot in his stomach with nothing but guilt. His feet trailed towards the door of your shared bedroom.

Every step was filled with dread as his mind traveled to every possibility. His heart shattered into a thousand little pieces as he heard your soft hiccup through the door.

“Honey?” He brought his hand up to knock on the door gently with his knuckles. His tone was the softest he had used his day — completely the opposite to what it had been the last time he spoke to you.

You didn’t reply but you went quiet. Probably trying to hide the fact you were crying. That made him feel worse — he deserved to feel worse. He knew that.

“Dinner is ready.. Are you hungry” He asked, not pushing his way through the door he was talking to you through. There was a pause on the other side of the door.

You, were curled up on the middle of your bed. Spencer’s hoodie was tugged up over your knees as they pulled to your chest. Your face was blotchy and scarred by the soft tears that stained your cheeks.

You hadn’t been able to shake Spencer’s words no matter how much you tried. You knew he was angry and had a bad day but you couldn’t help but be beyond mad — unfortunately when you are mad it ended in tears.

You wiped the tears from your face as if that would have any effect on the sound of your voice. “No.” You replied, trying to put on the most secure voice you could muster up but it wavered none the less and stayed quiet.

Your heart pounded as you closed in on yourself. “Can I come in?” He asked.

You wanted to say no, push him away and tell him to go fuck yourself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to, a small part of you aching for his comfort no matter how mad you were, you wanted to hear him apologise, even if you failed to believe it.

“Okay.” Your voice was small.

The door was being pushed open gently a moment after and you avoided meeting Spencer’s gaze, keeping your gaze fixated on the plush of the crisp white sheets that covered the bed.

If you did look at him, you would’ve seen his heart break all in his features at the sight of your tear stained face. His feet pattered towards you as he sat down on the edge of the bed, a respectable distance away from you, not wanting to push any boundaries.

“Im sorry” He said quietly, it sounded genuine and it burnt a way into your chest. You never brought your eyes to meet his as your mind failed to comprehend a response. You didn’t have a whole lot to say.

So instead, you just nod.

He frowns. “I am really - Im so sorry.” He said, shifting uncomfortably on the bed, eyes trailing over your face, uncomfortable silence washing over the room as he tried to figure out what to say next. “I had a shit day — which isn’t an excuse. I should’ve never called you that. I shouldn’t have taken my bad day out on you” He muttered.

You nodded curtly. “Okay.” Was all you said in response. There wasn’t a lot you could muster up as despite his apology his words burnt into the back of your mind, leaving a engravememt on your brain.

He frowned deepened. He knew he didn’t deserve your forgiveness and he didn’t expect it. He hurt you and he apologised hated that.

“I love you.” He said softly. Even if you didn’t believe his apology he wanted you to at least believe that he loved you.

You just nodded feeling a lump in your throat as your chest grew impossibly tight. You kept your arms wrapped tightly around your knees, holding them close to your chest almost as if to try and numb the burning sensation that made its way through to your ribcage.

You didn’t answer.

“I’ll leave you a plate in the microwave okay?” He muttered after a moment of silence. The silence dawned heavy and cold. You didn’t bother replying as he stood up.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before a soft sigh left his lips. “Im really sorry” He apologised again.

You didn’t see him again that night, you assumed he slept on the couch which made you feel slightly bad but you were so.. hurt.

The argument was stupid. He knew that, he knew it was a joke and any other time it wouldn’t have bothered him in the slightest, he hated how the one time it did he took it out on you.

The next day you didn’t see Spencer when you woke up, you assumed he went to work which made a puddle of relief fill your stomach as you realised you were able to self indulge in your feelings while he was away.

You missed him.

The door opened at 7:34, a lot later than when Spencer usually arrived home and for a while you were genuinely considering maybe he wasn’t going to come home.

You turned to face him as he stepped into the kitchen where you were, the same positioning the two of you had been in when the argument first arose.

“Hi.” He said softly, placing his car keys on the counter. You looked over him and guilt fell as you he looked a mess.

He pulled his arm from behind his back, handing you a gorgeous bouquet of flowers. He chewed at his lip nervously as you didn’t say anything but took the flowers from his hand, looking over them.

Your favourites.

“I know flowers aren’t an apology, thats not why I got them” He said quietly, you remembered a conversation you had with him about hating how guys got their girlfriends flowers as an apology — and he agreed, going on to say that guys should be getting flowers constantly.

You perked up slightly as you furrowed your brows in confusion — if not an apology why now.

“The last ones I got you are browning.” He said, reading your look of confusion. Your lips pursed as you looked over at the vase you always kept the flowers Spencer got you in. They were in fact browning.

He dragged his hand through his hair as he placed a grocery bag on the table, before looking back at you. “You aren’t a bitch, you weren’t acting like a bitch, if anything I was.” He said, taking a few things out of the bag.

Your favourite snacks, your favourite drinks and a small velvet box.

Your heart tightened slightly.

He took a step towards you and you stayed in place, pulling your eyes away from the items on the table. “Im really sorry I ever said that. It was stupid and disgusting of me” He hesitantly brought his hand up to your face.

You tensed slightly but didn’t flinch away, allowing him to push strands of hair behind your ear. “You are gorgeous, inside and out. There isn’t a bitchy bone in your body and Im sorry.” He said gently.

“I am so mad at you” You said, the first proper thing you have said to him in days. He knows it shouldn’t but just hearing you talk made his pulse relax slightly — and then speed up all over again.

“Good.” He said gently, “Thats- Its a good thing. You should be mad.” He said softly, “Id never want it to be a situation where you allowed that.. where it happened often enough for you not to be mad. Be mad, mad is good. Don’t be silent” He said as his thumb brushed gently over your cheek.

You hummed. You knew deep down silent treatment was the worst for Spencer, but honestly last night you had nothing to say. “You can yell at me, scream — hit me if you want” His tone was so gentle. You just scoffed, “Im not going to hit you” You said.

He smiled, “I know.”

“You have a lot of making up to do you know.” You pushed out, trying to ignore the way your face instinctively leant into the warmth of his hand, relishing in the soft roughness of his hands.

He nodded, “I’ll do anything, sweet heart.” He said and his tone held nothing but genuine emotion.

“Okay.” You nodded.

“Okay?” He asked.

“Okay.. Spence I just said that” You huffed out. A smile lit his lips, he leant down to place a gentle kiss to the top of your head, you tried to hide the smile on your face.

“Okay.” He repeated making you groan but you were smiling nonetheless.

Spencer spent every second apologising for the next two weeks, buying you everything he saw that he thought you would like and going above and beyond until you physically and verbally said that you forgave him.

[bywons]

✦‎ NOW SHUSH, LET ME KISS YA KISSING ENHYPEN TO SHUT THEM UP

𝖮𝖱 𝖶𝖧𝖤𝖭, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗀𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝗒𝗉𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗓𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌

𝖲𝖧𝖮𝖶𝓉𝖨𝖬𝖤 ⋆ 𝖾𝗇𝗁𝖺 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𖥔 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝒾𝖭𝖢𝖫𝖴𝖣𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉, 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗒 1327 wc CATALOGUE

૮ ♡◞ ◟ ა ⠀PLS REBLOG !!

LEE HEESEUNG “the least you could do was inform me, what if something happened to you?,” the air inside the apartment is heavy and tense right now. with your boyfriend just a little away from you, his hands folded and eyebrows jotting together to dart his anger on you. after all, the people in the party you attended are all on heeseung's black list. 

“gosh you're being so reckless right no—,” and before he can go about for another hour, you grab the collars of his shirt and pull him down to a sudden yet a stirring kiss. heeseung melts into it, hands cupping the sides of your face, lips moving softly against yours. he forgets about the argument, as soon as he smiles into the kiss and pulls you in. 

“can you like, shut up now?,” you whisper as you pull back from the kiss, hands still grabbing his collar.

“only if you kiss me once more,” he replies, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips, hands pulling your waist in.

PARK JONGSEONG is busy lecturing you about your messed up sleep schedule. it started off as a cute scenario, a caring boyfriend gently reminding you to take better care of yourself— with you on his lap and his hands gliding softly through your hair. but that soon turned into a lecture by one of your comments, “okay, dad”, was something he was definitely not looking for.

“you can’t keep staying up so late, it’s not good for you,” jay says, his voice soft but firm. “you need to take better care—”, actually now, the lecture is too much. you sit up straight in his lap and kiss the corners of his lips, cutting him off. jay's eyes widen, completely caught off guard by you, but he still leans in for another kiss, hands wrapping around your waist.

“okay, okay, i get it. but this lecture was boring,” you say with a smile, your forehead resting against his, “i'll get to bed soon.”

“now, that's better,” jay chuckles, placing a kiss on your forehead, “but did you just call me boring?”

SIM JAEYUN jealousy is a disease, and you hope your boyfriend gets well soon. the darkest of clouds overshadows his face as he watches you chatting away with a male friend from across the room. the drink beside him is left untouched, still and too cold. this evening is a lot to take for him now.

when you finally return to his side, he huffs, crossing his arms. “do you really have to be so friendly with everyone?” you sigh, trying to keep your patience. “jake, it was just a harmless conversation.”

“harmless? he was clearly flirting with you,” jake mutters, his jealousy evident, staring down the said guy across the room, who probably doesn't know your boyfriend is planning on his downfall, “does he think he can steal you away from me—?”

on your tiptoes, you deliver jake a chaste kiss on his lips, his hands instinctively wrapping around you as the kiss deepens, and melts him away. the other guy is not important now. “i'm only yours, jake,” you smile at him.

“fuck, baby, that was so hot, do it again,” he chuckles, cupping your face as he bites his lower lip in a teasing smile, “this time let's kiss infront of him.”

PARK SUNGHOON is mid laugh, just a moment ago he was enjoying his time teasing and making fun of you and your antics, and no matter how much you'd pout and swat at his forearms, it's of no use. he goes on to imitate your pout and whines anyways, and pulls you back in his embrace whenever you try to leave, continuing this activity.

“you're so fun to mess with!”, sunghoon laughs, his arms wrapping lazily around your shoulder as he leans against the sofa, “look at you all pouty!”

“yeah i know, it's so funny, ’hoon,” you roll your eyes at him.

“aww, is my love all shy and irritated? am i disturbing you, hon—”, it's not that you hate this behaviour of him, it's just that it's too cute of him to imitate you, and never take your smallest, cutest gestures for granted. but right now, it's kind of disturbing, so you sling your arms around his neck and pull him in a sweet kiss. he immediately melts into it, leaning forward and pulling you into his lap, never letting go of your lips.

but when he does, that smug smirk is back on him, “damn,” he whispers. “it was just to shut you up, hoon,” you sigh.

“i know, i know, i think i have to tease you more often now.”

KIM SUNOO looks a little too ethereal right now, expressing his thoughts while the topic is something you hate— mint choco. you don't know how on earth he's still going on, but it's the way that he feeds you a little spoonful of mint choco from time to time, even though you try to gulp it in one go without cringing, and the way he smiles down at you— you're falling in love with him again.

“have you ever tried mint choco tteokbokki?,” sunoo smiles, pushing another spoonful of that filthy thing. 

“no, and i don't want to sunoo. it's gonna be really bad i can guess it,” you sigh and nod your head ‘no’, shifting closer to him. “what?!”, sunoo almost sounds offended, “it's the sweetest thing in the world—” 

and then you decide to lean forward and press your lips on him. a sweet kiss, the taste of mint choco still lingers on him but you don't mind. he pulls you closer, smiling into the kiss. 

“sweeter than my kiss?,” you ask, eyes forming little crescent moons when they meet his. 

“no,” sunoo chuckles, pressing a small kiss to your forehead, “your kiss is the sweetest in the world.”

YANG JUNGWON rolls his eyes at his phone screen, going through the photos of you and your friends together. one of them, who really bothers jungwon— with his arm slinging around your shoulder, his cheek a little too close to yours. 

jungwon throws the phone on the bed, “why is he trying to perceive you so bad like, you literally have a boyfriend?”, he acts extra sassy now, it must've really hit his nerve. 

“and he's the best!”, you laugh, giving him a quick hug, placing yourself on his lap. 

but jungwon isn't satisfied just by this, he needs a higher level of confirmation. “i should've been there with you too, that guy is really—” 

and you give him just that. you pull him in a long, chaste kiss as you giggle into it, and jungwon pulls you in closer to a warm embrace. 

you're the first one to pull away, “got rid of jealousy now?” 

“not yet,” he laughs, “i need to kiss you in front of him.”

NISHIMURA RIKI is hyperactive at times, to the point that he just can't stop talking rubbish with you. you love that part of him, eyes shining the brightest and cheeks flushed. but just not now. it's middle of the night, and you just want to get some sleep.

“..and like i told jake hyung about it, you know?”, riki’s enthusiasm is at its peak as he wraps his arms around your sleepy figure, “so what do you think?”, he grins.

“niks, i think we should sleep—”

“but this is also very—”, you don't give him a chance to finish, pressing a small kiss on his lips and turning to your side, finally dozing off to sleep, “good night, niki.”

niki couldn't process what just happened, so he jumps over to your side to meet your cute face, smothering it all over with little kisses, “hey, so uh i'm disturbing you again, can you kiss me again?”

“riki, go to sleep!”, you whine, yet a giggle comes out of you as he kisses you again.

a/n — not satisfied with this at all but i hope you guys enjoy this TT please do lmk your thoughts & feedbacks ^^ CLICK ME

© bywons, 2024. do not copy, translate or upload any of my works without my permission.

📌 :: PERM TAGLIST IS OPEN ( the tags are rebloged ! ) nets. @/k-labels @enchive

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 9

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 8 of...who knows.

It felt like forever. He knew it wasn't. It must have been minutes until the car door was ripped open and Charles slipped in right next to him.

It wasn’t until the doors were slammed shut behind Charles that Max dared to look at the Monégasque.

His heart skipped a beat at the sight. Charles was still in his racing suit just as him, the suit itself streaked with sweat.

The moment the car door closed, the car started riving.

"Merde," Charles cursed. Max could only agree. "I am sorry, that it took this long."

Max gave a sharp, jerky shake of his head. "You don’t have to apologize," he somehow managed to get the words out. "I’m just..." he trailed off, a shaky exhale escaping him. "How could you make it here so fast?" he asked, casting a quick glance in his friend’s direction.

Charles snorted. "Your press officer had a shouting match with Ferrari's,“ he said simply.

If Max wasn’t so focused on not completely losing it, he might’ve been amused with the mental image. But at the moment, he could only shake his head.

Next to him, Charles let out a sigh. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

"No. You?" he gave back.

"I don't have a bad feeling," Charles said quietly. “Not worse than it has been for days at least.”

Twin Telepathy was apparently a thing as far as Charles and Colette were concerned. 

Quite frankly, till this day, it still weirded Max out. They just seemed to know when the other one wasn't feeling well. 95% of the time, they got sick at the same time. They communicated more easily with each other than with anyone else, and regardless of what game they played...they needed to be put on opposite teams, because otherwise nobody had a chance against them.

Max was well aware of Colette and Charles' strange connection. Even if he didn’t fully understand it. They both had some sort of sixth sense when it came to the other one, and it sometimes felt like they were talking in secret code.

"What’s it telling you right now?" he asked, his voice barely above a rough whisper.

Charles turned to him fully at that, and Max saw the way his eyes swept over him, taking in every aspect of his appearance.

Max could only imagine what Charles was seeing. He felt like a walking wreck, and there was no doubt his appearance was mirroring that.

"Colette is in pain," Charles finally said, his voice strangely quiet. "She’s scared."

That answer felt like somebody shoved a knife into Max’s stomach. He inhaled sharply, the breath catching in his throat. “Of course, she is,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Charles seemed to sense what he was thinking, even without being telepathically connected through whatever the hell Colette and him had going on. The Monégasque reached out and took a firmer hold of his hand, the grip almost crushing.

"Don’t," Charles said firmly, his voice leaving no room for arguments. "Don’t go there. We’re gonna get to her as fast as we can."

There was a brief moment of silence, as Max tried to collect himself. He focused all his attention on the pressure of Charles' hand on his, and somehow, it actually helped.

"I feel so goddamn useless," he finally admitted, his voice rough with emotion. "I want to be with her."

"You want to try calling her before we are in the air?" Charles suggested.

That was not a bad idea, not at all. Max let out a low and slightly shaky exhale, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, I…” he had to stop and clear his throat. “Yeah, I’ll try to call her.”

His hands were shaking when he pulled out his phone out of the backpack that somebody had handed off to him, already packed. Regardless of all the drama that had gone on in the RedBull garage during the year… if it really mattered, the people in there pulled off minor miracles.

Within minutes, his entire day - hell, his entire week - had been packed for him, with all the essentials of clothes and everything else he would need.

He had almost forgotten about the phone in his shaking hands, but now he just stared at the screen for a moment. His fingers were trembling so badly that just unlocking the phone was a challenge in itself.

Jimmy and Sassy were on his lockscreen...a picture that Colette had once sent him when he had been away for one of his races...the two of them laying on top of her on their couch...

Every other time Max saw the photo, it made his heart do a little funny jump. Now though, it made his chest ache. It felt like a sharp stabbing pain, and for a moment, he just sat there and stared at the picture.

Then he called her.

It rang. And it rang, and it rang again. With each passing second, that horrible knot in his stomach tightened a little more. With every ring of the bell, it got harder to breathe.

Finally, to Max’s immense and enormous relief, the line connected.

"Hey, Maxie. I put you on speaker," Victoria's voice came over the phone, sounding surprisingly calm.

A shiver of something resembling dread ran through Max, at the sound of Victoria’s voice. But he pushed past the feeling.

His thoughts were once again running wild - was it a bad sign that Colette wasn’t the one speaking to him? Or was he just overreacting..?

“Hey,” he forced the word out past the lump in his throat. "How are you feeling?" he asked, pleading for Colette's voice. Was it selfish that he just wanted to hear her tell him that everything was going to be okay?

"Better now," Colette's voice came, sounding slightly hoarse.

The words were like a shot of adrenaline, and for a moment, Max actually felt a little lightheaded. “Liefje.” He closed his eyes, just hearing her voice sending another wave of relief through him. “Are you okay? How is Bébé?”

"Bébé has decided that they would rather be born today, so I would suggest you hurry up," Victoria said drily.

"Seems like the kid already inherited Max's need for speed," Charles quipped. "How are you doing, Coco?"

"I'm good," Colette's voice replied, and Max could only imagine the eye-roll that was currently happening. He knew his girlfriend, and he had no doubt that she had been glaring at Victoria ever since the phone was put on speaker.

"Where are you?" she asked, her voice suddenly turning much softer. "You're coming, right?"

"Coming," he assured her, his heart aching. "We're coming, I promise."

"I know. I’m not worried." She sounded like she meant it, but Max could easily imagine the anxiety in her eyes.

"You'd better not worry," Charles said, and then added, "I’m keeping him from doing anything dumb."

Max shot Charles a dirty look at that, bt he swallowed down the annoyed protest and focused back on Colette instead. “Just…hold on a little longer, okay?”

"It's not like I can go anywhere else," Colette replied, her voice slightly amused. "I’ll keep our little speed demon in there a little lo...." She broke off and let out a quiet hiss of pain, her voice once again cut off by what Max suspected to be a particularly painful contraction.

“Colette,” he said sharply, all kinds of emotions washing over him, one by one. “Liefje, just…just breathe through it, okay?”

There was a second of panting, then, he heard her take a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” she finally said. “Just…hurts like hell.”

He swallowed and clenched his free hand tightly into a fist, fighting against the urge to just jump out of the car and start running towards the airport.

Colette being in pain was not something he could deal with.

He heard her take a few more deep breaths, and he just sat there, waiting and listening and feeling absolutely useless.

"How long until you get here?" she asked after a moment, her voice breathless. He could see her in his mind, his sweet girl, sitting on the bed and clutching her belly as another contraction hit her.

"We're not even at the airport yet," he told her, and damn it, why were his eyes suddenly burning. "We’ll get there as soon as we can, okay? Just...hold on a little longer."

"What your dad said..." Colette said with a shaky voice.

"I know," he said simply, the grief raw in his voice. Neither of them were ever really going to get over the two babies they had lost. They had learnt to live with the pain, they had dealt with the heartbreak an grief...but it was always going to be scar for them.

"Max, if something…" she began, her voice a little wobbly. He could tell that she was crying, by the way her breathing got a little more hitched and ragged.

But she suddenly cut off and gasped, letting out an even breath. Another contraction..."Hey, nothing is gonna happen," he quickly said, trying to soothe her. "Nothing. I'll be there soon. I'll be there before you know, and our child will meet their parents. We will be fine, we will get through this. You, and me. Together."

"If something happens," Colette continues. "If..."

"No," he cut her off, the word coming out as a growl. "Nothing is gonna happen. You will not talk that way. You’re going to deliver a gorgeous and healthy baby, and I won’t hear anything else."

"Max..." she protested, but Max wasn’t having it.

"You’re not going anywhere," he said firmly, putting as much steel in his voice as he could. "You will be fine. Our baby will be fine, and I will be there soon and I will hold your hand and you can threaten to geld me and all of it will be okay. Just breathe.” 

He could hear the sound of her breathing, deep and even. She was trying to steady it, and Max gripped his phone tighter. He didn’t know if he was trying to hold himself together, or if he was trying to hold on to the sound of her voice.

The seconds ticked by, and then another contraction hit, and he heard her gasp out another ragged breath. Max felt like he was going to crawl out of his own skin. The idea of her in pain was like an invisible knife twisting a little deeper in his gut, each time.

"We need to go," Charles said suddenly. "We need to get into the plane." The car slowed down at that moment. "Coco, listen to me. I am going to be absolutely fucking furious with you if something happens to you," Charles told her fiercely. 

"Trust me," Colette’s voice said, sounding slightly tired. "I am very, very motivated to stay alive."

That was good. That was a good sign. If she was still being sarcastic and even a little bit cheeky…it was good.

"Just hold on," he told her again, the familiar feeling of helplessness seeping into his bones. "Just keep hanging on, for me. I love you."

“I love you too,” the words were as immediate and as fast as the sunrise each morning. "Hurry up, dammit."

"I’m trying," he replied, his voice hoarse. "I’m trying. We’re at the airport now. We’ll get there as fast as we can-" he had to stop, when he heard her let out another pained gasping sound, as another contraction clearly hit her hard.

“Goddamn,” he exclaimed, all of his muscles tense with the urge to do something. He wanted to help her, he wanted to be there to comfort her…but more than anything,  he was terrified of losing her. "Liefje, just keep breathing, okay? Breathe and stay calm."

"I’m trying to," her voice was breathless, and he knew that she was probably trying hard to fight the urge to cry out. Oh God, he hated that. He hated seeing her in pain, he loathed feeling this utterly useless.

"Go. Love you," she told him.

"I love you," he told her emphatically, wanting to say something more, but then Charles impatiently gestured at him to hurry up and get out of the car. "I...I’ll see you soon, okay? Just hang on, okay?"

"Yeah," he could tell that she was trying even harder to control her voice, trying to put on a calm and steady front for his benefit. "Just..." she cut off and let out a gasp, another contraction evidently hitting her hard. "...just hurry up before this baby decides to make their way out before you arrive, okay?"

"I will," he promised through gritted teeth. "I will, goddammit, I will, just…hang on."

He heard Colette’s pained panting, and each of her breaths was like a stab in the gut.He hated having to hang up on her

Everything in him rebelled at that. How could he, how could he possibly abandon her like that, how could he let her take on this pain and fear all by herself, without him there to hold her hand...but goddamnit, he had no choice.

He took a shuddering breath and pushed past the urge to scream, to slam his fist into something, anything. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, ranging from the desperate need to get to her, to overwhelming panic, to anger at the universe for forcing them apart and for putting her through this pain.

Into the plane they went…it was probably the shortest amount of time between entering a plane and taking off Max had ever experienced. 

Before too long they were up in the air, flying towards Nice.

The minutes ticked by, each one passing by like a century. Max would sit in restless agitation at his seat, his mind racing back and forth. Every thought and memory came back to Colette. He just wanted to be at her side, he just wanted everything to be okay��

And instead he would be stuck on this plane for 6 hours.

He would be stuck on this goddamn plane for six hours. Six hours, each one of them filled with the knowledge that the love of his life was giving birth to their child, and he was not there to support her, to hold her hand and reassure her that everything was okay.

It was driving him absolutely insane. He couldn’t take it, he just wanted to be there, with her. He could vividly picture her, sitting in the hospital bed and gripping the rails, her face screwed up in pain as she fought through another contraction. And he was not there to comfort her.

"Maman is with her. Your sister is with her. Lorenzo and Arthur too." Charles said at that moment. “We aren't there but everybody else is."

"How can you be this calm?" Max asked him, dragging a hand through sweat damp hair.

"Don't mistake calm for not being worried," Charles said evenly, his eyes tracking Max's restless pacing of the plane. "I am worried. For her, for you and for the little one. But freaking out isn't gonna do anyone any favours right now."

"I know,” Max said, his voice still strangled tight with stress. He just couldn't get any of the images out of his mind - her struggling and fighting her way through the pain, looking more vulnerable and pale than he had ever seen her...and he was not there.

“Besides, I shouted at Ferrari’s PR and got it out of my system, so currently, I am feeling quite calm.” Charles said darkly. “I imagine that’s going to change again when I am sure that Colette and the baby are alright.”

Max just stared at him. Charles had done what?

If there was a religion that Charles Leclerc believed in then it was Ferrari.

Charles Leclerc was their golden boy. Their Il Predestinato. There was no good-natured fobbing to be had about Ferrari regardless of what issues there had been had through the years, and there had been a lot.

Charles worshipped Ferrari like a malevolent goddess. He didn’t want to hear any criticism of his team and Max had given up on that a very long time ago. 

Charles and Colette both could be the most stubborn people Max had ever match. The only one who could match their stubbornness were each other. 

"You did what?" Max stared at him, utterly flabbergasted. Charles was an absolute Ferrari fan and loyal to the very core…why the hell would he yell at the PR people?

"Why...? What did they do?"

"They weren't even going to tell me that something was wrong with Colette," Charles said darkly. "I knew it. I knew that something was off. But they didn't say anything. It was one of Red Bull's PR Staff that got me out of the cooldown room. Ferrari wouldn't have said anything to me. Ferrari didn't want me to leave either. They wanted to debrief, they wanted me to give interviews,"

Max had to resist the urge to swear. He had been so focused on the fact that he was not with Colette that he hadn't even processed the fact that Ferrari had actually kept her labour a secret from Charles, simply to make him stay and do his goddamn job for them.

"You know that that is not normal, right?" he asked him drily. "I am not telling you that everything is perfect at Red Bull but Christian would never fucking stand for that."

"You know I never expected it," Charles told him, his mouth a thin hard line. "We are the drivers. We are the stars. But we come second. First and foremost, we are assets to the team. What Ferrari wants, Ferrari gets. We drive, we get podiums, we hold the trophies, and we smile for the cameras. Everything else comes second. It doesn’t matter to them. To them, only the trophies matter. "

"That's what they want," Max told him, anger seeping into his voice. "But that's not how it should be. Ferrari is wrong. If something is wrong with your loved ones, they have no right to keep it from you like that. Especially not for the sake of a goddamn interview."

"I know," Charles said, his lips thin with bitterness. "But there's not much I can do about it, is there? We may be the top drivers on the grid, but we drive the car that the teams give us. There's only so much that we can do when the team has power over pretty much every aspect of our career. And believe me, I am going to pay a fucking price for doing what I did. I just don't care at all. It's Colette," he said sharply. "I love all my siblings. I do. I love Lorenzo and Arthur. I would do everything for them. But they aren't my twin. They aren't the second half of me," Charles said simply. "Ferrari be damned."

Max hadn't thought that he was ever going to hear these words out of Charles' mouth but here they were.

"What the fuck did Jos say by the way? What did Coco mean?" Charles demanded.

"He gave an interview to Sky Sports," Max said, fury still embering deep in his gut.

"Of course he did." Charles said, not sounding surprised at all. "What did he say?"

"Confirmed the relationship...and the pregnancy," Max said clenching his teeth. "And if that wasn't enough...he made a...comment about how it had taken us long enough to have a baby."

There was a sharp indrawn breath as Charles absorbed that. "...What?" Charles said after a moment, his voice strangled. "...he made that comment in public? Are - are you serious?"

"I never told him about the two...miscarriages," Max said quietly. "I couldn't deal with whatever well meant advice he was going to have...but I...We lost two babies," Max said weakly. "My father went out there and confirmed our relationship and the pregnancy without talking to either of us. He just made that decision because it's "ridiculous" that we kept it a secret for so long. An it’s making me furious. This wasn't his decision to make. This was ours."

"Yes," Charles said, his jaw clenching. "It was. Your decision. Nobody else’s. He had absolutely no right to do that. Goddamn it, I have never liked that man, but I've never had the urge to punch him as much as I do this very moment."

"You and me both," Max said. The anger he was feeling would have been burning through him like a damn inferno if he hadn't been so worried about Colette.

"This should have come from us," Max repeated quietly. "Not from anybody else."

"It still can come from you," Charles said.

Max paused, looking up at him. "Are you saying we should..." he began uncertainly.

"You want to tell the entire world that you love my sister and that she is having your baby? You have an Instagram account and a phone with an internet connection," Charles said drily. "Tell them the truth. Your truth."

Max opened his mouth and then closed it again. Charles had a point. It was obvious what the news was going to be now if people had seen Jos's interview.

But he wanted to be the one to tell the world. He wanted it to be on his terms. He wanted it to be public but on his public terms. Not his father's.

"Are you ever going to ask my sister to marry you?" Charles asked him suddenly.

The question caught him completely off guard. "...What?" He said blankly, stunned by the change of the conversation.

"You gave her a ring when you were both 18 that you both insisted was only a promise ring," Charles said drily. "Are you ever going to replace it with the real thing?"

He thought back to that ring that still sat on Colette's finger to this day. A simply gold band with a tiny heart-shaped diamond.

He had given it to her in 2016, after his very first Grand Prix win in Spain. He had gone out and bought it that very same day to be exact.

He had bought Victoira a handbag the first time he had scored his championship points...but the first time he had won...he had bought Colette that ring.

"Apparently the baby is only going to have your surname too, because you have an agreement," Charles continued. "Do I actually want to know what that agreement was?"

"We were 18. Both our father's would have probably killed us, if we came to them and told them that we were engaged," Max said with a sigh. The Leclerc's had always been supportive of their relationship but Hervè Leclerc had very much thought that both Colette and him were far too young to get married. 

Jos on the other hand...Max didn't even want to imagine that screaming fit.  "So I gave her that ring and we agreed that..."

"You agreed that..." Charles repeated slowly, silently urging him to continue.

Max let out a deep sigh and dragged a hand through his already messy hair, mussing it up even more. "We agreed that we didn't really need a piece of paper to tell us what we already knew," he said simply. "Colette and I had been together for 6 years at that point, we already knew and accepted that we were going to be together for the rest of our lives. It was just a matter of when. So we decided that we didn't need a damn piece of paper to know that we were committed to each other. We already knew that, without a doubt," Max said simply. "It was a promise ring. To love and to cherish, till death us do part. One day we would do it properly, but till then...that ring was a promise."

Charles stared at him. "Let me get this straight. You have been married to my sister for 10 years?" he asked him sharply.

Max winced. Okay. Put like that, it sounded kinda bad. "We never had the actual wedding," he said sheepishly. "We both know it wasn't necessary for us, so...we kinda just...never got around to it."

"I mean, I did ask your father for her hand in marriage when it was clear that he wasn't going to be there...when we eventually did it properly...but...for us that ring was… It was more than enough," Max said quietly. "I knew damn well that I would be with her for the rest of my life. She knew it. We both knew it. And that ring was a symbol between us that sealed the deal. We both knew that it was going to be for forever and always. It was a promise. A promise to always stay by each other’s side. No matter how badly things fell apart around us. No matter how much the world wanted to tear us to apart. We were going to stay together, come hell or high water. We didn't need a paper to prove that to us or the rest of the world," Max said firmly.

Charles stared at him for a couple of long moments, processing this. Max was well aware that, from an outside perspective, it might sound weird. That they had been so young, but so utterly certain that they were going to spend their lives together.

But he and Colette had been together for years. And he had seen how strongly they had bonded over the years, seen what they had been able to deal with as a team, as one, and how they had come through every single thing that the life had thrown at them together.

"You two are utterly ridiculous," Charles finally said drily. "You didn't get engaged because as far as you two were concerned you already got married years ago."

Max winced a little bit and couldn't really refute it. If he were to be honest, he'd have admit it did sound utterly ridiculous, when Charles spelled it out like that.

But that just...that was how badly they had known right from the very beginning that this was it for them. They didn't need a piece of paper to tell them what they already knew.

"I'll ask her properly," he promised Charles. "I already got the ring. But Colette doesn't want to overshadow Lorenzo and Charlotte and I knew that she wasn't going to want to have a big party while pregnant so I figured I would just wait."

Charles was slightly taken aback by his words, before he gave a small smile. "She'll definitely say yes, you know," he said, the corner of his eyes crinkling with affection.

Max smiled in return. His heart ached with the thought of her. "I hope so," he said quietly, feeling like there was a hole in his chest where his heart was supposed to be. "I really, really hope so."

[lokidjarin-7567]

The Prophecy

Viktor x You When the friend of your youth, Viktor, sees you still living in the Undercity, and working in a strip club at that, he is determined to reconnect, and rekindle a childhood friendship that was rooted in something more. Contents: fem!reader, fluff, angst and smut all in one folks, 18+ MDNI, a few physical features described but still reader insert I think (hair colour and freckles), both Viktor and you POVs, long-ass one shot 8.1k words Taglist: @night-fall-moon @zsuzsu321 @sh1zhu @circeinspace @casualjagodek @retrokatz @am-3-thyst @xlittlemissydjx @sseleniaa @thefandomsfervent Hi guys, thanks for bearing with my while I've been working on this one!! I have been absolutely obsessed with this man ever since I finished Arcane, so I just had to write something about him! I also think a lot of people mischaracterise him, so I tried really hard to get his personality right - let me know if I actually have lol. Anyone who knows my works knows how slutty my smut can get lol, but this is actually quite tender so a new one for me too. Anyway, I'll stop waffling now, I hope you enjoy. TTPD Contents | General Masterlist | AO3

DISCLAIMER: while this, in my opinion, is still classified as an ‘x you’ fic, a few physical features are described, namely ‘you’ having burgundy red hair that is, at one point, described as curly and having freckles, alongside a handful of super vague descriptors (eg. fluttering eyelashes, slope of her nose AKA things that can be applied to any and all faces) - basically everyone in the Arcane show has cool hair so I thought this would be a cute detail. It’s possible to ignore if you don’t want to think about have a different hair colour, but if you don’t want to, don’t read it! Almost every comment on this fic has been relating to this which, when I put hours of hard work and effort into something that I was proud of, is insanely demoralising. There has always been a disclaimer in the contents above, but I’m adding it here as well so it’s as clear as possible. Dead dove do not eat and all that. And I’m always open to constructive criticism, but there’s a way to go about it, and a way that will put someone in a slump for months, so please think before you comment! Anyway, not to put a downer before the work, thank you for the reposts and loves so far ❤️

Viktor was lost in thought as he made his way back to Piltover, small tube of Shimmer tucked away in his satchel. He didn’t know what to do. Using it might stabilise the Hexcore, allowing it to keep the plants alive and accomplish everything he and Jayce had been working towards for years, maybe even curing this sickness that had taken over him, or…

Or it could end horribly.

The undercity was as dark and unpleasant as he remembered it. He had never fit in here in his youth - too scrawny, too bookish, and with his leg, he stood no chance. And now was no different.

The neon store signs stood out against the blackened buildings and muddy streets. This part of the city, deep in the underbelly of Zaun, seemed busier than the rest, roads bustling with call girls and salesmen and tourists from Topside taking their pick of unruly establishments. Hundreds of voices layered atop each other in a cacophony of harsh laughter, garish music and argumentative tones. There was barely space to walk, especially with his cane, and he was starting to wonder if this journey was even worth it.

Then something caught his eye. A flash of red, deep and vibrant, moving towards him on the far side of the lane. It was hair, bouncy and curly and his subconscious told him it was shorter than it should’ve been, but it was a colour he knew. Her face wasn’t one he could place at first, but as she got closer, he saw the freckles that smattered across her nose like a constellation, her pink lips that were perpetually curled into a soft frown, her eyes that she always accentuated with brown liner. It was her.

The only friend of his youth. A young girl who used to sit behind the foliage near the water where he tested his inventions. She was shy, even shyer than he used to be, too scared to ask him anything about what he was making for a long time, just watching with curious eyes. But he would never forget the day she moved closer. The way her long, burgundy locks flowed around her, almost touching the floor, the way she was trying her best to be confident, but there was a soft shake in her hand, and a slight stutter as she said hello. Then she produced a small invention of her own - a submarine, the same colour as her hair, designed to float perfectly so the periscope was the only thing that peeked out from the surface.

For years, they were inseparable. She was more artistic than him, always adding a flair to her designs that he didn’t have, so he’d let her ‘improve’ his too. They would play together, and then as they got older, build together, each creation more daring and experimental. And then they started to drift apart. They were in their mid teens when her mother got sick, and she couldn’t make it out as much. Viktor always offered to help, but she refused, not even allowing him to see where she lived. And so, when Professor Heimerdinger found him and offered him an opportunity to be his assistant, he couldn’t even tell her. He left a note, delicately placed under a rock where they would build together, telling her where to find him and how to get in touch, but he never heard anything.

And now here she was. He called out her name softly, not wanting to alarm her in this hostile city, but she didn’t hear. She’d walked past him now, so he turned, following but she was walking fast, faster than he could manage. He called out again, but it wasn’t until then that he noticed the headphones over her ears. She couldn’t hear a thing. He carried on, hoping she would stop but she didn’t. If it was anyone else, he would’ve gone home, given up, but now he’d caught a glimpse of her, he had to see her. To talk to her. To find out why she never got in touch. To apologise for leaving her behind.

She disappeared from view for a moment, and he panicked, thinking he’d lost her again, but he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, entering an alley beside a row of bars and clubs. He grimaced, following her to see the red locks just moving out of sight again, and a bouncer closing the door behind her. He tried to follow her into the building, but the man stopped him.

“Please…” he asked, out of breath, “it’s an old friend, I need to see her…”

“Staff entrance only, pal. You’ll have to go ‘round the front like everyone else.”

“But… she’s right there… I only need one moment, if she just saw me…” The words died on his lips. Would she even recognise you?

“Don’t make me ask you twice.”

It was dark inside the club, the lights low apart from on the stage and around the bar. It was only mid afternoon, but the place was near full of lowlifes just starting their evenings, sloshing their drinks and talking loudly. The neon from outside carried into this space too, strip lights around the platforms accentuating their presence. There were dancers atop each of them, but he averted his eyes. He shouldn’t have come here. This was so far from his comfort zone, loud and unruly, a long way away from his lab, but he had to see her. He couldn’t let her go again.

He found a stool by the bar, ordering a soda and waiting for her to start her shift. There was no way he could miss her again if he was right here when she started.

And then he saw her at the very edge of his vision, as though his eyes were programmed to search her out in any crowd. She was on stage, cherry red hair glowing in the soft lights, combined with the neon from below making her look like a ghost, ethereal. What was she doing up there?

***

“Afternoon, Joey.” You muttered to the bouncer, and he opened the door for you wordlessly as you slipped off your headphones, replacing your perfectly selected playlist with the sleazy music of the club. Just one of the many reasons you hated working here. You were running late, as per, throwing your things in your locker and quickly changing. Lacing up your shoes always took the longest time, and you barely even had a chance to check yourself in the mirror when you were finished. Your hair looked perfect at least, the naturally burgundy curls sitting at shoulder length. You missed the long hair of your youth, but it become impractical very quickly, and the memories it held… you ended up cutting it all off soon after your mum died. That was when you started working here too. You’d had dreams, of course you did, but growing up in the Undercity made it almost impossible to follow them. There were worse places to work though - for the most part, the patrons were respectful, and everyone who you worked with was kind, but it was still a strip club. At the end of the day, no little girl wanted to be an exotic dancer when they grew up. At least it just about paid the bills.

You had been put on a long shift today - late afternoon until the early hours. You didn’t mind though; it was exhausting, but more time meant more tips. And you needed the money. You were saving, slowly but surely. One day, it would be enough.

These shifts always started slow. Not many tips this early in the day. Not enough drunks - they were all too willing to part with their money, an exploit you knew how to use. After a while on stage, it was your turn to make your way into the crowd. You started away from the bar, smiling at a few, a couple of words of flirtation thrown around, but no one was loose enough for anything else yet. There was something different about the energy today though. You felt… exposed, on display, more than usual. Self conscious in a way you hadn’t been since your first week. By the time you got to the bar, you were already feeling frustrated at the lack of interest. But your favourite coworker was pouring the drinks tonight, and she had one ready for you already.

“Thanks, Katie” You crooned, knocking back the shot quickly and she immediately offered to refill - something you gratefully accepted.

“Thought you might need it. Slow start?”

“Yeah, not the best day so far.” You took your second, thanking her again, when you heard a voice call out your name. Your real name. It made you start, whipping your head around to find the source. You didn’t use that name here. You were expecting to see an ex, or an old boss, but instead you were met with a face you hadn’t seen in years.

His eyes hadn’t changed. Kind but tired, amber in colour and glowing like whiskey in sunlight. The curve of his nose was the same, the curl of his lips, the small moles like points on a map - one beneath his right eye and the other to the left of his lip. There was a cane tucked beside his stool, and he was dressed well. Too well to be in this part of town. A uniform of some sort, something a Topsider would wear: blue shirt accented with a cream ascot and waistcoat. It suited him.

As soon as you saw him, every fond memory of your childhood rushed back to you like a river. The gentleness when he explained his creations to you. His willingness when you asked if you could paint them pretty colours, or add cute designs. The way he held you as you cried about your mum falling ill. How quickly he offered you support, and how quickly you turned him down. You didn’t want to be a burden, but you regretted that choice as soon as he stopped showing up to your usual spot. You kept going for months before you gave up, still trying to find him. The last time you visited was to scatter your mum’s ashes - your stories of Viktor’s designs and the beautiful creek where you tested them out together being one of the last things that brought her comfort.

And now, he was here.

He’d made it out. He’d made it Topside. And you’d only fallen further down.

If there was one person you never wanted to see you like this, it was him. He was the only slither of your youth and innocence left, the only soul in the whole of Runeterra who knew the true version of yourself, the first version of yourself. The version you actually liked. And now, he had to see this. You couldn’t tell what you were feeling. Every emotion was vying for attention: joy, nostalgia, anger, envy…

He repeated your name in a questioning tone, and you realised you’d been staring at him, the rollercoaster of emotions you just went on likely visible on your face.

“Do you know him, darling? Or shall I grab Joe?” Katie asked from behind the bar, staring him down with a protective look. Viktor opened his mouth to speak, indignant look on his face, but you answered for him, never once being able to tear your eyes from him.

“Yeah I… cover for me? If anyone asks, he got a dance.”

“Of course.” Viktor’s gaze had returned you, confused, and you just muttered a ‘come on’, signalling him to follow you, and you lead him across the floor to one of the private rooms. They weren’t exactly the nicest places to talk, the whole room painted a hideous deep purple, a weirdly-shaped black velvet sofa the only thing to sit on. As soon as you closed the door, turning around to see the soft look on his face, every drop of anger seeped from you, replaced with relief. Relief that he was alive. Relief that he had done something with his life. Relief that you hadn’t lost him forever.

You couldn’t help it but let the tears fall as you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him tight.

***

He was surprised by her warm welcome. After all these years, he had always imagined she would resent him, but here she was, face pressed to his chest as she hugged him, tears falling onto his shirt. He didn’t even have to think about it, one arm naturally surrounding her as she cried, keeping her close, while the other held firm to his cane, ensuring it was stable for the both of them. He never wanted to let her go again.

She eventually pulled away though, wiping her tears with the shy smile he remembered so well.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.. on your fancy Topside shirt too.” She laughed nervously, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I… um, I imagined bumping into you one day, finding you again, but I never thought I would be dressed like this.” He finally let himself glance down at her when he said that, to take her in completely, safe in the knowledge that she wasn’t meeting his eyes. She looked beautiful - a black two-peice set, solid silk on the areas that counted, but the frills and accents were a sheer lace, stockings too, glittering beads woven into the delicate material. Even if the environment didn’t suit her, somehow the clothes still did, the same style he’d seen her develop in her teenage years. Simple in colour, beautiful in design - the cunning of her inventor’s mind applied to her other passion.

“What are you doing here, Viktor?” She sat down on the awkward sofa, curling her legs up onto it, and he followed suit, resting his cane against the arm.

“I could ask you the same thing.” It fell from his lips before he could stop it, and he winced, expecting her to be offended, but she just smiled sadly.

“You got out.” She stated as a shrouded question, ignoring his quip, and he nodded. He could explain, he should, but not yet.

“And you never wrote me.” He responded.

“Write you? Viktor, I didn’t know where you were.” She never got your letter.

“I left you a note by the creek. You never got it?” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve found you somehow, or…”

“It’s ok, Vik.” She shuffled closer on the loveseat, grabbing his hand and squeezing tight. Hearing the name she used to call him sent a pang of pain to his heart. This is what he had been missing out on all these years, all because of a stupid letter. “If I was in your shoes, I’d have done the same. Besides, I never let you see where I lived, or anything else about me. And when mum… I fell off the face of the earth. I wouldn’t have let you in no matter how hard you tried.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know.”

***

You spent a long time asking about his life now. He was working in the academy, partners with Piltover’s favourite researcher, helping to create the HexTech that kept the whole city afloat… he had changed the fucking world. And you were… here. Still.

He said your name softly, as though trying to broach a subject carefully and you knew what was coming. You had seen the query floating in his eyes since the moment he saw you.

“What are you doing working here? I mean, you’re brilliant, more so than me, and yet…”

“I’m still stuck in the Lanes?” You sighed.

“Well, yes.” You’d never once thought of him as ignorant. Maybe he’d been living Topside for too long.

“I never got my break. You deserved what you got, of course you did, and you’re the smartest person I know, Viktor, but that doesn’t change the fact that you got lucky. And it’s not the same here as when we were kids. Sure, things weren’t great then, but now… There are no jobs, no money, housing is insanely competitive even though most of it is disgusting.. it’s a vicious cycle meant to keep you in the shitter. This is what I could get. It pays my bills and lets me save a little, the other girls are nice, it’s close to my apartment…”

“But…” You knew from the look on his face what he was going to say - a long speech about how much potential you have, and how much better you could have it. You dropped his hand.

“But what?” You couldn’t help but snap, defensive over the very job that you cursed daily. “But I’m better than selling myself to sleazy drunks? You think I don’t fucking know that? You think I want to be losing my sense of self every day just so I can keep the lights on? You think it’s my dream to feel like I’m a lesser human being because I will let someone pay me to take them into this room and…” You stood up then, starting to pace as silent tears fell. You never let yourself think about any part of your life longer than you had to. Not pondering on it was the only thing keeping you alive.

“You know I wasn’t saying that…”

“I know I’m sorry… I just…”

“I know… I know…” He stood up then too, wrapping you in his arms and letting you cry. Again. You felt so stupid. “I missed you.” He whispered, face nestled into your hair, barely audible.

“I missed you too.” The tender moment didn’t last for long though, as a sharp knock on the door startled you, jumping away from him and wiping your eyes.

“Vikki?” Joey’s voice called out, and you breathed a sigh of relief. “You ok in there?” You put on your smiley voice, cooing back to him.

“Yeah, all good Joe, got a paying customer in here...”

“You got it, doll.” You heard him walk away, and turned back to see Viktor looking at you, head cocked, small smirk playing across his features.

“What?” You asked with a shy smile, wiping away the last of your tears.

“Vikki?” Oh.

“Well I couldn’t exactly use my real name.” He laughed at that, and you couldn’t help but giggle too. “That does mean we’ve been in here too long though, I should…”

“Yeah, no of course…” he moved to open the door, grabbing his cane, but you stopped him quickly, pressing your hand against the door frame.

“One second…” He frowned as you reached towards him, but he didn’t move, just watched curiously as you took your time unknotting his ascot. Once it was off, you unbuttoned a few of his buttons, trying to ruffle his shirt a little, make it look like you had actually been doing your job rather than talking to an old friend. “There…” you muttered quietly, realising he’d shuffled a little closer to you as you worked, and now his lips were only a breath away. He was looking at you so intently, as though there was something he wanted to say, but he never spoke, just gazed at you in a way that made your heart swell. Your hands lingered on his chest, comforted by the warmth and solidness of him. A reassurance that he was real and here. You didn’t want to move.

“Please, don’t go anywhere just yet…” you muttered, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

***

She had been backstage for a while now, muttering something about trying to move her shifts around. She came back beaming, and it was infectious, a smile he was trying to fight taking over his own face just at the sight of her.

“Ok, if you’re busy tonight, or you have plans, you can tell me to piss off…”

“Never.” She blushed in response, her wide smile spreading further as she spoke, and he was helplessly drawn to her, eyes scanning her face intently.

“Well, someone came in early for their shift, but someone else is running late… anyway, our schedule is a mess, but good news is I only have to stay for another hour and then I’m free so… I was thinking, maybe you’d want to grab some food and catch up? Unless you have somewhere else to be…” She still sounded so shy, so unsure - the same habit she had when she was young, babbling when she was nervous. He was finding it hard to connect the dots in his mind: the timid person before him now, the girl he used to know, and the dancer on that stage, full of bravado and confidence.

“That sounds wonderful.” The joy in her face was intoxicating, and he watched as relief visibly washed over her body.

“Ok, brilliant.” She spun away for just a moment, trying to track down the bartender she seemed to know well. “Katie, he’s with me, ok? Send him back in like an hour, and his drinks are on my tab.” He tried to protest, but she rested a hand on his shoulder, quickly silencing him. “I insist. It’s the least I can do, considering how long you have to wait around.” Again, he tried to tell her didn’t mind, that he’d wait as long as she needed, anything for her, but she was gone already, slipping into the crowd, his shoulder cold where her hand had been. He sighed, turning back towards the bar on his stool, taking another sip of his soda.

“That’s our Vikki…” Katie mused, slicing a few garnishes behind the bar. “Never accepting that somebody else would want to do something for her.” He let out a dry laugh, half at the name, half in agreement.

“That sounds like her.” A beat of silence passed between them. The club was starting to fill up, but it wasn’t too rowdy yet, and nobody else was at the bar, all relying on bottle service and shot girls instead.

“Drink?” He shook his head politely. “How do you know her?” Katie asked, staying busy but obviously trying to snoop. He didn’t mind. She was a topic he didn’t mind talking about.

“Childhood friend. I haven’t seen her in… a very long time.” Her eyebrow shot up at that.

“What was your name, by the way?”

“Viktor.” A look of surprise flitted across her face.

“Ohh.” She drawled knowingly, smiling at herself as she continued to wedge limes.

“What?”

“I’ve heard of you, that’s all. Her childhood love who disappeared on her while her mother was dying…”

“You don’t know the whole story…” He snapped back quickly. He might hate himself for what happened, but he felt the need to defend his choices. It had turned out well for him, he just wished he could’ve found her. Taken her with him. Their life could’ve been so different. Katie chuckled, continuing her tasks.

“Oh trust me, I do. She’s very quick to defend you, you know. You can do no wrong in her eyes…”

“Not so sure about that…” As he muttered to himself, something she’d said suddenly hit him. Her childhood love…“Actually, on second thought, I will grab a drink please, whatever she usually has. But don’t put it on her tab…”

“I wasn’t planning on it, Topsider.” She saluted mockingly with a smile.

Two down and that was all he was having, just needing something to take the edge off after Katie’s admission. All those years wasted, because you thought childhood love was stupid and pointless. And now, seeing her again, you still love her as much as you did back then…

Katie was on her break, so he twisted in his seat, trying to find her in the crowd. She had never been difficult for him to spot, everything about her so familiar to him, and this time, she was centre stage, which made it even easier. Every part of him was screaming to turn away, to not taint his view of her, but he was instantly transfixed. She danced so fluidly, so gracefully. Every movement she made was purposeful and poised. However much she hated her job, she took pride in it. He was a scientist, sure, but she was a creator, through and through.

***

You were finally finished, and you were exhausted. Even though it wasn’t even half a usual shift, seeing Viktor, all the memories it brought back, it had been so emotionally draining.

You were grateful that the changing area was empty. It wasn’t the usual shift time, and no one ever came here on their break, so at least Viktor wouldn’t have to deal with that. You almost laughed at the thought.

There was a gentle knock, and his voice sent a flutter straight to your heart.

“Vikki?” He called out mockingly, and you laughed at the way he’d latched on to your new name. It was inspired by him, after all. “Are you decent?”

“Yes, you can come in.” You were looking good, if you said so yourself. The fashion and the opportunity you were afforded to express yourself in that way was one of the few things you did like about this place. You’d tried to incorporate the shapes and designs of your ‘work attire’ into a more Lanes-friendly outfit, layering a black organza shirt over the lacy bodice, beading shining through the sheer fabric, pairing it with a bubble skirt and knee high boots, just the right height to allow your stockings to peek from the top. There was only one item that wasn’t black; his neckerchief that you had taken earlier was now around your own collar, tied in a dainty bow. He grinned as soon as he laid his eyes on it, striding towards you and gently holding the hemmed edge between his fingers.

“I guess I’m not getting this back, huh.”

“Never.” He shrugged.

“I’m ok with that.” God, the way he looked at you. It made you melt without fail, warm flush spreading across your cheeks.

“Are you ready to go?” You muttered, eyes still glued to his, honey tones making you feel as though you were stuck in them. A fly trapped in amber, resigned to its fate.

“I’m ready when you are.”

You’d decided you were going to cook for him tonight instead of taking him out. The places near you either weren’t nice enough, or they knew you for the wrong reasons. Besides, you wanted to show him your place. To show him that, even though you were still here, you had done everything you could to make the best of it, to continue learning and inventing and developing yourself.

That did mean you had to stop by the store, though. Which meant bumping into Angel. He and Viktor would not get on.

You had grabbed Viktor’s arm as soon as you left the club, a habit from the times Joey had walked you home, knowing that you were safer beside a man than by yourself. Even though the Undercity was bustling tonight, there was something so soothing about being here with him. A nostalgia warming you from the inside out. He let you guide him into the shop below your apartment, chatting absentmindedly about nothing and everything, when a smooth voice stopped yoou in your tracks.

“Not so fast, Vikki…” You groaned, turning back the few steps you had made into the entrance.

“Hey Angel.” You cooed, although it felt wrong falling into your usual flirtatious routine when Viktor was right behind you. He was working behind the counter today, thumbing through the till. His long dreadlocks were down, grey peeking through his beard, wide grin as his eyes traced over you, following your arm to where it joined the man next to you.

“Is that a nickname, or…” Viktor muttered, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you responded.

“No, Vik, this is my landlord Angel…”

“Landlord, huh? Thought I was more than that, sugar…” He leaned across the counter, shit-eating smile on his face, clearing noticing and enjoying the fact he was winding up your new companion. Viktor scowled, moving a step closer to you.

“Yeah, yeah, keep dreaming, old man…” You sent him a wink, and he laughed, the booming noise of it always making you smile. “What have you got in that’s fresh? I’m actually cooking tonight…”

You chatted a little longer, grabbing what Angel recommended and some wine, before heading upstairs via the back of the shop. Viktor was still scowling slightly as you were unlocking your door, and you laughed lightly, nudging him with the bag of shopping.

“What?” He huffed.

“I don’t like that guy.” He grumbled, feeling smug that you had called it.

“He’s my landlord, Vik, and a friend. He’s a good guy, don’t worry.” He just shrugged as you finally got the door open, and you thanked the stars that you had remembered to tidy last night, or else it would be a complete tip. There were still remnants from your busy morning scattered all around the studio: scrap pieces of fabric and thread strewn across the kitchen table, the half-finished neglige you were constructing laid over the back of one of the chairs, the cogs and pieces of machinery lie abandoned next to your sewing machine in the wake of the modifications you were trying to make so it could handle more delicate material. The space itself was dark in colour, olive and navy washing the walls, brown leather sofa and black countertops marking their territory in the small apartment, the stain-glass screen in front of your bed the only splash of jewel toned colour. You could feel Viktor’s curiosity at the place, and as he stepped further into it, a smile settled onto his lips.

“It’s so very… you.” He said, and in any other intonation, it would’ve sounded like a bad thing, but when he said it, full of adoration.. it was a compliment of the highest order.

***

She was mesmerising as she cooked, twirling in the kitchen to her carefully selected vinyl, a wide smile on her face as she tested what she was making. He wanted to help but she wouldn’t let him, batting him away and telling him to sit down, and for now, he had obliged. But, as much as he wanted to help her always, right now, he just wanted to be close.

“At least let me pour the wine?” He said, already standing to help, and she huffed, but didn't object. Instead, she handed him the corkscrew and the bottle wordlessly. He smiled, leaning against the counter and continuing to watch her as she stirred. She was always so chaotic when she was creating, something evidenced by the near bomb-site on her kitchen table. It was just so… her. Everything about her apartment was as well, such a perfect and beautiful representation of everything she was, every tiny detail of her life and personality reflected in the space she lived in. The colours, the soft furnishings, the bookshelves lining the wall behind her bed. Then, he noticed something about the stain glass screen that separated the room, soft light from her bedside lamp washing through it and creating a blue ripple across the floor like a stream. It was of their place, their creek. It was abstract, sure, but he would recognise it anywhere. The way certain rocks jutted out, the colours of it all, the small boat floating in the still glass water.

“Did you make that?” He asked earnestly, and she briefly glanced up from the stove to see what he was looking at.

“Yeah, I've been trying out a lot of different hobbies actually, things to keep me busy when I’m not working. That was one of my favourites…”

“It’s beautiful.” She smiled sadly, focusing her attention back to the pan.

“It reminds me of you.”

He poured them both a glass, and she gratefully accepted.

“It’s nearly finished, just a few more… oh I meant to ask earlier…” Her mind was such a beautiful thing, the speed at which it moved so captivating, not even time to finish her own thought before starting another, “why were you even here today? In the Undercity, in my club… I just never thought I’d see you back here by choice.”

“I was visiting an old friend, a quandary about a new gadget Jayce and I are working on, but…” He was going to say something about it, ask her opinion on whether he should follow Doctor Reveck’s advice, what he should do next, but he decided against it. “He didn’t have any insights.”

“Maybe I can help?”

“No, I…” She looked hurt at the speed the word left his mouth, almost recoiling and turning back to her cooking with a frown. “I mean that you probably could, but I don’t want to taint tonight by talking about a project that has been frustrating me for weeks. Another time though, of course I would appreciate your insight.” She sighed in relief, smile flitting back across her face. She grabbed a spoon from the drawer, humming as she did, a flurry of breathtaking movement as she dipped it into the sauce, spinning back around and holding it up to him.

“Taste?” She asked, the look on her face so hopeful it melted him, her joy infectious. But underneath all of it, he couldn't help but notice the cracks: the bags under her eyes, the tiredness set into them, the subtle shake of her hand. But he just smiled, enveloping her hand in his and bringing the spoon to his lips.

“It’s perfect.”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far.” She looked proud nonetheless, spinning back away from him and he was left to watch again, heart swelling. He wanted this. Cooking with her, drinking wine in the kitchen to her favourite record, letting her order him around. He wanted the… intimacy of it. The domesticity. The realisation of it ached. You could’ve had this. All these years without her, all these years wasted. Precious time that you no longer have to spare. If you’d have just waited, just taken more time to find her, insisted on helping her even…

“It’s ready!” She exclaimed, presenting a plate with a wide grin, and every stress, every regret simultaneously melted away and intensified, a pit forming in his stomach.

“It looks wonderful.”

***

You had eaten, and you were both now on your second glass of wine. You felt closer to him with every single second, drawn to every word he said like moth to a flame. At some point in the evening, you’d moved to the floor, backs to the sofa, as you looked through some of your old sketches you had found. The conversation lulled momentarily, a faraway look in his eyes, and you realised how close you had gotten. Your elbow was leaning on the sofa, supporting your head with your body twisted to face him, knee pressing against his thigh. You moved your head forwards to glance at the sketchbook, and your hand fell, resting on his shoulder. A stillness fell over him at the touch, and he smiled sadly to himself.

“I think you should come back with me.” He stated with finality, and you froze.

“What do you…”

“I think you should come back to Piltover.” He closed the book, placing it gently on the low coffee table. He was serious. “Help Jayce and I with our projects. Let me teach you about HexTech.”

“Vik, I don’t exactly have any actual experience. I don’t have an education. I can’t afford to live Topside…”

“You can live with me.” He said it so simply, like it was so obvious. Of course you would love that. Now you’d seen him again, you didn’t want to be apart from him but… “Professor Heimerdinger can give you lessons, but you have the mind already. There are certain things that can’t be taught. You have the passion, the skill, the creativity…”

“But…” You weren’t trying to pick apart his plan, but it felt terrifying. Even though it was everything you had ever wanted, it felt so far fetched. Like a fever dream. It didn’t feel like your life, your future.

“No, I… I lost you once, I can’t do it again.”

“Vik…” He grabbed your hand that was resting by his shoulder, and you felt yourself relax into his touch. He turned head to meet your eyes, sadness creeping into them.

“I don’t have much time left.” The finality of his statement shocked you, and you couldn’t tell what he was talking about. Did he have somewhere else to be? Oh god, you’d already kept him here too long…

“What do you mean, time left?”

“I’m dying.” It felt like somebody had punched you in the gut, all the air in your lungs gone.

“You’re…”

“Dying.” He repeated factually, and your heart sank further into your stomach. “And if we don’t… Jayce and I are working on something that might help, but if it doesn’t, I need someone I trust to take over from me.”

“Viktor, hold on, I need to think…” Your mind was racing, and you still couldn’t quite wrap your head around everything, hands running through your hair. He was dying. He wanted you to move Topside. He wanted you to work with him. To take over his life’s work. “It’s been years. I haven’t seen you in years and now you want me to… now you trust me to…”

“Of course.” He muttered, speaking your name softly to get your attention, hand gently wiping your face where tears had fallen without you noticing. “You’re everything to me, you always have been. There’s nothing I wouldn’t trust you with.” His hand was still resting on your face, and as you searched his eyes, you saw something else. Something pleading, something that echoed the feeling bouncing around in your heart. It would be hard. It would take a long time to settle in, to learn the ropes, to feel like you belonged. But it was your dream. To help change the world. And if he didn't have long, there was no chance you were wasting any of your time left with him.

“Ok.” You answered nodding, and you watched a smile take over his face, heart swelling at the sight.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… Vik, you’re offering me my dreams on a silver platter, and on top of it all, I get to be…” You nearly slipped, about to say be with you but you knew that was a lot. That you had only just reunited and to spring the whole I’ve loved you since I was 10 and I’ve never loved a soul since thing on him might ruin the dream that he’s just given you. But, fuck, you wanted to kiss him right now. “I get to work with you again.. there would have to be one hell of a catch for me to say no to that.”

“The whole dying thing isn’t too much of a problem then?” He asked with a slight smile, trying to hide a genuine fear beneath a joke.

“Oh, honey, knowing that we don’t have another decade of time to lose… I’m not letting you slip through my fingers this time.” His hand felt so natural resting against your cheek you’d forgotten it was there until it moved to cup the base of your neck, thumb drawing gentle lines across your jaw. His amber eyes were searching your features, looking for anything to indicate that you were unsure, but your resolve shone through, and you could see the moment he realised this was going to work, relief flooding through them.

Then, before you could process what was happening, his hand gently guided you forward until your lips brushed against his—light as a feather. For a moment, you couldn't believe he had just kissed you, that it was real. But as you met those pleading honey eyes, everything else faded away. Every doubt, every regret, every sliver of worry vanished, replaced by such overwhelming care and love that you felt you might burst. Your body gave in without conscious thought, melting into his arms as you kissed him. His hands drifted to the back of your head, tangling in your hair and pulling you closer. You couldn't get close enough, your hands gripping the front of his shirt. His fingers traced down your body until they reached your hips, pulling you over him. A soft giggle escaped into his mouth as you swung your leg over his, settling onto his lap. When he finally broke for breath, you found yourself chasing his lips, panting into the space between you with a wide smile.

His lips found yours again, this time with more urgency, more need. Your hands slid up his chest to his shoulders, steadying yourself as his grip on your hips tightened. The feeling of his fingers pressing into your skin sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan into his mouth. He smiled against your lips, one hand moving to cup your face while the other remained firmly at your waist.

"I've wanted this for so long," he whispered against your mouth, voice rough with emotion. You could only nod in response, too overwhelmed by the feeling of finally being in his arms after all these years.

The record had long since stopped playing, leaving only the sound of your shared breaths and racing hearts in the quiet apartment. His thumb traced gentle circles on your cheek as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, full of warmth and something deeper, something that had been there all along. Something that you had been too blinded by insecurity to notice earlier. Something that you knew all too well, reflected in your own heart. You pressed your lips to the mole on his cheek, and the one beside his mouth, a small smirk playing across his features as you did.

“I still can’t quite believe this is happening.” You muttered softly against his cheek, and he sighed, thumb dancing across your lips.

You eventually found yourselves entwined on your bed, limbs tangled in soft cotton sheets, his back pressed firmly against your sturdy wooden headboard as you rocked onto him with gentle, deliberate movements. Each subtle shift of your hips sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, making your breath catch. You panted softly into his mouth as his strong, careful hands helped guide your every motion, his touch both grounding and electrifying. The overwhelming need to be closer drove you to pull him tighter against you, your arms wrapping securely around his shoulders until there wasn't even a whisper of space between your bodies. Your chest pressed firmly to his, feeling his rapid heartbeat matching yours, as your head naturally found its place in the crook of his neck. You pressed feather-light kisses against the sensitive skin, tasting the salt and breathing in his familiar scent. The intimacy of the moment was almost overwhelming - so intense, so raw, so perfectly natural - and you found yourself climbing toward your peak faster than you ever had before, your body responding to his every touch as if it had been waiting for this moment forever. You whined softly into his skin as pleasure built within you, each movement bliss, and he responded with a groan as he pressed his lips tenderly to your temple.

"That feels so good, sweetheart," he drawled, his voice coarse with desire, and your hips instinctively bucked harder against him, drawing a sharp gasp from both of you. His meticulous fingers traced teasing patterns across your hipbones before finding their way between your bodies, circling your sensitive clit with perfectly measured pressure that made your toes curl. His other hand gently cupped your chin, drawing you back until your eyes met his, gilded with desire but still so full of tenderness. His lips ghosted across yours before he pressed his forehead to your own, releasing your face and returning his hand to your hip, guiding you once more. You could feel yourself fluttering around him as your pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak, and his eyes rolled back, a broken groan escaping his lips and filling the charged space between you. The coil of pleasure wound tighter and tighter as you approached your climax, desperately seeking more of him, claiming his mouth in a deep, passionate kiss that swallowed the stream of desperate moans spilling from both your lips. When your release finally crashed over you, it was like nothing you'd ever experienced - all the pressure, all the built-up desperation exploded like a supernova and pure, white-hot ecstasy consumed every nerve ending, every thought, every sensation except the feeling of him inside you and against you. He followed shortly after, gasping your name like a prayer against your skin as his own pleasure overtook him, his lips finding purchase on your neck as he shuddered through his release. In that moment, it was perfection, hearing him, feeling him, everything you had ever dreamed of and more. But as you came down from your shared bliss, you couldn't quite silence the intruding thought lurking at the edges of your consciousness - that you wouldn’t have him for long.

***

She looked so peaceful curled against him, her head nestled perfectly in the crook of his chest as if she belonged there, her beautiful red hair fanning out like a fiery halo in the dim light. Her beauty was staggering - the gentle slope of her nose, the delicate arch of her brows, the soft curve of her lips - and he couldn't help but trace each feature with his fingertips, mapping the geography of her face with tender precision. She sighed contentedly in her sleep at his touch, unconsciously pressing closer to him, one hand curling loosely in the fabric of his sheets that lay across them. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this complete, this profoundly at peace, as if all the jagged pieces of his life had suddenly aligned. His fingers continued their gentle exploration, committing every detail to memory - the light dusting of freckles across her nose, the subtle flutter of her eyelashes, the way her lips curved slightly downwards even in sleep. He wanted to capture this moment, to carry it with him always like a talisman, a protection. A reminder that he would do anything to preserve her peace of mind. To make her happy.

The soft amber from the bedside lamp caught in her hair and painted her skin in warm honey tones, making her look almost otherworldly in her beauty, an ethereal being who had chosen, inexplicably, to be with him. He pressed his lips to her forehead in a feather-light kiss, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair, before letting his own eyes drift closed. Despite everything - the illness creeping through his veins, the uncertainty that clouded their future like a torrential storm on the horizon - right now, everything felt exactly as it should be.

[alsofoundinpeas]

Only Ever You

Summary: Y/N knows her husband can be a bit oblivious when it comes to women flirting with him, but when a local officer oversteps during their latest case, she reaches her breaking point. She’s exhausted from feeling like she’s always second to every other woman. Now, it's up to Spencer to prove that no one will ever come before her.

Requested fic!! : I was hoping you could write an angsty-angry-smutty fic surrounding Spencer exasperatingly telling Reader: “Cat Adams could offer herself up wide open on a bed. In fact she has! JJ could leave Will for me. Maeve could fucking walk back in here right now. And I would still choose you!”

At some point in their love-making Reader tells Spencer “you always choose women who take and take and take from you. Giving nothing of themselves back but you deserve everything. I want to give you my everything”. They essentially worship each other endlessly. In so many ways.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+!! MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. This was written with Season 14 Reid in mind btw :) Intense argument between Reader and Spencer (Reader is hurt and is kind of harsh). Very brief mentions of past infidelity (done by Reader's ex-partners). Jealous reader!! Crying during arguing (very brief by both parties). Oral (both m and f receiving), fingering (f!receiving), overstimulation (both m and f receiving), unprotected PinV sex (be safe irl!!), multiple orgasms (both m and f receiving), creampie (I wince every time I type that LMAO), slight exhibitionism (a call is made during sex), praise. Angst turned happy ending!!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader/afab!reader

A/N: First and foremost, thank you so very much to the anon who requested this!! I truly hope you enjoy it and that I wrote what you were hoping for :') <3 To everyone reading, welcome to my first fic of the new year!! I hope you guys enjoy it :) As always, please let me know what you guys think! If you like it, please consider dropping a like, reblogging it, or even sharing it with your friends :') I love you all!! <3 K

Something Y/N loathed about herself was her tendency to get overly jealous whenever other women (or even some men) were around Spencer. It wasn’t a matter of trusting him—she trusted Spencer with her life. But no amount of trust could erase the scars left by the betrayal of past partners who had cheated on her.

Y/N tried to hold back her annoyance whenever JJ hung around Spencer for what she considered far too long to be just friendly. She bit her tongue whenever a witness or suspect flirted with him. She had even managed to keep her cool one night when they went out for drinks with the team (a rare occasion) and Y/N returned from the bathroom to find the bartender borderline eye-fucking Spencer, even going so far as to reach for his arm.

Spencer’s obliviousness to women's advances toward him often made her blood boil, and as she had watched him that night, a knot of frustration tightened in her stomach. Her anger simmered, rising bitterly in her throat as she made her way toward them. Y/N knew the bartender had seen his wedding band—it was something Spencer wore like a badge of honor, always proudly visible.

Thankfully, Spencer pulled his arm away before she had to intervene, ranting about how the drink was meant for her, his wife before paying and storming back to their booth, clearly irked. In that moment, Y/N’s anger evaporated, replaced by a rush of relief as she was reminded of Spencer's unwavering love for her, a love he would always prove, with or without her presence. Rather than confronting the bartender, she turned and returned to the booth, curling up against Spencer with a contented smile, enjoying the rest of the night in his arms.

Tonight, Y/N struggled to remember that reminder as she cast a fierce glare at the back of Spencer's head from across the room.

The team had been dispatched to a small town in Oregon to investigate a particularly disturbing case where the unsub was leaving his victims strung up in the state forest along popular hiking trails, their stomachs or backs marked with cryptic quotes. Over the week, Spencer had struck up an unexpected connection with Officer Henley, a local who shared his deep knowledge of Edgar Allan Poe—particularly The Raven, from which the unsub was drawing his quotes. As the case dragged on, Y/N couldn’t ignore the growing tension, especially as Officer Henley—or Sarah, who kept insisting Spencer call her by her first name—made her interest in him all too apparent, while both women silently made their distaste for each other clear.

Tonight was testing Y/N’s patience and professionalism like never before. Spencer and Sarah had been assigned to decode the latest quote found on a victim, while Y/N focused on the geographical profile. Normally, she preferred the analysis over fieldwork, but tonight she would have rather been out in the damp forest searching for overlooked clues with the rest of the team than endure Sarah's loud, incessant laughter at some meaningless joke her husband had made.

Spencer, naturally, was just glad someone appreciated his sense of humor and remained blissfully unaware of Sarah’s clear attempts to flirt with him. To be honest, he found her a bit clingy and annoying, but he attributed it to her enthusiasm as a new officer—she had only joined the precinct a few months ago—and the excitement of working on a case far more intense than the usual petty theft or minor civil dispute her town had.

After another round of high-pitched laughter, Y/N reached her breaking point. With an exasperated sigh, she slammed the box of pins onto the table and stood up abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. So consumed by frustration, she didn't even realize one of the pins had punctured the thin plastic until she reached for the doorknob, a muffled curse slipping from her lips as she noticed blood trickling down her finger.

The loud noise startled both Sarah and Spencer, causing them to turn quickly as Y/N stormed out of the room. Spencer’s brow furrowed with concern, and without a second thought, he excused himself, brushing past Sarah’s confused calls. It didn't take long for him to find Y/N in the breakroom, huddled in the corner, carefully applying a band-aid to her finger.

"Honey? Are you okay?" Spencer asked worriedly, making his way toward her.

Y/N looked up, unable to help the disgruntled look on her face as she huffed. “I’m fine. It was just a small poke, really. I don’t know why it bled so much,” she murmured, looking away to take a sip of the coffee she’d poured for herself.

The clock above the break room door ticked on, its hands marking a quarter past nine. Y/N's frustration simmered, a mix of exhaustion from the sleepless nights and irritation at Spencer’s obliviousness to Sarah’s clear interest in him. For someone with such sharp profiling skills, it baffled her that Spencer couldn't seem to read the obvious signs when it came to women.

Where he failed to read other women and their intentions, he had no such trouble with Y/N. He could read her effortlessly, which is why he immediately knew she was lying.

Spencer took a seat beside her, his gaze fixed on her face intently. He sat quietly for a moment before speaking up.

“What’s bothering you, sweetheart? Talk to me. Please?”

Spencer knew Y/N tended to bottle things up instead of letting them out, reluctant to share her feelings for fear of burdening him. He detested anyone in her life who had contributed to that insecurity. In his eyes, she would never be a bother for simply expressing how she felt.

Before Y/N could respond, her phone rang, and she silently welcomed the interruption. She wasn’t sure she could explain to Spencer why she was so upset—especially over something as irrational as him making another woman laugh. She knew, logically, that he would never (knowingly) encourage any flirting, yet the feeling still nagged at her. He was her husband. She loved him more than anything, and the idea of another woman encroaching on what they had stung more than she cared to admit.

Y/N held a finger up before answering the call with a brisk “Agent Y/L/N speaking.”

“Yikes, that was cold. You okay?”

When Tara’s voice came through the phone, Y/N immediately felt a twinge of guilt for how she’d answered, but it quickly faded as her shoulders eased and she exhaled softly.

“I’ll explain later. What’s up?”

“We’re not making any progress here, and since it’s so late, Emily thinks we should head to the Inn and get some rest. You definitely sound like you could use it,” Tara said with a soft chuckle.

She wasn’t wrong. The case, combined with Sarah’s behavior, had Y/N feeling stretched thin and irritable. The sleep deprivation certainly wasn’t helping. A small grin tugged at her lips before she replied.

“You know me too well, ma’am. You get some rest too. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Y/N hung up the phone and met Spencer’s inquisitive gaze. “That was Tara. Emily gave the go-ahead to wrap up and head to the Inn,” she explained, offering him a small, tired smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Spencer nodded, his gaze lingering on her with quiet concern as they stood. He said nothing as they walked back to the conference room to pack up for the night, choosing not to press her about whatever was troubling her. He made a mental note to bring it up later, at a better time. They still had an unsub to catch, and adding more stress to an already challenging case wouldn’t help either of them.

After five more long, excruciating days of watching Sarah blatantly flirt with her husband and ignoring the team's questioning glances, Y/N finally got the break she all but begged the universe for.

By some miracle, they had finally tracked down the unsub. A slip-up at his latest crime scene had not only left his DNA behind, but he was also in the system for previous crimes and still lived at the same address. The evidence they found in his home during the arrest was more than damning, so Emily decided the local police captain could take it from there, handling the interrogation and everything else.

The flight back to Quantico was tense, and Y/N chose to sit with Tara instead of Spencer. His defense of Sarah—especially after Y/N confronted her for grabbing his phone and putting her number in it "as a friend"—had been the breaking point. Now, she was actively ignoring him, despite his repeated pleas at the Inn while they packed for her to just tell him what was wrong so he could fix it. She knew it was petty. She knew she should be mature and talk to him about it. But she was hurt. All she wanted was for her husband to recognize when other women were making moves on him before it crossed a line—like with the bartender who thought it was okay to touch him.

The drive home was unbearable. Spencer’s hands were clenched around the wheel, his knuckles pale from the pressure, while Y/N faced the window, staring out into the darkness, her body turned away from him. The silence between them was deafening, with neither of them saying a word the entire ride.

That silence ended the instant Y/N slammed the door behind them after they’d brought in their go-bags.

“Y/N, seriously, what the fuck is your problem?” Spencer snapped, his frustration bubbling over. He had tried being patient, asking her again and again to just tell him what was wrong, but now he was done. After the long, grueling case they'd gotten back from, all he wanted was to hold his wife, not fight with her.

“What the fuck is my problem?!” Y/N scoffed incredulously. “What the fuck is your problem Spencer?”

Y/N stormed toward their bedroom, flinging her bag into the corner to deal with later. Spinning on her heels, she brushed past Spencer—who had been trailing her—and made her way to the kitchen. Spencer sighed, setting his bag next to their closet and placing his phone on his nightstand before turning to follow after her.

“Or better yet, why don’t you ask Sarah what my problem is?” she shot at him, her words laced with bitterness. “After all, she was kind enough to give you her number, and you two seem to get along so well!” Y/N stopped abruptly, turning to face him, her expression fierce.

Spencer scoffed, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head as he crossed his arms. "Seriously? You’re this upset because a woman was being friendly with me?"

Y/N laughed sharply, the mix of anger and hurt making her delirious. She nodded slowly, lifting her gaze to his, her tongue pressing into her cheek as her eyes narrowed. With a deliberate step forward, she closed the distance between them. “As brilliant as you are, that might just be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say in all the years I’ve known you,” she hissed, her glare fiery as she looked up at him.

Spencer's throat tightened as his pulse quickened, staring at her in disbelief. He had never seen his wife so furious, and a sinking feeling of dread settled deep in his stomach. His lips parted, but before he could speak, she turned on her heel, moving around the counter to put space between them.

“I’m at a loss, Spencer,” Y/N sighed, her head dropping as her fingers drummed against the countertop. “If you honestly think her behavior was just friendly, I don’t even know what to say to you.” She looked up at him, her voice shaking with frustration as she got louder and louder. “And on top of all that, you defended her over me—your wife! Do you know how embarrassing that was? I would never, in a million years, defend another man over you!”

With the case no longer consuming his thoughts, Spencer took a moment to truly reflect on Sarah’s behavior. What he had once brushed off as clingy and overenthusiastic now seemed undeniably inappropriate. He had been so focused on the case that he hadn’t given it the attention it deserved.

Y/N was right, and he knew now that he’d been wrong to defend another woman over her. He had convinced himself that Y/N was overreacting when Sarah put her number in his phone, but now he understood. Y/N was his wife, and the guilt of making her feel hurt and humiliated weighed heavily on him.

“Y/N—“ Spencer hesitated, sighing before he continued. “Sweetheart, I never meant to make you feel like I was putting someone else before you. You know that, right?” Spencer’s voice was soft, his guilt clear in every word.

Y/N’s lip quivered as she stared at him, shaking her head before releasing a strained breath.

“No, Spencer. I don’t know that. Because, no matter what, I always end up on the back burner when it comes to other women in your life. Sometimes, it honestly feels like you’re deliberately oblivious to it—like you don’t care enough to notice or do something about it. Like you’ll always choose another woman over me."

Her words hit Spencer harder than he expected, stirring up a well of emotion he hadn’t realized was there. Anger bubbled up inside him, but it wasn’t aimed at her—not for a second. It was anger directed at himself, for making Y/N feel like she would ever come second to anyone.

Spencer realized now why he had been so oblivious to the other women’s attention. It was because he was so in love with her, so completely devoted, that he couldn’t even entertain the idea of anyone else wanting him. He didn’t care about them in the slightest—how could he when he had the most incredible, most beautiful woman alive as his wife?

“Is that… is that truly how I’ve made you feel?” Spencer whispers, a devastated look on his face as he took a trembling step toward her. “Like I’d choose any other woman over you, sweetheart?”

Y/N nodded, swallowing down the lump in her throat as a tear slipped down her cheek at the admission.

Spencer slowly made his way around the counter, giving her time to back away if she didn’t want him near her right now. Once he reached her, he gently guided her face up to look at his before swiping the tear from her cheek.

“My darling girl,” he murmured, his voice unwavering as he cradled her face. “Cat Adams could offer herself up to me wide open on a bed a thousand times—it wouldn’t matter. JJ could walk away from Will tonight, tomorrow, whenever, and it wouldn’t change a thing. Even if Maeve herself walked through that door right now…” Spencer paused, his expression softening. “I’d still choose you. Always you. Only you. In this life, and in every life. Without a second of hesitation. Without an ounce of doubt.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at his words, her eyes studying his face for any indication that he was lying. But all she saw was raw honesty and regret, his eyes brimming with tears. Her eyes closed as another tear slipped down her cheek, and slowly, she leaned into his touch, her shoulders finally giving way with a quiet surrender.

"You really mean that?" Y/N asked, her insecurity still overpowering the evidence before her.

Spencer pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her as he gently cradled the back of her head with one hand and drew her waist against him with the other. “Of course I mean it, my sweet girl,” he murmured, pressing his face into her hair, his eyes slipping shut. “I’m so, truly sorry for not showing you that sooner. But I swear, from now on, I will. No one—no one—could ever mean more to me than you.”

Y/N kept her arms around him, her face pressed against his chest as she let his words sink in. After a beat, she pulled back with a soft exhale, wiping her eyes before meeting his gaze. “I’m still angry with you,” she said, poking a finger into his chest before trailing her hand up to gently tug at his tie. “But that definitely helped your case,” she added, a playful spark lighting her eyes as she slowly untied his knot. “I might even let you sleep in our bed tonight.”

A low chuckle rumbled in Spencer’s chest as he raised an eyebrow, his hands settling on her waist while she worked at his tie. “Any chance I can turn that ‘might’ into a ‘will’?” he murmured, his voice laced with teasing. “Because I can think of a few ways to plead my case.”

As he spoke, his hands slid underneath her blouse to rub maddening circles into her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Y/N tilted her head, humming thoughtfully as she let his loose tie slip from her fingers, falling to the floor. It had been almost two weeks since the last time she and Spencer had done anything remotely sexual, and the idea of make-up sex was more than appealing.

“We’ll see,” Y/N whispered, a playful smirk tugging at her lips as she pressed her hand against his chest and rose onto her toes to kiss him.

Spencer melted into the kiss, turning to press her gently against the counter. A low groan escaped his lips before he deepened the kiss, trailing a hand down her side to hike her leg up around his waist while the other settled against the side of her neck. His thumb stroked her jawline as he pressed further into her touch.

"I love how hard you get from just a few kisses," Y/N muttered against his lips. "Maybe you really are sorry after all."

"My angel girl," Spencer cooed between kisses, trailing his lips down her neck to her exposed collarbone. "I'll prove to you—" A soft gasp fell from Y'N's lips as he sucked a mark into her skin. "—just how sorry I am…” Her head tipped back as he began to kneel before her, placing both hands on her waist as he peppered kisses down her clothed body. “And worship you in the way you’ve deserved—“ Her gaze met his as he lifted her foot, resting it on his thigh before undoing the strap of her high heel. “—for so, so long.”

Y/N’s hands gripped the counter as she watched him through hooded eyes, a breath of relief releasing into the air as he slipped her shoe off, letting it hit the ground beside them with a quiet thump. He kept her foot on his thigh, placing a kiss on her knee through her slacks as he began to massage her tense calf muscles under the fabric. Once he was satisfied with the appreciative groans falling from her lips, he did the same with the other side, removing her high heel and massaging her leg.

Spencer sat her foot back down on the ground before reaching for the button of her slacks, popping it open. Her breath hitched as he leaned forward, tugging her zipper down with his teeth. The moment her zipper was completely down, he reached up, startling her from her haze as he yanked the fabric down her legs.

“Spence!” Y/N said, her laugh tinged with amusement as he merely shrugged, a mischievous spark in his eyes and a smirk tugging at his lips.

He helped her step out of the fabric, keeping his hands on her hips to steady her while she kicked her pants to the side. His lips eagerly pressed to her newly exposed skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the waistband of her panties. “You’re not the only one that’s still angry here,” Spencer mumbled against her skin, tracing his fingers up her thighs to drag her soaked panties down her legs.

“Wait… what are you angry about?” Y/N's face contorted, caught between confusion and irritation.

“I’m angry—“ A wet kiss pressed against her hip bone. “At myself—“ Another wet kiss pressed to her outer thigh. “For making you feel—“ Her face relaxed as he eased her left thigh over his shoulder. “Like I’d ever—“ A series of soft kisses to her inner thigh made her tense with anticipation. “Put anyone else above you, sweetheart.”

In one swift movement, his tongue dragged up her arousal, a guttural groan rumbling against her slick skin as he began to devour her. Y/N’s hands shot out to thread through his hair with a sharp gasp, her mouth dropping open as moans started to spill from her lips. His hands found her ass, gripping her tightly and digging his fingertips into the soft flesh there as he all but suffocated himself in her folds.

"Oh my—" Y/N rasped, cutting herself off with a whine as he let out a needy moan in response.

Her grip on his hair tightened, pulling him impossibly closer as she began to rock her hips against his face. Her eyes squeezed shut, bursts of color flickering behind her eyelids as Spencer worked his mouth against her. His movements alternated between fucking his tongue into her and suckling her clit greedily, the combination hurtling her toward her orgasm.

Spencer was painfully hard, his erection tenting his slacks as he reveled in the taste of her. One of his favorite things to do after a stressful case (which, frankly, was most of them) was bury his face between her thighs. Her taste was truly addictive, and he'd find himself craving it the longer he went without having her. It was as though the more he could make her legs shake around his head and the harder he could make her cum, the faster the stress evaporated from his body. And now he was working extra hard to make her feel good, eager to redeem himself for his behavior.

A tremulous moan ripped through the air as Y/N hunched over, whimpering his name mindlessly as her first orgasm of the night tore through her. Spencer groaned into her as her nails dug into his scalp, the slight sting sending a pang of longing coursing through him as he ached to feel those nails dragging down his back. His movements slowed, easing her through the aftermath of her climax as she panted above him. Once she was whining and shoving his head away, he gently lowered her leg to the ground, standing with a soft chuckle as she swayed slightly.

“Easy, sweetheart. Come on, hold on to me,” Spencer murmured, his hand soothingly rubbing her back as she clung to him.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, burying her face in his chest as she trembled in his embrace. "God, you're too good at that," she sighed, placing a kiss on his collarbone before pulling back to look up at him. "Take me to our room so I can return the favor?"

The grin on her face was infectious, and Spencer found himself smiling as he nodded. "Yes ma'am," he murmured teasingly.

They stripped their remaining clothes in between giggly kisses, littering the hallway with the fabric before they finally made it into their room. Y/N looped her arms around Spencer's neck, backing him against the closed door as she leaned up to kiss him hungrily. Spencer's hands roamed her body, whimpering into her mouth as her hand trailed down his body to wrap around his cock.

"Honey, you really don't have to—"

Spencer hissed against her lips, his sentence interrupted as she began to pump her hand slowly. "I'm supposed to be making it up to you—"

Y/N shushed him, nipping his lower lip gently before breaking their kiss completely. His cock twitched in her hand from the way she was looking up at him so reverently, and he swallowed hard as he stopped his protesting.

"You always chose women who took and took from you, offering nothing in return. But you deserve everything, my sweet boy. I want to give you all that I am, just like you give me all that you are. Let me make you feel good too, Spence."

There was no room for argument as her words hung in the air, causing his heart to tighten. She was right. He’d always been drawn to selfish partners, always putting their needs before his own. Or, in Cat Adam's case, completely insane women hellbent on draining him of his sanity. That was what made Y/N so surprising to him from the start. Even when they were just colleagues with unspoken crushes, long before they were a couple, she was the one woman who always made a point to put him first.

When he nodded, she grinned in satisfaction, placing one last lingering kiss on his lips before sinking to her knees. Spencer felt like his brain malfunctioned anytime he was lucky enough to see her like this—kiss swollen lips glistening as she wet her lips, or her pupils dilated so much he could barely make out the color in her beautiful irises as she stared up at him. No matter how many times he saw her like this, he would never stop being captivated by how stunning she was.

His head fell back against the door with a solid thunk as his brows pinched together at the feeling of her lips wrapping around the swollen head of his arousal, a sharp exhale leaving his nose as he tried to steady himself. She'd barely touched him and yet he could already feel his stomach tightening simply from the anticipation of what he knew was coming next. A throaty moan filled the air as she swirled her tongue around him before taking his length deeper, gagging slightly as he hit the back of her throat.

"Fuck!" Spencer whined, forcing himself to look down at her instead of squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure. "Love it when you take me so deep, sweetheart. Just like that—"

Y/N smirked smugly around her mouthful, beginning to bob her head up and down his aching cock. One of her favorite things about Spencer was how, despite everyone seeing him as soft-spoken and mild-mannered because he rarely cursed in front of others, he had an absolutely filthy mouth when they did anything even remotely sexual. It felt like her own dirty little secret, and she couldn't help but revel in it.

It didn't take long for his hips to begin bucking gently into her mouth, his hands cradling the back of her head as his chest heaved. Helpless moans slipped from his lips between murmured praises, his hooded eyes locked on her so as not to miss a single second of the show she was putting on for him.

"So fucking pretty with my cock between your lips. My pretty girl. God, I'm the luckiest man to ever exist to have you as my wife—" Spencer crooned between labored breaths, his teeth digging harshly into his lower lip as a guttural groan cut off his rambling. "I'm close— I-I'm— fuck!"

Spencer cried out as Y/N swallowed around his cock, her nose pressing into the soft curls at the base of him as saliva dripped down her chin and onto her chest. The feeling of her moaning around him sent him over the edge, a string of whorish moans and whimpers falling from his open mouth as he painted the back of her throat with his essence. His knees almost buckled as she kept sucking through his orgasm, a pitiful whine leaving him as she finally released him with a slick 'pop'.

Despite feeling like he'd quite literally had his soul sucked from his body, Spencer still held his hand out to help her up from the ground. He pulled her into him as she stood, pressing sweet kisses to the top of her head as he caught his breath. Y/N peppered kisses along his warm skin, more than pleased with herself.

"Get on the bed," Spencer mumbled hoarsely into her hair, landing a gentle smack to her ass.

Y/N eagerly obliged, crawling into the middle of their bed and situating herself amongst their pillows. Her gaze fell on him as he slowly made his way over, her breath hitching at the ravenous look in his eyes.

Spencer had always been a generous lover, making sure she came at least twice before their lovemaking ended. Throughout their relationship, he tended to lean more on the submissive side, happily allowing Y/N to guide their intimate moments any way she saw fit. But after prison, it was like something had snapped in him.

Now, he wasn’t afraid to get rough with her (within her limits, of course). Where he’d once been hesitant to grip too hard or move too fast, he’d now easily leave fingerprint-shaped bruises and pound into her until tears leaked from her eyes from how good it felt. There were still days when he’d let Y/N take the reigns, days when the world was so heavy that all he wanted to do was shut his brain off and let her use him to get herself off, but those days were rare.

Y/N welcomed the change with open arms, excited to let Spencer tap into and explore his more dominant side. Truthfully, she was surprised by how much she enjoyed letting go of control. Her job forced her to be tougher than she liked—always having to stand her ground with local officers or unsubs who underestimated her simply because she was a woman. With Spencer, it felt freeing to leave that hard-edged persona behind, letting him dote on her and take control of her pleasure.

Spencer stopped at the foot of their bed, a wicked look on his face as he observed her. Y/N felt her cheeks warm under the scrutiny of his gaze, shifting restlessly as she waited to see what he was going to do. He kneeled onto the mattress, shuffling forward until he hovered above her.

Instead of speaking, he ducked down and left a lingering kiss on her forehead before lying on his side beside her. Y/N shifted to face him, but he stopped her, keeping her in place on her back. "Like this, sweetheart," he whispered, pressing his lips against her temple. He propped up, guiding his right arm underneath her so he could cradle her head while nipping her earlobe gently.

Spencer trailed a hand down her body, chuckling as she squirmed in his hold. He gripped her thigh firmly, bringing her leg up to rest on his waist to allow him better access to her dripping folds. Spencer began kissing down her neck, relishing in the soft sighs Y/N let out as he angled his hips to nudge the head of his hardening cock against her pussy.

"Need you so bad, Spence—" Y/N whimpered as his hand left her thigh to rub teasing circles against her clit. "Please!"

Spencer hummed, dipping his head down to take her nipple into his mouth as he picked up the pace of his fingers. When she whined louder, he dipped a finger down to tease her entrance and swirled his tongue around her pert bud in retaliation.

"Shh, pretty girl. I'll take care of you," Spencer cooed as he pulled away from her breast. "I always do," he murmured, pressing his finger into her while meeting her lips in a tender kiss.

One of Spencer's favorite things about this position was how accessible it made her. He loved having her spread open for him, unable to do much of anything besides take the pleasure he delivered. He also loved how deep it allowed him to get, able to bring her to the brink over and over because of the constant stimulation to her g-spot.

Moans continued to spill from Y/N's lips as he added a second finger, her hips rolling into his touch frantically. Calling their kiss a kiss seemed too generous—it was more a messy, half-hearted press of lips together. She reached up, tugging at his curls hard as her climax rapidly approached. She was so close—

Spencer swiftly removed his fingers, breaking their kiss to stuff the digits into her mouth before she could complain. He thrust his hips forward, pushing into her in one smooth movement. Y/N let out a muffled cry around his fingers, her eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of him filling her.

"God— shit, baby," Spencer groaned loudly, stilling his hips once he bottomed out to let her adjust. "Always so fucking wet and so fucking tight."

She clenched hard around him, still dangerously close to cumming. Spencer pressed his forehead to her temple as he began to move, thrusting into her in slow, hard thrusts. His right hand stroked her hair while his left slipped from her lips to grip her thigh again, keeping her spread open for him as his pace began to increase.

"So good for me, sweetheart. So perfect," Spencer panted, driving into her in sharp, wild thrusts now. He could tell she was close, and he wanted to feel her falling apart around his cock more than anything.

"Feels so good, Spence," Y/N whined, panting as the pleasure began to coil tightly in her stomach. "Always fuck me so good—"

A choked moan ripped its way from her throat as she came around him, the feeling of her clenching around him causing Spencer's hips to falter as he cursed under his breath. Y/N writhed beneath him, whimpering as he kept his grip tight on her thigh to keep her from clamping her legs shut.

"You can take another one, can't you pretty girl?" Spencer murmured, moving to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone as he slowed his hips to help ease her through the overstimulation. "I know you can," he cooed encouragingly. "My precious girl. You always take me so well."

Y/N nodded frantically, the sting of overstimulation beginning to fade back into dizzying pleasure as he fucked into her gently. Spencer pressed a kiss to her shoulder, praising her softly before an idea came to mind. He wanted her to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that no other woman could ever take her place or come before her, right?

What better way to do that than by calling the woman who sparked this argument and showing her exactly what she couldn’t have and who she could never be?

Spencer slowed his thrusts to a halt, chuckling breathlessly as Y/N whined in protest. "On your stomach for me, sweetheart," he coaxed her gently, slipping out of her so she could flip over.

Once she was settled on her front, Spencer slipped a pillow beneath her hips and kissed the back of her head before bending to whisper into her ear.

"How would you feel if I called Sarah right now to show her exactly how much my gorgeous wife means to me—and how insignificant her 'friendship' is in comparison?"

Y/N grinned smugly, shoving her face into the pillow tucked under her head as her face warmed. Was it petty? Absolutely. Had she ever been more turned on than when she heard those words leave her husband's lips? She doubted it. It felt almost primal, staking her claim in such a way. But Sarah more than deserved it for how she'd acted... so fuck it.

"Do it."

Spencer smirked at her muffled words, reaching for his phone and setting it beside them. He lined back up at her entrance, pushing into her with a groan as her warmth enveloped him once more. Once he set a steady rhythm, with Y/N so lost in her pleasure she'd almost forgotten about their plan entirely, he hit dial on Sarah's contact.

Sarah groggily sat up, reaching for her phone as it rang. A sly smirk tugged at her lips when she saw who was calling, and she answered with a hint of excitement. "Well, hey there, handsome. Does your wife know you’re calling me at this hour?" she purred, her grin widening as she waited for him to speak. She knew he was into her—

Sarah’s brows furrowed as she was met with rustling on the other end of the line followed by a very clear moan. Her smile dropped, her mouth gaping open in shock as she listened.

“Fuck, Y/N—“ Spencer’s muffled grunt came through the speakers before he continued, the bed squeaking with each rough thrust. “I love you so fucking much. My beautiful wife. God, sweetheart—"

Sarah dropped the phone, appalled by what was happening on the other end and embarrassed by how confidently she'd answered the phone. One thing was clear—he definitely wasn't into her. Her face burned as she realized she hadn't actually ended the call, the sound of muffled moans streaming through the phone as she hunted for it in the covers. Once it was back in her hands, Sarah ended the call abruptly, blinking hard as she stared down at the screen while she tried to process what had just happened. Spencer had to have butt-dialed her... right?

Spencer chuckled darkly as he realized Sarah had ended the call, reaching up to shove the phone further up the bed and out of the way before he began pounding even harder into Y/N. She was close again, clenching deliciously around him and hurtling him towards his own orgasm just as quickly. He clasped their hands together, shoving them into the mattress as he buried his head in the crook of her neck with a guttural groan.

"I'm cumming— fuck, Spence, fuck!" Y/N cried out, thrashing underneath him as she came so hard her vision blacked at the edges.

Spencer followed suit, burying himself inside of her with a choked groan as he came. His head rested on her shoulder, his hips rocking gently through the aftershocks of their orgasms until they were both whimpering from the sensitivity. He pressed one last, lingering kiss to her flushed skin before rolling off of her and onto the bed with a deep exhale.

Spencer pulled Y/N into him, stroking a hand down her back as she trembled. "Such a good girl, sweetheart. Always do so good for me. My beautiful girl. I love you so much," he whispered reverently, holding her while she came down from her high.

"I love you, Spence. With everything that I am," Y/N whispered back, lifting herself up enough to kiss him tenderly.

It took a few minutes before either of them could get up to get cleaned up, with Spencer guiding her to the bathroom with a hand wrapped around her waist to steady her. Their shower was spent murmuring apologies and praises to each other, the both of them expressing just how much they loved each other between soapy passes of the loofah and tired giggles as they washed away the remnants of the night. And as he wrapped her into a towel, Spencer couldn't help the grin that broke across his face at her quiet words.

"You can absolutely sleep in the bed tonight—just as long as you change the sheets first."

Continued A/N's: I still have a few requests to fill after this and then I'll be posting some original ideas before I open requests back up! Thank you guys so much for the requests, they've been so much fun to write and I hope you guys are enjoying them as much as I am! :') <3

REMINDER: I do NOT give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

[alchemistc]

Taking care of Evan is a novelty, for Tommy.

It had taken them a few missteps, a few hesitant months of learning each other, to really fall into it the way they have now, so he doesn't take for granted the way Eddie pats him on the back and slinks out the door before Evan can go another round of conspiracy theory debate with him, doesn't take for granted the way Evan pouts his ass off all the way to the car knowing Tommy is going to take the doctors instructions not to sleep on a flat surface to heart, doesn't take for granted the way he lets Tommy shoulder his weight on his good side in and out of the elevator, or the sullen twist of his lip while Tommy plops him in his arm chair and heads upstairs to grab them both something to sleep in.

Evan's already got his laptop set up in his lap by the time Tommy makes it back downstairs. It's an argument in the making, Tommy knows it, and yet -

"Don't start," Evan says the moment Tommy tilts his head, like he knows exactly what Tommy's going to say, and Tommy shifts on his feet, lifts a hand up to sluice through his messy curls, and Evans eyes dip closed, a low hum rumbling in his throat.

"You should rest," he says, and Evan's eyes drift open, sliding up to meet Tommy's stubbornly.

"Billy Boils ruined date night, Tommy, and now I don't even get to sleep next to you."

"Will it make you feel better to know neither one of us is enjoying your mattress tonight?"

Evan's gaze darts towards the couch, and he can see it bubbling up - the protests that he's fine, that at least one of them should be comfortable, that it's not necessary - and then they fall away. It'd been a fucking gift, the first time Evan had just let himself be taken care of, and Tommy doesn't take for granted the way Evan's shoulders drift back down from his ears, the pink of his cheeks as he shoots Tommy a pleased look through his lashes.

Tommy tweaks an earlobe and one of Evan's hands drifts up from the keyboard to snag his fingers and squeeze, and Tommy aches, bone deep. No one has ever let him in like this. No one has ever accepted Tommy's desperate need to take care of someone quite like this before.

"Half an hour of Billy Boils and then it's time to sleep, Evan."

The hand around his squeezes, again, before the bratty little look returns to his face. "Yes dad," he snipes, and Tommy flicks a freed finger against his earlobe in retaliation this time.

All in all it's probably closer to an hour. He's in the bathroom, halfway out of his jeans before he decides he should get Evan a pillow now, before the day fully catches up to him, and Evan sneaks a few ass-grabs while he's trying to situate the thing comfortably. Halfway through a quick shower Evan presses through the bathroom door under the guise of brushing his teeth, but once he's rinsed the conditioner out of his hair he catches Evan's lingering gaze, toothbrush long forgotten in his hand, and Tommy has to shoo him out despite how tempting his little come-hither look is. Dried and dressed, he ends up taking three separate trips up the stairs, first for a pillow and blanket of his own, then again for the hoodie it takes a lot of gentle maneuvering to get Evan into, a third time for the bottle of ibuprofen he left up there on maybe the first trip.

By the time he's switching out ice packs and setting a glass of water down, Evan is fully immersed in his rabbit hole, and Tommy is exhausted.

He knows even as he's shutting the light behind him off and drifting to the sound of Evan's voice that it's a losing battle to try to pull Evan from his deep dive. It doesn't stop him from trying one last time before he's lost to the pull of sleep.

---

The thing is, no one's ever let him take care of them like this before.

He's dated the stubborn assholes who refuse because of some lethal combination of ego and masculinity, dated the guys who take one look at him and make some startlingly off base assumptions that somehow still crop up in the gay community as often as in hetero circles. He's always sort of assumed it was a failing on his part - the inability to communicate his desire to be of service, a terrible taste in men who do nothing to compliment his personality.

He'd held the door open for Evan, hand gentle on his back as he guided him into Micelli's, that first time, and he'd watched the pulse in Evan's neck skip and the shy way he'd ducked his head and nearly bumped into the hostess stand, and that alone had made it a hell of a lot harder to abandon Evan at the curb than he'd have liked.

He's never dated someone new, before, and maybe that's part of it too - he'd come out just in time to slam head first into a bunch of labels and roles, with no anchor points, no cadre of queer friends to help him navigate, and he'd run the gamut of shitty one night stands, casual hookups, semi-casual dating, one serious relationship that had made him seriously consider setting down his landing gear and grounding himself for good.

He'd been six months back into the dating game, after a long hard look in the mirror and a frankly terrible conversation with his father, when Evan Buckley stumbled his way into a drawn out handshake and a comedic series of events that had culminated in Tommy being tastefully mauled in the lobby of an emergency room while three nurses tittered behind their hands.

It hadn't taken him long at all to realize that it hadn't just been nerves that made Evan's heart rate jump, in the doorway of an Italian place on his first date with a man.

It was the little things, at first.

A grimace when Evan tilted his head against the back of the couch and Tommy's hand had curled around his neck and searched out knotted muscle - a bone deep sigh when his fingers pressed in and Evan was putty in his arms half-a-minute later.

Evan halfway down a Wikipedia rabbit hole, shoulders hunched in while he scrolled, and Tommy had muted the Kings game to ask him which records Gretzky had broken in LA like he couldn't list them off all in his own, drawing Evan out of his daze just enough to get him to stop hunching quite so much.

The first night he'd let Tommy take him apart, sink into the core of him and pepper the freckles littering his back with kisses, and after, in the soft quiet moments after Tommy'd rolled away to grab a washcloth and Evan had murmured his sleepy protest, he'd blinked open his eyes at the touch of the warm towel glancing across his skin and there'd been something there in his eyes that Tommy hadn't wanted to face head on in that moment - it was the surprise he'd latched on to, because if Evan thought he wasn't worth a little aftercare than Tommy could at least disabuse him of that notion.

On a long weekend they'd spent fucking on surfaces in Evan's loft neither of their knees were young enough for, Evan had hummed his gratitude for the breakfast Tommy dragged himself out of bed to make and then spent the next week avoiding making plans with Tommy until Tommy weaseled it out of him that he felt like he was taking too much, asking too much, accepting too many gestures without reciprocation.

Tommy'd spent their next 24 off together disabusing him of that notion, too.

Six months in the lesson seems to have finally stuck. Evan seeks it out, usually unconsciously - head tipped towards Tommy's mouth to accept the kiss to his birthmark he knows is coming, leaning into the warmth of Tommy's shoulder while they're standing in line together, wandering off to a table on the patio the moment they make it to their favorite coffee shop because Tommy had memorized his coffee order within the first two weeks of seeing each other, a bratty eyeroll and a hidden smile when Tommy slid a plate in front of him while reminding him that no matter how much research he did on killer bees, he'd still need sustenance to actually make it through another shift with Gerrard and said bees.

He'd spent a good month there in the middle giddy with the freedom of it, practically high off the feeling of finally, finally finding a place where his sometimes over-the-top fussing landed in all the right ways.

Evan tucks his half-drunk coffee into the vee of Tommy's legs when he excuses himself for the bathroom and Eddie glances up from his phone, the sight of his raised brow somewhat diminished by the noise he makes when he pulls the ring pop tucked around his thumb from his mouth.

"Please tell me you're not indulging this curse thing."

There's a rise of something in his chest he shoves back down, because he finds the whole Boils thing just as ridiculous as Eddie does, and Evan doesn't need defending, anyway. He sighs. Tries to convince himself he's just imagining the tense pull of Bobby's shoulders, just behind him. "Let him have his flights of fancy," Tommy says, and Eddie rolls his eyes, makes a sound that is suspiciously similar to a whip cracking, and settles back in with his phone and his ring pop.

Behind him, Bobby does nothing in particular, but if Tommy were reading into it, he'd say he slumps a bit.

Evan scoops his coffee back out of Tommy's lap with a grin just as Howie is returning from Denny's room. "How do you feel about a trip to Temecula?" he asks, and Tommy's known for a while now that he's in this for the long haul, but the lack of hesitation on his part before he agrees reminds him of just how fucking deep in he's let himself fall.

Eddie's next up to sign Denny's cast, but he makes sure to make eye contact when he mimes cracking a whip just out of Evan's line of sight.

[taegularities]

candles & flames: downpour | jjk (m)

bonus chapter II: downpour

Summary: One knock at your door — that’s all it takes for the clouds to burst. Because when it rains, it pours.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: established relationship, royal!au; angst!!, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: ok ok – rain metaphors, mention of a traumatic past, daddy issues?, illegitimate child plot, backstories, mention of mentally abusive relationship, cheating (not between jk and oc), jk kinda a homewrecker, lies, tears, breakdowns, panic, fears, abandonment issues, craving/pining sigh, arguments and fighting, very sweet kids, dad!jk <3; explicit sexual content: oral (m. receiving, super brief f.), fingering, teasing, kissing/making out, manhandling, biting, big dick jk, soft dom jk, soft/hard sex, unprotected sex (shhh, they're married), he spills on her ass, cmnf for a bit, some aftercare; hm… the ending. ➳ wc: 31.8k ➳ a/n: alright. i courageously fought through the pain; not sure how this will go for you. we've waited quite a while for this, and all your support for this series really pushed me to no end <3 i hope this is all you guys expected it to be. take it easy with this one; love y'all sm and as always, let me know what you think 🤍 ➳ a/n2: this is a bonus chapter for my mini-series candles & flames. reading the rest of the story helps!! find the mpost below <3 and the collaborative playlist here!

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

It’s fall.

Orange-red, beloved, drizzling fall.

And everything falls with its emergence. The leaves, the temperature, the warmth.

You’re bummed, experiencing the prior season coming to an end again; the colours are fading and the flowers disappearing. The trees are empty; pretty but a little eerie, too.

Hana insisted on a stroll since the sun still graced you this noon; by now, it’s gone again, hidden behind grey, monochrome clouds. It looks much later than it already is; great call to march outside since you were still able to pick leftover flowers in the garden with her.

In the middle of the drawing room, Hana leafs through the basket. Jungkook is largely free today, but he’s still busying himself with papers of some guest he’s expecting tomorrow. The man wishes to open a bar in the village and asked for an appointment with the town’s royal to discuss the profitability of the idea.

Jungkook is lost in thoughts, thick eyebrows furrowed, but your eyes are scurrying across the room, settling on your daughter. She’s carefully inspecting each flower, remaining on her favourites a little longer; kneeling with pursed lips.

She resembles her father down to each smileless dimple. She’s staring down, the same shape and arch of her lips, eyes big. Whenever she finds a particularly good flower, she jumps to her little feet, walking up to Jungkook to present her choices for him to admire.

Once she reaches her last favourite, she holds it up to him with a tongue sticking out, proud and childishly joyous as she says, “This is for you.”

“For me?” he drops the papers to the table, mouth open; cautiously takes the daisy between his fingers. “Gorgeous. I thought I was not allowed to have one?”

“You can have this,” she mumbles, lisping here and now, “I have many.”

“Right. Let’s see.” He lays it onto the documents he inspected, stretching out his palms for her. Obliging, she lets him pick her up and place her on his lap, immediately pumped when he asks, “Where did you find it? Want to tell me about it?”

And she does, with sheer enthusiasm so, explaining the spot and the colours vaguely. You know Jungkook still isn’t any smarter, probably not quite remembering where the daisies grow. He prefers the field in the distance over the garden.

Concluding her story, she soon tells him, “Can you keep this? Until I am big like you?”

“Oh…” You tilt your head. Your cheeks are hot like the summer that passed, watching him blush, melting with her in his arms. “Of course! Do you want to tell me why I am getting this one?”

“It’s pretty.”

“Ah. Like you then. You’re pretty.”

And Hana, aware and oh-so-humble, responds with her eyes on her fingers, nodding, “Yes.”

They do this sometimes. Exchange pretty things. She enjoys sharing her food or her collections with him, stuff she loves. She’s learned to show affection like this; makes him and you a part of herself this way. It’s a slightly different dynamic with the others in the room, though.

Because the moment her tremendous eyes look up, they darken a shade, displeased with the little body crawling to her basket, close to reaching in. Hana wriggles and jumps off Jungkook’s lap, her voice high-pitched when she starts whining, “Nooo! Not you!”

Right. There’s that, too.

The miniscule hand almost knocking over the basket, the same eyes as his sister’s, but the expressions a lot closer to yours. The surprise in his gaze is similar to the one you see right behind him, belonging to the partner in crime.

You rush to lift the near-accomplice before Hana can reprimand them both. And he looks just like you when he stares at you in shock, not minding the warmth, hands close to his body before they settle right on your clavicles.

He averts his gaze, following the drama on the ground. And the other twin, the one he’d been hurrying to, looks like your occasionally whining self, too, when Hana reaches him.

Jungkook might have enjoyed a copy of himself in her for years now, but you got two boys with your features instead. They clutch at you at all times, much as Hana sticks to her father.

Jaehoon, clever and thoughtful, secure in your arms, and then Jaehyuk, usually radiant, on the floor. Only right now, he isn’t as cheerful anymore.

Rather devastated, startled as Hana opens the small fist crushing a flower. He ogles around with wide eyes, already breathing towards crying, and then, finally — juts out his lower lip. Seeks your attention; and when he catches your tilted, worried look, he starts weeping.

As if your presence permitted his breakdown. You sigh.

His fist is closed tight, but when Hana sharply orders again, “Let go!”, he does, scrabbling away from her. She collects her possessions with a grunt; you inch closer to her the same moment Jungkook rises from his seat on the diwan.

Lifting the crying Jaehyuk in his arms, he plants a soft kiss onto the child’s temple, shushing him with a gentle, “It is alright. Look, nothing happened.”

But Jaehyuk still buries his face in Jungkook’s chest, crying harder, actual tears this time around. Jungkook squats down to Hana with a scolding look in his eyes, one eyebrow cocked as he explains, “Suhana, it is good to share.”

She doesn’t quite look at him; throws the remainders of the demolished flower into the basket, grazing the petals. Sulking, she defends, “But he destroyed them.”

“He is little. You did this as well when you were small.”

Hana shakes her head, convinced, “I do not think that I did.”

“Ah… really?”

“I don’t destroy pretty things!”

Jungkook mimics your sigh, kneeling down, and you shift your eyes for just a moment to check on the baby in your arms. He’s the calmest in the room, observing the rest of his family with curiosity. You smile a little; he’s beautiful, so innocent, so clueless.

So empathetic.

Worried when he sees his brother still crying, not imitating his sobs, but pointing to his other half before he looks at you as if you understood. Awaiting your answer.

You did understand, actually; you often do. So you nod, telling him, “I know. Jaehyuk is a little sad.”

Jaehoon points again, and then suddenly leans forwards. You hold him tight, walking closer to the rest, and he relaxes. Happy you obliged, a finger in his mouth. You set him on the ground when Jungkook does the same with Jaehyuk, listening in as your husband tries again—

“Look. You gave me a nice flower, so give him one, too. He’s your brother, right?”

Hana hesitates. Then, “Yes.”

“Don’t you love him, too?” You hum at his words, enforcing the message. “You should give nice things to people you love.”

“Yes. But he is annoying…”

She grants her siblings a look, a little calmer when Jaehyuk sniffles. Jaehoon shifts closer to his disheartened brother, touching his hand, knees close. They can finally sit on their own now, and they use the ability to keep themselves glued to the other.

A second passes before Hana adds, “Alright, he should have one. He is too small to get his own.”

You agree, “That’s right.”

Holding two different flowers towards the now far calmer Jaehyuk — Jaehoon’s presence seems to help — she inquires, “Good, which one do you like better?”

Her voice is authoritative, the classic older sister. It affects the twins for just a moment as they blink at her; but then, Jaehyuk regards the choices presented to him — though his eyes settle on the marigold quickly.

Opting to grab it, he hits the void when Hana pulls back, shaking her head. You’re about to nag again, seated on the ground next to Jungkook, much like royals should as your sister would jest, but then hold back when Hana speaks again.

“No. Grab it from here, yes?” She hands him the stem, and he listens, takes it as carefully as a baby can. “Yes, like this.”

And then he’s raising it to his cheek, fascinated by it, touching the petals after all. Jaehoon watches quietly before his beseeching eyes drift to his sister. His plea is soundless, but she understands; says, “You can have this, Jaehoonie.”

The daisy he receives is from the same spot she plucked Jungkook’s from. Pretty things for her pretty brother. He’s not sure what to do with it, though, but he imitates the way Jaehyuk plays with it so tenderly, more than happy to accept.

You catch the smile spreading on Hana’s countenance, balanced out by her sassy little, “But you have to work for more. These are mine.”

You laugh, content, “This is good enough.” You reach out to her cheek, caressing for a moment. “Be nice to each other. They love you a lot.”

She only nods, yet baffled when Jaehoon suddenly opts for her, climbing half onto her lap. She gives in, though she can barely properly hold them yet; so she reshifts him as well as she can, placing him in front of her, between her legs.

Like this, they look through the basket; he’s kind and soft, so he doesn’t do much anyway. Just stares while Jaehyuk busies himself with the flower until he gets bored and targets the toy he abandoned minutes ago.

They’re cooing and conversing, Hana speaking, Jaehoon incoherently babbling. You’ve heard this is good, talking to your kids; apparently, they’re vocal much more later on.

But the room is filled with noises and a stack of papers, so you turn to Jungkook and suggest, “I can take them somewhere else. You’re working, so I reckoned…”

“It’s alright,” he, however, assures, “I am already done. This is rewarding, actually.”

“Isn’t it tiring?” You regard the scattered children, full of love for them, but brimming with fatigue, too. “I am so… exhausted.”

“I know. I understand that you are,” he says, grasping your hand, knuckles to his lips, “which is probably why I should stay, too.”

He gets it. You know he truly does, never just says it.

Ever since the birth of your twins, stress, anxiety and restless nights came together to an undesired mix. Barely sleeping makes you prone to headaches and mood swings; one child was already difficult to manage, but three…

You haven’t rested in years. Your skin and your eyes have changed. More tired, more sensitive, your heart a little more feeble.

And the birth wasn’t easy, either. You lost a ton of blood again, another source of Jungkook’s resurfaced panic; but this time because there were two kids at once. You feel grateful, you do — but the days and weeks after they were born were hell on Earth.

You didn’t quite feel like yourself for so long.

But their warmth and Jungkook helped. Honestly, you can’t anyhow fabricate a world without him and his support even just in theory. And beware, such love isn’t given; you’ve seen friends and relatives wade through terrible experiences.

Jungkook is a man they don’t place in every corner of the world, so you’re thankful beyond imagination.

Because you survived due to him. You live because of the humble personalities in this brightly lit room, dimmed only by the grey afternoon sky. It’s a cruel world at times; some pasts are an accumulation of everything bad. Jungkook’s more than anyone’s you know.

Looking at him now, you can hardly believe he was once the sad boy stranded in the rain.

That crying, sobbing mess, freezing, seeking peace when he was inundated by misery. But…

Things came together well, right? The world is less terrifying like this.

You guess the warmth might fall outside all the time, but it never does in these rooms.

“And?”

The answer echoes less than it did a moment ago. The peeking head is retracting just slowly, still frozen between the open door and its frame. You don’t think his eyes are spying much of concern, and he confirms it when he shakes his head, responds—

“Nothing.”

“This should be good enough then.”

“Hm, yes. I don’t know. It took hours last time, as well.”

Without a piece of context, it’s a hilarious picture. Somehow, it even is with context; so you can’t help the quiet chuckle, silencing quickly to avoid waking up the tiny bundle slumbering in your arms.

You reprimand your husband, “But you can’t keep standing there for hours.”

The sigh you receive is deep and long. You understand his worries.

It hasn’t been long anyway — the night transpired just a while ago. Still in the back of your mind since Hana waddled to your room, knocking with the might that her fist could possibly conjure; you barely heard it, but you did.

You have been a light sleeper since she was born, so you were shaken awake rather fast. You welcomed her in with softness, veiling the horror in your voice. You were devastated when you saw her feet bare, standing in the dark hallway.

Luckily, the moment turned out not quite frightening — she couldn’t sleep. That was it. So you pulled her into your arms and off the ground, stroking her back and her head, planting kisses in her hair.

It took a while to lull her to sleep; to be certain, you kept her right next to you for the remainder of the nightly hours, even though her room was next door. She’d mumbled something about a poor bird, and you’d understand only minutes after her silence that she had seen a dead pigeon in the garden that day.

The nightmare this scene called forth prevented her from sleeping comfortably in her chamber for some days to come.

Jungkook had come to bed late that time, so he was long knocked out when Hana came. The regret doubled the next morning when you told him about the occurrence, and Jungkook blamed himself for the coming hours — only, the guilt extended. Still prominent.

Because he’s still glancing out, fearing she’ll come and knock again; fearing it might go unnoticed once more.

“I would hear it,” you reassure, “I always will.”

“What if you don’t?”

“I will,” you try again; you keep your voice low, soft, understanding his string of thoughts. But you miss him next to you, and you want the door to close. You insist, “I will, love. Don’t blame yourself for not hearing it, yes? You were tired.”

Jaehoon moves in your arms, a small fist loosening. He’s fast asleep, but you still wait before you speak again, assuring that he won’t wake up again. Jungkook must be thinking the same, because only once you sigh a breath of relief, he says, “You are tired, too. Don’t undermine your importance here—”

“Just come to bed, darling.”

Interrupted, his lips morph into a pout, round eyes regarding you for a moment. But it seems you render him at least a little delicate, aware of your effect on him, tilting your head by a few degrees. Your smile must be jarring; because the second you flash it, he gives in.

The door shuts behind him, and he offers an upward twitch of his mouth in response before he asks, “Would you reckon she’s too young to have her own room?”

“Perhaps… I don’t always feel very comfortable with her absence at night either. We have gotten too used to her, haven’t we?” You shake your head as he steps towards your side of the bed. “But she wanted this so bad.”

“Hmm… good thing she spends half of all her nights here anyway.”

“True. She got too used to us, as well,” you say before sitting up, eliciting a brief groan as you prepare yourself to put Jaehoon back in his crib. You can barely stand up; your body is exhausted, begs to stay in the resting state for now. “Alright then…”

But by then Jungkook’s helping hands are already reaching out, his back arching, bowing forwards. Carefully, sweetly, he mutters a little, “No, let me—” before he’s sheltering his son in his hold, slow and gentle as he tackles the task for you.

For a minute, he remains there, standing over the crib, gazing at the babies so peacefully dreaming away. He does this sometimes — lose himself in the sight. This is a fairytale for him. When he read all those books on parenting years ago, he didn’t think it’d come this easily to him.

Not that parenting has ever been particularly easy. Tears and arguments were frequent at points in time, but so were sacrifices and compromises. You knew what such a change did to a vulnerable heart and mind, so you fought through the difficulties with courage.

And it was worth it every single time. All in all, you don’t regret a thing; you’d repeat it all if you could. Jungkook is your dream; this life is your dream.

Never ceased to be.

Even now, as he returns to the bed and jumps under the blanket, you register an odd, sparkly feeling in your tummy. It always existed underneath, never diminished or decreased. Ever-so-present, you still cherish its intensity, even after all these years. Or perhaps because of the time that has passed.

Such passion isn’t a matter of fact. You know it isn’t.

Triggered by the funny, pleasant feeling in your body, your smile grows a little. Softer and more loving when he kisses your shoulder as if to greet you. Proceeds to place his head on your chest as his arms snake around your body, settling in his very own safe space.

“Are you feeling well?” his drowsy voice questions, just a little muffled as the lips graze your gown’s cotton.

“I am. You?”

“Just cold. I need a bit more of this,” he cuddles in, kissing underneath your breasts, right above your ribs. “It has been raining so much.”

“It has been indeed.”

“But,” he shifts, closer to you, “I’ve learned to appreciate it now.”

You chuckle. Time steadily passes, but some memories stay right at their assigned spots, like an immovable anchor. You’re proud, having replaced his terrifying images of nature’s showers with fond ones. And ever since, the rain has felt closer to you, too.

“That is something, then,” you say, “I’m just sad for the kids… they can’t stay out too long without feeling under the weather. If I could, I’d show them the sky all the time, too.”

“And how we’re connected to it?”

You laugh again; you wonder if he’s feeling warmer now. You’re inundated with the heat, at least. “Yes, this.”

His grip tightens just a little, a fragile attempt to draw you deeper into him. This is all the laws of physics allow — no gap left for him to close. Yet, he tries. His kiss wanders up as he raises his head, lips missing your clavicles by a bit; thumb stroking the side of your mounds.

“Love,” he calls quietly; when your eyes move to his, you see a change in them. They’re fog-shrouded and somehow questioning. “Do you feel tired?”

You’re surprised; you expected something else. The question doesn’t match his expression.

For a moment, you assume that your answer might serve a bigger purpose, so you weigh it back and forth before you decide on a straightforward, “Less than usual. It’s been so long since we fell asleep together.”

Maybe that’s what’s keeping you awake. Maybe that’s what he wants to hear.

Because he nods fervently against your breasts, cheek pressing against them, and agrees, “It has been. Yet, do you know it has been only three days in reality?”

Oh. Dang. You guess there is no true limit to your mutual obsession. You shrug, “Feels much longer.”

“Well, in that sense…” Warm digits touch your arm, circling your elbow and then travelling up your skin. “There is one good thing about Hana sleeping in the other room, yes? We’re alone for once.”

“Unless she once again catches us in the middle of—”

“Don’t remind me.”

You giggle, but the sound dies when he pushes his palm under your short gown sleeve, caressing your shoulder and then the lower part of your neck. Angling your head, you close your eyes, somehow spitting, “Are you planning something, Sir?”

His leg moves further over your own; there’s a growing firmness between them that you can’t ignore. He teases, “Sir? Now, that is new.”

“Mmh, do you like it?”

“Admittedly, it is somewhat odd, but… it’s still something.”

“Then, what is going on now?”

“Well, it’s… very boring to talk about it. Lemme just—”

The palm covering your tits is sudden, but the mouth exploring them isn’t. You felt the touch from miles away, satisfied and alight when his teeth graze over your perked nipple. His hand, restless, works on pushing down your nightgown to bare one side, and he’s…

Impatient, as you’ve known.

His tongue is hot and soft, the tip of it merely teasingly brushing over the freed nipple as his hand pushes your tit up, further into his face and towards his mouth. You sigh. He sets fire to your nerves; you feel each of the licks affecting your body.

Then, amidst the comfortable, sweet journey, he suddenly bites.

You gasp, followed by a tiny exclaim of an, “Ouch,” and work on playfully escaping his advances — to no avail. He laughs against your bud, his hands stronger than your dishonest attempt as they pin your arms to the mattress.

His eyes are evil, an eyebrow cocked, lips parted as he breathes, “What?”

“You’re about to lose it again. I can see it!”

“Ah… do you— do you not want me to?” He’s still in a daze, his words mumbled. He moves back just a little, wondering if you’re not quite where he is tonight. But you shake your head the moment he suggests, “I’ll hold myself back if I need t—”

“Oh, can you?”

You’re smiling, so he’s quickly encouraged to offer a grin of his own; honestly admits, “No… but I will for you.”

“You will for me?” The everlasting beam on your face is inevitable; how could you keep your cool, pretend you’re not thoroughly warmed when he says things like these? “While I appreciate how thoughtful you are… I’m not a fool.”

Not a fool. I won’t decline.

“Then… May I kiss you?”

“You’re asking so politely, how could I—”

There’s no time to reject, even if you wanted to. His kiss is abrupt and hard, though his lips still refrain from any aggression just yet. He lifts his hands from next to your head to above it, dragging your captive arms with them.

As his head tilts, deeper in the kiss, his tongue mingles with yours with a tempting hum so unique to his voice — as if he’s tasting a delicatesse. Your mouths are in main action, but both your bodies are reacting in their entirety, too.

In constant motion, winding, closing in.

His upper body urges you down until you’re flat on your back; the nightgown settles back over your tits again as you move, but he grabs your flesh above the clothing, kneading. Clumsily, with his eyes still shut, he attempts to unlace the front of your gown.

You wait for his intention to manifest into reality, readily letting his palm brush over your hot skin, your neck, your jaw. But once he opts to undress you fully, your patience dwindles, and you let him know, “I don’t want to wait this time.”

“Ah, alright, alright… This is how we’re doing things tonight?”

Your poor dress will be wrinkled up by the morning; you know by the way he’s hiking it up your leg this time, stopping at your waist, force of habit. There’s a satisfying, delighted smile on his face, mixing with a pleased sound when he discovers you’re bare underneath the gown—

And it seems it motivates him more rapidly to tug at his own trousers. You nod as if to encourage him further, hands seeking out the hem of his pyjamas. But you’re as useless from this angle as can be.

So he sits upright, slipping out of it, pushing it down his thighs until it’s wrapped around his knees. He’s no better, really; just as naked, just as uncovered underneath the trousers, as if the two of you planned this, or hoped for this.

Kneeling, he pushes your legs apart, spreading until your flexibility stops. He settles between them properly, leaning down, and uses the position to kick off the rest of his disruptive trousers. The length of his cock, as unbelievable as ever and quickly hardening, presses against your damp cunt — bliss for the moment, but torture for the next.

The way his cock dips between your folds and rubs along your pussy’s growing dampness feels almost deliberate. As if he’s tormenting you, demonstrating his power over you, stiff past your hole and up your tiny clit without ever diving in.

But you won’t lie — you could probably come from this alone. It’s embarrassing, being so weak in his presence. And the filthy sounds, wet and inappropriate, don’t help a bit.

So you’re not sure whether you’re relieved or agitated when the touch finally vanishes but his mischievous smile doesn’t. It’s somewhat weak, hindered by the lust clouding his brain, but it’s insane and misbehaved either way.

He’ll kill you one day; or you might kill him. You don’t know who might end up asserting the more hazardous dominance.

For now, it’s you who’s surrendering. How could you not, considering he’s conjuring his own battle plan right above you, hand reaching between his and your legs and underneath the blanket to—

Damn the tip of the digits against your clenching cunt. He’s not even inside, but you react immediately. Know to bite your lower lip when he circles your clit a little, the position and the spread legs keeping you from shutting your thighs.

Your head falls to the side; Jungkook considers it an opportunity. He plays around your nub further, testing the waters, and when you moan out, he closes the gap between the two of you, latching onto your neck to suck and kiss and bite.

“Fuck,” you curse, incessantly hoping the kids are deeply asleep and won’t have to witness their mother’s foul language this early on. “Fuck, start already—”

He knows you aren’t talking about his fingers; they’re already in action, tapping your clit, drawing over it. Then moving down, slipping along your wetness, already drenched when he decides to ram a finger in.

Yet, he understands you’re still referring to the member standing tall, anticipating and urging for you but holding back either way. No, instead he chooses to drive you crazy first, using a free hand to grab your chin and turn your head back to him, going for another messy kiss.

And you can’t do more than give yourself to him so willingly, wincing and whimpering as he finger-fucks you as well as the position allows. It’s not ideal like this, and to your chagrin, he can’t use his skills fully, but the fact that he can turn your thoughts this incoherent speaks volumes already.

You can’t wait… can’t wait for him to bury himself in you.

Half hovering over you, he soon loses the strength to keep himself afloat, dipping and retracting his fingers to lead his cock there instead; still, once again, without fucking you dumb yet. You’re drifting, but still too sane for your liking.

Your wetness helps him toy with you some more; he keeps pumping with his hand as he humps you once, twice, and you mutter his name and a couple mumbled pleas — but he remains as wicked as ever.

But when the dam breaks and your mind explodes, you exclaim his name again in pure desperation, half your brain gone when he pushes just his tip inside you and continues jerking off to make himself as hard as he can.

Eventually, you demand, “Put it in!”

The shake of his head is vile. Your eyebrows furrow at the man, and you try to grind up into him — he doesn’t let you. Only the head remains inside you, and he keeps doing his thing, not leading it in or out, just drenching himself.

You reprimand, “You’re being impossible tonight.”

“Aren’t I?” he responds, like a naughty child who’s caught and proud of its sins. He presses another peck to your lips, his words breathy when he reveals his true thoughts, “No, sweetheart, it is just that— you aren’t ready. That’s it.”

You aren’t ready? You feel like you’re overflowing. But you understand; there’s no room for impatience after all. It’s happened before — him pushing in, only to realise it was too early, that it pained you instead of pleasuring you.

“Well…” you start, dumbfounded. He noticed and you didn’t — the ultimate proof that he knows you inside out. “You could’ve said this earlier. Put it in my mouth then.”

“Huh?”

“Right now. This will help, too.”

“Oh… yes? I— I won’t reject the offer.”

Of course he won’t. In fact, he climbs up the bed quickly, lifting, caging your body between his knees. The sight is incredible; thighs as wide as your face, muscular. You hold onto them, bask in the sight of the dangling package, harder by the moment.

With effort, he says, “Just for a second.” The tip taps against your mouth, hot as he pushes it inside. Thick and heavy on your tongue, his cock twitches, affected by the swirl of the wet muscle and the hollowing of your cheeks. “Yes… not long, no—”

He must be talking to himself. Keeping himself from thrusting and fucking your mouth all the way to the end. And when you bop your head up and down, lightly touching his balls and the parts of the length you can’t swallow, he restates, “I really do not want to wait.”

You let go for a moment with a slurping sound, agreeing, “Fine by me,” before you come back to go in harder. Giving him all you can, crossing your legs, seeking reprieve.

And you think you’d quickly overflow, by virtue of his enticing reactions, if the moment wasn’t so short lived.

Because it seems he reaches a limit when your drool starts flowing down the side of your face, nasty and warm, your throat still working full time on not gagging. On staying quiet. It’s become a task by now.

And for the first time tonight, Jungkook doesn’t serve the devil, but pulls back.

While it’s a pity — why didn’t he finish in your mouth? — you won’t deny your selfish part. The one that craves and awaits, glad when his body disappears beneath the sheets again, his head with it.

What—

Won’t he start? You didn’t expect him to fall out of your sight entirely. And there’s not much guessing needed until you understand that he’s aiming for his favourite spot, his tongue lapping up your juices a moment later.

He kisses your cunt just once, slides a stripe between your folds, and you’re certain his goal is much more profound. Normally, you’d be fully down for this, but you’ve reached a limit you can’t bear anymore.

So you whisper, “You don’t need to.”

He doesn’t register it right away, spitting and feasting further; more kisses, more tongue, untamed until you grip his hair and raise his head off of you. He obliges surprisingly easily when you pull him back to your lips, reiterating, “I don’t want to fucking wait. Just…”

“I know,” he says, peck after peck, in between each word, “I know. I have had enough, too, I have—”

His arm steals your breath when he twines it around your body like a vine, arching your back, lifting you by mere inches. Both his hands are busy; caressing your sides or your face; he’s confident about the touch, about the eagerness the two of you harbour for each other.

Which is why he doesn’t even guide his length towards your pleading heat anymore, gliding up and down; hard enough to stand tall against it, poking as if knocking. The thought makes you laugh for only a moment before your lungs suddenly empty—

Part of his cock slips in effortlessly; there’s no resistance, no struggle, no need to glance down and complicate matters. You welcome him easily; match his smirk, proud and unsurprised about your keen craze when he says, “Wasn’t supposed to happen already. I wanted another moment to—”

You vigorously shake your head. “Too late. Too damn late—”

The last word comes out strained as your body comes in motion, moving against him. And he matches your pace and fervour, shoving himself in harder. Unable to resist anymore, all the teasing vanishes along with his patience.

Instead, he bottoms out at once, and you yelp, an unintentional volume that he immediately shuts with a hand over your mouth and a chuckle. Jungkook enjoys playing the beast when he’s with you like this, but he can’t suppress his amusement when he shushes you.

“Are y-you trying to wake the mansion, huh?”

But his words are nothing but a breath, airy and quiet. Such a whistling whisper that it, much as your noise, might just be enough to wake everybody, too. The irony is comical.

You shake your head and his hand with it, relying on your nose to breathe the oxygen still left in the room. Your neck feels hot, your face and body burning up. Not quite sure whether it’s the way he’s handling you or whether your leg is actually trembling like this.

His strokes, slowly starting, shake up your body at least. The friction drives you insane; his length, reaching a mind-boggling depth, renders you so stupid each time. Thick against your walls, leaving no gap, no spot untouched. 

You’re boiling under his hand, somehow glad about the muffled sound. Because if he didn’t silence you like this, you’d be wreaking havoc right here, an unbridled mess wrapped in your husband’s body.

They say love and passion fade sometimes; that affection lessens when you get used to it, bored of it. But the two of you haven’t reached that stage yet — you doubt you ever will.

Because the flames that have surrounded you ever since you fell into these depths for the other… they don’t ever seem to dim. Who would’ve thought that a candle could turn into an inferno?

No, your body signals more than enough; this isn’t boredom. This isn’t a reduction in adoration. You feel the devouring and the worship in each thrust and touch and kiss and gaze.

In each curse and movement, how he shifts you and you wind. Dancing in the sheets and shivering under the goosebumps as he hears your stifled moans drowned out by his palm. If he could, he’d listen all day; if the circumstances allowed…

He rams into you hard but slowly and only raises the pace gradually; once he’s gotten used to the effect, however, and seeks to possess you more, he sends your body up the sheets. Each time, over and over again, restraint thrown overboard.

You mewl with a raised head and tightly shut eyes; his hand drops just a little, and you, in your misty moment, dig your teeth into the finger still covering your lower lip. The sound he lets out suggests pain here, but then again… lust there.

His voice is feathery, mellow; as if he’s softly charmed, seduced rather than achingly bitten.

Lips apart and eyes hooded, he relocates his hand just a little, twisting it until the thumb grazes your chin, hand laying on your cheek as the forefinger dips into your mouth. It’s difficult to focus; what does he look at?

The way his digit is gently trapped between your teeth, the tip of it teased by your tongue? The arch of your mouth and how his finger presses against the lower lip? Or the heat that grows under his palm, the rise of your chin, the eyes rolling back before shutting?

A feral urge expands in him, growing like a well-watered seed; he doesn’t know how you do it, but you encapsulate all his beginnings and ends in a moment, now and always.

Your hair is a mess by the time he removes his other hand from it, not quite sure when he grabbed a patch at all. He pins one of your legs to the side, angling it, and you breathe unsteadily, mumbling a tiny, “Oh— Kook—”

“Yes.”

It’s not quite a dialogue, but neither of you cares for it. There isn’t much to say at all. And neither any calls of his or your name, nor his quiet, “I love you so much,” do the emotion bubbling in his stomach justice.

In all honesty, he could explode just looking at you. You’re a wonder of nature, aren’t you? You pump relief and craze and comfort and insanity into him, one after another and all at once.

“Baby,” you call out the moment his teeth drag your damn gown down your tits again, kissing them, nibbling at your nipple. “I think I might already— soon…”

You don’t know whether it’s because it’s been so long, or because Jungkook knows just well how to fuck you right, but you’re nearly bursting. Or is it the mental picture of the movements he’s granting you?

Elegant yet beastly thrusts, hips and ass and upper body swaying up and down steadily; slow, then fast, then soft, then hard… rhythmic and then stuttering—

He wipes the hair off your forehead, and then whispers warm and close to your ear, “Hey, do you… know how obsessed I am with you?” A peck to your earlobe, and you wind, ticklish and pleased. He shifts to your lips, the kiss an inch away. “You—you’re all I’ll ever need.”

You can’t serve as much of a smooth and rational answer as him, but you still tell him all lost, “Then— be with me… me, always, yes?”

He chuckles; you’re not sure why. Perhaps this is such a matter-of-fact for him that he doesn’t need it spelled out. “Yes… yes. What else? Where else would I go?”

Away from you — even for a moment, even just a bit. Right now, you can’t bear the thought of a hint of a distance between the two of you. You want him close, closer, part of your heart, thawing with you in cool falls and cold winters.

“You’re pretty,” he then proceeds, tugging at your lip, “don’t know where to touch you. So pretty.”

“Everywhere. Just don’t stop— touching me,” you begin, every now and then interrupted by an exhausted kiss, “at all.”

“Right.” And still, he backs away out of the blue, all touch gone except the gentle rub along your hip, and you stare up at him with big eyes, body so empty before he orders, “Turn around.” He’s acting tough, but you see the madness in his eyes the moment he says it. “Quickly.”

Quickly.

You know what he’s thinking without him vocalising any of it. Know what he’ll do before he does it.

With quivering limbs, you oblige, helped by his hands as he hauls the gown easily over your body, crumpling it up and placing it next to the pillow. Within a moment, you’re bare, head to toe.

He keeps you on your knees, reluctant to wait a second before he enters you again. His hand lands on your ass, pulling apart to see better, and once all in, he starts moving again.

You don’t need to glance back to know that the muscles of his back and his ass are flexing, tanned and golden. The veins of his arms are probably protruding, his abs and chest damp, latter heaving. You know he probably resembles some textbook God, and maybe that’s what topples you over the edge.

That and… the hand on your clit.

Softly circling, the nub immensely sensitive, limbs buckling and weak. You require all your might to not fall and close your legs and sob.

But the tears are inescapable; one or two tip over your waterline when you finally come to an end. His prior teasing and the anticipation already drove you too close to the peak, and it seems that now you’re surrendering eventually.

You shake, your arms more so than the rest of your body. Wobbly, you try to keep yourself upright, but as the blur covers your vision and the waves crash over your pelvis and stomach, you let your cheek fall to the pillow. Hands clutch the sheets.

The tremor is out of control.

And you’re still riding out that high, aided by his continuing shoves and hammering. He’s generous when he pushes you all the way down, a hand on the small of your back as he says, “Take your time— I’m almost there, fu—”

Take your time with what? You don’t know; the chances are high he doesn’t either. Or is he talking to himself again?

To no avail, though, because he’s manic, uncurbed. Your cheek digs into the pillow, the bed moving more than it has during these moments lately. He’s chasing ecstasy, calling your name and little words, such as, “Love, sweetheart, darling,” over and over again like it’s his sole vocabulary.

His lips move over your shoulder and to your back, featherlight as opposed to how he’s fucking you. The care with which he kisses your skin leaves you gasping, affects you whole, and you feel the shiver down your spine, along your arms.

You want to stay awake all night. Want this to keep going.

Funny, how this very thought is followed by a question you neither expect nor grasp, “Have I… kissed you too much already? Are you sick of it?”

You think your eyebrows furrow, or perhaps you imagine it, because there is no way your facial muscles still have that much energy left. But he must be out of his mind, daring such questions. Is there such a thing as getting sick of him?

“Why—”

This man never lets you finish. There is an art to interrupting without irritating, and he’s mastered it — because you can barely complain when his hand wraps around your neck, cautiously lifting and turning your head to make out with you again.

The tongue sneaks into your mouth right away; the kiss is barely a kiss, too filthy and chaotic to be called such. Rather, you’re eating each other up, mixing your moans, crazed by his drilling until his breaths turn laboured and his sounds hoarse.

They come straight out of his throat, sweet in your ears. And before you know it, he’s getting to his knees and rapidly pulling out; you feel vulnerable and tender, thoroughly worn out. The heat is blistering and your mind gone — but you still notice the ropes landing on your ass.

Sticky and hot and plenty. Scattered over your flesh; you contribute some, too, moving your ass left and right just a little, and it seems he’s enjoying it. Groans as he pumps on; when you look back at him, eyes halfway closed, you give him the rest.

And a couple seconds later, tongue poking the corner of his lips, he’s done.

Panting, whispering something you can’t understand, weak… but done. Close to falling onto you until he realises he probably shouldn’t.

Instead, he lays down next to you. Your eyes are closed, but you immediately feel a loving brush over your cheek, ridding it of the strands sticking to your face.

You shake your head — or at least, you think you do. It’s probably more of an attempt, just a slight movement before you playfully scold, “Great… what do we do about this now?”

Jungkook swallows, calming down as he responds, “Over there— there’s a jug of water on the table still.”

“…And?”

“I will go and find a cloth?”

The careful question in his tone is so sweet. You’re not sure if he intended to stain your skin like this before the lust took over him. What a fool for you. Enough to barely ever think of the consequences, be they big or small.

In this sense, you could say that falling for you happened without a single thought for him, too, didn’t it?

He was chasing a different plan. Didn’t fathom that he was losing himself in you. And when he did, he didn’t consider the aftereffects and the risks of what his uncle had come up with; Jungkook didn’t care much about anything at all but being with you.

He’s told you many times.

Back when you hid in that room, or touched in the carriage — in those fleeting moments, the future didn’t consist of what his relatives needed, but of what he could give to you. Who he could be to you.

In hindsight, he was so in love with you. Looking at your relationship, you can’t compare the affection you started out with for each other with the overload of passion now, but… goddamn, he was so in love with you. You know.

And the truth is that no matter what obstacles life may place on your road ahead, neither of you will love the other less than the minute before.

You laugh when you meet his big, brown eyes, asking, “Is there any cloth in this room?”

“I… I think I brought one before. Should be on the table…”

“Might be good enough.”

“Or I can get one from the kitchen.”

You scoff. “You want to sneak around the mansion now? Really?” You lift your upper body, balancing it on your arms, catching him as he licks his lips at the sight of your bouncing tits. You nod towards the table. “That will do. Go and free me from your stuff.”

“Tsk. Good.”

You were right; his idea sufficed. And the kids are still asleep — a double win for you. In theory, you’re ready to crash for the night, succumbing to fatigue. But the truth is that only your body feels spent; your brain doesn’t just yet.

So as Jungkook wipes over the flesh of your ass, you confess, “I’m still not tired enough.”

“Mmmh, me neither.”

“…So what now?”

He falls back to his side with another grunt, throwing the dirty cloth to the floor. You reach out, grazing his chest, playing with the cotton he’s still sporting. He probably knows what you’re hinting at, despite being already battered, but he ignores your advances just to—

“Mh-mh,” he rejects, “I want to talk. I just… I need to hear your voice for a bit.” He stops the finger on his chest, raising your hand to his lips, and kisses each knuckle. Dramatically, he adds, “What would I do without your voice?”

You ponder. Then jest, “Still hear it in your mind somewhere.”

“Yes, very true. I still always do in the office.”

You laugh, so gripped by the emotions stuck to your heart. “So, what would you like me to say?” He shrugs, an indicator for, “Anything.” So you ask, “Would you like me to tell you a story?”

“Yes… story. Yes, tell me one.”

“I can think of one right away. Sort of a lullaby.”

“So it’s got to be a good one,” he says as he covers you with the thick blanket. An arm over you pulls you closer to him. “Right?”

Your eyes drift to the window. You’re lucky, sleeping in a bedroom with a view. Jungkook’s office has one, too, but Hana’s room, while next door, doesn’t. You’re at the far end of the corridor and this mansion’s wing, risking much, so exposed.

Perhaps you’ll move your room to a safer place in the mansion soon. But for now, you’re grateful for the sky, the stars, the moon. The pouring cloudburst.

Jungkook might have caught your distraction; because he wraps one of your hair strands around his finger, inquiring, “May I guess?… Is it a story about the fall and the rain?”

Your lips twitch upward to a smile. Flooded by past pictures, you refuse to end the night, preparing for a concluding tale as you say—

“How did you know?”

When it knocks at your chamber door the next sunrise, you could swear you haven’t slept more than a handful of hours. The exhaustion weighs on your eyes and muscles, body limp as you stir awake. Your voice is still hoarse.

So you’re startled.

Not just because it’s early or because of the interrupted, peaceful slumber; and not just because there’s a knock at the grand, adorned door, either. In reality, it occurs regularly — for Jungkook and his work, or to remind you of your children’s riding and violin lessons, or to inform you of the arrival of guests.

This time it’s the latter. Yet, you’re alarmed, not even because of the guest, but because it’s Sunday, and you don’t usually expect a visitor on Sundays — unless, perhaps, something is transpiring down in the village that needs your urgent assistance.

But — these things are rare. People here regard it as their rest day, too. It’s why you wake up drowsy and confused, ready to sleep the fatigue off and hoping it’s nothing too grave. Squinting an eye shut, you glance at the longcase clock in the corner of your room.

Seven in the morning.

You register a mumble of a voice next to you, low and gravelly, welcoming the staff inside who, a second later, informs, “Visitor for you, Lord Jeon.”

Jungkook sighs. A hand emerges from under the heavy, floral blanket, rubbing his tired, puffy eyes. He hums in gratitude, telling the informant he’d be downstairs in a minute; and when the young man has stepped away, Jungkook half turns to you.

His voice is still husky and half asleep when he gently wipes a strand behind your ear and says, “Go back to sleep. Might be Byun for the boxing ring. I should be back in a little.”

You only nod, moving his cradling hand with it. You can barely speak, fighting the urge to yawn. Frankly, you wouldn’t know what you’d be uttering anyway, though your mind is still present enough to understand that he’s kissing your knuckles and then leaving his side empty.

Falling back into the mattress, you once again hope for a speedy get-together on the floor down below; but when you awake again, the clock indicates the passing of over a full hour. The bed is still half vacant.

You wonder what’s going on, gradually cracking your eyes open to the ceiling until your brain fathoms well enough that a meeting this early shouldn’t take so long, and that anyway, there’s no reason for a business visitor to come by this soon into the day.

So you clear your throat, sitting up at the edge of the bed. You wrap yourself in your gown and your silk coat, arms folded as if to protect yourself. It’s just cold; a chill autumn day.

And as you walk down the staircase, you hear faint chattering from the main hall, like a tiny whisper from here. There’s only some staff in the welcoming hallway, but they’re guarding the parlour. That’s where the voices are coming from.

Nobody hinders you from entering the room when you do. Of course not; there’s no reason to.

But the atmosphere is still oddly charged when you step in, meeting Jungkook’s pale face from afar. You blame it on the sleepless night, just as much as the somewhat dark circles under his eyes.

Still, it gets weirder as you near; because he’s looking at somebody who has their back turned to you. A woman with long black hair, gazing down; and when Jungkook detects you, he looks terrified.

Uprighting himself, blinking, drawing a breath too deep to not worry.

You automatically assume the worst; bad news from the city? Some issues in the village? Or a girl trying her charm on your husband? Wouldn’t be the first time.

You round the chair she made herself comfortable on; and your surprise increases, skyrocketing when you notice that she didn’t come alone. There’s a child next to her. Proper and sweet, certainly older than Hana.

His hands are neatly folded in his lap, hair combed back. He’s just listening, it seems, to whatever they spoke about. And his face… his face looks familiar somehow; as does the girl’s, yet in an entirely different way.

“Good morning,” you greet the woman and she responds with a nod. “Is everything alright?” you finally ask, turning to Jungkook, a hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t come back.”

But Jungkook doesn’t answer. Your heart grows a little more wary. Because, why is he so speechless? Why does he look scared, eyes wide, chest risen, as if he’s holding his breath? Blinking faster.

The woman is back to staring at her legs, shifting her hand to grip the little one next to her; and the boy looks like he doesn’t want to be here at all. At the same time, however, he starts to admire the fancy interior of your mansion.

The lustre, the floor, the table, the chairs. Everything you’ve grown used to.

“What is wrong?” you try again. Panic watered by Jungkook’s lack of response, you gulp, but still steady yourself and remain polite. “May I ask… who are you?”

You’re looking at the woman again. She glances up to you. She’s gorgeous — full and curved lips, light brown eyes, pitch black hair. Looks young; about your age. She doesn’t answer, but Jungkook’s quivering voice does.

“This is Jihyo, darling.”

Well, alright. Doesn’t tell you much. You’ve seen her, maybe even heard the name, you think. Is she from your town? But you can’t assign her any significance…

“What does this mean?” you inquire.

“She… She wanted to talk to me,” he explains, “she came all the way from a village close to our hometown.”

“Ah. To say what, exactly?”

You don’t want to sound agitated; but the suspense is growing unnecessarily, and you want whatever truth out. And honestly—

The tension forms a little something in your head. Not enough time has passed for him to properly answer, but you still repeat, “To say what?!”

You feel like you have a hunch… you’re starting to come up with theories. And the worst of them dizzy you, make you want to yell and throw up, tempting you to smash a nearby vase.

Did he… could he do this to you…

No. 

“Jihyo and I knew each other… way before you and I got married. Way before.”

He echoes the last two words as if to reassure you; like the verbal equivalent of a soft hand on your back, rubbing you in comfort. But… the tactic doesn’t quite bear fruits. Your chest tightens more; the fatigue of the morning eventually fades.

“And?” you prompt, regarding her. “Why aren’t you saying anything then?”

“I have… to him. I—I do not quite know if it is my place to—”

“No, it is not,” you interrupt, “maybe you’re right. My husband should explain, no?”

But he’s stuttering as much as her. You don’t lose your patience often with him, or with people for that matter. You’re a cheerful person, fuelled by the miracles of the world. But…

This is pulling out your worst self.

“I—” he starts.

Terrified. What the hell is going on? You wait — wait more as he swallows. And then, when he drops the explanation, your heart falls with it. Bursts, plummeting from such a height.

“Jihyo and I met for a while and… she just came and told me that this… he’s—”

You understand.

You understand immediately because your guts warned you the moment you saw his expression. You look back and forth between him, her and the child, realising the similarities once and for all, well aware from experience why similarities are a thing in a family and…

You can barely hear yourself emit the words once they tumble out; like your voice isn’t your voice, and your thoughts aren’t your thoughts, “This… is your son?”

Like you’re living somebody else’s day who’s about to trudge through a life-changing, agonising event. Because this can’t be happening to you. Actually, it’s not sinking in at all; you’re fantasising, and you refuse to believe reality. 

“Jihyo says he is my son,” he paraphrases, as if he doesn’t really believe her, either, “he’s uhm. He’s six years old.”

Your mind begins to calculate immediately. Sudden dread fills you — because wait. Weren’t you together at that time? Did Jungkook hide from you, lingering in the dark, and yet another past is catching up to the two of you?

No. Hold on once more.

You got married to him five years ago. Were engaged and together for a year before. That makes six. You curl in the fingers in your mind, keeping up your math.

It’s been wrong all along, so you need to be correct this time.

Okay, so, if her — no, his, their son was born six years ago, it’d mean that Jungkook had been with her not too long before you. That’s not way before you got married, is it?

Your breath hitches. You blink the way he did before — not sure what to do or say. Your eyes move over to the rosy cheeks of the child again. He looks so innocent, still clueless, even though he perfectly understands what Jungkook just said.

Who the man is to him.

Of course. Same doe eyes, button nose, shape of face; like a damn copy. Not that the truth hurts enough, no — it had to be accompanied by another of his faces. Not in your own sons, somewhat in your daughter, but in him.

But you guess everybody is confused.

Even Jungkook. Most of all Jungkook, right?

Jihyo says he is my son.

Why? Does he not realise it?

That must mean he didn’t know, did he? And the child didn’t know either.

Jeon Jungkook, your husband of half a decade, has a son he never knew of. Older than Hana. Predating all of your history with him, alive and a toddler already back when you so profoundly believed that you were the first to share this very bond with this man.

To be the first for him at least once. But…

You’re not.

“Say something,” you hear him plead.

His voice is a little farther away. Your eyes drift back to him; he looks miserable, a hand reaching out. His fingers graze the tip of yours, but you retract in time. He sighs in absolute sorrow, face falling, as if his chest is surrendering.

You barely whisper when you answer, “What do you want me to say?”

It’s him and you; the woman is quiet, and you’re shattering. She can’t do anything anyway. Only contorts her face in pure guilt when Jungkook, defeated to the core, begs, “Anything.”

“As you wish.” Another glance at her. She’s looking at you, too. “Why are you here now?”

Her eyebrows raise; she’s caught off guard, but she still has an answer ready. Of course; Jungkook heard all of it minutes before you are, so it must be easy.

“I… I haven’t been doing well. The man I was supposed to marry left when he found out I carried somebody else’s child… even— even before that, actually.” Jungkook breathes air through his lips as she explains; you can’t tell why. “And I need help. Any help.”

“I see… And you couldn’t come years earlier, I assume? When I didn’t have three children of my own?” You lift the corresponding number; your cheeks are fiery hot. “When there was nobody I’d have to explain this to? How…”

You shake your head, disgusted with your attitude, but more devastated by the situation. So you spit, “How selfish are you?”

Her mesmerising eyes are so big; with her and Jungkook’s lives combined, their son could only end up with these grossly sweet eyes, pupils fracturing your heart. She’s looking at you as if you’re about to eat her.

Then she apologises, “I’m sorry… I tried to get by for as long as I could.”

“Didn’t you know we have a family?!”

“I knew! I— Of course I knew.”

Jungkook is royalty; people in your city know the two of you. Know your story. You wonder what this will do to you both.

“And,” you continue, “you still thought it’d be a good idea to bring chaos to our home.”

“I did not wish for this at all,” she defends, “I felt terrible all the while, and… I was so desperate, please try to understand. I need something, anything and… If his father can provide any of it in any way…” 

His father… his father…

You might spiral. The same thoughts circle your head at a pace that might make you faint.

This woman. This child. And his father.

You can’t breathe.

So you don’t respond to the sheer idiocy she just uttered, still in disbelief; the denial will be over in a minute. But for now, it hurts and you’re confused and absolutely out of touch with reality, and… fuck, your stomach—

You put a palm to your chest; the rise and fall is heavy. And just as he calls your name, you bolt away.

Just a second before you once again feel his fleeting digits miss your wrist, a lingering ghost touch as you run.

The first instinct your feet follow leads you to Jungkook’s office.

Somewhere in a corner of the mansion, you have your own chamber, dedicated to your time and your moments; but somehow, you still land in a room drenched in the scent you’re fleeing from.

And it’s counterproductive, the way you’re moving. Fast enough to dim his calls, but slow enough for him to catch up, too. Like you want him to follow. You know he’d find you even if he wasn’t hot on your trail, because you like to hide there.

But on other days, it’s you finding solace in him, not away from him.

You’re dizzy, deeply breathing when you shut the door behind you, both palms on the heavy door. You keep them there as if they could guard you from the disaster outside. But they don’t. None of it might.

Because he’s still right there, busting your glass heart when you hear steps outside, nearing; closer, too close, the corresponding voice hesitating for not a moment—

“Open… open, please.”

And suddenly, you’re crying.

There is no warning, no quiet tear falling, no steady progress. The stream of shock and grief is immediate, and it leaves your eyes, passes your cheeks, collects at your chin so fast that you barely notice the door blurring.

You’re sobbing; your forehead collides with the cold of the door, the carvings unpleasant against your skin. Where are your kids? They must still be asleep. Or maybe somebody is already — hopefully — taking care of them.

Jaehyuk gets all moody when Jungkook or you stay away for too long. You don’t think he should be this attached to you, to not learn to trust others. But trust is fragile and the child seems to know and… and… you know as well. You wish you could be as oblivious as him, though.

The world doesn’t work that way. No, it’s cruel and painful and everything good spoils someday, becomes rotten.

Doesn’t it?

Why does the voice on the other side cut you in pieces?

God. You want to return to your children. You want back to what you had last night; you crave their warmth, and his warmth. Of your children, his children.

But wouldn’t it remind you again? That the number isn’t uneven as you thought. That there’s more out there; he has more pieces out there that you’re not part of and… fuck. Fuck.

“I d-do not want to,” you finally reply, stuttering, words cut.

He silences. Maybe because he can hear you weeping. But he tries again, “Please… open.”

You shake your head against the door, but you know such a choice won’t lead anywhere. He’ll stay right there and you’ll keep telling him to leave, and despite his guest downstairs, he’ll persist.

So your hands sneak to the handle, weakened by the shaking. Jungkook doesn’t barge in until the door cracks open a slit; and when he steps into the room, you tumble back, out of his reach.

You don’t want his embrace. You don’t need his arms.

No, that’s a lie.

You do, but you can’t brave them right now. Body weightless, you rely on your voice, stating, “You never told me.”

His face is fallen, cheeks rounder when he looks to his feet. They’re flushed; the hue is so different from what you’re used to seeing. It’s always accompanied by a smile and crinkles around his eyes, sometimes shy, sometimes delighted.

This time it’s something else. Embarrassment and guilt and pain.

There’s a crease between his eyebrows, smoother due to your quiet tone; but it’s still there, distressed. Pained when he admits, “I didn’t know. I didn’t know a thing.”

“Who is she?”

He knows that, at least. You need to move away from pointless questions and throw those that you’re certain he possesses knowledge about.

He says, “She’s somebody I knew… so long ago.”

A thought after another creeps into your head, like a parasite, feeding on your sanity. You feel crazy and sick when a horrifying idea makes its way through, but you can’t resist the question regardless of the answer.

“Was she… was she one of the people you tried things with? To escape town…”

“No… she wasn’t part of any of this.”

And you cannot say if this is better or worse than what you expected. He wasn’t as terrible as to try with this many women. But if she wasn’t part of that stupid plot, and you were, does this place her higher in worth than you?

You weren’t good enough to be approached without a deal. To be fallen in love with unintentionally. But she was something else. It seems there was something, right?

But he’s with you. He chose you. You’re his wife, the woman he spends his days with, the only thought in his head. He’s loved you throughout the years; he’s devoted to you like the moon to the stars, not to her.

And he’s standing here, his eyes begging, his fingers quivering. You’re the subject of his desire and the name in his heart; he never even mentioned her. Fuck, he breathes for you… but you can’t seem to breathe.

You’re the mother of his children, yes. But so is she.

“Did you… did you get with my sister or me to forget about her?”

Fuck, you’re breathless. Why are you breaking like this? Why does the moment feel like this? When is it going to be over? Will you wake up easier?

“No…” he says, shaking his head immediately, “no. You know how it started. It had nothing to do with her, just with him…”

“So what?!” you spit, unable to contain yourself, somehow not affected enough by the big, sad eyes, pleading and fearing. “Who was she?”

It hurts. It hurts not only because of the obvious circumstances but — your love was born out of a facade, out of a lie. Even if he loves you genuinely now, even if you’d die for him without hesitation — the two of you happened as part of a different purpose.

But she never did.

She was real. Whatever he had with her or felt for her, it stemmed out of something authentic.

Your face heats up when you inquire, “…Did you love her?”

“I…” He hesitates. Fucking hesitates. But then says, “I didn’t.”

“You’re lying.”

You don’t know if he is. You can usually tell; this seems a little more complicated. One, you’re clouded by your own judgement. Second, the situation isn’t easy; Jihyo so obviously belongs to parts of his history.

Jungkook insists again, “I didn’t love her.”

“But you felt something.”

“I don’t know,” comes back, and something inside you falls, even if it shouldn’t, even if you had nothing to do with whatever was before you came along. You hate it, but you can’t stop yourself from plummeting face-forward into pain when he says, “But she was nowhere close to where you are now. Or where you were even back then.”

Can you believe this? The but pierces through you, repeating in your mind, as if saying, “No, she was less than you, but still something.” How do you know none of it will return with a child present in his life?

“But she was enough for a child,” you retort, “and… I don’t know how careful you were with others, too…”

“I was. I was careful.”

“But not with her!”

He doesn’t respond. This isn’t you; you don’t make others feel bad. You endorse empathy and joy. No, this isn’t you and it frightens you. If you had it in you right now, you’d take him into your arms. He’d deserve it, considering that he’s as surprised as you, falling as much as you.

Suffering like you.

But your thoughts are going haywire, and they keep falling out, “I thought I was the first one. I wanted our children to be our first—”

“I thought so, too,” he defends, “it’s what I would have preferred, baby, I… If I could just…” He gulps; it’s as if you can hear it from afar, in this quiet, empty room. There’s a pause between his words before he steps closer, whispering, “Please, I love you—”

“No, I…” You back away again. Shield yourself. You can’t take a single touch right now.

“Can we mend this?” Jungkook asks; the question splits you in half.

Because what could you do, really? This very real fact looms over you, might do so forever.

“Mend what?” you echo. “That you have a child with another woman? What is there to mend? This is reality and you cannot undo it.”

When you look closely enough, his eyes shimmer with tears, too. The sparse sunlight seeping through the windows for the first time in hours upon hours highlights the glimmer, but there’s nothing soft about it. You recognise dread in it.

Jungkook has been abandoned before, and ever since he married you, he’s been just as afraid, too. It took months and years for the two of you to find a remedy, to decrease the terror. To make him trust your presence entirely. To help him understand that you’re here.

Now, by the looks of it, it seems he isn’t sure anymore.

He tries again, desperate, out of his mind, “Just somehow. Somehow, we can fix this, right?”

“Fix what, Jungkook…?”

“Please.”

You’re moving in circles. He keeps imploring you to reconsider, and you remain clueless about what exactly he’s begging for. You just want to know where this is going. Who she is. Who she was. 

“Please what…” you whisper, eyes drifting to the ground. “What are we going to do about it, Jungkook? It’s important to think about, right…? Who was she to you?”

Who she was?

Jungkook’s memory is fragmented.

Pieces of what she really used to be to him evaporated long ago, just when he turned to look at her properly for the very last time on that warm early summer night. Back then, her smile was fake, apologetic, as if she’d committed an unforgivable crime.

As if sorry for wasting his time, for hurting him, for watching him leave when she wished for him to stay a little longer.

A similarly sad smile, yet so different in nature, appeared when she greeted him so gently in the hallway today. He was frozen in the staircase, stuck on that damn smile that haunted him for weeks and months back then, trying to understand whether she was actually here.

Wondered how he could make her disappear again. It wouldn’t fare well with how he lives his life with you now, he already knew. She was interfering.

And… the familiar smile told him she wasn’t here to deliver any good news. And even though he doesn’t remember it all anymore, he hated how the expression brought back the flood of past images.

The first fuzzy image was of a smile, too, albeit incredibly faded. More optimistic, tender. Enthusiastic, craving the solace and joy of the night as much as Jungkook had.

She stood on the far opposite side of the spacious hall back then; even through the dancing couples, he could see her gleaming, absorbed in a conversation with her dearest friends.

Jungkook had seen her before; perhaps once or twice, but he could barely remember her face. It was as if he was actually looking at her for the first time that night. He didn’t think she generally attended too many parties; and when they’d crossed paths before, they’d probably been a little younger.

He just…

He couldn’t remember her being this striking.

He couldn’t recall the dimples or the vibrant smile or the sparkle in her large eyes. Far away in the room, Jungkook lightly bit his lip as he observed, cocking an eyebrow when she gasped to something her friend had said.

As if he was standing next to her and hearing it, too. Mimicking her reaction, caught in a bubble.

And it took her a little to notice him, too. But when she did, her friends’ eyes followed, an immediate elbow teasing her sides as much as their words. Jungkook could only imagine what they were saying.

What are you looking at?

Is it your turn already? With him, yes?

Oh, and the season has barely begun!

He could read parts of it off their lips. Lifted his ego a little. But he averted his eyes nevertheless, despite the resistance in his movements, only to shift back every now and then.

To his chagrin, the night didn’t offer too many opportunities to near where she stood, but as the event snuck to its end, at least a sliver of hope twinkled, even for just a minute. Approaching the carriages at the same time, he found her waiting not too far from him.

Her family was missing just like his; but he was comfortable here, staring at the sky, breathing in the late spring breeze. But her gown, while heavy, wasn’t accompanied by a shawl, her arms bare.

He used the chance to ask, “Aren’t you cold?”

She stared up in surprise, not quite expecting a conversation. Yet, smoothly, and either bold or courageous or sweet, she answered with a confidence so enticing, “Hmmm, no. I guess I felt warmed enough throughout the night.”

Interesting. So very interesting.

Jungkook’s lips twitched upwards, an enthralled smile; his voice sounded somewhat different when he asked, “Is that so?”

“Mhm. I’ll thank you another day, though.”

Behind her, her folks neared, and he looked ahead and then down, smile still plastered to his face. Even when she’d left, the sparkle remained in his eyes.

That was it for now.

Jungkook’s and Jihyo’s paths crossed again merely a week later. He understood in that time apart that the tiny interaction had caught him somehow; he was relieved when he saw her again at the next party.

Brave, he joined her where she stood, scanning the finger food before settling on some tartelettes. He’d been hopeful throughout these days, yes, but Jihyo didn’t show her face too often; so he didn’t lie when he confessed, “I didn’t expect you here.”

“Well…” she answered, “I hoped to see you. I told you I’d want to thank you.”

“Mhhh, I’m still not sure what for, though.”

She shrugged her shoulders, smile so vibrant. “It was a pleasant night. I felt warm throughout.”

She’d said the same thing last time, waiting at the carriage, moonlit and breathtaking. He smirked a little, satisfied by the flow of the dialogue; then argued, “But it is the summer season. Heat is all that is ahead.”

“…Isn’t it?”

Something stirred in Jungkook. He wouldn’t analyse her words on other days, but her expression was telling. Made him fearless, whirling his mind as he asked, “Have you explored this place yet?”

“No. I never get to do so much. But,” she said enthusiastically, licking cream off her snack. Jungkook couldn’t look away. “I wouldn’t mind walking around. It is hotter inside anyway.”

And matching her fierce response from before, Jungkook added, “…I doubt it.”

He was right. She’d prove it quick minutes later. In the backyard, stopping in the middle of their walk, he felt the warmth, the heat when she pushed him into an empty corner, lips crashing against his.

Jungkook’s blood scorched indeed; the outside wasn’t cooler. In fact, it burned. He burned. And she burned, too. Her skin, her shoulder, the mounds of her breasts underneath the dress that he pulled down.

There wasn’t any room or chance to proceed too far, but somehow, Jungkook was content with this.

It made him crave harder; and he enjoyed the feeling. The temptation. The yearning for all he hadn’t yet seen, yet felt. He hungered for her; she was the opposite of what the world held, brought him excitement.

Today, he doesn’t know if it was this very exhilaration or the need for distraction or something else that dragged him back to her over and over again. He recalls his heart nervously jumping, but he can’t recall it blooming. Never the way it did with you. Never.

But she still evoked something different. Reprieve from his days, his sorrows, the grief in his big, old home.

He never told her any of this, but he assumes she saw. Sometimes, she’d raise his chin when they met in private, mouth breathing close to his, asking if something was wrong. He’d deny. He’d dive into her eyes and lips instead, forget about it all, enjoy her empathy.

She’d somehow worry, he thought, and then kiss him, tell him it was alright, no matter what it was. That she was there. And he’d appreciate it. Would like the warmth, the care.

And still, he’d go home to tears, suffer all over again. But when he fell asleep, he’d think of her, forbidding the last thought of the night to be anything dreadful, anything but the same pretty smile.

She offered madness. She offered humour, sweetness, and most of all, relief.

Jihyo always refused to walk around town. She never hesitated to decline his offers.

Jungkook was alright with this; didn’t question her rejection at first; he didn’t know what the two of them were, anyway. There were fuzzy feelings somewhere, something twinkling in his mind and his guts and his chest.

He didn’t think love felt this way, however.

He regarded love as a much stronger sentiment than what they had. What was it that they indulged in anyway? Ablaze days and nights, baring themselves behind locked doors, lips on her skin, her sides, her waist, her flesh. Hands on, under, between her legs.

The digits would dig into her hips and remain; his tongue tasted her up, up and down, in and out. Taking in her scent, lapping her up, showing her new things. Body against body. Buried in her, glued to her — could that be love? No.

It was just that, wasn’t it? Yes, he’d stopped meeting other women. Yes, he’d be distracted at events.

He would spend his time with his boys, but let his mind and eyes travel far from them; even the presences hiding in those halls that he’d usually mock or annoy or disregard, projecting his own insecurities onto them, dulled.

Jihyo was beautiful. Jihyo captured focus. And he called Jihyo’s name until he even muttered it when alone; she breathed it until he could only hear his own name in her voice.

But.

It wasn’t love. Even today, he knows it never was.

Yet, even then, he could imagine this for a while. If he couldn’t love her now, he thought, maybe he could love her some day. He couldn’t tell, but he could imagine it. Who knew? 

Then again, it seemed he would never find out, anyway.

Some days, some time later, Jungkook eventually started thinking how odd it was that Jihyo never wanted to go out. To tell somebody about them; would it be so bad?

He presumed it was because she didn’t want others to know. He understood, truly; at an age where people would pressure one into obligations just when they saw others together, he didn’t want them to rumour yet.

Then again, Jihyo and he were connected somehow; sometimes he thought that was enough, too. Deep under the sheets so often, sharing stories sometimes, and perhaps they weren’t for the public to hear.

And there was something mysterious about them that nobody would understand, anyway. He couldn’t wrap his finger around the mystical nature of the two of them, but he started to understand she had him good.

Yet…

Yet. Something was wrong with her. So entirely wrong when she’d keep him hidden in rented rooms or in the dead dark of the night.

When she’d refuse his offer to promenade through the park, be fully against his invitations on some days without a proper reason at all. Or, when she’d skip events that she promised to attend, and then told him she hadn’t been sick — just not in the mood.

And one day, he decided to ask.

A very futile intention; the urge to ask was quickly overshadowed by kisses too intense. He already wanted to see her again even before the evening was over, no matter what she’d answer. He was already dreaming of her body, despite towering over it right now.

Would these dreams ever stop?

His nights were sleepless anyway, just like this approaching one. Hands on his own skin, today replaced by her, pumping and fondling. All over him when he climbed onto her and pushed in again.

He couldn’t free himself of the itch she caused just yet; kept scratching. Then again, he was so clueless about who she was at this very moment. Fond of her, but confused, too.

Aware of how much he thought of her, but having no issues retorting things snarkily, like when she mumbled underneath him, “You can’t live without me,” and he effortlessly rose from her neck, swollen lips answering, “Oh, I can.”

And he could. They were confusing in nature, but he knew that he could.

Because she was veiling something that he thought might distance her from him, so he started keeping himself mentally distanced either way. Even though it proved harder these days.

But the two of them were still something. They got along; there was humour in this, attraction and fire. And he felt heavenly inside her every damn time.

In the midst of it, he told her, “We could try harder.”

Perhaps she misunderstood; perhaps she couldn’t read his eyes and his tone yet, because she pulled him closer, deeper. He let her. Wouldn’t voice these thoughts properly again until he dropped next to her and said, “I like spending time with you. And I want to try more.”

He didn’t notice right away — her hesitation, her silence.

It took a second to even look at her; and when he did, he recognised the sudden guilt in her eyes instantly. Remorse, pain. Like he’d just broken something with his idea that she’d kept whole. Only now, she couldn’t save it anymore.

He didn’t know what it was, so he wondered, “What is it?”

“I…”

Then again, it wasn’t hard to figure out anyway. He deduced, “…You don’t want it.”

“It’s… not that I don’t want it.”

“I mean. It’s alright, you see? We aren’t this far, so if you want to reject this, I do understand. I will live.”

“I might have to reject it… you, Jungkook,” she confessed, and he had to admit that he wasn’t overly enjoying what he was hearing, “not because I want to, but it’s…”

And the universe had cruel ways of interrupting. Always.

Because her words halted somewhere between him and her and then vanished into thin air. Cut by strong, arhythmic knocks at the door. The sudden interjection startled them, dropped the quiet hearts into the pit of their stomachs.

As the door worked on being unlocked, she whispered a tiny, anxious, “Please… you might get hurt.”

And Jungkook understood; jumped off the bed, slipping into his trousers within seconds before dashing to the back. The wardrobe was empty, ideal to hide; it’s what he knew she wanted, for him to stay anonymous.

Jihyo, still bare, sat up on the bed, and Jungkook, in the dark with only a gap to observe the outside happenings, waited. Waited until the door opened. Until a man, more or less a stranger to him, only minimally familiar, stormed in with furious eyes.

He didn’t stall a second before his anger ambushed her. Jungkook’s fingers tingled to crash the door of the wardrobe open; even from here, it was abundantly clear that the man struggled to not hurt her.

But right now, he relied on the fury in his tone; Jungkook assumed it was a brother or friend raging about her indecent behaviour. But it soon became all too obvious that he wasn’t. Somebody of such a relationship doesn’t snap like this.

No, Jungkook understood. Knew what the issue was when the man asked, “So you’ve started getting naked for others? Is that it now? That’s what you whore have been doing?”

For others…

She tried, “Listen, I—”

But he cut her off, “No! I promised you everything. Why do you despise me so much? You couldn’t wait for us to be wed, but needed to satisfy your needs elsewhere? Why do you despise me, huh?”

Jihyo didn’t hear much of what he said, zeroing in on specific statements, and whispered, “You do not give me everything. Not even close.”

Fuck.

If it wasn’t clear already… Jungkook’s mind spun.

Jihyo was promised to somebody else and was using Jungkook with a purpose and intention, as a means of fulfilling whatever she needed to fulfil. And he— he was the homewrecker, the third wheel, not her focus the way she was his focus.

Despite the mistakes he’d ever made, despite his damn flaws, he never wanted this.

What was he? A placeholder? Thrown aside the moment she’d marry him? Why was it that Jungkook’s existence was regarded as something so low, stomped beneath people’s feet, like he was nothing at all?

Who knew? There wasn’t even a second to think about it, to ask about it.

Priorities shifted, inquiries shoved away; when the man reached low, snatching a patch of her hair to pull her off the bed, sirens chimed in Jungkook’s head. It still mattered to him, not seeing her hurt; but his instincts were deep-rooted.

Nobody, including Jihyo, should have to experience this.

So Jungkook pushed the door open, met with a gasp, surprise and wrath. The man didn’t need to ask who he was or what he was doing here; he knew immediately, more than cognisant of the wretched situation.

Jungkook was ready to throw some insult onto him, words already on his lips, arms reaching out to defend her. But he didn’t need to; the guy had already let her go, taking a swing within a second before his fist landed on Jungkook’s jaw.

It could’ve been worse; he could’ve broken it. Jungkook knew right away that the damage wasn’t as terrible as it had the potential to be.

But his tongue still felt warm, tasted metallic. He took a deep breath through his nose, dizzy for a moment, still sane enough to hear the stranger say, “You can have the slut.”

There was another blob of disgust landing on Jungkook’s face; no doubt that the man bid him farewell with one last literal spit on Jungkook’s cheek. Then, the door fell into its lock, and it got quiet again.

Or… not quite.

Jungkook lacked words; there was nothing to say anyway. He was the culprit after all.

Worried hands settled on his body; he didn’t notice how much he’d sunk to the ground, one knee hitting the floor. But when the exploring fingers touched his waist, up to his armpits and his elbows, he stood tall again.

She was trying to lift him. To check for wounds, despite the clear drops of scarlet red he was leaving on this rented room’s floor. Eyes shutting for a second, he slapped the concerned palm off his arm, dodging it when she came back with a quiet, “Jungkook…”

“Shut up.”

“Please listen—”

“Listen to fucking what? You’re…”

There was no ending to the sentence. He didn’t know what she was. A fraud, maybe. But he didn’t have it in him to insult her somehow; perhaps because she, too, was already in enough pain as it was.

When his eyes opened, they glared. To his feet, to the side, into her wet gaze. She was nearly hiccuping, but he couldn’t get himself to give into the empathy entirely; the anger simmered in the pit of his stomach, threatened to come to a full boil.

Yet, he registered when she said, “He doesn’t treat me well, he— he’s controlling. And emotionally abusive, he— please,” she grabbed his hand, but he pulled out of her grip, “I can’t marry him, not if— not if I’m scared he might raise his hand at me.”

“Then don’t fucking marry him. You have this choice,” Jungkook said, spitting into the corner; the colour was disgusting. “Controlling and abusive, however? You sound perfect for him.”

“I don’t… I can’t. I can’t stay with him, but I— I could stay with you. I would.”

Jungkook scoffed. She had to be joking. Undoubtedly; there was nothing in him capable of believing she meant this. Not when she’d refused just this idea mere minutes ago.

He shook his head; he wouldn’t have any of this. Even if she left this man… even then…

He couldn’t do this because she made him do something so easily that he abhorred. He’d seen the love between his father and his mother before, and then witnessed the hatred between her and his uncle.

After all these years of affliction, he knew the difference between love and despise.

Knew where affection could grow, where it would wilt. Where it’d be replaced with hostility.

She wasn’t made for him; he wasn’t in the mindset for her. And he was wrong after all; he didn’t love her and he never could have.

“Please, don’t go,” she begged as he picked up his clothes, wiping his mouth on the bed sheet, ready to leave. “Please, I—”

She followed him all the way to the door; Jungkook resisted each push and pull, charging towards the exit with resolution. And when she blocked the door for too long, sobbing onto her body, he fletched his teeth, sharpened his jaw, clasped her wrist before he turned her around.

Arm pinned to her back, cheek pressing into the door, she kept crying, and then, finally, sighed. She gulped; then lowered her face, forehead to the cold of the wood, and too courageously as always pleaded, “Be with me one last time. Just… just once.”

And her tone… her voice… her curling fingers…

They tempted him. Something about this, something about her tugged him in again, like an invisible force. And for the tiniest moment, he hated himself for thinking this way. But deep inside he knew the truth.

That he still craved her. Still wanted to feel her once more. Still hungered to bury himself in deep, leaving scars and marks as if to punish her just once. But…

But he remembered. She’d turned him into somebody he wasn’t. So he couldn’t. He’d carry the regret to his grave.

So he let her go, using the moment of weakness, shoving her away slightly — she let him. She understood to give up. And he, with a coat over his shoulder, left.

A hand over the bleeding wound, and the other over his injured mouth.

If he wakes up now, you won’t be able to take it.

It was already difficult, breathing through every second of the rest of the day. Overthinking, but never quite processing the information you received. From the very moment you woke up to the story Jungkook narrated and everything that followed, the seconds have been hell.

Everything… everything—

The remaining conversations. With her, with the village bartender he expected. You don’t know how he survived any of it, functioned at all; using his brain at full capacity, reading through papers when you were sure the letters were blurring in front of his very eyes.

And how he looked at you after he was done and returned to you, reaching for your limp hand…

The hurt was prominent, your heart still reluctant, but you let him; what good would it have done to send him away? He kept coming back. Sat there for an hour until you told him to tend to his guest, to discuss whatever he needed to.

Truth was, you didn’t want him to go… but you didn’t want him near, either.

Your mind kept circling around a hundred and thousands of things. The woman sitting downstairs, fiddling and nervous, the child still next to her. Possibly bored. She’s aware of her past as much as you are, of the role she played. Of the hurt she caused.

The more you think about it, the more it pains. The more it seems like a tragedy, like an anti-fairytale. Fabricated.

So unreal.

It’s as though thinking it senseless could make it less real. You’re married to him now, but you still feel small, shrinking, insecure and hurt and unable to make any of this coherent.

You needed silence today. You wanted your mind to divert, conjure different, more pleasant thoughts, memories of better times. But this proved worse; so somehow, you ended up overthinking the situation to death.

You don’t want the children to wake up again. Hana is fast asleep, Jaehyuk dozing. It was Jaehoon’s subtle whimpering that finally shifted your attention twenty minutes ago; your arms were too weightless to carry him, but you did, swayed him, blended out your brain with his sounds.

By now, he’s already drooling over you again. You hope he stays just like this; hope Jaehyuk doesn’t notice the empty side of their crib. 

There’s something about this, the twin intuition. You had heard about it before, but it is truly fascinating, the way they communicate. You’re still baffled that Jaehyuk stayed as unmoving as he did when you pulled his brother towards you, comforting yourself with his warmth.

But you have to admit…

You’re exhausted. More so mentally than physically. Your body yearns to drop. The up and down pacing only drains you further.

You should set him into his crib again. He’s fast asleep anyway; everybody is. Just you aren’t. And your husband isn’t.

In fact, he’s not even in this room with you. Heart palpitating and chest paining, you’ve been waiting. He slipped in and out of the rooms you were in for hours, and you kept sending him away, sickened by the apologies, not even certain what exactly he was apogising for.

For having a child? For once tending to secret meetings with a woman you don’t know, ambiguous about what he felt for her? You don’t know.

And…

Honestly — your heart isn’t splintering because he made a mistake, really, did he? You and him were nothing back then. No. You’re fractured because of your own damn expectations. And because you wanted life to lead somewhere else.

You didn’t want somebody to become such a part of your love and marriage like this.

You sigh to breathe out the ache, deep from your stomach, hoping it’ll lighten the load. But it doesn’t really. Not even Jaehoon’s little hand over your chest does, his head on your shoulder, the scent of his baby hair.

And once the door to the bedchamber creaks open, you don’t feel relieved, either. Your heart stirs more, if anything. Scared your son might hear or notice, you hurry to put him down again, draping a blanket over his little body before you shut your silken robe.

Jungkook appears as if he’s lived a dozen lives in a day. His pupils have shrunk, shoulders low, hair as uncombed as in the morning. He didn’t bother; as little as you. He halts when he sees you standing in the middle of the room, surprised about the random spot you chose.

Endless affection flashes across his face, transparent yearning, as though he hasn’t seen you in days. Within a moment, the expression calms a little, and he pulls himself together enough to ask, “You are still awake, darling?”

You hold yourself tight, as if binding your body together. Clearing your throat, you say, “It’s… I don’t know if I will be able to sleep tonight.”

“…Me neither.”

“What happened?”

You gesture to the ground, referring to the parlour. She’s probably not even there anymore. She was all day; and she journeyed. She must be tired.

Jungkook explains, as if reading your mind, “Jihyo… she’s in one of the guest rooms.” You nod. He cards through his hair, continuing, “She said the guy she was supposed to marry never told anyone what had happened that night… I— I don’t know why. He never came back at all, but I figured that bit. She didn’t want him to, and I told her he shouldn’t have either way.”

He sighs; so do you. Feelings or not, you guess Jungkook has never been a bad person. It still feels odd. He then says, “And then she was abandoned by her family when they learned of her pregnancy and she wouldn’t tell anybody who the father was…”

Of course not. Somewhere, she must have cared.

“They sent her to some faraway aunt who was apparently a tyrant… and she ran away when her boy was a year old.”

Your dropped chin lifts, an immediate response forming in your mind. Your boy. Your boy, too. But you don’t spill it. In truth, you don’t even need to. As if written all over your face in big, bold letters, Jungkook sees right through you.

He halts, gives himself a moment to be sure it’s what you’re stuck on, and then tells you, “…I know but… I have no connection to him. She does. I have none at all.”

“She does, and now she’s here… actually here…”

“She’s here because it was nearly impossible to survive for her,” he insists, the tone of defence sharp and clear, “but somehow she still did. It’s gotten more difficult now, however, and—” He’s struggling more now; while some words pour out, others are whispered. Like, “As the father of her child… she says it is both our responsibility to ensure he is well. But…”

As the father of her child, as the parents of their child.

He’s not wrong; and you guess that if it wasn’t happening in your own household, you’d be much more lenient about this. You’d be nodding along, agreeing that a father should be present, that a child deserves it.

You’ve been part of an orphanage filled with lonely kids for too long to think otherwise.

But it surely is different in moments like these. You feel like a hypocrite.

“But?” you prod.

“She understands if I say no, too. I have my own family now.”

Yeah…

Did she need to tell him that? Did he know by himself; are these her or his words? You wonder…

“You say she always struggled,” you draw back to again, “why did she never reach out when she knew she was with child already?”

He rubs his eyes. Tired, his body somewhat more worn out than ever. Barely looks active; the shoulders are in an entirely new position. Or no… not new. You’ve seen it before — it’s just been years now.

“She thought I wouldn’t bother,” he says, “she thought… I’d abandoned her once and for all. Which I reckon I did.”

“And…” You’re scared to ask. You swallow. “Would you have aided her? If you’d known.”

He quietens. You’re not too fond of the hesitation loudening the silence. You know he’s thinking, eyes unfocused, imagining the scenario you narrated without probably really wanting to. You brought this to yourself, so you’ll need to be patient.

And you are, until he finally concludes, “I would have… I— I would have felt like I owed this to my child. I can’t— sweetheart, it’s not my nature, please understand. I wouldn’t leave a woman alone with this if I was anyhow part of it and—”

“And… If you’d known… we wouldn’t even have happened, right?”

Jungkook shakes his head again, the movements even lazier now. You’re afraid he might drop and faint. But he breathes in, then out, uprights himself, “It doesn’t matter what would have or could have happened. I did approach you and I did fall in love with you and we did happen. Isn’t… isn’t that enough?”

You blink; then blink more. A shaky breath escapes your lips to keep your voice as steady as doable. “Yes… I assume…”

Another pause. More stalling until the thoughts previously forming in your head become less of a tangled, messy garn and get clearer. You just do not know how to voice them; to keep the man who brought stars down to the ground to you whole.

You don’t want to hurt him. But you don’t understand how to handle the next few days any other way.

But you don’t say it yet. You wait. Listen as he begs, “Please tell me… tell me what you’re thinking. I don’t know what to do.”

You lie, “I don’t know, either, Jungkook.”

His strong hands get ahold of tufts of his hair again, butchering his mane more. The gesture isn’t aggressive, but he still looks so out of his goddamn mind. Desperately, he steps closer, breathing, “You know that I love you, yes?”

…You’ve seen needles at your seamstress’ place before. They always strike you as effective, professional. Sharp. The sting you feel reminds you of when her needle digs into fabric. Perhaps worse.

Perhaps it’ll turn into a sword in a moment.

“Only you,” he adds, but then halts, a shake of his head correcting himself before he tries again, “no. Only you and them.” His eyes briefly dart to the crib, a reminder to lower his voice, even though the shudder makes it hard. “I haven’t thought about her in yea—”

No…

“You haven’t thought about her once?” you interrupt. It’s one of the things your derailing mind tried to convince you of today. That she never really disappeared. “The woman you were involved with like this… you never ever thought of her or regarded her important enough to tell me about her? To think about her?”

And now he’s confused. Why do you keep asking questions? You’re your own worst enemy, really. Then again, how does one stop this toxic curiosity from overflowing in a moment like this?

“I don’t know,” he admits. Not a needle anymore… “She might have crossed my mind as somebody who once existed in my life. Not in a romantic manner. Nor in a yearning manner. I did not miss her, you see?”

He moves closer, hands lifting. You only now see how pale he is, his skin so close, eyes nearly lifeless, but not quite. They’re still filled with so much emotion and pain as he continues, “And I certainly did not care enough to prioritise her over you anyhow.”

Palms cradle your face. Usually so warm and comforting, they’re icy today, as if his blood has frozen in his veins. And he sounds so utterly dehydrated when he says, “She was never important enough, no…”

“I— I see.”

He waits. His breath falls on your face before he runs his tongue between his lips nervously. His waterline is damp, but holding back. You wonder when he last ate, when he last drank.

You guess he’s not as concerned about himself when he requests, “Tell me what you are thinking.”

A lot. Too much to condense into one single thought. But you still pick out one of the million swirling around and throw it out, “I am wondering… about what you will do now. I will assume you will help.”

You see how much he hates to admit it; you nearly take it back before he, however, tells you again, “I may have to.”

“And… if you do. What will it look like? Will you— I do not know. Will you meet her regularly, send her money, see the child? Build a bond? Have… have two families on either side?”

“I d-don’t think it will be like this, I—”

“How will it be then?”

His hands drop. He shuts his eyes, but opens them again a minute later. “I will provide… I might get to know him. But I do not plan on making them an integral, main part of my life. I don’t want this to come between us or have the children think wrong of me, and… you’re my priority.”

You know…

As the wife of somebody like Jungkook, you have seen the hardships that come with a traumatised mind. One that so deeply fears he will step into his family’s shoes, mimicking the misery he once experienced.

He’s been afraid of passing on generational trauma for years, and he battled the fear… you know he doesn’t want to start at zero. You don’t want it either. And you genuinely do not perceive him as a bad father; quite the opposite.

Jeon Jungkook gives his all. He loves with his all. He worships with his all.

But you still think this needs time and patience.

So you confess, “I believe you… I do. I just. I think this will change things. I cannot stop thinking about you moving back and forth, nurturing two families, and yes, I am selfish, but… I always assumed I was the only one.”

Not before. Not long ago. But now.

You would’ve been content with somebody like her being out there and never finding out about it. For the very first time in your life, you’re selfish, and it hurts, it burns, and you loathe that you cannot turn it off.

“I did, as well…” he confirms. “But you’re the only one that matters.”

“What about your son? Do you have it in you to not care?”

“He’s a child I never spoke to!” he argues, voice rising by an octave. “I just… fuck, I do not know. Baby, I… I don’t want to be a pendulum. I’m not swinging between two spaces… I will never perceive anyone as more important than you.”

“I see.”

Pause. Then, “…Please look at me.”

You feel another clump rise to your throat. It’s more dense this time, inevitable, and it affects your speech. Accompanied by something lifting to your head and making it heavier. You tell him, “I can't.”

“…Why?”

“I just can’t.”

“You ca—” He shifts, eager to bring you back to him; you’re already miles away and he knows. “Baby… Do you still love me?”

You could scoff. But you don’t; instead, you feel the liquid starting to pour. Like the rain these days, less comforting now, it drops out of your eyes. You somehow very well expected it, but the amount of the drops still surprises you.

Like a grey sky indicating a gloomy day, yet not a reliable preparation for a downpour.

Your inhale is sharp, cuts the air, and your eyebrows painfully furrow when the tears collect. You answer, “Of course I love you, I— Fuck, of course I do. It’s why this hurts so much!”

“I… I know.”

His gaze is similarly wet, suddenly an ocean, but he blinks the despair away before he crushes you in a hug. Jungkook is never afraid to cry, but restraining himself is something he’s practised for the kids… and even for you, it seems.

Shit, but— you’ve told him so many times. So many times to not hold back for you. You don’t either. You don’t either, right?

“I know,” he repeats, “I— I don’t know why these things happen, I’m—”

You shake your head against his chest, sogging his clothes as you mumble, “I can’t blame you, can I? It was your past, yes, but I wasn’t part of it, and… it’s still so much.”

“For me, too… for me as well, darling—”

“I just— I think I need distance, Jungkook.”

Wait… 

Wha—

That’s when the world stops spinning, frozen like his blood. The heart he has so gently guarded so far detaches from the rest of what lies beneath his ribs, and jumps into his throat, pounds in his ears.

The profound hope that he misheard you is needless, he already knows. He’s been hyper aware of your every movement and word today; he knows what you said and he knows he’ll have to let you. But…

“…What?”

The decision still leaves him stranded on an island. Away from this house and you and his children. Desolated, he as its lone habitant. And the image is surreal.

“I need to go away,” you elaborate again, digging deeper into the wound. Can he rewind the morning? No. You add, “Just until you have this sorted out with her and it’s done, and—”

“I have,” he carefully voices, convinced, so, so convinced, “there is nothing more to say.”

But you’re not with him just yet; you argue, “But she should stay for a little, shouldn’t she? I… I am not too fond of the scenario, but from an empathetic perspective, you should know about your son. Be in the loop…”

Yes, you do hate the idea. Yes, it contradicts your distaste for the image of him walking to and fro between families, providing and keeping her in his life. But, after all is said and done, his son will still be his son.

And you are only heartbroken, not heartless.

“I just…” you continue, gulping. “I can’t be here while she is. And I don’t want you to send her away already, either. Her journey seems to have been long and… she’s just trying to live.”

“Where… where do you want to go?”

“Home.”

The resolute tone you decide on hurts. Not because he’s against your family or your place back in the city, but because you seem to have thought it out already. That you want to leave. That you want to be away from him.

The woman that latches onto him the moment he crawls into bed after work; from the man who clutches your body throughout the night, wakes up delirious from your scent.

It stings. It burns.

“Just for a little,” you say, as if to cure the injury. “I… I need to be away.”

Jungkook’s throat is knotted up and dry. He almost doesn’t dare to ask, but he knows he’ll keep wondering when you’re gone. So he spits, “And then?”

“And then… I will see.”

Doesn’t matter anyway. He guesses that the wondering part won’t change, no matter what he inquires, no matter what you respond.

“…Why does this sound like a possible goodbye?”

He might faint. He doesn’t know how long he’ll have to be awake without you. Doesn’t know what’ll follow this disaster. Doesn’t know anything. Most of his life, he’s been haunted by this uncertainty, and he hates the return of it.

And you’re not saying anything; the moment gets worse as you close your eyes for a bit, staring down, unable to answer because you probably don’t know, either.

But…

“Please say something,” he urges, abandoning questions and pleas, diving straight into statements as if this could make them definitely true, “you… you will come back. You won’t leave after this.”

There’s agitation in your voice, merged with desperation when you speak again, “Jungkook, I can only think so far right now—”

“No, please…”

“What do you mean, pl—”

“I can’t lose you, no matter what.”

“But right now, I can’t take this either, Jungkook!” you snap. Perhaps it’s his big eyes throwing you off guard or the unknown future or the fresh hurt. Something in you breaks as your voice starts to vibrate, eyes watery. “I don’t want to be— another. And I can’t fully make you abandon them either, and… I still don’t know how to live with such a change and—”

And. And. And.

The list goes on. That’s the problem. It’s an overwhelming mess, a never ending string of thoughts. 

As the light in your eyes dims, usually so blindingly bright on other days, Jungkook’s eyes overflow. First a single drop of a tear, then half a dozen. He blinks them away, but suddenly there’s a river across his cheek, collecting to a sea at the chin.

And you look similar.

Shattered like glass. Your broken pieces are tiny; they resemble dust. God, albeit without a single intention, Jungkook has hurt the wrong person.

Desperation at the front of his tongue, he doesn’t know what to say. Nothing more to do but to revert back to pathetic begging—

“Please… don’t go.” His voice quivers, the sigh even shakier; his soft hands, the ones that held you just last night, rub his face in anger towards himself. “It’s who I used to be… I didn’t know.”

“Yes, it’s what used to happen, b–but it doesn’t hurt any less, fuck, and…”  Breathing is as hard as speaking. Your tears run again when you add, “And what if there are more? What if more of them come knocking at our door and we don’t know yet?”

His chest is rising high, falling low. Lower lip never still. You know panic is growing beneath his chest, and you want to wrap your arms around him, keep his pure heart from breaking. But what can you do?

Yours is splitting, too.

Worse when all he whispers again is, “Please don’t go.”

It’s a hopeless attempt. You know; you hear it. He’s still trying but he’s not truly expecting you to change what you decided on. Yet, you ask, “Please understand.”

He’s still not moving; but you think he understands indeed. Because he nods. Doesn’t look at you anymore. The sniffles are familiar, painful as he questions, “What about the children?”

You feared this question. The delivery of it proves harder than you thought; your tongue nearly gets tied, “I… I will leave the twins here. Travelling might be difficult with both of them when I am alone.” You look to the wall; to the little beds on the other side of the room. “Can I take Hana with me?”

You know it’s killing him as much as it is messing with you. You know what it means when he breathes in, but doesn’t argue with you as he nods again. Jeon Jungkook loves you; he loves you to every end of the universe.

And you’ll love Jeon Jungkook for the rest of your life, too, despite it all.

But this is needed.

He asks, “How long will you be away?”

“I don’t know…” you admit. “Hopefully not long.”

“I see.”

“I am sorry.”

All grand arguments end in silence or insults or apologies. There are no more words to utter. Jungkook is at a loss for hope, at the far end of a tunnel. If he could still convince you, he would; but your decision sits.

So all he manages is—

“I am, too.”

There’s a nod. Your tired eyes. You looking to the side, then to the bed, approaching it a moment later with a body falling so weightlessly. When he joins minutes later, you’re turned to the side, and he watches the back of your head, the mane falling, urging to touch it just a little.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he turns away, too. 

Until you fall asleep and for the rest of the night, you don’t feel a touch on you as you do on other days; but relying on your remaining senses, you do hear the sniffle. Do register the movements next to you.

One more time for a little, approaching while.

The place is empty when Jungkook wakes up. He’s woken up three days in a row now, and he’s never wanted to — every damn time, the place would be empty.

And he can’t breathe.

Ever since she stepped over the threshold and re-entered his life and you chose the sheer opposite, he hasn’t drawn a proper breath. This isn’t how things should be. They’re switched up, plainly wrong.

The room is empty; it has been this vacant before, but the void is yawning now, tormenting. Feels like it might never end.

A couple sunrises ago, you left with a lasting, gnawing touch. Before you stepped down the porch, your palm lay in his for a minute; despite the hurt, you still seemed to want to leave remnants of what he means to you.

Your hand was warm in his; and your eyes, albeit filled with some sort of cold distance, still carried some of the warmth, too, your gaze glassy. You were pulling yourself together so well. For him, yourself, the confused child clinging to you.

Hana thought you were visiting the grandparents out of nostalgic longing. She thought she’d be away from him for a fleeting moment. She’s too young to understand the passing of time, after all.

So she didn’t complain, but she looked dissatisfied. Unwilling to embark on this little vacation. Pouted at her father, but listened to her mother.

For her, he was keeping himself whole, too — but when your fingers slipped away from his, the heat still lingered. Like a red scald, as if he’d held his palm into a flame. Perhaps that’s what set him off.

Perhaps just as much as when the hole between your bodies widened bit by bit, and you disappeared in the distance after the carriage had engulfed you. The impulse to run after you grew consistently and rapidly, but his feet were cemented to the spot, legs stiff.

When the carriage turned, however, and only then, they carried him down. There was a faint sound in the background, like the whispering breeze of autumn, and Jungkook barely understood what it was until he realised his lips were moving.

It was him, not the wind.

Him, in a quick downward spiral, bedazzled by the lunacy and the tears obscuring the world; repeating something he knew you were already too far away to hear. You wouldn’t register any of it anymore; he hoped you’d feel it somehow.

“Please, don’t leave,” it was, wasn’t it? A desperate, “Why would you leave?”

The echoes in the mansion were suddenly much more prominent. Not just of his steps; his own voice in his head had an echo, too, but it was a lot louder, pure torture. Pressed against his ears, as if he was falling from the clouds and into burning hell.

The sounds were blocked by nothing but the wind.

This has been feeling neverending ever since. So infinite.

And maybe it’s this very horrendous fear that disables his lungs; that he might end up like this, without your touch, without your smile, without the future he drew in his mind every single day. It always, always contained you.

He loves you; he’s told you so many times, but it’s never been this apparent. And it’s drying him out, the goddamn loneliness. Blocking his throat. Shit, this place he settled on for you and his family, to give you the best life possible — its vast size is backfiring.

Because—

Fuck. Fuck. What is a spacious room good for if he can’t fucking breathe?

There isn’t anybody in here to hear him panting, surviving; he forbid it. But the loneliness dawns on him again, and he chants with tears dropping on the ground, not making any particular sense, over and over again, “Don’t leave. Please. Please don’t leave—”

As if his brain got stuck here the moment you left, playing the pleas on loop to drive him insane. His own brain is driving him insane. The betrayal is beyond belief.

He’s losing his mind; he’s well aware of this. Pondering, thinking whether the empty rooms in this mansion compete with the vacancy in his mind. Maybe not.

Because the mental rooms are plenty; his hand trembles to push down any handle on his way. There’s this long corridor, leading to these rooms, and whenever he does find the courage to open one, he finds himself in a void.

And he opens them every day, all the time. When he’s asleep. When he’s eating. When he’s wandering around, downing yet another bottle. Always hoping there are scenarios where you’re still with him, in his arms, leaving the pain behind to steer towards the same eternal love you’d been targeting before you left.

But he comes out hopeless each time. And it’s cruel, how vast the corridor is. As if his mind is deceiving him, making him believe there’s a future somewhere that you’re in… but your absence says differently.

He understands; the rooms in the mansion are empty because you’re physically gone, but the ones in his mind inhabit only him because the joyful hopes faded the moment you stepped into the carriage.

Now they’re filled with darkness and fear. What if you don’t come back? What if you do, only to deliver words he doesn’t want to hear, and then to depart again?

He hears nothing but his own voice in those rooms, and it keeps convincing him of his own barely-there worth, and that he always fucks up and that people leave and that they stay away. Convincing him that this is it.

This is how his life was supposed to go. To lift him up, but then to throw him into purgatory again  because somehow, this is what he deserves. Karmic payback.

The times he ever stops hearing these accusations and destructive statements is when other sounds interrupt them. Which has been rare, since he’s avoided conversations and social touch, except for when it was necessary and the village demanded it.

Luckily, this hasn’t been the case, and he’s been able to wither in peace.

There are still exceptions. He still has his children. He remembers; he tries. But his body is frail. Attempts its best to keep him a good father, like now.

Now, when it reacts to the incoherent call. It’s a quiet cry, a sign of waking up; Jungkook can’t remember arriving in his bedroom, but he knows exactly he’s here when he hears the sound.

Ah… right. He told the maid to get them to sleep and then bring them to their crib only ten minutes ago. He did, right? There’s been plenty his imagination has been conjuring, but the conversation feels real.

Even in a state like this, he doesn’t think he’d ever leave his children alone in this room, if he could prevent it. Sometimes, staff is around. Sometimes, he is. Sometimes, you are.

Were.

Right. Right. You might not return. But then again, you will, won’t you?

You love your children as much as he does; you’ve given all of you to the boys as much as you did to him and Hana. They have captured possibly bigger pieces of your heart than he has. You will return, even if just for them.

And then…

What if you take them with you? Or, what if you leave them here? What if, either way, he has to live a life without you?

These little pieces of him would remind him of you, too. They’re part of you, they’re half of you — but he’d see the entirety of you in them. He does even now as he walks over, watching Jaehyuk stir and Jaehoon weeping.

He hasn’t woken up his brother, but he surely has shot an intense ache into Jungkook’s chest.

Looks like you when you cry. Is this odd? Is it even possible, comparing such round, young features to your more defined ones? He doesn’t know, but he can’t unsee it either way.

And his hands burn and pain, his eyes on fire when he lifts him up, whispering Jaehoon’s name with a shush. There’s a change in behaviour immediately, but it’s not enough. The sobbing turns into quieter cries when he sees his father, but…

There’s something else Jungkook interprets.

Your scent is still everywhere. And for those few days, their way of feeding has been slightly different, too. They’re probably noticing the sudden shift. And yes, Jungkook offers comfort, but your absence lingers, and they understand it as well as he does.

“I’m here…” Jungkook whispers, standing in the middle of the room. For a second, Jaehoon grips the strings of his father’s white cotton shirt, but then his lips arch downwards again. “I know. But I am here, you see?”

As Jaehoon’s sorrow doesn’t lessen, Jungkook sniffles, too, lifting his head for a moment to prevent the tears from falling onto his boy. He takes a couple steps back until he plops back on the bed. Offers a hand to Jaehoon who wraps his tiny fingers around one of Jungkook’s.

Jungkook shakes his head, his sigh tired, and then opts for a nod instead as he repeats, “I know. I don’t think it’s enough either, me being here.” He gulps. “And her being away.”

His throat clogs up. He clears it, the tremble coming back to his lower lip as he asks in his son’s direction, “You miss Mama, don’t you?”

And as if aware, Jaehoon cries harder again, winding in Jungkook’s arms. He doesn’t know what to do to calm the tantrum, doesn’t know how you do what you do that he’s not able to do. He doesn’t think he’s failed as a father. He doesn’t think of himself as incompetent.

But he’s helpless without you. The two of you operated as a unit so far, as one big part of this universe. With half of it gone, he feels like he’s lacking half a brain, not quite functioning.

So he adds, “I do, too. Believe me, I miss her so much, too…” Ongoing crying. “I know.” Ongoing crying from both sides. The adult and the child, hurting the same. “I am sorry, sweetheart.”

And he’s not sure who he’s saying it to. To Jaehoon; to Jaehyuk. To Hana. To you.

To the hurting child he used to be, and the longing young adult that craved for too much. He’s apologising to everyone and over all the mistakes he’s made, all the regrets he carries with him.

And as he does, he’s not certain when his cries overshadow the ones of his son, or when the latter’s finally stop, only Jungkook’s misery still sounding. He doesn’t know how to stop this from hurting and how to nurse two children in a room without you, because you’re a piece of this—

You’re a piece of the picture. With you ripped out of it… isn’t it too lonely?

It is. God. God, the void swallows him whole.

And he doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know where to go and how to bring you back; if he ran to your city now, where the two of you grew and loved, would you appreciate it or hate him more?

Wait…

Do you…

Hate him?

He doesn’t know. How could he, sitting here, breaking down, mind all empty yet filled. Cruel. This is cruel.

So cruel how he forwards his mood to his children the way he learned never to do. How he can’t breathe, can’t think. How his words lose their meaning after a while, yet stay a mantra, still true  but so out of your reach.

I’m sorry.

I messed up.

I’m sorry.

Please come back.

Your seamstress is as clueless as you'd like to be.

It's probably part of her occupation, the cheerful, sweet, chatty nature, or perhaps, she's in that line because of that very characteristic of her. She's always been like this, so you shouldn't have expected anything different today.

It isn't as though the world joins you in your grief just because you're feeling it. Earth keeps moving.

Coming back home alone was hard. Hana was asleep most of the time, but the moment she woke, she sought his presence profusely.

You wonder if she noticed why he kissed her goodbye so often and told her he loved her a dozen times and gulped down the first hints of yearning with a clogged throat and damp eyes.

She probably doesn't know. His adoration was quieter than hers — because she wailed when he didn't come home, hated the surroundings she'd already seen before but forgotten.

Her father isn't around and she's angry about it.

Maybe you should've left her there. She isn’t as connected to you as she is to him, and while the twins might notice your absence, they won't quite make sense of it yet.

And you, you're stuck in this absolute consciousness that comes with adulthood, aware of everything.

Aware of where you are, who you're with, who is missing. Aware of how you won't be able to weep in your sister's arms forever; so aware that having beautiful dresses sewn won't bring you permanent satisfaction.

But everytime you think back to the last days, you break. The picture of him home alone, theories about what he might be doing, how he might be coping. Whether he's crying like you, fallen like you, feeling incomplete because he's in those rooms with only half of him.

That's how you've been feeling. You're a fraction of yourself.

After three days of solitude, Hana has learned to settle on pouting. It’s odd, the contrast between her and the town, always the same. The latter is as alive as you knew it. And Seung, the seamstress you used to frequent, is still the same amazing woman, too.

Grown, a little older, but the sheer opposite of a quiet Suhana, of a dejected you.

Your sister is holding Hana’s hand, the other tiny fingers busy with the fabric of the dark yellow dress. You’re in a cursory surface conversation with Seung, trying to be polite despite everything, asking how she’s doing, how her husband has been.

She got married years before you did, and she was always incredibly vocal about her relationship with her spouse. They’ve been a key and a lock; she’s spread hope for love amongst many other girls before.

You were one of them. And the hope bloomed, even when you were met with hurdles and thought you’d end in misery.

In all honesty, you truly thought you were an exception to the many rocky marriages. Sure, you never assumed yours would end up a constant fairytale; Jungkook and you have your days, too.

You just… held onto hope, more so when you fell for him, and you never ever thought you’d experience such a low.

Seung still tires of babbling about her husband soon; she enjoys detailing her fabulous life, but she never makes the entire talk about solely herself. So you expect it when you soon hear a question back, “Lord Jeon has also always been such a gentleman, too, though. I enjoy his company thoroughly. Is he not with you today?”

You barely manage the lazy shake of your head, but you smile to cloak the hurt covering your heart, flooding your insides. The agony is always searing; you feel it everywhere, as though a torch lit you on fire. Every damn mention of his name makes your body sink.

In this town, the people have gathered that he’s a fragment of you, that he’s right wherever you are. But not today. Today, he’s with somebody else entirely; it enrages you, and yet also reminds you of how much you miss him every sickening moment of the endless day.

But you still act as though the praise towards the wonderful man you know doesn’t drag another knife across your heart. You suppress your tears and nod, agree with her.

Of course you do. You enjoy his company, too. You’re not oblivious to your husband’s charm; he’s the heart of every conversation. The poetry in every novel after all.

“He did not join me this time,” you answer, smiling away the seconds to hide the difficulties in your home. Hana sighs, as though she’s understood that something went awry; as if she doesn’t believe it when you say, “But perhaps next time!”

Perhaps. Hopefully. 

Your sister brushes the topic off with a wave, focusing on the task on hand. You welcome the diverging topic, just in time for the finishing touches on the dresses you ordered. Seung asks you to slip into them for a final inspection.

The first one is a light purple gown; you do not have a clue where you might wear it, but you enjoy the feel of it. Your sister nods in approval, compliments, “This colour suits you well. You haven’t worn it in so long.”

“I have. I wear it a lot back at home,” you say, remembering a similar shade in your mansion, unaware of where your thoughts are heading until you say, “Jungkook got me a gown in this colour once.”

She pauses for a moment. Seung fumbles at the hem of the dress, busy making it and you pretty; but your sister notices, sighs for a second before she responds, “He has a good eye, then.”

“Yes… he does.”

He likes you in almost every colour, though. He’s baptised you with the name of the rainbow many times before. Thinks every hue brings out something different in you; and that you lend it some additional meaning. Your aura and your energy mix the colours in a palette.

“To something new; to something special.”

You nearly whimper when his voice returns in your head. Despite the circumstances, all you ever remember it in is in joy. When his words are followed by a chuckle and dimples. When the bangs, not cut recently, fall into his eyes, like curtains.

You don’t think of the shaky goodbye days ago… rather, you recall the moments before the world fell apart, drenched in sweetness and grace and warmth.

It becomes difficult to stand here, to let Seung fondle with the fabric. To listen to your sister’s praises and watch Hana’s feet dangle off her seat, hitting the leg of the chair with puffy cheeks and a jutting lower lip.

The view is already too much, and you close your eyes, blending it out. Which proves hard when your husband is mentioned over and over again; of course he is. Two halves of a soul… of course he is.

It’s been like this at each visit, so nobody would expect things to change this time.

And every damn time his name falls, Hana looks up. Big eyes, akin to a doe, personifying hope and love and yearning. If… if there was a way to contact him and let her talk to him for only a minute, you wouldn’t hesitate.

In fact, leaving her there with him could’ve been an option. But you need some comfort, too, don’t you? And he might not be in the proper state to take care of anyone right now. You intensely hope he is looking after himself.

But she keeps sulking. Despising the distance as much as you fear it, asking over and over again, and your dam only breaks and overflows when you step down the podium, asking, “Do you like this?”

And she, uncaring, shrugs, asking, “Can we go back to Daddy?”

You take a deep breath. Your skin tingles, a wave of discomfort filling you head to toe. Head heavy, you yet again register the change in your throat and voice, holding back as you try to pacify her, “Soon, darling. We’re just visiting aunty and the grandparents for a little, remember?”

She does, but it doesn’t help. Somehow, it makes her pout harder. Yesterday, she was crying; now, she’s handling the bad mood differently. Maybe this is worse. You thought children forget, that they distract themselves easily, but Hana’s affection is infinite. Integral to her.

How could she forget? You know who you’re talking about. How could anybody forget about him, ever?

You tuck in one of her black locks, inquiring, “Which dress do you reckon I should get?”

Another shrug. Seung tries, “Would you like to take a look for yourself, as well?”

“Be nice, Hana,” you say, “do you want to? You can say no, too, though.”

It takes a moment until she looks up. Her eyes change when she sees the variety presented to her; as if she didn’t regard any of it since you stepped into the shop. But eventually, she says, “Alright. I will.”

She hops off the chair, small hand in Seung’s palm, walks around to take a look at her choices. Her forefinger is hooked in her mouth as she focuses, only coming out, slightly damp, when she points at something she likes.

Your seamstress approves of most of what Suhana prefers before moving to the colour, “Which one shall we pick for you?”

“I like them all,” Hana says. It’s tough to choose until it isn’t. Once she’s settled on one, staring at it with intensity, you understand she’s decided, calling for you, “Mama.”

“Yes?”

“This is Daddy’s favourite colour.”

A tender shade of sea green. She’s right, it’s his favourite. Or at least a preferred one. You guess you can’t escape him, no matter how much you try, no matter how many miles you leave between him and you.

You ask, “Do you want to take it?”

But she seems unsure all of a sudden again. The finger has dropped with her expression, and she digs the heel of her shoe into the floor, yet nodding, “Yes… I want to surprise Daddy.”

“He will love it, baby,” you say, blinking rapidly. You point to the colour she chose. “This dress then, please?”

“Certainly. Measurements?” Seung says, material already draped over her shoulder; she walks over to the measuring tape, readying herself but…

Hana has long lost her motivation again. You see the light dim with each second, and you prepare yourself to convince her to bask in the excitement a little longer. But she won’t. Instead, she declares, “I don’t want to.”

“What?” Seung voices. “It only takes a moment—”

“I don’t want to,” Hana repeats, “I want to go home.”

“The dress?”

“No.” She inhales, arms dangling at her sides, the childish whining painful when she pleads for the millionth, aching time, “I want to go back to Daddy now.”

Fucking hell, Suhana, how?

How do I take you back already?

If you could, you’d step out and curse into the world. He’s too far away. You’re too far away.

You left with a purpose, bid him goodbye to find peace within yourself. Peace with the fact that a woman is probably still sitting where you have welcomed guests so happily before. The woman that presented him yet another child, his blood and soul.

How do you explain to your daughter that returning might hurt worse than being here, and that his expression will shatter you? That he’ll fall to his knees again, remind you that nobody has ever loved a girl before like he loves you.

That nobody will ever find this much adoration again. But that then, a second later, you’ll remember that until you die, you won’t be the only one anymore?

How do you cope with this? How do you bring your child back into this home, in a mood like yours, without a solution just yet?

In that house where he’s grieving like you, you’ll hear the echoes from everywhere, and the pain will intensify. His touch might linger on you, and the walls will scream and the bed will scream and the rooms will scream.

Yell the memories you made there.

The dinners you shared. The food he fed you with his spoon. The times he’d spill soup on you in the process and laugh it off, crack a dirty joke when the tissue drew over your cleavage.

And the times he kissed you at his office door, promising he’d be in the bedroom soon; the times you still knocked an hour later because he isn’t just a good husband and father, but a good leader for his people, too.

And… and…

The bare skin on the mattress next to you. Warm, sweet, hugging you in, lips on your shoulder, your back, your ear, your body. Engulfing you. Under you, above you, with you. The whispered words and the promises.

Vows that he fulfils during the days and the nights. Raising his children with deep-sitting sentiments, turning his own pain into power and using it to bring happiness to them and to you all the damn time.

Sleepless nights, giggly days, dances in empty rooms and conversations in laughter and tears and hurdles and successes.

Every wall and bed and room will scream out the question whether you remember.

Do you remember it all? Everything you’ve become with him in all those years. Do you remember? Do you? Will you ever forget?

Everything falls. The leaves, the temperature, the warmth. Your damn heart.

And it’s then that you can’t take it anymore. Maybe because you see him in your own daughter’s eyes; maybe because she keeps trying to manifest him, as if he’s right here.

So you break. Quietly but aggressively, grabbing her hand as you say, “Enough. No dresses for you. We’re leaving.”

And you do. Suhana doesn’t like the way you pull yourself and her out of the shop. It’s not painful and you’re not violent or rushed; but maybe she hears your altered voice and sees the torment in your face, because she keeps calling for you until you’re home.

Your sister attempts her best to distract you, promising she’ll grab Hana’s gown before you leave and whatnot — but you’re lost in thoughts, still overwhelmed by a flood of memories. You don’t snap at Hana, even though she taps your wrist, asking why you’re mad and where Daddy is, and once you enter the hall in your previous house, you finally snap—

“Get yourself together!” You’re glaring. You never usually do. “I cannot fly to him. Practise patience for a while, alright?”

It shuts her up, but it does something to her expression, too. She’s tearing up, sniffling all of a sudden. Close to breaking, too, when your mother comes out to greet you, and you ask, “Could you just… could you play with her for a bit? Distract her? I just…”

“Yes,” she immediately says, offering Hana her hand, who takes it reluctantly. She’ll be a little angry at you for a few hours. Won’t want you near her. So she obliges. “Take your time, love.”

So you do. Instantly so. Your sister helps, dragging you up to your old room by your elbow, just in time before you finally break down.

She wraps her arms around you as your tears cascade, your chin on her shoulder, shaking, hands unsteady as you lower the sound of your sobs. This isn’t your first time crying here; but it’s the first time the tears blind you entirely.

Your sister lets you mourn for a while, rubbing your back, sitting at the edge of the bed as she mumbles something you can’t make sense of. She’s always been good at comforting you, but this time, she doesn’t know much about the issue itself. Unable to say much.

Instead, she asks, “This isn’t just a casual fight, is it? You had a very bad one.”

“I’m just…” you try, but she shushes you again, tells you it is alright to take your time. You gulp, then start again, “I don’t know what to do.”

“It is this serious? What happened?” She’s concerned, but curious, too. “You still don’t want to tell me?”

You shake your head against her shoulder, and she sighs. You say, “I need to figure this out with him first. Unbiased…”

“I understand. I am here, though. You can stay here or with me… Seokjin knows, so he won’t mind.”

“But… I just—”

“These things happen, love. You know it. Marriage is all compromise and patience.”

You know. Of course you know. Didn’t you have these same exact thoughts all day? You’re aware of the basic foundation of marriage, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

“Does it… always work out?” you ask.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I have a strong feeling that he and you will.”

“…Why? How?

Maybe she’s saying it because she’s trying to lift you up. Maybe it’s part of comfort, to say things people want to hear. But your sister isn’t this type of person; you’ve appreciated her straightforward nature since the beginning of time, and if she didn’t believe in what she said, you’d consider her switched with somebody else.

Which is why you trust her words when she speaks, partly because the sincerity seeps through them from beginning to end, or because you’re well aware of this universal truth, “It’s rare… seeing somebody love like this even after years. Of course there’s always affection, but… sometimes love fades. His doesn’t. He really does feel strongly about you.”

“…He does.”

“See, you’re not doubting it. Maybe that’s enough for now.”

You would never leave such a statement open to debate. Even if a dozen women stood at your doorstep, reminding you of his lustful past and little mistakes, you’d send them away with a nonchalant wave.

Yes, the situation now differs from such a fantasy to its core, but even then, you know to trust in his heart. It’s just the future you’re scared of. The back and forth, the facts presented to you; in the form of a memory and in the form of a child.

Breath heavy and chest aching, you tell her, “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t know either,” she admits, voice quieter now. “But— my first instinct would be… to tell you to go home. I think you need it. Your actual home.”

“And then what…?”

“Whatever your guts tell you to do. What are they telling you now?”

You puff out an exhale; you’re sick of crying. Your head hurts, as if devoid of oxygen. “That I am scared.”

She nods, well aware, digs further, “What else? If you think about the situation, do you see a solution at all?”

Thinking about it… thinking about it…

Properly pondering, you guess you’re not quite at the end of the road. There’s a wall in front of you, but it’s shrinking; if you give it an actual thought and look up, you might be able to climb over it. It’d just need… inhumane strength.

“Maybe… in theory,” you say. “Perhaps.”

Short pause, silence cutting the air. It’s still light outside, but the sky is grey again. No birds chirping, streets and alleys quieter. You think you hear a couple voices, a carriage passing under your window…

You miss the noise. You miss his voice.

You miss the way he sighs in the evenings, staring into a book you might have annoyed him into reading before looking up, noticing your gaze. Smiling at you, overwhelmed by love, leaning in as the novel closes and his lips open…

So your answer shoots out of you when your sister asks, “What else are you thinking?” Clear and ardent and brimming with certainty as you say—

“That I love him.”

The smile she flashes is tiny but telling. Something blooms in her eyes, as if filled with hope, and the little, unconscious gesture, manifesting in her expression, returns the longing to your heart.

A thumb wipes your tears before her hand covers yours, and with a voice so soft and gentle, she concludes, “You really do. Go back, yes?”

And you don’t have it in you to consider her wrong anymore. No matter the hurt, you don’t think you should stay any longer at all. You won’t deny that you needed the escape for a bit; but maybe this suffices.

And in hindsight, maybe you knew how this would end all along.

THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

tumblr doesn't allow making very long posts due to the 1k block limit, so you can find the rest of the chapter and its 7k portion in this reblog! <3