#those nine words have actually been bouncing around in my head all day

[cosmiles]

𝐁𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔

➢ the story of how kirishima falls in love with you

note: this is actually the fic that inspired me to come back and write again. it was dated feb 2021 but i don't remember ever posting it lol. it seemed fitting as my first fic back. i hope you enjoy <33

characters: kirishima

content: fluff, slight angst, mutual pinning, insecurities, 2nd-year kirishima and friends :p

words: 2.6k

Being in love is like being on cloud nine. Your heart swells with love and it feels like nothing could bring you down to Earth. Except for maybe the cold, dark feeling of rejection. Where it feels like an arrow has been shot through your heart and you come crashing to the ground. Wheezing for air, while the person of your affection rips your heart into a billion little pieces. 

And Eijirou Kirishima would 100 percent wholeheartedly agree with that statement. As most people do, he’s had his fair share of crushes and rejections. Six to be exact. Yet, Kirishima never knew where he went wrong. He followed the same plan every time. Once he knew he had a crush, Eijirou would try to become close with them and then confess after he built up his courage. But each time, he was met with rejection after rejection. 

Each time Kirishima would bounce back, but after a while, it just hurt too much. It didn't help that he was rejected six times before he even went to high school, but each person was rude in their response. Rejection is bad enough, but to rub dirt into the new wound was uncalled for and downright “unmanly.” 

And those rejections certainly didn’t help Eijirou's insecurities. But even with his new makeover before high school, the insecurities were still very present. No matter how hard Kirishima tried to push them down, they still seem to float back up in his head. Especially when you were around. 

You, the one with the smile that lifted everyone’s moods. You, the one with slicked-back edges that always stayed in place in a different hairstyle every 2 weeks. You, the one that helped everyone without a complaint. You, the one that stayed stuntin' even in a school uniform. You, the one that had everyone listening when you talked. You, the one that made Kirishima’s brain decide to clock out. 

To be completely honest, Kirishima never thought he would crush on you. Not because you weren't good-looking, which you were, and exactly his type. But, because he assumed he would always see you as a friend. You both had major chemistry from the beginning, constantly acting like you knew each other for years instead of just meeting. This, of course, led to the both of you becoming instant friends. 

He didn't even have an ounce of romantic feelings till the day they moved into the dorms. As Kirishima showed off his room, both you and Uraraka lit up with excitement. But he wasn’t worried about her. He was stuck on all the compliments you were giving on his room. 

“Oh, Eiji! Your room is perfect! It matches your vibe perfectly!” You said as you peered around his room. Everyone, minus Uraraka, was completely unfazed and moved to the next room. He went to follow, yet you were still peering around his room with amazement in your eyes.   

“You coming y/n?” He asked, watching you turn away from the books on his shelf. 

“Yeah, sorry! I just really like how much your room represents you! It's so cool!” You stated while you both tried to catch up with the others. 

‘It would be better if you were in it.’ He thought with a smile before his brain did a double-take. What did he just say? Or rather think? 

That was the day the seed was planted and the thought of you was embedded in his brain. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At first, Kirishima swore it was a phase. Doesn’t everyone think about dating their friend at least once? Then one night, he thought about what it would be like to hold you while he slept. Would you let him be big spoon or prefer him to be little? He found out two things that night: one, that he had fallen for you hard, and two, how hard it was to sleep without you. 

After that revelation, he’s never been the same around you. Before, Eijirou had no problem talking with you. But now, it just seemed like every time he tried to talk to you or vice versa, his heart thought it was the perfect time to run a marathon. He would start the conversation fine, but by the end, he regretted every sentence he said. 'Was that compliment too far? Did you think his joke was stupid? You laughed, but was it out of pity?' 

It was a very bittersweet crush. Of course, Kirishima loved being around you and making you smile, but he hated when you walked away and his insecurities took over. It also didn’t help that he wasn't the only one that wanted to get with you. His self-doubting thoughts would constantly remind Eijirou about how much better his “competition” was and that you would probably choose them over him anyways. With his luck, it wasn’t likely that anyone he liked would like him back, especially someone as gorgeous as you. So, the safe bet was to just stay friends and wait for his feelings to hopefully die out. 

Fortunately, his friends were having none of that. They first found out about his crush a month into it. Of course, Sero and Denki clowned him for it while Mina was acting like a little kid in a candy store. Bakugo pretended like he could care less, assuming this “little crush” would blow over. He gave Kirishima another two weeks, maybe a month. But, a month turned into two, then three, and suddenly, they were halfway through their second year. And Eijirou was still a lovesick puppy. 

At this point, they were all irritated that he still didn’t make a move. It wasn’t funny to Sero and Denki anymore and Mina had been ready for Kirishima to make the next step. But, seeing as nothing had changed from the time they found out, they decided to take matters into their own hands. So, on one of the days that Eijirou was at his internship, his friends forced themselves into Bakugo’s room to brainstorm. 

Every idea was shot down by Bakugo for being too elaborate or likely to fail. After two hours of brainstorming with no ideas, Bakugo finally put his two cents into the conversation. He suggested that they should just give him a “little push” by talking to him. It seemed like a simple plan so they all agreed. And that’s how Kirishima found himself tapped to a chair, later that night. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was like an interrogation scene in a cliche cop movie. Eijirou was surrounded by his friends who were all dressed in black with sunglasses (yes even Bakugo; Mina made them do it). 

“So, um what is this?” Kirishima asked, receiving blank stares and a lamp shoved in his face as a response. 

“This is an intervention!” Mina replied. 

“An intervention? Uh, what did I do?” He questioned. His brain started scanning through everything he had ever done. 

“Take a wild guess, idiot,” Bakugo growled, as he ripped off his sunglasses. 

“Is this because I borrowed one of your tubs of eco gel? I ran out of mine and yours smelled so good.” He asked Mina. 

“Wait what? No-” Mina started before getting interrupted by Kirishima. 

“Um, is this because I helped Sero tape all of Bakugo’s drumsticks to the ceiling? Or because I helped Denki and you-” He rambled before Mina cut him off.  

“Ok, ok, ok. Stop snitching on us and yourself.” She glanced over to Bakugo who was barely being held back by Denki. “This is about you and y/n.” 

Kirishima’s heart started sprinting after hearing your name. They already knew how he felt so what more did they want? 

“Wh-what about y/n?” He asked. 

“Bro, we’re almost third years yet you still haven’t made a move,” Sero replied as he ran to the other side of the room to avoid Bakugo's wrath. 

“Yeah, not gonna lie it's kinda embarrassing and hard to watch,” Denki added.

“He’s right but that’s beside the point. I mean it's not that hard, all you have to do is just tell them.” Mina stated, clearly starting to get irritated.  

“It's not that simple though. There are so many things that could go wrong. For one, I could lose our friendship. Or I might-” Kirishima started before being interrupted by Sero. 

“Wow, it's been a while since I’ve seen you whine like this.”

“I’m not whining! I’m just stating facts! Jeez, let me speak out loud.” Kirishima yelled. 

“If it makes you feel better, a couple of people in general studies were thinking about asking them out soon,” Denki added, earning a glare from everyone. 

“I- how does that make me feel better?” Kirishima asked. 

“Well, you see..good point,” Denki replied.

“You guys aren't helping whatsoever!” Mina groaned. “You know what! Everybody out! Right now!” 

“Tch, I didn’t even say anything. Besides this is my room.” Bakugo mumbled. 

“Jeez, Bakugo if you didn’t want them to find your stash of All Might merch that’s all you had to say,” Denki stated, before walking out of the room. 

“Run that back?” Bakugo asked, his eye twitching violently. 

“He probably got more than Midoriya,” Sero sneered as he followed after Denki. 

“Racoon eyes, try not to trash my room. These two idiots need to relearn their lesson.” Bakugo states, the little pops of his explosions sounding around the room. He flies out of his room, slamming the door shut in the process. 

“That’s not my name and you know it!” Mina yells as she ignores the faint explosions and screams. “Look, Kiri. Ignore them, but seriously when are you going to tell y/n you like them?” 

“I-” Eijirou started before Mina interrupted him. 

“Do I have to lock you in the closet? Cause I will if I have to!” 

“What no! I just-”

“You just what? I honestly don’t get what’s stopping you, Kiri. I mean none of us can see into the future so who knows what could happen? This decision could change your life for the better! I just don’t want you to regret this.” Mina stated. 

Kirishima thought this over, weighing the pros and cons of the situation. Mina was right. He did say he wanted to live life to the fullest without regrets. So what was stopping him? Rejection. Getting hurt again. Losing one of his best friends. The fear of not being able to recover from this. But he couldn’t let that hold him back. Not after all he’s worked for. Not after how far he’s come. He was Red Riot. Unbreakable. 

“I’ll do it.” He replied. 

“You sure? Because I have three other pages of ideas.” Mina joked.

“Yeah, this has been going on for far too long,” Eijirou answered. “But, um, can you take this tape off now?” 

“After you replace my eco gel. Don't think I forgot about that!” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was two more weeks before Kirishima made his move. Two long weeks where he was ready to confess and backed out. Honestly, his friends all thought they were going to have another “intervention”. And as Kirishima was yet again preparing to back out and try again next week, he overheard someone from general studies talking about asking you out soon. Eijirou was running out of time. 

During lunch, you agreed to meet him behind the school after classes let out. His friends saw and knew exactly what was about to happen. For the rest of lunch, they hyped him up and built up his confidence. Kirishima felt like nothing could bring him down. He was unstoppable, unbreakable. 

Yet when the final bell rang, signaling the end of the day, his insecurities started bubbling in his stomach. All of that confidence from lunch was still there but quickly fleeing. But Eijirou couldn’t back out now. He was right at the finish line. 

‘No regrets. No regrets.’ He repeated to himself as he sped-walk to behind the school. And as soon as he got a glimpse of your hair, his nerves went into overdrive. He could do this. He couldn’t do this. He could do this. He couldn’t do this. He could do this. 

“Hey, Eiji!” You said, with your signature smile. Well, there goes his heart. 

“Hey- uh hi y/n. Were you waiting here long?” He replies. And there goes his brain. 

“Nope, I had to help Tsuyu real quick. So, what did you have to tell me?” You asked. Oh no. Here it comes. 

“I- well I wanted to tell you that I um...” Kirishima started. He couldn’t do this. This would ruin everything. All of his insecurities were bubbling up and crashing around in his head. It was like he was in middle school all over again. Palms sweaty. Throat closed. Everything crashing down. He can’t do this. He can’t do this. He can’t-

“Eiji? Is everything ok?” You ask, clearly confused about what was going on. He peered into your eyes. They were full of warmth, hope. He had to do this. So Kirishima bit the bullet and poured out his heart to you.

“I like you. A lot. And at first, I thought this was just a phase but it's not. This is too hard to fake and nothing could replace this feeling. And I get that you probably have a line of people trying to date you and I know I could never live up to that. But if we were together I would never lie, make you cry, or do something behind your back. I would be faithful and always stay through the good or bad, all day every day. Y/n, you’re the one for me and I want to be the one for you. If- if you’ll let me?” 

It was done. Now to prepare for the rejection. But, it never came. You were silent. Your warm eyes were blown into shock. It looked like there were so many things you wanted to say, yet no sound came out. While it looked like you were having an existential crisis, Eijirou was having one of his own. His fight or flight was activated, but he knew he had to stay. Your response meant everything to him.

“Do you- did you mean that?” You questioned, eyes glassy.

“I- yeah. Every word.” He replied. He had come this far already; might as well go the whole mile. 

“Well then, you’ve got my heart.” You answered. 

Yup. He figured you would reject- Wait what? 

“W-what?” Kiri questioned. 

“I’ve liked you ever since we met, but I never felt brave enough to say a word.” You admitted. 

That was unexpected. And now his heart is soaring. Apparently, the seventh time is the charm. He just wants to run all the way to America and back. Do backflips off a train. But he can’t, he has to, needs to, keep himself calm. 

“Wow, I had no idea. And now I feel bad for waiting for so long to say something. Um, how about I take you out Saturday to make up for it?” Kirishima asked, rubbing his neck in hopes of calming down his nerves. 

“So tomorrow?” You replied. 

“Uh yeah! Is that ok?” He asked, slightly panicking. 

“Of course! Just don't be late or bail on me!” You joked, your signature smile appearing again.  

"I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Kirishima stated, his smile also appearing over the sincerity of his words.

This was everything that Eijirou had always longed for. Someone sharing the same strong feelings he had. It felt nice for a chance. He knew he had another situation to stress about (your date!), but that could be saved for later. Now, he just wanted to bask in this feeling. And despite being rejected so many times, it didn’t matter. He wanted to be with you, needed to be with you, and now he was. 

➢ thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed and don't forget that Jesus loves you, to drink water, eat some food, and get some rest :))

➢ taglist: 🫧

[dontfeeltoohot]

I wrote some Chase fic and it's @softsicknose 's birthday!!!

This is written in a different POV- Martha Masters' from season seven. I really love her, and I enjoyed stretching my writing comfort zone for her. I hope you enjoy!!!

XXX

Chase is late. Late, she’s found, is based solely on when House arrives (unless they’ve been given a time by Cuddy). Chase is usually always early. Early is determined by the time at least two of the team are in the diagnostics room. Out of all the times she’s walked through the glass doors and into the room in the early morning, he’s only been absent four times. All four of those times have also seen him strolling in before their boss.  The fact that she, Taub, Foreman, Doctor Hadley and even House are here and Chase isn’t is odd. Martha likes routines, likes things to stay the same and this disruption in the day to day has her feeling anxious. Her prefrontal cortex is telling her that the blonde is probably just stuck in traffic and there’s nothing to worry about, but it doesn’t stop her from fiddling with the pen she’d borrowed from the man earlier that week. 

No one else mentions that the intensivist is missing, and maybe they all know something she doesn’t? It wouldn’t be the first time- she’s becoming used to being left out of things or being cast aside as an inside joke is told. She’s never gotten the courage to ask what some of the things they say mean, because when it comes down to it she’s here to learn about medicine and science, not about Foreman’s brother or the reason Doctor Hadley was in jail. 

Seventeen minutes after they start the differential, Chase pushes through the door, looking minorly rumpled but otherwise fine- attractive as always. The realization that she’s just called the blonde attractive sinks in. Objectively, she’s aware he’s much more pleasing on the eyes than anyone else on the team; except maybe Doctor Hadley, and that statistically blonde hair and blue eyes tend to lend themselves to what the world has deemed beautiful. His accent doesn’t hurt either. 

Get it together Martha, it’s Chase. Chase, whose password is password, who sleeps with three women in one night only to forget their names. Chase, who does crosswords instead of listening to their boss. Chase, who is also an amazing intensivist and who has gotten more correct diagnosies than anyone else since she’s been here. Chase, who always looks just a little put out when House doesn’t latch on to one of his jokes or praise him when he’s found the correct answer. 

“Chase! How kind it is of you to grace us with your presence.”

The words snap the brunette out of her trance. 

As House snarks, a dark blue folder is thrown at the man who tries to catch it but fails. Instead it hits his shoulder and flops onto the table. Taub and Foreman are reading through their own copies, seemingly unbothered by the disturbance, that or they’re tired of House’s antics. Doctor Hadley is glancing up at Chase with a furrowed brow but he gives her a shrug and sits down, leather messenger bag swaying on the back of his chair. 

With how close he’s sitting, Masters can smell his cologne- something aquatic and airy, no doubt to remind him of Australia and its beaches. As the team bounces ideas off one another, she notices Chase pressing the back of his pointer finger against his right eye- closed. The structure of his jaw tells her it’s clenched, which indicates he’s either annoyed or possibly in pain. Annoyed seems much more likely. 

“What about you, Captain Kangaroo? Any ideas in that pretty head of yours? Or did the one too many drinks you had last night impair its functioning?” 

“Actually, the effects of alcohol wear off in usually six hours unless your metabolism is slow. Even then, it’s likely to be around eight or nine hours,” she offers. 

“I didn’t drink last night, and that insult was sub par,” Chase says as if he’s been waiting for some kind of accusation. “Could be a DVT that traveled to her lung.” 

Something about his voice is different today, it’s lower, maybe? She’s not sure which adjective goes best, but she watches as he swallows and his adams apple bobs unnaturally slowly. He goes to automatically grab a mug that’s not there, hand halfway outstretched before he drops it and rubs the lower half of his face. House’s eyes drag over him like a cat stalking his prey but the older man doesn’t say anything, instead he just sighs, then twirls his orange expo marker in his hand, staring at the list of symptoms on the board. 

“DVT was checked for, next.” 

As Martha wracks her brain for different causes of the new patient's afflictions, she hears rather than see’s Chase shift in his chair, then a breath being inhaled and snagging. 

“h’ihnGgkt! HnGXxt! hh-NgXTtuh!!” 

The sneezes are far quieter and less obtrusive than she’s imagined. She’s thought since starting that the blonde’s sneezes would be loud and harsh, slightly dramatic. These are small and very obviously meant to be quiet. Interesting. 

“You shouldn’t stifle like that, you can burst your eardrums from holding a sneeze in,” she comments after his last one, watching him raise his eyes from the folder, one eyebrow quirked upwards. She flushes, unsure if the comment was appropriate. She just wants to help! What if Chase blew out an ear drum from being careless? She’s simply doing a kind thing, she tells herself. 

“I’ve done it my entire life, Masters, think I’ll be alright.” 

As Foreman suggests an alternate cause, Masters nods and writes down both ideas, wanting to keep up with the details of the case, even if they turn out to be wrong. A sniffle breaks her concentration and as subtly as she can; feigning looking at the clock, she glances at the doctor next to her, noting the barely visible shadows under his eyes. Not enough sleep, then. The rest of the DDX goes as usual, with House giving them all assignments. She gets put with Taub to go break into the patient's house. 

“Do you really think this is a good idea? She can’t keep her holier-than-thou mouth shut when it comes to this type of stuff. Wouldn’t it be better for me and…anyone else goes?” 

The med student frowns and twists at her cardigan, headband feeling suddenly too tight. Her cheeks feel warm and she knows her capillaries have opened and blood has rushed to show her emotions whether she wants to or not. Foreman gives a low laugh, rolling his eyes. Chase looks like he might say something but Doctor Hadley beats him to it. 

“If you’re so worried, then do the labs and I’ll go with her.” 

Surprise drives out the embarrassment of feeling like an unwanted dog at the pound. Didn’t Doctor Hadley dislike her too? Why was she rushing to her aide? Was this another joke she was going to be the butt of? She chances a look at the older woman and sees her smiling. 

“Us girls have to stick together, right?” 

“R-Right.” 

Taub blows out a breath from his puffed cheeks and nods, saluting her. 

“Thanks, I owe you one.” 

“Alright children, play nice,” House calls from where he’s hobbling through the door to his connected office, tone indicating he doesn’t actually care what’s being said to one another. 

The car ride to the patient’s house is filled with an awkward silence. Martha’s unhappy she has to go at all, it’s unethical and illegal. No one else cares and she wonders if it’s because of House or their own morals. Her mother taught her right from wrong at a young age- what did everyone else’s mother teach them? As she watches trees go by, Doctor Hadley fiddles with the radio and then looks over when they stop at a red light. 

“So, how’re you liking it on the team so far?” 

“It’s been, uhmm…interesting? Definitely seeing more than what I’ve been exposed to in my own world. A lot of it’s for the worse,” she trails off, her last sentence barely audible, but the other woman must hear it. 

“You know, this team has been through a lot. And a lot of things have changed all of us, but when it comes down to it, we’re here to do our job and save people. If that means breaking rules, well.” A pause. “Is it better to watch someone die while keeping yourself pure or save an innocent life and do something risky?” 

For once, Martha’s unsure of the answer. Both are morally wrong- is there an answer that’s better than the other? It feels like some kind of perverse test so she crosses her arms against her chest and tries not to act like a petulant child. 

“Is that why you’re all so codependent?” The words tumble from her mouth before she can stop them. She wants to smack herself.

Doctor Hadley- Thirteen, as the boys call her for unknown reasons, laughs and a smile appears. 

“I wouldn’t say codependent. We just work well as a team. We also work well individually. Chase was first to work with House, then Foreman joined. After they left, Taub and I were hired. Foreman came back, and then Chase. We all fell into an easy team who can communicate pretty well.” 

“House likes you all. Was that, did he-“ she sighs and tries to reign all of her thoughts together. “Was he like that with everyone who’s been part of his team before? Or were there others who were treated like me?” 

“I think that that’s a question for him, even if he won’t answer it. He doesn’t hate you. If he did, you wouldn’t still be here. He obviously sees something in you that he wants to cultivate.” 

Martha isn’t sure what to say to that, so she nods and let’s the silence fall around them again. She’s never been good with small talk, and now it’s apparent she’s not good with any kind of talk. 

They get back to the hospital two hours later, when the clock is about to hit noon. The women head to diagnostics but it’s empty, so they reroute and take all of the plastic baggies full of their findings to the lab to start working. As they approach the large room, Martha notices a familiar figure sitting in the corner with his back to the door. He’s got his lab coat on now, and from what she can tell he’s got his chin leaning on his hand, posture screaming ‘I’m bored’. He must be waiting for a test to finish up. 

“Hey, why don’t you go find House or Foreman and let them know I’m about to run the tests,” Thirteen suggests, taking the large bag full of items and holding it. “Otherwise, House will bust in and scare the hell out of us.” 

Martha gets the feeling she’s being deliberately shooed away. There’s more than enough things that need to be tested for them to both be running them at the same time, but the inflection in the woman’s voice indicates a finality attached to her words. 

“Okay, uhm, I’ll let him know. You’re not going to do some crazy illegal test are you?” 

“No, I just think he should be updated,” the woman says in an almost trained voice, calmness radiating from her sudden tone. 

“Right. I can do that.” 

The brunette gets half way down the hall when she realizes she has no clue where their grumpy boss might be. Not wanting to explore the entirety of the hospital, Martha turns around and starts to walk back to ask her coworkers. When she gets close enough to see into the dimly lit room, she freezes. The two seem to be arguing. Chase is still on the stool in front of the microscope, looking up at Thirteen with a petulant, almost defiant look on his face. Feeling like interrupting might not be a good idea, she goes off in search of House, feeling more out of the loop than she has all day. 

XXX 

“Tests were negative.” 

“Same with ours.” 

Thirteen and Chase walk in; a much needed interruption to whatever the other three men on the team are talking about, to inform them of their findings. House sighs and stares at the board again, twirling his marker. Taub looks up from where he’s munching on his hospital-prepared sandwich from the cafeteria. She’s already finished her own salad, but Foreman is still working on his. They nabbed sandwiches for the other two, now sitting in the middle of the large glass table. 

As expected, Thirteen grabs hers ravenously, having not eaten for hours. Chase, however, sits and doesn’t so much as look at the last wrapped up sub, instead grabbing the folder to look at once again. Foreman and Taub look at the Australian, confusion written on their faces. 

“You’re not eating? You always eat. You eat more than me and Foreman combined,” the eldest of the four questions. 

With a frown, Chase grabs the sandwich and opens it, not breaking eye contact with the neurologist. He takes a bite and swallows, keeping his face impassive. 

“Better?” 

“Loads,” the man deadpans, rolling his eyes. 

Throughout the new round of ideas, Martha notices Chase hasn’t touched his sandwich since the initial bite. He’s procured a water bottle from his bag, sipping on it every few minutes, but the food goes untouched and unnoticed by everyone else. She thinks she sees House’s eyes sweep over the intensivist, but she might be imagining things- House may play favorites but the idea of him caring about someone to a degree of worry seems improbable. 

Foreman gets up to throw his trash away, prompting Thirteen to as well. As they talk about even more possibilities for the patient, Chase angles his face towards his chest, ducking his face downwards. 

“ihNGkKt! h’GXKt! h’KGkTSCH’uh! SNF!” 

The first two are quiet enough that if Martha wasn’t paying attention she doesn’t think she would have necessarily heard them. The third however is stronger and Martha cringes inwardly at not only the amount of force he’s used to try and hold it in, but also at the soupy sounding sniffle after. He gets up immediately, striding across the room to the kitchenette and plucks a tissue from the box they have sitting there. She notices he doesn’t blow, merely just wipes at his nose before pocketing the tissue and washing his hands. At least he’s hygienic.

“Bless you,” Taub throws over his shoulder casually. 

Martha watches as the blonde ignores him, moving to snatch the 90% uneaten sandwich up instead and set it in the mini fridge to finish later. The medical student has the urge to throw out yet another statistic about the act of sternation but is interrupted by all six of their pagers going off- saved by the bell. 

The rest of the day is a haze of the patient crashing, adrenaline, House getting angry for not being able to figure out what’s wrong, and everyone else picking up his energy. House is the determining factor of a lot more than she’s realized, as Foreman snaps back at their boss when he starts telling them they’re all morons. He goes as far as to insult not only Chase, but Thirteen, which Martha hasn’t witnessed yet.  

“House, we’re trying. We can’t think any faster,” the dark skinned man frowns. 

“Oh yeah? I bet I could make you think faster if you want to keep your job!” 

“You’re not going to fire any of us,” Chase drawls from where he’s sitting, having moved from the uncomfortable metal chairs at the table to the slightly less uncomfortable chairs in the corner of the room. 

“Wanna bet? You of all people should know I can and I will,” the older man sneers, moving closer to the blonde. 

Martha has an odd feeling in her stomach, something between anxiety, anticipation and most of all, surprise. Does House mean he’s fired Chase before? Surely not, not when they’re so obviously the most in-sync out of everyone. For a split second the intensivist looks like he’s going to stand up and go at it with their boss but instead he just shrugs and presses the tips of his fingers to closed eyelids. 

“Exactly. Now think.” 

Finally, Thirteen comes up with a semi-plausible idea, and though House makes it known he doesn’t truly believe it, they’re ordered to go in and check the man’s mitral valve. Doing something is better than nothing, Martha agrees. 

“Chase, scrub up and take Taub and Ms. Goody-two-shoes with you.” 

“Can’t we have Masters do-“ 

“Absolutely not. This isn’t time for a learning experience, this is time to cut open this guy and fix him so he lives. She helps, you do.” 

A grumble of incomprehensible words are drowned out by Taub getting up out of his chair and patting her shoulder, leaning his head towards the door as a gesture to tell her to follow. She does, not wanting to deal with any more childish back and forth arguing. As they all head down the hallway, Masters looks at Taub for direction. She doesn’t understand why Chase is upset she’s not doing it- usually it’s the other way around. 

As the three slip into the empty elevator, Chase uses the inside of his wrist to scrub at his nose, sniffling yet again. Normally Martha wouldn’t notice these things, but he was late, so now all her attention is solely on him. It’s definitely not because he’s gorgeous or funny or the only to even remotely build her up sometimes. 

“So why don’t you wanna do the surgery?” Taub asks, turning to the taller man. 

“Because it’s cold in the OR and I’m already freezing,” Chase grumps, pulling his lab coat tighter. “Scrubs can only keep you so warm.” 

[pocket-lad]

CH 5- Mouse Trap

Prev

“Ian!” Adelaide exclaimed, unable to mask the urgency in her voice. She tapped his chest repeatedly as she spoke. “Ian, I, um, I need to go in your pocket. Please. I can’t- I can’t meet anyone else today, especially not...” she trailed off.  

Ian knew what the end of that sentence was. Kids. Adelaide had a horrible fear of them, even if she wouldn’t call it a fear. Ian personally loved kids. They were little chaos machines, which he guessed was the exact reason Adelaide didn’t like them. Without a word, he ferried her to the lip of his pocket, propped it open, and waited for her to hop in. She’d met a lot of new people that day, and he was proud of her for going with it and keeping her cool. She deserved a break.

Adelaide welcomed herself back to the musty chest pocket. Yay. She got settled then peeked her head over the edge to observe. The girl looked to be maybe twelve and the boy around nine. Adelaide watched as they ran full tilt at Hammond, knocking him to the ground with hugs and reaffirming Adelaide’s belief that children were reckless and didn’t know their own strength.  

After brief introductions, the kids were the first to run out the door, bursting with energy Adelaide wished she had, and Ian sauntered down the stairs, bouncing her up and down with each step and bringing up the rear.  

They approached a set of bright green cars running along a track. The kids exploded with excitement, and even the adults looked intrigued. Hammond explained how they were electric and therefore non-polluting. Adelaide didn’t understand how those things were connected, but she supposed a car that didn’t pollute was a good one. Even if they were gaudy.  

The girl ran to the front car and hopped in, and Hammond directed Ellie to the second car. Ian immediately followed. “We’re gonna ride with uh, Dr. Sattler,” he said. Adelaide rolled her eyes at both Ian’s forwardness and the appalled look Alan gave him. Men.  

Adelaide wouldn’t admit it, but her heart fluttered when Ian said they’d be riding with Ellie. Out of all the new giants, Adelaide enjoyed her time around Ellie most, even if she was a little condescending. At least she was friendly. And pretty … Adelaide chalked up the fluttery feeling in her chest to relief when Ian chose the car without the little girl.  

Instead of getting in though, Ian wedged his way into the open car door that Ellie was trying to shut.  

“Mind if we sit up front?” he asked smoothly.  

“Oof, sorry,” she winced, looking at the whole empty bench seat before her. “I’m not sure if there’s enough room…Seems like Adelaide can fit, though.” She looked up at Adelaide in the pocket, who was actually above Ellie’s eye level. “If she wants to join.”  

“Yeah, we’ll have a party up front. Girls only, though. Sorry, Ian,” she said.  

Ian reached up and ruffled her hair with a fingertip. “Be my guest,” he said, calling her bluff. Adelaide batted at the finger overhead, but all that accomplished was making her lose her balance and tumble backward into the pocket.  

From inside, Adelaide gave one sharp kick to Ian’s chest, and she felt him laugh. It wouldn’t hurt, but it got the point across. She considered staying down to avoid looking anyone in the eye after that, but that almost seemed worse. That was admitting defeat. So, Adelaide pulled herself back up over the lip of the pocket, messy hair and all. Ellie turned away and covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. If Adelaide hadn’t been red before, she sure was now. Maybe staying in the pocket would have been better.  

“Jackass,” was all Adelaide could come up with, which made them both laugh more. Well, so much for dignity.  

While all of this happened, it didn’t slip Adelaide’s notice that Alan was weaving in and out of both cars, pursued by the boy. Alan slid into the backseat of the rear car and the boy followed, so Adelaide ducked back into the pocket. They were in the middle of a conversation that Alan clear ly didn’t want to be a part of.  

The boy’s muffled voice came through the walls of the pocket. “Because they sure don't look like birds to me. I heard that there was this, um, meteor that hit the earth down in Mexico, and made this big crater-” His voice was high pitched, loud, and annoying. Adelaide didn’t blame Alan for his aversion, but she had to admit it was a little funny watching him attempt to make the kid leave.  

From the sound of it, they exited the car on the other side. She heard the kid introduce himself as Tim and announce that he would ride in whatever car Alan chose. Please, for the love of God Dr. Grant, do not sit in this car.  

They walked back to the front car, and just as Adelaide started to pop her head back out, the girl approached on Ian’s right. Adelaide fell right back down again, heart beating, hoping the girl didn’t see her.  

“What’s taking so long?” she complained, peering over at Alan and the boy.  

“Well hello to you, too,” Ian teased. “What’s your name?”  

“Sorry,” the girl said sheepishly. “I’m Lex... Who are you?”  

“Ha, I’m Dr. Ian Malcolm. And this-”  

Adelaide braced herself along his chest and the walls of the pocket. Ian was not going to do this again. Not when he knew about her...'aversion' to kids...right?  

“-is Dr. Ellie Sattler.”  

Oh, thank God.  

Ellie turned around. “Hi, Lex,” she said. Then after a pause, “You know who could answer the question ? You see that man talking to your brother up there? That’s Alan. I think you should ride with him.”  

“Why?” Lex asked.  

“It’d be good for him.”  

“Oh.... okay!” And with that, she ran off. Adelaide cautiously poked her head out of the pocket once more as Ian resigned himself to the back seat, since Ellie showed no signs of budging.  

“What was that about?” she asked Adelaide curiously.  

“Della has a fear of children,” Ian said matter-of-factly, though his ever-present smirk gave a hint of teasing.  

“I do not!” Adelaide shot back defensively. Was Ian determined to embarrass her in front of all these giants? In front of Ellie?   

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Ian continued.  

“No, they’re just... loud and... smelly.” Adelaide wrinkled her nose. She still felt like she had to defend herself.  

“Kids don’t smell! Where are you guys getting this from?” Ellie shook her head. A confused look from Adelaide prompted her further. “Alan was just saying that the other day...You know, you two would get along well, probably.”  

As if on cue, Alan got in the car next to Ian and slammed the door closed. Adelaide instinctively ducked down into the pocket but quickly reemerged when she realized he was sans child.  

“Why did you do that?” he asked Ellie, exasperated.  

“Do what?” Ellie answered innocently.  

“You know what I mean,” he said, but he resigned himself to dropping the topic. He leaned back in his chair with a loud sigh, rubbing his hands down his face.  

“ I think kids are smelly,” Adelaide ventured shyly.  

Alan looked down at her. He honestly forgot she was there and was a little taken aback when she addressed him. He gave her a faint smile. “Thank you!”  

Adelaide froze when he made direct eye contact with her, but otherwise showed no signs of fear. The car suddenly took off, and Adelaide was left clinging a little tighter to the lip of the pocket.  

“God help us, we’re in the hands of engineers,” Ian’s voice rumbled around her.  

It was then that Adelaide noticed it. There was nobody driving the car! Hammond had mentioned something about that earlier, but it didn’t really register until now.  

Adelaide didn’t like looking stupid, but her curiosity propelled her to ask the question. “How do they-” her voice barely came out. She cleared her throat and tried again. “How do they do that?”  

Ian and Alan both looked down at her. Neither responded for a moment, trying to figure out what she was asking.  

Excellent, Adelaide thought. Ask a bunch of scientists a stupid question with an obvious answer. How could she backtrack?  

“Oh, the cars!” Ian said aloud for Alan’s benefit once he deciphered the question.  

“Oh, then I have no idea. You’re asking the wrong person,” Alan said.

Ian seemed to have an explanation, though. “They’re uh...electric. They run on batteries, as with all cars, or most cars, but for our purposes all cars, but the- the track below the car- did you see that?” Adelaide nodded. “It communicates with the car through uh, through electricity. The track likely has some kind of wire, and that predetermined path, that data, is uh, sent to the car.”  

“Oh,” Adelaide said. That mostly made sense.  

Say what you want about Ian, but he always treated Adelaide like a person. Sometimes he was a little grabby and a little rough, but he never doubted her intelligence.  

That’s how Adelaide found herself learning new things every day. If she asked the question, Ian would give her the answer. He didn’t talk down to her like she was a child or like she was challenged. He assumed she had basic knowledge, and if Adelaide needed further explanation, she could always just ask.  

Not that she ever did, though. It was a rare occasion to see Adelaide ask clarifying questions, mostly because she trusted herself to figure it out. She knew herself to be intuitive and maybe a little prideful, and if she truly didn’t understand what Ian was talking about, it was probably never meant for her to know.  

***  

“I can handle it!” Adelaide protested. “Why would you even offer if you don’t think I can ‘handle it’? What does that even mean?”  

Adelaide loosely knew what alcohol did to Human Beans, watching them from afar. It usually made them louder and clumsier, so she kept her distance. Her parents had a strict rule that all alcohol was to be kept for sterilization, especially since it was so hard to come by, so nobody in their small home had ever tried any.  

“It means,” Ian said, walking over to the kitchen. “you’re very small. And from what it sounds like, you uh, you’ve never had any alcohol before.” He distractedly rummaged around in the cabinets. When he found what he was looking for, he returned to the coffee table Adelaide stood on. “And it’s fun to get you riled up.” He sat on the couch and produced a bottle cap.  

“Whatever,” Adelaide said with a hint of a smile in her voice.

He carefully poured some of his drink into the bottle cap and went to set it down on the table in front of Adelaide. “Don’t-” He paused, looking her in the eye. “-drink this too fast.” And with that, he set it down.  

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Adelaide didn’t actually know, but she wasn’t going to let him think that. She eyed the drink nervously. She’d be damned if she stood down now. So, she marched right up to the saucepan-sized bottlecap, awkwardly picked it up, and took a big gulp.  

GROSS.  

Adelaide nearly dropped the cap, but she set it down quickly to avoid spilling it and couldn’t help but scrunch up her face. Everything burned- her mouth, her throat, her stomach. Her eyes watered, but Ian’s laugh brought her focus back. He leaned back against the couch, his arm outstretched along its back, and he took another sip of his drink as he watched her try not to cough.  

Adelaide fixed her face real fast. Or at least as best she could. She could not let Ian be right.  

“A little strong?” he asked.  

“No, not at all,” she said nonchalantly. It was too bad her voice came out scratchy and forced, like someone who’d been smoking cigarettes their whole life.  

“Sure,” he said.  

She sat on the table, using some books as a back rest. From then on, she took smaller, less frequent sips, but she felt her mind grow foggy in almost no time. Adelaide preferred to stay sharp, but she couldn’t quite remember why she felt that way. This didn’t seem too bad. This was warm. This was nice.  

In fact, she even ditched her jacket. That thing never came off. Living at just a couple inches tall, heat left borrowers’ bodies faster than Beans, mostly because their skin was too thin to keep the heat from leaving. But with the fire going and the alcohol warming her insides, Adelaide had to take the coat off.   

After watching some TV and talking for a little while, Adelaide grew bored. She flopped back onto the books, staring at the ceiling.  

“Am I boring you?” Ian asked, though there was no offense in his voice. If anything, he was amused.  

“Yeah, a little,” Adelaide said, feeling bolder than usual, and she sat back up. She looked around. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing at a big box-like contraption with a bunch of buttons.  

“That’s uh, that’s a computer,” Ian said.  

“What’s it do?”  

“It lets you look up information.”  

“Like anything?”  

“Pretty much anything.”  

“What’s that?” she asked again, pointing to a different object.  

“That’s a phone,”  

“I know that,” she said, slurring her words a little. She took a second to rephrase her question. “How does it do...why do you talk into it?”  

“I use it to talk to other people.”  

“But how ?”  

“Um, well, energy. My voice makes sound waves, and those waves get converted into- into energy. That energy travels along wires and then gets converted back into sound waves on the other end, that end being, uh, the person I’m talking to,” he explained, unsure why he was explaining how phones worked.  

Ian considered what Adelaide just said. She knew that the phone was called a phone and that he talked into it. He couldn’t recall ever using the phone in front of her, which almost confirmed his theory that she watched him from the walls before they officially met.  

“What’s that?” she asked for a third time, pointing at another object. Their night went on like this for some time.   

At first, Ian was annoyed. He didn’t want to explain every little gadget in his house, so he kept his answers fairly short. After a while though, he realized he kind of enjoyed explaining these things. It made him appreciate stuff he often overlooked – computers, phones, even escalators – when he actually had to think about how they worked. Humans used these things daily, but they served no purpose to people like Adelaide. The perspective shift was jarring, but enlightening.  

To see the world through Adelaide’s eyes was so fascinating, and he never got the opportunity. She never asked questions, was always closed off, and rightly so. It was hard to trust anybody in this world, let alone a giant, so Ian understood why she changed the subject every time he asked her a question about being small. Still, he had to admit to curiosity.  

And though he wouldn’t admit it, that night made Ian feel good about himself. It made him feel like a proper father.  

***  

Suddenly, an unfamiliar male voice played out of the car’s speakers. “During your tour, the appropriate information will be automatically selected and displayed for you. Simply touch the area of the screen displaying the appropriate icon. Welcome to Jurassic Park.”  

The cars approached an enormous wooden gate supported by stone columns. The columns were lined with flaming sconces and at the top, a big red and yellow sign read, Jurassic Park. Adelaide hadn’t seen anything like it before. It was so grand, so expensive looking, and the doors opened all on their own just before the cars reached it! What do they have in there?  

“What do they got in there, King Kong?” Ian voiced her thoughts aloud. What could possibly need a gate that large? Nothing Adelaide wanted to get close to, that was for sure.  

As they passed under it, the voice continued. Unable to contain herself, Adelaide hoisted her body out of the pocket and scrambled up Ian’s shirt, using the thick fabric to get a secure grip. She stood on his shoulder, facing out the rear window, and watched the gates close behind them, all by themselves. The wonders Human Beans could come up with never ceased to amaze her.  

“Wow,” she breathed. Her amazement was abruptly interrupted by one thought.   

Trapped.  

Adelaide had to physically shake her head to rid herself of that thought. She knew in her head that there were probably plenty of ways to leave if they needed to, but the gates closing reminded her of a cage. A big cage.  

But Ian promised her - no more cages. Only he knew about her past and her parents, and even then, Adelaide hadn’t given that information willingly. She blamed her loose tongue that night on the alcohol.  

***  

“What’s that?” Adelaide continued down her long list of questions about the world around her (Ian’s home) and pointed to a bunch of boxes stacked haphazardly under the TV stand.  

“Board games,” Ian said. Curious, he got up to check them out. He hadn’t touched them in ages, not since the last time Kelly was over... He should call her.  

“Oooh, I want to play a game,” Adelaide said.  

“Well, you’re in luck,” Ian said, wandering back over to the couch and carrying one of the dusty games. “How’s mouse trap sound?”  

“Mouse trap?” Adelaide repeated. Her heart rate picked up and a nervous feeling spread across her body. A trap?  

“Mouse trap,” he repeated back.  

Adelaide stood up to approach the box, wobbling a bit. She thought she was doing okay, but that changed when she got on her feet. She took a second to clear her head, and when she stopped seeing double, she walked forward, only to stumble back again when he lifted the lid off the box too quickly.  

“Careful there...you uh, sure you want to play?” Ian chuckled.   

“Of course! ..... Um, it’s not actually a – a real mouse trap...is it?”  

“No, no it’s not a real mouse trap. Just plastic.” Ian was oblivious to Adelaide’s worry.  

“Oh.” Adelaide didn’t know what plastic had to do with anything, and she was still nervous, but she trusted him.  

Ian got the game set up with no help from Adelaide. If she wasn’t intoxicated, she may have insisted on helping, but as it was, she could barely walk straight, let alone lift objects much larger than her.  

She watched his hands work. Those massive hands, picking up the game pieces and putting them together. She remembered when he picked her up like that, saving her from that stupid bowl of fruit. That had been embarrassing. Though she still tried to avoid going near those hands, she was less afraid of them now. She was less afraid of Ian now. They still had a long way to go, but they were both trying. 

“I think you just uh, roll the um, the die,” he said, snapping Adelaide out of her thoughts. Neither of them was about to read the instructions, but Ian was sure he had a general idea of how it went. It was pretty much your standard, run of the mill board game, anyway.  

Steadying herself, Adelaide marched up to the die. She hoisted it up. It was much heavier than she anticipated, sending her sideways.  

“Woah!” Ian exclaimed. He started to reach out to catch her, but she held her hands up to stop him, signaling that she had it under control. “You need help with that?”  

“No,” Adelaide said, her cheeks burning. Whether it was from the alcohol or her ruined pride, she wasn’t sure. She stood up, brushed herself off, and tried again. This time, instead of trying to hold it, once Adelaide had it in her hands, she tossed it as hard as she could. It didn’t go very far at all, but it did roll a little. 4 .  

“Okay, now what?”  

“You move your mouse,” Ian explained. “Or you could be your own – your own game piece.” He laughed at the thought.  

“You're hilarious,” Adelaide said flatly, but she had to admit it would be kinda funny. She looked to her left and found two statues of cartoon mice that stood slightly shorter than her. She saw that the board laid out in front of her had a path printed on it, and that path was divided into squares. She guessed that meant she was supposed to move her mouse four squares.  

Picking the green mouse, Adelaide kicked it four spaces. It wasn’t heavy, but it still required some effort.  

Ian picked up the die, shook it in his palm, and sent it across the table, making sure to aim it away from Adelaide. Even under normal circumstances, sending it flying her way seemed cruel, and now her senses were completely wiped.  

Adelaide’s jaw dropped as she watched the die disappear into his hand, soar into the air, and get flung across the table in a matter of seconds. What took her a full minute and a lot of strength took Ian no time at all, and it was barely even an effort on his part. A pang of jealousy snuck into Adelaide’s mind, but she forced it away when she saw that the die landed on a 2. Ha .  

They played like that for a while, figuring out the rules as they went. She would kick her green mouse along while he pushed his blue one with only a finger. They learned that they were actually supposed to build the game as they went along, but it was too late for that. All the while, Adelaide continued to drink, unaware of how it was affecting her.   

“Why do you have this if you don’t have people over?” Adelaide asked, then froze. Even drunk, she knew that was a rude question. She looked up at him worriedly, but he wasn’t looking at her. “I’m sorry. That was mean. I didn’t mean to-”  

Ian interrupted. “It’s alright. I ah, I have a kid. 3 kids, actually, but this is one of Kelly’s favorites.” He gave Adelaide a weak smile, but his eyes were distant.  

“Oh,” she said. Ian had kids? That didn't feel par for the course. She couldn’t recall a time she ever saw kids in his house, but she didn’t push. Sometimes Adelaide forgot that Beans had emotions, and they felt them just as strongly as borrowers. It was hard to imagine something so big and powerful, something who could get whatever they wanted whenever they wanted, as anything other than confident. But here Ian was, proving her wrong.  

“Well, it doesn’t matter, because it looks like I’ve just- I've just won,” he said triumphantly.

Adelaide was about to claim that he was making up rules, but she was cut short when she watched him turn a weird plastic crank attached to a bunch of other things. She stared in awe as the crank made a long lever spring forward with a loud snap, which made a ball fall down a set of stairs, which knocked into a tall tower, which made another ball fall onto a lever that sprung a figurine onto a platform, which shook the post right next to her.  

What the hell was this game?  

Adelaide looked up just in time to see a red plastic piece descend toward her. The quick motion of her head allowed dizziness to take over and she fell to the ground, just as the cage fell over top of her and her green, plastic mouse.  

A cage.  

Panic flooded Adelaide’s mind and she curled in on herself as she was taken her far away from Ian's home. Tears immediately started to fall, and she shook violently. If she was thinking straight, she could have easily lifted the lightweight cage and crawled out, but she might as well have been back in that musty basement, starving and alone, for all she could do.  

Ian registered none of this. He leaned down as far as he could, peering into the cage, ready to boast his ass off. Before he could speak, he saw the way she shook.  

“Adelaide?” he whispered, confused.  

“Don’t touch me!” she screamed, loud enough to make Ian flinch.  

“Woah, woah, woah, woah, hey. Hold on a second,” he said. He reached for the cage, but Adelaide heard the movement and looked up. She could barely see through the tears, her mind stuck in the past.  

“Stop! Please stop! Just let us go. Let them go! Please!” she yelled. 

Ian hesitated. He had never seen her act like this before, and the change in demeanor happened so fast. The only way out was through though, so he lifted the cage off her as quickly and as gently as he could. He pulled the game pieces out of the board to get them out of the way.  

Adelaide barely registered the movement around her, curled in on herself once again, protecting her head and organs. She shook even harder still, muttering phrases to herself that Ian couldn’t hear.  

Ian was at a complete loss for what to do. He couldn’t let her suffer, but any time he got close she screamed even harder. He resigned himself to sitting there, resting his hand close to her if she needed him, but not close enough to invade her space. They sat like that for a long time until eventually Adelaide’s shaking subsided, and she worked her way back to the present.  

Slowly, she looked up. Ian’s hand was the first thing she saw, which made her jump back. Then, realizing where she was, she took a long, deep breath. Neither of them knew what to say and the silence seemed to stretch out forever. Adelaide refused to look at him.  

“What was that?” Ian asked. It sounded harsh, even to him, but somebody had to break the silence, and it clearly wasn’t going to be Adelaide.  

“None of your business,” Adelaide shot back coldly. Ian gave her a look that said, really? She took another deep breath. Let’s try that again. “Um...sorry, first of all. That was...a lot...um...I don’t- I don’t like cages,” she said pathetically. 

“Yeah, I gathered as much,” Ian said. Very slowly, he lowered himself into the space between the couch and the coffee table so that he was sitting on the floor, maintaining eye contact with Adelaide the whole way. Adelaide scooched back a little, mostly from nerves, but also to avoid craning her neck. She was much too unstable for that. Ian continued to stare, waiting for her to say more.  

“I used to live somewhere else, somewhere not here...obviously that’s what ‘somewhere else’ means, but...well, we used to live somewhere else. In a motel, I think it was called. People would come in and out and-”  

“Who’s we?” Ian interrupted. He didn’t like how scattered her words were. She never got like this anymore. Something was wrong.  

Adelaide hesitated. “My parents,” she said. Her eyes immediately welled up again at the thought of them, but she would not let the tears spill over. She’d already done enough crying for a lifetime.   

“What happened?” Ian knew he was prying, but not until the following morning did he realize how he was taking advantage of her inebriated and emotional state. He felt bad about that night for a long time, but in the moment, he was too curious, too caught up in the shocking information.  

“We used to, to survive we would-” Thinking was hard. “-well, that doesn’t matter, but there was this one person, he knew I was there. I don’t know how, but he knew. So, then I was bait, and obviously they came, of course they came. They shouldn’t have come, and maybe if they didn’t.... anyway,” She cleared her throat. “They took me, took them. They took us. They stuffed us in cages and sent us to...here, I guess. Texas, right? I was kept separate because I was, uh... breedable and um...they made me, with this one... they didn’t like that I wouldn’t eat their food, wouldn’t obey their orders or whatever, so they...just fuck those guys, man. You know? Nobody owns us.” She let out a little laugh and raised her drink in a ‘cheers’ motion, hoping that last bit was relatable. Not once did she look Ian in the eye, scared that he would see right through her. 

Ian was stunned. He knew that this ‘borrower’ lifestyle was hard – they lived in the walls and relied on humans who didn’t know they were there to survive. He didn’t know it went this deep, that there were people actively hunting the smaller species.  

“I'm uh...I’m sorry, Adelaide.... Hey, I promise though, no more cages. At least not if - if I have anything to do with it,” he said. He rested his hand a couple inches away and Adelaide perked her head up. He used her full name.    

“Well, it’s over, and you don't have to be sorry. There’s nothing I can do now, except maybe go to bed,” she said. “I’m tired.” It was getting late, and her eyelids felt extremely heavy. Emotions were running high, and Adelaide was exhausted. Even though borrowers didn’t really experience day and night the same as Human Beans, Adelaide found her sleep schedule shifting closer and closer to Ian’s the more they interacted. Hmm.

Adelaide set a path for her hook that still dangled from the edge of the coffee table. Though she didn’t make it in a straight, stable line, she still made it. She went to reach for the hook when a giant hand appeared from the void less than an inch in front of her face. It plucked the hook off the table and sailed back into the air.  

Adelaide fell back on her butt in shock, then looked up at Ian. “Hey!”  

“Oh no, there’s no way you’re climbing anywhere like- like that. You can’t even stand up,” he said.  

“I am perfectly capable of getting myself home,” she exclaimed, though when she went to stand up, she fell right back over and let out a small hiccup. Her vision went sideways, and she laughed at her own hiccup.  

“How much have you had to drink?” Ian asked. He should have been paying more attention every time Adelaide asked him for more, and he realized belatedly how strong alcohol probably was to someone her size. Adelaide shrugged and let out a noise that sounded vaguely like “I don’t know.” She’d probably be alright come morning, just hungover.  

“Come on,” Ian said, holding his palm out. Adelaide was going to protest more, but at least he didn’t grab her. Maybe she should show some kindness back.  

“Fine,” she agreed. Taking her time, Adelaide pushed herself to her feet. Focusing on placing one foot in front of the other, she slowly and painfully made her way to his waiting hand. Instead of stepping on, she simply collapsed and rolled onto his palm. “Take it away,” she said, pointing vaguely into the air.  

Ian snorted and stood up. He turned to head down the hallway.  

All that motion made Adelaide’s head spin and her stomach churn. She was determined not to throw up, and it was all she could do to make sure that didn’t happen. She was so focused on the task at hand that she didn’t realize where they were headed until they were basically there. Ian’s bedroom.  

“Wait, wait, wait, hello? You missed the entrance to the walls, dude,” she giggled. “Uhhhh, the one back behind the couch. That’ll be the closest.”  

“I’m not setting you loose in the walls like this,” he said. “And I’m uh, certainly not going to be the one to- to cut open the walls when you get yourself um, when you get stuck somewhere. You’re gonna sleep with me tonight.”  Ian didn't miss the way she revealed an entrance into the walls that was close to her home, something she'd been determined to keep secret. He wondered if he should bring that up in the morning. She definitely didn't do it on purpose.

“Geez, buy me a drink first,” Adeliade slurred, then continued to giggle at her own joke.  

He set Adelaide down on his bedside table and laid out an old, clean T-shirt for her to arrange a bed to her liking.  

Ian took off his shirt and pants and hopped into bed. He wasn’t shy about things like that, but it didn’t even matter, because when he turned to tell Adelaide good night, she was conked out in a nest of fabric.  

Ian smiled and reached over to turn off the lamp. He would never say this out loud, lest Adelaide crucify him, but Ian thought she was adorable. Her stubborn attempts to act bigger than she really was didn’t read the way she wanted, but he wouldn’t be the one to tell her that. In fact, she almost definitely knew, but he respected her for trying, nonetheless.  

Ian was tired, but he didn’t fall asleep for a long time. Adelaide’s story kept him up thinking all night and well into the early hours of the morning. Though the story was neither linear nor clear, Ian was able to piece it together and fill in the blanks. He thought back to their first meeting and how scared she was. Knowing what he knew now, Ian understood the fear response, and he was honestly baffled that she stood up to him. He was baffled that she still chose to interact with him after that day, that she let him carry her. Adelaide was brave, she was unpredictable, she was the embodiment of chaos. And maybe that’s why Ian liked her so much.  

.  

Light filtered in through the curtains. The first conscious thought that filtered into Adelaide’s mind was, Ow. My head.  

Borrowers rarely got sick and didn’t get headaches often. Looking for the reason, Adelaide thought back to the previous night, but it was all kind of fuzzy.  

Even with her eyes closed, she could tell it was lighter than usual and she could feel the heat beating down on her body. Wait... that wasn’t right. Hardly any light reached her small home in the walls and warmth wasn’t a concept she was familiar with. And whatever she was laying on was not her nest. Faint sounds of rushing air filled her ears, and she knew in that moment that she was not in the walls.  

Panicked, Adelaide eyes flung open, and she sat up quickly, feeling around for her knife. To her right lay a giant underneath a set of massive blankets, its back turned toward her. She stood up and silently walked backward, assessing her surroundings, but she had to sit back down when her head pounded so hard, she thought it was going to explode.  

This forced Adelaide to process what was actually around her. She knew this room. It was Ian’s bedroom. And so, the giant must be Ian. She let out a quick huff, upset with herself for panicking so quickly.  

Adelaide had never slept outside the walls before. She’d never let her guard down and had never let herself be that vulnerable before. She trusted Ian to an extent, but she couldn’t believe she let herself fall asleep out in the open with him, all exposed – that was too much trust. 

As she sat there, memories from last night slowly started to come back. Drinking alcohol, playing a board game, her mini freak out, opening up about her parents. Ugh. That was embarrassing. Maybe if she pretended not to remember, Ian would let it all go, because she did not want to talk about it further. 

Wanting to get a head start on all of that, Adelaide crawled to the edge of the nightstand. She would put off standing up as long as possible. Where was her hook? Oh yeah, Ian took it last night and put it God knew where. There was no climbing down the slick sides of the table, so it looked like Adelaide was stuck there until Ian woke up.  

It wasn’t so bad, save for the pounding headache. She was still nervous about how exposed she was, with so much open space around her. She just wanted to crawl under an alcove and hide from the world, but she supposed this makeshift blanket would do for now. No, not a blanket...Ian’s shirt. Huh. A weird feeling filled Adelaide's chest...  

Despite the nerves, despite the embarrassment, Adelaide felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Adelaide felt safe.  

.

Next

[thetomorrowshow]

1, 14, 19, 22, 36 and 40 for the wrighters asks, maybe????:)

1 Which of your fics would you keep the basic plot of but rewrite completely?

definitely my most recent trust au fic, 'out of aces'. i really wasn't happy with it all the way through the process, which is why i procrastinated on it so long. by the time i posted it i'd gotten to a place where i was fine with it and also never wanted to work on it again. if i had the time, i'd like to just delete the original doc and start from scratch.

14 Write and share the first sentence of a new fic. Just that.

It’s very bright, when Sausage wakes, but not in an eye-hurting-squinting-to-see kind of way; it’s bright in a soft, warm way, bright in a way that makes him think of gold and sunflowers and home.

19 Share a snippet from a wip without giving any context for it.

When Scott had suggested it, desperation lacing his voice, Jimmy had barely even had to think about it before accepting. Even if it wasn’t the only option to keep him safe, it was the only one that Jimmy wanted to consider. A chance to be engaged to Scott Smajor, despite the way he messed up their friendship by kissing him that one time? Please.

What he didn’t consider was the fact that even letting Scott sleep in his bed at night was already something that left him feeling empty inside—watching him sleep and knowing that they would never have anything that he truly wants. Surely he ought to have thought about how much worse being betrothed to him would be.

And now here they are, playing a game of catch with Jimmy’s heart, the odds of it hitting the ground and shattering becoming more and more likely with every passing moment.

bit more than a snippet if that's all right :)

22 What is it about watching the same two idiots falling in love over and over again?

DUDE IF YOU FIGURE IT OUT LMK. idk what it is about flower husbands that keeps drawing me back. maybe it's the way they were in a death game and they were the only ones who found peace and they had it because they loved each other jhsjdfhliygdHBnc i wrote a whole fic about my feelings about them for fh week it was called 'asleep and awake'

36 How do you come up with fic titles? What's the one you're most proud of?

here is an ask where i talked about my titling process! the one i'm most proud of i think is 'and by resilient i mean which holds', which is a line i felt really suited the theme of the fic and is also from one of my favorite poems (linked here).

40 Write a 9-word fic.

Somehow, Mumbo and Grian slot together like puzzle pieces.

send me a writing ask!

[robininthelabyrinth]

for the prompts: NMJ/JC - Everyone with a functioning brain cell can see that JC just needs someone to tell him he’s doing a good job. And if WWX isn’t stepping up? Well, NMJ definitely will. (Preferably smut and/or fluff) Thank you! ❤️

Compliments - ao3

It started in anger, out of spite.

Traditionally, the world took this to be a bad thing, but in all honesty the vast majority of projects in the Nie sect were started that way – they inherited fiery tempers and spiteful personalities from their ancestors along with their saber cultivation traditions – and it didn’t always turn out badly. There were any number of buildings, techniques, or technological innovations in the Unclean Realm that had started life as a furious fuck you to someone and only turned into something worthwhile about halfway through, once the person involved had calmed down enough to think about what they were doing, realize they were already committed, and then shrug and carry on forward because there was no point in stopping a charge midway.

What Nie Mingjue meant was: there was precedent.

He liked to think it started with Jiang Fengmian, but if Nie Mingjue was being honest with himself, it started back in the Unclean Realm when Nie Huaisang had told him, quite casually over dinner, that he thought that the female cultivator in his class was very pretty and that he’d be happy to marry her.

“Uh,” Nie Mingjue had said, very intelligently. “Huaisang, you’re seven.”

Nie Huaisang had not seen the problem. Instead, he explained very forthrightly that it was only right that he start thinking early on about his marriage, as getting married and having children would be his great contribution to the sect on account of being useless good-for-nothing unfit for anything else –

“Wait,” Nie Mingjue said. “Who told you that?!”

Nie Huaisang claimed he had deduced it.

Nie Mingjue claimed that Nie Huaisang was full of bullshit, and also that he wasn’t good-for-nothing even if he wasn’t good at saber, and anyway even if he was a total good-for-nothing he was still Nie Mingjue’s good-for-nothing and no one had better say a single damn word against him or Nie Mingjue would bite them.

“I meant stab them!” he explained, far too late; Nie Huaisang was already rolling around laughing to the point of tears. “I have a saber. I can stab people! I’m actually very scary, you know!”

Nie Huaisang hadn’t believed him one bit and had carried on, seemingly at peace and forgetting everything, but Nie Mingjue had gone seeking advice from all of his elders and counselors and the more dependable senior disciples of his sect, abruptly terrified that he was permanently damaging Nie Huaisang by raising him the wrong way or something. Didn’t children need encouragement at that age? Weren’t they all young and tender peaches liable to be bruised at the slightest glance or young sprouts that needed to be sheltered from the harsh wind lest they grow up crooked?

Everyone assured him that children were hardier than they appeared, flexible and capable of bouncing back from just about anything. He'd pressed, though, pointing out that even the most flexible wood would eventually form a crack in the face of a vicious hurricane, and in the end they'd admitted that it was better to avoid applying too much pressure at too young an age, that a child squeezed too hard or not hard enough might develop neuroses that would hinder them in the future.

They mostly tried not to look at him when they said that, presumably thinking to themselves that Nie Mingjue was little more than a child himself and had already been subject to the worst pressures possible, which would undoubtedly result in who knows what future issues, but he hadn’t paid that part any mind. As far as he was concerned, his life was already a loss – he had sworn to take revenge for his father, to make that ancient monster Wen Ruohan pay with his life for what he had done and furthermore he'd sworn to pay back the blood debt in full before any of that burden passed to Nie Huaisang.

Letting Nie Huaisang grow up happy – that was what mattered.

Letting him be insulted when Nie Mingjue wasn’t looking played no part in that plan. If Nie Huaisang were going to be insulted, let it be by outsiders who he wouldn’t need to care about! Within their Nie sect, at minimum, he should be doted upon and honored, or else those responsible would have to explain themselves to Nie Mingjue.

Those dark thoughts still lingering in his mind, he had gone to the Lotus Pier for a discussion conference, and that, perhaps, was where it really started.

Rumor had already made the entire cultivation world aware that Jiang Fengmian had found the orphaned son of Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze, and that he had taken him into his home as his ward, allowing him to become a Jiang sect disciple – treating him almost as one of the family, even. That much was known, so it didn’t come as much of a surprise when Jiang Fengmian proudly introduced him or even more proudly showed him off, praising him to the high heavens.

What did come as a surprise was how little he praised his own son standing beside him, despite them being only a few days apart in age. It was as if Jiang Fengmian had simply forgotten that such a creature existed, much less that he had himself contributed to its spawning, and the constant looks of hope – invariably crushed – the child sent him made it clear that the present situation had been going on for some time.

Fuck you, Nie Mingjue thought, seeing red, seeing instead Nie Huaisang in his failed saber classes, struggling so desperately to keep up with the rest even though his body wouldn’t allow for it, being told he was useless and a good-for-nothing and fit for nothing but marriage. Fuck you, Jiang Fengmian.

He couldn’t say that, of course.

So instead he said, “Excellent stance,” to the child, who'd received the courtesy name Wanyin but seemed to be universally called Jiang Cheng. “Do you know the others in the set?”

Jiang Cheng, staring at him, very slowly nodded, and demonstrated them.

“Absolutely perfect,” Nie Mingjue said loudly, drawing attention to himself with his over-loud voice that everyone would automatically forgive on account on him being both a Nie and a young man. “You can see how hard you’ve worked at it, and it has paid off handsomely. You are very lucky in your son, Sect Leader Jiang.”

“…thank you,” Jiang Fengmian said, a little bemused at being interrupted. He’d been talking yet again about Wei Wuxian’s brilliance at picking up the sword again after years of living on the streets without practice, even though at the moment the smiling boy's admittedly impressive skills were still largely wild and undisciplined.

Nie Mingjue nodded, and said: “When exactly did you say the opening festivities would be starting?”

Jiang Fengmian had clearly forgotten about that in his enthusiasm, so he quickly hurried back to the actual subject at hand and the discussion conference was started in earnest.

It was almost enough to allow Nie Mingjue to forget the matter and put it behind him.

Or, it would have been, if only Jiang Fengmian hadn’t continued to insert praise for Wei Wuxian at every possible instance – it was as if he were the man’s first-born son, rather than another person’s child.

Irritated beyond belief, Nie Mingjue started complimenting Jiang Cheng every time Jiang Fengmian said something nice about Wei Wuxian, and he made sure to keep his compliments accurate: he was a hard worker, dedicated and sincere, thoughtful, clever, not overly arrogant…

“Wei Wuxian came up with his own ideas for a sword style already,” Jiang Fengmian claimed at one point. “You can see him on the training ground now, practicing it – take a look!”

Nie Mingjue picked up a stone and flicked it over with his fingers, making Wei Wuxian jump half a chi into the air and nearly fall on his ass.

“Weak foundation, and he over-commits,” he analyzed dryly, because it was true, and because no one else was saying it. He didn't make it any harsher than it had to be: he had nothing against the boy himself, of course; it was only that he knew from experience that it was much easier to be the one being complimented than the one not. “He’s got his head so high in the clouds that his feet are barely touching the ground – the weakest fierce corpse would knock him flat as a pancake with a childish style like that. He’d be better off sticking with orthodox or he’ll end up in real trouble one day.”

“Sect Leader Nie, really,” Jiang Fengmian said disapprovingly. “He’s only nine.”

“Old enough to pick up bad habits,” Nie Mingjue retorted. “Your son’s the same age and he’s as steady as a rock. If Jiang Cheng keeps going as he is, he’ll have a strong enough base to outlast the fiercest storm.”

“A rock has no imagination,” Jiang Fengmian said, and was he actually arguing that his son was inferior? Out loud, in front of outsiders? Did the man have no shame? “Mingjue, you’re young, but you must know that my Jiang sect prizes freedom and creativity as the highest virtue –”

“Would you rather build a house using a firework or a foundation stone?” Nie Mingjue asked, doing his best not to outwardly bristle at the condescendingly intimate use of his name by someone who might be technically his elder but legally his equal. “Tell me, Fengmian, does your Jiang sect’s acclaimed ‘freedom’ only allow for people to be as fluid as the river and not as steady as the earth?”

Jiang Fengmian faltered, clearly not knowing how to answer that.

Nie Mingjue raised his hands in a sarcastic salute: “As the leader of a sect whose style is based on a grounded foundation, I would be very happy if you would educate me in your wisdom. No doubt my peers would benefit as well.”

Perhaps it was at that point that Jiang Fengmian realized that his words could be misinterpreted as an insult to all the sects whose styles were less free-flowing than the Jiang – just about all of them except for maybe the Lan and their subsidiary sects, given their preference for techniques modeled on the wind over the water – and moreover that this was a discussion conference, where every word was political, and that a great deal of people were glaring balefully at him. He hastily moved the conversation onwards, and left the subject of his sons for another day.

Later that evening, Madame Yu came over to where Nie Mingjue was nursing a bowl of very fine wine that he didn’t especially feel like consuming. Before he could start worrying about the Purple Spider’s intentions, she said, voice stiff, “Your words regarding my son are too kind. His skills are still inferior; he has a great deal of progress yet to be made.”

“He’s only nine,” Nie Mingjue said, feeling mortified that she’d noticed his little temper tantrum, which he had belatedly realized was probably extremely obvious. “Anyway, I wasn't lying. He has a good foundation; he’ll be a fearsome cultivator one day, there’s no doubt. I only said what I saw.”

“You didn’t comment about Wei Wuxian,” she said. “You must have noticed his genius.”

“Geniuses don’t need to be praised overmuch,” Nie Mingjue said. He himself had been termed a genius by his teachers, and he’d hated every single moment of it – couldn’t he just be good at things without having people fall all over themselves to compliment him? He’d enjoyed it at the start, but after a while it had started to wear on him; he was expected to be a genius in all things, and being simply ordinary was suddenly seen as failing. “It’s the ones that have to work hard that do, or else they’ll be discouraged…comparing someone to another person’s child works as a spur to a certain extent, but after a while it loses its potency as a tool.”

Your husband is a fucking idiot, he didn’t say. It’s his own son! How could he speak like that about him? Shouldn’t he be holding him in his palms like a gentle flame, protecting him from the wind and rain? How can he bear to scold his son when he hasn't shown that the scolding is meant for his benefit?

“Perhaps,” Madame Yu said, but it was clear on her face that she wasn’t about to start taking parenting advice from a half-grown sprout like Nie Mingjue. “Nevertheless, your words were kind.”

She swept away after that, much to his relief. He shook his head and daydreamed about a magic tool that would make this whole nightmarish experience go by that much quicker.

In the end, it went by at the same speed it always did. It could have ended there, but Nie Mingjue kept up the habit of blatantly complimenting Jiang Cheng in future sect conferences as well, if only because it clearly irritated Jiang Fengmian – less because Nie Mingjue was praising his son and more because it was so obviously meant as an indirect critique of Jiang Fengmian’s skills as a parent or sect leader, and moreover it reminded all the other sects of that unfortunate interchange and made them less inclined to listen to him – and of course, because, well, once you’ve started a charge, you had to finish it even if you came to your senses about halfway through.

He made sure to keep it proportionate, of course, since there was nothing worse than false praise. He didn’t really mean anything by it, other than the half-formed thought that someone ought to be doing it – that the boy should know that someone looked at him and Wei Wuxian and remembered to praise him first. Nie Mingjue praised Wei Wuxian too, of course, since the boy often deserved it; it was only that he made a particular point not to forget about Jiang Cheng, either.

(He also made sure the other sect leaders saw how well the technique could be used to fluster Jiang Fengmian, an intrusion into his personal life that could be masked in perfect politeness, and several of them picked up the same tact, though less consistently than Nie Mingjue – Sect Leaders Jin and Wen, naturally, always looking for a weakness, but interestingly enough also Lan Qiren, who was normally above such petty maneuvers. Possibly he was actually just complimenting Jiang Cheng because he sincerely approved of him.)

He didn’t think much of it.

Nie Mingjue didn’t think much of it during the other discussion conferences, or when he came to the Cloud Recesses to pick up Nie Huaisang, who had – amazingly – actually managed to pass this time, although the expression on Lan Qiren’s face suggested the pass might have more to do with the other sect leader’s desire to never see Nie Huaisang haunt his classroom ever again.

“You know what, don’t tell me. Tell me….hm…how did Jiang Wanyin do?” Nie Mingjue asked, hand over his eyes as if it could forestall the headache. “He’s a bright boy, and knows how to put his mind to something when he wants. Tell me about him instead, it’ll be less depressing.”

“He’s very bright,” Lan Qiren agreed. “Very thoughtful, and very thorough. He sometimes errs towards conservatism out of fear of giving the wrong answer, but that’s just a matter of confidence; his thinking is very good. He’s very clear-sighted as long as the matter is logical, rather than emotional.”

“No surprise,” Nie Mingjue grunted. “He’ll be a sect leader worthy of respect, in his time.”

When he’s rid of that father of his dragging him down, he thought ungraciously, and he saw Lan Qiren bob his head in a sharp nod of unspoken agreement.

“All right,” he said. “I’m adequately fortified now. Tell me about Huaisang.”

Lan Qiren gave him a look of profound sympathy.

It wasn’t until much later, during the Sunshot Campaign, that it was first called to his attention – by Jiang Cheng himself, oddly enough.

“Why do you keep doing that?” he hissed, having stayed behind after one of their meetings.

Nie Mingjue blinked at him. “Doing – what?”

“You – you said – about me…!”

Nie Mingjue tried to recall what he’d said during the meeting just now. “That you – were doing an excellent job while facing much higher level of obstacles than everyone else?” he hazarded, because he had said something like that. “Or was it the bit about how if any of them had needed to rebuild their sect and fight at the same time, we’d all be doomed because they couldn’t multitask for shit?”

Yeah, it was probably that one.

“I didn’t mean any offense by referencing what happened to your sect,” he said, hoping to explain. “It was only –”

“I didn’t take offense,” Jiang Cheng mumbled. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine, but – it happened, everyone knows that it happened, not talking about it isn’t going to make it not have happened. That’s not what I meant…why do you keep saying such nice things about me?”

Nie Mingjue blinked at him. “Because they’re true?”

Jiang Cheng’s cheeks flushed red. “You’ve always said nice things about me. Ever since I was a little kid – every time you saw me, at the discussion conferences, or the Cloud Recesses, or even in your letters to my father…”

He had in fact done that.

“I just want to know why. Is it – my father’s not around, you can’t be doing it just to piss him off, even though I know that was part of it. Why me?”

Nie Mingjue coughed a little, having not realized that Jiang Cheng had noticed. Or possibly even overheard, in regards to the Cloud Recesses. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of the other person’s child,” he said, and Jiang Cheng nodded his head sharply, clearly thinking of Wei Wuxian. “You’re Huaisang’s.”

“Me?” Jiang Cheng seemed unduly vulnerable when he asked. “You compare him – to me?”

“It’s amazing he tolerated you at the Cloud Recesses,” Nie Mingjue said with a sigh. In fact, his brother had all but declared war on Jiang Cheng in absentia on account of all Nie Mingjue’s comments, only for his first letter home from the Cloud Recesses that year to be I see why you like him! He’s cute! A perfect match for you! because he’d apparently decided that Nie Mingjue had a crush on the boy.

Which he certainly hadn’t – at least not when he’d been that age, anyway. Jiang Cheng had grown up to embody every single one of the compliments Nie Mingjue had paid him when he’d been younger, especially with the maturity and natural aura of command that came to him after his personal tragedy.

“But why…you knew Wei Wuxian about as well as you knew me.”

Nie Mingjue snorted. “And that would have helped Huaisang how, exactly? If I wanted to compare him with someone who picked things up the first time they saw it, I wouldn’t need to go outside the Nie sect for that – I was also considered a genius when I was young. It’s no failing to be born without a vast and unending natural talent; Huaisang’s issue has always been his unwillingness to put in the effort.”

Jiang Cheng stared at him.

“Anyway, your father was so blinded by his adoration for Wei Wuxian that he overlooked your merits, which are different but no less impressive,” Nie Mingjue added. “As someone who was trying to figure out how to raise a child, it irritated me; I thought someone ought to make it clear to you that you were seen.”

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng said, his voice strangely hoarse. “Yes, you – you succeeded.”

He paused for a moment, meeting Nie Mingjue’s eyes intently, and then abruptly said, “I’ll be leaving,” and dashed out.

Nie Mingjue wasn’t entirely sure if that meant he should stop or not. Jiang Cheng had said he wasn’t offended…anyway, it was a fixed habit by now. He’d been doing it for over half his life! He couldn’t stop that easily! It would be like trying to stop his temper, or a charge – there was nothing for it.

Jiang Cheng would just have to live with a few compliments.

“Wow, you’re an idiot,” Nie Huaisang said when he told him about the incident, months later while he was lying in bed, recovering from the disaster that had been the end of the war. “I’ll fix this.”

“Fix what?”

“I’m going to tell him you’re dying,” Nie Huaisang decided.

“You’re going to do what?!”

“Stay in bed, da-ge! Doctor’s orders!”

The Nie sect chief doctor was an extremely terrifying person. Nie Mingjue stayed in bed.

Some time later, Jiang Cheng stormed in, face pale.

“Huaisang’s a rotten liar and I’m going to be fine,” Nie Mingjue said at once.

Jiang Cheng stopped mid-storm, and abruptly deflated. “Really?”

“Really. I would’ve stopped him, but I’m stuck in bed for the moment.”

Jiang Cheng took a seat next to him. “That sounds serious. You shouldn’t underestimate war wounds, especially given your sect’s tendency towards qi deviations...”

“Compassionate as well,” Nie Mingjue teased. “I’ll have to add that to the rotation of compliments.”

Jiang Cheng flushed red. “You’re…planning on continuing?”

“For the rest of my life, however short it might be,” Nie Mingjue said, because he was an honest person, even when it was inconvenient. He was going to explain about the habit, and the concept of stopping mid-charge, but he didn’t manage to start before Jiang Cheng grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up into a kiss.

After that, he figured that maybe explaining that part of it wasn’t necessary. He might be slow on the uptake, but he wasn’t actually stupid.

[pleasantanathema]

Kenny Ackerman | of Death and Cigars

Pairing: Kenny Ackerman x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Bloodplay, Blood Tasting, Bloody Bathwater, Biting, Age Gap, Kenny says cunny because of course he would 

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Back by popular demand, it’s the dirty old man. This is part of my Nine Muses Event to celebrate 9k! Follow the link to read more fanfics I’m writing to celebrate ❤️

          The warm bathwater was ghoulish, slowly bleeding from pink to red the longer you sat in it.

           At least Kenny didn’t look bad wet. Or bloody, for that matter. But you were used to seeing him caked in crimson, often found stains of it left in the rough patches of his beard. It’s all part of the job, kid. And it was, blood was something you expected out of mercenary work. What you didn’t anticipate was how much you’d enjoy the cleanup, how much you’d take pleasure in sitting between Kenny’s naked legs and let his calloused knuckles wipe someone else’s blood from your skin.

           “Got a little on your mouth,” the water splashed as he raised his hand, swiping at your bottom lip, having to repeat the motion a few times to remove the smear, “what did you fucking do, drink his blood?”

           Your eyes rolled, “I bit him, he was trying to reach around for my knife.”

           Kenny only huffed, flicking water on your face before leaning back and stretching his arms along the edge of the tub. His knuckles popped and his neck cracked as he rolled it, little echoes into the dimly lit room as you fell into silence. You continued to rake a soiled cloth across your arms, most of the water still streaking red over your skin despite your persistence.

           “Got some on your back,” he noted, and you could feel his eyes on you, burning spots into your spine.

           “Well, wipe it off. Isn’t that what you’re here for? To ‘wash my back’?”

           “Nah, I’m just here to look at you naked.”

           You groaned, attempting to reach around to your back to clean, fingers aching from the reach. Kenny watched you struggle for a bit before swatting your hand away, gathering the rag in his fist so he could scrub rather brutishly at the elusive plane between your shoulder blades.

           The embarrassment of being naked around him had washed away after the first few times you performed this ritual. It was just easier to get clean this way, and you didn’t particularly enjoy waiting for him to bathe first just so you could step into ice cold, murky water. Plus, there were some nights when he was actually tender, started to open up withered petals in the sun and talk about his past whenever he’d had too much to drink before sitting in the water.

           You glanced over your shoulder at him, not bothering to hide your curiosity as your eyes flickered over his features. His long hair clung to his shoulders, wrinkles pulled around his mouth from where he held it to the side in concentration. His lean shoulders were freckles from days in the sun, muscles in his arms rolling as he attempted to wash away the scarlet splotches from your skin.

           He’d taught you how to slaughter people in his own gruesome, throat-splitting way. He’d hand picked you for the Anti-Personnel Control squad—said he saw something vicious in you, and maybe he did.

           “Don’t look at me with those big eyes, kid. You’re gonna make my cock hard.”

           “Your cock’s already hard.”

           “Then maybe you should clean that next. Sure your mouth would do better than a rag.”

           You mumbled something about him being disgusting, but kept most of it trapped in your throat. His hands felt particularly good kneading into your back. Not to mention the last time you’d been too sassy with him, he let you go to bed bloody. You reeked of iron for days.

           You stood in the tub, carefully posturing your feet around his outstretched legs, keeping your back to him as you stretched and prepped to leave. But as you turned to the side, you caught a glimpse of blood in his hairline, something he never thinks about since he’s always in his fucking hat.

           “There’s—ugh fuck it,” you knelt back down, caging his thighs with your own so you could sit in his lap and work at chipping away at the dried, grimy substance with your nails.

           “Now that’s more like it,” he unabashedly moved his hands to your waist, long fingers skimming upward to brush the underside of your breasts, “shame you have to keep these pretty tits covered all day.”

           “You’re such a fucking pervert.”

           “Hey, you agreed to bath time with dear old Kenny.”

           He had a point, but you didn’t have to explain yourself. Not to him.

           You kept having to tilt his chin up and away from staring at your chest so you could weave your fingers into the surprisingly thick strands of hair. Droplets started forming at his forehead from your actions, water turning red as it absorbed the remnants of a very dirty and very busy night.

           “You feel good in my lap,” he hummed, rocking you forward so you could feel just how much he meant with it with the cock straining against his stomach. You attempted to lift yourself away from him, but he only pulled you closer, brought your breasts up to his face so he could lick the water away from one of your nipples. You hated the jolt of pleasure that raced down your skin at the lewd touch, biting your tongue avoid any untoward sound slipping out.

           Kenny repeated the action when you didn’t pull away, this time his tongue flat, placing a long, hot stripe over your nipple and over the curve of your breast.

           “Stop that.”

           “Do you really want me to?”

           He didn’t give you the chance to answer, instead enveloped your hardened peak with his warm mouth. You shivered at the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, the hands in his hair pulling him toward you instead of pushing away. He smirked against your tit, tip of tongue circling your nipple until he finally heard you moan. It was the faintest sound, one you barely recognized came from your mouth, but he heard it.

           His hand on your hip sunk lower under the water line, thumb tracing the inside of your thigh, creeping closer to the one place he hadn’t dared to touch before. Well, that wasn’t quite true; he’d attempted once before, but you scratched his wrist so hard that he bled. This time you didn’t bother to stop him, the curiosity of what his fingers would feel like nearly killing you.

           “Bet you’ve got a real tight cunny, don’t you?”

           “Kenny—” you scold stopped mid-breath as his middle finger brushed your clit, pushing farther back to probe at your tight hole. He started sucking at your breast, taking the fat in between his teeth as he groaned at the feeling of your folds against his hand.

           You were glad you couldn’t see the delight in his eyes when you sat deeper into his lap, urging his fingers to explore further, to press up inside you just so you could know how it felt. He obliged your silent request, sinking his finger into your heat and feeling the moan that reverberated from your chest.

           It felt good, and he knew just how to curl his knuckle, how to swipe his thumb against your clit in the same motion to have your head falling back. Your hips rolled against your better judgement, encouraging him to nestle a second finger inside of you, pumping them both and stretching you apart.

           “Yeah you like that, don’t you? Little whore likes her cunny stuffed.”

           “If only I could stuff your fucking mouth.”

           “Next time.”

           You weren’t sure if it was frustration or ecstasy that trickled down your back and settled in your stomach, but you didn’t care, not when his fingers started pushing a little harder. Kenny’s lips started to make a trail up your chest, messy, wet kisses that had your skin burning under his beard. He stopped at your neck, wicked tongue daring to lap at the bloody water that pooled against your collarbone.

           “Fuck I can’t take this teasing shit. Sit on my cock.”

           Demands from him weren’t uncommon, he was your superior, after all, but this one had your cheeks flushing. You gasped when he uncurled his fingers from inside of you, shaking his wrist under the water like he was cleaning them. Your hands fell down to his shoulders, nails pressing into the muscled sinews as you lowered yourself just like he told you to.

           You tried to look away from him as you felt his cockhead breach that first ring of muscle, your cunt too willingly sucking him in, but he caught your jaw, making you look down at him. His grey eyes were always piercing, like they were cutting through you like a knife twisting in flesh, and this time was no different. It was like he was looking through you, reading the jumbled thoughts rolling in your head as you started to sink down his length.

           A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, “You’ve still got a little blood on your lips. Let me clean that for you.”

           His kiss was rough, assertive, mouth slanting against yours in a mixture of control and desperation. For a moment, you thought not to kiss him back, a metallic flash of crimson hitting your tongue signaling that he was, indeed, telling the truth. But your mouth opened of its own will when his lengthy cock finally bottomed out inside of you.

           One of his hands looped around the back of your neck, crushing your mouth against his as he started to rock you in his lap. You felt startlingly full, cock spreading your insides as you started to move with him.

           A small pang of disgust hit you when his tongue snaked into your mouth, but you washed that down with the taste of him, with the taste of blood and tobacco, of death and cigars.

           Your clit was sliding perfectly against the thatch of wiry black curls at the base of his cock, pleasure brewing in your pussy and traveling to your fingers, your toes. When he pulled away from your lips, his tongue licked at your cheek before he started to bounce you harder in his lap. Bloodstained water sloshed from the edges of the tub, sinking into the grout and tiles.

           “I’ve come in my hand so many times thinking about you, kid.” He laughed at the look on your face from his confession. “Ain’t gonna take me long to cum inside this pretty little pussy.”

           “God I fucking hate you,” you hissed, but you kept up the pace, feeling that rather blissful and dreadful pull of orgasm.

           “That so? Then why’re you just getting tighter around me? Feels like you like my cock.”

           You didn’t have the effort for a retort, your head falling to his shoulder as you began to ride him harder, ready to cum and go dwell in the shame afterwards.

           Kenny was panting, clearly enjoying himself as his big hands groped at your ass, helping you slide along his cock under the water. You hated that he smelled good, hated that he felt good, hated that he knew exactly what he was doing, pulling your cheeks apart and making you spread and used.

           “Bite me.”

           You almost didn’t hear him over your own whimpers, gritting out a simple, “What?”

           “You h-heard me, kid. Bite me like you did that fucker earlier. Wanna see what it feels like.”

           It was an opportunity you weren’t going to pass up. You caught your breath, blinking your eyes for a second so you could see straight through the haze of pleasure. You chose the tender spot between neck and shoulder, sinking your teeth into his tawny skin slowly, putting pressure on your canines so he’d feel that thrill of pain.

           He moaned so loudly it actually made you flush, made your ears burn from how lewd it sounded. It spurred you to bite harder, to sink so deep into flesh that you felt his own blood slip past your lips.

           The pulsing of his cock made you see colors, made you gasp and release his shoulder and nearly double over from the euphoria that rippled through your body. He stopped moving, but your body still shook, slapped with a climax you didn’t expect just from feeling cum pour inside your cunt, from feeling his cock twitch and throb and explode inside you. You spasmed around him, brows pinching together as you tried to come back to your senses.

           You supposed he wasn’t kidding about not going to last long, you just felt embarrassment creep over your psyche at the fact that you’d fallen right behind him, wasting away in his lap.

           After a few moments, you finally sat back, groaning at that too-full feeling of still having him inside of you. You gripped his jaw like he did yours earlier, bringing him back to life to look up at you.

           “You can have your blood back,” you slid your messy mouth against his, both of you moaning a little too deeply as you shared his taste between your tongues.

[babymetaldoll]

"The Sean Hotchner effect" (Spencer Reid / Reader)

My gif 😉

Requested: Yes

Summary: Spencer is jealous 'cos reader (and the rest of the female team) thinks Hotchner's younger brother is hot.

Warnings: Cursing

Category: Fluff

Word count: 4,5K

A/N: I can' believe I actually wrote a fic! I've been so busy taking care of my grandparents I've just been updating DIWK, 'cos those chapters were long written and edited. Hope you all enjoy this little story, I'll bring you a more next week, hopefully! send you all my love!! be safe babes!

Masterlist

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Working at the BAU, the team was used to seeing the worst of human behavior. Murder scenes, abuse, psychopath, you name it.

That's why seeing the apparition that walked into the bullpen that morning was such a big shock for us, the team's females.

- "What are you doing out of your bunker?"- Elle asked Penelope, who was standing next to my desk. I whipped my head, surprised to see Garcia there, out of the blue, not even looking at us. Instead, her eyes were fixated on someone who wasn't Derek.

- "I was on my way to file the things that I... file?"- Garcia made a pause as Elle and I slowly turned and looked at the guy our tech analyst couldn't stop staring at.

He was gorgeous. Tall, blonde, perfect smile. The kind of guy that could definitely get every girl's attention. We didn't get many of those at the BAU that often, except, of course, for Dr. Spencer Reid. My best friend was hands down the hottest agent in the whole FBI, and I enjoyed having him near. But this guy was completely different.

- "Who is that?"- Elle asked and stood by our side.

- "The Future Mr. Garcia,"- Penelope whispered as the tall young man walked over us and cut us one flirtatious smile. I couldn't help it and returned the smile.

- "Hi"- I smiled and waved- "How can I help you?"

- "Hey. I'm..."

- "Sean!"- Derek Worst time ever Morgan ruined the whole moment as he walked over and took that hot guy away from us. Now at least we knew his name was Sean.

- "You must be looking for your brother."- Morgan said and tapped on his back.

- "Yeah."

- "Right this way"- and that's how that apparition was gone from our lives and directed straight to... Aaron Hotchner's office?

- "Brother as in?"- Elle asked and turned to us, confused- "That's Hotch's brother?!"

- "Maybe Hotch is adopted,"- Garcia whispered, not taking her eyes from Sean until he disappeared behind the door.

- "I feel scammed. We didn't get the hot brother"- I sighed and shook my head- "Well, I might have never solved a case with that smile around the bullpen"- Elle and Penelope giggled, but someone coughed behind my back, and immediately, I knew who he was.

- "Who are you guys talking about?"

Spence Walter Reid was standing right behind my back, and the look in his eyes wasn't as sweet and friendly as I was already used to. He was upset. I just didn't know why.

- "No one"- I lied and looked away.

- "Who were you all staring at?"- Reid asked. I quickly returned to my desk (right in front of his), grabbed a few files, and pretended to be working.

- "Aaron's brother"- Elle explained- "Apparently, we got the wrong Hotchner."

- "Sean?"- Spencer frowned and looked at us- "He just got into Georgetown law school. Maybe he came to pick up his brother to celebrate."

- "Who is gonna celebrate?"- JJ walked over, holding a bunch of folders, and looked at us.

- "Hotch and my future husband"- Garcia sighed and kept looking over at Aaron's door.

- "Sean, Hotch's brother is here, and believe me, he looks nothing like his brother."

Elle smiled and moved a chair across from her desk to make sure she had the best seat in the room to see Sean when he walked out. I shook my head as Elle winked at me.

- "Stop pretending you didn't see him, (Y/N). You were the one who talked to him."

I swear, I could feel Spencer's eyes on me, burning my skin. I slowly turned around and looked at him with a small, innocent smile. But all I got in return was a stern look.

- "I just... wanted to... help him"- I tried to excuse myself, but Elle laughed, and Garcia followed.

- "Sure, babe. He looked like he was hopelessly lost in the BAU. He needed your help to find his brother."- I don't know why Elle was acting like that, but she made sure Spencer would be even more upset than he already was.

- "Stop it! I just asked if he needed any help."

- "Oh! and you would have given him a hand with anything he needed, wouldn't you?"- Elle chuckled and winked again.

- "Oh sweet Jesus, I would. All he has to do is ask, and he..."- Penelope got carried away in second, and she only paused her words when Hotch's door slammed open, and we all looked at Sean storming out of the office.

- "That's Hotch's brother?"- JJ asked, surprised. Elle nodded and literally bit her lips as she stared at him, walking over. Penelope barely even blinked, and I made my best not to make eye contact with him. Instead, I looked at Reid. And he locked eyes in mine, but again, his look was cold.

- "I don't see it"- JJ stared at Sean as he clearly argued with Hotch. I stayed still, sitting behind my desk, looking at the files.

- "You know what?! Don't profile me, Aaron!"- Sean yelled, and I could only imagine Penelope's crush growing bigger with each word that came from his mouth.

- "Now I see it!"- JJ followed Sean with her eyes as he rushed out of the BAU.

- "I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you walk away."- Penelope whispered, and we all giggled.

- "Do you think Hotch is hiding that ass?"- Elle asked, and I couldn't hold the laughter.

- "I didn't want to think of that!"

- "Oh please!! (Y/N) stop being such a goodie-goodie!!"- Elle smacked my arm and shook her head- "You stared at his ass. Deal with it. You are single! You don't have to pretend you don't see a hot guy when you see one."

- "I saw him. He was cute. I'm just... not... that... affected...."

- "You don't have to pretend,"- Spencer said suddenly and raised an eyebrow- "Your body language indicates that you are nervous. You are blinking rapidly, our pupils are dilated, and you've been bouncing your knees since you sat down. Obviously, Hotch's brother affected you."

I opened my mouth to answer, but Hotch himself interrupted us and announced we had a case. Spencer just kept his eyes on mine for a few more seconds before walking away quickly to the conference room.

- "Looks like pretty boy is jealous,"- Elle teased and stood up too- "I don't know why if he ain't your boyfriend."

- "I know he ain't my boyfriend, and I'm sure he is not jealous. You are all just acting like school girls around a hot guy."- I tried to argue as I stood up and followed them to the conference room.

- "Oh honey, when you see a guy like that, you just can't help it."- Garcia smiled and sighed- "He was the sugar that got me going for the rest of the day."

- "It's only nine am."- JJ added, and Garcia just sighed.

- "That's how good it was."

The case was in Terra Mesa, New Mexico. A clearly angry Hotch announced wheels up in thirty, and we all headed back to our desk to gather our things.

- "Hey, I brought you back your copy of The Illustrated Man"- I walked to Spencer and handed him over his book- "Maybe after the case, we can get a coffee and talk about it."

- "Maybe not"- he grabbed it from my hands and put it on his satchel.

- "Why not?"

- "I don't feel like it."- Spencer avoided looking at me. He just closed his bag and walked away from me.

- "Hey! What did I do?"- I asked him and followed him, but he didn't even look at me.

- "Spencer, I'm talking to you!"

- "And as you can notice, I don't wanna talk to you."

His answer stopped me in my tracks and left me speechless. Spencer got into the elevator and pushed the button to close the door as fast as possible.

He had never acted like that with me. He had never talked to me like that. Shit! He had never been an asshole with me before. I had seen Reid being a jerk with people when he is mad, but he had never been like that with me. And all that just 'cos me, and the girls were a little unprofessional?

Apparently, Spencer was furious with me because during the whole investigation, he kept avoiding me. Of course, it didn't help that Hotch paired me with Reid and Morgan to talk to a young girl who had been abducted from the crime scene.

- "So, pretty girl, I saw you yesterday. Your eyes were shining when you talked to Sean"- Morgan started teasing me the second we got into the SUV.

- "I don't know what you are talking about."- I whispered and looked outside.

- "Oh please, you, Garcia, JJ, even Elle, the four girls were drooling over Hotchner's younger brother."

- "That's not true"- I denied right away- "We were all surprised. I had no idea Hotch had a brother."

And Spencer just snorted at my words.

- "What?"- I turned around and looked at him. He was sitting at the back seat, alone, arms crossed on his chest, avoiding eye contact.

- "Maybe you should stop talking about Hotch's hot brother and focus on the case."- his voice was cold and distant. I tried to read him, but all I could see was anger.

- "Ok, kid."- Morgan chuckled and shook his head - "No need to get all defensive."

- "I'm not defensive. I'm just saying we have to solve a case. People are dead, and you are still rambling about how hot Hotchner's brother is. We are not a fucking gossip show. Enough with it already."

I widened my eyes as I stared at him, bitter and angry. Not really a good combo. Spencer is one passive-aggressive asshole when he is mad, and you don't want to deal with him under those circumstances. Believe me.

But Derek just laughed and continued driving. He winked at me and pretended Spencer hadn't said anything hurtful or even evil. But, to be honest, Morgan looked composed and even amused. In fact, I'm pretty sure he was actually enjoying that awkward ride.

I wish I could tell you that was all Spencer did that day, but no. He actually exceeded himself in the art of being an asshole.

- "We are looking for a cult leader."- Reid started giving the profile to the police department- "Typically men between the age of 25 and 35"- he made a pause and looked at me.

- "What?"- I whispered, thinking maybe he wanted me to continue talking.

- "Nothing. I thought you were going to start giggling or sighing."- Elle and Morgan looked surprised as Gideon frowned, not getting Reid's comment.

- "Over a sociopath underachiever with an extremely abusive childhood?"- I asked him, as I continued describing the profile- "Why would I?"

- "I don't know."- he shrugged and continued walking around the office -"I thought after yesterday, it was going to be your usual behavior around men that age."

- "Reid"- Hotch's voice was cold and severe. Spencer looked at him and turned around to find an empty seat. Aaron continued giving the profile, and I turned to my best friend, enraged. I wasn't going to tolerate that passive-aggressive attitude.

- "Fuck you."- I mouthed and stared straight into his eyes.

Avoiding and ignoring Reid was a challenging task to achieve. Hotch was nice and wise enough to keep us apart for the rest of the day, but that didn't stop him from staring. And his eyes burned my skin each time we were together in the same room.

I made my best effort and avoided looking at him the whole time. But I felt him staring. And though I was honestly mad at him now, a part of me just wondered what on earth was he so upset about?

I found out the whole truth later that night, back at the hotel. I was already in bed, trying to forget about the case, 'cos it had already been solved, and we were supposed to go back home early the following day.

I was alone, 'cos my roommate Elle was in the hotel bar with JJ and Morgan. I didn't feel like going. I just wanted my pajamas and do nothing.

Fine, that's not what I wanted to do. I wanted to be with Reid, talking about The Illustrated man, or any other book, drinking coffee, making jokes, laughing.

But he was mad at me, and now I was mad at him too, which meant things weren't going to be smooth between us in a long while. We had only fought once before until that day. It happened when we first became friends, and we argued over some random Star Wars fact. He didn't admit he was wrong, and when I showed him I was right, he got all defensive and refused to talk to me for a whole week.

Of course, this time, it was going to be a hundred times worse.

I debated whether I should or shouldn't call Reid and yell at him when I heard someone knocking on my door. Of course, I thought it was Elle, so I dragged my weary body from the bed, arguing I had explicitly told her she had to bring her key when she left the room.

But no. It wasn't Elle. In the hall, looking like shit, I found Doctor Spencer Walter Reid.

It wasn't a good sign the way my heart skipped a beat the second I saw him. It didn't get any better when the two of us just stared at each other in silence for a moment, and I felt my whole body tremble only by his presence. I couldn't control it even if I wanted to. I loved him, and it was getting too hard to hide.

- "What are you doing here?"- I made sure my voice was as upset as possible and even made an extra effort to furrow my brows as I stared into his eyes. His look had softened, and you could tell he was nervous. He scratched his hair and fixed his nerdy glasses before speaking.

- "I needed... I wanted... I want to talk to you."- Spencer finally said and sighed, looking at me.

- "Why would I want to talk to you after you humiliated me in front of the whole police department?"

I spat each word and tried to slam the door on his face, but he stopped me before succeeding.

- "Wait, please, (Y/N)"- he pushed the door open and followed me inside the room.

- "Get out, Reid!"- I argued immediately, but he didn't listen. He actually closed the door behind his back and stood behind me. I refused to look at him, 'cos I knew what would happen if I did: I would forgive him too quickly.

- "(Y/N), I'm so sorry. I know I was an asshole. I didn't mean it. I was completely out of place."

Spencer literally vomited his speech in less than three seconds and stayed wordless and silent afterward. I crossed my arms on my chest and stayed still. I really didn't want to talk to him.

- "I'm sorry"- his voice was now a tiny whisper that somehow got inside my heart, melting the fortress I kept building against him.

- "Why did you do it?"- I asked the most straightforward question, but he didn't answer. Spencer stayed quiet for at least two minutes. So I turned around and faced him. His eyes were red, and he was fighting the tears back.

- "Why did you humiliate me, Spencer?"

- "I didn't mean to."

- "So? I don't care what you meant. You did it anyway. You fucking humiliated me in front of the team and in front of the whole police office, and why? 'Cos you were mad at me for being unprofessional? Excuse me, but I think what you did lacked more professionalism than anything I had ever done."

I knew it was a mistake. I knew I didn't have to look at Spencer while I spoke. But I couldn't stop myself. I didn't want to cry either, but I was already too upset and way too tired, so the tears started falling down my cheeks. And his followed quickly.

- "I'm so sorry,"- he repeated and bit his lips, staring at me.

- "Why did you do it, Spencer?"- I asked him again, 'cos I still didn't know why he had hurt me so deeply.

- "I was wrong..."

- "Why did you do it?"

I asked for the third time, and my eyes got lost in his. Spencer was holding his breath and debating himself. I could almost hear his thoughts, 'cos it was clear he was overthinking everything going on inside his head.

But he didn't say anything. Spencer just wiped off a few tears that rolled down his cheeks and shook his head. The silence in the room was overwhelming, and all I managed to do was to sigh, disappointed and broken-hearted, and walk to the door and open it. I only wanted him to leave, but he didn't even move. He just looked at me, clenching his jaw, fighting the tears back.

- "I did it because I am in love with you."

Spencer whispered in the most anticlimactic way possible. I frowned, confused, as he didn't even move. I stared at his gestures, his face blood-red in a weird mix of embarrassment and anger.

- "I love you so much it's driving me insane, (Y/N). I've been trying to tell you how I feel for weeks, but I just..."- he ran his hands through his hair, openly frustrated with his own way to deal with the situation, as I just stayed still, trying to understand what was going on.

- "I know it was stupid, and I wish I could do it differently, but I didn't know what to do. But then I saw you looking at Sean, and I knew you would never look at me the same way, 'cos I know I'm not..."

There was no bigger force in the universe than the one that moved my body unconsciously against Spencer. I grabbed his face with both hands and planted a kiss on his lips to shut him up. I didn't even think about what I was doing. I just did it 'cos I didn't want to listen to his rambling anymore. For once, probably for the very first time ever since we met, I wanted to shut Spencer Reid up. And the best way I could do that was kissing him until my lips felt numb.

I didn't even let him hesitate. He jumped as soon as I touched him, but he didn't reject me at all. Instead, he wide opened his eyes and stared at me as I winked at him, deepening the kiss.

Spencer's hands slowly found their way to my waist and held me closer to him. His lips were soft and warm, moving carefully along with mine, and as he relaxed into the kiss, the better it got.

I had wasted so much time (mostly at work, bored, avoiding paperwork) fantasizing about kissing Spencer. How his lips would feel and taste. If he would make any noise, if he'd be rough or soft... and now there I was, getting all the answers I ever needed.

My heartbeat faster when I opened my eyes and saw him, deep concentrated into the endless kiss. My hands played with his hair, and I felt him hum, pleased with my movements. I couldn't help myself and smiled, not stopping the kiss.

- "What?"- Spencer asked, but his lips didn't move from mine. Neither of us wanted to stop.

- "Nothing,"- I whispered and shook my head softly- "I just like kissing you."

- "I like kissing you too,"- he answered and moved his hands from my waist to my cheeks and held my face. His hands were so big I could feel him covering most of my cheek. He made me feel secure, safe. Loved. All that only from cupping my face.

- "I love you."- Spencer whispered and opened his eyes. I looked at him and sighed, trying to keep myself together, when all I really wanted was to yell and jump and act like a teenager in love.

- "Me too."

That was all I managed to answer, though I knew he deserved better. He deserved to know how much I loved him, how crazy I was over everything he did. Everything he was. But I couldn't tell him that, not at that minute at least. That night I couldn't really speak much because all I wanted to do was to kiss him. I wanted to kiss Spencer Reid until my lips burned.

But he didn't let me fulfill my dream. As soon as he heard me, he stopped the kiss and stayed very, very still.

- "What happened?"- I panicked, I don't know why- "Did I overstep..."

- "You love me?"- he interrupted me, and his eyes filled with tears. Happy tears. His smile was soft and warm as he stared at me, waiting for an answer.

- "I do,"- I murmured and blushed. Was it too late to blush? Maybe, but I couldn't help it. Not when he was looking at me like that. Like I was the most beautiful woman on earth. No. Like I was the only woman on earth for him.

- "I'm so sorry..."

But I really didn't want to listen to his apology. I had already forgiven him. All I wanted was to kiss him again. And again.

I crushed my lips against his, and this time, I felt him smiling into the kiss. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he locked his around my waist. We were so close I could feel the warmth of his body as he relaxed a little more, and his fingers started caressing the small on my back.

- "Come here."

I took a few steps back, and he followed, keeping as close to me as possible. Finally, I dragged him to my bed, and he laid by my side. Our legs were intertwined as we melted on that mattress, just kissing.

I honestly never imagined I would kiss Spencer. Maybe that's why I enjoyed it and tasted him (and the moment) in slow motion. He sighed and smiled as his lips and tongue played with mine. One of his hands held my waist as the other played with my hair.

It was heaven. I didn't imagine anything better than being on that bed kissing Spencer Reid. He whispered he loved me again, and I sighed. For a second, it felt I was in a dream.

- "Ok, mama, get out of that.... WHOO!"- Derek, JJ, and Elle stormed into the door and caught Spencer and I kissing on the bed. I felt like a teenager all over again.

- "What the..."- Elle asked was holding the key in her hands, eyes wide opened, in shock.

- "My man!"- Morgan was about to start clapping when JJ grabbed him and Elle's arm.

- "The guys need some privacy. Come on, let's go. You can sleep in my room, Elle"- JJ smiled and closed the door behind her back, but less than a second later, Derek walked in again.

- "Smile to Garcia!"- Derek waved, holding his phone. Spencer closed his eyes and covered his face, embarrassed as I grabbed a pillow and threw it over him.

- "Get the fuck out of my room!"- I shouted, and JJ had to pull Morgan's sleeve to get him out of there. Once the door was closed (again), we waited a few seconds in case Derek tried to interrupt us one more time. But he didn't. Spencer's cheeks were burning red, and he looked so embarrassed it was too sweet. So I leaned over him and kissed the tip of his nose.

- "Hi,"- I whispered and smiled. Reid chuckled and moved closer to me, reaching my lips.

- "Hi."- I sighed, strangely relieved to feel his lips on mine again. I was like my body had already gotten used to kissing him and wanted to do nothing else from that moment on.

- "Hi,"- I repeated and smiled.

- "Hi,"- Reid said again and wrapped his arms around me, moving me until I was sitting on his lap. Life was perfect.

- "I'm so glad Hotch's brother came to visit. He should come more often,"- I murmured and giggled. Spencer frowned and shook his head.

- "I think we are good."- he answered and narrowed his eyes.

- "If he hadn't come, you wouldn't have gotten so jealous, and we wouldn't be kissing right now."- I added, and rubbed his lips with mines, just to make a point. Spencer smiled and fully kissed me.

- "I will send him a muffin basket to George town, then."

- "That's very thoughtful. I love that about you."

- "I love everything about you,"- Spencer whispered and sighed, staring into my eyes.

- "Does this mean we are dating?"- I had to ask. Spencer wide opened his eyes and didn't move for a few seconds -"I'm just asking 'cos you said you loved m and I love you, and if you love and I love you, I'm pretty sure dating would the logical thing to do. But if you don't want to, I would totally understand. I mean, maybe I am assuming..."- Spencer's lips against mine ended with my senseless rambling, and he chuckled into the kiss.

- "What?"- I asked him but didn't move my lips from his. Already that might have become my favorite way to talk to him.

- "You are adorable when you ramble."

- "Shut up"- and Spencer smiled

- "Would you be my girlfriend?"- he simply asked and rested his forehead against mine as he stared at me. I smiled and sighed, pretending to be considering my options. I didn't have any. I wanted to be his.

- "Yes,"- I whispered and kissed him one more time- "I would love to, just promise me you will never be a passive-aggressive jerk with me."

- "Never"- Spencer kissed me, and his hands held me tighter- "I'm so sorry."

- "Just kiss me a few more times so I can properly forgive you"- Reid smiled and crushed his lips against mines.

- "Anything for you."

**

Spencer taglist

@calm-and-doctor

General Taglist

@spenxerslut @ash19871962 @all-tings-diego

[thetaleoflevi]

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Distance

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Pairing: Levi x Fem!Reader

Content Type: SFW

TW: Season 3 spoiler, Blood, Profanity, Suicide (For a split second), Suggestive

Description: Reader distances herself from Levi, strongly believing her feelings are not reciprocated by him, causing Levi to miss her.

Word Count: 5.3k+

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Please go away, Captain. Or at least end me. I don’t like the way you make me feel when you’re around. I can’t breathe. Please stop walking my way. Stop looking at me with those eyes.

“Y/N, I need that paperwork on my desk by five o’clock today. Not a minute late, understood?” What are you even saying? Stop looking at me like that. His brows creased with impatience at your nonexistent response. “Hey, focus, brat.” He snapped his fingers at you, making you flinch out of your daze. “Yes, Captain! Right away.” You saluted messily and paced toward the door, returning when you figured out that you didn’t know what you were ordered to do.

“What are you agreeing to, brat?” God…that delicious word was cracking your last bits of sanity. “Repeat what I ordered you to do.” Levi demanded, not having moved an inch from where he was standing. He crossed his arms in annoyance. “Um, y-you… You said to-” “I told you to jump off of Wall Maria without any gear on.” Your eyes widened, and you felt as if all the air in your lungs got punched out of you. So this was your end. This is how you die? Your Captain found your expression to be almost as funny as a shit joke. He didn’t show it on the surface, though.

“Relax, idiot. I was kidding. I want you to finish the paperwork I gave you earlier and hand it in to me by five. Pay attention, or next time it won’t be a joke.” He walked toward the door of the meeting room and turned to face you you when he heard you yelling your affirmation like an annoying parrot. “Yes, Captain! It won’t happen again!” You gave him your best salute only to have eyes rolled at you.

Levi left the room not having a clue that you almost threw up in front of him. You felt that stupid after the situation. Usually, you always felt like the rest of the world went pitch black, with only a spotlight shining on you and him, whenever he talked to you. Even when he scolded you for not doing something to his liking, you couldn’t help but focus on his devastatingly gorgeous silver eyes and how they squinted occasionally in fury, or his lips that never seemed to curve upwards and spat the ugliest words at you sometimes. It was tough love. At least that’s what you made of it.

“What happened in here? Did somebody spike the Captain’s tea? I’m very concerned.” Armin had walked into the meeting room where you stayed, replaying the conversation you just had with your handsome superior. “What are you talking about, Armin?” You ask curiously, having just seen the man acting as unfazed as always. “He smiled, Y/N. He genuinely smiled.”

You were in just as much shock as Armin was. He smiled? And I missed it?! “What were you guys talking about?” Armin sat in one of the chairs next to you. His crystal blue eyes gleamed with curiosity, wondering what was so great that it could cause the most solemn man in the scouts to crack a smile. “I zoned out while he was giving me an order, and then he told me to kill myself—not in those exact words, but, he told me to jump off of Wall Maria without any gear on. I think I made a stupid face or something, but I really thought he was ordering me to die. Then he told me the actual order.”

Armin chuckled at your retelling of the story, knowing he would have reacted the same way as Levi. “Whatever it was that you did, keep doing it! We’ve only seen Captain Levi smile once, and it’s been forever since then. Historia was crowned queen when he last smiled in front of us.” You smirked dumbly and got off the desk you were sitting on. “I’ll try my best. I gotta go, Armin. I have some paperwork to get done before Captain Levi reigns even more hell down on earth.” Armin chuckles and waves a goodbye as you leave.

It was four forty-three, and you had barely gotten anything done. With all the time you were given, you took it upon yourself to leave your work until the last minute—the procrastinating prodigy that you are. You watched everyone do their work with no thought about your own. Four forty-eight. Four fifty. Four fifty-six. Four fifty-nine. Five o’clock.

“Have you guys seen Y/N?” Levi asked Sasha, Connie, and Jean. “No, sir. She was sitting with Eren, Armin, and Mikasa when I last saw her.” Connie replied. Fucking hell, Y/N.

It was five thirty-two when you finally knocked on Levi’s door. “How nice of you to show up on time.” You heard directly inside your ear. You gasped with fear and quickly turned around. Your Captain did not look pleased at all. “Can you tell me what time it is?” You checked the clock on the wall. “Five thirty-three, sir.” Your eyes looked at everything but him. “Okay, good. Come on in.” He unlocked his office door and waited for you to walk in before slamming it shut.

You bounced slightly at the harsh sound. “You better have a damn good excuse for why my paperwork is thirty-three minutes late.” He slowly walked over to you and the stack of papers you held tightly to your chest. “Did you even do it correctly?” He snatched the stack away from you, a few papers nicking the area between your thumb and index finger. You were quick to suck on the area that bled. He looked over the work you had done, keeping the compliments he would have rewarded you with to himself. The brat is good. If only she worked faster.

“It’ll do. It’s not extraordinary work, but i’ll take it because it’s not the most important work that needed to be done.” You stopped sucking the blood from your hand and looked at him when he went silent. “Tch, use your words. Ask for a bandage or something.” He walked over to his desk and pulled out a white roll of gauze.

“Let me see.” He unstuck the beginning of the roll and returned to his spot next to you. “I can do it, sir.” You reached your undamaged hand toward the roll he held, only for him to pull it away from you. “Let me see it.” He urged, waiting for you to show him the cuts. They were surprisingly deep. You put your hand palm-up in front of you, only for him to adjust the position so that he could wrap the material around your hand correctly. The white wrapping began to turn red when it touched the blots of blood emerging from your open skin. With every layer he wrapped, less color was seen until it was just white.

Warmth was emitted through his fingers which soothed the pain in your hand a little. He let you retract your hand, watching you as you stared at the dressed wounded area. “What? Do you want me to kiss it or something?” He looked at you with an ordinary uninterested expression. Yes, please! Kiss it better. “I-I mean-“ You managed to stutter. Your cheeks flushed with heat when you realized what you had started saying. “Stop that, brat. Just stop talking.”

He walked to his desk and continued to look over the work you had done. He silently admired your considerably neat handwriting. It was as if you had typed it—the letters being all equally sized, no streaks out of line. “Right. I’m sorry.” You whispered, walking in the direction of the door. His words hit harder than usual for some reason. It was nothing to be upset about, yet you felt an unwelcome lump start forming in your throat. Maybe it’s you finally realizing that your love for him would never be reciprocated. Just being in the same room as him in that moment had you feeling more vulnerable than ever.

You mustered up the small amount of stability you had in your voice and said,”Well, if you don’t need me to do anything else, I’ll be on my way.” “That will be all.” He mumbled, not looking at you. No thank you? You saluted and left the room.

Unlike times before, Levi didn’t make your heart soar, he made it sink to the pit of your stomach, despite him touching you more than he ever has. It made you question your reasons for loving him so much. Is he worth the confusion your heart goes through when talking to the different versions of him? You’re not sure.

—

Weeks went by with you treating Levi like he was anyone but the person you longed to be with before. You still gave him the respect he deserved as your Captain, but you only talked to him when he talked to you or when you needed to deliver something to him from another one of your superiors. When he ordered you to do something, you would simply give him an affirmation and walk away. No small talk or questions. You didn’t smile like you usually did for him, and your heart wasn’t beating erratically when you accepted the duties he assigned to you.

Levi caught on to this act of yours when he started missing the way your doe eyes lingered on his as he talked to you. Now you would barely look him in the eyes. He missed the way you would try to make him laugh with a joke that had you in pain from laughing so hard. Now you only talked to him about work-related matters. He missed the way you stuttered after saying something dumb. Your voice is so steady now, and your words are chosen more carefully. He missed the clear adoration you had for him. He missed you.

Another day passed, and Levi had no excuse to talk to you. He didn’t have orders to give you. At that moment, he would’ve done anything to go back to when he would scowl at you as you laughed to your heart’s content. He would do anything to see you for more than two minutes. He would have taken the boring job of completing a pile of paperwork if it meant you were the one giving it to him and he would be able to brush his fingers against yours.

His head rested in his hands, frustrated with his inability to stomp on his pride and just walk over to wherever you were. He missed you so, so much, but he would never let you know that you were the best part of his days.

A knock came from the other end of his door. “Name and business.” He stated with his head still in his hands. “Y/LN Y/N, sir.” He perked up at the sound of your voice and he raised his head, quickly fixing the strands of hair that had moved out of place. “Commander Erwin asked me to get your signature for an important document.” He walked over and opened the door for you. “Come in.”

You entered his office and stood in front of his desk until further instruction. He shut the door quietly and walked to where you were.

“You can set the document down on my desk. I need to get a new container of ink. I’ll be back shortly.” He went to his bedroom, which connected to his office, and went through a drawer that seemed to have different supplies in it. He returned with a clear glass cube filled with black ink. He sat in his chair and read the document quickly before scribbling a beautiful rendition of his name onto the blank line at the bottom of the page.

“Here.” He flipped the paper so that it was upright to you. “Thank you, Captain.” You took the document and saluted. As you were about to leave, Levi’s voice stopped you in your tracks. “Y/N, can you sit for a minute?” He asked, hoping you weren’t in a rush to get those documents to Erwin.

“Of course, sir.” You answer, sitting in the chair in front of his desk.

He looked slightly sad. His eyes were completely softened, eyebrows curving inward slightly. “Why haven’t you come to see me as often as you used to?” All you could think was, does it really matter whether you see me or not? “I’ve been busy. I have duties entrusted to me by others. You are not my only superior, Captain Levi.” You were okay with giving him a piece of your mind in the most respectful way possible.

“I understand that, but why are you choosing to completely avoid me unless the subject is work?” Can you be anymore needy? “I’m not.” You simply respond. That is the ugliest lie you have ever told. You are avoiding him. You are keeping yourself busy to avoid even thinking about him.

“I see. I never took you for such a shitty liar.” You suppressed the need to roll your eyes. No answer will satisfy him until he hears what he wants to hear. “Well, i’m sorry to disappoint you, sir. I’ll try not to make a habit of it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Commander Erwin said that this document needed to be returned as soon as possible.” You stood up from the wooden chair and saluted before exiting your Captain’s office.

—

The sky went dark without you realizing. You were busy all day and after the talk you had with your Captain, you were both physically and mentally tired.

As you arrived to your bedroom, not caring for the darkness that veiled your room, you let yourself fall backwards onto your bed as exhaustion creeped through your body. With your eyes closed, you lifted each of your legs and removed your boots one by one before tossing them to the ground. “Why does he suddenly care about the amount of times he’s seen me throughout the day?” You whisper to yourself as if someone would hear you.

The sound of knocking fills your ears and you pretend to have fallen asleep. “Y/N, are you in there? Are you awake?” Not now. Please. You stay silent, hoping Levi will leave you alone.

Three more knocks sound against your door. After a few seconds of complete silence, you hear the doorknob turn and the door swings open, shutting after Levi steps inside the room. “Tch, you didn’t even take your straps off.” He whispers in consideration to your ‘sleeping’ state. He sits next to you on your bed and watches your chest mimic dormant breathing. He reaches for the strap that loops around your chest and undoes the small buckle. Your chest was released and moved more freely.

By now, your act of pretending to sleep was no longer an act. You were breathing in a set rhythm through your nose.

He softly and slowly pulled your arms out of the leather that enclosed around them. You stirred a little bit before returning to the position you were in previously, on your back.

“I’m going to take care of you, my Y/N. I don’t want your skin to bruise.” He whispered while he undid your belt buckle and lowered down to work on the bands that curled tightly around your thighs. He slowly slid the rest of the leather down your calves and off completely. He got off of your bed and organized your things neatly so that you would find them easily in the morning.

“Y/N.” Levi called, shaking you softly by your arm. When you didn’t respond, he tried again. You opened your eyes slowly and squinted, furrowing your brows when you noticed someone else was there with you. “What?” You grumble, annoyed at the inability to go back to sleep. “Sorry, I need to talk to you.” That voice. You tried to spring up off the bed to salute respectfully to your Captain.

He grabbed your forearms and brought you back down to your bed. “Calm down. You don’t have to be so formal after hours.” You weren’t even asleep ten minutes, yet the drowsiness embodying you was extreme.

“Do you want me to light a candle? It’s pretty dark in here. I wasn’t expecting you or anyone else to come see me this late.” “No. I think the dark will allow courage to seep through me better.” You raised a brow in confusion. “Courage? Since when do you lack courage, Captain-“ “Levi. Just Levi between us.” “Le..vi?” He nodded with reassurance. “Since when do you lack courage in anything, Levi.”

He put his hand on your shoulder, surprised when you tensed up against the contact. He didn’t pull his hand away at the gesture, though. “I hate having to admit that I have a weakness for you, believe me, but you’re invading my thoughts every day, all the time.” This isn’t like you, Captain.

“I’m not adjusting well to this change between us. I miss the way you used to be with me. Even when I didn’t reciprocate the energy you gave off, you always managed to make feel better inside. Now that you’ve distanced yourself from me, I feel even more dead inside than usual.” His fingers stroked the fabric on your shoulder of your white button-up shirt.

“I can’t be that way with you anymore. It took me a while to realize that we’re not here to make relationships that last forever. We have the hardest job anyone could ask of us—saving humanity.” You sighed, thinking of a way to prevent yourself from hurting his feelings. “Though the thought of having you by my side is delightful, I don’t think I can go back to worshiping the ground you walk on like I did before. Our relationship should remain that of superior and subordinate.”

Levi’s head lowered. The agony he was feeling in his chest was excruciating. This last attempt to get you was sadly his final one.

“Then I have one final request.” You couldn’t help but wonder what he would want from you that he can’t get from anyone else. “Can I kiss you?” His hand that was set on your shoulder slowly made it’s way to caress your cheek. His eyes softened at the familiar look in your eyes that peered into his soul. Though you felt you should have removed his hand from the side of your face, the warmth was comforting.

“If you don’t feel anything, I promise I’ll swallow my feelings for you and leave you be. We’ll be strictly comrades, no emotional feelings involved.” He swiped your soft skin with his thumb, eyes locking with yours as he seeks a response that isn’t developed yet.

Finally. “Only once.” You whisper. He nods in acknowledgement of your instruction. His left hand attaches to your waist while his right finds your cheek again. You tremble at the foreign feeling of someone’s touch on a part of you that wasn’t an arm, a shoulder, or your back. His eyes never left yours as he slowly leaned in. God, he smelled so good. The aroma was dangerously attractive. You hoped to never come across someone that smelled the same way, that way his smell would only make you think of him.

The closer he got, the deeper his fingertips dug into your side, as if trying to pierce holes through your shirt to feel your skin.

Darkness, light—you saw both somehow. The entanglement of lips on lips was a good feeling that both of you felt mutually. He held on for as long as he could, not wanting this moment to ever end. After all, this is the first, and possibly the last time he would ever be this close to you again.

You tried to break the kiss but struggled to when you felt Levi pulling you back to connect again. It wasn’t enough for him. It was never going to be enough.

“Le..v…” You murmured indistinctly, stopping the movements from your lips completely. “No. Please…” He mumbled against your lips continuing his one-sided kiss.

It felt desperate, which was strange coming from a man like Levi who’s never begged for anything from anyone. “Come on. Kiss me.” He said with his lips pressed against yours. The feeling was undeniably good. It brought life back to the heart that stopped longing for specifically his affection.

You started moving your lips again, synchronizing quickly. His bangs tickled your forehead, causing your lips to twitch upwards.

He picked you up and placed you on his lap. Just as you were about to reach for his hair, he broke the kiss.

“I want to touch your skin, Y/N. Not in an inappropriate manner, I just need proof that this isn’t just another one of my dreams. I can’t risk going insane over another night of me just fantasizing about being your one. This shirt is the only thing standing between my hands and your soft skin—reality. I won’t touch you like that if you don’t want me to, though. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” His mouth said something, but as always, his eyes said something else. They were begging for you to allow him to feel you. His hands rested on your hips. Maybe this was going too far. What if you did let him touch your bare skin, and it progressed into something inappropriate?

With that single doubt in your mind, you responded to his request with,“Unbutton my shirt, then.” The light in his eyes was shining brighter than you had ever seen. He was visually shocked at your consent. It was clear that he was grateful to have you that night in his hold.

His hands lowered to where your shirt tucked into your pants and pulled out the fabric. Before he could move onto the buttons, he searched your expression for any signs of doubt or uncertainty. None that he could see—you were that good at keeping your thoughts to yourself.

He undid every button, not missing his chance to sneak in a brush of his fingertips here and there, on your collar bone or your sternum.

Soon enough your shirt was left wide open, revealing your black bra and newly formed goosebumps brought on by the cold wind. You turned away from Levi, flustered by his eyes on your exposed torso.

He tugged on one of the loose halves of your shirt, signaling for your attention. “Eyes on me.”Goosebumps resurfaced your skin when his knuckles brushed against your stomach. “You’re beautiful.” His soothing voice assured you as his eyes explored the unknown sight.

You were brought close once again, his lips dying to return to where he knew they belonged. Goosebumps rampaged through your body as he pulled your body closer to him by your waist. The feeling of his hands wrapped around your bare sides was absurd. You were now up against his chest. His hands traveled from your sides to your back to keep you pushed against him.

If you had to remain like this for the rest of your life, you’d do it in a heartbeat, if possible, less time.

Though it wasn’t meant to be sexual, he was leaving you breathless—quite literally. His touch made your heart pound in your chest, which he surprisingly didn’t feel, even with you pressed so tightly against him. By the sound of it, he was breathless as well.

“Mmm…Levi.” You mumbled. “Hmm?” He hummed not stopping his lips from devouring yours. “We have…to…mmm...breathe…at some point.” He snickered, smiling slightly, giving you the chance to break your lips away from his. You were able to see a slight shade of pink on his cheeks in the moonlight. Whether it was from the suffocation or the steamy moment remained a mystery.

Soft pants came from both of you, and though he let go of your lips, you weren’t fully released from his grasp. His ring and middle fingers on each hand poked at your back dimples, while his thumbs did light circular motions on the sides of your abdominal area.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, eyes glistening in the moonlight.

“I need to know what you intend to do with me, Captain. From now to…” You sigh heavily, not finding it as easy as you thought it would be to fit this conversation into the moment after what had just gone down.

Levi picks up on how tense you’ve become, seeing how stressed you suddenly look. “Hey, I’m going to listen to every word you have to say. I’m all ears, right now.” He squeezes your waist gently.

“Okay, what i’m trying to say is…I don’t want to have to mend my wounded heart every time you push me away.” You look toward the window, looking at how a cloud slowly moves in a direction that makes it collide with another cloud. To be honest, it kind of reminded you of you and Levi. The way your lives collided with each other’s, then separated, only to find each other again.

He held your chin softly between his thumb and index fingers, shifting your gaze back to him. He didn’t say anything but nodded for you to keep going. “I also don’t want to have to apologize for fulfilling my everyday duties that can lead to days of not being able to see you.” His hand released your chin and returned to the spot it was on previously, your side. It was as if he was comforting you and himself at the same time. He was hoping you wouldn’t get off, leaving him incomplete without your body weight on him.

You did exactly as he feared, almost as if you read his mind. You wanted this conversation to be as serious as possible, no distractions. You released your grasp on his shoulders and slowly began lifting yourself off of his lap. He subconsciously began letting go of your body, until he caught himself and tightened his grip, bringing you back to where you were, on his lap.

“Levi? What are you-“ “I want—no, I need you, Y/N. You know how bad it’s been on my end since you stopped talking to me like we’re the two closest people on earth? It’s been hell. Fucking hell.” His hands brushed past your sides and pushed on your back, bringing you to an embrace. Your chin landed on his shoulder and his face nuzzled into your neck. Your arms stayed by your side contrary to his which wrapped around you, brushing past the straps of your bra and settling on your upper back. You felt breaths of hot air tickle your neck as he kept talking.

“You have no clue how sad I’ve been. This is what I need from you. I don’t care if it’s something occasional. I don’t care if I only get to see you once a week, month, or year. I don’t fucking care at all. I just want you, Y/N. Please. Please, just hold me.” You could hear his calm breathing close to your ear. You lifted your arms and wrapped them around him. One hand caressed the back of his head, and the other held the mid-section of his back.

He was breathing in your scent discreetly. Black hair tickles your bare shoulder, exposed by your sagging button-up shirt. You ran your fingers through his locks of hair, smoothing down any strands that stood out.

“This feels right.” He mumbled before placing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck. “I want to feel your heartbeat and your warmth against me like this whenever I can.” His lips continued to brush against your skin slowly.

Minutes went by, not a word was spoken. When you tried to escape his caging hold to continue your conversation, he would just pull you close again nuzzling back into your neck. He was being really clingy tonight—not that you were complaining, it was just a odd.

“We can keep talking like this.” He mumbled. “Okay.” You whispered running your hand across his undercut.

“Are you sure you want a relationship where we won’t have every minute of the day together? I know it’ll be hell for me.” You could feel him smiling slightly against your neck. “Yes, Y/N. I know we won’t have much time in the day together, but we haven’t been taking nights into consideration.” Goosebumps crawled throughout your body when you felt his lips latch onto your neck again.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Shit. Shit. Shit. Relax. “I’m willing to be even more nocturnal for you. I also wouldn’t mind waking up next to you every morning.” He dragged his thumb across the damp spot on your neck where his lips rested before. “That s-sounds good.” You stutter noticeably. “What’s wrong?” He holds your face in his hands, clearly unable to fake concern. A smirk tugs at his lips. This man knows what he’s doing.

“Nothing. I’m okay.” You assure with a soft smile. “Okay, just making sure. You know…” He starts leaning in again, aiming for your neck. He knows your weak spot now, and you can’t even hide it.

“…I really like…” He kisses the sensitive skin lightly, basking in the way you shudder. “…spending time with you like this. How about you?” As you open your mouth to answer, he leans in again.

“I…fuck.” You grab onto his arm as he nibbles on the flesh that became more and more sensitive with every second that his lips spent on it. “Hmm?” He hummed against your skin. “I didn’t catch that.” He tilted your head to his left to give him more room. More room to litter you with his markings. “I do…” You inhale sharply when he bites the area under the bruising skin he just sucked on. “…too.” He soothes the imprinted skin with his index and middle fingers.

“Good. Tell me, sweet girl, what’s your favorite time of day?” The movement of his fingers slowed, as he pressed gently on the sore parts. His gaze focused intensely on your peaceful features as sighs escaped your lips with every delicate prod of his fingers. He hoped you would say nighttime, knowing he wouldn’t be able to give you all the daytime with him that you wished for. Also, nighttime would be the time he would spend with you, making sure you were feeling every good thing you could feel. Happiness, pleasure, excitement, pleasure, love, satisfaction, security, domination, care, submission. You know? The good things.

“Nighttime. That’s my favorite time of day.” He smiled, satisfied with your answer. “It’s my favorite now, too.” The movement of his fingers on your neck stopped. He looked outside at the moon, remembering the important work he left behind when he decided to look for you. “I should get going.” You frowned slightly which he quickly took notice of. “I know, I wish I didn’t have to, but I ditched a lot of my work to come find you.”

You dragged your thumb across his half-swollen lips before closing the space between you two and kissing him once more. You released him and said in a whisper,“I understand. Thank you for being here with me tonight.” You got off of his lap and transitioned to a cross-legged position on your bed. He caressed your cheek in an endearing manner, before saying,”I’m glad things are the way they are for us now.” He let you go, and began walking to your door. You fixed your shirt so that you looked presentable again.

“Levi, wait.” “Yes?” He asked, holding onto the doorknob. “Did you take the straps from my uniform off of me?” He let out a low chuckle. “Yes, I did. They would have bruised your beautiful skin if I hadn’t taken them off.” “I could have done it myself, but thank you for that.” You felt cared for. It was such a soft concept to think about. He nodded and continued his exit, a small smile on his face as he shut the door behind him.

I’m the only one who should be wrapped around you and leaving marks in those areas at night.

[nagdabbit]

a song that will dig into my bones (1/?)

words: 1.9k

jon moxley/bryan danielson

(what if mox had to retire early and inherited a bookshop au, finally posting the full chapters) "Jon didn't mind it. It wasn't like he hadn't been used to that grind, always on, always working. The only difference was where his work took him. He'd seen pretty well most of the world already. He didn't mind that his work now only took him down a flight of stairs.“

also on ao3

When Jon thought about it, really thought about it, the wide array of human experience for him to pick and choose from, he liked very few things. He liked too-sweet coffee and milk chocolate and potato chips on a sandwich. He liked hiking and biking and running, and he liked tho0se precious few moments when he actually had the time for any of that. He liked dogs, all dogs, literally any dogs within petting distance—and most of the ones outside it, if he was being honest. He liked the quiet when he had time to read, music while he worked, and an audio book if he had to drive further than twenty minutes. 

He didn't like cooking all that much, but he liked that he'd managed to at least get better at it through the years. He didn't like having to talk to people, to place orders and make small talk, but he liked the shop. Liked that, even without all his savings and investments, he could be self-sufficient. That he'd managed to make the place successful, somehow. Liked that he could actually easily afford to pay somebody a living wage, if he ever got the balls together to hire somebody.

He didn't like wrestling so much anymore, but he still liked to watch it when he had the time. He hated being recognized, but he kinda liked it when people remembered him, called him up out of the blue. Didn't like thinking about those days anymore, but he liked catching up with the friends he'd made along the way. Liked watching them succeed, every chance he could.

He liked fixing up books with spines that didn't need resewn. And he really liked working without interruption. And, most of the time, he even liked Wheeler Yuta.

Jon was rethinking his stance on that last one.

They'd been having a stand off for about five minutes, ever since he heard knuckles insistently knocking at the door at the front of the shop. Jon stood on one side of the glass door, arms crossed and glowering, while Wheeler grinned at him from the sidewalk.

The kid was nothing but sunshine, Jon would swear it on a stack of bibles. He could be an unrepentant little shit, but he sure thought he was cute about it. All big smiles and boundless energy, a real golden retriever kind of kid.

Usually, Jon liked him.

He unlocked the door, finally, and let Wheeler bounce his way into the shop. "Dunno how many times I gotta tell you, the code for the alley door hasn't changed," he grumbled, giving Wheeler as dark a look as he could manage. He still accepted the warm coffee cup when it was thrust toward him, though.

"Yeah, but that's for employees," Wheeler argued, still grinning that big, stupid grin. Too early for that kinda thing.

"You're right, but only employees show up this fuckin' early." 

“It’s nine, it’s not early.”

“I don’t open ‘til ten.”

Wheeler just kept grinning at him, practically wiggling in place in all his goddamn excitement. It was disgusting. Far too early to be that excited about anything. "Well, I was in the neighborhood. Figured you'd already be working, like usual."

And he had been, but he wasn't about to give the smug brat the satisfaction. "You were in the neighborhood, huh?"

"Yeah, you know. Kicking around before I gotta head to the next show." He shrugged, like he didn't show up on Jon's doorstep every few weeks, anyway. "Thought I'd make sure you saw daylight this week."

Jon rolled his eyes. "I don't get paid to see daylight."

"With no one on the register, it's a wonder you get paid at all," Wheeler snarked back. It was a familiar script, they ran through it damn near every time he was just in the neighborhood.

"Yeah, well, my best employee just up and left one day," Jon shot back.

"So you're saying you miss me," Wheeler teased. 

Fucker thought he was real cute. Jon rolled his eyes. "Don't go fishing for compliments, kid."

"I don't have to, they just seem to find me." He gave another of those big grins. He casually leaned against the counter, trying so hard not to look expectant and excited. "So. Watch anything interesting lately?"

Jon, just for the fuck of it, feigned confusion. Made a face, scratched his head, put on a show. "Nah, not really. Frasier reruns, mostly. You know me."

"Really? Nothing exciting?" Wheeler pressed, barely able to contain himself. 

Jon didn't much care to talk about the good old days. Didn't exactly like to reminisce. He'd had his shot, his moment in the sun, and had it ripped right out of his hands. It was still sore.

But he didn't exactly mind when it came to Wheeler. Not really. Kid had stumbled in, same as Jon had all those years ago, looking for any job that would take him. Hadn't been able to hide the flash of recognition, but never once tried to push Jon on it. Hell, it took him showing up for work a month later, a little battered and bruised before, he even admitted he was training at all.

After that, Jon had insisted. Kid grew on him like a dandelion: invasive, hearty, and damn difficult to get rid of. Eddie vouching for the kid hadn't hurt, either.

But they had a whole rest of the script to get through, first. They'd talk shop once the place was closed and Jon could be dragged away from his work, usually with threats of violence and promises of tacos.

He held out a moment longer and then gave the kid a grin and opened his arms wide. "You know I watched, stop fishing." He expected it, had a moment to brace himself, but the kid still damn-near ran him over, like usual. 

"Bryan Danielson!" Wheeler gushed, excitable as a puppy, still bouncing on the balls of his feet as he hugged Jon tight. His voice was bright, and maybe just a hair too loud in Jon's ear. "Can you believe it? Me?!"

Jon kinda wanted to tell the kid to fuck off, just a little bit. Of course him. "You did great, kid."

"Oh, please, I got absolutely murdered. But I got murdered by Bryan Danielson." He said it reverently. Most people did, and with good reason, but it still made Jon roll his eyes.

Kid would be that one day. A name people said with that same respect and admiration. It was only a matter of time, and—were Jon a betting man—a short time, at that. 

He shoved back and gave Wheeler's hair a good ruffle. "Alright, you know the rules. If you're gonna show up unannounced, I'm putting you to work."

"Yeah, yeah. I expect payment in cash." He didn't miss a beat, as if he hadn't been shoved unceremoniously out the door when he started popping up on Jon's TV. 

"I'll buy you lunch."

"And dinner."

"Hey, you're the one with TV money," he shot back.

"Yeah, but I'm a cheap date." He grinned, pinning a name tag to his shirt.

Jon scowled. The shop did more special orders than walk-ins, there had never been a need for a name tag, but the kid insisted. Little shit. He hid it somewhere in the shop each time he left, too. It haunted Jon.

Wheeler's grin just grew, cheeks all bunched up and dimpled. "I thought you were busy?"

He shot the kid another dark look. "You're lucky I am, or I'd kick your ass."

"Bring it, old man."

"Don't think I won't tell on you. Eddie'll do it for me."

"Hasn't worked out for you before, I doubt he'll start doing your dirty work now." Wheeler swatted at him, already turning to busy himself with the familiar routine of opening the shop up. It was like he'd never even left.  "Go. I've got this."

"That's why you're my favorite, Yoots."

He laughed, loud in the usually quiet place. "You gotta buy me dinner now."

He knew what was coming, script familiar as the rustle of paper and the scent of ink and dust. But he asked, anyway, "Oh yeah? Or what?"

"Or I'll tell Eddie you said that," he said, smugly. 

Jon narrowed his eyes and threw a paperback at his head. Just for good measure.

 ***

"Shops closed, floors are swept, special orders have been placed, client calendar has been updated, register is closed out and I even swept," Wheeler announced, shoving into Jon's workroom. "It is seven p.m. and I am starving. Stop working and feed me."

Jon blinked at him, eyes straining to focus on him through the scratched lenses of his cheap readers. "Seven?" Last time he'd looked at the clock, it hadn't even been 4:30 yet. 

"Yup. Come on, I know you got the messy part done, you can break for the night," he demanded, forcefully yanking Jon's chair away from the desk. The wheels squeaked and whined as he was dragged across the room. "I checked your calendar, this isn't an all-nighter project. Eat food, be a person, tell me how to beat Danielson."

"I am a person, thank you," he groused. He crossed his arms over his chest and let himself be towed along. He'd learned not to fight back long ago.

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response," Wheeler grumbled.

"Was that not a response?"

"If you're not careful, I'm gonna make you get a full night's sleep, too." 

"You could try."

"And I would win." He wheeled the chair out of the workroom and toward the back hallway, humming as he went. "I ordered tacos from that new place a block over."

Jon huffed. "I thought I owed you dinner?"

"I remembered your card number," he said, dismissively. "Anyway, I got tacos upstairs, I queued up a movie that looked like it had spies and explosions, and I watered your cactus."

He frowned. "What cactus?"

"The one I brought last time. It's on the window sill above your stove."

"You really gotta stop that, it's just gonna die."

"It's a cactus, you can't kill it."

"You underestimate me."

"Oh, shut up, it'll be fine." He kept dragging the chair down the hall, past the bathrooms and back office Jon never used. He flicked off light switches as he went, blanketing the place in darkness and the dim shine of streetlights though the front windows. 

He knew Wheeler worried. Like he thought Jon only went out for groceries, only traveled for holidays, only relaxed when he was forced to. And—he wasn't wrong, but Jon didn't mind it. It wasn't like he hadn't been used to that grind, always on, always working. The only difference was where his work took him. He'd seen pretty well most of the world already. He didn't mind that his work only took him down a flight of stairs.

Wheeler flicked off the final hall light, spun Jon's chair around, and tipped him out at the foot of the stairs. "Go. Food. Relax."

He snorted and started up the stairs, "Don't you have a fancy degree, or something? They didn't teach you how to string a sentence together?"

"No, but they taught me how to deal with toddlers."

"Dude, you're like twelve."

Behind him, Wheeler squawked in outrage and batted at Jon's heels. He'd keep it up until they were settled in front of Jon's modest TV, food in hand. He'd make familiar jokes, always with that little undercurrent of worry—because he'd never be able to turn it off—and keep up their routine until he couldn't stand it any longer and their conversation turned to the match.

It was nice, and it was familiar, and it was warm.

[alrightberries]

dante’s inferno

request: wassup homie could you maybe write a college au fic where levi and reader are rommies, then one day reader brings home an adopted cat without levi's prior knowledge? You could decide what happens next lol. Tysm 🥺

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff, semi-crack ❈ word count: 4k

❈ summary: college au. in which you bring a stray cat to your dorm and your neat freak roommate won’t let you keep it.

alternatively: a compilation of college shenanigans where you and levi are best friends who are bad with feelings (ft. an unamused cat named dante)

❈ trigger warnings: profanity. mentions of alcohol and smoking. implied smut.

a/n: this was supposed to be loosely based on the nine circles of hell according to inferno by dante alighieri— hence the title— but i did my research wrong so now it’s loosely based on the seven terraces of purgatory according to divine comedy. i’m keeping the title tho.

Inspired by this art by @ryuichirou on tumblr.

Permission to repost art was granted by the artist. Do not repost/edit the art without explicit permission from the artist.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆��. ───

i. first terrace: pride

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why?”

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why.”

Levi’s tongue clicks in annoyance. His eyes glance next you where the offending creature lay on your bed; tail curling, paws kneading at his your favorite fleece blanket. Quite frankly he’s a little offended when the little shit has the audacity to glare at him back.

He’ll never admit it, but his ego’s a bit bruised because the cat’s glare was slightly better than his.

“I said no,” he firmly replies, looking back to you. “It’s bad enough I have to share a room with an anarchist who has no respect for boundaries—“

“One time, I forgot to use a coaster that one time!”

“—and now you expect me to share a room with a dirty fur ball who does nothing but eat, shit, and sleep?”

“He’s a cat, Levi.” You murmur, scooping the cat into your arms. “And he has a name,” you give a nervous smile when you see your rommate grit his teeth. He feels a headache coming.

“You named it?”

“Dante is not an ‘it’.”

Levi makes a move to step closer but immediately stops when the ‘Dante’ hisses at him.

“Aw, he likes you.” You coo.

“Clearly,” he replies unenthusiastically. “Listen,” he sighs. “I respect your cat’s pronouns but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to stay. Or do I need to remind you of the mac and cheese incident?”

Okay, maybe he was on to something. If you got caught with a pet in the dorms you’d breach your third and final warning, and you’d be forced to dorm off-campus. The fact that you were still here after the mac and cheese incident was solely because Levi pulled some strings (aka asked Erwin, golden boy of the campus who owed him a favor, to pull some strings).

But you couldn’t just let Dante go. There was something about him that felt so familiar; something about his black fur, thin silver eyes, unamused snarl, and overall grumpy demeanor. Especially endearing was the way he’d grumble and pretend to be annoyed whenever you tried to cuddle him but would complain if you stopped.

You just couldn’t figure out who or what he reminded you of.

Maybe you would’ve figured it out too if you weren’t so distracted with watching Levi and Dante stare at each other. Your eyes dart back and forth between the grouchy cat sitting on your bed and your grouchy roommate sitting on his desk. Both were slightly crouched over with their heads tilted up in a show of dominance; they were engaged in what seemed to be a glaring contest, gunmetal irises unamused and mouths taut in a snarl as they protected their territory.

You sigh. You really, for the life of you, couldn’t figure out why Dante felt so familiar.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ii. second terrace: envy

Levi is not jealous. He’s not.

At least that’s what he tells himself as he sulks alone on his bed. His arms are crossed and his lips are in a pout, eyebrows knitted in distaste, occasionally glancing to your side of the room where you sat up on your bed. He’s sure whatever movie you chose to watch together is interesting and all, but right now all he could pay attention to was that stupid cat. Sitting on your stupid lap. Getting its fur stroked by your stupid hand. Getting all the love and affection his stupid self should be receiving.

It was him you should be cuddling, not Dante. Saturday nights were reserved for him and you, not you and a cat while he happened to be in the room. He’s been trying to make a move on you since high school and he can’t fucking believe he’s losing your attention to a cat. Sure, he’s always been too chicken to make a move and had to suffer seeing you get together with assholes— as per your type during your emo high school days— but this was a new low. He can’t wrap his head around the concept that he’s losing his longterm crush to a motherfucking cat.

When you coo at how adorable the fleabag was for what felt like the 50th time that night, Levi decides he’s had enough of the cuddle-hogging piece of shit.

Wordlessly, he crosses to your side of the room and lifts the cat from its perch, ignoring your protests as he sets it down on the floor and tells it to ‘scram, you little fuck.’ He uses a hand to dust your lap free of any microscopic cat particles Dante probably left behind before lying down his head down once he was satisfied. He grabs your hand to put it on his hair.

“Stroke.” He orders, eyes closing.

“What? No! You pushed off Dante.”

“He was in my spot.”

“You couldn’t have given up your lap pillow for one night?”

“One night?” He scoffs and turns to look at you. “You’ve been abandoning me for two weeks. That disgusting, tic-infested, rabies-carrying slob has no business sitting on your lap.”

“He’s not disgusting, you gave him a shower before you agreed to let me keep him. And I took him the vet to make sure he had all his shots. He’s clean, Levi.”

“Tch, good. Now throw him out and let him find someone else to freeload from.”

“Okay, what’s going on?” You guffaw. “You’ve been grumpier than usual. And why’re you being such an ass to Dante? He’s just a cat.”

“Don’t think he’s special in some way. I’m an ass to everyone.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re always extra mean to him?”

He doesn’t reply. His lips are downturned into a frown when he looks away with a click of his tongue, and you realize with a sigh you won’t be getting an answer from your cryptic roommate soon. Your fingers start mindlessly stroking his undercut when you get lost in your thoughts— a habit you developed through years of Levi using your lap as a pillow. He always complained the first few times you did it but you knew it calmed both him and you, and that it put both your minds at ease. Moreso Levi right now, apparently.

You’re keenly aware of how he seems to curl up into you the more you keep going. You watch as his shoulders slump down when you stroke the side of his face, and his eyebrows relax slightly. From your angle, you could even see the way his eyes close in content. Maybe even a tiny smile if you were being delusional.

Your lip twitches upward.

“Oh my god, Levi, are you jealous of a cat?”

“Shut up and play with my hair.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iii. third terrace: wrath

“You owe me a new cravat.”

You blink up at your roommate. “What?”

“You owe me a new cravat.” He repeats. He pulls from his pocket a white piece of fabric— barely recognizable— torn into shreds, releases it mid-air. It gently lands on your open palm.

“Wait, did Dante do this?” You ask, eyeing the slik in your hands.

“Unless you went feral in the middle of the fucking night and decided to cut up my clothes, yes.”

“Oh my god, Levi, I’m so sorry. I swear Dante will never—“

“You actually owe me three cravats,” he interjects. “The first two I overlooked since they weren’t that expensive but I draw the line here.” His lips are downturned into a frown, eyes poorly concealing his clear distaste. “This one’s my favorite and it was made from silk.”

You eye the fabric in your hands once more before nodding in understanding, setting down the once beautiful cravat before taking out your wallet. It was only fair that you paid him back; he was being more than generous with letting your cat stay and keeping it a secret, and now you wonder how many bad things Dante’s done that Levi’s overlooked or simply never brought up with you.

“Sure, I’m really sorry. How much do I owe you?”

Levi doesn’t say anything. Instead he pulls out his phone and types something on what you could only assume was google, most likely looking for the same brand of the cravat your cat had just torn into shreds. You weren’t entirely sure how much those could cost, but surely you could afford—

“What the fuck!” You screech, eyeing the page with very, very hefty price tags listed. Holy fucking hell where did he even get the money to buy something so expensive. Gulping, you nervously look up at your unimpressed roommate. You already knew he was taking it easy on you; his aura was the only thing intimidating, at least he wasn’t giving you the murder eyes. And even though he was a man of his word, you were thankful he hasn’t reported Dante.

Still, it didn’t change the fact that Levi looked pissed beyond belief.

“Uhm... can I pay you with a check that’ll definitely bounce?”

“You will pay me in cash.”

“Fuck, fine!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iv. fourth terrace: sloth

Levi silently works on his desk. His laptop’s open in fromt of him, numerous notes from classes and books from the library surrounding him. The gentle sounds of clicking and clacking echoe throughout the room as fingers typed at the keyboard, eyes concentrated and lips pulled taught as he focuses on his task. He’s on a roll. He’s almost done with this part of his research, nothing could snap him out of this, he just needs to—

“Levi, when do you think Dante will come back to me?”

He stops typing and grits his teeth.

This is how it’s been the entire night. Ten minutes of peace before you ask him some stupid questions that could’ve been answered with common sense.

“Fuck if I care.”

“Do you think it was something I did?”

He resumes typing. “Yes.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“No.”

“Even after all we’ve been through?”

“Still no.”

“I miss him,” you sigh. “I miss him so much.”

“Then you shouldn’t have left the door open.”

It’s been a week since Dante escaped the dorm and Levi doesn’t understand why you’re still so depressed about it. I mean, you only lost a cat that you loved and treasured and treated like family. Surely a week of moping around in your pajamas and eating nothing but chips and soda was catharsis enough.

He hears you shift in your burrito blanket, presumably to turn away from him so you can sulk into the wall next to your bed. Good. Now he can get back to working on—

“Levi do you think Dante-“

“Enough.” He grits, slamming his laptop shut.

“Where’re you going?” You ask, eyeing the way he hurriedly stuffs papers and books into his bag along with his laptop.

“Out.” He replies, grabbing his keys and his coat. “I can’t stand this shit anymore.”

Your head is burried in your blankets when he slams the door shut and all you could do was slump down because great. You lost Dante, and now you’ve royally pissed off Levi.

Great. Just fucking great.

Unlike your cat, however, your roommate comes back hours later, just before curfew. He doesn’t bother with a hello— he never does— and neither do you, opting to stay hidden underneath the sheets. Though suddenly, there’s a dip in the mattress followed by a pur next to your head.

Could it be?

“Dante?” You murmur, lifting your head from underneath your cocoon of fabric. Small black paws and silver eyes meet your gaze. “Dante!” Immediately sitting up, you pulled him to your lap, scratching his little head and cooing about how much you missed him as he purred and curled into to you.

Levi would never say it, but he missed seeing you smile at the little fleabag.

You turn to look at your roommate. “How’d you find him?”

“Asked around the campus. He wandered into another dorm building and probably thought it was ours.”

“Well yeah but... I thought you hated him?”

“I do.” He replies instantly.

“Then why’d you find him?”

“I hate him, not you.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

v. fifth terrace: avarice

“I fucking hate both of you,” Levi grumbles, staring at the dorm.

Towers of boxes lined his supposed to be clean dorm room. He had a hard time prying the door open since it was blocked, and he wasn’t even sure how the boxes weren’t blocking out the light from how high they were piled. Dante’s sat on a stack of box directly next to the door, purring and flicking his tail around. Levi squints his eyes and glares at the little shit.

“You especially.”

“Mrow?”

Levi’s day had been, with no irony or sarcasm at all, amazing. He got a good grade on his research paper; the guy in front of him at the cafe accidentally ordered an extra serving of (coincidentally, Levi’s favorite) tea and gave it to him for free; and he got full marks for the presentation he’s been worrying about for weeks. His class even got dismissed early so he had an extra hour for lunch. He knew you didn’t have classes, so in honor of his great day he thought he’d do something nice and take you out for lunch. His treat, of course.

But any trace of his good mood vanished when he went back to the dorms and got greeted to a room that looked like it came from an episode of Hoarders.

This is what he gets for trying to be nice.

“Levi! Is that you?” You called out.

“What the fuck happened?”

You laugh sheepishly— at least Levi thinks you do. He couldn’t see you beyond the hundred boxes that took up your shared room. He hears some rustling and the sound of things being moved around before finally your head pops out from behind a wall of brown, smiling at him apologetically before walking towards him (and tripping a few times).

“Remember when I said I’d order some toys for Dante as a surprise?”

Levi’s eye twitches. “Don’t tell me—”

“I accidentally ordered 10,000 instead of 10. Online shopping struggles, am I right?” You nervously chuckle at his pissed off face. Levi was not in the mood.

Your smile widens as you make twinkly gestures with your hands. “So uh... surprise?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vi. sixth terrace: gluttony

The clinic is still when you first entered.

The harsh smell of alcohol and sterile metal makes your nose grimace, and the coldness of the thermostat brings goosebumps to your arms. Behind the wall, somewhete in the waiting room, cats are hissing, dogs are barking, and you could even hear the sound of birds angrily chirping and rattling their cages.

Dante cowers in fear on the silver table, and your heart aches. His ears are down and his fur’s standing on its ends, but you couldn’t comfort him. Not right now, at least. The veterinarian still needed to do a few more checks.

You gulp, “how’s... how’s Dante looking, doc?”

“Not good,” she murmurs. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and she takes a deep sigh as she eyes the information on the chart. “It’ll take months before he can walk properly again, possibly more if we don’t do anything about it soon.”

“Don’t tell me... is he—-”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she sighs. “But your cat is heavily obese.”

The corners of your lips twitch down into a frown, and your palm is warm when you start to stroke Dante’s fur. He calms down a bit from your touch, less on edge but still guarded as he warily eyes the doctor’s gloved hands.

“But I don’t understand,” you reply. “I’ve been following the recommended diet you put him on, and I haven’t been feeding him anything other than the cat food and vitamins you recommended. How’s he still obese?”

“Well, we could look into other solutions, but for now I think we ought to look at whether or not Dante has an underlying health problem.”

Levi tunes out the chatter between you and the vet, bored eyes staring into nothing. He’s leaning against a wall and he’s watching the cat carrier. Your bag’s slung over his shoulders and your coat’s in his arms, and he was sure you didn’t even need him to be here for “moral support.”

He mentally scoffs. You probably just needed a chauffeur to drive you for free, and honestly, Levi would rather feel like a chauffeur than a coat rack.

His eyes make contact with Dante’s, and all the fear in the cat’s eyes is suddenly gone, replaced with a steely glare and bared teeth. A warning, one no one else notices but him.

Levi gives him a solitary nod, understanding what Dante wanted to say.

Don’t tell Y/N I’ve been sneaking to the neighbors.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vii. seventh terrace: desire

There’s something about the buzz of alcohol and nicotine that makes Levi confident—- the liquid courage in his veins and the smoke in his lungs clouding his judgement. Perhaps that’s where he finally gets the balls to cross the room, drunken eyes on your equally intoxicated ones, before he pulls you in for a kiss.

The kiss starts slow, with lips just interlocking and lightly testing the waters. But then he feels your tongue make its way inside his mouth and your fingers weave into his hair to tug him closer, and Levi loses the last threads of inhibition he has. His tongue massages yours and one of his arm wraps around your waist, the other comes down to grope and knead your ass. He feels you walk backwards and your hand pulls at his tie, dragging him with you. Suddenly he’s trapping you against a wall, lifting one of your legs up to wrap around his hips so he could grind his crotch into yours.

Levi doesn’t expect his first kiss with you to be like this; messy and full of tongue and spit, full of fingers clawing at clothes and small grunts escaping your lips. He was hoping it’d be more romantic, with warm cheeks and fingers softly intertwining, shy kisses exchanged through little smiles.

But he’s not about to complain—- he’s wanted to be with you for years, and god he loved having you like this. Loved having you all hot and desperate, trapped between his firm chest and the wall. His cock is hard in his pants, and he just about growls when he feels you start to undo his belt, the fly of his pants coming down as you got on your knees and stared up at him with innocent eyes as you pull out his aching boner. There’s a cheeky grin your face when you pump at his length, and your tongue peaks out of your mouth before—

“Levi, are you okay?”

His eyes snap open, and he’s greeted to the sight of your worried face directly above his.

“Fuck!” he yells, and his forehead slams into yours when he flinches away. “Sorry, sorry” he quickly ammends when you yelp in pain.

He’s covered in sweat, he notices. Chest heaving, heart beating a little too loud for his liking, and he silently pulls the blankets over his cum stained boxers when you sit beside him.

God, he was really hoping you wouldn’t notice the fact that he came in his pants like a high schooler. And it was before dream you even got to suck him off. How much more pathetic could he be.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“Yeah, m’fine, it’s just...” your eyes are distracted, staring off into space. Fingers trace his thighs, and you sigh. “You were having a nightmare,”

Levi blinks. “What?”

“You were having a nightmare,” you repeat. “Kept tossing and turning and groaning in your sleep. And you kept making these... funny faces,”

“...right,” he nods. Sure, a nightmare. A nightmare he never wanted to wake up from.

It takes about ten minutes to reassure you that yes, he was fine, don’t mind the way his cheeks are flushed, he was just... shaken up from his nightmare, is all. Then you’re back to bed, sleeping the night away, and twenty minutes later he’s on his way back to bed too; this time with a fresh pair of boxers and a content look on his face, all thanks to him finishing off his fantasies in the communal bathroom during his shower.

The door makes a quiet click when he shuts it behind him, and he freezes when he catches sight of Dante sat up on your bed, tail flicking behind him as he gives Levi a knowing look.

Levi squints his eyes, and he threateningly whispers, “you tell no one.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

epilogue

The half empty room brings a frown to your face, and all you could do was pout as you sealed up the last of the boxes.

“Why do you have to leave again?” you ask, and Levi turns around as he finishes folding the last of his clothes. He shrugs. “Cats aren’t allowed in the dorms.”

You owed him your entire college career, that much was sure. The RA’s found out about Dante, and Levi had taken the fall to spare you. He wasn’t required to move out since it was only his first strike, but he insisted on doing so so that Dante wouldn’t be alone, saying he already found an apartment nearby and he’ll never hear the end of it from you if he didn’t take Dante with him.

Bullshit. Levi had a soft spot for Dante, you knew that much. He wasn’t doing it for you, he was doing it for himself. Though normally you’d be overjoyed to know that Levi really did secretly like the cat he pretended to hate so much, this time, you were just pissed. You couldn’t believe a fucking cat was stealing away the guy you’ve been in love with since high school. Sure, you were too much of a coward to ask him out, but he was basically your boyfriend already—- the entire campus knew you inadvertently had dibs on each other.

“Yeah but... do you have to leave me alone?”

“I asked you to come with me, and you said no.” He points out. “I still don’t see why when we’ve been roommates since we were freshmen.”

“It’s different off-campus!”

“How?”

“Because it’s like... it’s like we’re moving in together, y’know?” you reply. “And it seemed wrong to move in with you when we’re not even dating.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs, handing you a spare key to what you could only assume was his new apartment. You glance between him and the key in your hands, and he rolls his eyes when he realizes that you still don’t get it.

“I know we’re doing this backwards since couples don’t typically move in before the first date,” he says before gesturing to Dante. “But we already have a son, and I know you’re his favorite parent. We can share custody until you can move in with me.”

You blink. “What?” Your brain stopped working when Levi referred to you as a couple, and you’re pretty sure your heart stopped beating too. At this point, anything he said went in one ear and out the other. He flicks your forehead.

“Hey— ow! What was that for?”

“You weren’t listening.”

“And you’re being a prick!” you grumble. “It hurts, y’know.”

He scoffs. “What do you want me to do? Kiss it better?” he scoffs.

Your mouth moves faster than your brain, “I’d rather you kiss me.”

Wait. What?

Before you could go back on your words, Levi shrugs. Warm palms gently grab your cheeks, pulling your face closer to his. Your eyes widen and you momentarily freeze, brain definitely not working anymore. He hesitates when you don’t make a move, but then you’re shyly leaning forward, and that was all the confirmation Levi needs.

“If you insist,” he whispers, and suddenly your words die on your tongue when his lips interlock with yours.

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[slytherinwh0re]

Secret Santa

Draco Malfoy x Female Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+ minors dni) and swearing

Summary: where you and Draco are friends with benefits and you get him for secret Santa.

Masterlist

Requested by @beiahadid, I hope you like it (:

A/N: it’s never too early to get in the Christmas spirit, I’m gonna have a few holiday themed fics. Also this gif does things to me lmao

“Please Pans, I’ll do anything.” You beg her for what feels like the hundredth time.

Every year before Christmas a bunch of you would throw your names in a hat for what the muggles call, “secret Santa”. This year you got Crabbe, usually it wouldn’t be a big deal but you desperately wanted to get Draco. Luckily Pansy had gotten him but she was being slightly difficult to persuade, even though you knew she didn’t actually care and would eventually agree, she just thoroughly enjoys getting under your skin.

“Fine, but you owe me big time (y/n).” Says your best friend while handing over the small piece of parchment with the name Malfoy written across it, finally giving in.

“Have I ever told you you’re the best?” You hug the girl as she rolls her eyes but hugs you back nonetheless.

“Yeah, yeah.” She waves her hand. “You still sure you two aren’t dating?”

“I’ve already told you multiple times we aren’t Pansy.” The blush on your cheeks makes her smirk, loving the reaction she gets out of you.

You and Draco had agreed earlier in the year that your relationship was strictly friends with benefits. However recently you found yourself wishing that the nights you spent together would never end. The thought of him being all yours became more and more endearing, especially when he’d cuddle you after the mind blowing sex.

“Right, you just fuck about five time a week and make puppy dog eyes at each other the rest of the time.” She teases, cutting off your thoughts of the handsome boy.

“We do not make puppy dog eyes at each other.” You huff at the laughing girl.

“Whatever you say (y/l/n). What do you plan on getting him anyways?” She asks, changing the subject for your own sake.

“This ring he was looking at in Hogsmead last weekend and possibly a little something extra for when we’re in private.” You wiggle your eyebrows at her, making her shake her head and laugh at your silly antics.

“You get to have sex and I get to buy a gift for Crabbe, this just isn’t bloody fair.” Pansy jokes, making both of you laugh as you enter charms class.

***

After saying your goodbyes to Pansy and a few of your other friends you went back into your empty dorm, getting ready for the night ahead of you. You’d decided to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays since your parents would be away on vacation, it had nothing to do with Draco staying behind. At least that’s what you like to tell yourself, besides, this was the perfect opportunity to give him your gifts.

During your last class of the day you had sent him a note telling him to meet you in your dorm, as you had many times before. Now you lay on your bed waiting for him in a short silky robe, concealing what your wore underneath.

Finally you hear a knock on your door, making your stomach flutter with excitement. You open it without hesitation, allowing the tall blonde into your room, his eyes immediately raking over your figure.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He says, his arms already wrapped around your waist and pulling you in for a heated kiss, not giving you a chance to respond.

“Patience Draco, I have something I’d like to give you.” You push him off before you get too caught up in the moment and forget to give him his first gift. You take his hand and lead him over to your bed and grab the small box off your nightstand, handing it to him.

He looks from you to the box while smiling. “What’s this?”

“I’m your secret Santa.” You explain as you watch him open the box and look at the black metal ring in awe as he slides it onto his pointer finger. “I saw you looking at it in Hogsmead a few weeks back and I know how much you love rings so I figured I’d get it for you.”

“This is bloody amazing (y/n), thank you.” Draco says expressing his gratitude by pulling you in a for short sweet kiss that puts you on cloud nine. He’s never kissed you like that before and you can’t help but wish that it’d become a more regular occurrence. 

“I’ve got you something else as well.” You say, moving to stand in-between his legs where he sits on the edge of your bed. Your hands find the small knot at the front of your robe, his eyes watching your every move as you finally let it drop to the floor. You watch his eyes darken as the lacy white lingerie is revealed to him, the material hugging every curve on your body perfectly.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” His words make you blush, the look of excitement on his face is enough to have you sinking to your knees in front of him. Your hands get to work on his belt and you can already feel your arousal pooling in between you legs just by the way he’s looking at you. Once you unzip his pants you pull them off along with his boxers. 

“Already this hard for me?” You say as you stroke him slowly, your eyes never looking away from him, loving the effect you have on the slytherin. 

“I’ve been hard since I walked through the door and saw you in that tiny robe.” He admits, making you giggle. 

“Happy holidays Draco.” Is all you say as you bring your lips to his dick, kissing the tip, and then taking as much of him as you could. The moans that leave his mouth encourage you to lower your head until he hit the back of your throat making you gag and you watch as he throws his head back. 

His hand gathers all your hair and wraps it around his fist, making you moan around him. You hollow your cheeks and your hand strokes what you can’t fit, making sure to swirl your tongue against the tip.  

“You look so fucking innocent, all doe eyed and wrapped in white lingerie with my cock in your mouth.” Draco says as he looks down at you, your eyes trained on his as you continue to bob you head. 

The hand he had wrapped around your hair pulls you off of him and brings you to stand in front of him again. His hands run up the sides of your body, making you shiver, one of them reaching behind you to unclasp the strappy bra. 

Once it falls to the floor his lips immediately wrap around one of your nipples, his hand massaging the other breast, and your hands find his blonde hair. He lowers his other hand to your panties, his fingers massaging you over them, and you can just tell he has a smirk on his lips because of how wet you already are. 

“Always so ready for me darling.” He mumbles against your skin. You push him back on to the bed and take the liberty of taking your own panties off before climbing on top of him, straddling his waist, making sure your slick folds are pressed against his dick. You tug on his t-shirt and he yanks it off.

“Only for you Draco.” You say as you grab his dick and line him up with your entrance before sinking down onto him. You throw you head back moaning his name, his hands never leaving your body, one of them holding onto your hip to help you bounce faster. 

“Look at you, riding my dick like the filthy girl you are.” He has both arms behind his head now, watching you ride him like your life depends on it. He feels so deep all you can do is moan his name. 

Suddenly he has you flipped over so he’s on top and you can’t hold back the screams that leave your mouth as he pounds into you. His hand wraps around your throat and you feel the cold metal of the rings on his fingers, that sexy smirk never leaving his face as he completely wrecks you. 

“Oh Draco.” You moan as he keeps up the torturous pace, your legs already shaking. He brings his lips down to yours and you know you won’t last much longer.

“Cum on my dick (y/n), I want to feel you.” He says and that's all it takes for you to let go. You clench around him and you feel his hips begin to stutter before he’s releasing into you. Both you riding out your highs while holding onto each other, moaning the others name. 

Draco gets up and cleans both of you up before laying back in bed to cuddle like he usually does. His arms wrap around you and you snuggle your head into his chest. 

“Those were the best gifts I’ve ever received.” He tells you, making you smile against him. 

“I’m glad you liked them.” You whisper.

“I loved them, and now we have all winter break to spend together, it couldn’t get any better.” He kisses the top of your head and you feel yourself dozing off, sad that you know he won’t be here in the morning since he leaves once you fall asleep. 

Your last thoughts before succumbing to sleep are about the boy you’re in love with but can’t have. 

[fourmarkdove]

Upstate.

Title: Upstate. | Masterlist

Summary: When the Captain learns you’ve kept a secret all these years, he’s more furious than he’s ever been.

Pairing: Syverson x Reader

Words: 5.5k

Warnings: 18+ Smut. Angst, breeding kink, daddy kink, size kink, rough sex, dirty talk. Infertility/PCOS. 

A/N: Had this in my drafts forever and sort of forgot I wrote it. Comments are welcome! Thanks for reading!

~

It wasn’t supposed to take this long to get pregnant.

It just wasn’t.

You went on the pill shortly after you met, which wasn’t the most glamorous story, but that one drunken pounding against the ladies bathroom wall just days before he was set to ship out set the tone for your relationship. At least in the beginning.

He did two more tours after that. The first time he was on leave, he dropped to a knee, all suntanned and scruffy, after dinner at your favorite little fish shop on the pier.

“We haven’t known each other so long, but your sweet voice on those phone calls, babydoll. They keep me goin’ when I feel like there’s not much reason to.”

That last time he promised, “We’re gonna settle down for good. You an’ me an’ our brood. Daddy just has some unfinished ass to kick, but don’t you worry, sweetness. Nothin’ but picket fences and backyard barbecues soon as I get back.”

You said of course you’d marry your coarse, burly soldier and there never was a happier man who swept up his girl on that pier in a yellow sundress.

You never thought you’d see the day when your hardline, take no bullshit, don’t give em’ an inch Captain would shed a tear - let alone in public - but he did just that the moment he turned his shoulder and saw you in the just barely off-white dress.

He swept his woman off your feet, saying he wanted to be a gentleman and treat you right. But you knew by the intensity of his gaze and how he barely glanced at the pretty white lingerie before he started tearing it off your body that he was going to have trouble being gentle. Not that you minded. You had no regrets when it came to this swollen beast of a man filling every hole, manipulating your body in unnatural positions because you were smaller and he was strong as a horse and built like a brick wall. He’d pin your wrists to the bed above your head and gorge on your heaving tits, or grip behind your knees and have your feet bouncing behind his thick neck, until you were a sweat slick, foul mouthed whore begging for more of his meaty shaft pounding you into a moaning, senseless mess. You thought growing up there’d be something magical and pure about being a new bride dressed in white giving yourself over, blushing and shy, to the man you promised to love forever.

The reality was so much more visceral. All you wanted for days on end was his thick body forcing your thighs open, his hands gripping your flesh, fingers leaving bruises on your hips, crushing kisses that nearly made you faint, the salty taste of his sweat and cum dripping from your lips and cunt, rolling down your thighs, smeared onto the teeth marks he left around your nipples and on your ass like a soothing balm. The only soundtrack in the house was the grunting feral sounds over you as if he willed his very being into yours through the force of each veiny thrust. And the lewd slapping of flesh against flesh, sometimes muted just a bit by the rough hair trailing down his torso leading to his monster cock. The sound of his thighs clapping against your ass and thighs as he fisted your hair and drove himself into your cervix never ever got tiresome.

When he’d get too close, he’d devour your cunt, biceps and forearms flexing and lifting you to his face, swallowing every drop of your slick mixed with his, swirling his thick tongue over your sensitive clit, feeding the mixed liquids back inside your slit. He’d drop to a knee and spread you over his shoulders if you didn’t make it to bed, or in bed, he’d trail down your body, nipping and biting, picking up your skin between his teeth, flashing those blue eyes up at you. He loved going down on his woman maybe even more than burying his throbbing cock, so he’d always glance up to see your lashes flutter, eyes roll back, lips part and scream silently as he gorged on your sex. His beard scratched between your thighs and made you that much more sensitive but fuck you loved it and he loved marking you. He’d sink his sharp canines into the crease of your thigh and bite down just hard enough to make you cry out and arch for him.

By the time you were begging to come and whimpering his name like a prayer, he’d force his heavy, uncut cock all the way inside and start grinding, flexing every muscle in his core powering the grunting snaps of his hips into yours, seeking both of your release. And his mouth would get so filthy pressed to your ear.

“Gonna fuckin’ fill you up with all this cum. Not gonna be able to walk straight for weeks. That’s right spread wider for me. Fuckin’ give me that cunt. You’re gonna take it all like a good girl aren't ya? Get you all round - knocked up with my seed over and over. All that thick cream in these balls is just for you. That’s right. You want it? Milk it, babe.”

He growled and groaned, slapping his balls against your ass, all of the things that made you gasp and close down on him. You’d come first. Always. pulling the head of his cock right up against your cervix. He’d keep thrusting through your orgasm and his followed quickly after.

His big body could crush you under his weight but you loved it, practically demanded it, so he’d half roll off, resting mostly on his side and forearm and hip, while he panted into your hair on the pillow. But you wanted him all over your skin. The musky scent of his, still rolling down his hot skin, sweaty and thick with pheromones and sex, from working so hard to get both of you off over and over, you had no way to explain how you loved it - except by licking up the side of his neck and suckle kissing behind his ear while he panted into the pillow, his bicep and forearm heavy across your chest or around your hip, still holding you possessively.

He’d chuckle, still panting and turn his head on the pillow. Voice still rough from the beating his vocal cords took while he growled, huffed, groaned and barked instructions to you, he’d whisper in those quieter moments.

“Insatiable, kitten. Gimme a minute. Daddy knows what you need.”

You’d turn over in his weighty, tree bough arms and nuzzle into his hairy chest, feeling his thumping heartbeat hard and steady under your fingers. Tree trunk legs could pull all of you into him, and he’d fold you into his center, so not a single inch of you would have to touch sticky bed sheets when he rolled over onto his back. Thick fingers spread across your back, soothing over your roughed up skin, lifting your hair off of your sweaty neck, until the cool air in the room and his perpetually hot skin balanced to the perfect temperature somewhere in the middle.

It went on like that for three, six, nine months once he was home for good. Only two things changed as the months went on. His chocolate curls grew and spilled onto his forehead - which you loved to run your hands through - and you conceded the beard stays if the curls do too.

You came off the pill immediately, from that first night he came home, and never went back to it.

“Sweetness, don’t stress about it,” he’d coo gently, finding you curled up in bed or in the bathroom, sitting alone in the empty back bedroom in the new house. He’d try to squeeze the sadness out of your body every single month with his huge bear arms.

“It’s fun to try again, ain’t it?” he’d wiggle his eyebrows, and make you giggle through the tears. The more playful he was about it, the harder he leaned into trying everything he could to make it easier on you, so that meant a lot of research on websites. He never in a million years thought he’d be reading up on ‘luteal phases’.

He never had to be told twice that you might be ovulating. You’d whisper it to him sometimes he’d sense it. In bed, he’d smell that wet heat before you even backed your ass up against him, wiggling your aching core against the base of his raging erection. Slipping his big hand down your tummy and into your panties, he’d slide a long couple fingers through your slick heat, spreading your pussy lips achingly wide before withdrawing his hand and wrapping his other arm around the front of your shoulders.

“Mmph looks like you’re ready,” he’d groan, checking the viscosity of your juices. Spreading your slick between his fingers, he’d lick at it, gripping you tighter as you’d smirk and work your hips mercilessly on his dick.

That one taste would be enough to work him into a rutting frenzy though. “Got damnit, I need a taste,” he’d growl, climbing down and burying his face between your thighs. His mouth and beard would come up glistening with your juices and he’d look positively lust drunk on the stuff. Spreading his knees, he’d hoist your thighs up onto his, spreading your knees over his hips, so he’d be able to have a perfect look at your swollen cunt.

Pupils dilated and breathing hard, he’d pinch the hood of your clit and stroke it between his finger and thumb, making you squeal and writhe, pulling your own hair. He was in awe of your pussy every time he actually looked at that tiny, suckling hole - how in the world did you manage to stretch and accept his girthy cock? It had to hurt, right? It HAD to. Gripping your hips, he pulled you up to himself, one forearm supporting under your ass, and the other around your back. Touching foreheads, he nuzzled you lovingly.

You kissed him hungrily, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip before letting go. Hair mussed and giving him the darkest look, rolling your hips in his lap, you purred deep. Much to your confusion, he was the one to slow things down, smiling in his gorgeous blue eyes, kissing over your forehead, temples, eyelashes, nose, each lip.

“I wanna give you everything, babydoll,” he sighed, dropping his head to kiss over your shoulder.

Arching your back, you had him grip onto your hands and ease you, still spread over his hairy thighs, back onto the bed.

“Put a baby in me,” you demanded. He huffed out a sharp breath, puffing out his cheeks, before plunging two thick fingers into your cunt, scissoring his fingers to stretch you out. You shrieked and moaned in pleasure, arching deeply.

He could have been gentle but those five little words; that demand of yours. You were his new CO and when he received orders, he ploughed through at a punishing pace.

“Gotta prime these walls,” he grunted, thrusting his fingers in and out, turning his hand so he could rub sloppy juices spilling out of your cunt. Leaning over, he pressed his palm against the mattress next to your head and did something near a one handed push up, coming nose to nose with you.

“Why we gotta prime walls, baby?”

You whined as he flexed and slipped a third thrusting finger into your slurping cunt, begging for something larger to grip onto.

“We prime…” you panted, clawing across the tense muscles in his chest, “because you’re gonna… paint my walls… with your seed.”

Giving you his tongue, he withdrew his fingers and smeared his fingers over his precum-leaking meaty member. Just pushing it down to the right angle and you arched, digging your toes into his tree trunk thighs as you accepted his cock into your aching insides. You cried out, tossing your head back, but that just made him latch onto your throat and thrust into your cervix like a battering ram.

You screamed his name two, maybe three times, and he bared his teeth, growling and swearing, struggling to hold on, planking on his forearms desperate not cum yet while your smaller slippery body, squirmed and writhed under him. One second you were hissing and gasping, sinking your teeth and nails into his shoulders or biceps. The next you’d sob and dig your feet in, because you were so stretched and so sensitive. If he could just hold on that second longer, you’d grab at his ass, let your thighs open up and release your massaging death grip on his cock still buried as deep as he last thrust before you clamped down on him to begin with. Then he slowed just a bit to kiss your panting mouth as the orgasmic shockwaves relaxed. Your deep purr indicated you were ready for more, so he’d catch under your knees and fold you in half, pounding your body at a different angle.

When it was time, he bore his teeth and groaned, burying his face in your neck, getting sloppy with his thrusts until the last two that were exceptionally deliberate, seeding white hot cum directly to the source, his slit ground mercilessly against your cervix, for a direct shot at emptying himself into your womb.

When all was said and done, you’d toss him a pillow and he’d kneel between your legs, pushing the pillow under you to keep your hips elevated. Hooking his arms under your thighs, he kissed all around your sensitive mound. Kissing inside your thighs, he could thumb your swollen lips apart and see how completely full he’d filled you, to the point of leaking, but neither of you minded. If it wasn’t too tender, he’d clean you up with his tongue before lying down with you again, closing your legs, and drawing both your knees up over his hip.

You assured him every time that the pain was hardly anything as you shuddered and clung onto his imposing frame. It was only the last couple of months that instead of giggling and demanding ice cream in bed after what you both agreed was the best sex anyone on the planet was having, you just wanted to be held.

“Shhh, shhh... I got you, sweetness,” he’d soothe, drawing up blankets, rubbing you all over. He’d tuck you into his chest, and you’d curl up even smaller, your soft little body trembling against his twitching muscle always felt amazing before. But not when it came with tears. You hid your face away when he asked what was wrong, but he felt the little puffs of held breath and silent tears falling into his chest hair.

Finally, finally, one night spent cradling you in his arms and kissing your tears away, he convinced you. And you didn’t just break your silence.

You shattered.

“Doc told me years ago... it isn’t... I’ll never have…babies of my own. My hormones are all wrong for it. She said shots, maybe IVF but… even conceiving… even if possible, it’d be…”

The worried lines around his eyes and across his forehead smoothed out as he stared at the blinking red light on the smoke detector above the bed. He stayed quiet, putting an arm behind his head.

“I hoped I would have found a better way to tell you all this before now.”

“You knew before we met?” His voice was uncomfortably calm. “Five years ago.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean to—“

“Ya kept it from me. No indication whatsoever there were problems on the home front, though.”

“I hoped I wouldn’t ever have to say anything because we’d somehow be pregnant by now and—“

“Ya let me think everything was fine. Told me, “Come on home, soldier. Let’s try workin’ on that family again.’ And I did. Every tour. I came crawlin’ home to you.”

Sitting up against the headboard, he flicked on the bedside lamp and scratched his beard, eventually dropping his upturned hands on his thighs, displaying his defeat.

Even though you wore his shirt from the night before and he was naked, barely covered by the bedsheet, you felt entirely exposed. You wanted to dissolve into liquid and melt into the floor or shed your skin and slink into a nook and never come out again.

His wide eyes plead with you: ‘give me something substantial to grasp onto. Toss a rope and a damn good reason for all of the lies to a drowning man.’

There was only one reason, but you couldn’t bear saying it out loud. You couldn’t the entire time you knew him.

Slipping his hand behind your neck, he thumbed your chin up to look at him. “You thought I wouldn’t want ya if I knew, huh.”

Your bottom lip quivered but he didn’t let you collapse into yourself. Looking over your tense, teary, flushed features thoughtfully, he stayed silent. He had a way of looking still as a sheet of ice while a raging current boiled just underneath. That kind of stillness gave those under his command confidence because even amidst chaos, he made solid decisions. Ones that saved their lives, kept them out of harm's way.

In that moment, you felt no confidence. Sitting on your knees expectantly, you trembled all over. He moved his thumb down from your chin as he inhaled audibly, and furrowed his brow exhaling forcefully, wrapping his massive hand around your throat.

The moments waiting made your ears hot and the blood rush to your face. Tightness crept across your chest. You broke the silence first or you’d have lost your mind.

“You’re angry.”

He chuckled ruefully and went placid in an instant. “Angry. Mmm... Yes, that is one way to describe it, darlin’. Never more so, as a point of fact.”

Swallowing down tears, if he wouldn’t let you drop your head, at least you could close your eyes.

“No.” His calloused thumb stroked up and down the side of your neck. “No—no, you don’t get to do that. Not with me.”

“Please, Sy!” You burst, holding onto his wrist with both hands. “Please say something! I can’t take it!”

He sniffed and took his hand back, rubbing them together instead of touching you any longer. His broad shoulders lifted and dropped. “Not quite sure what to say.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t look at you, not entirely, so he arched a brow and gave a sideways glance. His voice was rough and deep with more emotion than either of you anticipated. “I was uh… unapproachable?”

Lifting your head from your hands, it made your heart shred into a pulp seeing the lifted brows and pained expression tensing his features. “What?”

“Unapproachable,” he graveled, cursing the emotion that made him choke up. “Fuck. I know I can be direct. I been tryin’ real hard to be gentle with you. Did I give the impression you couldn’t, ya know, tell me things?”

“No, of course not, Sy. I tell you everything.”

His smoldering ember pile only needed a breath of fresh air before it came roaring to life, consuming these new logs you’d placed on top.

“Gotdamn it. You knew this was important to me. The way you carried on, let me believe we had a life together. A future. With our family. Do I even know you?”

Smoke from the fire burning inside him made your eyes sting and water.

“Please, stop it, Sy,” you pleaded, pulling away from his grasp. “Please!”

The flames of anger - or was it hate - turned his pupils dark and made him somehow appear even larger with each deep breath.

“How do I know where the lies stop and you begin?”

Embers of his rage floated in the air and easily took to you like the driest kindling. You exploded unlike you never had before. Fists balled and panting, you squared your shoulders up and shifted your weight.

“You know what? Fine. Here’s the truth: I was barely 18 when the doctor looked at me and said, ‘consider adoption’. I wasn’t even thinking about kids then, only why I had cramps every month but no period.

“We’ve tried correcting hormones for years with so little success I’ve felt like a goddamn science project while my friends moved on, grew up, got married, raised families. Do you know how devastating it is to slog through one of those baby showers? Everyone is so warm and happy, celebrating new life and how their bodies produce something amazing.

“Meanwhile, all I can think about is how if I were to conceive by some fucking miracle, the chances of miscarriage are so high, it’d make more sense to plan some kind of memorial for a child I’ll never meet instead of a cute little fucking baby shower.

“And it’s the one thing you asked of me! What kind of a woman am I that I can’t give you the one thing you wanted?! A broken one. With a broken womb. So yeah, be upset with me. Hate me, Sy. But I promise you’re never gonna catch up. I’ve got years’ worth of a head start hating myself.”

Eyes bleary and completely heartbroken now that he knew your secret, your head dropped and you held it in pain from the headache that exploded from the tension.

You didn’t wait even thirty seconds before he nudged your head back up again with his knuckle. Your chest ached so badly from barely containing the sobbing. The moment you saw his arms were already open waiting for you to fall into, you gasped and let the tears come.

You leaned in an inch and he scooped you up the rest of the way. Helping you settle into his lap, thighs spread over his, he cradled you tenderly to his bare chest, wrapping you up in his entire upper body. Burying your face into his neck, you mewled his name softly when his lips pressed behind your ear.

“Sy, I—“

“Shh shh shh…” his baritone was so deep, you could feel and hear it as he dropped his head low to speak close like it was your own secret space to be alone together. “I’m sorry, sweetness. I know, babygirl, I know. Shh shh…”

Rubbing circles over your back, he gave you time to release through deep sobs some of that suffering you’d been dragging with you.

“I’m disappointed, shh—disappointed we can’t have our own, ‘course. But I think I’m more disappointed that you been upset this whole time over somethin’ we coulda sorted out together. Years ago. Babydoll, it breaks my heart to think of you bein’ this sad. Makes it a hundred times worse if you were upset ‘bout lettin’ me down. And you usin’ that ‘hate’ word in the same breath to describe the love of my life… Geez babygirl, that tears my heart right out my chest.”

Tears streaked down your cheeks. You pressed your palms against his hard as rock chest while he encircled you in his long reach. Tears rimmed his blue eyes as you wordlessly attempted to work out if he planned to let go or hold onto you. Eventually, you collapsed into him, exhausted.

“Look at me, Sweetheart. It’s important. What? Louder. Deep breath and one more time? Oh. No, I know it’s gonna make you cry more but imma make it better, I promise. Lemme see my girl. There she is.”

You sniffled and rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand. Your lips and eyes felt swollen from crying, and your hair was a mess, but he smiled in his soft blue eyes and stroked it back.

“Kids, no kids, doesn’t matter. I wanted you. Ask Parker or any other CO I work with. That very first night I saw you I said, “Imma marry that girl,” and here we are. But since we are married, I wanna know the things goin’ on inside ya. Not just ‘how ya feelin’, are ya hungry, are ya horny’ type stuff.”

You scoffed, kissing his cheek softly. He squeezed your hips tightly, lifting you closer, up higher on his pelvis, angling slightly back onto the pillows. He didn’t want you to get the wrong idea, but your heat, wiggling in his lap, and that you were starting to let go of some things inexplicably made the blood rush to his groin. You’d feel it in a second if he didn’t adjust your seating situation and lie back with you a bit.

“You’re not ‘broken’, sweets. And I don’t ever want to hear ya talkin’ ‘bout my girl like ‘at. You’re all woman, an’ the only one for me. You locked that right down in that pretty blue dress down on the pier years ago. Was it yellow? Nah. Really? With the little red… Huh. Color blind or not, this heart ain’t even mine no more so best be lookin’ after it. Yeah, you can cry now. Come here, babygirl. Daddy’s got you.”

When most of the tears were shed, he thumbed the dimples right above your panty line, just under the back of his lifted shirt you wore. Soothed very nearly to sleep, your fingers wound their way through his hair. He sighed letting his head fall back into your hands; he always loved when you scritched him like a puppy. Wrapping both hands behind your thighs, he held you in place, pressed to him and straightened up his neck when he really enjoyed what you were doing to him.

“Right there?” you cooed softly, raking your nails through his hair, down to the nape of his neck.

“Mmph,” he grunted affirmatively, tipping his chin down. He found one button on the shirt you wore straining against the fabric, exposing your bare skin right in front of his face. So he nuzzled into it. The unexpected tickle of his beard when he kissed inside made you gasp and arch back.

“Hey!” you squeaked and a mischievous smirk flashed across his face. He looped a finger inside his red flannel, releasing the fabric right below your belly button.

His eyes flashed up at you again as he pressed his mouth to your belly, swirling his thumbs in circles over your hips when he slid them inside the oversized flannel draped loosely on your body.

You closed your eyes, curling your fingers in his hair, and listened to the sound of the deliberate, wet kisses he placed from one hip to the other.

Hugging just under the curve of your behind, he ran his scratchy beard against your sensitive skin, but you still cradled the back of his head to you just the same. Finally kissing down to the apex of your sex, using his tongue to moisten the spot first, he placed a slow, suckling kiss that made your clit pulse and hips jerk involuntary.

“Sorry,” you mewled, pawing his hair. His jaw tensed and head lifted just slightly when your body responded so abruptly.

He nuzzled your skin and arched a brow up at you. “Don't be sorry, babygirl. Are you gonna let Daddy make ya feel good?”

A darkness fell across your features hearing that particular pet name for him. You tugged the shirt together.

“I don’t think I can do this, Sy. It’d be the first time not trying for... I can’t think about the… the emptiness. Feels like I’m giving something away too soon.”

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, collecting your hand from his shoulder. “Tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you.”

“Time… I guess. And you. Fuck, Sy. I must sound crazy. The way I’m talking, it’s like somebody died.

Here I am going on when you’ve actually witnessed people die.

I don’t want to diminish what you’ve been through with my nonsense.

Of course we need to do this.

We need to do this.

I want this.

I need you.

I need us.

I need this.

Fuck me, Captain.

Fuck me senseless.”

You made quick work shrugging out of his shirt and wrapped both arms around his thick neck. Fisting the mattress, he shouldered your ribs so quickly, it knocked you right off balance and onto his arm. Gripping under one of your thighs, he used that massive upper body strength of his to lie you back gently onto the mattress, holding your whole body up with just one arm.

As he eased you down onto your back, you went quiet and he leaned on his elbow to look down over you.

You stared up at the red blinking light on the smoke detector a long time while he pressed his large forearm down against your chest, between your breasts, and spread his palm over your sternum, attempting to give you an anchor point. Your arms laid limp, one above your head, one at your side, almost like you were having a nightmare except wide awake.

He’d seen that vacant look in the eyes of fresh infantry grunts after their first real battle and brush with death. But he never thought he expected to see it stateside, in the eyes of his wife.

Doing what felt natural to do, after all he was trained for it, he dropped his voice and redirected your attention.

“Eyes on me, darlin’. I know you’re feelin’ pretty rough inside. Grief is grief however it comes. Yeah, it’ll take time. But that’s why you’ve got your Unit to fall back on. Unit of two, you an’ me. Makes us a pretty elite team. I’ll do some of the heavy lifting for ya now that I know what we’re working with. I need ya to stay with me though, yeah?”

“Unit of two. I like it. Will you ever… Oh Sy, will you ever touch me like that again?”

He frowned, wrinkles lining his forehead. “Sweets, hell nor high water gonna keep me from lovin’ on you.”

*

Three months later, you returned home from a walk with the new puppy to find Sy standing in the front lawn, one hand on his hip and the other waving at the delivery truck to keep backing up.

“More wood?” you called from across the street over the roar of the diesel truck lift dropping green treated lumber along the side of the house. While your husband signed off on the delivery, you crossed to meet him in the grass with the puppy under your arm.

Looping a sweaty arm around you, he pulled you in by the hip and kissed the crown of your head.

“Thank ya, sir. See ya’ next Saturday,” Sy smiled behind his reflective sunglasses, shaking the driver’s hand.

“Next Saturday?” you repeated, glancing over your shoulder at the new pile of lumber that had been dwindling as he completed projects. Or at least it was. “I thought the treehouse was done, my love.”

“Oh, it is. Come have a look see.” He dwarfed your hand in his, taking you to the sprawling backyard. His truck was parked at an angle on the lawn with his tools laid out in the back and sketches drawn all over sheets on the hood.

Leaning in with his hip, he showed you his drawings, motioning with his hands as to where they should be or already were in the yard.

“Swing set? Done. Slides over there? Done. High and low bars - also done. Rope bridge, climbing apparatus, bouncer thing, treehouse, done.”

Tilting your face, you bumped your head against his chest appreciatively and he smirked. “I want to build out chairs that flip down on the deck. Not sure on the height is all. I don’t suppose you have any input?”

“All the social worker has said is to plan on three siblings from upstate. Two boys and a girl, between the ages of 5 and 10. Sorry I don’t have any help as far as height goes. I think we are more than ready for the little ones next week, Sy. Why don’t you come inside and cool down with me?”

Scratching the back of his neck, he glanced over his shoulder at the freshly installed fence blocking the neighbors’ view. “Better idea, babygirl. How ‘bout we give those swings a try first. Should hold both our weight, I reckon.”

Arching a brow, you folded your arms across your chest, pretending to be annoyed. “Oh, you ‘reckon,’ hm?” you repeated, patting his sweaty chest through his tank top. “Bear, we already have a sex swing upstairs.”

“Yeahhhhh...” he drawled, giving you his most sly smirk, “but this one is outdoors.”

“Captain! I can’t believe you!” you gasped, touching your imaginary pearls before pushing off the wall of muscle your husband provided when he folded his arms across his chest, launching yourself into a dead sprint across the grass toward the swing set. “Ladies first!!”

He chuckled, and jogged behind. “’Course, babygirl.”

~

Masterlist

[mutigold]

SNEAK PEEK — j.k. | n.j.

where jungkook gets a sneak peek of namjoon and his partner��s sex life.

pairing. sub!jungkook x dom!reader x dom!namjoon

c.w. smut! pegging, cum swallowing, pervy actions, masterbation, poly!namjook, strap-on, noona kink, handjob, oral [m.], degrading, exhibitionism/voyeurism, humiliation, i think the ending sounds a lil’ pedoish [sorry my bad :(].

w.c. 1.4K

with another successful day of practice, jungkook decided to head back to the dorms and try to get a good set of rest. he felt the overload of stress that took over him due to the countless moments of work and music; which he loved but also hated. the musician suffered from back pains and headaches while operating very hard. so when the day ended, he took massive advantage of it.

right now; jungkook strolled past the other members’ dorms making his way to his. he stretched and cracked almost every bone in his body trying to unwind to clear his mind. though, he paused when he heard an unfamiliar sound coming from his leader’s room.

“oh, namjoon!”

cocking his head in confusion, jungkook silently migrated towards the brown door. “you’re so good for me baby!” the voice started to become obvious when near, it was your alluring tone shouting namjoon’s name in pleasure. you, namjoon’s very hot girlfriend and someone jungkook really thought about often, were having sex with his hyung in the dorms.

“r-right there, oh my-”

jungkook had to blink and clear his mind for a second as he heard you scream about namjoon hitting your special spot. he couldn’t help himself after understanding what you meant and moved closer to the door. his tattooed hand touched the handle lightly, making sure no one around or inside could hear it, and twist opening the entrance.

what he saw was; better than what he ever imagined.

there you were on top of his leader, riding him hard and fast as your tongues intertwined. the way your curvy hips moved carefreely trying to gain an orgasm made jungkook’s cock swell. “joonie! your cock is so fucking big! i-i’m gonna cum!”

“fuck..” the younger male whispered traveling into his pants and grasping his flush-colored penis. his wrist jerked up and down watching you bounce while namjoon pounded into you. “oh, noona..” it was almost like he could feel your tight channel as he gazed to see the wet, pink muscle.

jungkook felt his stomach tighten in desire; “shit, i’m coming.” that feeling, however, paused as namjoon caught his eyes in the slightly-opened doorway.

“baby, it looks like we have some company. would you like to introduce them?”

you stopped moving and turned to see jungkook’s frozen frame. “jungkookie! oh honey, why are you just peeking like that? come inside!”

hesitating, jungkook opened the door to see the couple staring at him with deep eyes. he then realized that they were looking at his unbuttoned pants and rushed to cover himself. “babyboy! were you touching yourself? namjoon, do you see the baby?”

“mmm, you know he has been watching you ever since we’d debuted.” namjoon informed making jungkook’s circle cheeks burn red. you gasped in shock, turning to stare at your boyfriend. “really! i had no idea; you are very loyal to your hyung jungkook. i’m so proud.”

pre-cum dripped out of jungkook’s tip hearing your praises. he then shifted on his feet when namjoon signaled for him to come there. stepping over cautiously, he seized his breathing viewing you and namjoon’s naked chests touching each other. “come here, kookie.”

jungkook bends forward to your glowing face. you then aggressively grab him by the throat, lightly suffocating him. “you’re such a dirty little boy coming and peeking at your hyung and noona. such a perv,” the boy whimpers at your sudden dominance. “here’s what you’re gonna do: you’re gonna take your fucking clothes off and arch your back so that noona can fuck your tight ass.”

letting his neck go, jungkook rushes to pull his shirt off, but not without looking at his hyung for permission. “oh, go on. i’m not in charge here; noona is. you better get to it because once she gets angry, you’re not gonna enjoy it.”

clothes come off within seconds making you giggle in satisfaction. “good baby! come on the bed and arch your back.” before he could relocate, you and namjoon moved off of each other and made some space for him.

jungkook nervously set his stomach on the bed and put his naked ass in the air for both you and your boyfriend to see. “oh wow, such a pretty ass. right, joonie?”

he agrees, spanking the smooth cheek in motion causing jungkook to jump. “you can go get the strap, i’ll prep our little maknae.” you get up and moved towards namjoon’s closet to grab the box of sex toys, unaware of namjoon spitting into the boy asshole. “oh my god! hyung!”

“shhh, i’m just gonna put my fingers into you to stretch.”

and that’s exactly what he did when you came back. holding a nine-inch purple dildo, you spot joonie’s two fingers thrusting into the maknae. “hyung! f-fuck!”“if you think that feeling good, wait till i destroy your peeking ass.” you say.

namjoon pulls his digits out and moves around to face jungkook’s leaning body. “remember to say: please and thank you.” you reached over to the deep-colored strap, making it sure it's put on tightly, and spread jungkook’s ass cheeks. “look at this, all open for noona. gonna be a good boy for me? you deserved to be punished for those nasty little thoughts running through your head when watching us fuck.”

jungkook whines arching his back some more wanting your plastic cock deep inside him. “yes! yes, noona. i deserve to be punished- ah!” his sentence gets interrupted by you shoving the dildo into him. “n-noona! oh my god! thank you! y-you’re so fucking d-deep.”

“yeah, yeah. help your hyung out and play with his cock, he wants to be a part of the fun too.” you demand. following your orders, jungkook looks up to see namjoon’s cock glistening with come, gives it a kitty lick (making joon groan), and puts it in his mouth gagging.

“that’s right. gag on my cock like a little bitch. is noona fuck you well, kookie?”

releasing the muscle from his mouth and grasping it to stroke, jungkook replies with, “y-yes, hyung! noona is f-fucking my ass sooo good!”

you were back there pounding into his sore ass brushing his prostate. “yeah? you’re taking my cock so well. you’re a naughty boy letting noona fuck you while your hyung watches. make hyung come baby, he’s almost there.”

jungkook’s tattooed hands moved faster, wanting to taste namjoon’s cum. “fuck! open your mouth jungkook.” and with that, namjoon spraying the white salty fluid into jungkook’s warm entrance. “swallow.”

the boy swallows and opens letting joon see for proof. “oh! he swallowed it like the cum-eater he is. isn’t he good, noona?”

“no, once he comes around my large cock, then he could be a good boy. don’t you wanna be a good boy for us baby? be a good slut for hyung and noona and come!” you pushed in and out even faster hitting his spot more than before. the pressure of jungkook’s weight began to press on your tingling clit, making your legs trimble.

“oh my- noona! i’m cumming!”

“yes, cum for noona baby! ugh, cum so noona can cum.”suddenly, fluid drops onto the bed making jungkook whine and scream. this then makes your juices flow out of your pussy as you hit your climax. “yes! fuck!”

you calm down after a few seconds and carefully pull the dildo out trying not to harm jungkook. “shh, it’s okay. let us clean you up, kookie.” namjoon turns the maknae’s firm body as he lays lifeless from overstimulation. “good boy.”

you leave and come back into the room with a warm washcloth to wipe down the slimy substance from the bed and jungkook’s abs. “relax, hyung and noona got you.” once he was cleaned up, your boyfriend sits up the boy and lays right next to him (and you do the same on the other side).

“hyung? noona? i’m sorry for peeking into your privacy like that.” jungkook pouts with teary eyes. you shushed him while grabbing onto his sweaty face. “no, honey! we’ve actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

jungkook stares with confusion feeling hot water come from his orbs. “jungkook, we’ve wanted you to join our relationship ever since you came into the company. it was just that you were way too young to understand and we wanted you to enjoy your experience in life.” namjoon explains wiping the boy’s face.

“but now that this happened, i think we could take the relationship further. if that is what you want?” you questioned.

jungkook's sad face turns into a happy, bunny smile at your words and shakes his head in agreement. “we need to hear you, baby. is this what you want?”

“this is what i want!” he shouts, bringing you and namjoon into a tight hug. with his eyes closed, he doesn’t see you and joon smiling while looking into each other’s eyes. “i love you.” you mouth silently.

“i love you too.”

[pockydays]

unravel me

⤷ characters: tsukishima x gn!reader

⤷ synopsis: in which you notice tsukishima struggling to peel the tape off his fingers during study hall. what you didn’t notice, however, was how much he had the ability to find his way into every aspect of your life, until it was too late.

⤷ word count: 6.3k (longest fic to date woohoo!)

⤷ contains: fluff, slight angst, acquaintances to friends to lovers (?), mild language, my (insanely) wordy writing

⤷ a/n: i’m not even lying this took me weeks to write and it’s my baby :] most of the dialogue in this is probably hot shit but if you enjoyed please leave a like/reblog :3: mwah mwah ily all thank you for being patient with my slow ass <3 and thank you to my dear friend abby for beta reading the first chunk of this story, if you read this ily <3

You've always considered yourself as someone who wasn't especially generous. But you weren’t incredibly selfish, either. You were in some sort of grey area, too indifferent to care about what society says about people who aren't willing to go so far as to sell their souls to the devil for the common good. But you weren't heartless, either. You cared, usually out of mutual convenience. Isn't that what everyone does? Ninety-nine percent of the time, helping others (undeniably) involves genuinely good intentions, but they coexist with selfish motives as well. Then what about that one percent?

That one percent, in fact, came to you in the most inconspicuous of times: during mid-day study hall.

You found yourself going through the motions of your everyday routine: walking into the classroom, saying hi to your friend in the third row, putting your bag on the desk, pulling out your chair, sitting down, taking out your notebook and pencils, and waiting for approximately thirty-nine seconds until a (supposedly attractive, or at least according to whispers among your female classmates, which was bold of them to assume that he even liked girls in that way — you weren’t one to burst their bubbles) tall blond guy with glasses walked through the door, and greet him with a nonchalant "hey" and a wave.

And after that, if he responded with a slightly snarkier tone than usual, you knew he was having an especially bad day (more likely than not, it was because of the volleyball teammates he often complained about). But as for the real reason why, your guess was as good as anybody else's. He probably had piss in his Cheerios every morning and his trousers in a twist until the end of time for all you knew.

But today was slightly different than usual. For one, a full minute had already passed after you took out your pencils and yesterday’s chemistry notes, and there was still no sign of him. For some unknown reason, you couldn't stop the worry gnawing its way into your conscience. You rested your chin in one hand and drummed your fingers on the desk with the other, trying not to think about your classmate with a sharp tongue and a glare that could kill. Of course, trying to not think about something is a form of thinking about it, so that didn’t exactly work out.

The bell suddenly rang, jolting you out of your thoughts as well as your seat. Tsukishima Kei was now officially late, according to the school rules. Thankfully, your study hall advisor was lenient and understanding enough to not mark anybody late if they arrived within a reasonable time as to not tarnish their transcript, but you knew Tsukishima well enough to know that he wouldn’t care about a single unsavory comment that would only have the slightest potential to alarm admissions officers in those money-hungry institutions.

That was one thing you admired about your classmate. His ability to judge what things to put his effort into and selectively choose what he could get away with doing half-assed was unparalleled. As far as you could tell, volleyball was something he didn’t deem as worthy to put his all into. You weren’t usually wrong in such judgements about people, but then again, you’d only been right, let’s say, a total of three out of three times. You weren’t sure if it was considered a really good or really bad track record, so you’d always kept those sort of assumptions to yourself.

“Not going to say hi to me today? That’s awfully rude of you,” a voice said, out of the blue. You tense, wondering who had the audacity to call you rude.

“What?” you asked incredulously before you could realize where the voice came from. “Oh, it’s you,” you said, recognizing his inhumanly tall frame and the pair of white headphones around his neck. I should’ve guessed; of course only he’s brash enough to say something like that. 

You rested your chin in your hands again, the tension in your body visibly dissipating. You were glad that it was just Tsukishima and not some other person, because they would be a pain in the ass to deal with. Plus, he was just about the only person you allowed to speak without a filter; one, because it’s fun verbally sparring with him, and two, it makes his stunned silence after you counter with an especially witty phrase all the more satisfying.

This time, though, he sat down at the desk to your left without a word. Usually, he would never pass up the chance to have another round of firing tasteful insults at you. Today was indeed slightly different than usual. 

As he clicked the top of his mechanical pencil, you couldn’t help but notice a flash of white one his hands out of the corner of your eye. Did he always have that on his hands or was I just horribly unobservant before?

Leaning over to his seat at a dangerous angle, you asked, “Hey, what’s up with your fingers? You have leprosy or something?” in hopes of lightening his supposedly gloomy mood.

“Shut up,” he muttered irritably. “If I had leprosy, my fingers would’ve fallen off by now and I would’ve put one in your lunch as a keepsake,” he added. Shifting away from you in his chair, he tried as much as possible to make his (in your opinion, unconventionally lanky) body as far away as possible from your general vicinity.

“Okay, okay, geez! At least tell me, because now I’m curious and it’s all your fault.”

“If I tell you, will you stop bothering me?” he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Maaybee...?” you replied slowly, trying to find an answer when a simple “yes” or “no” didn’t suffice.

“If you’re not going to stop bothering me, then I don’t have a reason to tell you, so no,” he frowned, crossing his arms self-righteously.

“Alright then, keep your secrets, mister. I don’t care whether you tell me or not.” Which wasn’t completely the truth, since some tiny part of your conscience thought that wrestling the answer from him was for the better. “But just know that I’ll continue to be my annoying self, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, you turned your attention back to your chemistry notes.

A few silent minutes passed before you leaned back over to his desk on the left.

“Hey mister, do you have some pencil lead? I think I ran out,” you whispered to Tsukishima.

He heaved what you thought was the biggest sigh in the universe before responding, “Point-five or point-seven?”

“Tsukishima, you wound me! I thought you knew that I write exclusively in point-five!” you exclaimed with a hand over your chest, feigning offense. 

He rolled his eyes, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him count out three pieces of lead. Three, that’s generous, you think to yourself as you suppress a small smile.

“Thanks, mister,” you whispered as you plucked the delicate sticks of graphite from his fingers. Taking a quick glance at his hands, you noticed that his fingers were wrapped in some sort of adhesive tape. Before Tsukishima could catch you looking for too long and make some snarky remark about how absolutely positively beautiful his hands were for you to be staring, you abruptly turn back to your notes and refill your (actually already lead-filled) pencil. If he wouldn’t answer your question, it wouldn’t hurt to take things into your own hands and figure it out for yourself, right? 

You looked back to the notebook in front of you, but with your curiousity still unsatiated, you couldn’t help the thoughts bouncing off the walls of your mind, competing for your undivided attention.

Ask him about it! a voice yelled.

Mind your own business, you creepy fuck! another (particularly foul-mouthed) one screamed.

At this point, you’d probably read the first line of your notebook about thirty times without comprehending a single thing, so you decided to give up and resort to banging your head lightly on your desk.

Apparently, 'lightly’ was an understatement, because a voice on your left hissed, “What’s your problem?!”

Oops.

“Nothing,” you replied softly with your head still on the desk.

Tsukishima sighed in exasperation. “Well, now I’m curious and it’s all your fault,” he scoffed, using your own words from earlier.

Now it was your turn to sigh. Stubborn person number one meets equally stubborn person number two: one of life’s most aggravating experiences. 

“C’mon, let me see your hands,” you demanded, your own hand outstretched. You’ll say ‘no’ no matter what I ask.

“No.” Tsukishima pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and turned away.

Point proven.

You had always considered yourself to be somewhat generous when circumstances permitted, yes. But being yourself around others was something you considered yourself to be quite good at, as well.

Sometimes you imagined what it would be like if people’s hearts had metaphorical layers of thread surrounding them, winding, twisting, wrapping, and sometimes tangling around and around the ugliest, scariest, or most precious parts of themselves. The people you met would either unravel a bit of your heart, even if just a little bit, or they would cause you to wind the threads of your heartstrings even more tightly. 

You had strings that were (sometimes laughably) effortless to unwind, but once someone got to the last layer of thread, they refused to unravel any further. In other words, you weren’t afraid to be ninety-nine percent yourself around everybody. But that one percent? You’d keep it safely tucked away behind the impenetrable fortress of that last previous layer of thread — for both the good of yourself and everyone else.

Sometimes, you also wondered what the threads wrapping around Tsukishima’s heart was like. Not because you particularly had more of an interest in him than your other classmates, but because he was a sort of enigma to you. You had countless questions: How hard is it to unravel those threads? and What lies beyond those tightly wound strings? and What did he have to hide that is so unsightly? et cetera, et cetera. He was a puzzle you wanted to piece together, although you weren’t sure what the finished product would look like, or if there even was a finished product. 

You had a lot more questions about Tsukishima than you did answers.

You must’ve been deep in thought for a while, because it took an utterance of some rather coarse language to bring you back to reality.

“Fuck,” Tsukishima muttered, fiddling with the tape covering his fingers. It was evident, after about ten seconds of observing him, that he was getting nowhere. At this point, you were presented with two choices: to help him or to leave him to wallow in his own frustration and suffer. Admittedly, the latter option seemed rather entertaining, but for some unknown reason, you opted for the former.

“Here, let me help,” you said, hand extending in front of you as an offer. “You obviously aren’t getting anywhere, so let me put you out of your misery.”

“You better get it all off then,” he grumbled, outstretching his arm, letting it limply dangle in front of your face. Huh, I didn’t expect him to actually agree so easily.

You gently took his hand, and starting with his pinky finger, you worked your nails under the end of the tape. As the tape unraveled further, you couldn’t help but notice how elegant his hands were. They were long and slender in ways that yours weren’t — the magnum opus of all things relating to hands. If God played favorites, he certainly did when it came to Tsukishima’s hands. Geez, knock it off, you cringed inwardly. You’re literally worshipping his hands at this point.

“So, uh, why are your fingers covered in tape?” You hoped to break the awkward silence between the two of you, and asking him questions that he probably wouldn’t answer (especially to plebeians like you) seemed like the last resort.

“Volleyball practice,” he responded simply. 

Oh. I didn’t expect an actual response.

“This morning? You guys sometimes have practice early in the day, right?”

“Last evening,” he corrected.

“You had these on your hands for that long?! I see you’re finally getting serious about volleyball, my dude, but you have to be able to ask other people for help." People other than me, but if I’m your last resort, then I’d be happily obliged to help.

Tsukishima scowled, which, thankfully, you missed, busy undoing the tape around his fingers. At least you didn’t criticize him for being hypocritical regarding his attitude about volleyball, which was relieving. 

There was a substantial (and slightly awkward) pause as you peeled the white adhesive strip of cloth off of his fingers, working slowly enough so that it wouldn’t hurt, or so you hoped.

“There we go!” you exclaimed proudly as the last of the tape fell away from his fingers. He wiggled them experimentally, not unlike a newly hatched butterfly would flap its fresh new pair of wings. 

“Thanks,” he responded curtly. 

As if on cue, the bell rang, marking the end of study hall. It was time for chemistry class.

Over the course of your next class, your mind with occupied with thoughts that weren’t even remotely related to chemistry. You almost had a close call with the teacher when he called on you to answer a question, but thankfully, your friend sitting next to you whispered the answer in your ear — though not before giving you a quizzical look. You were too embarrassed to say that you were actually thinking about why the hell you actually agreed to help the guy sitting the next seat over whom you should have absolutely nothing to do with.

I did not just touch his hands no no no — I did not just hold hands with Tsukishima Kei — It wasn’t really of my own volition and he looked like he really needed help and I was feeling generous and it conveniently benefited the both of us, right? He got to finally be free from his misery and I— I got to touch his hands—

Your thoughts spiraled out of control as you buried your face in your hands, and perhaps some of the threads around your heart unraveled themselves that day.

Thus, after that day, your everyday routine changed in more ways than one. You would into the classroom, say hi to your friend in the third row, put your bag on the desk, pull out your chair, sit down, take out your notebook and pencils, and wait for approximately thirty-nine seconds until a tall blond guy with glasses walked through the door, and greet him with a nonchalant "hey" and a wave. If he still had tape around his fingers (which was quite often), you’d ask him if he needed help; he’d say yes, and you would spend the next however many minutes undoing the adhesive strips of cloth.

Today was no different. You carefully eased the tape away from Tsukishima’s fingers. When you got to the base of his ring finger, he hissed in pain. The skin there was red and raw as if it had been recently injured. Not as if, it had been.

“Sorry,” you whispered, wincing as if you were the one in pain. “How’d you get hurt?” This time, you were genuinely concerned for him, which was rare for anyone, especially him.

“The one time I put some more effort into volleyball as if it were actually worth something, it comes back to bite me,” he muttered, gritting his teeth.

You looked up from his hand. 

“What?”

“I said, somehow I always give the things that I swear off from my life a second chance, it never, ever, works out,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you can’t get better out of sheer will? You’re bound to slip and fall on your butt at least a few times. Or a lot,” you responded. 

“Nobody told me that falling would hurt this much, though,” he replied. He looked off to the side, too embarrassed to meet your gaze.

“It’ll get better, trust me. You just have to get back off your ass and stand up.”

You left the conversation at that and continued undoing the tape on his other hand. 

I want to kiss his hands like I’m greeting the crown prince of a foreign kingdom, you thought, lips twitching, fighting back a small smile.

Oh my God, stop it! you mentally slapped yourself. You had to restrain yourself from actually slapping yourself in the face. Meanwhile, the uniform you wore began to feel a bit too warm — it was quite convenient that Tsukishima couldn’t see your face at that moment.

Unbeknownst to you, however, Tsukishima's thoughts weren’t nearly as calm as his cool and collected exterior. 

After all, what was he supposed to do when he could feel your breath fanning on his hands (could he tell you were desperately trying to keep them steady?) and your meticulous fingers on his?

I must be going crazy, he thought.

He imagines holding your hand, and not because of that dumb finger tape-

He shook his head, as if to dislodge the idea from his memory. No, I’m definitely going crazy.

“So, do you like him or something?” your best friend asked out of the blue during a sleepover, the both of you laying in the darkness on your sleeping bags.

“Who?” you asked, though you had an idea of who she was referring to. 

“Tsukishima. That guy who sits to your left during study hall.”

“No, why would I like him? I mean, how can you even tell if you like someone or not. It’s not like there’s a radar that detects crushes and blasts ‘OH MY GOD YOU’RE HOPELESSLY IN LOVE’ on speaker,“ you replied dryly.

“Do you feel different around him?” she asked.

“As in the cliché symptoms of love that you read in romance novels? Like you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest and you have to clutch your shirt like it’s gonna pop out onto the floor if you don’t? If that’s what you’re asking, then no.”

“I mean that could be a sign, but you don’t have to feel like that to like someone. I mean in the way that you’re willing to show them who you really are, including all the ugly parts of yourself that you wouldn’t show to other people.”

Of course not! you thought to yourself. There’s no way I would fall in love with someone that I argue with for fun, right? 

“Why do you always complain about those tryhards on your volleyball team? You can always quit, you know,” you asked after Tsukishima was in a particularly bad mood about something, presumably about volleyball (as it usually was). As per your daily schedule, you were unraveling his finger tape during study hall once again.

“Don’t they know that the more effort they put into something, the more it’ll hurt when they find out everything they believe in is a lie?” he asked.

You paused. Oh, it was an a genuine question, you realized. And he wants a genuine answer.

“Such as?” you asked, your mouth acting quicker than your mind. I probably shouldn’t have pried deeper into something that’s obviously his business.

He went ahead and responded anyway, but not before taking a deep breath.

“When I was little,” he began, “I looked up to my older brother a lot. I really respected him, you know? He was my idol; he was perfect and infallible in every way. He played volleyball in junior high, so it was only natural that I played the same sport he did. And he continued playing throughout high school, or so I thought.”

“Or so you thought?” you repeated.

“He lied to me.” With those four words, you heard years and years of resentment and bitterness through his shaking voice, barely above a whisper. 

“To be honest, I should’ve expected it,” he continued, laughing humorlessly at himself. “I was too enamored to realize that when he was trying to stop me from watching his games, he was also trying to stop me from finding out that he was a liar. He wasn’t even a starting player. Instead he was on the bench, cheering for the team he was supposedly on.”

As those words left his mouth, you realized how little you understood Tsukishima. No, it was honestly ridiculous how you could consider yourself his friend when all you did was unwind strips of tape from his fingers for a mere few minutes every day.

Despite that, you held his hands a little tighter.

“If you don’t mind, I had a similar experience in junior high as well. This girl that I was really close friends with apparently had a huge circle of friends outside of school, and she would tell me and my other friends about all the rich guy friends she had and how well they treated her and shit. But I found out years later that they were probably all made up so that she could have something to tell us. So that she could keep us in her friend group. I realized they were fake.”

You let go of his hands, your arms limp at the memory.

“And how are you two right now?” Tsukishima asked. “Your relationship, I mean.”

“Surprisingly, we’re still on good terms,” you said. “She still doesn’t know I found out. But despite her pretending to be someone else in front of us for all those years, I still don’t think she’s a bad person. I’m actually kinda glad she got the attention she wanted. But man, the past still hurts like a bitch,” you chuckled in an attempt to forget.

“I see,” he replied. With that, you picked up his hand once again, continuing to undo the tape around the rest of his fingers.

That day, both you and the once unyielding, stone-faced Tsukishima left the classroom knowing just a bit more about each other.

You didn’t know that day that Tsukishima had his first real conversation with his brother after ‘the incident’.

He didn’t know you gave that friend from junior high a call for the first time in two years.

And the threads around your hearts unwound themselves just a bit more.

“No, I don’t,” you finally responded after a long pause. “I don’t like him in that way. He’s just someone I can rant to about the shit that happened in junior high—”

“Say that again, but slower,” your friend interrupted.

“He’s someone that I can rant to about all the... stuff that happened in the past,” you repeated. Did she not hear me the first time?

“Exactly, that’s my point,” she responded. “You never talk about those things with anybody, and even when I bring it up, you just brush over it.”

The weight of what your friend was implying took far too long for your brain to register, but when it did—

“Oh shit, I think I might actually like Tsukishima.”

It was in the classroom of your mid-day study hall where Tsukishima Kei stole your heart bit by bit through the conversations you had with him while unraveling his finger tape; it was where you opened your heart and he opened his. 

“You and Tsukishima aren’t a thing, right?” a voice asked you out of the blue in the hallway after the dismissal bell rang.

“What?” you asked, turning your head to see who it was. You recognized her, although you struggled to put a name to her face. “You sit in the back of our study hall classroom, right? And to answer your question, no, we are not a thing.” 

Such questions were becoming all the more frequent these days, and you had the same two-letter answer to all of them (although you secretly hoped you could answer yes, but how Tsukishima felt about you was a whole different story).

“Yeah, I do. But are you sure you two aren’t dating? Like you could just be going out with him and not know it,” she answered.

You held back a snort that almost escaped your lips. 

“No, I’m sure we aren’t,” you said with a sigh, trying to keep your tone remotely cordial. “Besides, I’m not sure if he even considers me as a friend.”

“Oh, I’m sure he considers you as more than that,” she replied with a tone you couldn’t quite decipher. “Trust me.”

You barely knew her, so you couldn’t say how credible her statement was (though you desperately wanted it to be true). You glanced at the clock, itching to end the conversation.

“Alright, then. I’ll take your word for it. I have to get home now though, seeya.”

“Seeya around then,” she replied with a wave. Why does that sound strangely ominous?

“Bye,” you answered, too mentally drained from the conversations that began with the same question: ”Oh my God are you dating Tsukishima?” (Answer: no, no you weren’t). Nonetheless, you couldn’t ignore the nagging voice in your head that you haven’t seen the last of her just yet.

She appeared the very next day, in the same spot at the hallway after school ended. That’s... strange.

You decided to ignore how off-putting it was. Maybe it was her wide smile — so much so that you could see her dimples and her blinding white teeth. Or maybe it was the way she spoke, like she was trying to get something from you. Whatever it was, you didn’t have what she wanted.

“If you’re asking whether Tsukishima and I became a thing within the past twenty-four hours, then no,” you said in exasperation. She was now walking by your side with an odd spring in her step, a bit too close for comfort despite the empty hallway.

“No, that wasn’t my question,” she said with a chuckle. “You keep denying that Tsukishima doesn’t like you, but I think he does.”

You had to scoff at that.

“In what way?” 

“In that way,” she responded with a knowing glance. “You’re already in the talking stage with him! He never talks to anyone other than that one friend he has, so I’d say you’re off to a good start.”

“And that totally means that he’s in love with me.”

“Please, don’t lie to yourself. You’ve gotten farther than anybody has, even if they tried for their entire life. How did you do it?”

But I didn’t do anything, you thought. 

“I just talked to him about stuff,” you replied slowly. The look she gave you said go on, so you did. 

“I just talked to him about myself and deep stuff and shi— and such. I really didn’t do much, so I’m probably not the best person to ask. Why don’t you try and ask his friend Yamaguchi?”

“No, I think I’m good,” she said with an unreadable tone. “Well I gotta go, so see you tomorrow!”

“....Bye,” you replied halfheartedly. You tried to shake the unsettling feeling from your chest, but you couldn’t help thinking, What if he does like me back?

The volleyball made a resounding smack against the court behind the middle blocker instead of his hands. Tsukishima clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. Another ball that I couldn’t block?

“Hey, use your smartass head for once and pay attention!” Kageyama yelled across the court.

Tsukishima ignored his taunts. 

“Oh, the smart mouth finally doesn’t have any words left to say? Finally some peace and quiet,” Kageyama muttered. 

Practice continued for far too long, but the whistle finally blew, signaling everyone that it was time to go home. Finally, Tsukishima thought. I don’t have to listen to the King spew nonsense anymore.

He and Yamaguchi gathered their belongings and made their way out of the gym.

“Something’s on your mind,” Yamaguchi commented as they walked back home side by side.

“No there isn’t,” Tsukishima replied a bit too quickly to sound convincing.

“Right.”

A long silence ensued, the two of them kicking pebbles on the road and twiddling their thumbs in the cool night air. The buzz of the electric street lamps felt much too loud, feeding off the tension in the air. 

“How can you tell that you like someone?” Tsukishima was the first to break the silence, but it was the question, not the fact that he was the one that spoke first, that was more jarring.

“So I was right,” Yamaguchi responded after a slight pause. He fought back a small smile and added, “I thought something bad happened that I didn’t know about, but it turns out that you’re just in love.”

The taller one of the two sighed. 

“I’m asking you to tell me if I... like someone in that way, not for you to tell me that I am, Tadashi.”

“I can’t make a judgement if you don’t tell me anything. Tell me.” Yamaguchi lightly punched his friends arm.

“There’s this... classmate of mine. They asked if I needed help peeling off my finger tape during study hall and I said yes.”

“I figured as such.”

“What?” 

“You always come into first period with your fingers still wrapped but it’s gone by the time practice starts. I always wondered why but I never got around to asking you. But I’m even more surprised at the fact that you actually agreed.”

“Yeah, I surprise even myself sometimes,” Tsukishima deadpanned. “Especially the fact that it would become something that they would ask pretty much every day, and I would say yes every time. I just don’t know whether I have feelings for them in that way or not.”

“Well, do you look forward to talking to them everyday?” Yamaguchi asked.

Yes.

“Do you want them to know you for who you really are instead of what people think you are?”

Yes.

“Does your mind wander to them all the time?”

Yes.

“If you flipped a coin to decide whether you do like them or not, would your gut tell you the answer before you looked at whether it landed on head or tails?” 

Yes, Tsukishima answered silently, knowing he’d finally have to accept the truth: he was in love and there was nothing he could do about it.

One thing you didn’t know about having a crush on someone was that you suddenly realize how often they appear in your life. You knew where you’d cross paths with him in the hallway before and after school, where his locker was, and worst of all, every goddamn love song reminded you of him. 

Even all the little mannerisms people had circled back to him: your friend would push her glasses up her nose the same way he did. Your mother would furrow her eyebrows like him when he was thinking about a particularly annoying math problem. Your English teacher would spin a pen between his fingers, just like him (although you had to admit that you preferred watching the latter do so; his hands were prettier). 

Maybe this was just some twisted manifestation of the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, but your brain couldn’t recall enough content from psychology class to be sure. Either way, you were going insane.

That is, until one rather unremarkable day; there was nothing out of the ordinary. Everything came and went according to schedule — the same time spent with Tsukishima during study hall and the same boring class lectures. But as soon as the dismissal bell rang, you were surprised to find that the girl who would pester you in the hallway asking about you and Tsukishima’s relationship status (you still didn’t know her name) as if anything had changed (which it had not, of course). 

Apparently, her presence had already become routine enough for you to notice her absence. 

It was a welcome change, though; it wasn’t like you wanted her to be around. No, you absolutely didn’t need her nosy questions. So you just shrugged it off and made your way to the school’s exit like you normally did.

But a very familiar voice from a nearby classroom made your ears perk up — coincidentally, from your study hall classroom. You peered into the room from the doorway.

“Um, I think I like you, Tsukishima! I’ve felt this way for a long time and I just had to tell you!” The same boisterous girl who only had one topic of conversation with you (Tsukishima, of course) now had her hands coyly clasped behind her back, in all likelihood holding something meant for him.

As soon as you heard those words leave her mouth, the world around you seemingly ground to a halt — and so did you. As if your body stopped functioning for a moment, your heart stopped and your brain took much too long to process what she said. 

What did it matter anyway? You didn’t take your chance and look where that got you.

You turned on your heel and half-walked half-ran outside the school.

The second thing you didn’t realize about having a crush on someone, you realized as you laid in the darkness in the middle of the night, is that it physically hurts. Someone might as well have put your heart in a jar of acid and screwed the lid shut — no matter how hard you tried, it still hurt. And hurt it did.

You felt a stray tear slide down your cheek, and you angrily punched your pillow. You didn’t even have the emotional capacity to be angry at the girl who confessed to him. It was too obvious that she liked him, from the way she would stand a bit straighter when you mentioned Tsukishima’s name to the way she seemed a bit too satisfied when you said that you weren’t dating him. Were you too much of an idiot to notice? 

But most importantly, you were angry at yourself. Why were you crying over someone who you knew wouldn’t like you in the way that you liked him? Maybe you were too much of an idiot to not think things through; you’d just assumed that your feelings for him were so intense that he had to like you back. In retrospect, that was a stupid idea. But then again, in retrospect, you were the idiot all along.

It was in the classroom of your mid-day study hall where Tsukishima Kei stole your heart. It was in the same classroom where you got your heart broken for the first time.

The most annoying thing about the universe was that it was ruthlessly, unrelentingly cruel. The earth kept spinning even if your world stopped mid-orbit, too traumatized by loss to continue. 

This was the brutal irony that you came to realize in the classroom where it all began and ended, supposedly. The very next morning, you had to pick your sorry self out of bed after however many hours of sleep you were able to get and go to school. And now half the school day had gone by — it was study hall time once again. 

“Are you gonna help me get this off my fingers or not?” The voice that you wanted so desperately to get out of your mind after months of replaying in your head plagued you once again. Indeed, the universe was cruel.

“No,” you replied meekly with your head on the desk. “It’s been long enough for you to know how to do it yourself by now.”

“I insist.”

You hesitated. A second passed, then two.

“Fine.”

Ever since you realized your feelings for the other boy with a cold stare and an even icier glare, you couldn’t help but be hyper aware of yourself, and today was no different.

You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears. Could he? (It wasn’t that obvious, was it?)

You could feel yourself getting warmer by the second. Could he tell? (You were too busy looking at his hands; so let’s hope not.)

You knew that your heart was tugging you in his direction, urging you to do something. Was his doing the same? (You scoffed at yourself — you went over this last night and came to the conclusion that no, there was no way he could ever like you back.)

But maybe you wanted to be wrong this time. Being proven wrong wasn’t something you particularly enjoyed, but you would rather take the pessimistic point of view in this circumstance so you wouldn’t get hurt. And yet you still got your heart broken. 

That didn’t stop your erratic heartbeat and staggered breaths whenever your fingers brushed over his, though. While slowly unwinding the tape down his fingers, you wondered how many threads he unwound from your heart for it to hurt so much when it broke. Too many for your emotions to be left undamaged by something like this, you reckoned. Not that it was his fault, of course. It was your own for becoming so naïve and vulnerable.

But, the universe was full of irony. While you had your head down, too embarrassed and dejected to say anything else, Tsukishima was thanking whatever gods existed that you couldn’t see how flustered he was. 

Turns out, even people with hearts of stone can fall prey to the symptoms of falling in love. With a million thoughts collectively running through your minds, he was the first to blurt out:

“I think I’m in love.”

You let go of his hands, the loose end of the tape still dangling. There were too many questions raised at the utterance of a single sentence: With whom? When? How? Why?

Before you could organize your thoughts and form a coherent sentence — as if he could read your mind and peer into your soul — Tsukishima answered:

“With you.”

And as soon as the last two words fell from his lips, the last of the threads surrounding your worn, beaten hearts unraveled themselves, and fell away.

[jimlingss]

Kale’in Me Softly

➜ Words: 17.1k

➜ Genres: 90% Fluff, 9.5% Angst, 0.5% Smut, Farm!AU

➜ Summary: After your grandfather's passing, you decide to take over his farm and plant the trendiest vegetable: kale. It's a struggle to be in the countryside when you've always been a city girl. But there's someone less than sympathetic — a grumpy farmer across the acres who's constantly trying to pick a fight with you.

➜ Warning: Strongly implied smut

cr.

Home — you left it all behind for this.    The tractor chugs and wheezes. Its wheels roll over the craggy and unpaved road, making you feel every bump and pebble through constant jolts and bounces. The sweltering heat of the scorching sun was already making you break into a sweat and you sigh, listening to the buzzing of cicadas and the sputtering engine.   But otherwise, it was quiet. More than what you were used to. There isn’t any traffic, honking, construction or the noise of motorcycle engines or sirens of ambulances. There’s just the rustle of leaves and the swaying of grass strands.   “I can’t believe Old Man Seok had such a pretty granddaughter.”    A laugh bubbles out of you. “It’s all in the genes. Did you know my grandfather?”   “Everyone knew Old Man Seok. Everyone knows everyone here. But it sure helps that our farms are next door to each other. Just down yonder.” The middle-aged farmer grips the steering wheel. A good-natured aura in spite of his intimidating disposition, he feels like a strict but caring father figure. “He was very kind even to the end of his life. Offered my family a lot of jam throughout the years. A good man through and through. My condolences.”   Your smile softens. “Thank you.”   “I gotta say, it’s nice to have a new face around these neck of the woods. Doesn’t happen often.” The corner of the man’s mouth pulls and the wrinkles by his eyes crease. “You should come meet my son sometime.”   “I wouldn’t mind.” The tractor pulls up to the worn house you’ve seen in your mother’s childhood pictures. “I always love making new friends.”   You hop off the tractor the moment it comes to a stop and the man wishes you luck before you thank him again and he’s on his merry way.   With only one packed suitcase in hand, you walk up to the house and push your Gucci sunglasses to the top of your head to get a better look. The fence, door and roof are made with a cherry wood that compliments the forest green walls. The patio, on the other hand, is out of oak that matches the rocking chair in the corner. There’s white trim lining the rectangular windows, giving you a peek at the purple, paisley curtains inside.   The house looks tattered through time, but cozy.   “You’re leaving?!” — “Do you really think this is a good idea, Y/N?” — “Do you even know what you’re going to do there?”   The voices of the friends you left behind echo in the recesses of your mind while you fiddle with the hem of your dress in the shade of classical blue — 2020’s pantone colour and a fantastic fashion statement. It’s not farm-appropriate, but better than most of the things in your closet.   You went shopping for the last time before you packed your one pink suitcase, but you’re starting to realize those tight, denim overalls might not work like they do in the movies.   “You think you can run a farm?!” — “I didn’t raise you so you could go back to the countryside!” — “You don’t even know what you’re doing, Y/N! Grow up already and stop being ridiculous.”   An exhale squeezes out of you as you dispel away your family’s discouragement and you grip your grandfather’s letter as you finally muster the courage to approach the house.   When your grandfather passed away, you inherited ten thousand dollars and his five acre farm. It’s small. Nothing worthy of bragging about and one of the hundred of reasons everyone thought you would sell it. They even urged you to, so they could get a split of the money. But they never thought you would refuse. That you would leave everything behind and come all the way here.   It’s a mess.   Thick layers of dust coat the antique furniture and peering out from the kitchen window, the field is littered in leaves and twigs, wooden planks and debris. A sense of guilt overwhelms you.    You can’t believe your family let it become this way.    You set down your belongings and almost immediately, you begin to look around. Pacing the backyard, the field, the barn, trying to figure out what is what. And it’s not long before a dark-haired man with doe eyes and a permanent dear-in-headlights expression finds you.   He nearly startles you to death with his timid greeting. “H-Hi...”    “Holy shit!” You press your hand to your chest, spinning around and he boyishly grins. “You scared me!”   “S-Sorry…my bad...” Boots, jeans and a white shirt, he looks like a newly graduated high school student who stumbled into the wrong place. “Are you Y/N?”   “That’s me.” You wonder if he’s here to kill you. The farm setting was the perfect location after all and serial killers these days have the potential of looking as cute as he does. “You’re...?”   “I’m Jungkook. I used to work with Old Man Seok. My mom told me you’d be comin’ today and that I should show you around, so….” He scratches the back of his neck, oddly endearing for how awkward he is.    You let him guide you despite having already gotten the chance to peek at almost everything — a detail you leave out to spare him from being disheartened. But with Jungkook here, he has the strength to widen the doors of the old shed out back and you get a better look at the storage and old equipment.   “God.” You cough and bat your hand from the dust piles arising. “It’s so dirty.”   “Yeah. The tractor needs a bit of fixin’ up which I can help you with, if you need.”   It’s clear that towards the end of your grandfather’s life, he was too weak to properly take care of his property. You can tell by the way the field is in tatters, all his crops long dead and his machinery is in desperate need of repair. But as you gander at the space, you discover that there’s everything you need right here. Shovels. Wheelbarrows. Sickles and spades.   “Thank you. I would appreciate that.”   Jungkook nods, wearing a small smile. “Your grandpa used to help me out a lot, so it’s the least I can do. If you ever need any help, I’m down a few acres West by the market. Just give a holler.”   Your cheeks warm, realizing he’s not as young as he appears to be. “I will.”   After a while longer, Jungkook leaves you to get settled down and you bid him farewell. You know it’s going to take a bit of time for you to get used to this change, but with a sigh, you try your best to familiarize yourself with the land and surrounding climate.   //   Back in LA, you were a fashion design marketer.   Originally, you set out to fulfill your childhood dream of being a top designer for a big brand like Chanel or Dior, but along the way, you ended up in the marketing sector. It wasn’t as bad as what people thought. A kind of niche you actually quite enjoyed and while you might've left it all behind for the farm life, you know the first step to starting anything is doing market research.   So at nine in the morning sharp, you enter the farmers’ market.   Open every Sunday, there’s a certain bustle and liveliness in the atmosphere. People from surrounding communities and even far away cities have come to get their fresh produce and dairy products. The market place is held in an open building with doors and massive garages wide open, practically held outdoors itself, and as you walk along the stands, you notice goat milk to beeswax lip balm being sold. There’s everything someone could ask for, bath salts and herbal soaps, baked goods and handmade aprons and quilts. You didn’t know farmers’ markets had so much to offer.   “Would you like to try some raspberry jam, darlin’?” A plump lady offers you a spatula.    “Sure. Thank you.” The sweet taste ends up bursting on your palette and you hum at the taste, considering buying a jar for breakfast. But she interrupts with a curious stare and a bigger smile.   “I haven’t seen you around before, dear. Did you come from somewhere far?”   “Oh no, I just moved in. My grandpa was Seokjin….”   “You mean Old Man Seok?” Her entire spine straightens, face lighting up. “I never knew he had a granddaughter!”   You warm, proud that your grandfather’s made such a lasting impression. “I just moved in a few acres away.”   “Taking care of your grandpa’s farm?” she asks and when you nod, the woman practically swoons. “Why, what a gracious thing you’re doin’! Old Man Seok would be proud to have a granddaughter like you! Keepin’ his legacy alive like that. Heaven knows I can’t even get my boy up to milk the cows!”   You laugh and she ends up handing you a small jar of raspberry jam for free, wishing you the best of luck.    Apparently word spreads fast in this place. After ten minutes of exploring the market, kind and overfamiliar strangers approach from behind their stands, greeting you and taking your hands. Some muse how similar you are to your grandfather while others happily send you some cheese and bread. By the time you’re at the end, it looks like you went grocery shopping.   But in the midst of it all, you get the chance to talk to some customers. Making conversation with a pregnant woman, an elderly man, and a little kid overly excited to use his allowance for some candy. People are receptive and friendly, more than what you’re used to back in the city. But you study what they purchase, their spending habits, what people seem to be interested in.   Then, your attention is caught at a cute honey stand — jars of honey sealed being sold with beeswax candles tied with pastel yellow ribbon. More importantly, you recognize the doe-eyed boy at the cash register.    “Jungkook!”   He greets you with a big smile. “Oh, hey, Y/N! I didn’t expect you’d be here.”   With your previous lifestyle, the attention of a cute boy like Jungkook isn’t enough to make you bashful — a few years too late on that — but you can still appreciate how endearing he is. “I’m just taking a look around. Thought I should get to know the place since I might be here soon.”   “How’re things going? Did you settle in yet?”   “I did actually.” It wasn’t in the realm of your expectations to make friends so quickly out here, but to have such pleasant small talk with Jungkook proves your anticipations were wrong. “It took a lot of time to clean the house, but totally worth it! I strung polaroids above the mantle and I found a vintage armchair that’s really in style, so I’d say things are going pretty well.”   The boy grins from your enthusiasm. “It sounds like you’re adapting better than I would.”   “I’m trying.” Your smile becomes sheepish. “I’m still figuring out the fields and the land. I haven’t even gotten started in clearing out the shed yet.”    He nods, lips parting to respond. But then there’s a call of his name behind him and he sighs before sending an apologetic expression. “Sorry. My ma has more honey to unload from the truck. I gotta skedaddle before she yells, but I’m glad things are working out for you!”   Jungkook’s undoubtedly cute, even when he says goodbye and promises to catch up with you soon. You don’t dwell either, continuing to parade through the market by yourself and discover all the places you missed on your first walk that was overwhelmed with others intercepting.   What piques your curiosity this time is a wooden stall with a soft green cloth draped over the flat surface and a sign that reads ‘Romaine with Me’. What’s offered in the crates are lettuce. Lots and lots of different heads of lettuce lined in rows like plush animal prizes on display at carnival games.   You don’t pay much mind to the man behind the stall that’s sleepily blinking and leaning his head in his hand, elbow propped up and figure slumped over. He looks like he’s dozed off but somehow kept his lids peeled back.   You approach and read the labels underneath. Red. Green. Romaine. Boston. Bibb. Arugula. Batavia. Radicchio. Iceberg.   “I didn’t know there were so many types of lettuce,” you mutter to yourself.   “It’s two dollars for each bundle or head,” the man suddenly pipes up in a raspy tone, nearly startling you to death. You realize his pupils have darted right on you and that’s he’s not in fact sleeping with his eyes open. “Romain is three. And there’s a sale on the radicchio.”   The man has an oddly intimidating disposition for looking so tired. He has tender features and seemingly soft skin that makes you wonder about his skin care routine. Yet, his hair is as dark as his cat-like eyes that have narrowed in on you. You suddenly feel pressure to make a purchase lest you waste more of his time.   “What are the differences?” you ask, studying the lettuces in front of you.   “Iceberg, romaine and radicchio are crispy. But iceberg has a clean and fresh taste. Romaine is more bitter and radicchio is a bit bitter and spicy. Boston and bibb are butter lettuces which are softer and have a sweet taste. Boston's leaves are wider and lighter green than bibb's. Arugula is peppery. Batavia is your usual with more crinkled leaves. Red and green are your standard.”    The man breathes the explanation out with only one lazy inhale in between and when he’s done, he gives you a look as if asking if you’re satisfied. But you’re more than that. You’re genuinely impressed.   He spat facts at you and you’re not sure what to do with the information.   “You know a lot about lettuce.”   “I’m a lettuce farmer,” he deadpans.   “Really?” The corners of your lips pull, even more intrigued than before. You didn’t take him for much of a farmer. The man has a kind of bad-boy vibe that you’re accustomed to and without much thought, the clumsy words stumble out of your mouth— “I thought farmers were dirtier.”   “What?”   “Like sunburnt, straw hats, overalls.” You nod, studying the produce and missing his offended expression. “Like that’s totally the farmer’s aesthetic.”   “Aesthetic?”   “Yeah,” you hum, not realizing the man was glaring holes into you. “I’ll take a bundle of the romaine, please.”   You end up going home shortly after, trekking underneath the sun with recyclable bags full of food that fills your fridge, sure to be enough for a whole week. You’re not sure what to exactly do after that — there’s plenty of tasks and jobs to be done, but you’re not certain where to start.   So you decide to take a break — partly to relax and partly to procrastinate. With your sweat wiped away and a fan whirring in the corner, you plop down into the vintage armchair and grab one of the magazines you brought with you. But it isn’t a good read, not when you had already looked at most of the pages on the plane ride over here….   Your mind ends up wandering, considering what you should do with grandfather’s land, if there was anything new you could offer at all. And at the same time as you’re flipping through the magazine, you stumble on a particular page. A recipe for an avocado kale poke bowl.   You skim it and your eyes stop at a single word. Kale.   Kale. It sticks to you like glue and you squint at the text, the four letters in print. Your mind searches and it hits you that kale was never sold at the farmers’ market. There was everything, every fruit, every vegetable. But not kale.    A smile stretches across your face, determination blooming in your chest. Organic kale was a total new fad. Good for you. Healthy. Sought after in the city, but yet to be prevalent in the countryside. It was a perfect opportunity, one that was sitting right in front of you this entire time.   Relief overwhelms you as you make a decision on your niche: kale.   //   It starts off with books.    Gathering as much information as you possibly can, you also learn through guides and internet articles on your chosen crop. You find out that kale becomes bitter over the summer, sweetest in the Fall after being touched by a light frost. It bolts in Spring, so sowing seeds is most appropriate around April to May while they can still be planted throughout the seasons. It provides a yield between late September to early May, direct seeds maturing in fifty to seventy days while transplants take a bit less than half the time.   You learn how to protect seedlings from pests, purchasing lightweight fabric to cover rows, and you begin to plow the fields.    It takes time to clean up, to get your grandfather’s equipment fixed, to become financed. But you start right away and soon, you’re sewing the seeds eighteen to twenty four inches apart. Getting transplants. Watering them appropriately. Working day and night.   You’re not exactly sure if you’re doing this right. Especially on hot days when you’re sweating buckets, dirt has marred your skin and your lower back screams. But you know that even if you fail and have to pack your bags, the effort of trying would be enough for you to feel satisfied.   So, you persist.    And day by day, the seeds begin to sprout. The dirt is littered with tiny green specks and you feel thrilled that it’s actually growing. Slowly, but surely, you would return this farm to its former glory by your own hands.   //   It’s another Sunday when you take a trip to the farmers’ market.   In spite of having only been here for a short amount of time, you’ve become acquainted with the market. You don’t get lost anymore in the bustle and many like to stop you to ask about your day. It’s a hospitable place, never making you feel uncomfortable or awkward, and you feel relieved that your grandfather was surrounded by such warmth till the end of his life.   You’re also starting to become familiar with one particular wooden stall and the sleepy man behind it.   No matter what week it is, he’s always there, wearing the same loose flannels but in different colours, flipping through a pamphlet or dozing off. He only looks up when someone comes to buy lettuce.   But today, he’s joined by an older man that recognizes you all too easily. “I almost didn’t see you there without being so gussied up in those city clothes. Looks like you’ve gotten yourself comfortable with farm life. Almost reminds me of Old Man Seok back in his heyday.”   Immediately, the younger lifts his head up, brow cocked. “You know her?”   “She’s Old Man Seok’s granddaughter. I gave her a ride to his farm when she first came,” Mr. Min introduces and his son gives you a better look, one that’s ridden with a modest amount of distaste. “Y/N, this is my boy, Yoongi, that I was talking about.”   It never occured to you how similar they are. Their husky voices and quiet yet intimidating dispositions are unparalleled. But the older seems more open and friendly than the younger who has a blank expression and his eyes narrowed in at you. Although you don’t get much time to dwell, ask him that the issue might be or if that’s simply who he is.   Some people naturally have a resting bitch face and Yoongi might be one of them.   “How’s the countryside life doing for you so far?” his father asks and you smile, attention redirected.   “It’s not too bad. But the sun’s hot and I didn’t know farming could be so hard!” Your head quirks to the side, still awed that this was the lifestyle of so many. “I always thought it would be easy cause the organic edamame plant back at my apartment wasn’t so bad to take care of.”   Yoongi scoffs.   “Yep, it’s difficult alright.” Mr. Min’s engrossed and asks, “What’re you growing?”   Enthusiasm and a sense of pride makes you exclaim the answer— “Kale!”    Yoongi winces at the volume of your voice while his father is made even more curious.    “Kale?”   “I was thinking about what wasn’t being sold at the farmers’ market and I found that kale was underrepresented,” you rant, “Kale’s totally the new wave. It’s a trendy, super food and packed with antioxidants. Did you know that kale is among the most nutrient-dense foods on the planet?”   “Can’t say I knew that.” Mr. Min has his mouth upturned into an amused smile. Yoongi, on the other hand, sighs. “I’d love to hear more about it. My wife’s quite passionate about these kinds of things too. She practically runs the entire farm! You should come over for dinner sometime, Y/N.”   “She should?” — “I’d love to!”   Both you and Yoongi talk over another, but you don’t hear him. You’ve never been invited to this kind of thing before and your family rarely ate together. So, the aesthetic of sitting down for a countryside meal with a farming family, like it’s Thanksgiving, is a fantasy you’re eager to fulfill.    //   Unfortunately, dinner at the Min household has to be held off when your first harvest comes.    Finally after a month of waiting, there’s actual kale out in the fields that are ready to be collected. The leaves are small, a little bitter and it’s not a large yield — but it isn’t bad for the first time. You’re happy enough that you’ve grown something, so you don’t nick pick for now.   Instead, you focus on wrapping up the bundles, on preparing a stall, on organizing a spot at the market to sell. And when the days of busy work and high pressure accumulate into the first Sunday of the month, you’ve arranged crates of freshly washed, organic kale ready for purchase.   It’s exciting. One week you’re walking around as a customer and the next, you’re on the other side of the stand as a vendor. You get to witness the behind the scenes of other farmers, the doors opening at nine sharp, the increasing bustle of the market.   But for some reason, you only have a few people who stop by and only one who buys a bundle.   “Don’t be worried,” Jungkook comforts, having stopped by once he noticed you. “People tend to buy what they’re used to, so just wait a while. You’ll eventually get your own set of customers!”   You can only hope he’s right.   By five in the evening, it’s over and you hold in your sigh. You wonder what you should do with the abundance of kale you have left, but you try not to linger as you close shop and the market shuts its doors.   Everyone seems to disassemble their stalls with ease, carrying crates to their cars, collecting their earnings. Most are gone within ten minutes but you struggle, unable to keep up when it’s all too new to you and before you know it, you’re the last one left in the space that’s still cleaning up after yourself.   The only person you catch is Yoongi who’s walking off, passing you with a crate of two lettuce heads, having already sold most of it. You notice he’s in one of his open flannels again, this time it’s yellow and gray, and you send a friendly smile. But he doesn’t say anything or make a change from his indifferent expression.   But then he stops. Five meters away.   “You should stop treating this like a joke,” Yoongi deadpans, swiveling around on his heel.   You freeze, halfway from grabbing the mason tip jar that you decorated with washi tape the night before. You blink, not sure if Min Yoongi is actually and willingly uttering words to you or if it’s your imagination. “What?”   But it isn’t. He is very much talking to you. “The market isn’t here for someone like you to play games.”   Now, you’re just confused. “But…...I’m not playing games...?”   “It’s obvious you’re not serious about this.”   You scoff. You’ve had your fair share of running into mean girls in the fashion industry and in High School, the ones who are snarky and make passive aggressive insults that are disguised as compliments. You just never expected to run into something like that here.   And in such a straightforward way too.   Usually people are more subtle when they show that they don’t like you.   “You can’t accuse me. You don’t know anything about me!”   Yoongi stares at you boredly. “You’re making a mockery out of people’s livelihood.”   “I’m trying to learn.” You cross your arms, standing your ground.    You suppose from his perspective it might be off-putting that you’ve come from nowhere and you’re trying your hand at the farm life. But you swear you haven’t been condescending nor have you ever looked down on anyone. At least you hope it hasn’t come across that way.   “I don’t know what I’m doing, but if it seems like I’ve been mocking you then I’m sorry.” This isn’t just a hobby to you nor is it a spectacle for your amusement. You’re serious. Even if you might come across as ditzy, insincere and inexperienced. “But you don’t need to go out of your way to insult me. I already know I was stupid for coming here. Why do you think I came alone? This is a whole new world for me and I’m trying, so I’d appreciate some empathy.”   Yoongi stares at you. You stare at him.   The two of you have your eyes locked in one another’s, and you want to throw hands, but then he suddenly walks away as if he didn’t hear a word you said.   You glare at his backside, huffing out in frustration.    As if your day wasn’t bad enough, he had to make it worse.   //   “Stop being ridiculous, Y/N!”   Your mom’s voice is jarring on the other end of the line. It’s grating to your ears. There’s a strong urge to hang up, but you’re not sure if she’ll call again. You’re surprised she called you in the first place — the likelihood of a second time is slim.   “I’m actually doing well, thank you very much.”   She ignores you. “Sell the land and come home. Do you really think you can do this?!”   Tears sting your eyes against your will. You inhale to keep your voice even and steady. “I do actually. I’m learning while I’m out here and it’s not as hard as I thought it would be.”   “You’re making this harder than it needs to be. You had a high paying job. An apartment. Clean water to drink. Lots of food to eat. You were comfortable! And you gave it all up, why?!”   “The air’s fresher here,” you quip much to your mom’s chagrin and frustration. “I’m a grown woman, mom. I can make my own decisions.”   “Until you make others pick up after you!”    You wince, hand tightening on your duvet. You try your best not to cry. She doesn’t need to know that you’re running out of money, that your kitchen is filled with leafy greens you couldn’t sell, that your back aches from working out on the fields. “Don’t come running to me when you finally get bored or you’re halfway to starving to death.”   You know they think sooner or later, you’ll show up back home with your packed bag. But you refuse to give in. You’ll prove your friends and family wrong — you’ll follow through with this.   If there was one thing you were good at, it was being stupid. Being stupid made you at the bottom of the class, it made you have friends who used you, it made you struggle. And it made you resilient. It made you know what working hard to get to where you want meant. It made you determined.   And you’re gonna fucking give it your best! Even if the smarter route would be to give up!   So with your sleeves rolled up to your elbows, you brace yourself and enter your kitchen full of kale. If you can’t sell it raw, then there are other things that you can try.   //   “Get your kale kombucha! Your kale smoothie! Full of vitamins and nutrients!”   You’re holding a tray of paper cup samples, voice loud with a wide smile. A woman who’s looking at your stand curiously passes by and you steal the chance, smoothly intercepting her way. “Would you like to try one, ma’am?”   “Sure.”   She takes a sample and once she sips, her eyes light up and her expression becomes inquisitive. The woman approaches your stand, looking over the products you have. “It’s really delicious. How much is it for a smoothie?”   “The three sizes are here.” You gesture to the display and she hums. “Two dollars for a small, two fifty for a medium and three for a large. We also have salted kale chips, kale guacamole and kale pesto.”   “Is this all homemade?”   “It is!” Your enormous smile is proud. “I grew the kale organically and made these with fresh ingredients.”   “I’ll take a large smoothie, this guacamole and a bundle of just regular kale then.”   “Coming right up!”   You’re no stranger to the art of advertising — it’s one of your strengths with your marketing background. You’re pretty sure the chalkboard signs are doing a good job of directing attention to your stall and the samples are certainly going a long way too.   “Can I try one, miss?” A little kid tugs on your green apron and you lower yourself down to their eye-level, happily handing them two.   “Of course you can!”   Sunday after Sunday, you do better and better.   Of course, it’s not without constant trial and error, honing in recipes and packaging, learning how to keep products as fresh as possible. But the improvements make the labour all worth it.    You notice how Yoongi watches you across the floor and when you smile, he immediately looks away. But there's little time to pay attention to him when the lineup at your stall gradually becomes longer and longer. Jungkook helps you out when he can, whether that’s manning the register beside you or handing out samples to draw in curious customers.   “You’re gonna run me out of business soon, Y/N.” Jungkook says in the midst of a slow down when you’re finally able to catch your breaths.   “Please,” you giggle. “I’m sure you’re the one drawing in the business. Weren’t those last two customers trying to get your number for the past ten minutes? Last time they kept on asking me about you too.”   The boy laughs shyly and it’s all too endearing. “They’re just bein’ nice. If anything, you’re the one drawing in the customers since you’re so pretty and all.”   More giggles bubble out of your throat and you lean closer to him. “So you think I’m pretty?”   Jungkook realizes what he said and his face reddens. He awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. “I mean...isn’t that a fact?”   “You’re too sweet, Kook,” you sigh wistfully. “Thank you for helping me.”   “Anytime, really.” Jungkook’s smiles softly and his lips part, but before he can say anything, his peripheral vision finally catches the weight of a third party’s stare. His eyes travel across the market floor to the wooden stall of lettuce — right on the man behind it who’s rolling his eyes.    You follow his line of sight and a knowing smile appears on your features. “Jungkook, can you hand me the sample tray?”   You might not be the brightest crayon in the box, but you’re not that big of an idiot. For the past two weeks, you’ve noticed how Yoongi keeps staring at you. You don’t suspect it to be sudden infatuation either. Most likely, it’s surprise that you’ve proven him wrong or reluctant admission that you’re on your way to success, or perhaps passive aggression too.   Whatever the case is, you approach him and witness him visibly stiffen as you come closer.   Your smile remains bright when you ask, “Is everything okay, Yoongi?”   “I’m fine,” the man deadpans. “You should move. You’re blocking my customers.”   “You have no customers.”   “I would if you weren’t standing there.”   You scoff. “You are not cute.”   Yoongi’s brow lifts, amused at your comment. “Excuse me?”   “I want to make peace,” you outright declare, having no shame with confronting him. “I’ve had my fair share of drama back home and I’m not looking forward to picking fights here, so I forgive you.” Yoongi snorts as you raise your sample tray as a peace offering. “I know you’re curious, so you try one. My kale kombucha is my most popular item. It’s a fermented tea that has lots of healthy yeast and bacteria.”   “No.” The dark-haired man rejects without needing to blink. “Kale is disgusting. There’s a reason no one sells it here.”   You’re shocked, not knowing where to start. But there’s no point in arguing with him and spewing nutrition facts. Your pride is much too high to insist too, so you merely lift your chin. “Fine. Suit yourself. But one of these days, you’re going to fall in love with kale, Min Yoongi.”   It’s a challenge — but a one-sided one. Yoongi simply sighs as you strut away, feeling more tired than he did before.    //   The engines of the moving truck rumbles and coughs as it rolls down the dirt road.   It’s drawn the attention of several, including his dad and mom. They’re peering out the front window, curtains tugged with their noses pressed to the glass. Usually, Yoongi doesn’t care much for what the neighbours are up to or keeping up with community gossip, but for some reason, his curiosity is piqued enough that he glances out as well.   “What’s going on?”   “There are trucks coming back and forth from Old Man Seok’s land.”   Yoongi wonders if you’ve given up and you’re moving out. He wouldn’t be surprised.   But suddenly, before he can walk off and mind his own business, his mother whirls around. “Yoonie, go check up on our new neighbour.”   He exhales exhaustingly. “Why?”   “Well, you’re friends, aren’t you?”    “We’re not.” It’s a firm fact, but his mother doesn’t hear him. She’s already moving into the kitchen and making him follow her. He knows arguing is futile — once she’s set on her mind on something, no one can change it.   “Go on and deliver some cheese too.” She hands him a paper bag. “We haven’t welcomed her properly yet and it’s customary to at least give a greeting and gift.”   Yoongi begrudgingly obliges and minutes later, he finds himself making the trek across the acres to the cottage that always reminded him of Christmas with its cherry red roof and forest green walls. The polluting trucks drive away in the meanwhile, wheels turning against the gravel fading, and the countryside returns to its quaint atmosphere. As he comes closer, Yoongi notices the wooden spools on your lawn and some barber chairs littered around, akin to a dumpster yard, but he avoids them and walks up the porch, knocking twice on the door.   He can imagine thrusting the bag in your hand, muttering a greeting and question or two before getting back to the farm. Yet, what he doesn’t anticipate is silence and then noises farther away.   The man sighs and decides to follow the sounds lest he spends the rest of the afternoon waiting at your front door.   He rounds the house to the backyard.    “What are you doing?”   Yoongi discovers mason jars, picnic blankets, wooden crates sprawled all over on the grass — things he guesses the trucks brought over — and he finds you on a ladder with fairy lights tangled around your limbs.   You jolt. In horror, Yoongi watches the ladder dangerously wobble back and forth, but luckily, it steadies and you twist yourself around. “Holy shit! You almost scared me half to death!”   “What are you doing?” he repeats, more urgently and concerned than before.   “I’m setting up fairy lights obviously.” Your smile is big, cheeks swelling with it. “I’m gonna decorate part of the land with hipster furniture and channel the farm aesthetic. It’s going to become an Insta spot. Hashtag kale-in-farm.”   Yoongi doesn’t understand half of what you just said and he’s not sure if he should even ask.   “What’s a hashtag?”   “You don’t know what a hashtag is?” Your eyes are perfectly rounded, looking at him like he’s an alien and he chuckles. The irony isn’t lost on him. He isn’t the weird one — you are.   “Should I know what it is?”   You don’t answer, merely climbing off the ladder and his breath hitches at how you don’t watch your step.    Yoongi doesn’t get stressed easily, but he swears he’s going to get a heart attack looking at you.   You pull out your phone suddenly from your back pocket and after some tapping, you thrust the screen in his face. “This is Instagram, see? It’s an app where you can follow people and see the pictures that they post. An Insta spot is a place where you can take good Instagram pictures. Hashtags is a way to label the posts, so others can see and search it up. Or at least that’s what I think it is. It’s kind of hard to explain, it’s one of those things that just catches on and you get after using it. This is my page, see?”   You’ve given your phone to him and Yoongi eyes your bikini photos before handing it back.    “Uh-huh.”   “I can’t believe you don’t have an Instagram. You should make one and add me!”   “No thanks.”   You huff, pouting at him and Yoongi’s mouth twitches as he resists the small smile. There’s something in the way you react to him being mean to you that makes it all too entertaining.   “My mom wanted to give you some cheese.” He hands the paper bag over and you excitedly peer inside. “It’s just goat cheese. Usually she makes a cherry pie as a housewarming gift, but today….was a bit last minute.”   Yet in spite of the measly present, Yoongi’s taken aback at how happy you seem. “This is so sweet! Tell your mom I said thank you! I should probably give her some kale—”   He lifts his palm, stopping you in the middle of your sentence. “There’s no need.”   “Well, tell her I said thank you.” You put it down on the wooden patio steps and move towards the ladder. Then something by his foot catches your eye. “Oh, can you do me a favour and put that typewriter on the wooden crate?”   Yoongi doesn’t know why you have a broken typewriter, but he follows your instructions. His eyes travel to several worn bikes you have leaning against the railing. It’s strange considering you don’t seem like the type to bike.   As if reading his mind, you laugh. “They don’t work. It’s just for the aesthetics.”   “Uh-huh.” He turns back, about to bid goodbye and leave this mess behind him. But as he turns away, he witnesses you step on the highest prong of the ladder. The part you’re not allowed to step on. With the danger warning signs plastered on it that says ‘STOP’ in big, red letters.   Yoongi’s breath hitches and he lurches over, grabbing the ladder to steady it as it wobbles.   “Woah!” You regain your balance and turn to grin at him. “Thanks for that. You saved my life!”   “Get off.”   “What?”   “Get off the ladder before you die.” His stern command has you obeying and you come down to the ground again. Yoongi sighs and takes the lights from you. “I’ll do it. Tell me where you want them and hold the bottom rung for me.”   You’re bewildered, but you don’t reject his offer of help. Yoongi follows your instructions too, working quickly and more efficiently than when you were, and you can’t help but giggle as you watch him string the fairy lights.    He glares at you. “What?”   You look up at him, beaming a grin. “For being such a mean, old grump, you’re actually pretty reliable and considerate, Yoongi.”   He diverts his vision elsewhere. “Whatever.”   But it’s all too true.    In many ways, Yoongi reminds you of peppermint candy. Hard on the outside but with just a bit of melting, all too sweet and sugary on the inside.   //   It starts off with you.   A post, a cute caption, the hashtag. You manage to get Jungkook to follow suit and then it’s a group. A person who shows up with their friends, stopping by to enjoy your kale farm and haphazardly filming their adventure to put onto their social media. Then it’s three or four, more and more of the hashtag being used, of pictures being taken, of others catching wind of the trendy new place to take photos, of fresh kale being harvested and kale kombucha being sold.   It’s an exponential growth and before you know it, there’s a bustle at your farm.   Strangers that park in the designated area, families enjoying the picnic spots, young adults posing for photographs underneath the strung fairy lights after dark. Your kale chips and smoothie sales skyrocket and after constructing a website, you know you’ve made a name for yourself.   You hire Jimin, Jungkook’s cousin, to help you out. Recently turned eighteen, he’s gentle and luckily attentive. He excels in customer service and in between selling your products and doing measly tasks to upkeep the farm, you know you’ve finally found a sustainable income aside from the farmers’ market alone.   “This ‘s what I call innovation,” Yoongi’s dad muses as the two of them stand near the tractor, looking over the field to the figures prancing on your land and listening to the laughter that leaks over. “It ain’t often a smart woman suddenly shows,” he says, glancing at him. “You should take advantage of it.”   “It’s not smart.” Yoongi turns away. “It’s dumb luck. There’s nothing impressive about it.”   His dad sighs at him, but as they retreat home, Yoongi can’t help glancing over his shoulder.   //   Yoongi has accepted that you’re a complete wild card — when he thought you were making a spectacle of this rural life for your own amusement, you make a whole declaration about how serious you are. When he expects you to move out, you instead bring bits and bobs to your farm. When he expects you to completely and utterly fail, you thrive.   Yoongi always thought that he was the enigma — hard to understand, hard to get to know, one of the many reasons he isn’t particularly close to anyone. But in reality, you are. At surface level, it looks like you’re simple-minded, overly enthused, optimistic. Yet you continuously defy his expectations.   And he has to applaud you for it.    But of all things, Yoongi most certainly did not expect to see you on his porch one afternoon.   “I got invited by your mom for dinner,” you explain with another infamously bright smile and your arm lifts with a bag. “I brought kale!”   “You did.” He holds in his sigh.   “I don’t know how you want to eat it, so it’s raw….unless…..do you not have electricity? I can go back to prepare it.”   “What?”   “You know, electricity.” When he stares at you, you begin explaining to be helpful. “The stuff that gives you light and power and you can turn on the stove—”   “I know what electricity is!” Yoongi shouts. He’s almost always calm, but you have a talent for being condescending without even realizing.   “What’s with all the noise?” His mom emerges and her face immediately lights up, lips forming into a warm smile. She wipes her hands on her apron and comes to embrace you. “Y/N! I thought I heard your voice! Come in, come in! Oh my word, what’s this? Kale? Thank you! Was the walk here long?”   “Not at all.” You smile, being ushered in the kitchen. It still amazes you how much Yoongi looks like his mom. They both have tender, soft features. Albeit, the male took on his father’s personality and characteristics, his physical appearance compared to his mom is nearly a carbon copy. “It’s only a few acres away. I love your home, by the way. It has a good energy to it.”   Yoongi wonders when you got so comfortable with his parents.   “I’m preparing dinner right now. Should be done fairly soon, but Yoonie! Why don’t you show dear Y/N around the farm?”   Yoongi knows he doesn’t have a choice and you hold in your giggle at his dejected expression. It’s not often you can witness him being obedient and when he takes you through his backyard, you can’t help poking fun at him. “Yoonie?”    “It’s a childhood nickname,” he grumbles.   There’s an urge to squish his cheeks together. They’ve always reminded you of jello or bread loafs, but for the sake of not being slapped, you control the desire.   The Min property is vast.    Chicken coops and several sheds are close to the house, but in the distance, cows and goats graze in the open pastures. The lush fields seem to stretch to the horizon, only broken up by the occasional tree left to grow in peace. It’s a tranquil landscape and there’s an urge to sit back in a rocking chair and knit. Even though you don’t know how to knit.   “How big is the farm?”   “It’s a hundred acres.”   Yoongi says it like it’s nothing impressive, but it’s still fifty times the size of your own farm.   “Is that all lettuce?” You look over the plowed fields filled with green.   “Some of it is asparagus and carrots, but it’s mostly different kinds of lettuce,” he explains, “We don’t sell all of it at the market. We got a few contracts from grocery stores and those get shipped out, so we’re always busy year round.”   You’re amazed. His family manages to do a lot more than you and you already feel swamped half the time. But you suppose you still have a long way to go before you can call yourself a real farmer.   The pair of you approach the fence and you watch the goats chewing on their grass, bleating at you. You grin and mimic their noises, oblivious to the way Yoongi steals a glance at you. “What do you do with all the animals?” you ask.   “They’re for personal usage. We eat chicken eggs and my mom makes cheese a lot.” Yoongi diverts his vision at your intense stare and clears his throat. He didn’t know all of this was so interesting to you. “Have you ever milked a cow before?”   “No!”   “Do you want to learn how?”   “Yes!”   This time, Yoongi can’t hold back his chuckle at your childlike enthusiasm.    He leads a smaller cow into the stall, introducing her as August, and you help him brush her down. Yoongi shows you how to wash August with warm, soapy water, how to clean her utters and let the milk down by relaxing her. He demonstrates as well, clamping the top of the utter between his thumb and first finger before squeezing.   You follow his instructions, mimic his movements and milk squirts into the silver pale successfully. “It feels kind of weird.”   The corner of his thin lips pull. “Is it supposed to feel nice?”   When your hands get tired, Yoongi leans over to help you out, explaining how often someone can milk cows for, where August came from and how long she’s been around. You never expected how awfully endearing it would be to listen to a farm boy talk about his precious cow, but it is. Or maybe that’s just Yoongi being Yoongi. Everything that comes out of his mouth is interesting to you.   “—months ago and…..are you even listening?”   “Of course I am!” You totally weren’t and he doesn’t seem to believe your assertion either, so to divert his attention, you turn the direction of the utter and squeeze. The line of milk squirts directly at Yoongi’s kneecap, dampening his jeans and you laugh at his scandalized expression.   “What the fuc—!”   “Stop! Stop!” You stand, giggling incessantly while blocking your arms up when Yoongi lunges down and squeezes two utters at you. The milk is warm and sticky against your skin. “I’m sorry!”   “Too late!” His cheeks are swollen with a gummy smile, happily taking his revenge.   Before any of you have realized, the sun has gone down and there’s a lingering scent of milk on your clothes. But no one other than you and Yoongi notices or at least his parents don’t say anything.   “How are things going, dear?” his mom asks you with a satisfied smile as she watches you devour her dessert apple pie. Dinner at the Min’s was all too cozy and welcoming. Food had filled the rounded table and the family, albeit only three members in total, had gathered together.    For the past few months, you’ve been eating by yourself with a magazine by your side or in front of the old television with some obscure show on. You missed having conversations over delicious meals and part of you wonders how you’ll return to your regular routine after tonight.   After a taste of the forbidden fruit, you’ll wish every night was like this.   “Better than expected actually. It’s a learning process, so it goes up and down, but everyone’s been so helpful to me that it hasn’t been bad.”   Yoongi’s father nods solemnly. “All on your own too.”   You become shy under their praise. “It’s nothing, really. I just wanted to preserve the memory of my grandfather and all I have is his land, so....”    Sometimes you lay awake thinking about how much your life has changed. A year ago, you were still in LA in a high rise apartment working, and in an effort to connect with your family roots again, you left it all behind. But you don’t regret your decision whatsoever.   From the moment you came here, no matter what challenges you faced, it all became worth it in the end. It’s a hard life, but a peaceful one. A simple and serene way of living that you always needed.   “Bless your heart,” his mother swoons and you realize Yoongi’s gazing at you too — with an odd sense of gentleness that you aren’t used to. Or maybe that’s merely the dim lighting of the small dining room. “You are the hardest working, gosh darn smartest young lady I have ever met.”   You look away from Yoongi, face warming at the compliments. “No, I just try my hardest.”   “And try hard you do!” His mom leans across the table, eyes bright. “Don’t you think so, Yoonie? Isn’t Y/N marvelous?”   You turn to him expectedly, but Yoongi’s eyes are suddenly down at his empty plate. “Well, there’s nothing else to do out here but work, so isn’t that the default?”   You scoff and it takes his attention. “You aren’t cute at all.”   The corner of his mouth tugs. “Excuse me?”   “Don’t pay any attention to him, Y/N.” His mom bats at your arm. “He’s too much like his dad.”   “You mean, he took after my best traits?” The older man at the table has his brow cocked and you smile at the banter, but the woman beside you doesn’t entertain it.   “He took after your temper and grumbling.”   “Which is why no one ever bullied him.” Yoongi’s father slaps him on his back and he sighs.   His mom turns her head to continue, “Never mind them. I swear, Yoonie used to be the cutest kid in the whole country. I don’t know when he changed. Do you want to see his baby pictures?”   Your spine straightens and your eyes widen. “I would love to—”   Suddenly, there’s the ear-piercing noise of the chair leg scraping against the wooden floorboards. Yoongi has stood up and tosses his napkin down. “It’s getting pretty late. Probably time to go home, right?”   You laugh, but oblige only because it gives you reason to come over again. Yoongi’s mother at least assures as much, promising that next time you’ll be able to see all the albums and photographs of that time he cried while being chased by a goose — something you’re looking forward to, much to Yoongi’s dismay.   He’s just too much fun to tease.   The more and more you get to know Yoongi and the people in his life, the better you’re coming to realize that he’s not that much of a grump at all. It’s a facade, really. A thin curtain that hides how soft and pouty he actually is. Less like the bad boy you initially thought. More like a farm sheep.   “You didn’t need to walk me home, you know.” You turn to him, glancing at his profile. “It’s only a few acres away.”   “Yeah, but then I would never hear the end of it from my mom. It’s dark out anyway and it’s not like I mind.”   You nod and the pair of you fall into a comfortable lull. There’s a lot from tonight that you have to think about and it’s not just about Yoongi and his family. After seeing how they run their farm and how much they’ve expanded, you wonder if you’ll ever get to that size too.   “What do you think if I started growing quinoa and soy?”   He gives you an incredulous look, still visible in spite of the darkness, and it makes you laugh.   “What would you do with quinoa and soy?”   “I don’t know. Make different smoothies or flavours of kombucha? I would have to look into it. But it’s just a thought for no—” The pitch of your voice raises as you lose your footing, about to plunge. But then Yoongi yanks your arm back, steadying you before you trip in the ditch. “Oh my god! I almost died!”   “Watch where you’re going, woman,” he scolds and his hand boldly wraps around yours, palms clasping together firmly. You glance down, foreign to the feeling of his affection and Yoongi notices. He looks straight ahead, but quickly explains, “If you die and haunt the farm, that’ll bring down the value of the land nearby.”   You scoff. “You’re lucky you have a cute face, Min Yoongi.”   His lips curl. “I thought you said I wasn’t cute.”   “Your personality isn’t, but your face is alright.” If anything, you’re downplaying it, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Out here, you’re a good eight, but where I’m from, maybe you’re a six and a half.”   His laugh is mellifluous, and it infects a smile on your own features. “What about you?”   You look down to where you’re joined at the hands and muse how much larger his palm and fingers are to you, how his skin is calloused from working the fields, how warm and secure it feels.   “Clearly, I’m a ten wherever I go,” you quip. “Can’t you see?”   Yoongi apologizes, “I’m sorry, I might be blind then ‘cause I can’t see you as attractive at all.”   Another scoff tears from you, a lighthearted one that makes his grin widen. “You know what? I take it back. You aren’t cute at all. Not even your face can make up for your sour personality.”   Yoongi chuckles, squeezing your hand, and it’s awfully unfair how your face heats more.   //   Despite how busy you get managing the Insta spot, planting and harvesting kale, and cooking and packaging products, you never fail to find time to be at the market every Sunday. While your other sources of income are slowly increasing more than what you get from the farmers’ market, the atmosphere and sense of community is enough for you to scrape up time out of your week to set up your stall.   And it’s often the time that you get to have your conversations with Jungkook too.   “So….did you try it out?” Your eyes glisten, locked into his. “What did you think? Did it work?”   The boy scratches the back of his neck. “I...don’t think kale shampoo is it, Y/N.”   You deflate, keeping your sulking to a minimum. It didn’t work for you either, but you were trying to see if it was just your hair that was the strange one. “Really? But it looks soft.” You reach over and plant your hand in his black bed of hair. To your surprise, it’s even silkier than it appears.   “Woah! It’s soft!”   Jungkook ducks his head, colour blooming on his cheeks. He doesn’t bat your hand away nor does he lean into your touch when you pet him incessantly. “It isn’t that soft…”   “What shampoo and conditioner do you usually use? It feels so nice, Kook.”   The both of you are oblivious to the flannel-wearing man from across the market who’s glaring above the heads of lettuce. He bores his gaze into you, wondering what the hell you’re doing in the middle of the farmers’ market and putting on a show for all the older ladies to watch. Don’t you know how gossip and rumours start at this place? Merely chatting is enough to grab attention, but to be outright flirting like this was downright reckless.   His jaw ticks, nostrils flaring. He’s uncomfortable. It isn’t any of his business, but Yoongi feels an urge to do something. It’s utterly irrational. Completely out of the norm of his usual behaviour.   But somehow, he finds himself abandoning his stall and crossing the floor.   “What the hell are you two doing?”   “Yoongi!” You turn, greeting him with a big smile and suddenly that irrational emotion is replaced with something else that sits at his chest. To have your attention, he feels…..satisfied. Even if it’s childish. “I was just talking about the kale shampoo I made, but I think it’s an idea I’m going to have to scrap.”   “Shampoo?”   “It left a sticky mess on my head and took me ten minutes to wash it off,” Jungkook tells and his smile softens at your sigh. “Sorry, Y/N.”   “Maybe kale conditioner would work better....”   At the same time, Jungkook’s name is called by his grandma nearby, so he bids goodbye and a see you later to the both of you. It’s a slow down period right after lunch, so there’s fewer people around and with Yoongi here, you take the opportunity. “Can you watch my stall for me?”    “What?”   “I need to go to the bathroom.” You clasp your hands together and bat your lashes, trying to appeal to him. “Pretty please, Yoongi? I would really, really appreciate it.”   He exhales and waves his hand boredly, not sparing you a glance. But you already know he’s relinquished before he says it. “Fine.”   You jump up with a smile. “Thanks! You’re the best!”   In the next three seconds, you’ve jogged away and Yoongi’s left standing at the market, watching your stall and his stall from across the floor that he abandoned. He wonders how he got into this predicament, but doesn’t dwell when his eyes stray to your bottles of fancy kombucha on display.   He picks up a bottle, curious as to how you made these fancy labels, and he snorts when he notices in tiny text it says, ‘don’t kale me’. You’re such a dork, it’s impossible to believe. Then again, his mom decided to make a pun for the lettuce stall too, so he’s not one to talk.   For a moment, Yoongi ponders what the hell this kale kombucha tastes like.   He got a chance to try it before when you waltz up to him all those weeks ago with a tray of samples, but he denied you out of pride and stubbornness. He knows it must taste somewhat decent if you’re making all those sales. He’s seen people drinking it as they walk around too, but he’ll be damned if he actually went up to you and bought one. He’s sure you’d throw a celebration and do the whole ‘I told you so’ dance if it was actually delicious.   Relinquishing, he places the bottle back on the display.   But then the awful happens. Time slows — there’s a noise and the entire dainty shelf is collapsing. Yoongi is helpless to the way the bottles collide against the ground deafeningly, how the dark green liquid splatters on the concrete, to the way the glass shards spray. He cusses and manages to catch one bottle before turning around.   There are people staring at him — customers alarmed and vendors sympathizing.   But more importantly, you’re standing meters away, returned from the bathroom.   He catches your shock, your confusion, and then the heartbreak — even if it only lasts for a blink before you’re smiling again.   You come over, looking down at the mess. “I didn’t know you hated me this much to sabotage my stuff like this,” you quip jokingly. But there’s no banter or excuses being made. There’s silence. And you lift your eyes to meet Yoongi’s, realizing how mortified he is. “Hey, it’s alright. I knew the shelf had a few loose screws, but I didn’t know it would fall like that. I should’ve fixed it sooner.”   “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”   “You don’t really need to do th……”   “I’ll make it up to you,” Yoongi states more firmly than before, eyes darkened and you swallow hard. He knows you’re trying to cover up how hurt you are, how you’re trying to save face and not only is he embarrassed, he’s guilty. “You were supposed to sell all this, weren’t you?”   You give in and Yoongi grabs a broom, aiding you in cleaning up the mess. You’ve never seen him so serious and solemn before, but it makes you glad that he’s the one here to help.   //   At six in the morning, you wake up and less than ten minutes later, you hear the wheezing engine of a truck out front.   The sun was barely on the horizon, but when you walk out to the porch, you discover Yoongi shutting the door of his vehicle and coming up to you. He’s dressed in an oversized purple and black plaid flannel and gray shirt underneath, black hair flopping to the side, features softer than usual. He’s yawning and rubbing his eyes, all too endearing that you have to admit it.   “Mornin’,” you greet with a grin and he merely grunts, gesturing inside your house. A laugh draws out of you and you open the door for him. “You didn’t need to do this, you know. I told you I was totally fine.”   “Just accept my help, lady,” he sighs and looks around your living space, glancing at the polaroids strung above the brick mantle, the recycled jar of flowers on the kitchen counter, and the couch cushions made from flour sacks you reused. You grow warm under his scrutiny, realizing that no one has ever entered your home before. But while you expect to get criticism, Yoongi instead says, “I like what you did with the place. It’s cozy.”   You smile, still a bit self-conscious. “Thanks. Do you want tea? Coffee? Kale juice?”   “I’m fine.” He follows after you, stepping into the kitchen. The space is crowded or maybe it’s just you feeling small with him so close. “I’m here to help. What do you usually do at this time?”   “Well, I usually start by harvesting whatever kale I can. The weather seems good today too and there are some fields that need to be plowed, so I should do that and then plant some seeds…”   “Okay.” He’s already tugging his sleeves up. “Let’s get to it.”   It’s unusual to have someone join you during your morning chores, but it isn’t unwarranted. Granted, you have to teach him a little on the way you do things, but he already knows a lot from working on his own farm and you find Yoongi is a great listener. He might have a blank expression and be exceptionally quiet, but his occasional questions are insightful and he’s attentive when he mimics you.   It’s peaceful — the sun not yet sweltering in the sky or giving an unbearable heat that makes it hard to work, the animals in the far distance not awoken, the breeze curling through your hair. When you look up from your spot, you see Yoongi working as hard as you are and it tickles the corners of your lips into a subtle smile.   Things finish twice as fast and then you’re taking a break, making breakfast for Yoongi.   His company is nice at the table, even when he complains that your sunny side up eggs are too overcooked and you threaten to throw him out. It’s a kind of banter that doesn’t so much irritate you — rather, it keeps you on your toes, making you giggle at witty remarks while he rolls his eyes.   After breakfast, Yoongi insists on washing the dishes and succeeds when he whines and feigns annoyance on how you don’t trust him to clean your plates. He ends up fixing a light fixture in your kitchen too after you mention that it sometimes flickers off and startles you.   He’s helpful and handy, more than you thought he would be, but you try not to get used to it.   “This is where you keep your kombucha?” he asks as you show off the pantry that you’ve practically changed into a cellar.   “Yep.” You tap one of the large jars on the shelf. “It takes five to seven days for it to ferment after I make it. Then, I have to add in the kale and let it ferment for another three days. These babies will be ready for tomorrow. But I have to make a new batch today.”   “That’s a lot of work,” he comments.   “Oh. You haven’t seen it yet.” You brush past him, smirking.   Yoongi looks all too cute in the pink apron. It’s a comical sight and albeit, isn’t actually a part of your usual routine to wear one, you made it up on the fly just to see him wear it and he’s too cute.    “What?” His head whips up, brow cocked at the way you’re grinning.   “Nothing. Hand me that bowl.”   It’s a bit of an irony that Yoongi hasn’t tried any of your kombucha, but is first to learn the recipe from you. You show him how to brew the gallon of black tea, how to add the cup of sugar in and allow it to cool before pouring it into the jar.    “What’s that?” he asks when you’re sticking a rubbery flab into the jar.   “It’s a scoby. It has a bunch of yeast and bacteria that helps with fermentation. It’s made from kombucha, sugar, black tea.” You seal off the jar and Yoongi goes quiet. You look up at him, discovering a thoughtful expression on his face as if he’s impressed you know what you’re doing. “I’m not completely stupid, you know. I know I come across as—”   “I never thought you were dumb,” Yoongi suddenly states without missing a single beat. Your eyes become rounded and the corner of his mouth pulls. “Maybe insensitive and ignorant, but not stupid per se.”   “Hey!”   “There’s a difference,” Yoongi laughs and insists, “Being ignorant means you just haven’t learnt yet, but being stupid means you can’t learn at all.” He ducks when you half-heartedly swing and more chuckles fill the home, including your own. But Yoongi’s right. You had no clue what you were getting yourself into when you first arrived. Everything’s been a learning process, but it finally feels like things are falling into place.   Yoongi helps you wash the kale out back and stays by your side, peering over your shoulder, as you make the kale chips, guacamole and pesto. He stirs and gets ingredients when he can, and you find he has quite a knack for packaging things neatly. He’s somehow careful yet efficient.   “I didn’t know you did so much.”   “Yeah.” You wipe your sweat with the back of your hand. “I try to space everything out, but sometimes everything falls on the same day and I’ve been running low on products, so I can’t put it off.”   He hums, sealing the jar of pesto shut and then working on smoothing the label on the surface.   It’s mid-afternoon already. You didn’t realize how quickly time was going. The golden sun is already coming through the windows of the kitchen as you and Yoongi work across from one another, falling into a lull. You turned the staticky radio on, but it often acts as background noise when either of you start another conversation.   You giggle and he tilts his head up at the noise. “What? Did I put the label on upside down again?”   “No.” You shake your head, smiling to yourself. “It just kind of feels like we’re a married couple, that’s all.”   Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi freezes. But then he eases, the corner of his own mouth tugging.   “You’re not trying to seduce me, are you?”   “Seduce you?!” You scoff, looking up to see him focused on tying the ribbon around the jar. “I have higher standards than that, Min Yoongi.”   “Says the one who’s been flirting with me all morning.”   “I’m not flirting with you.”   “Uh-huh. Don’t tempt me with the suggestion of marriage then. I might actually do it.”   You’re baffled, made speechless with how he twists his words and how sweet he can talk. Your face heats and you know that if you open your mouth, you’ll blubber and make a fool out of yourself. So you opt for a huff and silence which only spurs on his chuckles and inadvertently makes you sulk harder.   If anything Yoongi was the flirt. But you’re not about to declare it in case he asks if that means you’re affected by it. Because you are.   The rest of the afternoon is spent finishing on packaging and storing away the products to sell tomorrow when the Insta spot opens and the following day at the farmers’ market. But as you dust off your hands, you feel the gurgle of your empty stomach and you offer to make him an early dinner.   “Is there anything you want to eat? My cooking skills aren’t that great—”   “Clearly.”   You glare at him. “—but I can look up any recipe you want.”   Yoongi makes a disgruntled noise and he leans over to open your fridge. You peep over his shoulder and at once, blood drains from your face.   “There’s nothing in your fridge, Y/N.” He turns around with puzzlement on his visage. “How did you make breakfast this morning?”   “I….used the last of my eggs to make breakfast. I didn’t think you would actually stick around long enough for dinner.”   “And what would you have eaten tonight if I did leave?” With one foot keeping the fridge open, he starts taking out several things like a maid cleaning out your kitchen. “The strawberries have gone bad...and there’s….mold on the bread. How do you live?”   “My budget was a bit low for this week and I underestimated how much groceries I would need.” When he pulls out the drawer with bundled kale, you stop him. “That’s for me to sell.”    “You don’t eat what you grow?”   “Not really,” you admit. “I don’t actually eat much kale….I brought lots of instant noodles from the city, but I ran out two weeks ago….”   He shuts the fridge. “I’ll talk to my mom and bring more eggs and milk to you more often.”   “You don’t need to do that.”   “No, but I want to.” Looking at you, Yoongi realizes that you’re really just a girl who came from nowhere to start a whole farm. Partly hopeless and causing an urge in him to take care of you, but for some reason, he doesn’t seem to mind as much as he thought he would. “Move. I’ll make dinner. You have some iceberg lettuce and kale that I can work with.”   He starts rolling up his sleeves again and you don’t let your eyes linger on his exposed veiny forearms for long.   You feel a bit embarrassed that you didn’t prepare more and that he caught you at a struggling week. But more than that, guests are supposed to be treated better. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”   “Don’t be.” As he passes, he plops a hand on your head and you look up at him, surprised at the unusually affectionate gesture. “I’m quite the chef, you know. I make better breakfast than you do.”   Yoongi probably does, but your pride won’t let you admit it. “Psh. You haven’t started yet. Don’t get so cocky.”   You help by setting the table and then pulling a stool to watch him cook. Maybe it’s a bit lame, but you’re impressed at his knife skills and how fast he chops the lettuce and kale into thin strips, keeping a constant rhythm and never once stopping. You scoff when he glances at you with a smirk, but there’s little you can say, especially when he sautes it in a pan with oil and half an onion you have left.   The house is filled with a mouthwatering scent and it’s even more delicious than expected once the plate is plopped down in front of you and you get a taste.   “Oh my god….how did you make this?”   Yoongi smugly shrugs. “I made it up on the fly. Can’t help that my talent is inborn.”   You’re too busy eating to retort with a snarky comment. “Maybe I should marry you.”   He laughs and quickly eats before you steal his own portion.   The sun eventually goes down and it’s hard to say goodbye after one of the best days you’ve had since coming here, but you know you’ll see Yoongi tomorrow and the next day — whether that’s across the acres and through a giant wave or arguing as you do at the market.   He’s always been around, an addition to the farm life itself, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

When Yoongi returns home, he announces that he’s back. There are storming steps, his mom enthusiastic and racing down the stairs to ask him how it went. His dad looks around the living room corner as well, and he sighs at their intrusiveness.   “It was fine.” Yoongi tosses the keys aside, scratching the back of his neck. “She’s actually a lot more hard-working than I expected.”   He walks off before they can bombard him with any more inquiries, but they understand their son well enough and they exchange knowing smiles.

You never expect to see Yoongi awkwardly lingering on your porch like a car salesman, especially considering you were once doing the same thing at his house not long ago. But while he’s here just to deliver some apple pie his mom made, you eagerly pull him inside.   “Why? Why?” he whines childishly, but stumbles after you anyway.   “I need you to try something for me.”   It was an Insta spot day, cars filled in the lot you designated, people from the city out in the back and the chatter loud enough to leak inside the kitchen. Families were strolling about, children picking kale, young adults posing for countless pictures by the picnic blankets and decorations. Yoongi can’t quite understand what their fixation and fascination is to drive all the way out here for such frivolous things, but if it works then it works, he supposes.   You set the apple pie on the table and notice Yoongi peering out of the window, primarily watching the brunette boy fussing about and working the register behind the cute stall you made.   “Oh, that’s Jungkook’s cousin, Jimin,” you tell him, even though he probably already knows. Everyone knew everyone around here. “I hired him to help out.”   “Doing well enough to hire people?” he asks, brow lifted and a smile raising on his cheeks.   “I guess you could say so.” Your pride is supported by the bustle outside the window. “I need all the help I can get.”   “Are you trying to get me to help out too? Because I don’t work for free, lady.”   “Pft. No. I thought you might want to try out the kale kombucha you made with me last week. You came right in time actually. I just got it packaged and everything. Wait here. I’ll go grab a bottle.”   Without another word, you pull the door open and Yoongi sighs with a softened smile, watching you march across the land to chat with Jimin. But within seconds, his attention is taken away by the squeak of the door and a middle aged woman sticking her head through.    “Excuse me,” her voice is shrill, “is there a bathroom in here?”   “Uh…” He’s fairly certain you don’t let anyone inside your house and that he caught sight of fancy porta potties you set up on the side. “No. If you turn the corner, there’re some bathrooms you can use.” Yet, she blinks blankly at him and Yoongi holds his long exhale in his nose. Whatever your intentions are, it seems like he’s working for you anyhow. “I can show you.”   Yoongi hopes he’s not wrong or it’ll be terribly awkward, but luckily for him, there’s indeed bright blue stalls and the woman thanks him as she waddles off. But he can’t take refuge inside your home when he’s interrupted by someone again.   “Excuse me!” This time it’s a group of girls around his age giggling with caked makeup and dressed in short rompers. They thrust their phones forward before he can utter a word. “Can you please take some pictures for us?”   “Uh, sure.”   Yoongi feels out of his depth. Embarrassed. While you knew nothing about farm life, he knows nothing about city life. You might’ve disproved a lot of prejudices and stereotypes he held, but he still feels awkward and out of place in their scrutiny. Like he’s part of a completely different world, and he’s not sure what to say or how to act.   But he still tries and crouches down, trying to frame the photo and catch the trees in the back with the stringed fairy lights above. “One. Two. Three. Smile.”   “Thanks!” The girl comes forward to look, but before he can ask if it’s good enough, her friend comes up to him with another phone.   “Can you take another one?”   “Alright.” He gets back into place and times it. “One. Two. Three.”   Yoongi hands back the device and is about to duck his head and seek refuge no matter who calls out to him, but the girl stops in front of him with a brightened smile. “Is it alright if you take a photo with me? I’ve never had a picture with a farmer before!”   Yoongi sputters, speechless. For one, he hasn’t taken a photo in years, much less for a stranger’s personal collection. And secondly, he’s not some spectacle to be gawked at. He’s not some dancing monkey or clown. Not a poster boy or a cardboard cutout. This is his life—   “I’m sorry.” A voice calmly cuts through his annoyance and Yoongi feels a hand against his shoulder. You’re beside him with a polite smile. “Staff aren’t allowed to be photographed.”   “Oh. Okay.”   They walk off and resume their activities. You take Yoongi’s hand and tilt your head towards the door. “C’mon. Let’s go back inside.”   He feels safe inside your house again when he can remain an observer and not a participant.   “Sorry about that. Some people can be a bit insensitive, but most of them have good intentions.”   “It’s fine.”   You pour out the bottle of amber liquid into a tall glass. “They probably just wanted a photo since you’re good-looking.”   “What?” Yoongi snorts and turns around with a grin. “So you think I’m good-looking?”   “Isn’t that a fact? That’s why people were staring at you. The whole rugged look works well for you.” You plop down the glass in front of him before you can think twice about the honesty that just unabashedly spilled from your mouth. “Try it. You had a part in making it, so it’s only right, right? And if you like it, I’ll even let you bring some home.”   He rolls his eyes at your mischievous smile and lifts the glass to his lips. It’s fizzy, and the taste is both tart and slightly sweet. It reminds Yoongi of sparkling cider, but with a herbal hint that he assumes is the kale. He doesn’t utter a word, even when you’re watching him intently. But after Yoongi smacks his lips together, he goes for a second sip.   And you take that as a positive sign. “You like it?!”   He’s startled at your overly excited voice. “It’s not bad.”   “See?! I knew it! All you needed to do was to try my amazing kombucha recipe and your mind would be changed. Didn’t I say that? I totally told you I would get you to like kale!”   “Hold on, hold on.” Yoongi stops you in your ramble. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I only said it was decent.”   You laugh. “Sure. Whatever you say.”   He sighs, but ruffles your hair as he walks past, already bidding goodbye. “Get back to work.”   “Yes, sir.” You dramatically salute him and he leaves through the front door. But then it hits you a moment later. “Wait a minute….”    This is your farm. Not his.   //   You’re thriving in more ways than one. Aside from your personal projects on the farm, you’ve gotten yourself established at the market, like one of the decade long vendors who’ve spent their whole lives here. After a few months of setting up your stall, now everyone knows you by first name basis. A few older ladies even gave you the nickname of Sunshine and it only makes you love them more.   “You’re staring at her a lot, Yoonie.” His mother nudges him and he tears his eyes away from you across the market floor.   “No, I’m not.” He’s not sure why he bothers. Yoongi feels like a child trying to deny the obvious.   “Go talk to her. Lookin’ is not gonna do you any favours, young man. You have to talk.”   Yoongi already knows — he doesn’t need his mother to tell him.   “She’s busy,” he grumbles, “I’ll talk to her later.”    Fortunately, a customer comes up and Yoongi takes the opportunity to escape the conversation, immediately moving to ring them up and leaving his mom with a hopeless sigh.   At the same time, someone approaches you. After taking a sample from the tray, she decides to purchase a whole case of pesto much to your delight. “I actually bought smoothie and kombucha from you last week,” the lady mentions as you’re packing it up for her and you nod.   “I know. You bought two large smoothies and half a case of kombucha, right?”   Pleasant surprise takes hold of her expression. “How do you remember? Don’t you get a lot of customers?”   “I remember most of them, but I especially remember your Chanel classic handbag,” you point out with a smile. “The medium pink is a rarer one, plus it’s not the kind of thing lots of people wear in this sort of place.”   “You have a good eye,” the lady notes and you take the compliment. “It’s the only flashy thing I own and I have no other place to wear it aside from running errands.”   “Oh trust me, I’m like that too.” You grin, finishing up and passing the machine card for her to tap and pay. “I find that as long as you have confidence, you can pull anything off and it makes running errands a lot more fun.”   The lady laughs and easily agrees. She takes the box you offer her, but lingers. “Your kombucha and your smoothies are delicious by the way, and the pesto seems pretty good too.”   “Thank you. It took me a while to narrow down the recipe, but I think I nailed it.”    “You did.” She affirms and then out of the blue, asks, “Would you be willing to sell your products at the supermart? It’s a local grocery store I run with my husband, five miles from here, just down Imlings road.”   You’re speechless, blinking twice at her as your mouth opens and closes. The older woman waits patiently with a smile and you muster a half-coherent answer. “I-I would definitely consider it!”   “Great.” She smiles and then reaches over to her pocket. The woman hands you a business card. “Some folks around here have contracts with me too, and I’d love to add your products on the shelf. Give me a call some time tomorrow and we can chat about the details.”   You’re stunned and only broken out of your trance when a customer comes up and clears their throat.   It’s a triumphant day. You feel like you’re floating, walking on clouds — and Jungkook notices how you’re humming to yourself too and boyishly grins. “Something good happen, Y/N?”   The pair of you are walking out, Jungkook carrying your boxes as you lug your totes with you while waving goodbye to the other vendors that were leaving for the evening. “Just everything. I feel like things are going right for me, you know? And that’s kind of rare for me.”   “No, I get you. Pop always says there are rainbows after the storm. Then again, he always says how the Kim’s are running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”   That makes you laugh, but then the two of you interrupted by a sharp cry of your name. “Y/N!”   You witness Yoongi running up to you, completely out of breath.    “Hey. Are you okay? Where did you even come from?”   “Never mind that.” He straightens out. “Let me drive you back.”   “Oh, Jungkook was just going to….”   “Nah.” He insists and takes the boxes from the younger boy. “Our houses are closer together anyway. I don’t mind.”   “What about your mom?”   “She’s already left since she’s having dinner with a friend.”   You look at Jungkook who’s wholly confused, a deer in headlights and you decide to spare him from the trouble. “Well, alright. Thanks then.”   It feels a bit odd, but you take him on the offer and bid Jungkook a goodbye. The rest of your kale and belongings are packed into the back of Yoongi’s truck before you’re getting in. It’s old and worn, but the vehicle feels like it’s full of memories. You buckle yourself in and then he’s driving off with the fuzzy radio playing in the background as the golden sun sets over the horizon.   “Jungkook ain’t shit,” Yoongi suddenly pipes up after a moment. You glance over to discover him looking straight out the windshield, hands gripped on the steering wheel. And you burst out laughing.   “What?”   “He was seeing Aria for a while and then left her for the hills, so he’s got a reputation around here. I thought I should let you know.”   You see him peek at you in the corner of your eye, but you can’t repress your grin. “You sound like a boyfriend.”   “Yeah, well, I’m actually a good one.”   “Oh yeah?”   Yoongi’s knuckles are white and with the way his tongue peeks out to lick the seam of his lips, you wonder if he’s nervous. “I could show you.”   A giddy giggle that belongs to the sixteen-year-old you bubbles out. “And what would dating Min Yoongi look like?”   Yoongi plays off of your playful tone. “For one, I haven’t gotten to show you around properly yet and you still haven’t gone to one of Taehyung’s bonfire parties. He’s the guy with the strawberry farm. And I have access to his exclusive parties cause we went to school together, so you could use me to get in.”   “Hmmm….you drive a hard bargain, Min Yoongi.”   “I know how to cook a mean dinner if you give me real ingredients too.”   You laugh again, leaning your head back against the seat. “You’re too good at sweet-talking. Does your mother know you chat up girls like this?”   “Maybe. But I only really sweet talk you.”   He’s bold tonight and it’s not doing good things to you.   Your face is heating and you’re incessantly tapping your fingers against your leg. Beneath the lighthearted flirtation was a sort of simmering nervousness that’s filled with questions of if the line is going to be crossed and when that would be, and who would be the first to make the move.   Yoongi parks the car in front of your house and pulls the keys out of the ignition.   The pair of you naturally shift and look at one another. Your gazes lock together and there are three seconds of tense silence — neither wanting to get out, to break the rather intimate moment. Where you muse how brown his eyes are and Yoongi, himself, hitches his breath.   And then you’re lurching over for a kiss.   It’s all mouths and noses bumping together, obscene and sloppy, but a long time coming. His lips are softer than expected, only chapped at the corners, but you don’t get to think about it for too long or deepen the kiss. Not when you’re too busy giggling and laughing against him.   You pull apart, hands grasping onto the collar of his loose flannel. “You’re so eager.”   It’s a bit unusual to see Yoongi be anything other than annoyed or composed, but you soak it up as much as you can. The sunset is painting his skin golden and the car smells like him too. It seems like you’re surrounded in Min Yoongi and it’s fully welcomed.   “You are too,” he retorts on an exhale, hand skimming down to the dips of your waist. But then Yoongi swallows hard and retracts. He leans his arm on the steering wheel and looks out the window in disappointment. You wonder if you did something wron— “I can’t stain the truck. My mom has hawk eyes and she’s gonna know if we do something, and I’d rather she not.”   You scoff and lean forward, swift enough to plant a kiss on his cheek and pull away. “For such a good talker, you sure are stupid, Yoongi. There’s a whole house behind you and no one in it.”   A gummy smile spreads into his face and you feign a tired huff, lifting your chin and sticking your nose in the air. You add, “But for your information, I only give people the time of day when they make it worth it for me.”   He’s already opening the door and accepting the challenge before you can finish.    “Oh, I’ll make it worth it alright.”   You find out that Yoongi has a dirty mouth and an even nastier tongue. Part of you always wondered if he hated your guts, but you couldn’t be any more wrong.    You’re tugging on the strands of his hair, chest rising and falling as you pant. “W-Where did you learn how to do that?”    The bastard shrugs with a smug smile. “I might be unlikable, but I’ve had plenty of practice before.”   “Oh yeah?” The corner of your own mouth tugs. “With who?”   Yoongi grins and lifts himself up to plant a sweet kiss against your lips. “You wouldn’t know them. But they’re not as important as you are.”   “I’m going to choke over your greasiness, Min Yoongi.”   “Good. Choke.”   “You’re gonna have to stuff me with your cock first.”   Yoongi laughs at how you’re desperately tugging him closer to you, but he easily agrees with one condition— “Only if you’re good for me.”   The pair of you are sweaty when you finish. You thought the old bed frame was going to give up mid-way. Luckily, it held up even with all its loud squeaks and creaks. But you wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a dent where the headboard slammed against the wall.    But you’ll count your losses later. You’re just relieved that there was no one in the house.   While Yoongi might’ve been all soft groans and rapid exhales, he made you absent-minded to your own noises that somehow leaves your throat sore. You’re sure anyone who would’ve stood by your porch would’ve heard and been scandalized for the rest of their life.   “You know.” You turn to Yoongi, having stared at the ceiling. His eyes meet yours. “You’re pretty good for a farm boy.”   The playful quip ticks him off enough that he does it again. Yoongi pins you underneath him and is merciless. Your bubbling giggles turn to tears leaking down the side of your face from overstimulation, but you climax again through a moaning apology.   When you’re spent, Yoongi collapses next to you.    You’re surprised at how cuddly he is, how he naturally reaches for you, torso molding against yours and arms wrapped around your waist. In spite of feeling hot and sweaty, Yoongi holds you against him and you relish in it. “How is it possible that no one’s snatched you up yet?”   “Maybe it’s because I’m known to be standoffish.” He smiles against your temple, soothed by the way you run your fingers through the strands of his hair. “And what about you? Do you have a boyfriend or a husband I don’t know about that’s waiting in the city?”   “No. No one’s drawn me in quite like you have.”   Yoongi’s smile pulls into a grin, and the pair of you are lulled by each other’s inhales and exhales, unintentionally falling asleep in one another’s embraces like lovers underneath tree canopies on a Summer afternoon.   It’s some of the most peaceful sleep you’ve had, but then you’re shaken awake by a rattle and an ‘ow’. Your eyes open to find the other side of the bed empty and Yoongi nursing his hip after presumably bumping into your nightstand. You sit up, disoriented as he’s hopping up and down, barely getting his pants on.   “I need to get home before my parents find out I was gone the entire night and start asking questions.” His voice is thick and husky, hair in a disarray, eyes bleary and barely awake.   His panic makes you giggle and you watch him struggle to put on his clothes. Peeking outside, the sun isn’t up yet and the clock reads that it’s five in the morning. “Are they even awake this early, Yoongi?”   “I don’t know. Sometimes.” He fiddles with his flannel, putting his arms through the wrong holes, and even when he figures it out, he doesn’t realize it’s inside out. “I’ll...see you later?”   “Wait. Yoongi.” You stop him for a second and he turns around. It feels awfully juvenile, like you’ve reverted back into your sixteen-year-old self that giggles over crushes, but Yoongi always seems to make you feel that way. “Are we….dating now?”   “If I didn’t make it any more clear last night and by sleeping over, then I don’t know what else to do.”   It takes a beat for the words to sink in, but once it does, a bright and overexcited smile overcomes your features. Yoongi snorts before the corners of his own mouth tickles.   When he’s gone, you discover that you miss him already.

The morning alarm rings at six. But by then, you’re already up.   You’ve fallen into a natural schedule, a cycle that your body has picked up on and has awoken before anything needs to call you. And after brushing your teeth and running a comb through your hair, you’re taking care of your farm. Plowing fields. Harvesting kale. Having breakfast.   You also package the last of the pesto and guacamole, pouring the kombucha into the bottles with the proper labels. Some of which are prepared for the grocery store to pick up while others are packed for tomorrow. Afterwards, you come to the farmers’ market and meet Hoseok, a boy you’ve hired to help you take over. He helps you man the stall and the cash register, giving you the freedom to chat with customers and other vendors or complete other tasks with Jungkook.   By afternoon, you come back to the farm to check out the Insta spot and aid Jimin in running things smoothly.   “This is beautiful, Y/N.” Today, you’re graced by a few friends from the city. They drove out here after you reached out to them again and you couldn’t be more pleased from their genuine reactions. “When you said you were coming out to start a farm...I didn’t imagine this.”    “It took a lot of work, but it’s not half bad, right?”   Mina leans in, eyes flickering around. “Where’s this infamous Yoongi?”   A laugh spills from you. “He’s busy. You’ll see him next time.”   “I keep hearing about him, but I haven’t even seen him or his picture once,” Tiffany huffs. “I’m beginning to think he’s fake.”   You grin and insist, “I promise you he’s real.”   “Oh my god!” Yeri startles the group by the sheer urgency in her voice, but when you all swivel to her, she has her phone held in the air, screen directed to her face. “This is the perfect lighting! Guys, come here and take selfies up before the sun moves!”    You can’t help smiling as you watch them, matching their footsteps as they approach the fields. You can tell that they’re still surprised, that they love what you did — and you couldn’t be prouder.   At ten at night, the last people have filtered out and you bid them goodbye.   “Great job, Jimin. Thanks for the help as usual. It didn’t get too busy when I was gone, right?”   “Not at all.” The brunette with the polite smile shakes his head. “Oh, but the customer feedback box was full. I put it in the living room for you.”   “I saw that. Thank you. I’ll take a look tomorrow.” Looking ready to go, you walk him to the door. “Rest up then! I’ll see you tomorrow.”   “Goodnight, Y/N.”   But as one man leaves, you catch another down the road. The familiar truck is chugging, head beams piercing through the darkness settling across the horizon. Jimin recognizes it too after months of the same routine and smiles at you before he’s on his way.   The truck is parked on your lawn and the dark-haired man in the flannel is already smiling when he catches you through the front windshield. He opens the door and slams it shut as you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed and the screen door held behind you.   “Well, well, well. Look at what the cat dragged in.”   Yoongi chuckles and grabs a crate from the back of his truck. “It’s groceries from my parents.”   He meets you at the porch and plants a chaste kiss on your lips as a greeting. You follow him into the kitchen as he beelines to it. It’s almost like this is his home — an idea that tempts you greatly.   “Aw, she packed me more pie.” There’s goat’s milk too and you store it in the fridge as Yoongi organizes your cabinet, making sure there’s enough sustenance to keep you healthy for the week. You’ve already told him that you could take care of yourself, but he’s stood firm and you didn’t argue. It was a guilty pleasure to be pampered by Yoongi after all, and you weren’t about to refuse it.   “My parents want you to come over soon. They keep asking me about you.”   You nod. “I’m happy to come over whenever they want. But I should probably bake something. Your mom always makes me food.”   “Nah. She does it cause she likes to. How about Tuesday?”   “That works for me.”   “Have you eaten yet?”   One shake of your head leads to him cooking and then the pair of you sitting at the table across from one another and sharing a warm meal. You ask Yoongi about his day and he tells you about bailing Namjoon and Taehyung out of jail. Apparently, they landed themselves into trouble after they lost their cow and went looking for it. Yet somehow, they ended up miles away on an orchard farm where they had a confrontation with an old grump and got arrested for trespassing.   But as exasperated as Yoongi likes to act, the irony isn’t lost on you how he drove that far out to bail them out and keep the secret from their parents. He’s the kind of man that conveys his feelings through his actions instead of his words and you’ve come to endear that quirk about him.   After dinner and cleaning up, you turn on the twinkling fairy lights strung along the backyard and stand on your patio, leaning against the banister. The land and rows of kale are strangely bare without people and the ruckus of crowds, yet there’s a certain peacefulness of the uncertain horizon.   “What’re you thinking about?” A husky voice sounds beside you as Yoongi meets your side.   “Nothing.” You shake your head. “All day I’ve been feeling proud of myself, that’s all. I think...my grandfather would be proud of me too.”   “Of course he would be.” Yoongi drapes his arm around your shoulder. “I’m proud of you too.”   As calm and detached as Yoongi may be at times, he still has the effect of catching you off guard when he sweet talks. And it’s a kind of duality that makes you adore him even more.   You wrap your arm around his slim waist, grinning and he plants a wet kiss at your forehead.   “Hey, Yoongi. Since you love me….does that mean you love kale too?”   “Those things are mutually exclusive.”   “But kale is my lifeblood.” You look up at him. “You can’t love me without loving kale.”   He scoffs at your ridiculous argument, but it’s pointless back and forths like this that you enjoy the most. Especially when Yoongi gives in. “Fine. I love kale. But for the record, I love you a lot more.”   You laugh and lean your head on his shoulder. “I’m glad I came here.”   You’re glad you never gave up or gave in to the discouragement of your family, the apprehension of your friends or the voice inside your own mind.    You’ve finally found your place.   “I’m glad too.”   There’s no need to go home when home is right here.

[sluttyten]

Coming Home

Poly Orgy Series: Part 8

Poly Series Chapter Index

summary: when you found out you were pregnant, you worried you’d have to go it alone, but instead you find that you have quite a lot of support, several boyfriends that love you wholeheartedly, and a place to call home.

length: 21,227

tags: pregnancy!!, smut, polyamory, multiple partners, unprotected sex, the usual poly orgy series type of tags

“Baby, I don’t want to have to worry about anything in the future. I don’t want you to have to worry either. I love you so much, and the other night I was thinking about the future, about you, about the baby, and really it seemed to me that there’s only one true next step for me to take.” Mark takes a deep breath.

Your world freezes.

“Baby, will you marry me?” Mark asks even as he’s sinking down on one knee.

“Mark!” You cry out, slapping him on the arm hard enough that the sound echoes around your living room.

“Fuck!” Mark straightens up with a whine, his hand immediately flying up to cover the burning imprint of your hand on his arm. “What the fuck?”

Tears burst to your eyes, though you're not sure exactly why. “Mark, why would you ask me... ask me to marry you?” Your voice pitches up at the end, a surprised and somewhat almost frightened squeal.

Mark looks at you then, all wide-eyed seriousness. “I just thought it’s the right thing to do. If you’re pregnant, then shouldn’t you have something stable? A husband? Someone who can help you out and take care of you and the baby? And with the way our lives are, it’s a miracle that no rumor has gotten out to the fans about you at all yet, but now if it does, if they find out about you being pregnant, well, then everyone’s going to want to know which of us you’re with and the answer can only be one, and it’ll just make sense for us to get married, right?”

“And you think that should be you?”

“Well, why not?” His tone is slightly angry, defensive and hurt.

You sigh and turn your back to him so you can wipe at these tears without him watching you. 

“Baby?”

“Mark.” Your voice breaks and you clear your throat before turning around and addressing him again. “Mark, I appreciate it and I get where you’re coming from, but I’m going to say no. I love you, and I love that you want to do the right thing by marrying me, but it’s simply not fair to all the others. It’s not fair to you if you’re not the--”

“I don’t care about who the dad is.” Mark straightens up, determination burning in his gaze. “I know the odds of it being mine are slim. I would love if it is mine, like, the idea of being a dad is scary, but no matter what happens, who turns out to be the father, I figure I’m still going to be involved, right?”

You open your mouth, but you can’t find any words to comfort him, to give him a satisfying answer. You don’t know what’s going to happen in the future. Of course, you’ve always known that this whole polyamorous relationship couldn’t be sustainable, though you’ve all tried your best. This news, the little life growing inside of you, might just be that last little chip to shatter the relationship to bits. How can you hope to stay in a relationship with them all when you’ve got a baby? How could you raise a child with fourteen possible fathers?

“Maybe I’ll just Mamma Mia the whole situation,” you mumble. 

Mark snorts. “You gonna run away to a Greek island and raise this baby on your own? And in twenty something years when we’re all doing our own things, we’ll get an invite to a wedding, and only then will we unravel the mystery?” He smiles and steps up, wrapping his arms around you, one hand gently cradling the back of your neck. “Baby, you don’t have to do any of that. We’ll all figure this out. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done this tonight. I just.... I’m a traditional kind of guy, I guess. Baby, marriage, moving in together. Those are all things I’ve wanted for a long time, and we’ve already got two of those things in the works. But it’s okay, I understand.” 

You sink into his hug. Mark’s so warm and soft and with his arms wrapped around you, you feel even more sleepy than you had before. You breathe in, just taking in the smell of his soap and laundry detergent, and you breathe out.

“This feels nice,” you mumble, your words muffled against his shoulder. 

Mark’s hum of agreement vibrates through his chest, and a moment later it turns into a laugh.

Without breaking the hug, you ask him, “Why are you laughing?”

“I don’t even have a ring or anything.” Mark’s voice bounces happily, and he hides his face in your shoulder. “Probably a good thing you shot me down, honestly.”

A while later when you’re in bed, Mark yawning now too as he settles into your bed, you sit up and reach over to rummage through the drawer of your bedside table. 

When you turn back around, Mark’s watching you curiously, and he wordlessly gives you his hand when you gesture for him to give it to you. He watches as you uncap a Sharpie marker, and then you separate his ring finger from the others, as you draw a fine black line around the base of his finger. When you’ve completed the ink band you hold his fingers in yours.

“This is a promise,” you tell him, “that we do have a future together, no matter what. That we’ll always be in each other’s lives as lovers or friends or whatever it may be, you’ll always be special to me, Mark Lee.” 

You turn his hand over, and bringing his palm to your lips, you kiss right beneath the black band that you just drew on him.

Mark lunges up, wrapping his arms around you, dragging you down against his chest, and he kisses you, kisses your cheeks and nose and chin, and you’re laughing with your hands braced against his chest, kissing him when you can too.

And the next morning when you wake up, you find that some time in the night, Mark had picked up your abandoned Sharpie, and drawn a matching black ink band on your ring finger.

Things are a bit weird for a while after that while everyone adjusts to the awareness that you’re pregnant. And after your first prenatal appointment, some of the boys start acting even more differently.

For one thing, the appointment confirms that you are indeed pregnant, and about eight to nine weeks along by the looks of things. Which, as you listen to your doctor, makes a lot of sense given the symptoms you’ve been experiencing. And that news of you being approximately eight weeks along, and therefore bringing a baby into the world in about 32 weeks, definitely changes how some of your boyfriends start behaving.

Especially after you show them the ultrasound picture.

It’s just a little gray, blurry blob, but there’s a heat in your chest that’s not caused by the heartburn you’ve begun to feel 

For a few of the boys, this means that they get protective over you. Taeil and WinWin, for example, both offer to do pretty much everything for you, from opening doors to running upstairs to grab something. Anything that actually might be in any possible way considered “overexerting yourself” they argue with you to let them do. 

Johnny, Jaehyun, and to your surprise, Jungwoo, all get much more touchy, wanting to be around you as much as possible. And Jungwoo is just a horny boy all the time, to the point that one evening after you get home from a date with him, as you’re sitting on his lap on the sofa in the otherwise empty house, Jungwoo just starts touching you, and you can tell that he’s already half-hard.

“What is with you lately?” You ask with a laugh, letting Jungwoo pull your shirt over your head. “You’ve been so horny. Is it something I’m doing different?” You perch yourself on his knees, bat your eyelashes at him, and push your chest forward, smiling as his eyes slide down to the curves of your breasts.

“Oh my god... Yeah, angel. Just thinking about you pregnant is actually really sexy.” Jungwoo’s hands settle on your hips. “You’re gonna look even sexier, and your boobs are going to get bigger and, uh, it’s not something I’ve really talked about before, because I was afraid the others would make fun of me or you’d think it’s really weird, but the idea of, like, nursing?” Jungwoo averts his eyes from you, his face going a pale shade of embarrassed. “I think it’s pretty hot.”

You smile and pat his head. “You’ve always had a thing for my boobs, you know, so honestly, I’m not too surprised.” Jungwoo leans into your touch, smiling all sweetly even as his hands knead at your ass roughly. “But you really think me being pregnant is sexy?”

Jungwoo nods. “Definitely. Plus,” he shrugs and says, “I don’t know, there’s just something about you right now that is very, very attractive. Jaehyun says so too.”

“I’m sure he does. Especially since he’s been hot for the idea of knocking me up since the first time we all had sex.” You drape your arms around Jungwoo’s neck. “You, him, Johnny, all three of you are acting so clingy and affectionate lately, meanwhile most of the others wouldn’t dare to try to have sex.” 

Just the day before you’d tried to initiate something with Hendery. He went along with it while you were just making out, but as soon as you slid your hand into his pants to rub his erection to full hardness, he’d backed away, making excuses. Taeyong had done the same a few days before that.

“I’ll dare to do it.” Jungwoo leans his head down, mouths at your breasts, as he murmurs, “I want you to ride me, right here. But turn around.”

Reluctantly you climb off his lap, and as you’re facing away from him, Jungwoo pulls your pants and panties down. You step out of them, look back over your shoulder at him, and see Jungwoo watching you with a look of pure awe on his face. 

“You’re always so beautiful.” Jungwoo slides a hand down your side, over your hip, curving around to your butt. He leans in and drops just a tiny kiss right at the small of your back. “What did we do to deserve you and everything you’ve blessed us with.”

Your face heats up with a blush. 

When he pulls you back onto his lap, his hands settle on your hips, guiding you all the way back until your back is pressed to his chest, his cheek touches yours, and your ass is right over his bulging erection. His fingers flutter for a moment, and then he brushes his hands up to your belly, gentle and light, and then he touches one warm palm flat against your skin, the soothing heat of skin on skin sinks down into you. 

Jungwoo’s lips rest against your cheek as you sigh, relaxing back against him.

His other hand wanders lower, fingertips dipping into the crack between your thighs, and obediently you part them for him, letting your legs fall off to either side of his, giving him access to your wet heat.

“Look at you, already soaking wet, spreading your legs so easily for me.” Jungwoo murmurs. “You really do want it badly, don’t you? How long has it been since one of us touched you?”

Truly not that long. That evening with Taeil, Johnny, Taeyong, Kun, Doyoung, and Ten was the last time, and that was just a little over two weeks ago. But compared to just a couple months ago, a week could be considered a dreadfully long time to go untouched by any of them.

You whine when Jungwoo only strokes his finger teasingly over your entrance, avoiding your clit, hardly giving you anything.

“Too long, Jungwoo. I want you.”

“Me? But I’m sure you went to others first. Lucas? I know you love how big and broad he is, making you feel all small. Or Kun hyung? Remember when he and Ten were hogging you all to themselves; you couldn’t get enough of them then.” Jungwoo teases. “You want me? Why do you want me so badly?”

You squirm, wiggling down against his erection. “Because I love you, Jungwoo. I want you.” 

He tuts, his lips trailing down now from your cheek to your neck, brushing over sensitive skin, his nose bumps against your jaw. “But why though? What exactly do you want about me?”

His teeth meet the skin of your shoulder just barely, and you whine. “I want you to have me all to yourself, Jungwoo. You can make me feel small too. You’re so big and broad and long.” You rub your ass down against his erection, your head dropping back against his shoulder. “I want you to make me feel small, like your little angel doll.”

Jungwoo smiles where his lips are against the top of your shoulder. 

You can feel yourself dripping wet, the slick arousal gathered on his finger that just keeps up its petting of your pussy lips. 

His mouth moves, teeth pricking your skin occasionally, and then you feel the moment that he catches your bra strap between his teeth, dragging it along to the curve of your shoulder. When he releases it, the band tickles down your upper arm, and Jungwoo shifts, focusing his nipping kisses on your other shoulder until he against takes that bra strap between he teeth and drags it over the curve of your shoulder. 

“Sit up, angel.” Jungwoo murmurs, and you do just that, feeling excited but also disappointed when his hands disappear from your skin, only to return a moment later. His slick finger touches against your back along with several non-slicked fingers, and a second later the clasp of your bra comes apart. You let it drop from your arms, leaving you fully exposed in the room, sitting in a fully-clothed Jungwoo’s lap.

He spreads his legs apart, and you lean back against him once more as his spreading legs push yours farther apart as well.

“Sexy.” Jungwoo kisses your cheek again.

He scoots your forward just a little, just enough that he can fit his hand between you both, and unfasten his zipper to get his cock out. You feel him hot and hard against your tailbone, and your core throbs. It’s been too long since you last had one of them inside you, and now....

You moan from the satisfaction of lifting yourself up and sitting down on Jungwoo’s cock. 

“Perfect.” Jungwoo murmurs, his lips against your bare shoulder once more. “Love the feel of you when it’s been a while. The way you react.” His hands circle around to the front of your body, one hand lifted to gentle cup your breast. You groan, leaning back against his chest, sinking down the last inch around him, and Jungwoo’s other hand strokes lightly at your clit. “You’re so beautiful.”

With his arms wrapped around you, his hands caressing your body, his cock filling you up, you feel so perfectly small and safe in his arms, even with you being so exposed out in the room.

Jungwoo smiles as you start to squirm, needing to move to get more than just feeling full and having his teasing touches on your clit. But as you move away, pushing up onto your feet, pulling off his cock, you turn to see Jungwoo frowning slightly. Until you sit back down on his lap facing him. 

“I want to see you.” You push his cock back inside you, nice and snug, and then plant your hands on either side of his face, lower your mouth toward his, and start riding him.

Jungwoo’s hands fall to your hips, keeping your rhythm steady as you bounce in his lap. The sound of your gasping breaths and breathy moans echoes all around the space, and you’re grateful that tonight it’s only the two of you here. You feel the sparks of pleasure buzzing and zipping around under your skin; Jungwoo’s hands grope at your ass, his lips burn along your jaw, and you needed this, you really did. 

The orgasm comes over you before you expected it, suddenly crashing through you--walls clenching around Jungwoo’s dick, thighs twitching, unable to hold you up any longer, but that’s when Jungwoo just holds you up by your hips and keeps fucking you through it, his thrusts rocking through your body, elongating your orgasm.

Jungwoo grunts as he approaches his orgasm, low moans under his breath and swearing, and you just twist your fingers in his hair, dragging his lips to yours as he cums.

He pulls out of you as he does, cumming half inside you and half against your thigh, but you don’t mind. You sink down, feeling the mess as you sit against the front of his jeans, the denim rough against your sensitive clit, but at the moment you’re a glutton for that kind of oversensitivity. 

With Jungwoo’s softening erection still wet and the rough denim of his jeans, you start humping against him, desperate for another orgasm to keep this warm buzzy glow inside of you going. 

“Fuck,” Jungwoo groans. “Gonna cum again, princess? You’re making quite the mess of my jeans, look at you.” You do duck your head, looking down at the front of Jungwoo’s jeans where his own cum is smeared along with your wetness and more of his cum as it leaks out of you while you wantonly rub yourself against the denim, making a larger and larger wet patch, grinding forward against his cock, back along the denim.

His hands circle around your back, broad hands covering the expanse of your back, and you arch backwards a bit, leaning into his touch, keeping the movement of your hips against his pants. Jungwoo dips his head forward, his tongue swipes a circle around one of your nipples, his lips then skirt around kissing your breasts. They hurt but right now it doesn’t feel so bad, not with everything else you have going on.

“Cum again for me. I’ve got you.” Jungwoo murmurs, and he sucks gently on your nipple. Your mind falls straight to what you’d been talking about with him earlier, and you picture Jungwoo sucking on your breasts like this, breastmilk on his tongue, and somehow you find that to be a stimulating thought. 

This orgasm writhes through you, and your hips twitch erratically over his jeans, your body falling into the overwhelming pleasure of it, and you can feel the heat squirting out of you, and Jungwoo’s moans of surprise mix with yours. And all through it, the heat of his hands holding you safely remains, and then he pull your forward against his chest, those same hands rubbing soothingly up and down your back. 

“I’m sorry about your jeans,” you whisper to him after a little while when you’ve come back to yourself. “We should probably throw them in the wash before they’re permanently ruined.”

“No,” Jungwoo hums. “It’s fine. We can just stay like this for a bit longer.”

But you feel like your pussy is drying to the leg of Jungwoo’s pants, and that idea is certainly not pleasant, so when you peel yourself away from him, you wrinkle your nose a bit in disgust and Jungwoo groans at the loss of contact. “Let’s go shower and throw the clothes in the laundry. Plus, we shouldn’t stay here like this much longer. Who knows who will come home and find us like this?”

“I guess you’re right.” Jungwoo stands up suddenly, and it’s then that you really get a look at his pants. The whole crotch of them is dark from you squirting and from his cum. He quickly stuffs his cock away again, wipes his fingers along the front of his pants, and then you watch, bemused, as he lifts his fingers to his face and sniffs.

“You’re gross.” You laugh, taking his hand, and grabbing up your clothes before heading for the stairs.

“What? You smell good.” Jungwoo reaches up to touch your butt as you climb the stairs, and you stop so that you can spin around and look at him, and Jungwoo just grins. “Come on, thought we were going to shower?”

Moving day comes quickly, and the move is easy when you’ve got a whole moving crew at your disposal, every one of them more than happy to move things for you so you don’t strain yourself at all. Especially since they’ve all had multiple chances to look at that little blur that was the beginning of a baby in your ultrasound picture. You first showed off that picture two weeks ago, and now ten weeks along, you’re really starting to feel the pregnancy.

You’re exhausted, wanting to just nap all the time. And then, on top of the morning sickness, you’re dealing with heartburn too, plus just the day before the move, you stood up too quickly and felt dizzy, so now the boys are being very protective over you.

“Don’t lift that!” WinWin cried out in frustration as you bent over to lift a box from the floor. His hand rested on your back as you straightened up. “I’ve got it. Don’t worry about it, what do you think we’re all here for?”

He quickly stooped to lift the box for you. As soon as he was out the door, you looked for anything else that you could do. You hated being unable to help yourself move out. Ten had refused to even let you try to wrangle your cat Miso into the carrier since he seemed to be uneager to leave the apartment and move into his new home. So far most of your stuff had already been taken out before you could lift a finger to help, but now you saw a few boxes left, and just as you moved toward them, Xiaojun came through the door and caught your eye.

Xiaojun shook his head. “Don’t. We’ve got this.”

When you fold your arms across your chest and pout at him, Xiaojun smiles and walks over to you. 

“Don’t be like this.” He laughs. “We’re just looking out for you and the baby.” Xiaojun lifts a hand to your cheek, his thumb touching the corner of your lips tenderly. “Just think, all it takes is one day to move out, and then you’re living with us, baby. No worries about getting home late at night to your empty place.” 

You glance around at your startlingly empty apartment. This little place you’d made into a home, but it had grown less homelike over the last few months as you spent more time with your boyfriends. 

Home was them, the comfort of their kitchen filled with spices and warmth of whatever was cooking up, the sleepiness of sinking into the sofa with a few of them after a long day at work. 

Home was Taeil cuddling up behind you, his nose chilly on the side of your neck, but the rest of him so warm. It was Johnny kissing you hello every time either of you walked into the house after not having seen each other all day. It was quiet chats with Taeyong with your limbs tangled together, Yuta’s little moments of caring for you through words and touches and gifts. Home was Kun and Ten bickering with each other and turning to you to point out that they’re both fools, hearing them murmur ‘I love yous’ with Ten’s chilly fingers intertwining with yours, Kun’s contrastingly warm lips on your skin. Home was the smell of Doyoung and the sound of his voice singing so smooth and beautiful, his laugh, his gentle touches and bright smile when he saw you. It was Jaehyun sleepily slipping into the shower with you, just wanting to be close to you, WinWin silently taking care of you and quietly showing affection through light touches and surprise moments of intimacy. 

You could find home in Jungwoo’s playful, needy rambunctiousness and in his quieter heartfelt moments. Home was in Lucas confiding to you worries and secrets that he feared would make him look weak; it was in Lucas gathering you into his arms and bracing you against his chest, easily making you forget that the rest of the world was out there. Home was Xiaojun holding your face in his hands like the most precious treasure in the world; it was him laughing with his whole chest and spending hours curled together without sleeping, just having the quiet time together on your phones or listening to music or whispering to each other or gazing up at the stars. It was Hendery always being able to make you laugh, knowing the right things to say, caring and worrying and loving you. 

Home was Mark playing his guitar and singing under his breath, smiling out at you from beneath a hoodie, holding your hand as if he worried you might fly away, and most importantly home with Mark was found in him always being the first to invite you into their company, into their hearts and homes.

“Let’s go home,” Xiaojun tells you.

You nod, take his hand, and walk with him out of your apartment for the last time. 

Miso doesn’t like living in the house, not right away. He hisses at the boys, always bolting from room to room, trying to hide from anyone that’s not you. It’s only after Ten accidentally shuts Miso in his room with him and you that Miso finally mellows out just a little bit. After that he likes Ten. Only you and Ten. But that doesn’t keep Taeyong, Taeil, Jeno, YangYang, Renjun, and Jaehyun from trying to befriend him. 

Even when you’re napping on the sofa and Miso curls up on your chest, as soon as Jaehyun and Ten come downstairs, Miso stands up, flicking his tail angrily, and jumping off your chest, which wakes you up. You just catch sight of Miso’s tail disappearing from your line of sight, and then you look around.

It’s dusk outside, the sky a pretty pale blue with hints of pink and periwinkle clouds, and through the door in the kitchen you can hear laughter from outside. Johnny and a few of the others are out there grilling dinner, some others are in the kitchen. Jaehyun sits down across the room from you, but Ten slides onto the sofa with you.

“I’m sorry Miso doesn’t like you, Jaehyun.” You stretch your arms over your head, savoring the feel of your sleepy muscles stretching. You shiver at the feel of your shirt skimming up your stomach, a slight tickle. 

“Yeah,” Ten laughs. “He only likes me. Let’s hope that the baby’s the same way.”

Ten’s chilly hands slip under your shirt and you whine, smacking his hands away. “God, Ten! Stop that!” 

But he laughs and pulls his hands out, only to bring them to his face, puffing some warm breath into them before he does it again. It’s slightly better, though not by much. You pout at him. 

“I just want to feel.”

“Feel what? The baby’s not big enough to kick yet. I don’t think it even has proper legs. It might still have a tail.” You roll your eyes, looking across the room to where Jaehyun is watching all of this with a light smile on his lips. “And I’m not even showing yet, so you’re literally just feeling up my belly. I have much less to show under here than you do.”

And you dive for his shirt, trying to pull it up to expose his toned abs, even higher so that you see the black tip of his chest tattoo. Ten laughs and wrestles his shirt out of your grip carefully. He drops a kiss on your lips, and dances away before you can protest. He vanishes out the back door of the house, into the cooling afternoon where Johnny and Hendery are grilling dinner. 

You sigh and sink lower into the cushions. Jaehyun’s looking back down at his phone now, but you watch him anyway. 

Ever since all of this with you announcing your pregnancy, showing off the first ultrasound of Little Blobby (as you and a few of the others, including Jisung and Haechan, have begun calling it), and since moving in, you haven’t really had many opportunities to speak one-on-one with Jaehyun. He’s been busy MCing, taking on an acting role, fulfilling other idol duties. 

“Jaehyun?” You call. He looks up at you, and when you hold out your hand to him even though there’s still quite a few feet of empty space between you and him, he raises his eyebrows. “Come here?”

Jaehyun slides smoothly onto his feet, and you scoot into more of an upright position, making room for him to join you in the oversized armchair that you’ve been reclining in. He plops right into the spot with you, and you shift around, getting comfortable, which ends up meaning that you’re tucked against his side, one leg thrown over his. Jaehyun takes your hand, lifts it to his lips, and then brings your intertwined hands back down to rest atop the leg you have thrown over his.

“Yes, my love?” His voice is low, soft, and a bit scratchy as you know he’s at the tail end of a cold.

“I just wanted to be close to you,” you tell him. “And I feel like we haven’t really talked much recently. I miss you. Have you been sleeping enough? Eating enough?”

Jaehyun’s nose crinkles as he laughs. “Mom instincts already kicking in? Yes, I’m getting plenty of those things. I’ve been busy, but I’m managing. What about you? I heard you’ve been having trouble sleeping the past few nights. Taeil hyung said that you toss and turn. Mark said that you were sleep talking about some weird shit last night.”

You snort. “Yeah, last night I had a dream that we were all out eating at a restaurant, like one of those weird ones you’ll find sometimes in America with the fresh seafood tanks? With lobsters and stuff in them? And we were waiting for our food to be served, and it was taking forever, so Doyoung asked the waiter how much longer it would be, and the waiter pointed at me then at the fish tank and said, looks like you’re almost done. And there, in the giant tank, was me, looking like one of the people from Avatar in that big tank, my belly all big. It was fucking weird, that’s for sure.”

Jaehyun gives you a weird look, but laughs. “Your imagination is something else. But other than that weird dream, you’re doing well? Morning sickness still bad?”

You nod. “I walked past Jisung and Chenle earlier after they got home from practice, and they were eating like spicy teokbokki and all those smells combined, I couldn’t take it. Also, I guess my weird food cravings are starting too, because I really wanted crunchy peanut butter and watermelon earlier? I have no idea where that craving came from.” You shrug, and look at Jaehyun’s face again. “But I think morning sickness might be going away soon, that’s what the blogs I’ve looked at say. That the sickness starts to wane at the end of the first trimester and goes away for most women. Hopefully I’m not one of the ones that it continues for, I don’t think I’ll be able to handle that.”

He’s looking down at your belly, and you bite your lip. Was he even listening while were talking? He looks miles away. 

You bump him with your shoulder. “Jae? What are you thinking about?”

Jaehyun blows out a heavy breath. “You’re really pregnant, huh?”

You sit up a bit more, lean away from him so you can look at him more straight on. “Yeah? Duh. Thought we went over this like four weeks ago? Confirmed by an ultrasound and everything. And even before that you were totally on board when all I had was one positive cheap pregnancy test from a convenience store. Why the tone of, like, surprise?”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “No, it’s not-- I’m just still thinking about it a lot. Like, it’s amazing, honestly. Thinking that one of us is a dad, and we don’t really know it. I know,” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face as he says, “That I’ve been a bit of a jealous asshole in the past. And I’ve tried working on that, right? I love you and of course I want this baby to be mine, like, fuck, how many times have I talked about that. But I want you to know that, uh, even if it’s not mine, I’m just excited and amazed that in a few months you’re going to have a baby. When do you get to find out the sex?”

“I think about at 20-ish weeks.”

“And have you started thinking about names yet?” Jaehyun strokes his thumb over your knuckles. 

Before you can answer him, Yuta appears, perching himself on the arm of the chair beside Jaehyun. “What are we talking about?”

“The baby,” Jaehyun answers, “and if she has any names that she’s thinking about.”

“You should definitely give the baby a Japanese name,” Yuta teases. “Since I’m probably the father.”

Jaehyun’s head turns so fast that you’re surprised you don’t hear his neck crack.  “Why do you think that?” The look he gives Yuta is so sharp, the glare so powerful, you just hide your face against Jaehyun’s neck, trying to soothe him with some physical attention. So much for working on his jealousy. It looks could kill, Yuta would be six feet under. 

“I’m just joking, Jaehyunnie.” Yuta pats the younger man’s hair. “But one of the fourteen of us is the father, and considering how often you sit out and just watch the rest of us fuck her, I’d say your odds are pretty low.” Yuta says that with a smile on his face, but Jaehyun frowns and slaps Yuta’s hand away.

“Oh, knock it off, both of you.” You place a kiss lightly on Jaehyun’s neck, and put your hand on his head, comb your fingers soothingly through his hair. “I literally slept with every single one of you right around the time that this Little Blob was made, so therefore, it really could be any of you. And, about names, I don’t think I’m really going to choose until after the baby is born. It’ll be my choice.”

“How are you going to choose which of us goes with you to have the baby?” Yuta asks.

“Maybe I won’t take any of you along.” You tease. “Maybe it’ll just be me and my mother. Speaking of which, I still haven’t told them.”

Jaehyun freezes then turns to look at you slowly. “What do you mean you haven’t told them yet? Aren’t you, like, twelve weeks along? Babe, you need to tell your parents.”

You know that, you completely agree that you need to tell them. But you know they’re going to ask who the father is, that they’ll definitely judge you harshly when you tell them that you don’t know who the father is, and they won’t understand if you attempt to reassure them that it’s okay that you don’t know who the father is because you know that it’s for sure one of your fourteen boyfriends, because your parents likely will disapprove of that too.

“You can tell them I’m the father, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jaehyun says softly, tipping his head gently against yours. 

You bite your lip. “Thank you. That would help, for sure, but also, like you said, I’m twelve weeks along. My mother will be pissed that I waited so long to tell her.”

Yuta shrugs. “Tell her that you just found out. It’s not like you’re showing. So you say that you’ve been feeling weird, and you finally went to the doctor to get checked out, and found out you’re pregnant.”

“Just text her, tell her you’re pregnant, and that you don’t want to answer a lot of questions.” WinWin appears behind the chair, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands. “At least you can tell your parents that you’re adding a grandchild to the family now. One of us is going to have to wait to tell our family about the baby until after it’s born when we find out who the father is.”

You hadn’t thought about that either. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, resting your head again on Jaehyun’s shoulder.

“Don’t apologize for that.” Yuta stands up. “It’s not like it’s your fault.”

“Time to eat!” Johnny shouts as he comes through the door, carrying a platter piled with grilled meat. You catch a whiff of it.

Covering your nose, you shake your head. “I can’t deal with that.” Johnny catches sight of your face and whisks the plate back outside, not that it takes the smell with it, and your stomach rolls. “I’m going upstairs. I’m not hungry.” You pull yourself out of the chair and hurry up the stairs, gladly breathing the air up on the top floor that’s untainted by the smell of meat.

You shut yourself in the room you share with Taeil, and as you sit in the bed, your back to the headboard, you stare nervously down at the phone in your hand. 

It takes a few moments to build up your courage to finally press the contact for your mother, and you hold your phone up to your ear.

When she answers, you take a deep breath. “Hi, what are you up to?”

“Oh, nothing. Just watching your father try not to burn our meal.” She laughs, and you can hear your dad laughing in the background too. “What are you up to? Dinner plans tonight?”

Your heart pounds in your chest. “Um, no. Actually there’s something I want to talk to you and dad about.”

“Are you okay?” Your mother’s voice suddenly grows sharp, concerned.

“I’m fine. Definitely. Can you put me on speaker?” You wait a moment until your mother gives you a confirmation that she’s done just that. Your dad’s speaking over your mother, both of them with concerned tones that you finally silence by speaking over them even louder. “Do you remember me saying I’m seeing someone?”

You had, several months ago, told your parents that you were seeing someone after your mother had repeatedly tried setting you up with a young man that owned her favorite bakery. Up to that point you didn’t want to even tell them that you were seeing someone so they wouldn’t ask too many questions. You’d not given them many details, and they didn’t push. 

“Yes, we remember.” Your mother says.

“So, things have gotten pretty serious with him. Especially recently.” You can hear your voice shaking with nerves. This is not how you ever imagined telling your parents you were pregnant. You’d always thought that cute reveals to new grandparents were very entertaining videos to watch online, but now that you’re in this situation, you don’t think you could do it, not given the circumstances.

“Serious?” You father repeats. “How serious?”

You’re quiet for a few moments as you try to think of the best way to phrase it, but you wait so long that you mom says your name, checking to make sure that you’re still on the line.

“Um, so, I’m pregnant. About twelve weeks along, according to the doctor.”

“Twelve weeks?!” Your mother gasps. “Oh my! You’re pregnant! Honey, she’s having a baby! And your boyfriend... he knows? Is he excited also?”

“Do we finally get to meet the boy?” Your dad asks. “Now that he’s got a baby in you?”

Your mother hisses your dad’s name, and you hear her slap his arm. “But really, do we get to meet our future son-in-law?”

“Well, that’s another thing. Don’t.... I don’t want you to think that he and I are getting married now because of this.” You cradle the phone in your hands. “Nothing like that is set in stone. Right now, we’re just focusing on having the baby. And I suppose you should meet him.” But you’re not sure about that. It doesn’t seem fair for you to choose one of your boyfriends, one who may not be the father, and have him be the only man in this relationship that gets to meet your parents. 

“Oh, well, I suppose you’ve never been so much of a traditionalist, have you? So, it’s not terribly much of a surprise that you’re not necessarily going to marry him. But a baby! Our baby’s having a baby!” Your mother cries out in excitement. 

You spend the next half an hour to forty-five minutes talking with your parents, catching them up on moments in your life, talking about your pregnancy, dipping into details of how your mother’s pregnancy with you had gone. By the time you end the call, you feel much better, much lighter.

You feel as if the transformation happens suddenly. One day you look just as you have usually done, and then the next.... you’ve popped, the bump evident when you look in the half-fogged mirror of the bathroom.

You can’t help touching your belly, feeling the mound that certainly wasn’t there just weeks before.

“What are you doing?” Johnny asks, coming up behind you. He wraps his arms around you, hands covering yours on your belly. His skin is still wet and warm from the shower that’s still running in the background for you to step into. His hand is such a welcome presence, the heat of him against your bare skin. “You’re starting to show.”

You’re about fifteen weeks at this point, right in the timeline your doctor had told you that you might start showing. After that moment in the bathroom, you start wearing looser clothing, and just find it increasingly difficult to hide your pregnancy from anyone that you’d still been trying to keep it from, and your body is changing in a way that other people certainly take notice of.

“Shit, look at you, baby.” Mark whistles when he walks into the kitchen late one night, and he finds you standing beside the refrigerator with a midnight snack. You’re just wearing a pair of shorts and a low-cut camisole. Your belly standing out in evidence of the life inside of you, but you’re quickly made aware that that’s not exactly what Mark is pointing out.

He steps closer to you, and instead of touching your belly (as all the others have done as soon as they realized you were starting to show), Mark cups your tits.

“They’re bigger now.” His eyes are wide glued to your chest.

“Of course they’re bigger. Once this little blob comes out I’m going to have to feed it with these.” You nudge his hands away. “They’re not just toys for you all to play with, you know. They serve a purpose.”

Mark smiles at you and kisses your cheek. “I know, baby.” He tucks his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, and he stands there watching you eat, apparently entirely forgetting the reason that he entered the room himself. It’s quiet for a moment before Mark finally asks, “When’s your next appointment? Don’t you get to learn the sex of the baby soon?”

You nod. “Soon. I’m not sure if I actually want to know what we’re having though.” You drop a hand down to touch your little barely-there bump. “I might want it to be a surprise.”

Mark steps closer again, and this time he touches your belly too. “This little angel’s going to be full of surprises for us, isn’t it?”

You push your fingers into Mark’s hair, enjoying having him so close to you and the way he melts into your touch. Mark’s eyes flutter shut as you comb your fingers through his hair, he leans his forehead down against yours.

“Mark?” Your voice is very quiet even in the silence of the kitchen. “Mark, what do you want from this?”

“What do you mean?” He murmurs, not pulling back from you at all, but staying right there with his eyes closed and his forehead against yours. 

“I mean, do you want to be the dad? Or are you secretly hoping it’s one of the others? Do you want it to be a boy or a girl? Do you think this is going to really fuck up this relationship?”

“I think if it was going to mess this up, it would’ve already done so, right?” He stands up straight again, putting a few inches of space between you. “We’re all still here, excited about the baby. Hell, even the others are excited and they’ve not got any DNA in the game.”

You know he’s talking about the younger members, the ones not in this relationship. They’ve all been excited and supportive too. You’d taken several exhaustion naps on the sofa between Renjun and Jeno; just the other morning as you’d been looking at a pregnancy book at the kitchen table, YangYang had sat down beside you and started asking you questions about it. Haechan swore that he’d be glad to help babysit in the future. You’d heard Chenle and Jaemin offering to take bets on the paternity of the baby.

“And I don’t know about being the dad,” Mark says, “I don’t think it matters too much to me one way of the other. I don’t mean that in a bad way! I feel like that sounded kinda bad, but like, if I am the dad then that’s awesome and I’m going to try my hardest to be the best dad I can be, but even if I’m not, I’ll still try my best to be here. But I guess it also depends how you want to raise the kid, like, fourteen dads? Or are those who aren’t the dad just going to be Uncles who occasionally share mommy’s bed?”

You wrinkle your nose at that. “That’s exactly what I mean, Mark. This relationship is going to change, and that’s scary. I don’t want this to change, I love how we all are together, but after this, then what?”

“Hey.” Mark cups your face between his hands. He tilts your face up toward his, and when he kisses you softly, almost chastely, for just that moment in time you forget your worries. “That’s a problem for when we get to it, but it’s miles and miles away in the future. You don’t need to worry about that now, okay?” He kisses you again, and this time the kiss isn’t so sweet or tender. 

Your midnight snack is entirely forgotten on the counter beside you. Mark envelops you--his smell and his taste, the heat of his skin against yours-- and you lift your hands to his arms, first touching his wrists up near your face, and then your fingertips dance down his forearms, resting for a moment against his elbows as Mark twists his fingers into your hair, tilting your head to a better angle as your mouth opens to his, and you gasp quietly. 

His tongue touches yours, springing another moan from you, and Mark smiles, his fingers tightening in your hair. 

It doesn’t take much more kissing than that to have you craving a midnight snack of a different sort. The hunger grows inside you, the heat building, and soon you can feel your shorts are damp with arousal and your fingertips itch to undress Mark, your body aching with the need to have him inside you.

“Mark,” you mumble, planning to ask him to fuck you, but your hands are already moving. Your hands drop from where you’ve been holding onto his arms, instead gripping the bottom hem of his shirt which you tug at until your fingertips find skin instead. 

Mark groans, feeling your cool skin against his. And when your fingertips move across his abdomen, quickly dipping inside the waistband of his sweatpants, Mark inhales sharply, breaking the kiss for a moment, just to ask, “Here?”

You nod. “Yeah, why not?”

That’s good enough for him.

Mark dives back into the kiss, making little noises of contentment as you push his sweatpants lower, as you dip your hand inside his boxers, wrapping your hand around his cock. It doesn’t take long for him to start chubbing up in your hand.

“Mm, baby,” Mark pulls out of the kiss, his hands shaking to detangle his fingers from your hair, and his hands fall to your hips instead. Mark lifts you carefully up to sit on the edge of the countertop you’ve been leaning against, and now you’re at the perfect height to spread your legs and pull his cock free of his boxers to rub at the already damp fabric over your pussy. 

You remember the time you almost did this with Kun in here. Things got hot and heavy with him, but the younger boys were just in the other room, so you moved things upstairs instead. But tonight there’s no one around. Everyone’s either out or upstairs in their rooms. There’s nothing to stop you from having sex with Mark right here in the kitchen with the lights on and everything.

Mark thumbs the middle of your shorts out of the way as you keep jerking him off, rubbing the tip against the material, which he’s tired of, craving the direct wet heat of you on him.

“Fuck, baby, why aren’t you wearing any panties?” He almost whines. His thumb glides along your slit, and you shift forward, wanting to have him just slip his thumb inside you, but he pulls it away, putting his hand back to the safe distance of your thigh. “That’s dirty. Looking so sexy already with your belly growing and your tits too, then no panties either. Shit, it’s like you knew this was going to happen.”

“Maybe I’ve just been hoping.” You lean in, capture his lips in a brief kiss, and then say, “You’ve all been so careful with me. I don’t get fucked nearly as much as before, and while this pregnancy has messed with my sex drive a bit, I do still want to have sex, I just think you all should know that.”

“So no panties because you’re horny, hoping to entice one of us into fucking you?” Mark grins crookedly, looking down at your pussy, which you finally bring his cock closer to, and you dip his tip against your clit, moving it in circles.

You smile and try to stifle a moan.

“Do you want it?” Mark asks you.

“Yes, Mark,” you sigh, and you guide his cock to where you need him most, and Mark lifts a hand to tilt your mouth up to meet his once more. 

Mark enters you smoothly, slowly, in one thrust. Your toes curl at the slow feeling, the stretch and glide, the way that you’ve barely had anyone touch you in weeks, since Jungwoo, probably. You don’t think you’ve been with another one of them since him, not having one of them inside you like this--just you helping them out with a blowjob maybe and then possibly a bit of fingering, but most of them were still treating you like some fragile porcelain doll--and that was probably a month and a half ago when you were with Jungwoo, the last time you’d had one of their dicks inside your vagina.

“Oh, fuck,” Mark groans. “I swear you’re tighter than normal.”

“Shh,” you shush him, laughing as you try to kiss him quiet. “It’s been a couple weeks since I’ve had more than a finger or two inside me.” 

Mark moans, deepening the kiss, silencing you as he thrusts slowly, each push of his cock deeper inside you feels incredible. 

You both take it slow, in no rush to get off right now, it’s just good enough to have him inside you, to kiss him, and Mark seems to feel the same. Kissing and hands slipping under clothes, just touching, hips rolling, everything slow and warm and you feel so wet, growing wetter with each glide of Mark’s cock inside your pussy, pants and moans rising in frequency. 

Your goal isn’t to cum, just to have Mark so close to you, but soon there’s no denying that you’re both getting close. It’s been too long since either of you had this kind of sexual release. Mark’s thrusts start to grow faster, sloppier, and he pants against your lips, “Can I cum inside you? What about---?”

“It’s fine, Mark.” You gasp, dropping your head back. “Please, I want to feel it.”

Happy to oblige you, Mark ducks his head to kiss at your neck. His hand sinks to the apex of your thighs, his thumb tracing quick, careful circles on your clit as he thrusts into you, chasing his quickly rising high. The sound of your breathy sighs and moans, soft whimpers of his name, all seem to drive him on, and you cum just moments before him.

“Mark, fuck!” You gasp. You clutch at his shoulders, holding yourself close to him as the sensation pulses through your body, dragging Mark into his orgasm as well. He bites down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, muffling his moans as he spills inside you, his cum making you feel warm and full, and you don’t want to move from right here like this, just want to stay here with Mark inside you, close as he can be to you, his body pressed fully against yours, your baby bump against his belly.

You don’t want to move, and you probably wouldn’t have for quite some time, but suddenly there’s the tapping sound of someone jogging down the stairs. 

Mark pulls away from you, stuffing his cock back inside his sweatpants, and he reaches out to tug your shorts back into place. He even rearranges your hair so it falls over your shoulders, hiding the mark he’d just sucked on your throat. And then he steps away, leaning against the stove and pretending to study a box of cereal someone had left out.

WinWin walks into the room, his eyes puffy from sleep. He yawns as he looks between the two of you, walking across the room toward you to reach the sink. 

“Were you just messing around in here?” He asks, opening a cabinet door to pick out a glass. “Because that’s gross. We all eat in here.”

He looks away as he fills the glass with water. Mark’s eyes go faux-innocently wide, and he opens his mouth, prepared to give some excuse.

You cut him off. “You’re one to talk, Dong Sicheng. Are you forgetting the time I rode you right over there at the kitchen table? You weren’t so concerned about this being a place where we eat then. I’m pretty sure I remember you specifically pulling me into your lap and telling you that this is where we eat, so you wanted to eat me.”

WinWin coughs, almost choking on the water. Mark laughs loudly.

You smile at them both, and then push off the counter, landing on your feet, and you wrinkle your nose at the feeling as a bit of Mark’s cum begins to trickle down your thigh. WinWin reaches out to you, as if worried that the look on your face is due to some discomfort of the baby.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.” You walk the few feet over to Mark, kiss him, and then you turn to WinWin, kiss him as well, and turn to walk away, calling back over your shoulder, “Good night!”

Their returned well-wishes of sweet dreams follow you upstairs as you crawl into Hendery’s bed. 

He stirs a bit when you slide in beside him. He fell asleep watching videos on his phone, and the phone’s laying facedown on his chest, the edge of it still outlined from the light of the screen, so you move it off, rolling back to the side of the small bed to plug his phone in before you re-situate yourself on your side, and Hendery moves up to spoon you from behind.

He murmurs your name sleepily and drapes his arm over you, nuzzling his nose against your neck before he falls immediately back to sleep. And you soak in the warmth of his bed, his body curled against yours, wishing you could fall asleep, but somehow you just can’t.

You stay awake, staring at the shadows in the room, praying for sleep to claim you as it’s claimed Hendery behind you, Xiaojun across the room. 

Nothing.

You hear footsteps climbing the stairs up to the floor above, hear the creak of movement, and then the closing of a door. A few moments later, the door to this room opens as well. The dim glow of a nightlight in the bathroom down the hall casts a streak across the room, right over you in Hendery’s bed.

“Sorry,” WinWin whispers as he comes inside, tiptoeing. “Did I wake you up?”

“I wasn’t sleeping. I can’t sleep.” 

WinWin sits on his bed, and in the darkness, you can just barely make out the shape of his shadow patting his bed. “You can come over here. I can help you fall asleep.”

You don’t see what he’s going to do to help with that, but you carefully extract yourself from Hendery, tiptoe across to WinWin’s bed, and slide in with him.

He props himself up against the headboard with a few pillows, and then you feel him draw you in, resting your head on his chest, leaned back against him. His cheek rests against your head, an arm casually curled around your waist, his hand touching your belly, and he whispers, “I think we just need to tire out that busy mind of yours. What is it that you’re thinking about? Tell me?”

So you start talking, telling WinWin in whispers all of these worries and wonders in your head. Concerns for the future, for the state of this relationship, how they’ll all react when the day comes that you do find out which of them is the father because you’ve long since accepted that you have to find that out, though you had briefly entertained the idea of just not doing any paternity test at all. You talk to WinWin until you’re certainly tired out, or at least your voice is.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize then. “You’re probably tired, aren’t you? But I just keep talking.”

WinWin mumbles something that never quite makes its way to words. Then, “It’s fine. You need to sleep too, though. Aren’t you tired yet?”

Not quite.

“Alright then.” WinWin sighs and shifts his head, his lips right beside your ear, and he starts singing to you quietly in Chinese. The song is familiar, but you can’t place it; it’s a relaxing tune, and WinWin’s deep voice works wonders, lulling you into such a state that you don’t even notice when exactly you fall asleep.

One moment you’re awake in his arms, and then you’re dreaming.

You’re walking down the hallway, passing by the door to Lucas, Ten, and Kun’s room, climbing the stairs, you walk along until you reach a door just beyond Taeil’s room. A faint golden light outlines the door which looks shiny and new, recently installed, and from behind the door you hear the cries of a baby.

Your heart leaps in your chest.

Just a touch of your fingertips, and the door opens on a nicely decorated nursery -- creamy white walls and gauzy curtains decorated in stars and moons, a crib is tucked in the corner under a gently spinning mobile, and that’s the source of the crying. 

The baby’s crying. Your baby. You walk closer, and making shushing noises as you approach, you look down into the crib and see your baby.

But it’s not only one baby. There are multiple babies, a whole row of them side-by-side, waving angry fists up at you. A baby wrapped in blue with Johnny’s face. Another that looks like Yuta. A little girl who has Hendery’s big brown eyes, one that looks exactly like Taeyong.

You blink.

There’s only one baby, cooing up at you happily with an undeniable resemblance to ---

You wake with a jolt. WinWin, still curled there together with you, strokes his fingers over the back of your hand, mumbling something in his sleep to comfort you. In the dark, you stare at his face in front of you, but all you can see are the faces of the little babies in your dream.

You shift closer, pressing your face against WinWin’s chest.

At work, you try to avoid talking about your pregnancy. Not an easy thing to do when many of your coworkers are women, including older women who just want to offer up advice based on their own pregnancies. And they’ve all got so many questions: how far along you are, who’s the father, are you still dating that guy who came to briefly visit you once so many months ago, are you learning the gender, and many more questions.

You can’t help thinking about that dream again and again.

Previously, you didn’t think you really wanted to know the sex of the baby until the birth. But after that dream, you can’t stop thinking about it. 

Sometimes you’ll find your mind wandering back to that dream or mulling over what you think you’re going to have. And after your coworkers repeatedly asking you who the father is, you keep thinking about that too, trying to run through your mind the encounters you’d had with your boyfriends around that exact time that this Little Blob was conceived. The younger boys are actually taking bets on which of your boyfriends is the father, whether it’s going to be a boy or girl, and all sorts of silly bets.

And it’s not only them; the last time you spoke to your mother she was making guesses on gender based on family history and invasive questions into your sex life, which she’d followed up with an inquiry about meeting the father-to-be that you’d edged out of by feigning an incoming call from your doctor.

But you know you can’t put it off forever. At some point your parents are going to want to meet the man who impregnated their daughter. You just have to choose one of the possible men to introduce to them. 

“I wouldn’t mind, I don’t think.” Xiaojun tells you late one morning.

The house is quiet. When you left Taeil’s room this morning as he woke to go to Inkigayo, you sat downstairs in the kitchen, drinking a morning glass of water and taking a handful of recommended prenatal vitamins, watching as half of the house cleared out, your boys going off to work. 

You were excited, getting to see them work in different combinations than normal. 

After they’d all left, piling into multiple vans, it’d just been you, Xiaojun, Jisung, Haechan, YangYang, and Taeyong left in the house. Haechan and Jisung were firmly shut inside their room, probably not likely to wake until at least the afternoon, and YangYang was similarly probably sleeping. Not that any of them would give you the company you wanted. 

Sure, you enjoyed hanging out with the younger members, playing games and watching movies, and teasing them endlessly. But you didn’t want to just be entertained, you didn’t want to just go back to sleep now that you were awake. 

You were horny.

You’d been dreaming nicely up until the moment that Taeil jerked awake at the sound of their manager’s voice calling from the doorway. It was a rude awakening, considering how just a second before you’d been in the midst of sucking off Doyoung while sitting on Jaehyun’s face, having the absolute time of your life. But the dream had faded in moments, leaving you with only the ache between your thighs, the heat that needed to be quenched. 

So now, with all of the others gone, you were left with three choices. One, you could just take care of it yourself, which is the least fun option. Your second option was Taeyong, but you knew he had only dragged himself home from the studio a couple hours ago because he’d climbed into bed with you and Taeil, snuffling and clingy, just wanting a cuddle. A third option was Xiaojun, an eager, always good option.

So you went to Xiaojun’s room.

He was awake on his phone, and the sight of you in his doorway brought a smile to his face. You stepping inside and closing the door behind you made him smile brighter and start to sit up in bed. And when you reached down and pulled the long shirt of Lucas’s you’d stolen to sleep in over your head, Xiaojun’s smile melted into liquid desire pooling in his eyes. 

“I’m horny, Dejun. Please help me.” You drop the shirt on the floor, and in seconds you’re on your back in Xiaojun’s bed, his mouth hot on your skin, lips on your breasts then your stomach, taking his time trailing slow kisses over your increasingly noticeable bump. And then he’s on your thighs, kissing, nipping, and when he licks at your pussy, your body glows with lust and pleasure.

Xiaojun performs oral sex right then like he’s going to be graded on it. Soon you’re shaking in his bed, thighs closing around his head, hips rocking against his face, and Xiaojun just keeps licking until you whine and whimper his name, knotting your fingers in his hair. He moves quickly up to kiss you.

You stay like that, kissing as the morning passes by outside, soft kisses that turn hot and passionate with your hand down the back of Xiaojun’s sweatpants as he grinds against your thigh, kisses getting softer as you spread your legs for him to fit between them and push his sweatpants down just enough that he can thrust into you. And it’s slow, soft and lazy sex in the haze of the golden rays of sunlight shifting across his sheets from the window above his bed. 

Xiaojun cums and uses his fingers to get you off, and then keeps kissing you even as he rolls off to the side, holding you there in his bed even though you both feel gross and sticky sweaty. 

The kissing tapers off eventually. He holds one of your hands, and your other hand absentmindedly goes down to your belly, and you start talking about the appointment you have in next week where you can finally find out the sex of the baby, and how your mother wants to come, and she wants you to bring your boyfriend.

“I’m serious,” Xiaojun says. “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to introduce me as the representative for all of us. Your singular boyfriend, father of your baby.”

You look at him out of the corner of your eye.

Xiaojun smiles and hides half of his face in his pillow. “I think I’m probably not the dad, like, it’s just a feeling I have, but who’d be better to meet your parents than me? I’m nice, polite, handsome, funny, smart. Not to mention modest.”

You laugh and push at his shoulder, and Xiaojun dramatically rolls away and then stands up off the bed. 

He looks down at you, still smiling. “And also, I think one of us should be there with you at that appointment. I think one of us should always go with you, because you need the support, it’ll be nice, right?”

“I don’t know. I cried when I first heard the heartbeat.” You sit up and look down at your belly. “Pretty sure several of you would have teased me about that.”

“Pretty sure several of us would have cried right along side you. You played us that recording of the heartbeat.” Xiaojun shakes his head. “Maybe you weren’t paying attention, but there was quite a bit of excitement and emotion that day among all of us.” He reaches down and strokes his thumb along your cheek. “Just think about it. I’m gonna go eat, do you want some?”

You don’t, so you stay there wrapped only in Xiaojun’s sheets and mentally draft up a conversation to have with your boys.

You put it up to the boys to decide which of them would accompany you to your next appointment at eighteen weeks, and who will also be the one to meet your parents. 

“Whether you vote or play rock paper scissors or draw straws or something, I don’t care, as long as you’re all aware that it’s perfectly fair no matter who wins. I don’t want any of you feeling jealous, like I’m playing favorites or anything ridiculous like that.” You gave them this task right before you walked out the door to go grab dinner with some friends, hoping that by the time you arrived home later, they would have the answer.

Dinner was great. Since starting the relationship with the guys, you’d seen less and less of your friends just because it was a full-time kind of thing being with multiple boyfriends, plus it was difficult having this love life and not being able to openly talk about it with friends for various reasons such as being in a fifteen-person relationship was not at all common and also because your fourteen boyfriends were idols who could have their careers damaged if word of your relationship with any one of them got out.

Your friends were excited to see you and your not-so-little-anymore baby bump. They’d seen what you’d posted on social media -- the sonogram photo when you decided to finally post about the pregnancy, Snapchats and Instagram stories complaining about the woes of morning sickness and other symptoms -- and it was really great to catch up with your friends, and by the end of the night they were already telling you that they couldn’t wait for the baby shower.

“And we can’t wait to meet your baby daddy!” One of them cries, flinging her arm around your shoulder in a one-armed hug. “Like, you’re dating him right? You’re always so secretive with your love life; I can’t remember if you were dating someone, or was this just like a fling kind of thing?”

“Yeah, who is he? When can we meet him?” Another says.

You look around at your friends. “He’s just really private. But, yes, we’ve been dating for several months. But it’s also kind of complicated.”

“Complicated? Does he not want the baby?”

“Complicated and he’s private? What, is he an idol or something?” One laughs, and everyone bursts into laughter. You try to laugh along, but then you catch the eye of one of the girls and quickly look away. She’s been with you the time that you ran into Taeyong in public while you were broken up; you wonder if she’s thinking of him.

Another friend gasps, “Oh my god. Bitch, he better not be married!”

You try not to look like you’re caught in the spotlight, but you definitely are. “He’s not married!” Is the first answer you can think to give them. “And, no, it’s not that he doesn’t want the baby. He’s very excited, I mean, like, they’re excited.”

That raises several eyebrows. One of your friends nearly chokes on her drink.

“They? Like personal pronoun they or they, as in like, multiple people they?” One friends seeks clarification, and you take a deep breath and stare down into your water glass at the ice cubes clinking together before you give her the quiet confirmation of “multiple people.”

There’s giggles and teasing catcalls from around the table. You feel on fire, like you’re being roasted alive, and even gulping down the cold water doesn’t really help. There’s a fluttery feeling in your belly, so you lay a hand over it and just swallow down another mouthful of water, hoping to quell the nerves of having all of their attention on you after admitting this.

The friend beside you who’d been hugging you, squeezes your shoulders in what is probably meant to be a comforting motion. “So do you know which one of them is the dad?”

You shake your head. “No, but it doesn’t really matter. Like, they’re all excited and this relationship has been going on for a while. It’s serious, and I do love them, and it’s very unconventional, like super unconventional, but I’m happy.”

“That’s all that matters, isn’t it?” One of them says. “You’re happy and in love and having a baby! Damn, I wish I could be so blessed.”

After that the topic turns away from you and your love life for a bit, and you’re glad for that, but you’re also glad to have opened up just a tiny bit about the relationship. To have finally told someone that you’re in an unconventional relationship that includes more than two people, though you’re sure your friends think that it’s probably just you and two boyfriends, and you truly don’t feel like enlightening them any more. But it’s nice to have put it out there.

And when you do get home later, with a box of dessert that Ten had texted you begging you to bring home about halfway through your dinner, you find that half of the boys are still sitting around the table in the kitchen debating, but a handful of them are sitting in the living room.

Mark is sitting on the sofa with his laptop, Chenle leaning his head on Mark’s shoulder. Ten is in the armchair with Miso tucked in the nest of his legs. Hendery laying on the floor, his chin propped up on his hands, and Yuta’s sitting right beside him, watching a soccer match on the TV. Haechan, Jisung, and Jeno are also sitting on the second sofa, slouching down on the cushions, either on their phones or also watching the game.

You look around at them, before you glance toward the doorway into the kitchen.

“We lost,” Ten explains to you. “They’re still deciding.” He strokes Miso’s head, and then looks up at you, squinting in faux-anger, “You know, it was pretty rude of you to put us at odds with each other like that, and then you dip out to a fancy fun dinner with your friends. And did you even bring us anything tasty to eat?” 

You stick out your tongue at him and pull the box out from behind your back. 

“Do you think I don’t love you or something?”

When you hold it out to him, Ten eagerly reaches for it, but you pull it back quickly. 

“You have to share it, you know.”

Ten whines, but nods, and as you start to hand it over again, Kun sweeps in out of nowhere, and takes the cake, then brushes a kiss on your cheek. Chenle laughs loudly, watching all of this, especially when Ten snatches the back of Kun’s shirt and jerks him back, nearly tumbling him into Ten’s lap on top of your poor cat.

Miso bristles and flees Ten’s lap to the comparative safety of the stairs where he begins grooming himself and glaring at the ruckus below. 

You end up with Kun and Ten squeezed together in the chair, you perched on Kun’s lap with the box of dessert open in your lap, the three of you taking turns with a single fork. Your feet rest in Yuta’s lap on the floor, and after a bit, he leans over and rests his head against your knee, his actions sleepy but his eyes are wide awake following the moves of the players on the screen. 

You can’t seem to relax, nervously glancing toward the kitchen doorway every few minutes. And thinking about who it’s going to be, which of them is going to be the one to meet your parents, to come to your appointments with you, it makes you nervous. While you sit there you feel flutters in your belly multiple times, and that just makes you feel even more nervous.

When the other boys finally come out of the kitchen, Taeyong whines, seeing the nearly finished dessert in your lap, and he comes over to beg a bite.

“What did you decide?” You ask him as Taeyong takes the box from you and settles on the arm of the chair. “Which of you is it? Whose egos do I need to soothe?”

“Probably Jaehyun,” Taeyong mumbles around the cake. “He’s pouting.” He jerks his head toward the other side of the room, and you follow the move just to see Jaehyun standing behind the sofa where Mark and Chenle are sitting. Jaehyun’s got his arms folded across his chest, his jaw tense, his eyes deadset on the TV, though you can tell he’s not actually watching the game. 

Taeyong clears his throat and whispers, “Johnny won; we figured he’d be the best in these situations. He’ll charm your parents for sure, and he’ll be good at the appointment too.”

You catch Johnny’s eye as he comes around the sofa to sit down beside Chenle. He immediately starts tickling Chenle’s sides until he’s squirming and making loud squawking laughs while Johnny just laughs at him and calls him cute.

Eventually Yuta lifts his head from your knee to shush them, his eyes still glued to the screen as one of the teams makes a goal. You look over at Johnny again as he’s petting Chenle’s hair while the younger settles back down. And then you look up at Jaehyun. WinWin’s now standing beside him, his arm slung around Jaehyun’s shoulders, and they whisper to each other, but after a moment Jaehyun seems to feel you watching them, and he catches your eye with a sweet smile.

“How do I look?” Johnny asks, nervously tugging at the collar of his shirt. You’re about to leave for the appointment, and as you sit on Johnny’s bed watching him get ready, you fight down your own nerves. 

“Handsome. As usual.” You sigh, fluttering your hands over your belly. “What about me?”

You push up to your feet, standing right before Johnny. He smiles warmly, a hand sneaking around to the small of your back, and you step just a bit closer to him. 

“Sexy as always,” Johnny says with a grin. “Pretty and cute and beautiful too. If your mother looks anything like you, I can’t wait to meet her.”

Yes, the source of all your nerves. Johnny meeting your mother. Your mother coming to your appointment with you both. And then there’s the late lunch you’re having afterwards with Johnny, your mother, and your father. 

“Hey, don’t be so nervous, sweetheart.” Johnny cups your face in his hands. “I’m great with parents. By the time we come home later, they’re going to absolutely love me, we’re going to know if you’re having a girl or a boy, plus we have a little surprise the others should have ready for you by the time we’re home.”

Now, that makes you more suspicious than nervous.

Typically you don’t have a good history of your boyfriends trying to surprise you with things. Seven times out of ten the surprise ends up being an orgy, and the other three times out of ten are just a failure on their part. So as you and Johnny walk out of the house, you watch the others suspiciously, such as when Taeil kisses you on the cheek as you pass him on the stairs, when Renjun pipes up from the sofa to tell you that they’ll all be anxiously waiting to see who has won the first of their series of bets, and when Doyoung hurries up from behind you to give you a few words of luck and calming for the appointment and for introducing Johnny to your parents.

“Thank you, Doyoung.” You press up on your toes to meet him for a brief kiss. “See you later!”

As you turn to follow Johnny, Doyoung’s hand falls reluctantly from your arm, and you look back at him to offer him a reassuring smile because he’s pouting.

“Doyoung also really wanted to come with you today,” Johnny tells you a few minutes later. “Him and Jaehyun were really duking it out there toward the end of our debate. Both of them were pretty pissed when I was the one who was decided on.” 

You don’t know what to say to that. If it were possible, you would happily bring every single one of your boyfriends, but that is neither practical nor realistically something that your parents would ever possibly approve of. Your parents are not like your friends; your friends think it’s different and sexy that you’re in a relationship with more than one man, but your parents would think that something like that is disgusting and wrong and would certainly try to influence you to choose just one of them.

So you fall into this rabbit hole of thinking, and it’s not until Johnny puts his hand on your thigh, squeezing slightly as he says, “We’re here,” that you snap out of your thoughts.

You’re at the doctor’s office, and when you look up through the windshield of the car, you can see your mother standing beside the door into the office, somewhat awkwardly smiling at passersby, looking nervous as well.

“This will be wonderful, okay?” Johnny reassures you. “Are you ready?”

You nod, and then push the car door open.

The moment that your mother sees you, her face lights up, and then her eyes fall down to your belly, the definite mound of your belly, and she breaks into a smile so wide that you think she also might start crying.

“Oh, my baby!” She pulls you into a hug. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good, Mom. Taking good care of myself and the baby, with some help of course.” You pull out of the hug and turn to Johnny. He’s standing a few feet back, not wanting to intrude on the moment with your mother, but when you hold out a hand to him, he steps forward. 

The second his fingers interlace with yours, you feel confident and happy, and you turn back to your mother. “Mom, this is Johnny. My boyfriend.”

She looks at him. Looks him up. Looks him down. You can tell she’s analyzing everything about him, filing away little details that you’re sure she’ll want to discuss with you later. 

And then Johnny holds his hand out to her. “Johnny Suh, ma’am. It’s great to finally meet you. I was just telling her this morning that --” You elbow him sharply in the side and glare at him, not wanting him to finish that sentence calling your mother hot. He laughs, and holds his hand out to your mother again. She shakes his hand, still watching him appraisingly.

“It’s nice to meet you too, finally. She’s always been secretive about relationships, but I think this is the longest we’ve ever had to wait to meet someone she’s dating.” Your mother glances at you. “Why’ve you kept this one a secret?”

“He’s too charming for his own good sometimes. Come on, let’s get inside.”

As you sit in the waiting room, nervously tapping your foot as you wait, you look around at the other women in the room. There are some whose bellies are huge, looking ready to pop at any moment. Some who aren’t showing at all. There’s one woman wrangling two toddlers along with her big pregnant belly, looking increasingly frustrated at the two children climbing over her and over and under the chairs. 

You don’t even notice that you’re shaking your leg so much until Johnny’s hand comes to rest on your knee. His voice is low, soft so no one else can hear it when he asks, “You okay?” 

“Fine. Just ready to find out.” You place your hand on his, and that’s when you notice your mother watching you very observantly. 

The three of you chat a little bit, and she tells you that your father is all ready to interrogate your boyfriend, especially since you’d given them no information about him. “She wouldn’t even tell us your name.”

“I can’t talk too much about us, you know. We’ve got to keep it a little bit of a secret.” You whisper to her. “Maybe you don’t recognize him, but he is an idol. Other people might recognize him, and we can’t let word get out.” 

Johnny’s wearing a mask and a hat now that you’re in the doctor’s office together, keeping his head down somewhat just on the off-chance that someone could recognize him. But now, with the way your mother is staring at him in surprise, you think it might draw some attention.

When you go to the restroom a few minutes later, leaving the two of them alone, you worry that you’ll come back to find things in a disastrous state, but to your surprise, after an extended bathroom break due to the number of others trying to use the single restroom available off the waiting room, you return to see them laughing and talking more comfortably with each other, and just a few minutes after that you’re called back to meet with your doctor.

Now, it’s not like the appointment jumps straight into finding out the gender of the baby, but that’s all the matters, all that you can focus on while you and your doctor talk, while she examines you, while your mother and Johnny sit nearby, but then it’s time and you’re on your back with your shirt pulled up over your belly and a technician spreading the cool gel over your belly.

You don’t remember reaching for Johnny’s hand, but suddenly you’re holding onto it while you look at the screen. Your mother’s leaning forward eagerly too, all three of you plus the doctor staring at the screen at the inside of your body, searching for your Little Blobby. 

“Ah, here we are.” The technician pauses for a moment, and you can hear the heartbeat inside you--not the one that belongs to you, but the second smaller one, the faster tiny one--and you can see it on the screen. 

“That’s the baby?” Johnny squeezes your hand and leans closer to see the screen more clearly. “That’s our baby?”

“It sure is.” The technician moves the device a bit more, trying to get a better view. “Is this daddy and grandma’s first time seeing the baby?”

“It is!” Your mother says excitedly. Her hand briefly touches your leg as she shifts closer to see as well. “It’s just too exciting to learn the baby’s gender, don’t you think? How could we miss the appointment for this?”

She’s right, you realize. It’s very important for the father of the baby to be there when you find out the baby’s sex. And as much as you love Johnny, you look back up at him right then, and you realize that he very well may not be the father of this baby. There are thirteen other men who it could be, and it’s not fair to rob them of this experience.

“Wait,” you say. The technician stops, and when she looks at you, you clear your throat. “I don’t think I want to know today. If you can just, like, write it down and put it in an envelope?

“Honey, what?” Your mother picks up your hand from where Johnny’s just dropped it. “You don’t want to know today?”

You shake your head. One look at Johnny shows you that he’s a little bit hurt, but that he understands the thought process behind this decision. He wanted to be the special one here with you for this momentous step in your pregnancy. But worse than Johnny is your mother. She wants to be here for this. 

“We can have a reveal party, Mom. I thought I wanted to know today, but I just think it’ll be more exciting to be surrounded by family and friends, you know?” Well, by that you mostly mean with all of the potential fathers there as well.  “So, can you do that?” 

The technician happily agrees. “Of course, once I verify the sex of the baby, I’ll be glad to do that for you! Your little one isn’t exactly in the right position for this, but let me try to move around, see if I can get a better angle.”

Your mother sits back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest, seeming very disappointed, but Johnny stands right at your side and puts his hand on your shoulder. You meet his gaze, and Johnny smiles.

“What are you hoping for?” You whisper. “When you’ve thought before about having kids, what were you deep down hoping to have?”

“Honestly?” Johnny turns his attention back to the screen, though at the moment there’s truly not much to see. “Growing up, I was an only child, you know. I always wanted a little brother, and then when I moved here I found my little brothers. Mark and Haechan, Chenle, Jisung, the other kids. And I realized that boys are such a mess, such a chaotic hassle, but that’s easy for me to understand and handle.” Johnny’s voice dips lower as he says, “A boy. I hope you’re having a boy.”

Later that day as you and Johnny return home with a sealed envelope tucked safely in your purse, still filled with happiness from the success of the long lunch with your mother and father (who in the end both loved Johnny entirely and were very charmed by him), you just want to tear open the envelope and share the news with all of the boys inside. It’s been hours since the appointment, Johnny had kept up conversation with your parents, and then he’d insisted on stopping to grab some stuff from the store on the way home. 

By the time you walk through the door of the house, you’re buzzing with nervous excitement. You want to tear open that envelope to find out the sex of the baby, dive into the bags of candy you’d begged Johnny to buy for you, and be with the men you love. But as soon as you’ve stepped out of your shoes and tucked them away in the entryway of the house, Johnny reminds you that the boys all have a surprise for you.

“We’re back!” He calls, taking you by the hand and leading you into the living room.

You leave the grocery bags sitting beside the sofa. The house is suspiciously quiet and still. You frown.

A voice calls down from somewhere high above. “Just a moment!”

“Johnny... What is the surprise? You know usually, it’s...”

“It’s not a sex thing, don’t worry.” Johnny places a soothing hand on your head. “A good surprise.”

“You can come up!” Another voice calls down, and Johnny leads you by the hand up the stairs. By the time you reach the top floor, you can hear that all of the boys are up here, not just your boyfriends but the younger boys too. And once you’ve climbed the last step, you can see them all gathered around in the hallway.

“Okay, seriously, what’s going on?”

“We have a surprise for you.” Taeil says, stepping out of his room and joining the others right in front of him. “Come here.”

Johnny lets go of your hand, and you walk forward slowly. You know that there’s no need to be suspicious of your boyfriends or the others, yet you can’t help it with them all being so mysterious. 

“We all worked really hard today,” Jaehyun explains to you. “We honestly weren’t sure that we’d have it ready by the time you got home, so we had Johnny distract you a bit longer.” You frown back over your shoulder at Johnny, but he’s smiling down at Ten who’s whispering something to him. Jaehyun continues, “But we did finish. And it’s for you.”

He steps forward and lays his hand on the door to Taeil’s room.

“What did you do?” You look around at all of them assembled around you. 

Tired of waiting, Yuta steps forward and pushes the door open. It’s not what you expected.

In place of the usual massive bed that occupied the space just earlier that morning is a more normal-sized bed. And, on top of that, it’s pretty, prettier than any boys room. 

You take a step inside and look around a bit more. The walls have been repainted--three of the walls in cream, one in a dark shade of green. The room’s been redecorated entirely, and then as you turn and take a look in the corner of the room you see a crib and an armchair, a dresser with a stuffed polar bear toy that you recognize from Doyoung’s bed sitting on top of it. 

“What is this?” You ask, then to Taeil, “Where will you sleep?”

“I moved down the hall.” Taeil grins. “We just thought that you need a space. For just you, for the baby.”

“You guys...”

You don’t know the exact moment when you start crying, but then you’re just suddenly in tears, bawling into the shoulder of whichever boy sweeps you first into a hug. They wrap around you, trying to comfort you, but you don’t exactly need comfort, you just need to outpour all of these emotions. 

“It’s lovely, thank you all.” You eventually manage to get the waterworks under control, and as you wipe at your tears, you lift your head, catch sight of the crib again, and you remember. “Oh, I forgot! Johnny and I, at the appointment, I decided I didn’t want to find out right away, not then. I felt like you should all be there when I find out. My mother wasn’t too thrilled with that, but we can have, like, a gender reveal party, with my parents, some friends.”

“A party? Here?” Doyoung asks, ruffling his hand through his hair. “When? It’s almost Christmas.”

“Next weekend? Do you think that’s too soon?” You look around at all of them. Ten and Taeyong glance at each other, looking doubtful. “It is too soon, isn’t it. What about the following weekend? The, what would that be, the thirteenth?” 

There’s murmurs around the room, the boys talking over their schedules, and after a few moments the general agreement is that they do have that day, for the most part, free for a party. 

“I’m hungry.” You groan, sinking down onto the edge of Kun’s bed.

He looks up from his phone, frowning in confusion. “Why did you come in here instead of just going to the kitchen?”

“Because I don’t want to go all the way downstairs.” You shift, trying to get more comfortable, but that’s easier said than done. 

“Oh, I get it.” Kun laughs. “You want me to go down there, make you something, and bring it back up here for you to enjoy?” 

“I wouldn’t say no to that.” You finally lay down on your back, pillowing your head on Kun’s arm. “But, mostly I came in here because I know you have snacks. And snacks, plus cuddling in your bed is always going to be much, much better than walking downstairs to the kitchen.”

Kun rolls his eyes playfully and sits up, moving around you and bending over the edge of his bed to get at his snacks. You shift around, getting comfy, and tell him “I’ve been craving something salty. This baby just wants salty food.”

“Well, this baby convinced you to come to the right place.” Kun sits up again, dropping a bag of perfectly salty snacks into your lap. He settles back into place beside you, and after a few moments filled only with the sound of you crunching on your snacks, Kun asks, “Do you really not know what the baby is? Boy or girl?”

You shrug. “We really didn’t find out at the appointment, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, I believe you. But what do you think it is? Or what are you hoping for?” Kun steals his hand into the bag in your lap. 

You shrug, stuff your mouth full so you can buy yourself some time to think.  

“I don’t think I really know. I had a dream a while ago, though, with a baby boy. But I think a girl would be good too. Little girls always have such cute clothes, and I know more about girls than boys. ”

“That’s what we’re here for, though. Me and the guys.” Kun puts a hand on your belly. “I want the baby to be a girl. I think raising a daughter, getting to spoil her, treat her like a little princess, that would be great.”

You snort. “No matter if this baby’s a boy or a girl, I’m sure it’ll be spoiled rotten by all of you. Chenle’s already bought a few things, he told me, and then I’ll never want for babysitters, with all of you around. But I don’t think I’ll be disappointed either way, boy or girl.”

“And what about names? Have you seriously thought about that yet?” Kun asks, once again dipping his hand into the bag, stealing away a handful of the snack. And because he’s Kun and avidly listening to you as you both relax and snack in his bed, you tell him all of the names you’ve been considering, he makes suggestions, you both fall off in a tangent about naming your child after characters from movies or dramas or books.

You’re still talking about it when Jaehyun peeks his head through the door. “There you are.” 

“Here I am.” You sit up a little in Kun’s arms. “Were you looking for me?” 

Jaehyun glances around the room before his narrowing eyes fall to Kun’s hand on your belly. “Yeah. I mean, no, not really. I was just... missing you. I didn’t need anything.” His hand flexes around the edge of the door.

“We were just talking about baby names,” Kun says. “And talking about what she wants the baby to be. Boy or girl.”

Jaehyun steps inside the room then, closing the door back behind him as he comes over to sit on the floor beside the bed. “Definitely a boy. An athlete.”

“You just want a mini-you.” You reach into the bag (which has drastically lost most of its contents since Kun first gave it to you) and toss a few pieces in Jaehyun’s direction. 

“No, I just want a sweet baby with you.” Jaehyun tosses it right back at you, then lunges up to kiss you briefly. You twist your fingers in the front of his shirt, holding on even as he backs away. “Yeah, I hope you’re having a boy, but I bet you’re hoping for a girl, aren’t you? Taeyong told me he’s hoping for a girl because he’s already watched a boy be raised with his nephew, and he just thinks a girl will be easier.”

He’s probably not wrong. You often hear about the hijinks and mischief of little boys, and you imagine any son of yours, raised in a house like this, would definitely be chaotic, an uncontrollable whirlwind. Though, you’re sure that due to the influence of all of these men, a daughter might turn out equally as mischievous.

Kun and Jaehyun begin playfully bickering back and forth about names, and you zone out a bit, only snapping back to reality when Jaehyun puts a gentle hand on your knee. 

“Sorry, I’m feeling tired.” You shake your head, and move, trying to push yourself to sit up. “I should get to bed. Growing a baby is tiring, and I have to work tomorrow.”

Kun reluctantly watches you leave his bed, but you kiss him before you go. Jaehyun walks with you upstairs to your door, and he leans against the doorway as you go inside, his hand quickly snatching yours to keep you there a moment longer. 

“Goodnight.” He smiles, a loose, easy, happy expression. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You drape your arms over his shoulders, your hands tangle behind his neck, and you lean up to kiss him. Jaehyun smiles into the kiss, pushing it to be more than just a goodnight kiss, which you entertain for a moment longer. But you truly just want to sleep tonight, so you slide your arms from his shoulders, pressing your palm against his chest as you pull away.

“No,” Jaehyun moans greedily, giving you one, two, three more little kisses.

You bite your bottom lip and hold his gaze. Jaehyun’s warm eyes soak through you, heating you with a gentle radiant glow. Your stomach flutters, like the giddy butterflies you’d felt early on in this relationship.

“Goodnight, Jaehyun.” You pat his chest over his heart. “Love you, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Jaehyun’s hand clings to yours, only slowly letting up his hold so your hand can slip out of his.  

“Go to bed,” you whisper at last, stepping inside and beginning to draw the door shut. “Go to sleep and dream about the baby. About me.”

Jaehyun laughs, steps close just one last time to kiss you, and then, as he pulls away, he murmurs, “You know I always dream about you.”

It doesn’t feel practical to be having a threesome when you’re twenty weeks pregnant, with a big round belly, yet that’s exactly what you find yourself doing.

Jungwoo and Hendery are goofing around together while the three of you are shopping together. Laughing, pushing each other, being loud enough that they draw attention to the three of you, but the weather’s recently turned very cold as the winter season truly takes hold in these days leading up to Christmas, so they’re covered up with hats and scarves, and Hendery’s wearing a mask as well as glasses. You find it unlikely that anyone could recognize them, but you continuously try to calm them down just in case.

You’re shopping for a few things to decorate your nursery, for some last minute Christmas presents,  and originally you’d intended to come alone or to ask your mother or some of your friends if they wanted to come along, but at the last minute, Jungwoo volunteered and Hendery said he also had a need to go shopping.

You’d done Hendery’s shopping first, which had perhaps been a mistake as he was now weighed down with his own bags of new clothes. The emptying of his wallet had been encouraged by Jungwoo who was in a very bright mood, and suggest that Hendery buy everything he tried on, from a large fuzzy Nike jacket to a beanie that had cat ears, and even an umbrella that Hendery commented was pretty as the three of you passed by the store selling it. And now that he had all of these things, Hendery was distracted, and neither of them were helping you find the store you were looking for while you walked.

“Jungwoo!” You whine, clutching his arm and clinging to him when you have to turn around because the two of them stopped to play-fight right in the middle of this shopping mall.

An older man sitting on a bench a few feet away watches them somewhat fearfully, but a small group of young girls who are clustered together in front of a makeup store are hiding their giggles behind their hands.

“Sorry,” Jungwoo laughs. “Hendery’s just so cute, I can’t help but play with him today.” He reaches over as if to pinch Hendery’s cheek, and that just starts them off again.

“Ya!” You cry out, slapping at whichever of them is nearest you. “Focus!”

This time it’s Hendery’s turn to apologize. “Sorry, sorry.” He dramatically moves about six feet away from Jungwoo, well out of arm’s reach. “I promise to be good for the rest of this shopping trip.”

“Please. I just want to finish up and then go home.” You curl a hand over your belly as you feel something like bubbles, almost like you’re feeling gassy. And you know the sooner you get home the better if that’s the case. You refuse to use a public restroom just because you truly can’t be sure of how clean it is, and the risk of infections freaks you out, especially now that you’re pregnant and have another being's health to worry about.

“Are you okay?” Jungwoo asks, stepping closer, the light mood gone in an instant, replaced with concern as he notices you touching your belly. 

“I’m fine, let’s just go so we can head home.”

After that, they’re both still somewhat goofy, but they stop messing around so much. Even as you’re in the baby store so you can find some cute decorations, Hendery sticks close to you, smiling awkwardly when another pregnant customer starts chatting with you about some things he’d rather not hear about.

But at some point in the chat she asks you, “How far along are you?”

“Twenty weeks.” You place your hand on your bump. “It’s crazy when I think about it, like, it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long since I found out.”

She smiles. “Yes, but you should definitely enjoy it while you can. I remember my first one. Experiencing everything for the first time. Feeling my son kick for the first time was the strangest but most wonderful experience. Have you felt your little one yet?”

“Oh, I’m not really sure.” You look down at your belly while Hendery and Jungwoo whisper to each other a few feet away, looking at a selection of baby shoes. “I definitely haven’t felt like a kick.”

The woman laughs. “I don’t expect you would at only twenty weeks. The baby’s probably still too small for you to feel a big kick yet. For me it felt like butterflies in my tummy at first. Just little movements, kind of like gas sometimes, honestly.”

“Really?” You rub your hand over your round belly, thinking back to that feeling just earlier, thinking back further a few weeks, feeling random bouts of what you’d thought were nervous flutters. But maybe they were more. “Then I think I have.”

Almost as if it knows you’re talking about it, you feel it again. That little ripple of movement inside you that could almost be mistaken as something else. You look up at the woman in front of you, probably wide-eyed with surprise, and a smile breaks across your lips. 

“Did you feel it?” She asks, her own smile rising to her lips.

“Yeah.” Quickly, you turn to your boyfriends. “Guys, I felt the baby move!”

They both reach for you at the same time, hands on your belly. The woman laughs, “They probably won’t be able to feel it yet. But soon. My husband first felt our son kicking through my belly when I was about twenty-five, twenty-six weeks.”

You hurry to finish up in the store, but you can’t stop touching your belly, can’t stop trying to feel the baby moving. By the time you’re back at the house, you can think of nothing else.

You take your purchases up to your room, and Jungwoo follows you.

“What does it feel like?” He asks, trying to put his hands on your belly again as soon as you’ve laid the bags down in the corner by the crib. 

“Just a little flutter.” You tell him, moving to lay down on your bed. You pull your shirt up, exposing your belly to the room. Jungwoo comes closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. There’s a soft knock on the door, and then it cracks open, Hendery comes inside, his eyes eagerly falling on your belly. “I agree with that woman earlier. You probably won’t be able to feel it yet. When I feel it, it’s not that strong yet.” You move your hand over your belly, thinking, this is so weird.

You knew that there was a baby inside you. Obviously. You’ve dealt with the morning sickness and the sore tits and everything else. You’ve watched and felt your body changing to accommodate this new life. You’ve heard the heartbeat and seen the sonogram.

But now you’d felt that life moving within you. And that was the realist thing yet.

“That’s amazing.” Jungwoo caresses your belly, leaning in to drop a kiss right below your belly button. “Do you remember what I told you that night, when we were in the living room after our date?”

“Hmm?” You sink back fully into the pillows and glance over at Hendery as he comes closer. 

“About finding you pregnant very, very sexy.” Jungwoo kisses your belly again. “Your belly, your boobs. This glow.” His hands slide along your thighs and you shiver. He turns his head to the side, looking up at Hendery then back at you as he says, “I just want to make you feel good, princess. You’re doing so much, you deserve to feel good.”

“I do, don’t I?” You smile, lifting your hips a bit to encourage him.

Another kiss to your belly. His fingers at the waistband of your pants. 

“What about me?” Hendery asks. “I want in, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt her.” Jungwoo tugs your pants down from your hips, bringing your panties down too. “She’s not made of glass, and it’s not like she’s been abstinent since the baby was made. The baby’s going to be fine, she’ll be fine. Want me to show you how, Hendery?”

Hendery makes a face. “I know how to--”

“Then kiss her or something.” Jungwoo watches hungrily as you sit up just enough to pull your top over your head, then you reach back and unfasten your bra, and once that’s fallen away, you’re bare in front of the two of them.

“Your boobs.” Hendery groans lustfully. 

You feel Jungwoo’s lips hot on your belly, moving higher to the top of your bump. His hips drop against your leg, and you feel his erection, and when you reach for Hendery, wanting to drag him into a kiss, your fingers brush against the front of his pants, and he makes such a desperate sound, pushing his hips forward into your touch. 

Jungwoo nuzzles against your breasts, breath tickling along your skin. 

Hendery pulls his shirt over his head, sinking down to the bed with you, and his lips connect with yours in a messy, uncoordinated kiss as you plunge your hand down the front of his pants to touch him.

Hendery’s always easy like this, so easy to work up, to touch him and get him going quickly. 

You moan when Jungwoo touches you, slicking a finger between your folds, teasing. Hendery hurries to wiggle out of his pants, and his hand takes over from yours as he kneels up on the edge of the bed as soon as he’s free of the pants. Jungwoo flicks his tongue over one of your nipples and then sits up, kneeling back between your legs and looking at Hendery, then at you, then back at Hendery.

“Wanna suck you, Hendery,” you mumble, stroking down his thigh. His hand squeezes around his cock. “Please, you know I’ve missed your dick, the taste of you.”

“Fuck, princess, you’re wet.” Jungwoo enters you with two fingers, the glide easy because you truly are so wet right now. “Give it to her, Hendery. She’s clearly drooling for it.”

Hendery shifts forward on the bed, and you open your mouth for him. His eyes all but roll back in his head with pleasure as he sinks his dick between your lips. And while you’re distracted in getting Hendery’s dick wet, Jungwoo’s fat tip presses against your pussy, and with just a push, you stretch open around him, taking him in just as well as Hendery.

It feels so good to have them both inside you. It’s been months since you last got double-teamed; the boys are scared enough when having sex with you one-on-one, but doing it like this, the closest you’ve had to this was when rolling around with Xiaojun he’d given you his fingertips to suck on while he was inside you. 

“Oh, god.” Hendery moans.

You wrap your hand around him, and bobbing your head on him, focusing on just the tip, it’s easy to get him close. Hendery’s been without any action except for himself for so long, since at least a couple weeks before you realized you were pregnant. 

You drag his cock between your lips, push down once on him, taking him deep. You hungrily lick and suck, working your very best to get Hendery off while Jungwoo thrusts into you. 

Hendery’s cock falls from your lips, and his breath comes out raggedly as his hand jerks over his length, carrying him to his orgasm. You feel it splash warm across your chest and your chin, striped across your breasts. You moan, stretching up to wrap your lips around his tip again, licking, lightly sucking, and you snake a hand down your body to touch yourself, fingers on your clit as Jungwoo pulls out, running his hand over himself.

And when you feel his cock rub against your belly, you get what he’s doing. His kink for your pregnant body doesn’t end with just fucking you, he wants to cum on you, mark up your pregnant belly with his semen. 

“Jungwoo, Jungwoo, please!” You pant, sliding your own fingers inside yourself, trying to reach your orgasm. “Wanna cum!”

“Ah, baby.” Hendery pets your hair. “Want me to help you?”

You nod, already grabbing his hand, bringing it down your body, but his hand slows as it passes your belly, and before he can even touch you, Jungwoo swats his hand away. 

Jungwoo fucks back into you, his hands touching your belly, driving into you again and again. 

The orgasm shudders through you, powerful and good, and Jungwoo pulls out a second later, and his cum stripes across your swollen belly. Carefully, so as to avoid landing on you, Jungwoo drops off to your side and pushes his face into your pillow with a satisfied sigh.

Hendery disappears into the ensuite bathroom, emerging a few moments later with a damp cloth which he uses to wipe the drying cum from your chest, chin, and belly. He gently wipes between your legs, and then runs it once more over your belly. 

“That was the first time I’ve had sex in this bed.” You sigh, wiping your hand across your forehead, brushing away some hair. “Thanks.”

Hendery laughs. “Oh, anytime.” 

It feels very strange having your parents there in the house along with all of your boyfriends and the younger boys. If your parents think this is an odd location for your sex reveal party, they don’t comment on it. They don’t ask you why Johnny’s parents aren’t there. They certainly don’t ask why all of the older boys are eagerly introducing themselves to your parents, or question why your mother walks in on you holding Kun’s hand in the kitchen. 

If your parents find any or all of this strange, they don’t say a word, and for that you’re very grateful.

Because the day has finally come to learn the sex of your baby.

It’s been two weeks since the appointment, and Johnny has sworn up and down that he hasn’t looked at the envelope. He hid it away where no one would find it, so no one else would be tempted to open it until the party.

As you’d begun setting things up for the party the day before, cleaning the house, organizing, you’d entrusted one of the boys’ managers with picking up a gender reveal cake for you. She’d been supportive of your pregnancy since the boys had told their managers about it, so you trusted her to do it well.

And then there’s your friends. Your close group of friends who already had suspected your baby daddy to be an idol after that last dinner. It had started out as a joke, obviously, but as you wanted to invite them to the party, and after talking with the boys, you’d texted your group chat with your friends and told them that the father actually is an idol, you can’t say who, just that he is.

So naturally, after telling them and inviting them to the party, they were all asking you all over again who the father was, and you refused to tell them, just made them promise that if they came to the party, they wouldn’t talk about it. You didn’t want to ruin any careers over this pregnancy. And you trusted them a lot.

Having all of them here--you parents, your friends, your hoard of boyfriends, and the other members--was very odd.

Especially when you overheard Mark and Ten and YangYang giggling together about you inviting your parents to a sex party. “Sex reveal party! A reveal! Not a sex party.” You’d cried out in exasperation. 

 As everyone showed up to the party, they were dressed in either pink or blue, depending on whether they thought you were having a boy or a girl. It was interesting to finally see what each of your boyfriends thought as they emerged from their rooms wearing either color. 

“I just don’t own anything pink,” Taeyong tells you, tugging at the strings of his blue hoodie. “But I think it’s a girl.”

Your friends arrive in their various shades, the majority of them wearing blue. As soon as their eyes land on Mark, you hear gasps. 

“What the fuck, I knew it!” The friend that had been with you when you ran into Taeyong during your break wraps her arm through yours. 

“NCT?” Another of your friends cries, pulling you even closer into the midst of them. “The father of your baby is a member of NCT? How the fuck did you manage that? Why have you kept this a secret for so long?”

The hungry eyes and titters among a few of the girls is reason enough, you think. There’s a jealous flare in your belly as one of them tries to catch Lucas’s eye as he passes by wearing a gaudy pink sweater.

“It wasn’t easy, I promise you. Just, don’t flirt with them, okay?” You try to slip away, wanting to go hide in the balloon bouquet of blue, purple, and pink that someone had placed in the corner by the stairs. 

“What? You want to keep them all for yourself? Babe, that’s just not practical.” One of your friends laughs, and the others laugh too. You feel warm now because that’s exactly what you want; all of them for yourself. It might not be practical, but it is reality. “So which one of them is it? Which one are you dating?”

You praise the universe in the next moment when your mother comes over, all smiles and her second mimosa in her hand. “That Doyoung is so polite. Girls! You’ve made it! Goodness, when was the last time I saw you?” She pulls your friends into hugs, and in that time, you escape.

You sit down beside Jisung (in blue) and Ten (in pink) at the kitchen table where they’re picking through the snacks, nibbling and now watching your friends warily.

“How much do they know again?” Ten asks you.

You reach for his glass of water, gulping it down to calm yourself. “They know that one of you is the father, I haven’t given them any name or anything. I did, however, make them promise not to talk about being here today. God, I’m nervous.”

Ten covers your hand with his, squeezing gently, and says, “Don’t be” at the same time as Jisung asks, “About what you’re having or your friends finding out that you don’t even know who the dad is?”

You just groan and drop your face into your arms. Ten laughs but puts a soothing hand on your back. “It’s okay. You know it’ll be fine.”

Your nerves just continue to increase as you notice your father trying to chat with Johnny (in blue) even as Mark (also in blue) keeps trying to get your father to talk with him, and your mother is simply being charmed by Kun (wearing both pink and blue, unable to decide) and Jaemin (wearing an unhelpful shade of pale purple that could almost be pink) and Taeyong. And then there’s your friends, dispersing among the boys, sometimes huddling together in pairs to whisper, sometimes they’re all over the place-- one talking to Lucas, while another blushes as she asks Taeil to hand her a napkin to wipe up the drink she spilled, while another stands beside Ten and Yuta to admire Ten’s tattoos.

“Relax.” Jaehyun comes up behind you, startling you. His hands settle on your shoulders. “You’re so tense, I feel like you need some cake. Then for this party to end, then maybe a nap or at least a footrub, right? Nice bubblebath?” His hands massage your shoulders, thumbs digging in wonderfully to the tense muscles. 

You drop your head back with a groan. “That sounds great.”

“I’ll go get the cake,” he whispers. His lips just barely brush against your cheek in a kiss, and then he’s gone, disappearing into the kitchen to fetch the cake from where their manager left it chilling in the fridge. 

“Everyone!” You call, but your voice shakes and gets lost in the din of other voices. Doyoung notices you though, so he shouts instead, “Everyone!”

The attention in the room shifts to Doyoung beside you until he waves at you, passing all of the attention right onto you. Nervously you rest your hands on your belly. 

“We’re going to cut the cake now.” You move over toward a small table that had been moved into the living room, in front of a wall of blue and pink streamers and balloons and golden string lights that Ten and WinWin had hung up earlier that morning. 

Jaehyun emerges from the kitchen, carrying the cake in front of him. Renjun’s right behind him with a knife and a stack of plates.

As soon as Jaehyun sets the cake down and Renjun’s handed you the knife, you stand alone up there. 

You’d decided it was best if you stood up there alone. Yes, as far as your parents are aware Johnny’s the father, but you don’t really want your friends to think that because it’s simply not a certainty. So all of the boys stand back, and you clear your throat. 

If your parents and friends can feel the pure excitement and anticipation radiating off of most of the young men in the room, they don’t seem to think twice about it. But every eye is on you as you lift up the knife Renjun handed you, as you make your first slice into the cake. An excited ripple moves through the room as you make the second cut. And then you slip the knife under the slice and carefully bring the slice out of the cake, revealing the color inside.

Cheers around the room.

Pink! Pink! The cake is pink!

You throw yourself into the arms of the first boy who approaches you. Jungwoo, Johnny, Lucas, Jaehyun, Kun, they all pile in.

“Careful! Careful!” You hear your mother crying. “Be careful with her!”

The boys all back away, giving you just enough space, and Johnny’s hands fall to your round belly. Doyoung touches the back of your head, his fingers wandering down through your hair, settling on the back of your neck. WinWin stands right beside you, nearly bouncing in his excitement.

Your mother rushes forward and your friends, all gathering around you to touch your belly. Already your mother’s suggesting names to you. One of your friends, who’s already had a daughter, is offering you hand-me-downs. With everyone around you like this, the heat of everybody surrounding you, your head begins to buzz, and you look around, searching for anything to steady you.

“Cake? Who wants cake?” Mark asks, and you turn to see him right beside you, a slice of cake on a plate in his hand. He starts slicing and handing them out, getting people to move away from you, offering you more space to breathe. 

You sit down at an empty spot on the sofa. Johnny sits down beside you, grinning, handing a delightfully pink slice of cake to you. He bumps his shoulder against yours. 

“A girl. A baby girl. What do you think about that?” He asks.

You put a gentle hand on your belly, feeling the baby--your baby girl--stir inside you. Lately you’re more in-tune to those movements. You can tell the difference between butterflies and gassiness and her moving inside you. 

“Eat up, baby. Let this little girl taste her celebratory cake.” Johnny taps the plate, and then stands up, clearing the space beside you for your closest friend to slip into. Johnny goes over to Jaehyun and Hendery, throwing his arms over their shoulders, all three of them cheering. 

“Congratulations!” She folds one leg over the other. “A sweet baby girl. And with a daddy like this, she’ll have life made.” She grins and looks around the room, scanning over all of the boys, your other friends, your parents. “But really, which one of them is it? I’ve been watching you, trying to figure it out, but I can’t tell. You seem really close with all of them.”

You push a forkful of cake between your lips. “I am close with all of them.”

“Right, but which of them got you pregnant?” And then her voice drops lower. “And at dinner you said they, so like, is that they two of them that you’re with, or one of them with someone else?”

“I can’t tell you that.” You reply, keeping your voice low so no one else hears. “I can’t risk it getting out.”

She smiles again, amused and victorious even though you didn’t really tell her anything. “I’ll take that as you’re having sex with two of them. You don’t have to tell me, but I just hope that you’re happy with them.” 

“I really am. Happy.” You lean back, stroking your bump. “They make me so happy, how could they not when because of them I have this to look forward to.” You feel like you’re probably smiling like a fool, looking down at your belly, unable to block out the daydreams that pour through your mind. A life with your daughter. You feel that little now-familiar flutter. “I’m having a girl. A daughter.”

You look up from your belly, catching Yuta’s eye from across the room. He winks at you, and you can’t help the giddy feeling that rises up in you, so you just laugh, sinking back in your seat, feeling more relaxed, lighter, happier.

Good Thing <- Previous || Next -> gimme that: a drabble

a/n: oof this was a long one, now I hope y’all see why I split the last one and this one into two parts instead of keeping it as one long one. I’m not really sure when the next part is going to be posted, but I do have a drabble to post probably a week from now. I hope you enjoyed this part, like that resolution to Mark proposing, I really enjoyed seeing everyone’s reactions to that ending of Good Things. Please let me know what you thought, as usual, reblogs, comments, likes are super appreciated!