#today's trash day so that's like the one thing i need to do

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!!

[itwoodbeprefect]

happy 1 year anniversary to the election results that were so fucked they had me trying to take my mind off of things by watching what seemed like a toxic chinese queerbait show only to find something far more thoughtful and genuinely queer and interesting than expected and end up watching a bunch more unrelated things that are talked about in vaguely the same realms of the internet and then watch bad buddy twice in a row and fall into an endless bingewatch of thai media (some of which is mediocre, some of which is bad, much of which is simply pretty good, and some of which is genuinely incredible) and go, well, it would be a waste of all this language input i'm accidentally giving myself right now if i didn't at least learn a few words. thus accidentally locking myself into watching even more thai media because now i gain serotonin from hearing a sentence i know i could write

[carbonateddelusion]

sits here. my mood has been swinging back and forth like a pendulum lately

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Me, You, and Baby, Too

Summary: You and Joel have always wanted kids, but didn't want to rush into having them until you both were ready. After a surprise at his job, Joel realizes there's nothing more he wants to do than put a baby in you as soon as he gets home.

Pairing: Husband!Joel Miller x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.1K

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (it's baby making time, so hush), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, big ole fat and nasty breeding kink (.... don't look at me it's bad), creampie, cum play, talks of starting a family, calling Joel "Daddy" (in the sense you want to have his babies, but also 🤷🏼‍♀️), Sweet soft Joel who loves his wife and would give her the universe if he could, honestly with just the way Joel is talking about makin' babies, I think I'm pregnant

A/N: It's that time of the month where Madeline ovulates and writes feral breeding kink smut!!! 🤪 Okay I am so nervous to post this because I have never written for Joel before and I'm worried it's trash with a capital T, but after re-watching TLOU, I need 2003 Joel Miller carnally, so here we are. This is also inspired by @mrsmando post about 2003 Joel Miller constantly keeping you barefoot and pregnant because it made me unwell, and no lies were told. (thanks for ruining my life mimi) 🤠 ANYWHO I hope you guys like it, and if not, I'll shut up and go back to writing Javi and Frankie and pretend like this didn't happen

There were a lot of stereotypical answers that you expected from your husband when you asked him how his day at work had been:  

“Good.” 

“Fine.” 

“Long.” 

“My knees are killin’ me.” 

“Tommy did somethin’ fuckin’ stupid again.” 

“Better now that I’m home with you.” 

So when Joel arrived home today after a new job he had started with Tommy on a bathroom renovation, there were few things that could have prepared you for the response your husband had when you asked him how his day had gone. 

“Hey, honey. How was your day today?” You smiled, watching Joel stroll in through your front door, kicking off his work boots at the entryway, beginning to put away his things before strolling into the kitchen to greet you. 

“Pretty good." He paused, leaning in for a quick kiss before making his way over to the closet before speaking again. "Saw a real cute baby today.” 

You could practically feel your heart skip a beat as you looked up from the vegetables you had been cutting up for dinner, tightening the grip you had around your knife to make sure you didn’t drop it in shock. 

Out of all the things for Joel to bring up on the first day at a new job, a cute baby had been at the top of the list.

Not floor plans. 

Not timelines for the project.

Not something stupid that Tommy did. 

Not even what he had done today on the job. 

The top news that Joel Miller had to report back to you about his day was the sighting of a cute baby. 

You and Joel had always agreed that you’d wanted kids, and your husband had been not only adamant, but genuinely excited at the prospect of becoming a dad. But only being a little less than a year into your marriage, the two of you had decided you didn’t want to rush into anything, and when the time felt right, you’d both know it. 

But one by one, as your friends began to announce their pregnancies, baby showers, and pictures of their adorable newborns, you couldn’t help but deny the baby fever starting to burn hotter and hotter inside you with every passing day. 

You’d brought it up in passing a few times with Joel, talking about your friends who had kids, or a cute mom and her children you saw walking around in your neighborhood, and while he had always had a positive response to what you had to say, you just had a feeling that now just wasn’t the time for the two of you yet, and that was okay.  

But here you were, standing in your kitchen, jaw practically scraping the ground at the notion that your husband had dropped just about the least subtle hint ever that babies weren’t just at the forefront of your mind- they were on his, too. 

“Awh, really?” You asked, shaking your head to snap out of your shocked state, returning back to dice the onion you had been working on before Joel could turn around to see you after finishing hanging up his things in the closet, trying to subtly coax more information out of him. 

“Yeah.” He smiled, joining you in the kitchen, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer to his chest for a soft kiss to greet you, “The family we’re startin’ the bathroom reno for just moved in. Had their first baby a few months ago and just hadn’t had time to work on fixin’ things.” 

“So they’re already putting the baby to work with you and Tommy?” You teased, raising an eyebrow at Joel playfully, giving him a quick peck back on the lips as he laughed at your sass. 

“Cheap labor.” Joel shrugged back, playing into the joke, “Nah, she woke up from her nap while Tommy and I were runnin’ through some measurements so her mom brought her out for the last lil bit we were there. She was damn cute, too. Just smilin’ and laughin’ at everything.” 

You were glad Joel’s arm was still wrapped around your hip, because you were convinced if it wasn’t, you were about to melt to the floor into a puddle, watching how soft and sweet Joel was talking about a cute, smiling baby. 

“Well a cute baby definitely sounds like a very nice perk of being on the job.” You smirked, trying to play it cool enough to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest. 

“Yeah.” Joel replied softly, quietly pausing for a moment, watching the gears turning in his brain, carefully calculating his words before he spoke. 

“You okay?” You asked, looking up at Joel, knowing your husband well enough that he had something on his mind he was trying to work up the confidence to spit out. 

Joel looked back down at you, big brown eyes locking with yours as his grip around your waist tightened ever so slightly, tongue swiping against his plush bottom lip as he took a long, deep breath in and slow exhale out.  

“Honey, what is it?” You asked again, now slightly concerned with how nervous your husband looked in his stoic silence, reaching up to gently wrap your fingers around his arm, thumb stroking his skin. 

“I want one.” 

You froze, worried that your heart may have actually stopped as you looked at Joel, making sure that you had really just heard what he had said. 

“W-what?” 

“I want one. A baby. I- I know it’s been a while since we’ve talked about it, but I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot, and seein’ that baby today, it just- shit, I just couldn’t stop picturin’ what it would be like to have one of our own I guess.” 

If you weren’t a puddle before, you sure as fuck were now.  

An overwhelming sensation of nerves and excitement began thrumming through your veins, your heart beat pounding in your ears as your face grew warm and a smile started to spread between your cheeks. You were almost certain you had to be dreaming, asking again to make sure that someone needed to come and wake you up and send you back to reality. 

“Joel… Really?” 

“Yeah, really. Nothin’ I want more. I know I ain’t gonna even be close to the perfect dad, but I know you’ll be sucha good mom, and I’ll be damned if I don’t want some tiny lil versions of us runnin’ around. Couldn’t think of anything that would make me happier than that. Like I said, I know that we ain’t talked about in a while, and if ya aren’t ready yet that’s okay but I-” 

Before Joel could even finish the rest of his thought, you were pressing up to plant your lips to his with passionate intensity, hands roaming up his chest before cupping his jaw and the scratchy stubble of his cheeks while your stomach flipped with arousal and want, already feeling a damp patch beginning to pool in the cotton of your underwear. 

You pulled away, kisses traveling along his jawline and up his neck until you were nipping at his ear, the hot breath of your words whispering against his skin. 

“You wanna make a baby, Joel Miller?” 

“Fuck-” Joel groaned, reaching his other arm around you grab at your ass, pulling you in tight enough to feel the bulge beginning to grow under the denim of his worn jeans, pressing against your thigh.

“‘Cause there’s nothing that I want more than to make you a daddy.” You smirked, looking up to watch Joel’s eyes darken with lust, jaw going slack as a low groan rumbled in his chest, his once half hard cock now fully erect and straining against his zipper, trying to keep from giggling watching your husband try to string together any sort of thoughts to speak. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ-” He moaned, running his hand over his face to try and regain his composure to keep from busting right then and there. “You- fuck, you sure, baby?” 

“Mhmmmm. Don’t think I’ve ever been so sure of anything in my whole life. So sure,” you paused, softly pressing your lips to his between words, “that I think we should go make one right now.” 

Your adamant confirmation was all it took to set off something almost animalistic in Joel, crashing his lips back into yours in a messy clash of tongues and teeth, gripping his hands under your thighs to hoist you up around his hips and lock your legs behind the small of his back. Without ever letting your mouths part, Joel was already halfway to the bedroom before you had even realized it, playfully giggling at how frantically he was carrying you down the hallway, your bodies bumping against the walls and door frames, too focused on desperate and needy kisses for any sort of spatial awareness. 

Finally reaching your bed, Joel carefully laid you down, letting your back fall into the mattress, leaving your lower half to hang off the edge before your husband was on his knees, settling himself between your parted thighs. 

You sat up on your elbows, watching as Joel tightened his grip around the meat of your legs, peppering kisses up the inside of each across your soft skin before coming face to face with your core, planting another soft kiss there before letting his fingers ghost over your heat, still covered by your jeans. 

He rapidly worked at the button of your pants, shuffling them down off your hips to reveal your underwear, now absolutely soaked with arousal from the prospect alone of Joel knocking you up and carrying his baby. 

“Jesus Christ, baby girl, look at ‘cha.” Joel tutted, admiring how the cotton of your underwear clung to the outline of your cunt, sticking to the puffy and swollen lips of your pussy from how wet you were. “Haven’t even touched ya yet. This all for me, darlin’?” 

Just as you began to try and answer, Joel took one of his fingers, barely dragging it over the damp fabric before beginning to rub soft circles over your covered clit, eliciting a pathetic whimper from you at the electric sensation.  

“F-fuck- It’s all for you, b-baby.” You stammered, moaning even louder as a second finger joined the first, pressing more pressure into you sensitive nub as he nudged each of your legs to drape over his shoulders, his free hand tugging at the waistband of your underwear, making you instinctually lift your hips as he yanked them off your legs to crumple in a messy pile with your pants. 

“Prettiest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever seen.” Joel mewled, running his fingers up and down through the weeping seams of your folds, toying with your entrance while draping his arm across your hips to hold your squirming lower half in place. “Wants me to fuck her full of me and fill her up so bad, huh?” 

“P-please, Joel. Want you to fill me up so badly.” You whimpered, staring down at your husband, a devilish grin spread across his face, licking his lips as his eyes darted back and forth between your blissed out face and the glistening mess between your thighs. 

“I will sweetheart, promise. Gotta taste you first though, baby. Gotta make sure you’re nice n’ready for me. ‘Cause once we start, I ain’t lettin’ you outta this bed ‘till I knock you up.” 

With that, Joel was diving between your legs, lapping you up in long and firm strokes, pressing against your clit in the way he knew would make you fall apart under his tongue. While he would have loved to have spend hours just like this, making you writhe under his touch, drinking up your arousal like a wandering man parched in the heat of the desert, Joel had one thing on his mind, and one thing only- 

To get you pregnant.   

Joel began to intensify the pace of his tongue, swirling and sucking around your clit as two of his thick fingers pushed into your heat, sliding in and out of your entrance with ease from how wet and worked up you were. Curling his fingers ever so slightly, you cried out as Joel bumped against your g-spot, pushing against the soft, spongy spot as his tongue worked its magic. 

You could feel the arousal shooting through your veins, heat beginning to bloom in your stomach as Joel fucked you with his fingers and mouth, shooting your hand down to grab fistfulls of his thick, brown hair to brace yourself for your impending orgasm. 

“J-Joel, oh fuck- Fuck, baby, I’m c-close. Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.” You whined, pussy beginning to flutter around Joel’s fingers, the tightening only egging him on further to get you to cross the finish line. 

With just a little more pressure of his tongue, Joel could feel your cunt clamping down around his digits, watching the pleasure shoot through your body as you came, your orgasm crashing through you like a tsunami. 

As you reached your high, Joel drank up your arousal, not faltering in his pace, too focused on your pretty cries of his name being chanted like a prayer to do anything but keep going and making you feel good. 

Truth be told, Joel had gotten so lost between your thighs, the only thing stopping him was the tensing feeling between his, so pussy drunk and determined to fuck you full of him that he was worried he was about to cum too if he didn’t stop. 

Pulling off you, Joel frantically stood up, racing to undo his belt and jeans, yanking them down his legs in tandem with his boxers as his cock slapped against his stomach, precum already pearling from his tip, desperate to be inside of you. His shirt quickly followed his pants, ripping it over his head as his broad body caged yours under him, helping you to scoot back on the bed until your head hit the pillows, trailing kisses up and down your body the whole way. 

As Joel kissed and nipped at your skin, you quickly shuffled off your top and bra, leaving you bare beneath him, moaning as his tongue flicked against each of your newly exposed pebbled nipples, grouping your breast and kneading the soft flesh in his palms. 

Even though you had just came, you could already feel your cunt starting to clench around nothing, desperate to feel Joel inside of you, to stretch you out with his thick cock and fuck you until you couldn’t think straight. But with the way your chest was heaving and breath shaking from your orgasm, you could barely muster out the words you wanted. 

“J-Joel, p-please, baby. P-please.” 

You snaked your hand between your bodies to reach for Joel’s cock, wrapping your fingers around his length and swiping your thumb over his leaking tip, a low groan rumbling in his chest as you stroked him, trying to guide him to slide between your legs and ease your ache. 

Lowering his hips, you moved your hand and let his replace it, Joel pumping himself a few times before guiding his tip between your folds, collecting your slick to coat his cock, using every last ounce of self-control he had as his eyes locked with yours, wanting to see your face as he pushed inside you. 

“Please, what, darlin’?” Joel teased, knowing damn well what you were begging for. 

“Need to feel you, Joel. Need you to put a baby in me.” You moaned, reaching up to grab his face, your palm rubbing against his stubble as your fingers tugged on the curls at the nape of his neck. 

With one more pump, Joel lined himself up with your entrance, sliding into your heat, the sweet stretch and sting of his length making the breath hitch in the back of your throat, filling you up inch by inch until he bottomed out inside you with his tip just kissing your cervix. 

Joel couldn’t help but smirk as he watched your mouth fall open, parted lips letting a soft moan escape while your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head at the newfound sensation, giving you another moment to adjust before he began to slowly roll his hips, dragging his cock in and out of your core. 

“Christ, baby girl, so wet and tight. Like this pussy was made just for me. Made for me to fuck ya full of me until it’s got no choice but to fuckin’ take.” Joel groaned, reaching down to grab your thighs, pinning your knees to your chest, stretching you open to take Joel even deeper, practically feeling him in your stomach with the position he had you in. 

“Joel, oh my god- fuck, you feel so good. Fuck, baby. Want you to fill me up so bad.” You whimpered, Joel now beginning to pick up his pace as he thrust in and out of you, continually punching in that perfect spot over and over again, leaving your brain bordering on short circuiting. 

Joel’s fingertips dug deeper into the flesh of your thighs, pushing your legs down just far enough to be chest to chest with you, the sweat dampened curls of his forehead brushing against yours as your mouths met in an electric kiss, catching each other’s muffled moans with each snap of Joel’s hips. 

“Yeah, sweetheart? Want me to fill you up? Fuck a baby into you? Let everyone see what a pretty momma you are, carryin’ our kid?” Joel grunted, picturing you, months from now, belly round and tits swollen, pregnant with your baby, wondering how many you’d let him give you, because fuck, he’d keep knocking you up until he had nothing left to give. 

Each push and pull of your bodies against each other felt more and more electric, an undeniable coil tightening in your stomach with the way Joel was pounding into you and the hairs at the base of his cock were brushing against your clit, already feeling yourself beginning to teeter on the brink of pleasure once again. 

“Yes, fuck, fuck- yes, Joel. I wanna have your baby. Want you to knock me up so I can make you a daddy. Please, baby, please.” You were all but sobbing at this point, your fingers digging into the tan and sweat sheened skin of Joel’s broad shoulders, overwhelmed by the lewd combinations of Joel’s heavy pants in your ear and wet squelching of your pussy as his pelvis flushed against yours repeatedly. 

Joel could feel you beginning to tighten around him, pussy sucking him in with its warmth and wetness, ready to clamp around his cock and milk him for all he was worth. 

“That’s it, darlin’, I know you’re close. Gotta cum for me first though, baby girl. Gotta feel ya soak me before I stuff ya so full of me, I swear t’god, you’ll be drippin’ outta me for days. So fuckin’ full that I’ll get you pregnant right now.” Joel groaned through gritted teeth, leaning back to reach and grab your leg, wrapping it around the small of his back before you lifted your other to join it, locking your ankles to keep him as close to you as possible. 

“Joel, oh my god, fuck baby, fuck, I’m gonna- fuckfuckfuck-” 

Suddenly, your orgasm was rushing through every inch of you, crying out as the pleasure hit you like a freight train, choking Joel’s cock with your pussy, unable to do anything but relish in the white hot bliss that had you nearly floating out of your own body. 

While Joel would have kept fucking you until the sun went down, the truth was he was relieved to feel you cum, spending every second since your agreement in the kitchen trying to keep from finishing until he was balls deep inside you and you were soaking his cock as you reached your high. The realization that now was his chance to make good on his promise, to fill you up and fuck a baby into you, ignited something primal, feral, in him, pounding into you at a punishing pace as he could feel himself teetering on the brink of collapse right with you. 

“That’s my girl. That’s it, cum all over my cock, baby. Shit, I’m gonna cum too, fuck- gonna fill this tight lil pussy up so goddamn much, give you a baby, make you a momma, oh fuck!” 

With one final stutter of his hips, Joel let out a strangled moan, flushing his hips against yours as he milked himself of every last drop, painting your warm, wet walls with hot ropes of his spend, making sure nothing went to waste. 

He couldn’t help but but press even further into you, plugging you with his length and fucking his cum as deep as he could into your cunt to make sure it took, collapsing on top of you with his cock still buried in your heat, letting your chests heave together in sync as you both caught your breath. 

Joel was convinced he had never cum so much in his entire life, afraid that if he pulled out, that somehow he’d have more left to give, and sure as fuck wasn’t going to risk letting anything coming out of him end up not inside of you. 

Well, not until your muffled grunt rumbled beneath him. 

 “Joel, baby, I love you but you’re kinda squishing me.” You huffed, giggling to yourself as you watched your husband come-to in real time out of his post-orgasmic state, immediately offering a half muttered apology as he rolled off you, sitting back on his knees to admire the shiny and slick mess between your legs. 

“Fuck me…” Joel murmured to himself, eyes wide as he stared at your pussy- wet, puffy and soaking with your arousal, bringing his fingers to your spent hole as he watched a dribble of his cum begin to leak out. Gently scooping it up, he collected everything he could, pressing it back into your cunt before pulling his hand out. Crawling up the bed to lay next to you, Joel wrapped you up in his arms as the little spoon, peppering ticklish kisses over your back and shoulders, making you burst into laughter. 

“Joel, stop! That tickles!” You squealed, squirming in his grasp, trying to defend yourself from his unrelenting attack of soft, plush lips and scratchy beard dancing across your skin. 

“Don’t laugh so damn hard, or all my hard work’s ‘bout to come out!” Joel teased, giving you a playful nudge, pulling you in even closer. 

“Stop making me laugh, then! Plus, I think you came enough to put quadruplets inside of me, so I think we’ll be okay.” You snorted, Joel joining in on the laughter. 

“Baby, I don’t think I’ve ever came that hard in my whole goddamn life.” Joel sighed, shrugging as you rolled your head up to look at him and that stupid goofy grin he got whenever he couldn’t contain his excitement about something. “God, I love you.” 

“I love you too, Joel.” 

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, Joel slowly bringing his arm to rest across your stomach, thumb slowly tracing careful circles on your skin. 

“You’re gonna make such a good mom. I’m the luckiest man alive that you wanna have a family with me. Still not really sure what I ever did to deserve it.” 

“Joel! You’re gonna make me cry! And this is before pregnancy hormones, ya jerk.” You tried to laugh, choking back the tears welling in your eyes. 

“Yeah, what a jerk, your husband tellin’ you how much he loves you.” He teased back, planting a long kiss on your temple, before pressing another one to your lips. Another wave of soft silence followed, watching Joel’s face scrunch in a calculated concentration. “How big of a crib you think I gotta make? I don’t know ‘bout a rockin’ chair, but a crib can’t be that hard. I gotta measure the guest room tomorrow.” 

“Honey, I don’t even know if I’m pregnant yet, you don’t need to have a crib built tomorrow.” You teased, laughing at Joel, despite the fact his mind was already thinking about a baby room and accessories had you melting. 

“Sweetheart, what did I say earlier? I ain’t lettin’ you outta this bed ‘till we know there’s a baby in there.” He smirked, nodding at his hand still splayed across your stomach, “So you better get comfortable, ‘cause if it’s up to me, there ain’t a chance in hell we’re gettin’ anything but a positive pregnancy test at the end of this month, and we'll sure need that crib nine months from now. Never hurts to get a head start."

Tag List: (Sorry if I tagged you and you don't wanna be tagged, just let me know!!)

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper r @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[pucksandpower]

Baby Steps

Charles Leclerc x single mother!Reader

Summary: you are barely staying afloat, desperately trying to wrap your mind around your impending motherhood while juggling being a press officer for Scuderia Ferrari … Charles shows you that you don’t have to do it alone

Warnings: pregnancy, family abandonment, and harassment

You grip the edges of the trash can tightly as your stomach lurches again. The half-digested remains of your breakfast spill into the plastic liner with a sickening splatter. Straightening up slowly, you take a few deep breaths and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. The smell rising from the can makes your stomach roll threateningly once more.

Turning away quickly, you lean against the side of the Ferrari motorhome, eyes closed. The sun beats down relentlessly, and you can feel sweat beading at your hairline.

This “morning” sickness is no joke — it seems to strike at all hours of the day. You thought you had gotten away with a quick breakfast break an hour ago when Carlos was in a team briefing, but apparently not.

Footsteps on the gravel make you open your eyes. You pray it’s not a member of the press, or, god forbid, Carlos. The last thing you need is a photo of the Ferrari press officer tossing her cookies behind the paddock. But no, it’s Charles Leclerc striding towards you, his brow furrowed.

You straighten up and attempt nonchalance. “Good morning, Charles.”

He slows, glancing between you and the extremely obvious trash can of vomit. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yeah, fine,” you say breezily. “Just a bit of food poisoning, I think. Had a questionable chicken salad for dinner yesterday.”

You notice Charles is wearing a soft grey t-shirt and track pants, his hair damp from the shower. He must have just finished with physiotherapy. He looks so effortlessly handsome, it’s frankly unfair. You suddenly feel acutely aware of the sheen of sweat on your face and your limbs heavy with fatigue.

Charles’ face remains creased in concern. “Food poisoning? Have you been to the medical center?”

You wave a hand. “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably just 24 hours of hell before I’m back to normal.” You attempt a smile, but have to grab the trash can again as the smell from it hits you like a wave.

Charles springs forward and grabs your arm as you retch miserably. “Whoa, take it easy,” he says, supporting you until the heaving subsides.

You stay hunched over, breathing hard. The world is spinning a little. You hear Charles say firmly, “Okay, come with me. Let’s get you sat down.”

He keeps a hand under your arm and leads you into the blessedly cool motorhome. The rich scent of coffee fills the interior, reminding you that you haven’t managed to keep any food down today. You sink gratefully onto a padded bench at one of the tables.

Charles sits opposite you, his green eyes studying you intently. “When did the sickness start?”

You sigh, shoulders slumping. The jig is up. “About four weeks ago,” you mutter.

Understanding dawns on Charles’ face. “Oh. Oh!” His eyes flick down to your still-flat stomach. “So you’re ...”

“Pregnant. Yes.” You drop your head into your hands.

“Well, hey, congratulations,” says Charles gently. “That’s really exciting.”

You huff out something between a sob and a laugh. “Exciting? More like a nightmare!” You run your fingers back through your hair and look desperately at Charles. “You can’t tell anyone, okay? Not even Carlos. I can’t risk anyone finding out about this. If I lose this job ...”

Charles’ brows draw together again. “Why would you lose your job? You’re Carlos’ press officer. I’m sure he’d be thrilled for you.”

You shake your head rapidly. “No, no way. I can’t take time off. The season just started! Carlos needs me, I organize everything for him. The travel, the events, the media, everything!” You bite your lip anxiously. “Maybe … maybe after the baby comes, I can figure something out. But I have to keep this quiet until then. Please.”

Charles reaches over and lays a hand on your arm. His touch is gentle but firm. “Y/N. Working yourself into the ground won’t be good for you or the baby. Have you thought about taking a sabbatical? Just a few months to rest, focus on yourself.”

Panic flares in your chest. “No! No, I can’t.” Your breathing quickens. “You don’t understand — I have no one else. No partner. No family. This job is everything. If I lose it ...” You trail off, trying to blink back the sting of tears.

Charles is silent for a long moment. Then he says, “Okay. I understand this is your decision. And I promise I won’t tell Carlos or anyone else.” He hesitates. “But Y/N, please take care of yourself. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.”

You nod jerkily and avoid his earnest gaze. With a shaky breath, you push yourself to your feet. The motorhome tilts sickeningly for a second.

Charles rises too, watching you with concern. “Will you be alright?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. You start to head deeper into the motorhome, desperate to lie down before the nausea returns.

“Y/N,” Charles calls after you softly. You pause, glancing back. “Congratulations again. You’re going to be a wonderful mother.” He gives you a small, warm smile.

You swallow hard. “Thank you, Charles,” you whisper. Then you turn and continue on unsteadily, one hand braced against the wall.

You make it to the small office that passes for your private quarters on race weekends. Collapsing onto the ergonomic desk chair, you stare up at the ceiling and place a hand over your still-flat belly.

A baby.

Your baby.

Fear and wonder tangle inside you.

You must have dozed off, because the next thing you know a hand is gently shaking your shoulder. You jerk awake to find Carlos standing over you, his eyebrows drawn with concern.

“Y/N? Are you ill?”

You stand up too quickly and immediately regret it as the room spins. Carlos grabs your shoulder to steady you.

“I’m fine,” you say hoarsely. “Just needed a quick nap.”

Carlos frowns, clearly unconvinced. “Charles said you were throwing up outside. That you have food poisoning?”

You make a mental note to kill Charles later. “Uh, yeah. Bad chicken salad, I think. But I’ll be okay.” You attempt a reassuring smile.

Carlos sits down on the edge of your desk, watching you closely. “Why didn’t you tell me you were unwell? You know you don’t have to worry about me, I can look after myself for one day.” His dark brown eyes are filled with worry.

Guilt twists your gut. Carlos has always been extraordinarily kind and thoughtful, a rarity in the high stakes world of Formula 1. You hate lying to him.

“I know,” you say quietly. “I just didn’t want to let you down. But you’re right, I should have said something. I’m sorry.”

Carlos shakes his head immediately. “No, don’t be sorry. Just focus on feeling better, yes? Take tomorrow off too. I order you to rest,” he adds with a small grin.

You smile weakly back. “Okay, boss.”

Carlos stands and gestures to the tiny table bolted to the wall. “I brought you some tea and crackers. Hopefully you can keep it down.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate you checking on me.”

He smiles. “Of course. Feel better, Y/N.” With a last lingering look of concern, he turns and leaves you in peace.

You look at the steaming tea and crackers and feel tears prick your eyes again. Carlos is a good man. Too good, probably, for the pragmatic demands of Formula 1. You know you should tell him about the pregnancy. But the thought of losing your place here, on this team, fills you with dread.

This high stakes world of racing is all you’ve known for the past three years. You can’t imagine life outside the bubble of the paddock, away from the adrenaline and pressure. Away from the team. Away from Carlos. Away from Charles.

With a deep breath, you sit up straight and tear open the crackers. You need to think about this rationally. Maybe Charles is right and you do need to slow down eventually. But for now, for the next few months at least, you have to keep going like nothing has changed.

You place a hand on your stomach as you nibble a cracker. “It’s gonna be okay, little one,” you whisper. “We’ll figure this out.”

***

The smell of coffee turns your stomach these days, but you still make your way blearily to the breakfast buffet each morning. Carlos is an early riser, and you need to be available whenever he is ready to start the day. You scan the offerings, deciding toast is the safest option, and reach for a couple of dry slices.

“Oh, Y/N!”

You turn to see Charles holding out a pre-packaged parfait cup. “I grabbed an extra yogurt by mistake. Do you want it?”

You hesitate. Your first instinct is suspicion — this is the third time this week Charles has “accidentally” had an extra snack to offer you. But the yogurt does look appealing ...

“Sure, thanks,” you say, taking the cup from him. Charles shoots you a smile before grabbing a plate and continuing down the buffet.

You sit down next to Carlos with your toast and yogurt. He glances up from his phone. “Morning. Feeling better today?”

You nod, mouth full. In truth, the nausea has continued, but you’ve gotten better at hiding it from Carlos and powered through.

Charles joins you both a few minutes later, greeted by Carlos with a fist bump. You peel open your yogurt while half-listening to the two men discuss the upcoming practices.

The sweet, fruity parfait is cool and soothing on your sensitive stomach. You find yourself polishing it off in record time. As you scrape the last bit of yogurt from the bottom, you realize Charles is watching you.

“Good?” He asks.

You lick the plastic spoon clean before answering. “Yeah, really hit the spot, thanks.”

Charles’ eyes crinkle with a smile. “No problem. I’ll try to grab two tomorrow.”

You feel your smile grow fixed. This is getting ridiculous. Charles Leclerc does not care this much about your yogurt preferences. He’s up to something.

Over the next week, Charles’ thoughtfulness continues. A cold bottle of water when you’re looking hot and tired. A sandwich from a local bakery when you missed lunch. Your favorite chocolate bar when you mention a craving in passing. Always with an innocent smile, as if he’s not playing Superman to your pretend Lois Lane.

It all comes to a head on race day. You’re in the scorching sun on the grid, already feeling the fatigue of the hectic weekend. Carlos is doing his pre-race routine, so your attention has lapsed. Suddenly a blessedly cold bottle of water appears in front of your face. You look up to see Charles grinning down at you.

“Stay hydrated,” he says with a wink.

That does it. “Okay, enough!” You snap, smacking the water bottle away. It falls to the ground with a thud, water glugging out.

Charles’ eyes go wide with shock. “Y/N?”

Grabbing his arm, you pull Charles several steps away from eavesdropping mechanics. “Why are you doing this?” You hiss. “I don’t need you to baby me!”

“What?” Charles looks completely bewildered. “I’m just trying to help-”

“Well, stop,” you interrupt sharply. The hurt on Charles’ face makes you falter, but you press on. “I don’t need your pity. I’m fine.”

“Pity?” Charles frowns. “It’s not pity, Y/N. I care about you.” He places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’re always taking care of everyone around you. Now you need someone to take care of you too.”

His kind words hit you like a gut punch. Oh God, the stupid hormones! You feel hot tears spring to your eyes.

Charles’ alarmed expression softens. “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you ...” He pulls you into a hug. One hand smoothes your hair while the other rubs comforting circles on your back.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmurs. You cling to him, embarrassed by your raw emotional response but unable to stop the tears.

After a minute the wave passes. You pull back, wiping your eyes. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Charles smiles kindly. “Nothing is wrong with you. But I understand this is a difficult time.” His expression turns serious. “If you ever need anything, please ask me. I’m here for you.”

Looking up into Charles’ earnest green eyes, you feel a rush of gratitude. Whatever awkwardness lingers between you has evaporated. Charles is a true friend.

You squeeze his hand. “Thank you. That means a lot.” Glancing around, you notice some odd looks from passing crew members. “We should probably get back to work before people think there’s a full-blown soap opera going on over here.”

Charles grins. “Agreed. But this conversation isn’t over. Dinner tonight in my room?” He raises an eyebrow.

You laugh, blinking away the last dampness from your eyes. “It’s a date.”

***

You smooth your hands down your dress as you approach Charles’ hotel suite, suddenly feeling nervous. You’ve been in drivers’ rooms countless times for work, but this feels different. More intimate.

You take a steadying breath and knock. Charles opens the door, looking unfairly handsome in a crisp button down shirt.

“Y/N! Come in.” He steps back to allow you inside.

The suite is spacious and modern, with floor to ceiling windows along one wall looking out over the glittering city. Charles leads you through the living area to a set of glass doors. “I thought we could eat out on the balcony,” he explains, opening the doors with a flourish. “The fresh air will be good for you and baby.”

You step outside and have to stifle a gasp. A small table is elegantly set for two, a vase of flowers in the center. String lights twinkle overhead. “Charles, this is beautiful!”

He looks pleased. “I’m glad you like it.” Pulling out a chair, he gestures for you to sit.

As he takes the seat opposite you, you notice several covered dishes on the table. Charles sees you looking and smiles a bit sheepishly. “I, uh, called my mother earlier.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. Charles rubs the back of his neck. “I asked her what foods she craved when she was pregnant with me and my brother. So I ordered a bunch of that from room service, in hopes there might be something you’d like.”

A lump forms in your throat. You reach over and squeeze his hand. “Charles, that is so incredibly thoughtful.”

Pink tinges his tanned cheeks. “Of course. I want to take care of you.”

You chat comfortably over food and Charles’ excellent choice of wine for you — sparkling grape juice. He relaxes as you praise the chicken and melon he ordered.

When you sit back contentedly, Charles fixes you with a thoughtful look. “So, do you know how far along you are?”

You hesitate. “About three months now.”

He nods. “And have you been to a doctor yet?”

Your fingers find a groove in the wooden table to trace. “Not yet.” At his surprised look, you add defensively, “I’ve just been so busy with work. But I’m sure everything is fine.”

“Still, you should make an appointment soon. Just to be safe.” Charles’ tone is gentle.

You nod without meeting his eye. An uncomfortable beat passes.

“Do you ...” Charles pauses delicately. “Forgive me, but … do you know who the father is?”

Your cheeks flame. You stand abruptly, walking over to the balcony railing. After a moment Charles joins you, leaning on the rail at your side.

“I’m sorry, that was too personal,” he says quietly.

You shake your head. “It’s okay. I just ...” You glance up at him. “He’s no longer in my life.” You look away, a lump in your throat.

Charles doesn’t ask anything more, just moves closer in a gesture of silent support. You stand together breathing in the night air. The twinkling city sprawls before you. For a moment, the future doesn’t feel quite so frightening.

Eventually you stifle a yawn behind your hand. Charles glances over. “You must be exhausted. I should let you get to bed.”

You smile gratefully. He walks you to the door of the suite. Pausing, you stand on tiptoes and kiss Charles lightly on the cheek. “Thank you again for dinner. For everything.”

His eyes shine as he gazes down at you. “Of course. Sweet dreams, Y/N. And ...” He brushes a feather-light touch over your belly. “Sweet dreams to you too, little one.”

You feel your heart melt just a little. With a last smile, you head down the hall to the elevators. As the doors slide closed, you catch one last glimpse of Charles watching after you.

Back in your smaller, blander room, you change for bed in a happy haze. Sliding between cool sheets, you let out a contented sigh. Tonight was lovely. Charles’ thoughtfulness reminds you there are still good people in the world. For the first time in weeks, you feel a spark of hope.

You drift off to sleep with a hand resting gently on your belly. Everything seems less frightening now that you aren’t alone. Whatever happens next, you and your baby will get through it together.

***

The buzz of the media pen is giving you a headache today. Or maybe that’s just the pregnancy. You blink heavily, trying to focus on Carlos speaking into the microphone in front of you. You hit record on your phone as he answers the first question. It’s your job to capture every word to ensure he’s not misrepresented later.

The reporter’s voice fades in and out. You sway slightly, shaking your head. Just need some fresh air. You take a step away from the crowd, vision blurring at the edges. Dark spots dance across your eyes. The concrete floor rushes up to meet you-

“Y/N!”

Strong hands grab your shoulders, slowing your collapse. Your head spins as you try to make sense of it.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Charles’ worried face swims into view above you. You part your lips but no words come out.

There’s loud commotion around you now. You feel yourself being shifted, lifted. Snatches of Charles’ voice pierce through the fog.

“She’s pregnant ... get help ... ambulance ...”

You try to cling to consciousness but it’s like grasping at smoke. The world goes dark.

When you resurface, it’s to antiseptic white walls and a steady beeping. Hospital. An IV pulls at your arm as you shift.

“Y/N?” Charles appears at your side, relief breaking across his face. “Thank God. You’re awake.”

Before you can respond, he’s disappeared again, calling for a doctor. You try to push yourself more upright but your limbs feel like lead.

A brisk older woman in a white coat enters, glancing at the monitor beside your bed. “Good to see you awake, Miss Y/L/N. You gave us quite a scare.”

“What happened?” Your voice comes out hoarse.

“You fainted from low blood pressure. A common issue in pregnancy, but yours seems to be more severe.” The doctor flips through your chart with a frown.

Charles stands anxiously at the foot of the bed. “But she’ll be alright now?”

The doctor hesitates. “I’m recommending complete pelvic rest and limited activity for the remainder of the pregnancy. Strictly no standing or walking for prolonged periods.” She pins you with a sharp look. “And if your blood pressure drops again, we’ll have no choice but to put you on full bed rest.”

Your stomach drops through the floor. “What? No, I can’t! I have to keep working, I-”

“Y/N.” Charles’ voice stops your panicked rambling. His face is lined with concern as he takes your hand. “Your health is what matters most.”

The doctor nods briskly. “Precisely. No job is worth risking your or your baby’s safety.” With a final warning look, she departs.

The moment she leaves, you burst into tears. Harsh, gasping sobs wrack your frame. This is a disaster. Without being able to stand or walk for long stretches, you’re useless to the team. You’ll be fired for sure. And then what will you do? You have no one, no other skills-

Warm, strong arms wrap around you as you weep. Charles cradles you against his chest, making low soothing sounds.

“Shh, it’s going to be alright,” he murmurs, stroking your hair. “We’ll figure this out.”

You clutch fistfuls of his shirt, burying your face in the soft cotton. The steady thump of his heartbeat slowly calms your hysteria.

When the tears finally subside, Charles eases you gently back against the pillows. His thumbs brush away the moisture from your cheeks.

“I know you’re scared,” he says quietly. “But I promise, I will do everything I can to help you. We are in this together now.”

His green eyes radiate such sincerity, you feel some of the panic and despair lift. You cling tightly to his hand, anchoring yourself to him like he’s a rock in a stormy sea.

***

You pick listlessly at the greyish meat and mushy vegetables on your hospital dinner tray. At least Charles had the foresight to sneak in some contraband snacks earlier — you polish off the last crumbs of the cookies he brought, wishing futilely for something more appetizing.

A knock at the door precedes Charles peeking in. “Hungry for something better than hospital food?” He holds up a paper takeout bag and shakes it enticingly.

You brighten immediately. “Charles, you’re my hero.”

He laughs and enters, pulling a table over your lap to serve as a makeshift dining surface. Soon plastic containers of pasta, salad, and fresh bread are opened, the savory scents making your mouth water.

Charles watches fondly as you tuck in. “I wasn’t sure what you’d feel up to eating. But who doesn’t like Italian food?”

You make a noise of emphatic agreement through your full mouth. Charles chuckles.

When you finally surface for air, he clears his throat. “So I was thinking ...” Charles busies himself folding and refolding your napkin. “My apartment in Monaco is pretty big for just me. And it has a guest room that’s just sitting empty.”

You raise your eyebrows, waiting for him to go on.

“Well ...” Charles rubs the back of his neck. “I thought maybe when you’re discharged, you could come stay with me for a while. So I can make sure you’re not overexerting yourself.”

You frown slightly. “Oh. That’s really kind, but I’ll be fine once I’m out of here.”

“Will you?” Charles levels you with a knowing look. “No offense, but you’re not exactly the best at asking for help when you need it.”

You open your mouth to protest, but can’t really argue with that.

“Let me do this for you. For my own peace of mind too,” Charles implores gently. He takes your hand, blue eyes full of sincerity. “Please?”

Looking into his earnest face, you feel your weak resistance faltering. Still ... “I don’t want to be a burden,” you mumble half-heartedly.

Charles squeezes your hand. “You could never be. I care about you, Y/N.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles. “I want to take care of you and the baby.”

The warmth in his voice melts away the last of your reluctance. And honestly, the prospect of having Charles doting on you is far preferable to being alone in your small, dreary apartment.

You meet his hopeful gaze. “Okay. If you’re sure you don’t mind, then … I accept your kind offer.”

Charles’ answering smile rivals the sun. “Yeah? Oh, that’s fantastic!” He sweeps you into an enthusiastic but gentle hug. You cling to him, feeling the nervous knot that’s been your constant companion for weeks finally start to loosen. Everything will work out.

That night as Charles is leaving, you call his name softly. He pauses, one hand on the door.

You twist your fingers in the blanket, suddenly shy. “I just wanted to say … thank you. For everything. I’ll find a way to repay you someday, I promise.”

Charles’ expression softens. He comes back and squeezes your hand. “You don’t owe me anything. Just focus on yourself and that little one.” He strokes a finger over your belly. “That’s all the repayment I need.”

With a last smile, he slips out, leaving you to fall asleep with a heart full of gratitude and growing affection for your kind rescuer.

***

You smooth your hands nervously over your dress as you approach Fred Vasseur’s office. This is it. Time to tell your boss that you’ll be leaving him in the lurch smack dab in the middle of the season.

Charles gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It will be okay. Just explain the situation.”

You take a deep breath and nod. Charles opens the door and gestures for you to enter first.

Fred rises from behind his desk, surprise flickering across his face. “Y/N, Charles. What can I do for you?” His gaze darts between you curiously.

Your mouth goes dry. Charles gently guides you to sit in one of the chairs facing Fred, taking the other himself.

“Y/N has something she needs to discuss with you,” Charles begins calmly. “I’m here for moral support.”

Fred’s eyebrows raise but he nods for you to go on. Your hands twist together in your lap.

“Well, I ...” You have to pause and swallow hard. “I recently learned that I’m pregnant. And I’ve developed some, uh, complications that mean I can’t travel or be on my feet much.”

Fred’s eyebrows climb higher. “I … see. Congratulations?” He still looks perplexed.

Charles jumps in. “What she’s trying to say is, she needs to take a leave of absence. Doctor’s orders.”

“Ah.” Understanding settles on Fred’s face. He turns back to you. “I’m very sorry to hear you’re unwell. Of course health must come first.”

You feel yourself relax slightly. “So I can take a sabbatical? My job will still be here when I’m able to return?”

“Absolutely.” Fred nods. “You’ve been invaluable to our team. Your role will be waiting whenever you’re ready.”

You could cry with relief. “Oh, thank you! That means the world.”

Fred smiles kindly. “Think nothing of it. Focus on your health and that baby. We’ll manage in the meantime.”

Charles reaches over to clasp your hand supportively. “Is there anything else she needs to know before starting her leave?”

Fred considers this. “Y/N will have full pay during sabbatical, of course. And keep me posted on any support you require — medical, household, anything at all.”

You clutch Charles’ hand, too overwhelmed to speak. He smiles. “Very generous. We appreciate that greatly.”

After finalizing a few details, you both stand. Fred comes around the desk to shake your hand. “Best of luck with everything. Let me know if you need absolutely anything.”

You whisper a heartfelt thank you before allowing Charles to guide you out. Safely in the hallway, you turn and fling your arms around him.

“Charles, thank you,” you murmur into his shoulder. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

His strong arms come around you, cradling you close. “Of course, Y/N. I meant what I said — I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

You cling to each other for a long moment, his steadfast support washing away your lingering fears. As long as Charles is with you, you know everything will work out just fine.

***

You fidget in the generic mint-colored exam room, paper crinkling beneath you as you perch on the edge of the table. Charles sits in a nearby chair, scrolling through his phone, the picture of calm. You wish you shared his zen attitude.

A brisk knock precedes the door swinging open. A smiling older woman enters, glancing down at her chart.

“Y/N? I’m Dr. Boucher, nice to meet you.” Her smile widens as she looks between you and Charles. “And you must be the dad! Wonderful.”

Your mouth drops open to correct her, but Charles beats you to it. “That’s right, thank you,” he says easily, standing to shake the doctor’s hand.

You snap your mouth shut, eyes widening. But the doctor has already moved on, washing her hands at the sink.

“Now then, let’s take a look at this baby, shall we?” She pats the exam table.

You lie back, hiking up your shirt to expose your belly. The cool gel makes you shiver as the doctor smears it over your skin. She places the ultrasound wand low on your abdomen and moves it slowly.

The screen blooms to life, blurred black and white shifting until a shape emerges — a tiny profile, curled arms and legs distinct. You gasp softly. There’s your baby.

Dr. Boucher smiles. “There we are. Looks to be about 16 weeks along. Growing beautifully.”

You can’t tear your eyes away from the screen. Your throat feels tight. After so many weeks of secrecy and fear, this precious little life finally seems real.

“And there’s the heartbeat.” The doctor turns up the volume, and a rapid thumping fills the room. “Nice and strong.”

Tears spill over your cheeks before you can stop them. A glance over shows Charles watching the monitor intently, green eyes shiny with emotion. He reaches for your hand, gripping tightly.

When the appointment ends, you both exit the office in a daze. As you walk down the street to Charles’ car, he turns to you.

“That was … incredible,” he says softly. “Seeing your baby for the first time ...” He trails off, at a loss for words.

You lift his hand and press a kiss to the back, hoping he understands the depth of your gratitude. Charles smiles tenderly in return.

Safely home in Charles’ plush apartment, you curl up together on the sofa with mugs of tea to continue gazing at the ultrasound photos. Charles slips an arm around your shoulders, his thumb idly stroking your arm as you chatter excitedly about preparing a nursery.

This moment, here with Charles, your child’s heartbeat still echoing in your ears … it’s the closest thing to pure joy you’ve ever known. The future finally feels bright with hope. You lean into Charles’ warmth and send up a silent prayer of thanks for this man and the new life he’s given back to you.

***

You curl deeper into the plush couch in Charles’ apartment, cradling your mug of tea. Rain patters against the windows overlooking Monaco’s glittering harbor. The cozy scene makes you feel safe enough to finally open up.

“Charles?”

He glances over from where he’s poking at the fire. “Hmm?”

You twist your fingers together nervously. “There’s more I should tell you. About how I got pregnant.”

Charles rises and comes to sit beside you, face open and attentive. Taking a deep breath, you begin.

“It happened last winter, during the off-season. I went back home to Italy for a while, to the little town outside Milan where my family lives.”

You stare into your tea, remembering. “There was a man vacationing there, from Rome. Dario. We met in a cafe and just … clicked. He was handsome, charming, a perfect gentleman.” Your lips twist wryly. “Or so I thought.”

Charles remains quiet, letting you gather the words.

“We spent every day together for two weeks. Took long walks, went on romantic dinners. When it was time for him to leave, we ...” You trail off, face warming.

“You made love,” Charles supplies gently. You nod, still not meeting his eyes.

“I thought it meant as much to him as to me. But after he went back to Rome, his texts and calls slowly stopped. And then I found out why.”

Your voice drops to a pained whisper. “He was married. His ‘business trip’ was just a chance to fool around. When his wife saw my texts on his phone … it exploded. And then my family found out about the affair.”

Finally you lift your head. Charles’ face is lined with compassion. “They disowned me. Called me a fool and a harlot. It didn’t matter that I was lied to — as far as they’re concerned, I brought shame upon our family.”

Hot tears spill down your cheeks. Charles immediately pulls you into his arms. You cling to him, crying into his shoulder as he rubs your back.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “You did nothing wrong. This Dario took advantage of you, and your family should have supported you.”

Charles holds you until the storm of tears passes. When you finally pull back, he cups your face in both hands, brushing away the lingering moisture with his thumbs.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says softly. “I know that wasn’t easy. You’re so incredibly strong.”

Leaning forward, he places a tender kiss on your forehead. Then his palms slide down to cradle your rounded belly.

“I’ve got you now,” Charles murmurs. “Both of you. You’ll never be alone again.”

Nestled in his lap, you close your eyes and just breathe. The remnants of hurt and betrayal wash away, replaced by the safety of Charles’ embrace. Whatever comes next, you have found your sanctuary here, with him.

***

You wander through the apartment looking for Charles, one hand braced on your lower back. Your belly has popped noticeably in the last couple weeks, throwing your balance off.

Not finding Charles in any of the usual spots, you head down the hall towards the spare bedroom. When you push open the door, your jaw drops.

The room has been completely transformed. Bright sunshine spills through the windows onto whitewashed walls. A plush rug covers the hardwood floor. In one corner sits a fully assembled crib, stuffed animals piled inside.

Charles stands back to admire his work, shirtsleeves rolled up and hair adorably mussed. He turns when you gasp softly.

“Y/N! I wanted to surprise you.” His grin falters. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? Charles, I love it!” You blink back happy tears, wandering further inside. Charles’ face lights up.

“I wasn’t sure what color to paint, so I left the walls white for now,” he explains, coming over to slip an arm around you.

You lean into him, gazing around. “It’s perfect. Our baby is so lucky to have you.”

Pink tinges Charles’ cheeks. He kisses the top of your head. “I’m the lucky one.”

You decide on a pale green for the walls. Charles immediately fetches paint supplies, but hovers anxiously as you start rolling color onto the first wall.

“Are you sure you should be doing this?” He eyes your protruding stomach. “The fumes can’t be good ...”

You wave off his concern. “I’ll be fine! Here-” You dip a roller in paint and offer it out. “Make yourself useful instead of worrying.”

Charles accepts the roller reluctantly. Soon you’re both working side by side. Charles takes on the higher parts of the walls that you can’t comfortably reach anymore.

Humming under your breath, you step back to critique your work so far. As you do, your foot catches on the paint tray and you stumble. Charles reaches out to steady you, but not before a fat drop of paint lands on his cheek.

“Oops!” You clap a hand over your mouth, trying not to laugh at the green splotch on his tanned skin.

Charles narrows his eyes in mock indignation. “You think that’s funny, do you?” Before you can react, he flicks his loaded paintbrush at you, spattering your shirt.

You gasp in delighted outrage. “Oh, it is on!” Grabbing your roller, you swipe it down his arm.

Charles lets out a laugh of surprise. Soon paint is flying from both directions. You run around each other, giggling and slipping on the drops coating the floor.

Finally Charles catches you gently by the waist. You’re both absolutely covered in pale green, sides aching from laughter. Your faces are inches apart, smiles fading into something more tender.

Slowly, Charles leans in and presses his lips to yours in the softest, sweetest kiss. You melt against him, hands coming up to cradle his jaw.

When you finally part, Charles rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he confesses, a little breathless.

You smile, heart soaring. “What took you so long?”

His answering grin outshines the sun. There, surrounded by dreams of the future, you share another lingering kiss.

***

You settle back against the mountain of pillows, trying to find a comfortable position for your unwieldy body. At nearly 8 months along now, your belly feels impossibly huge. Luckily Charles’ plush bed offers plenty of space to sprawl.

Speaking of Charles, he appears in the doorway holding a bottle. “Ready for your massage?”

You eye the bottle of oil eagerly. The stretch marks crisscrossing your stomach have been itchy and tight. “Yes please.”

Charles props up pillows behind you so you’re half-reclining. Then he drizzles some of the oil into his palms, warming it up before smoothing his hands over your bump.

You sigh in bliss at his gentle but firm touch. The fragrant oil soothes and softens your irritated skin. Under Charles’ ministrations, the discomfort slowly ebbs away.

His strong hands glide over every inch, easing out the aches and pains. As Charles works, he murmurs to your belly. “There you go, little one. We’re going to make your home nice and cozy.”

Your heart clenches at the tender scene. Even after all these months of living together, it still sometimes hits you how domestic this is. Sharing a home, sharing a bed … it’s everything you secretly longed for but never expected to have. A real family.

You trail your fingers through Charles’ soft waves. His eyes lift to meet yours, soft with affection. The look on his face steals your breath — pure adoration, like you’re the most precious thing in his world.

“I love you.” The words slip out unbidden. Charles’ hands still. For a heartbeat, you’re afraid you’ve said too much.

But then he surges up to capture your lips in a searing kiss. “I love you too,” Charles whispers fiercely when you finally break apart, both panting. “So much.”

He seals his words with another drugging kiss. Your hands clutch him close, heart near bursting with joy.

Suddenly Charles breaks the kiss with a gasp. His wide eyes dart down. “Did you feel that?”

You start to shake your head no, distracted by the sensation of his calloused hands massaging your belly, but then you feel it — a distinct thump against your insides. Your baby shifting and kicking.

Charles’ face lights up. “There it is again!” He laughs in wonder. “The little one is saying hello.”

Happy tears blur your vision. Charles presses a delighted kiss to your stomach. “I can’t wait to meet you,” he whispers tenderly.

Through your tears, you smile at the man you love. The one who gave you and your child a home when you had nothing. However you got here, this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

A dull ache starts low in your back as you crawl into bed. You shift and stretch, trying to get comfortable, but can’t seem to. Charles notices your restlessness.

“Alright?” He murmurs sleepily, rolling over to rub your back.

You nod. “Yeah, just some back pain today.” Probably from lugging around this massive belly.

Charles makes soothing noises and continues massaging you until he drifts off. You finally manage to doze too.

Sometime in the night, you jerk awake. The sheets under you are soaked. For one confused moment you think you wet the bed. But then it hits you.

Your water broke.

“Charles!” You shake his shoulder urgently.

He comes awake with a snort. “Huh? What’s wrong?”

“It’s time! The baby-” You break off with a hiss as the first real contraction clenches your belly.

That wakes Charles up fully. “The baby? It’s coming?” He practically falls out of bed, all long limbs flailing.

You have to stifle an inappropriate giggle at his panic. “Yes, so we should-” Your instructions die as Charles sprints from the room. Alright then.

You shake your head in amusement and heave yourself to your feet, one hand braced on your lower back. Waddling slowly after Charles, you find him hyperactively rushing around the living room, tossing items randomly into your hospital bag.

“Okay, let’s go!” He grabs the overflowing bag and dashes out the front door. You stare after him in disbelief then lower yourself carefully onto the couch to wait.

Not thirty seconds later, Charles comes barreling back inside. “Oh God, I forgot you!”

You have to laugh at the panic on his face. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”

Looking marginally calmer, he helps you up, frantically gathering your bag in one hand while keeping the other wrapped around you.

You lean your weight on him during the next contraction, breathing through it. “It’s okay. But we should really go now.”

Charles practically carries you down to the garage and bundles you into his Ferrari in record time. He drives well over the speed limit, one hand clutching yours the whole way.

At the hospital, Charles refuses to leave your side even for a second. He holds the gas and air for you to breathe during contractions, whispering how strong and amazing you are.

When the time comes to push, the pain is unimaginable. You nearly give up, sobbing that you can’t do this. But Charles is there, guiding you through it, telling you that you absolutely can. And with one final scream, your son enters the world.

The shrill cry is the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. Charles cuts the cord with trembling hands. Then the nurse lays your wailing, squirmy son on your chest.

You press kisses to his downy head, tears of joy streaming down your face. Charles gazes at you both with pure reverence.

“His name is Matteo Charles,” you whisper. Charles lets out a choked sob at the middle name.

Too soon, the nurses take Matteo for cleaning and checks. One asks Charles if he’d like to hold him. Charles looks to you questioningly, and you nod through your exhaustion.

Charles settles into a chair, shirtless, and Matteo is laid on his bare chest. Charles strokes a gentle finger over Matteo’s cheek, seemingly enraptured.

“Thank you,” he rasps to you. “For our beautiful boy. Thank you, mon amour.”

This is everything you never knew you needed — a family, a home, and an overflowing love you once thought would forever be lost to you. But you’ve found it now, here in this room, together.

***

The sharp cries jolt you from sleep. With a groan, you roll out of the warm circle of Charles’ arms. Your body still aches and protests as you make your way to the nursery in the dark.

Picking up little Matteo, you carry him to the rocker and situate him at your breast. He latches on eagerly, cries fading to soft snuffles.

Charles appears in the doorway, hair adorably mussed. “Everything okay?” He asks through a yawn.

“We’re good now.” You smile tiredly down at your nursing son. His downy hair and scrunched features are all you — you find yourself thankful that there is barely any indication that his biological father even participated in making him.

Charles comes to perch on the ottoman, watching Matteo. “I can’t believe he’s really here,” he murmurs. “Our son.”

Pride swells in your chest. Charles has fully embraced his role as Matteo’s father, as naturally as breathing.

When Matteo finishes eating, Charles takes him to gently pat his back while you right your nightgown. He kisses your son’s head when Matteo lets out a tiny burp.

Back in bed, you curl into Charles with Matteo nestled safely between you. Charles has a race this weekend, his first since the birth. The thought of him leaving fills you with anxiety.

In the morning, Charles confirms your fears. “I’ll just tell Fred I’m not coming this weekend,” he says casually over breakfast. “The team will manage without me. One of the reserve drivers can take over for a few days.”

Your head jerks up. “What? No, Charles, you have to race.”

“But I don’t want to leave you two!” Charles gestures helplessly to where Matteo snoozes in a bouncer.

You catch Charles’ hand. “This is your dream. Matteo and I will be right here cheering you on when you get back.”

Charles wavers. You soften your voice. “It’s only for a little while. We’ll be okay.”

Finally he nods reluctantly. You know how hard this is for him — but Charles was born to race. You won’t let him give that up.

The morning Charles is set to fly out, he clings to you and Matteo like a second skin. You practically have to peel him off at airport security.

“I’ll be back so soon,” he whispers fiercely. One last kiss, and then he’s gone.

The apartment feels empty and too quiet. But you fill the time singing and playing with Matteo, keeping yourself busy until the race.

You and Matteo cuddle close on the couch to watch Charles zoom around the track. Your heart swells with love and pride seeing your man do what he was meant to.

When Charles wins, he shouts his ecstatic thanks to you and Matteo over the team radio. The podium champagne gets sprayed directly into the camera for you.

Finally Charles is home, sweeping you and Matteo into his arms. “I love you both so much,” he murmurs in wonder. You whisper it right back, nestled safe in the arms of your little family.

***

The energy in the Albert Park paddock is electric as teams prepare for the first race of the 2025 season. You feel a thrill just being back, Matteo cooing happily in your arms. At nearly six months old now, he’s ready for his first race.

Charles bounces on his toes, unable to contain his excitement. “Are you ready to see Papa race, Matteo?” He tickles Matteo’s belly, eliciting bubbly giggles.

You head first to the Ferrari garage, where the mechanics crowd around eagerly to fawn over Matteo. Lewis gives you a careful hug, peering curiously at the baby.

“Lewis, meet Matteo,” Charles says proudly. At Lewis’ questioning look, he adds “My son.” The way he says it brooks no argument.

Lewis’ eyes widen slightly but he just smiles. “Hi Matteo!” He offers a finger for Matteo to grip.

Fred comes over next, cooing over how much Matteo has grown. You enjoy the familial atmosphere, everyone fussing over your boy. Matteo basks in the attention.

Charles takes him down to the front of the garage to watch the crews work on the cars. He points out parts of the sleek machines, explaining them seriously to Matteo as if he understands. Matteo just gazes adoringly up at his Papa.

When Charles finally straps into the car for practice, you have ear muffs ready for Matteo’s sensitive ears. Charles blows kisses to you both before pulling on his helmet. Matteo squeals and waves his little fist as the car roars out.

In the hotel that night, you set Matteo on the bed while Charles showers. Stripped down to his diaper, your son kicks his chubby legs excitedly.

Charles emerges in comfy clothes, his hair still damp, and laughs at Matteo’s antics. “Alright, my little race car driver, time for bed.”

He tickles Matteo’s tummy as he puts on a fresh diaper and snaps up his pajamas. Then Charles cradles Matteo close, humming softly as he sways back and forth to soothe him. Your heart clenches at the tender scene.

Once Matteo is deeply asleep, Charles lays him gently in the travel crib. He turns to you with a soft smile. “I can’t imagine life without him now.”

You slip your arms around Charles from behind. “He loves his Papa so much already. Your biggest fan.”

Charles covers your hands with his, gazing at Matteo. “I’m going to win tomorrow for him.”

And he does. On the podium, Charles looks down to where you cradle Matteo in one arm, and gently showers you with champagne. Matteo’s delighted laughter is the sweetest sound.

This is everything you’ve ever wanted.

***

The energetic buzz of the Italian Grand Prix washes over you as you stroll hand-in-hand with Charles, your son cradled safely in his arms. At nearly a year old now, Matteo is fascinated by the vivid colors and cacophony of sounds surrounding him.

Charles playfully bounces Matteo as you weave through the crowded walkways, pointing out the sights and sounds. “Look Matteo, there’s the cars! Vroom vroom!” Charles mimics the roar of an engine. Matteo’s delighted giggle melts your heart. You can’t help but grin, chest swelling with love and pride for your little family.

You’ve just about reached the looming Ferrari motorhome when an absolutely venomous female voice shrieks out, “You!”

Every muscle in your body instantly tenses. You freeze mid-step, heart lurching into your throat. Whipping your head around, you see an immaculately dressed woman barreling directly towards you, her face mottled an ugly shade of rage-induced crimson.

“You disgusting harlot!” The woman spits with unrestrained fury. “You filthy whore!”

Stunned, you instinctively take a faltering step backwards, nearly stumbling. Charles’ strong arm immediately wraps protectively around you and Matteo, steadying you. His body angles partly in front of yours and Matteo’s smaller form, shielding you both on pure instinct.

The deranged woman continues her tirade, advancing until she’s nearly screaming in your face. “Oh, I know exactly who you are, you reprehensible little homewrecker!”

Before you can even begin to formulate a response, a ghost from your past suddenly materializes behind the enraged woman. A man you hoped to never lay eyes on again.

His eyes blow wide at the sight of you, Charles, and the infant cradled against Charles’ chest.

The woman — his wife, you realize with dawning horror — grabs viciously onto his arm, her razor-sharp nails digging in hard enough to leave crescent-shaped gouges. “Just look at her!” She shrieks, spit flying from her mouth. “Parading that little bastard child around like it’s something to be proud of!” She violently thrusts her finger towards Matteo, still safely ensconced in Charles’ embrace.

Your son, sensing the onslaught of hostile energy, immediately begins wailing in distress. You instinctively reach out to take him from Charles, desperate to comfort your frightened boy. But Charles subtly shifts his stance, moving further out of her reach, as he focuses intently on gently bouncing and shushing Matteo in an attempt to calm him.

Matteo’s biological father simply stares, slack-jawed, at the sobbing infant. The gears visibly turn in his head. “Is that ...” he chokes out, “Is he … mine?”

“No.” Charles’ immediate response is biting and unequivocal. He clutches Matteo tighter to his chest. “Matteo is my son.” Though his voice remains steady, you can see a muscle in his jaw ticking from the effort of holding back more heated words.

But Dario clearly does not accept this response. His eyes narrow calculatingly as he continues scrutinizing the wailing baby. Behind him, his unhinged wife keeps up her tirade of slurs and accusations, whipping the gathering crowd into greater frenzy.

You feel lightheaded, paralyzed. This is a living nightmare. Distantly you are aware of camera phones pointed your way, capturing every wretched moment. Charles seems to realize the same, his handsome face darkening with rage.

With frightening efficiency, Charles strides directly over to the nearest paddock security officers and has a brief, terse exchange. Moments later, two bulky guards firmly take hold of the still-screaming woman and shellshocked man, forcefully escorting them away. The crowd reluctantly disperses, murmuring.

Charles immediately returns to envelope you and Matteo in a fiercely protective embrace. “It’s alright now, you’re both safe,” he soothes, though his rapid heartbeat belies his calm words. Matteo’s panicked sobs have faded to tiny hiccups against Charles’ neck.

The rest of the chaotic day passes in a blur. Much later, in the privacy of your hotel room, Charles reveals that he pulled every string and called in every favor necessary to have Dario and his deranged wife permanently blacklisted from all Formula 1 events.

His voice shakes with quiet rage as he describes how close security came to needing to restrain him physically.

Finally he takes your face so very gently in his hands. “I promise you, I will do anything and everything to protect our family. You and Matteo are my entire world. Nothing will ever hurt you as long as I’m breathing.”

Overwhelmed with gratitude, you collapse against his solid chest. Charles’ strong arms anchor you in place as you cling to him. He continues murmuring fervent assurances, pressing kisses to your hair.

Despite the ugliness of the day, you know with utter certainty Charles will shield you and Matteo from the darkness of your past. Your family is still perfection in your eyes.

***

“Papa, I wanna be a race car driver like you when I grow up!”

Your five-year-old son looks up at Charles with big, adoring eyes as he makes this pronouncement over breakfast one morning.

Charles freezes with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. He slowly sets it down, gazing at Matteo with surprise and pride. “You do?”

Matteo bobs his curly head eagerly. “Yeah! I wanna drive fast cars and win like you! Can you teach me?”

Charles melts, ruffling Matteo’s hair. “Of course, buddy. We’ll have to convince your maman first though.” He shoots you a meaningful look.

You shift uncertainly. Of course you want to encourage Matteo’s interests, but motorsport is dangerous ...

Charles seems to sense your hesitation. “Why don’t you think about it, mon amour? No need to decide yet.” He winks at Matteo, who grins in excitement.

Over the next few days, your two boys put on a full court press to sway you. Charles points out safety advances in karting and helps Matteo make adorable PowerPoint slides with photos of your son in race helmets. They both unleash heartbreaking puppy dog eyes.

Finally you cave. “Alright!” You laugh, holding up your hands in surrender. “You can start teaching him the basics.”

Matteo and Charles high-five so hard it makes a cracking sound. “Yesss!” Charles pumps his fists while Matteo dances in glee. Seeing their matching enthusiasm melts away the last of your reluctance. Your little daredevil was born for this.

The next weekend, Charles takes Matteo to a racetrack an hour outside the city. It’s just a small circuit, but Matteo gazes around with wide eyes, gripping Charles’ hand tightly.

Charles shows him the karts and safety gear, patiently explaining how everything works. Then it’s time. Charles helps strap Matteo into a kart made for kids, snugging his helmet gently under the chin.

“Ready, mon petit champion?”

Matteo gives him a thumbs up, practically vibrating with excitement. Charles grins and drops the visor down. “Alright! Let’s do this!”

He gives Matteo a little push to get the kart rolling onto the track. Your son quickly gets the hang of working the gas and brakes. Charles jogs alongside, gesturing and calling out instructions.

Gradually he lets Matteo take full control. Your little boy zips around the course, hair blowing out the back of his helmet. His delighted laughter echoes around the circuit.

Watching from the sidelines, Charles records it all on his phone, face alight with joy and pride. “That’s it Matteo, you’re doing amazing!” He cheers.

This is only the beginning. But seeing the utter bliss on both their faces, you know Matteo has chosen the right path. The Leclerc legacy will live on.

***

“I’m here in the pit lane with Charles Leclerc on the momentous day his son, Matteo Leclerc, makes his highly anticipated debut with Scuderia Ferrari. Charles, you must be incredibly proud right now.”

The Sky Sports reporter holds her mic out to Charles as he stands, beaming, in front of the scarlet Ferrari garage. Charles nods, looking slightly choked up.

“Incredibly proud doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he replies earnestly. “This has been Matteo’s dream since he was just a little boy. To see him achieve it, to be standing here watching him drive for the team I devoted my life to … it’s indescribable.”

Charles pauses, glancing over fondly at where you stand with Matteo, straightening your son’s helmet and race suit.

“His mother and I, we’ve worried and experienced every up and down along the way with him. But Matteo has worked so hard for this, never gave up even when it seemed impossible. He more than deserves today.”

The reporter smiles. “And his last name isn’t the only way he takes after you. Matteo is widely considered your protégé after you mentored him through the junior ranks.”

“I taught him everything I could,” Charles acknowledges. “But his talent and dedication are all his own. Matteo is his own man now. I can’t wait to see how high he continues to climb.”

“Any advice you’ve given him before his first race with Ferrari?”

Charles chuckles. “Just to enjoy every second. This only comes around once.” He looks off into the distance, eyes crinkling nostalgically.

“Still seems like yesterday I was in his shoes for my own Ferrari debut. I’ll never forget that feeling.”

The reporter wraps up the interview and Charles makes his way over to where you and 21-year-old Matteo are embracing. Charles’ eyes shine with unshed tears as he clasps arms with his son.

“I’m so proud of you,” Charles says hoarsely. “Your mother and I both. Now go show the world what you can do.”

Matteo’s answering smile is blinding. “I’ll make you proud, Papa.”

He hugs you tight, then pulls on his helmet and strides confidently to his waiting Ferrari. The mechanics cheer as the car roars to life and Matteo peels out onto the track, on the cusp of achieving his lifelong dream.

You cling to Charles’ side, waving tearfully. “Our little boy,” you whisper in awe.

Charles wraps an arm around you, never taking his eyes off the bright red car. “He’s all grown up. But he’ll always be our son.”

No matter how high Matteo climbs, Charles knows he will always remain his sweet little boy — the bright-eyed child you and Charles raised with love.

His greatest source of pride and joy as the future beckons brightly, another generation of Leclercs carrying the hopes of Ferrari forward.

[heesimp]

omg yes please write heehoon using that toy (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

part two of heehoon jerking off together…wow okay i learned that i reallyyy like writing this kind of stuff

warnings: heehoon jerk off together again, mxm (kinda), use of a sex toy, sunghoon catches heeseung watching porn and joins, double penetration of the toy, heehoon fantasized about reader again, mentions of sunghoon masturbating, subtly voyeurism, subtle praise.

-

It’s not a surprise that Heeseung and Sunghoon find themselves in this predicament again.

You just had to wear a dress that made your breasts spill out of the cups and while they don’t understand why you told them you needed your bra size remeasured because it was too small to the point where your tits didn’t fit in them anymore, the image of you without your clothes on was enough to make the drive silent on their way home.

But that was last night. It’s Saturday evening and the unusual silence of the apartment makes Sunghoon uneasy. He’s been cooped up in his room for the entire day, too worked up over a wet dream and thinking about you naked in just that little bra you described in such detail. He’s touched himself twice earlier today and willed himself not to make it a third if he isn’t getting any action. The tissues from cleaning up his cum sit in his trash bin as if to mock him so he goes for a drive to get his mind out of the gutter.

When he comes home, though, Heeseung’s door is cracked slightly ajar and Sunghoon can hear the clear sound of porn coming from inside of his room. The younger man laughs to himself and peeks inside to see Heeseung’s eyes closed with his fist wrapped around his cock. Sunghoon retreats into his room to grab his favorite toy—a doll complete with a torso, ass and pussy—before returning to Heeseung’s room.

“Can’t help it, can you?”

Sunghoon’s voice startles Heeseung and his hand momentarily freezes around himself. He’s half naked, bottom completely bare while his chest is covered by a black t-shirt. Sunghoon opens the door wider and folds his arms while resting his shoulder on Heeseung’s doorframe and chuckles to himself.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

“I know you’re thinking about Y/N,” Sunghoon tells him. He sees the way Heeseung’s cock twitches at the mere mention of your name. The video Heeseung plays on his laptop echoes and women moaning while being obliterated on screen makes Sunghoon half-hard. “You can’t stop jerking yourself off to her too, huh?”

Heeseung relents and averts his gaze back to the video and resumes pumping himself. Sunghoon watches the way his friend’s hand shifts up and down the harder the girls in the video get fucked and walks into his room to peek at the screen.

“Creampie compilation?” Sunghoon asks to himself more than to Heeseung, palming his cock over his pants with his free hand. “That shit’s hot.”

“I want to cum in her so bad,” Heeseung whines, squeezing himself as Sunghoon sits on the bed next to him. Heeseung watches him push the toy on his clothed cock and as he grinds against the silicone. “I need her pussy.”

“I want to fuck her so hard she feels me for days.” Sunghoon moans when he sees cum dripping from the woman in front of him. He squeezes the toy’s ass and bucks his hips. Heeseung moans too.

“Are you gonna use that thing?”

Sunghoon quirks his eyebrow. “Maybe. Why? Do you want to use it?”

“Wanna watch you use it first.”

“Didn’t know you were into that.”

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “Man, let me pretend it’s Y/N. I want to watch you fuck her.” Sunghoon unbuckles his belt and laughs, pulling himself out of his pants and boxers until they’re pooled around his ankles. His cock is hard and he spits on his hand before touching himself to the video before him.

“Got any lube?” Heeseung hands him a bottle without taking his eyes off of the screen and grunts as he watches yet another creampie clip. Meanwhile, Sunghoon squirts some of the lube onto his cock and onto the folds of his toy, using one hand to pump himself and the other to rub it all over the silicone. Heeseung looks at Sunghoon’s hand when he hears the wet squelching.

“I’d stick my fingers in her like this.” Sunghoon pushes his index and middle fingers inside, coating them with the lube while pretending it’s your arousal that touches him while Heeseung keeps stroking his dick. “I wanna see her pussy open up for me.”

“Fuck. That’s so good.”

“I’d slap her little cunt too.” Sunghoon pulls himself back and smacks the tips of his fingers against it until the sound becomes louder than the moans from the screen. “Make her all bruised and sensitive.”

“Shit, yeah.” Heeseung bites his lip. “Put your cock inside. I wanna see her ride you.”

“Like this?” Sunghoon teased, positioning the toy until the folds envelop only his tip. Both hands secure around the waist as he keeps it hovering above him.

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.” Sunghoon obliges, sinking the toy right into his hardened dick. He moan and looks up at Heeseung’s ceiling as his eyes squeeze shut.

“She feels so good,” Sunghoon moans breathlessly. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had.”

Heeseung watches his friend lift the toy up and down his cock and notes the way Sunghoon’s balls bounce too. He squeezes his cock harder. “You think she’d let you cream her? For real?”

“She better.” His balls slap against the toy. “I wanna see that pussy all white and sticky. I’d fuck it back into her if she’d let me.”

“Fuck, you’re really good at this.”

Sunghoon bounces his legs until his thrusts are meeting the movement of his hands. “You like watching me get off?”

“Only if we’re talking about Y/N.” Heeseung rolls his eyes while Sunghoon laughs. His friend gets too inside of his own head.

“I want to watch you fuck her too, you know. I’d kill to feel her mouth around me while you’re inside her.” Sunghoon laughs when Heeseung emits a deep, long groan. “I know you’re into that. Two big dicks abusing her holes like we do to this toy.”

Memories of the first time they jerked off together come back to Heeseung. He thinks of himself and Sunghoon in the living room when he brought out this toy for the first time and remembers the feeling of his cock rubbing against his friend’s as the toy stretched around them. It took only a little bit of convincing. Heeseung can’t deny that he really loved the feeling of Sunghoon’s hardness against his own arousal. It felt otherworldly, almost. That makes his hand move up and down even faster.

“Put her on the bed and fuck her,” Heeseung says in a haste. He gestures to Sunghoon with his head and the sheer desperation in Heeseung’s voice makes Sunghoon click his tongue, but he doesn’t disobey.

He watches Sunghoon pull the toy off of him and sees his cock bounces as his balls glisten from the precum too. Sunghoon turns around, still with his pants and boxers around his ankles, and pushes the toy onto the mattress with its pussy presented to him. Heeseung grunts as his friend smears his tip over the wet folds and pretends you’re looking at him with wide eyes as you grope yourself. That makes Heeseung grip his balls and squeeze them as if your hand could reach out to touch him too.

Sunghoon sinks in slowly and his deep moan is louder than the video on Heeseung’s computer. He doesn’t hold back either, putting both hands on the mattress below while his hips slang to push his dick in and out of the toy. Heeseung’s mouth hangs ajar as he watches his friend fuck the toy pussy and hears the hollow sound of the silicone as it gets pounced into, wishing it was your pussy that talks back.

“I think you like watching me fuck people,” Sunghoon says with an edge to his voice. He looks and Heeseung and moans when he realizes his friend’s hand hasn’t decreased in speed. “Imagine if we both fucked her pussy.”

“I’m so close.” Heeseung squeezes his balls as he twists his wrist up and down his dick.

“Fuuuck. Her little pussy’s gonna make me cum too.”

“I want to hear her beg for our cum.” Heeseung grunts and widens his legs further.

Sunghoon feels himself drawing closer too. “Fuck, fuck. Find a video.”

“A video?”

“Someone begging for cum!” Sunghoon exclaims, eyebrows furrowing as sweat stains his forehead. Heeseung types with one hand and does his best to open his bookmarks without clicking on anything he doesn’t want to see. He’s got enough porn stashed for a rainy day and knows the exact video he needs to get off you.

“You’ll love this.” Heeseung turns the laptop towards Sunghoon, who pulls his cock out of the toy and walks closer to his friend. “It flows out of her.”

“Come here.”

Sunghoon’s command makes Heeseung push his cock towards his friend, who brings his own against him. Heeseung winces at the still-unfamiliar feeling of somebody’s dick pressing against his own but welcomes the warmth when he sees Sunghoon pushing the toy’s pussy over both of their tips. He pretends it’s you they’re fucking.

“Fuck me,” Heeseung moans when Sunghoon starts to thrust against him. “Her pussy’s sensational.”

Sunghoon grunts, eyes focusing on the video beside them. “Good girls like cum stuffed inside of them.”

“Give me your fucking cum!” the girl in the video begs. “I want a creampie. Can’t you see how much I want it?”

“I’ll give it to you,” says Sunghoon. Heeseung, lost in his ability to think and function properly, thrusts against Sunghoon too. “Oh shit, Hee. Keep going. Fuck her pussy too.”

“Need your cum in me now! Please, please, please give it to me.”

“Fuck. I’m cumming.” Heeseung feels his balls start to tighten and clenches his jaw as Sunghoon pushes against his cock with more force.

“Cum! Cum in me!”

“I’m cumming too.” One final thrust from Sunghoon makes Heeseung’s cock burst and the flow of his cum makes Sunghoon cream the toy too, both of them moaning your name as they reach their absolute peak.

They don’t stop thrusting, riding out their collective high as their mixed cum slathers their warm cocks and bubbles out of the toy. Sunghoon feels their combined loads seep down to his balls the more he slaps it against the toy.

The video ends and Heeseung folds the laptop shut as he pulses against Sunghoon, who holds the toy still above them as he finishes cumming. He only pulls it away after making sure both of them have released every last drop and watches as it flows out and onto Heeseung’s softening dick.

“Gets better every time,” Sunghoon whispers, bringing his fingers to rub the toy’s folds and stuff their cum back inside. “You good?”

“I want to try double penetration with Y/N even more now…Is it weird that I liked that? A lot?”

“Nah.” Sunghoon tosses Heeseung a tissue box. “Whatever helps you get off.”

***

please reblog and leave a comment if you enjoyed :) x

[so-i-did-this-thing]

American trans pals, life is going to get hard. We know that. I could write a long post about strategies for coming years, but I feel like that will only create decision paralysis here on Day 1.

So, some little things to do today and tomorrow towards becoming a more resilient person:

Refill your meds / schedule your next bloodwork appt or other healthcare visits you need - prioritize your health. If you can only do 1 thing today, do this, because it's the end of the year and you might not get on the books for a while.

Cancel a subscription you don't need, or that free trial that is about to expire - small steps to saving money

Pick up a passport form at the post office. If you don't need it, get one for a friend who does

Get a notebook and/or folder for printouts. You will use it soon for collecting hard copies of future healthcare options outside your home state, while the information can still be found online

Get a box or bin. You will want to start collecting items around your home to sell/donate/trash in the interests of downsizing. But just get a box or two today.

Talk to a friend

Get some rest

I can't promise we'll be ok, but we can try to set ourselves up so we bend instead of breaking in this storm.

[jjkbambi]

frat flu luigi mangione x virgin!reader 18+

summary!!! (smut inspired by this request) you’re set to interview frat president luigi mangione for the penn newsletter!

note: fratboy!luigi but not reallyyyy associated to that cheating demon storyline. written as a standalone but could be seen as a prequel if you squint. unedited but happy new years

warnings: long fic cuz we need a reason to be fuckin, sad bc luigi’s sad, comfort, an attempt at fluff, and of course smut, dubcon (he grinds on you while you’re sleeping), so dry humping, p in dis v (VIRGINNN)

luigi mangione, as described by his fraternity brothers: “cool,” “mega smart,” and “totally chill.” all phrases you could blindly draw from a hat to describe a stranger walking down the street.

surely, this couldn’t be your debut in penn today. a spotlight on the brightest mind on campus, phi kappa psi fraternity president luigi mangione. top of his class at a mysterious luxury private high school, started a hash brown business at sixteen, and, according to his linkedin, volunteers at local libraries, elderly homes, and animal shelters during breaks back home. he’s got a first aid/cpr certification, a bartending license, and a squeaky clean record.

“he doesn’t even complain on yelp,” you groan.

your friend, lacy, sits in the drivers seat, shaking her head. “maybe he’s just nice.”

you shoot a glare at her.

she raises her hands, defensive. “i’ve only heard good things!”

“oh, well, if he was really so nice, he wouldn’t have canceled on me a hundred and one times.” as if he’d heard you, your phone pings—his name flashing on the screen.

from luigi Hey pretty! Something came up today. So sorry. Can I see you another time?

“one hundred and two,” you declare, showing her your phone screen. at this point, it felt less like inconvenience and more like cruelty. his constant rejections, delayed responses, and last-minute reschedules were a relentless reminder of your looming failure to finish the piece on the phi kappa psi house. journalism club was going to fucking kill you.

“y/n, he literally could not have been nicer.” she finally puts the car into park. the both of you look outside.

frustration had been simmering for weeks, growing with every missed promise. almost two months ago, he’d smiled big and earnest, assuring you he’d meet for the interview—yet here you were, still waiting. the distance between you two seemed to stretch with every passing day, and you couldn’t summon the energy to pretend you still cared for niceties.

you’re outside his fraternity house, calling him, he surprises you by answering almost immediately, his voice low and hoarse, like he’s just woken up. “hello?”

“hi, it’s y/n.”

“oh,” he says, tone dipping as he cleared his throat. “hey, how are you?”

“yeah, i’m fine,” you say, unbuckling your seatbelt. “i just wanted to talk—”

“yeah, i know ‘m sorry,” he tells you, sincerity to be debated. “i’ve just been a bit all over the place these past few weeks.”

lacy mouths, “im staying in the car.”

nodding, you hop out, a familiar sense of anticipation lingering. it’s not your first time at the fraternity house, but each visit feels different. the mansion, though grand, has a worn charm—earth-toned walls and overgrown grass, with boys constantly darting across the yard. trash cans overflow with aluminum cans, remnants of the never-ending chaos.

“no, i get it, i do. i, you know, am busy all the time.”

“oh, i’m sure,” he says. “are you free next weekend?”

you didn’t even have to check your schedule to know you were free. but you were already here. “well, actually, i just, um…” you feel a bit of your confidence deflating as you trespass their yard. your face flushes and you suddenly feel the eyes of the other brothers staring at your silhouette like curious dogs, unsure of whether to bark or bite. “i was just passing by the neighborhood, i was wondering if i could come over now?”

he yawns. “what? you mean right now?”

“is that alright?”

“how far away are you?”

“yeah, uh, i’m outside your front door.”

“oh?” he says, clearly taken off-guard. the embarrassment finally settles in. what the hell were you doing?

“you know what, never mind. i’m so sorry,” you flush, spinning on your heel and rushing down the steps, avoiding eye contact with the other guys.

you’re not sure if it’s your heart stopping or the phone call ending, but it’s in that moment that the blackwood door opens. you turn around, and the brown-haired boy steps through, looking disheveled, with dark bags under his eyes as if he hasn’t slept. though, despite that, he’s in gray sweatpants and a long sleeved black compression shirt.

“y/n, come on in,” luigi says, his voice booming, almost too loud for the quiet pennsylvania street. he glances toward the team of players in the front yard, bringing attention to you all over again. “this is the journalist for the penn.”

you shuffle up the steps again. “it’s called penn daily.”

“right,” he nods, eyes searching your body up and down. “you want a jacket?”

you’re in leggings and a tank top. you’re shivering. “no, no, i like the cold.”

the brown-haired boy shakes his head, grabbing one off the coat rack anyway and tossing it over to you.

“you’ll like the jacket even better.”

as he guides you through the house, the weight of the silence surrounds you. you’ve only ever seen the place during parties—neon LED lights casting strange shadows, tables covered in empty Solo cups and suspicious piles of random powders. it always felt like a place of unrecognizable chaos, where everyone was too busy to think about much else but the next round of shots or whatever game they were playing. but today, in the quiet of the late morning, the house feels different. the lights aren’t flashing, the music isn’t blasting, and there’s no throng of people rushing around. it feels oddly intimate, even though it’s still just as cluttered as always.

“is this what it looks like clean?” you ask, only half-joking.

“be nice,” luigi barks, tone plain as he rolled his eyes in faux annoyance. “we had a long night yesterday,” he gestures to the crowds of twentysomethings outside, one group cleaning off the mountain of soda and beer cans off the plastic gray tables, the other playing ping pong. “another long night ahead. you should come.”

the invitation doesn’t sway you, you’re distracted by his face. though his curly hair is neatly cut, and his chocolate brown eyes hold a quiet, dark intensity. his tall frame fills up the room, the way he stands commanding attention without trying. his features are sharp, framed by thick eyebrows, and his smile is small, barely there, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. he offers it to you as if it’s expected. there’s an underlying feeling you can’t shake. it’s like you can tell it’s forced. you’ve seen enough of him in passing (and in stalking) to know this isn’t the usual “luigi” you’re used to seeing at parties or around campus.

you bite the inside of your cheek. “you know, if today’s a bad day, you don’t have to—”

“no, babe, it’s fine,” he says, the term rolling off his tongue like it’s second nature.

in the short time you’ve known him, you’ve picked up on his knack for nicknames and gathered you probably shouldn’t be flattered—all the boys in this frat were entirely too flirty.

he pushes the door to his bedroom open, stepping aside to let you in. “shouldn’t take too long, right?”

“sure,” you lie as you slip past him, fingers brushing over the notepad tucked in your back pocket, your mind racing with questions you’re suddenly too aware of.

“well then, it’s no rush,” he says.

quickly, you notice the collection of allergy medication at his desk. a heinous amount of nyquil, half-empty bottles scattered among crumpled tissues and unopened water bottles. it’s almost comical, the way his organized chaos betrays the “untouchable golden boy” image you’d pieced together. his desk, once probably neat and deliberate, now looks like the scene of a losing battle against the flu. curious, you ask, “bad fever?”

luigi laughs dryly. “something bad, that’s for sure.”

you feel yourself sink at the admission. instinctively, you reach up to feel his forehead, your fingers hovering just shy of his skin. it’s a simple gesture, something you wouldn’t think twice about doing for one of your roommates, but as soon as your hand makes contact, he stiffens, his body recoiling ever so slightly. the movement is subtle but enough to make you hesitate, pulling your hand back as his lashes flicker up to meet yours.

“jesus christ,” you gasp. “you’re burning up.”

luigi doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze lingering on you just a moment too long, his eyes a little softer than usual.

“think i’ll be fine,” he says, but there’s an edge to his voice, like he’s trying to brush it off. it feels more like he’s saying it for both of you than for himself.

a pang of guilt hits you hard—a reminder of how you’d pushed for this interview while he was clearly feeling terrible. all those ridiculous, relentless messages, the nagging about deadlines while he was probably just trying to get through the day. god, you feel like an idiot.

you cup his cheeks, serious. “you should really get to bed.”

“what, and miss the privilege of being interrogated by the penn’s finest?” he teases, leaning into you. you’re struck at how warm he was, how utterly unprofessional you were coming off as, how awful it would be to pull away.

the article, you remind yourself, inching away. “if you pass out mid-question, it’s not going to make for a great article.”

“least i’ll be a shoo-in for the sympathy vote next semester,” luigi says with a wry chuckle, his tone light but laced with something deeper as he glances back up at you, almost as if testing your reaction.

“come on,” he reaches for your hand when you frown, interlocking your fingers and swaying you. he doesn’t pull you too close, something about the way he’s looking at you has you sure he’ll never give you the satisfaction, but your fingers interlock and there’s a hint of a smirk playing at the edge of his lips, smugness plain. “i couldn’t let you walk out here so fast. you know what they would say about me if they thought i let down a pretty girl like you?”

you feel your face go pink but your ego won’t let his flirting power last. his forehead was burning hotter than sauna, he probably didn’t know what was even happening. “you look like you haven’t even slept,” you say, matter-of-factly. “would you just sit down?”

“trust me, this headache’ll be gone before you can even say sto meglio con te,” he says, his voice a little softer than usual.

he grins as your brow furrows. “you could put that in your article. successful, speaks italian, looks like shit.”

“i didn’t mean that. i’m just worried.” ignoring the fluttering in your stomach and his persistent gaze, you turn your phone over. “i could order you some soup. there’s a really nice pho place down the road—”

“what’re you, my girlfriend?”

“mangione,” you sigh. “you’re being impossible.”

“baby,” he says, the word slipping from his lips with a teasing familiarity that catches you off guard. it pierces straight through your ego, sharp and unexpected. “i promise, ive got way more interesting things to talk about than allergies. come on, ask me.”

before you can react, another voice calls from outside, and you hear hurried footsteps approaching the door. luigi hesitates for a second, glancing at you. a younger group of fraternity brothers peeks in, looking urgent.

“hey, we’ve got a problem with the fundraising paperwork—someone made a mistake with the donations, and it needs to be fixed or we’re going to miss the deadline,” one of them explains, his voice tight with stress.

“who was in charge of that?” luigi asks, a lilt of accusation in his tone.

the younger twentysomethings look around, feigning innocence, avoiding eye contact. “whatever, it doesn’t matter,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes. “i’ll take care of it.”

he squeezes your hand before he leaves the room, saying, “stay put for me.”

so you sit on his navy blue bed, stiff and idle, your mind wandering as you wait. you text lacy and tell her you’ll catch up with her later as the constant sound of chaos fills your ears. you hear the house scrambling through the halls and luigi’s answering calls and questions, directing people, moving them out the way. the speakers for the party this weekend just got delivered, the delta 3 girls are inviting them to volunteer at their annual car wash, and there’s a leak in the basement that needs immediate attention. after what feels like hours, you can’t keep your eyes open anymore. exhaustion pulls at you, and without even realizing it, you fall asleep on his bed, the rhythmic noise of his busy life buzzing around you.

“y/n,” luigi exhales as he finally re-enters the room, his exhaustion evident in every step.

he’s greeted at the sight of your body sprawled across his bed, eyes fluttered shut with his jacket blanketed over your silhouette. he’s not so sure what comes over him, but he locks the door. your peaceful slumber is a stark change from the drunk mayhem on the other side of the door, and he’s intent on keeping the peace. the bed dips under his weight as he sinks down beside you, too tired for niceties. without a word or a second’s hesitation, he pulls the jacket off you and brings your tired body closer to his.

it starts off innocent. his arms are wrapped around your stomach, your body limp against his. he cradles into the nape of your neck—and you’re so soft and you smell so good, he can’t help himself. he tells himself he won’t take it too far. starting with small, sweet kisses against the side of your neck, almost tickling you out of your unconsciousness. you sleepily squirm under his hold and he’s straining in his sweatpants before he can make sense of it.

“you’re so pretty,” luigi whispers. it would be a waste, really, to have you this close without touching you. using you.

he grinds his hips against your plump ass. he’s so fucking hard, he really can’t help it. he has to have you, but he can’t bring himself to wake you—you’d been so sweet to him earlier, doe eyes wide with concern—he figures he has to return the favor somehow, right? letting you nap in his bed feels like the least he can do.

“you’ve got no idea how often i lose my mind thinkin’ about this, about you,” he confesses. the noise outside is loud, chaotic—a world away from the quiet intensity between you. it’s too loud for anyone else to know of the secret unfolding here, in the space of his touch and the weight of his gaze.

he’s rougher now, tightening his grip on your hips as he jerks himself into you. you were so worried about him earlier. you’d want this, wouldn’t you? to help him out, make him feel better?

his defense of plausible deniability falls apart piece by piece. one of his hands stray from your hip to your clothed core, rubbing you, desperate for friction. he groans into your back. you were wet, he was sure of it, he had to make sure of it. he slips his hands down your leggings and rushes to palms your wetness. he has to make sure you’re feeling just as good as he was.

you shudder at the touch, slowly bringing yourself from rem to reality. the room is hotter than you remembered, and you almost shriek as you realize luigi’s hands had been all over you. he’s quick to put his hand over your mouth, talking in your ear, “‘m sorry baby, couldn’t resist.”

his sloppy wet kisses are hot against your neck, so frantic, so desperate, so needy, his stubble unnerving you as you squirm under his hold. you can hardly make sense of what’s happening. “luigi.” you mewl as he grinds his clothed cock into you. “what’re you doing?”

he moans at the perfect blend of innocence and surprise twined through your voice. its undeniable now — he can’t spend another second not experiencing you.

“you said you wanted to make me feel better, yeah?” luigi grunts. before you can respond, he’s slipping a finger into your wet pussy. you jolt at the wild unfamiliar storm that grasps you, trying to turn your head over to him, to look at him, to ask him what the hell had gotten into him. he kisses you when your head tilts, his free hand wrapping around your throat.

“that’s so much fuckin’ better,” he tells you, stretching your core out with another two fingers. he’s so eager—so intent on making a mess of you, you’re almost humiliated at how easily you fall apart underneath.

you quiver and shake, and try to twist out of his groping hands, but he doesn’t budge, pressing harder into you. “you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart,” he swears.

“luigi,” you cry, helpless. the friction felt so hot it made you light-headed. the pleasures storms out any logical part of you. “i don’t—i don’t know what to do.”

of course you don’t. you were entirely too sweet, too well-meaning, too fuckin’ stupid to realize how badly he wanted you. running up to him after his gym workout, bright-eyed as you asked him to hang out. not on a date, not even as friends, but for a stupid fucking college paper. he should’ve taken you right there, in the parking lot, let you scream on it so loud the entire campus knew you were his, saved all this goddamn time.

“you’re a fuckin’ virgin?” luigi asks. he needs to hear you say it.

he rips his hand from your aching cunt and you cry out at the loss of friction.

“yes,” you pout.

“any good journalist knows to use specifics.” you see a cocky grin etch onto his lips before he flips you over and brings you in for a proper kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as he sinks into you. you kiss him back. you wanted this, whatever it was. “tell me again.”

“i’m a virgin,” you admit, reddening.

he smiles against your cheek before kissing you again—“been waiting for me, yeah? you want me to take you?”

“luigi, please.”

“what’s that?” he says, cruel.

you pout again and try to please him, rushing into another kiss. he captures your lips gladly, but refuses to bring you to the satisfaction of salvation.

all too mean, he points out, “you don’t even know what you’re begging for.”

at this point you were sure you could get drunk off the warmth of him. if you bucked up into the air, you could feel his bulge raging against his sweatpants.

“i want you,” you whine. “i mean—i just—i thought you wanted me too..?”

“of course i do. look at you.” luigi grunts before he strips off his shirt, ripping down your leggings with a force that pulls your body down the bed with him. his dark gaze drifts down.

you flush at the sight of the wet mess all over your legs. “you did all that just for me?” luigi mocks. “you want me that fuckin’ bad?”

“yes,” you have no idea why but you do. you can’t imagine a world where you walk away now and never experience him.

luigi never had any intention of being nice about this. his morals and his plans for the night unraveled the moment his eyes found you sprawled across his bed. harshly, he grips your hips—sure to leave marks, hoping for it—before pounding the entirety of his length into your purity.

the stretch scorches, searing into you. you see white, red, and hell all at once. “luigi—!” you cry out.

“you’re so good,” luigi assures. he tries to pace himself as you fall apart underneath him. he tries he tries he tries—but your inexperienced pussy molds around him, so perfect and wet, he can’t help himself.

you feel everything but perfect. unnerved and wild and overwhelmed, whimpering underneath him like a sick puppy. he fucks into you like he’s itching to see if you’ll break.

“it hurts,” you whine.

“you look so fuckin’ pretty with your legs spread,” luigi says. “can’t get enough of this perfect pussy.”

you paw at him, desperate for sacred ground, grip landing on his arms, hard and toned underneath your fingertips. he smirks. “feelin’ me up, sweetheart? you like my arms?”

the sound of skin slapping overtakes your corner of the world. you’d seen him before, but never like this. you’ve never had anything like this.

“luigi.” you whimper. “i can’t, you’re so big—”

“i know, pretty, i know,” he murmurs, kissing the running wet tears down your cheeks. “d’you remember the night you went up to me after the gym? d’you remember what you were wearing?”

you can’t help but claw your fingers deep into his arm muscles, desperate to find a vice for the pain. “oh my god,” you gasp. he pounds into you relentlessly and before you realize, you’re rolling into waves of foreign pleasure.

“stupid fuckin’ tank top,” luigi groans. pleasure storms you as he gets more brazen. he pulls down your camisole, lapping at your tits, biting you, marking you. “wind blew over and i got to see your perfect fuckin’ nipples. wanted to tear you apart right there.”

“what? really?”

“had to jack off in my fuckin’ car thinking about you, about this,” he murmurs before smashing his mouth back onto yours—and this time, you feel more prepared to bear it, melting into his warmth, lips perfectly reunited. you’re shivering under the heat. he fucks you hard into the mattress, hellbent on breaking you in. you’re sure he’s accomplished it already. you’re dizzy and light and on top of the goddamn world.

he sees through you. “fuckin’ close?”

“i-i think so—”

“so fuckin’ stupid,” he muses. “stupid fuckin’ virgin, doesn’t even know when she’s gonna cum.”

“you’re so mean,” you whine.

“yeah, you think so?” he growls, his voice low and dangerous as his hand strikes your cheek. the sting blooms like fire, another cruel signature of his dominance, a mark left behind in his endless quest to tarnish the golden purity you wear so effortlessly. his wicked touch moves down to your delicate clit and the sparks of pleasure turn into storms. you’re done for, waves of white gushing around him as you cry out his name.

“oh god,” luigi groans. “such a good girl, creamin’ on it like that. so perfect.”

the jolt of pleasure within you only makes you more sensitive. this time, when his hands return to your body, they’re clamped around your neck. he’s pulling into you, punishing your delicate cunt. as you quiver and froth, his thrusts grow sloppy and he rasps again—this time more guttural, more intense—and soon enough you feel his huge cock twitch inside of you, sending streams of his seed into your stomach.

he joins your silhouette on the bed, his warmth melting into yours as he pulls you close. his arms wrap around you, steady and secure, and his lips press softly to your forehead.

“‘m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low and soothing. “didn’t mean to get so rough.”

you struggle to find the breath, then the words, “no, i—i think it was fine.”

he looks at you, his smile fading into something more thoughtful, his gaze deepening with quiet admiration. “just fine?” he asks, his voice laced with a hint of playful disbelief.

you meet his gaze, your heart fluttering, and with a mischievous glint in your eye, you hum,

“penn’s finest.”

MASTERLIST ! leave me suggestions and review me <3

[scwheeler]

— how to get a girl’s attention

luke castellan x fem!daughter of demeter!reader

warnings: near-drowning experience…

summary: as the daughter of demeter, you’re the first person that everyone turns to when injuries need to be tended too, questions need to be asked, and any type of advice is required, however what’s going to happen when you’re the one in need?

a/n: this one’s quite lengthy guys! i really just got derailed like ten times and love adding details and the ending is kind of basic but whatever; don’t mind me making up random camper names btw lol 👼👼

waking up to the sound of constant bickering was just a normal tuesday morning as your younger half-siblings were already at each other’s throats about some stupid thing. yesterday it was borrowing boots and the day before it was who had to take the trash out.

you groaned, wishing that you could still sleep in peace and quiet but your cabin clearly suggested otherwise. so you gradually got up and put on your little slippers, approaching the main fighters who continued to argue with each other.

“hey hey hey, what’s going on now.” you had to physically get between the two children, separating them with your arms.

“he slipped paint all over my skirt and now it’s ruined!” the young girl cried, holding up her stained skirt to prove it. you took the clothing in your hands and knelt down to face her.

“why don’t i go to the river later today and try to get the stain out myself. it seems washable to me, what do you think?”

with a slight frown, she nodded her head to comply. you were relieved to say the least before turning to the boy, “how about you apologize and come with me to the river after breakfast?”

the boy stayed silent with his arms crossed, trying to avoid your insisting stare. but intimidated enough, he looked to the floor and whispered a small “fine, i’m sorry” with a glare.

you smiled as the situation was deescalated and told the rest of the kids surrounding the pair to hurry and make their beds in order to head to breakfast.

holding hands with the now puffy-faced girl, you tried to tell her about all the fun activities she could do today to forget about the unfortunate morning incident.

before reaching mess hall, the child already had a a bright smile just thinking about the bracelet making and embroidery you promised for the later evening. pleased with your peace-making skills, you sat with the rest of your campers and half-siblings that you were in charge of.

as the eldest sibling and one of the camp counselors, you took on the responsibility of looking after the young ones and caring for almost everyone at camp.

thus, when most of the camp half-blood children had troubles or dilemmas of any sort, they would disregard their own counselors and go straight to you. your kindhearted, yet sociable personality rooted from your mother: demeter.

you were often found laying around in the fruit fields or by the river listening to the water flow through the ground and hit the rocks. like your mother, nature was where you felt at peace, especially with the lack of quiet in your own cabin.

but you still loved your fellow campers and half-siblings, except for one boy who would not leave you alone.

luke castellan.

he liked to push your buttons and see how far he could take you until you’d explode. of course, you always kept your calm until either you just left the conversation or it would be interrupted by a camper in need who was like a knight in shining armor.

it wasn’t that you didn’t like the guy. you liked everyone at camp, including mr. d for gods sake! but something about luke was different. you occasionally saw him with his campers or his friends, he would joke around but never act like he does with you.

when you least expect it, he sneaks up behind you and gets close enough to whisper something in your ear. it could be just a random comment or sentence started but in an alluring voice as if you were friends or even more.

he knows what he’s doing. the moment he finishes, you flinch and get flustered, cheeks heating up and instantly standing up to avoid making eye contact. as you walk away, luke only watches and smiles to himself.

he knows how much power he holds over you, as with just a few words he can make you nervous.

“okay so once everyone’s done, we’ll first go to the archery range and you’ll stay there with counselor clarisse while damien and i go to the river to get that nasty stain out.” you explained and first looked at the boy who begrudgingly agreed to helping you earlier and then winked at the little girl you promised to help.

“counselor clarisse…!” one of the boys exclaimed.

“oh no she’s the mean one!” “yeah, she’s a bully!” your campers all started to agree and mutter remarks about their fear in staying with clarisse.

you couldn’t help but chuckle at their scared little faces, “clarisse? oh gods no! clarisse is not scary, she loves you guys and she’ll take good care of you.”

the children stared at you in disbelief while chowing down their eggs and bacon. “why can’t we just come with you to the river?!” one of the girls begged and began to pout alongside the other ten kids beside her.

you sighed and pursed your lips into a thin line, trying to come up with a compromise but you couldn’t.

“please it’s only for a couple of hours and then i’ll be back for the rock wall and some capture the flag!” you persuaded, trying to lighten up the mood.

but the kids still looked dissatisfied, now poking their breakfast around with their utensils in objection.

“well—” before you could plead another case why clarisse is a perfectly reasonable and responsible counselor and guardian, you were cut off by the one and only.

“aw don’t worry guys, you should listen to your counselor. plus i’ll be there too so if counselor clarisse gets even just a little too scary, you can come and hang with awesome counselor luke!” a voice announced from behind you.

you nearly choked on your food, startled in the surprise voice cutting you off. but the campers were overjoyed to see their second favorite counselor appear. there were an overwhelming amount of comments from the once so silent children, mostly regarding “luke!” and “yay!”

you whipped your head around to face the boy, standing right behind you with nothing but a smug grin on his face. then he leaned in just as he always does and whispered a quick, “you’re welcome” and turned to leave just as fast as he came.

“can we please hang out with counselor luke instead of clarisse?!” all the campers plead with their hands put together and lower lip puckered. left with no other choice by that damn castellan again, you inhaled deeply and slightly nodded which was shortly followed by an array of cheers and excitement.

after dropping off all of the campers in the hands of luke, you put a hand on damien’s back and led him to the river. but before leaving, you had to make sure luke would actually clock in as a responsible counselor.

“so i can count on you to keep them safe for the next couple of hours?”

“wow you sound like you doubt me!” luke said and took a step back with his hands up in fake surrender.

“enough with the games, castellan. are you going to make sure they don’t kill each other and stay unharmed until i return?” you asked again, ignoring his previous comment.

luke tried to hold back his smile after you called him by his last name. most of the time, his sparring partners or other counselors would use his last name rather his first. however, when the way you let the ‘n’ slightly my drag after saying it sent chills throughout his entire body.

to hide his delight, he lightly scoffed and crossed his arms at your hesitation. “i assure you that i will protect them with my life. i mean i am the best swordsman at camp,” he added as the corners of his lips just couldn’t help themselves to lift a little.

you rolled your eyes at his self-confidence and how he kept complimenting himself. luke only did it to impress you though, something that hasn’t been very successful.

“okay well alissa has a nut allergy, georgie has a bee allergy, and please keep thomas and will away from the poison ivy. i do not want to spend another summer knee deep in tomato juice.”

luke could only watch and admire as you kept expressing your deep concern for all the kids. he loved how much you cared. but a few more seconds and you would be driving yourself crazy over all the possibilities of something going wrong.

that’s when luke stepped in and softly grabbed your right arm.

“hey, it’s fine. go do whatever you have to do and i’ll come running down to the river if anything goes wrong but i doubt it, i’m pretty responsible y’know.” he reassured and stared straight into your eyes, indicating his sincerity. his smile wasn’t conceited or to drive his ego but rather held a tender emotion.

you looked up into his hazel eyes and suddenly the worries stopped and your nerves were calmed, other than the ones beginning to stir in your stomach. but this was far from the regard about the kids.

this feeling was something else. something new.

“are we going to go already?” the young boy you almost forgot about, whined and rugged on your orange camp t-shirt.

snapping out of your trance and back to reality you answered, “o-oh yeah, i think counselor luke’s got it from here.”

with that you turned away from luke and immediately headed for the river alongside damien but the paint-stained skirt was farthest from your mind now. you tried to shake the new feelings and thoughts out of your body and replace them with your past ones of the kids.

until, “is that guy your boyfriend?”

you quickly looked down to the boy asking the question, with such seriousness in his eyes.

“counselor luke? gods no! i wouldn’t even call him a friend!” you answered swiftly, picking up your pace and hurrying damien in front of you.

“geez…i was just asking!”

as soon as you two got to the river, settling on a few rocks by the edge, you started rubbing the blue-stained skirt with the clear water. damien sat next to you, fiddling his thumbs and staring at the water’s constant movement.

“so are you going to tell me why you did this or not?” you began, keeping your eyes on the skirt.

“i just wanted to.”

“damien.” you urged and this time, you stared directly at him with your eyebrows raised.

he sighed in defeat and gave up on lying to you.

“okay…well i just didn’t know how else to get clara’s attention,” the boy admitted and refused to look at you.

his response warned your heart and prompted your to smile to yourself.

“so you did this, just to get clara’s attention?”

you held up the now drenched skirt and demanded damien to look at you. for a moment, he did and nodded quickly before instantly going back to staring at the rock he was sitting on.

you stifled your laughter at how adorable the young boy you were with was being.

“damien…there are a lot of different and more efficient ways to get clara’s attention. may a suggest one that doesn’t destroy her belongings and ends up with her being angry?” you insisted and squeezed the excess water out of the skirt.

he looked up and nodded again but this time he continued.

“what should i do?”

“why don’t you make her a bracelet when we go back and sincerely apologize.” you suggested while laying out the wet skirt on the rock to dry.

he smiled at your suggestion as you went to sit closer by him. before speaking again, he pulled out a small daisy from his pant pocket and presented it to you.

your eyes focused on the blooming flower that lost a few of its petals due to being stuck in the boy’s pocket for a while now. but the remaining petals still standing were enough to maintain the flower’s beauty.

“when did you become such a gentlemen?” you nudged his shoulder and took the flower from his hands.

“oh, i’ve been giving him some lessons.”

alarmed, you turned to see the familiar face that had been surprising you all day.

“what are you doing here?! how about the kids—who’s watching them?!” you immediately stood up and marched towards the too calm figure standing amongst the trees. but he caught you with both arms, preventing you with ease.

“woah woah, take a breather, they’re with clarisse.” he said and stopped you before you ran back to the mess hall.

reading your expression, luke could tell you were not convinced nor pleased so he had to fix his answer.

“—and annabeth and chris.”

with that you stopped fighting against his grasp and stepped back, finally exhaling.

“you haven’t answered my first question.”

“oh! i just uh wanted to um come and tell you that they’re asking for damien back at camp. they were practically begging me to come over here and get him!”

you narrowed your eyes after he finished, easily indicating the lie.

“okay…you can go damien but remember what i said,” you smiled and patted his shoulder before sending him off back to camp.

the young boy ran off without a care and ready to make that bracelet with a formal apology. luke stood there, quite surprised that his lie that chris helped him think of in fact worked.

“soooo do you need help with whatever that is?” luke pointed at the skirt laid out on the rock.

“no.” you shortly responded and walked back to your rock but luke followed like a lost puppy.

“are you sure? i mean as head counselor for cabin 11, i can cook up a mean batch of laundry,” he insisted and trailed behind you.

unbeknownst to him, you rolled your eyes and cringed at his wording.

“your words don’t even make sense.”

caught in a lie, luke decided actions spoke louder than words and walked past you to the skirt. you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as he picked it up and crouched down near the water before dunking it back into the water.

shocked and a little annoyed, you hurriedly ran to him.

“what the hell are you doing?! i just washed that! i’m waiting for it to dry dumbass!”

“oh she curses!” he exclaimed, finally getting a real response from you.

you reached for it until luke raised it a little higher, just out of your reach. using his height as an advantage, he held out the clothing as far as he could and to the river.

fed up and exhausted, you went on your tippy-toes and lunged for the skirt. swiftly, luke pulled it close to his body just as you reached leading you to accidentally lean too far.

with a splash, you fell straight into the freezing cold water, unknown to how deep the river was. luke’s eyes widened, he thought you falling in would be funny but once you hadn’t resurfaced within a few seconds he became worried.

without a second thought, he dropped the skirt, pulled off his camp shirt, and dove into the biting waves. as soon as he saw your bright orange t-shirt in contrast to the clear water, he put his arm around your waist and swim towards the surface.

pulling you out to the rocks and laying your body on the ground, he waited for you to gain consciousness. luckily, you started to gasp for air and spit out gulps of water as you sat up.

luke sighed in relief at once. you wiped your face of water and blinked repeatedly until your sight returned to normal. then your eyes were fixated on something else, rather someone. his bare chest stood directly in front of your face, it wasn’t like you were trying to stare!

“i’m sorry, y/n. I’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to do that and i’m really sorry.” luke recited.

“i-it’s okay.” you stuttered, the cold water chilling your body.

“here take off the wet one and take mine.”

luke grabbed his discarded camp shirt and handed it to you. if you weren’t on the verge of frostbite you would’ve refused, but without another word you agreed and luke turned to face the trees as you pulled the wet shirt over your head and put on luke’s.

“thanks. for saving me and the shirt.”

luke turned back to face you and smiled, “i mean i was the one to make you fall into the water in the first place, it’s the least i can do.”

“aren’t you cold?” you signaled to his bare chest.

“no, i’m okay don’t worry. but your jeans are still wet so let’s head back to camp.” he reassured and helped you get up.

you nodded and let him take the lead. with your wet shirt and skirt in one hand and the other grabbing onto luke’s arm, you two finally made it back to camp. before dropping you off at your cabin, you had to ask.

“why did you come to the river anyway?”

luke awkwardly put his hand on the back of his neck and looked away.

“oh. i just uh wanted to spend time with you.” he admitted, ultimately facing you.

you stopped attending to your dripping pants and looked up at him. he had a genuine smile, now with both hands shoved into his pockets.

how was it that you had never noticed the golden flecks in his deep brown eyes? or the way the orange hues of the sunset highlighted the amber shade his eyes would turn?

“y’know, there are a lot of other ways to get my attention in the first place, that doesn’t involve us falling into freezing cold water.”

luke laughed at your comment which eased the awkward air.

“i had this almost exact same conversation with a little boy of about seven years, and gave him some valuable advice.”

“what was the advice..?” he carefully asked.

“to make her a bracelet and apologize, one of…you’ve already done profusely.” you raised your eyebrow to imply his previous attempt in apologizing nonstop.

“ah, a bracelet you say, okay got it,” luke said and nodded his head.

with that, he bid you a good day and you asked to meet him later at the campfire to return his shirt.

“alright you two sit there, i don’t want to see anymore fighting over the dinosaurs, you can sit here with him, and you three over there—” guiding the campers for the campfire that was just about to begin, you made your way to an empty bench.

smiling to yourself, you watched as your campers finally calmed down and enjoyed the music, giving up on fighting and arguing with one another. someone jumped over the bench and leaned back to sit right next to you, and you had a feeling who it may be.

“luke?”

“yes ma’am.” he replied with a tilt towards you and two fingers from his head.

the campfire lit up his face and highlighted his sharp features that you had somehow missed until this moment. his charming smile urging his dimples alongside his dark curls freshly washed with a new scented shampoo was enough to make you realize you were hooked. damn.

“oh i have a little something for you, give me your arm and close your eyes,” he spoke up and put his hand in his pocket.

raised eyebrow, you reluctantly closed your eyes and gave him your right arm. suddenly in fear of some bug or scary animal on your hand, you slowly retracted it back to yourself until he gently got a hold of it.

he pulled your arm towards him slightly and slipped something on around your wrist. waiting for his approval, you sat questioning what the mystery item could be.

“okay, open.” luke did a little ‘ta-da’ motion once you flickered your eyes open, adjusting to the dark yet orangish lit surrounding.

you looked down at the intricate, handsome bracelet that appeared on your wrist. it was similar to the camp necklaces but the beads were translucent with flowers imbedded into them. except for one bead that was painted a heavenly green, your favorite color.

astonished and at a loss for words, you observed the bracelet, moving around the small beads on the string.

“i’m sorry.”

snapping out of your trance, you instantly stared up at luke after his words in confusion.

“what?”

“you said earlier, ‘there are a lot of other ways to spend time with you that don’t involve us falling into freezing cold water, for starters make a bracelet and apologize.’” he repeated your words from back by your cabin. he remembered.

“so you made me a bracelet and apologize just like i said?” double-checking, you glanced once at the bracelet and back to the dashing boy who looked as if he had stars in his eyes, waiting for your reaction.

“not only for you, i also helped damien make one for that girl he’s got a crush on,” he continued and looked over to the little boy doing the exact same hold-out-your-arm-and-close-your-eyes trick on the girl sobbing about her stained skirt earlier.

she opened her eyes to a freshly washed skirt and matching bracelet, along with a smiling boy who was apologizing and waiting for her reaction. she leapt into his arms with a bunch of ‘thank yous.’ the boy then briefly peered at luke who proceeded to wink and give an approving nod.

happily surprised, you sat gaping at the boy you thought was so infuriating just a couple of hours before. luke knew exactly what he was doing. he knew how much you cared for the campers and your half-siblings, how you would always chose their safety and happiness at the expense of your very own.

it was one of the traits he admired the most about you. even when in a bad mood or not feeling your best, you would put on a brave face and make sure to put their needs in front of you own.

he witnessed it first-hand last week when your campers wanted to go rock climbing but there were dozens of poison ivy already there. thus, to not disappoint the kids, you stayed up all night removing the dangerous plant and relocating them to another area deep in the forest for them to grow.

even with your plant manipulation abilities, with the large amount of the poisonous plant, it took you quite a while. afterwards, you went as far to replace them with lovely daisies you summoned from the gardens in front of your cabin.

during the move from the rock climbing course to the forest, luke had spotted you while some late-night sword practicing because he couldn’t sleep due to apollo cabin next door.

he debated approaching you and settled on only admiring you from afar after you almost finished anyway. he didn’t want to disturb you or aggravate you further than you already were. but leaving you here in the forest during midnight would be wrong.

what if a monster were to come? how were you to defend yourself if you were distracted! therefore, it was just common sense that luke had to keep watch, i mean he even had his sword with him after all.

but once the sun peeped from the tall mountains, he came to a realization that he had just sat and watched you for more than a couple hours. so in order to not get caught, he ran off back to his cabin before anyone would wake up.

only a little after luke headed to bed, morning arrived and you were the first one to break the happy news to your campers that today would be the day for rock climbing. greatly proud and feeling accomplished, you even invited other cabins to join and have a spin at it. including luke’s.

now he was the one to show you how much he cared for the campers as well, focusing on a feature you had great respects for. your shocked expression softened and now leapt into his arms.

“thank you, castellan. really.”

blood rushed to his cheeks and he tried to hide his excitement, but you felt his genuine smile on your shoulder. before pulling away, he stopped by your ear and whispered.

“do i have permission to kiss you, counselor?”

you could’ve giggled at his words and how close his lips were to your ear. without wasting another breath, you pulled his face closer to you and put your lips on his.

feeling the warmth of his breath, you could taste the sweet taste of strawberries he must’ve eaten earlier. only centimeters away, your bodies were attracted to each other almost pressing. the kiss wasn’t long but not short either, somewhat leaving a lasting impression on the other.

yet again you felt a small grin of his lips during the kiss, making you pull away for air. but your eyes were still glued to his, moments away from repeating the act but you both realized where you were and how irresponsible it would look as counselors. so instead he grabbed your hand, now giving you the absolute cutest puppy dog eyes before asking.

“do i have your attention now?”

[augustinewrites]

the dull throb resonating over your entire body is what eventually rouses you, slowly bringing you back into consciousness. your head feels like a sword’s been driven through it, leaving your mind muddled.

the first thing you see is satoru hunched over your bedside, his hand carefully clutching yours. you call his name, but your voice is hoarse and scratchy and barely above a whisper.

he hears you regardless, eyes wide and alert as he lifts his head. he looks tired, dark circles stamped under his eyes and an unusual stiffness in his movements.

“you’re…okay,” he says, strained. as if he can’t believe it. you hum in response - because it’s all you can manage at the moment - feeling your eyelids begin to droop your will. “get some more rest. i’ll call shoko.” 

the gentle brush of his lips against your forehead is the last thing you feel before drifting back to sleep.

_____

you’re not sure how much time has passed when you come to. now, the room is illuminated by honeyed lamplight and you see shoko and satoru talking quietly at the foot of your bed. 

“glad to see you’re still with us,” your best friend smiles once she notices you’re awake. she moves to your side, leaning over you to pull back the thin blanket. there’s a swathe of bandages wrapped around your shoulder and a sling immobilizing your arm. 

“how do you feel?” satoru asks, that worried look still set in his expression. 

“i‘m fine,” you manage to answer, trying to blink the room into focus.

“you need to be more careful,” shoko tells you, peeling her gloves off and tossing them into the trash. the usual air indifference in her voice is gone, replaced with concern. “take satoru with you next time. not because i think you’re incapable of doing your job, but so he can do the corny, heroic thing and take the hit for you. god knows he could stand to be humbled every once in a while…” 

“thanks, shoko,” your boyfriend scoffs, but the way his hand grips yours tightly tells you he’d be more than willing to be your corny hero. 

you hate the way they look down at your prone form as shoko goes over your treatment plan. it makes you feel small and weak, and you are neither of those things. 

“can you help me sit up?”

“you shouldn’t be moving around–” 

your body burns with protest as you awkwardly push yourself up anyway, exhaling a pained hiss as gojo swears, reaching out to help steady your trembling torso as shoko shoves pillows behind your back. 

“i’m fine,” you argue, trying to ignore the throbbing behind your temples. you don’t remember exactly how you’d ended up in the school’s infirmary, just remember the way pain had exploded across your left side when you’d been hit.  

“you almost weren’t,” he says quietly. a deeply haunted look clouds his face as he recalls what must have happened after you’d been brought in, and you feel guilty for not being able to remember it. 

so you let him squeeze into bed next to you, let him carefully pull you into his chest and hold you until you feel the tension in his body dissipate. you know he needs this a little more than you do, know that the knowledge of you being okay isn’t enough. it won’t stop the fear and anxiety of losing you from gnawing on the edge of his sanity.

“i wanna give the flowers–”

“so you can take all the credit? i’m the one who bought them!”

your pained grimace easily turns to a smile when the door opens to reveal megumi and tsumiki, who are both gripping a bouquet of flowers. nanami follows them in, wearing the tired look of a man that’s never spent more than three hours dealing with moody preteens raised by gojo – until today.

_____

your family spoils you over the next few days. the three of them falling asleep on the little couch in your room, tucked under gojo’s arms every night until you’re cleared to go home. even then, they don’t leave your side. tsumiki snuggles next to you to watch movies and bakes you little treats. megumi reads to you from the book you’d been going through together and listens to your favourite records with you after school. 

satoru posts himself by your side. you like having him around. like the gentle way he handles you when working through the stretches shoko prescribes. like watching the way his hands move he diligently slices wedges of fresh fruit. 

you like being the focus of his single-minded attention, but you know how restless he can get when he doesn’t go off to work. rightfully so, because the jujutsu world would probably fall apart without him.

“you can go if you want,” you say one day, when he gets off a phone call with yaga. “i’ll be okay for a few hours.” 

he doesn’t get up, instead beginning to peel a plump orange (you’d never noticed how nice his hands were until now). “no, nanami’s still covering for me.” 

“satoru,” you sigh, taking an orange slice from him. “there’s a lot going on, you have bigger fish to fry.”

“i’m not going anywhere,” he tells you firmly, looking like he’d physically fight the idea of leaving your side. “you’re my fish.”

[lymtw]

Rough Day

Thinking of Toji coming home to you after a rough day at work. On a normal day he would call out to you the second he steps through the front door, but today he's not in the mood to be loud. He silently walks through the living room, into the hallway where he directs himself towards the bedroom, where he knows you are. He's dirty and sweaty and there's somebody's blood drying on the fabric of his shirt. Luckily, it's just a small area. You won't spot it on your own, and Toji won't be showing it off to you.

The door creaks open and you're there, lying on your stomach, in bed. You're distracted by your phone, too zoned into your own serene little world to notice that Toji was home. He can smell your shampoo and the lotion you used, in the air, the smell getting stronger as he makes his way towards the bed. His stealthiness is a threat, never to you, but the fact that you didn't turn around once really had him thinking about your safety.

He didn't waste another second just looming over you. Slowly, he crawled onto the bed and before you managed to shriek or say something about how he scared the crap out of you, he laid right on top of you, crushing you and revoking your ability to make any sounds but groans under his weight.

"Toji?" you call, once you get accustomed to the pressure your bear of a man added onto you. He doesn't respond, and instead buries his face into the crook of your neck, getting a deeper whiff of the scent that emanated off of you. "Toji?" You try again, turning your head slightly.

"You smell pretty. Could smell you the second I walked in the room," he hums, inhaling your clean scent.

"Yeah, I just showered. Don't you wanna go get cleaned up, too? Dinner's ready."

"Of course I do. Thanks, doll. Just let me have you like this for a sec."

You had no argument for that. You laid there, flat on the bed beneath him, and allowed him all the time necessary to relax. He was quiet, and his hold on you was a little tighter than usual. That wasn't what brought you to your conclusion, but it was clear that he wasn't his usual self.

Something about being able to wrap himself around your entire body was comforting to Toji. It made him feel like he was keeping you safe, like he was the soft blanket you cover yourself with at night, rather than a man who comes home with blood stains on his clothes.

You were the one thing he was positive he would come home to, and that was enough. You were more than enough for him. He always felt there was no way to pay back for every day you spent accepting him as he is. All those nights when you let him hold you, even after he made you cry. Those mornings when you woke up with a heavy heart, alone, only to find out through a text message that he had to leave for work early.

Undeserving was a small word to Toji. It was you still finding it in yourself to give him the warmest of welcomes every day—a greeting normally dedicated to heroes, that made him obsess over finding a word that was more fitting for him.

He loves you and he's serious about it. He knows the infinite range of his love for you and regardless of how small his heart seems compared to yours, you decorate every inch of space within it, and when it reaches its maximum capacity, you go to his head. The space is littered with images of you, like posters on a wall. The space is so crowded that some of them are hanging on to the walls of his mind for dear life. There are images of your guilty smile after you knock a glass of water over and it shatters, another of the look on your face as you try not to laugh when he tries on a shirt that clearly isn't his size, and memories of the times when you would pamper him when he wasn't feeling well, insisting on still sleeping next to him, incase he needs something in the middle of the night.

It all adds up to this clingy behavior he reserves for you. When the day treats him like trash being kicked around by everyone on a sidewalk, he comes home to appreciate the one who embraces him and unconditionally loves him.

He knows his weight on your back must be unbearable and he definitely doesn't smell as good as you, either, but he can't move. Not yet.

"I could stay like this forever, doll. Would you let me?" He smiles for the first time in a bit when he sees your shoulders shaking, paired with the sweet sound of your laugh.

"Of course, baby. I'd willingly stay like this for you."

And he groans. It's like a form of cuteness aggression, but it derives from the fact that he can't believe that you're with him, and that you're so saintly, and he can't for the life of him stop thinking of you. He kisses your jaw and strongly resists the urge to bite your cheek and squeeze you until you can't breathe at all.

His breathing quickens a little when he thinks of how detrimental it would be to his life if you walked away for good, one day. Things are so good, but he can't help but think that the next time they aren't, it'll be an enormous hit to everything he has with you. Maybe you're waiting for the next argument to drop everything. Maybe you secretly can't stand him. Maybe you don't need him. Maybe-

His overthinking is cut off by a low growl, followed by a nervous giggle that is muffled by the pillow you buried your face in.

"Sorry," you lift your head to say, fighting the laughter bubbling in your throat.

"You're hungry." There's a barely there crease between his brows. It's late and your stomach is growling. He doesn't want to think about you skipping meals.

"I wanted to wait for you," you chirp, turning your head the slightest bit to give him a beaming smile.

"Baby." The second he sees the corners of your lips begin to straighten out, he stifles the scolding he was about to hit you with. "I can't even be mad at you. Have you eaten anything at all today?"

Your silence was all he needed to understand that you were running on fumes. He sighs, mentally cursing you for being so careless with yourself for his sake.

"I'm gonna shower, and you're gonna meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes. Will you survive that long? I don't know, but you have to." He kisses your temple a couple times, rolling off of you and directing himself to his clothing drawers.

Your lungs expand and you feel so much lighter without his weight on you. You flip over onto your back, stretching for a moment before you turn over to watch Toji rummage through his drawers. His sixth sense kicks in and he can feel your gaze on the back of his head.

"I love you, doll." He stands still, waiting seconds too long for your response. He turns his head to the side, facing the blank wall of the room. His ear is turned in your direction as to not miss the sound of your voice.

You sit up, prepared to say it back with every fiber of your being. You can see his fingers tapping against the top of the dresser. You don't mean to bring unease to his mind, your intention is to do the exact opposite. "I love you so, sooo much, Toji."

He lets the clothes he picked out plop onto the dresser, and he turns around to head back to you. He holds your gaze until he reaches you. It's the first good look you've gotten at him since he got home. You can't help but smile at the familiar sight of those green eyes and that pretty nose, and those scarred lips. He never failed to make you swoon, even during times when there was a lack of words.

His hands cupped your jaw before he leaned down to kiss you. The duration of his kisses weren't thought out, let alone planned. What was supposed to be ten minutes until you met him in the kitchen, turned into double the amount of time, because he wouldn't let you go. You were just as guilty for the delay, feeling so much ease and comfort with the words he imbedded into his kisses. Eventually you started telling him to go, between kisses and laughter, reminding him that you would be there when he got out. He ignored you until your stomach growled again.

"Fine," he grumbled, placing one more peck on your lips before he left you alone.

[colormepurplex2]

Shatter With Me | Waving The White Flag

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

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to story masterlist

Jungkook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s, uh…”

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

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

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

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

“Isn’t that right?” he asks.

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

“You’re healthy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, no. You know I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm? Who?”

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

You shrug. “I wasn’t staring.”

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

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

💔💔💔

Jungkook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?” Jungkook answers on the second ring.

“Jungkook.”

“Oh, hey. Everything okay?”

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

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

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

“Why? What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he breathes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seems pretty simple, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I understand.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I think so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

Jungkook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, guys.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, too, Jungkook.”

💔💔💔

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

Jungkook

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

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

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

“You missed it.”

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

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

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

“She? It could be a boy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, is everything okay?”

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

“I’m on my way!”

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

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

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

“O-okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Yeah.”

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

“Do you want me to find a wheelchair?”

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

“Yeah.”

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

“I can come?” he wonders, hopeful.

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

“Oh, she’s not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kinda weird, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That would be great, thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is everything okay?”

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

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

“Where have you been?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is not what happened at all!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to story masterlist  

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[madschiavelique]

A Crown Of Ink : Chapter 7 - Five Of Wands

summary : you've been avoiding viktor, but as your next homework session comes around, he cannot help but be curious. oh and more tyler

content warnings : crude language (not much okay), reader is having thoughtsss

word count : 5,6k

author's note : FIRST OF ALL i was sick and on my periods writing this okay so this is much more of a transitionary chapter than anything for the shitstorm to come, SECOND OF ALL i KNOW it's another 5 of wands chapter i'm sorry i forgot that i had already used this card before THUS i will probably change the card in chapter 4 because i couldn't see any other card working for this one. but i still hope you all will like it <3 (i don't know how many times i wrote "sighed" in this chapter so BEAR WITH ME)

proofread by the lovely @yaffles-world

masterlist : here ．．discord : here ．．playlist : here

taglist : @doctorho @6selkie @yunloyal @kryscent @hypocritic-trash-baby @kapitankarate @a-lovers-card @ababanerb @lolixsstuff @forget-me-not-my-dear @smolanchovy @shugar0cone0alt @harrys--ferret-blog @suuummerrr @stillinracooncity @noxturnalmoth @dlbitch

Friday arrived for another study session between you and Viktor. The week had flown by, with one particularity: your stubborn avoidance of Viktor, and his stubborn search for you.

During classes, you always managed to find a seat as far away from his as possible. You avoided him in the corridors, ignored him when you crossed his path, and when you were in the library and you noticed him, you packed up your things as quickly as possible to leave.

Since the power cut, you'd been even more keen to avoid Viktor. Although you'd done it before, you'd simply decided you didn't want to interact with him. The last few weeks had been far too full of his presence, and you needed to get away from him both physically and mentally.

The trip to the museum, the lunch with him and Jayce, the hour of detention... Your days were far more filled with him than you would have preferred.

It had been a sudden, almost instinctive choice to get as far away from him as possible. 

There was something in the air the evening of the blackout, and even today. A kind of disturbing truth was taking up more and more space in your mind: Viktor wanted to be your friend.

In your eyes, there was always a huge worry about making friends. Your circle was small, and most of your friendships were involuntary, and you were fine with it. You didn't need many friends, you simply kept the ones you trusted. But were you ready to place your trust in Viktor?

Alas, Friday was here, and Viktor was inevitable.

You had arrived a little early at the library, dropping off your things and anticipated for your study by picking up the tomes you would need during this session. The library was already busier than it had been the previous week, with your class mimicking you and Viktor as they set to work on their history topic to avoid working on it at the last minute.

You despised the very idea of doing this assignment, as it brought you too close to your years living in Zaun, to more nightmares every night, to more Viktor. You wanted to get rid of this homework, and you knew full well that to do that you'd have to actually deal with it. 

But while he was away, you took the opportunity to take out a sheet of paper and dipped the tip of your quill in one of the pretty inks Eris had given you. You wanted to write to her. You hadn't received any correspondence from her for some time now, and you suspected that she too had other things to worry that were more important than taking the time to sit down and write a letter.

Dear Eris, you began.

The weeks are endless here, and I almost miss the times when the only thing we had to do all day was figure out what to do to avoid dying of boredom till night came. I've welcomed my new flatmate, Sky Young. She's nice - I could have had worse, I doubt I could have had better. Speaking of better…

You raised your feather above the paper for a moment, hesitating over the next part of your sentence. Viktor would be inevitable in this very letter, and the idea frustrated you. No matter what happened, his name was on your mind, always at the corner of your lips, ready to rub against your teeth and sound out like a finger pressing on a trigger before shooting.

Were you going to tell her about your concerns? Were you going to feign disinterest, pretend it was just some guy Jayce had introduced you to?

I'm getting a bit more used to tarot. You write as your sign of progress. This morning I drew the five of wands. From what I gather though, it doesn't look very positive. I should expect it, five guys hitting each other with sticks seems an unlikely interpretation of a general hug.

According to the little booklet, the five of sticks represented: Incendiary events. Protests. Angry people. Drama. Exciting conflicts.

You'd raised your eyebrows as your eyes roamed the rest of the descriptions: New ideas are born of passionate debate. Energy is scattered but if forces work together, powerful results occur. There's a need for unity. You're bothered by people who don't act as you'd hoped. Free yourself by surrendering to the present moment.

Well, that looks promising, you thought. The card was obviously pushing you towards Viktor, and that was bothering you.

You were clinging to what you had, to the past, to the only thing you knew: survival. Viktor was turning your finely constructed ecosystem upside down, as if he were treading on a sandcastle you'd spent hours building on a windy beach.

But something inside you was beginning to creep in; an idea that seemed dangerous, and which a few weeks ago would have seemed quite simply impossible to think of. 

What if you tried?

What if you tried not to be so uptight about working with him? What if, for once, you accepted the possibility that this wasn't a competition for your life?

The idea was bitter, weighing you down with anxiety. You went back to writing your letter.

I think I know what the card is leading me to, you confessed, but it is deeply unpleasant. What more can I say... I don't think this letter is going to be very long. I don't have much to tell you, and if I do, I'd rather say it to your face than on a sheet of the Glorious Academy of Piltover. You added useless curls in your writing for the title of the Academy to emphasize the ridicule of its prestigious status. You knew Eris would laugh. Did you get any new exotic payments? Here I'm drowning in copies and bolts, but your inks and herbs keep me company.

You smile for a moment, but the thought of mentioning Viktor keeps running through your mind. You looked around for a moment, as if he would miraculously appear and snatch the letter out of your hand to read it. But nothing, just the serene calm of the library - only the sound of flipped pages as students tried finding some information were keeping you compagny.

You were right about the Emperor. Of course you were. You confessed. A new pupil has arrived and, to top it all, he's beaten me in the league table. I suppose you can imagine how I felt about the situation. Every day is a tooth-and-nail battle with him. To crown it all, we've both been assigned to a collaborative project. Isn't that great? Anyway. I miss you a lot. I can't wait to hear from you. Say hi to Ekko for me.

Ekko was a childhood friend who you spent a lot of time with. It was undoubtedly through his demonstrations of repairs and your afternoons spent working on tinkering projects that your interest in science and engineering was born. 

You dipped your quill in your inkwell one last time.

P.S: The name of the Emperor is-

"How long have you been here?"

You almost spilled the inkwell on the table as your eyes rose to Viktor, standing in front of you with his satchel slung over one shoulder.

You sighed. He could at least have made his presence known by clearing his throat, not by standing still and watching you like a cat under his amber eyes. You took your letter, writing his cursed name, followed by yours before blowing on the paper to hasten the drying of the ink.

"Long enough for either of us to fall asleep in Devid's classes," you huffed as you finally folded the sheet in half and tucked it into your notebook to send it later.

He wore a small smirk, gracefully relieving himself of his satchel by pulling it off his shoulder and letting it fall gently to the floor. He sat down opposite you, taking out his things.

"Was Demacian never one of your fortes for you to sleep during his classes?" he asked about Devid, your language teacher. "I thought you'd understand with your wide panel of knowledge."

"I do understand," you corrected him as you picked up a tome to begin your work session. "I'm fluent - I don't need more of what's being said in these classes."

"Why?" he asked, placing his inkwell and notebook on the table. "Ever travelled there?"

"I never travelled outside of here and Zaun," you informed him.

He sighed, looking down at his notes. "Then you don't speak Demacian."

You frowned, raising your head. He met your gaze, waiting for your next remark.

"Why?" you questioned. "Has his royal highness, all full of Runeterrian knowledge, been on a sweet trip to the Great City?"

He arched an eyebrow, his eyes drifting over the small pile of tome to grab one.

"Any idiot knows that learning a language in classes and putting it to practice in the actual region where said language is spoken is a completely different thing."

You remained silent, trying to contain and prevent yourself from giving him the pleasure of answering. You went back to your notes, pressing the binding of your notebook to the table as you jotted down a few more bits of information you managed to find in the new tome you'd selected.

A full minute passed, after which Viktor couldn't help breaking the silence.

"Why are you ignoring me?"

You sighed. Was he a puppy in need of constant attention?

"I'm not ignoring you." You confirmed, not looking up from your notes.

"Fine," he said, searching for a way to continue the conversation, to find the keyword to unlock you. "Why are you avoiding me?"

This time he'd hit the nail on the head. Obviously he hadn't been blind to your dodges, but how could he? He was observant, always making the perfect deductions, and was smart enough to get on your nerves.

"Can we focus and work?" You tried to extricate yourself from the situation.

He sank back in his chair, staring at you for a moment. "Not until you answer my questions."

This time you won his gaze. "Too bad there's no candle for you to bargain information with."

"I can find other ways," he remarked, "Miss."

You tensed at the nickname, your lips pressing together as you leaned on the desk, resting your elbows on it.

"Oh yeah?" you replied, almost amused, "I hope these ways will be as promising as you and Jayce's attempt at cooking on a heater."

He smiled, approaching you in turn. "You seem to have forgotten that I seem to know more about you than you know about me."

"And then I thought I was supposed to be the obsessed one," your brows knit as a curious little smile tried to stretch your lips. "You're not stalking me, are you?"

Your eyes crinkled, scanning his continuously. The days were receding further and further into the night, and the sky outside was gradually turning from cyan to indigo. Under the subdued lights of the library, Viktor's eyes stood out, ever more piercingly under his long brown lashes.

"From what I have heard," he continued, as you both leant on your elbows against the table as if playing chess, "Madam Selene is truly open when it comes to questions asked by her students."

He had just put your king in danger, your lips parting in surprise for a moment before closing again, jaw clenched.

"Surely she won't mind exchanging on the pride that her legal daughter is to her?"

You inhaled heavily, chewing your cheek as his insufferable sneer spread to the corners of his lips again, raising his mole slightly.

You picked up your quill again, avoiding his gaze and letting yours return to your notebook. You dipped it in with a half-open, hesitant mouth as you considered what you were going to say, both to him and on paper.

"I'm avoiding you because I can't get to be friends with my only rival."

He seemed amused by your sentence, as if you were just a child trying to impress an adult by saying something serious and threatening with the latest big word you had learned. He rested his chin on his palm, watching you write, and for an instant you thought of the paper he'd never passed you back during detention. What was he about to say?

"Isn't there an old saying about being close to your opponents?"

"Isn't there this old thing called ‘free will’ that allows me to do whatever I want?"

He shrugged. "Your free will hasn't decided to make you leave this room so far."

You regained his eyes this time, the latter looking through you, trying to peek through the cracks in your facade for a chance to see the lights that resided there.

"Are you challenging my free will? Because I can give it some physical attributes in the scientifically accurate name of 'clenched fists'."

"I'll pass." He sneered. "I'm sure Tyler has had enough lessons on this concept."

Silence fell again. You scanned the lines of another novel where too little information about Zaun was catalogued, while Viktor had not touched his pen. You could feel him in your peripheral vision, watching you, following you relentlessly.

"Am I truly your rival?" He finally asked.

"What else would you be?"

Viktor pouted, straightening slightly. "Being your rival implies having the same goal and fighting for it. I am uncertain if that definition applies to us in this case."

Admittedly, he didn't seem to have the same devotion to his academic results as you did, which frustrated you deeply. But what about the second option he cited?

"In the Academy, we all have the same goal," you replied, watching him for a moment before returning to your notes.

There was another pause on the table, and you thought that perhaps this time he would start working. But he didn't.

"I want a truce."

You looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"...Okay," you finally say, picking up another book, "good for you."

"I mean it, Miss," he insisted. "I think you've had it wrong on me-" But you cut him off.

“What are you implying?” you asked, annoyed at beating around the bush when you seemed to be the only one working right now.

"I'm not implying," Viktor nuanced, "I am saying."

"Saying?" You shook your head, waiting for the next part.

"Yes. You know, that thing that one can do with the possession of a mouth and vocal cords? You've become an expert at it just through this conversation,” he remarked as he straightened up and grabbed his pencil, twirling it between his fingers, "as it is the most we have spoken together in a week."

"Well then, conversation doesn't seem to be such a dying art anymore now does it?" you remarked.

Viktor smiled. "You seem to like quoting me." 

You stared at him, raising your eyebrows and sighing. "I'm going to use unparalleled verbal condescension: shush." Your eyes returned to the tome you were working on. "This is a library, not a café."

"You've never spat in mine, by the way, reassure me?"

"After wasting my spit talking to you, I doubt I'd waste any more in your coffee."

He didn't say a word, but you knew he was smiling. Facing you, painfully fiddling with his pen as if this whole thing was some meagre task he could afford to procrastinate on.

You hated this attitude, the simple fact that he didn't seem to work to achieve his goals, that it was innate when you had struggled to rise so high for so long.

"I mean it," he said, straightening up, putting aside his teasing tone for a moment, "for the truce."

You looked up at him, his expression unfamiliar to you. There was something gentle in his piercing gaze, as if he saw something in you that was worth seeing. You sighed, thinking for a moment.

Would this childish quarrel last until the end of the year? Would you still consider him an enemy when you could have made a new friend? Friendships didn't come your way every day - you were well aware of that. But were you ready to put aside your stubbornness after the various humiliations he had put you through?

“What would a truce even mean?” you finally asked, somehow intent on hearing more.

His lips stretched slightly as his eyes widened. He shrugged.

“I don't know,” he admitted, ”I never thought I'd go this far with you, on this topic.”

Your shoulders slumped.

“Then think of something to say next time after we finish working on this.” You returned to your page, rereading your notes. “I'll take the subjects of Boundary Markets, Cultivairs, and Hope House Orphanage. One location for each level. You should pick three too.”

“Hope House Orphanage?” He repeated, mind finally concentrating on the exposé. “That's the only good thing that can be talked about in such a level.”

You turned a few pages of your notes, running through the lines of your research. 

“There's always Old Hungry,” you remarked, voice lower.

The Old Hungry was a gigantic mechanized clock tower that grew from the very depth of Zaun and built itself up till levels that could reach some of Piltover's buildings. It was too imposing to avoid, and too full of history to be left aside in the presentation.

“Old Hungry? This old scrap doesn't even give time anymo-”

“It's the Heart of Zaun,” you cut in. “It's unavoidable to talk about it anyway.”

“Why don't you take it if you're so adamant about it being on our work?”

You remembered its size, the dark wingspan and the wind blowing through the dusty gears of the Old Hungry. 

“I'd rather you be the one to take it.” you confirmed.

“Why?”

“Because. Don't you want to take it?”

“Do you want to get rid of it?”

You exchanged a look with him, urging him not to be picky.

“Why are you being so mysterious about all of this?” he questioned, eyebrows furrowed.

“You seem to have forgotten that you seem to know more about me than I know about you,” you repeated, annoyed.

“Shall I ask Selene?” he said ironically.

“I fear asking her this would be a limit placed both in her knowledge about this as well as your questions for her.” 

He gazed at you for a moment, clearly frustrated by the secrets, the things left unsaid. You stood up, returning the tomes you'd already read to their shelves. Viktor stood up, following you.

“Acting tough will not make it hurt any less,” he said as you climbed the steps of the ladder and he reached its base. “You know this, yes?”

You suppressed a sigh as you placed one of the tomes on the shelf, arranging it perfectly in line.

“I don't need any of your life lessons,” you remarked, placing the extra tomes. “Can you move the ladder to the left?”

“You know the magic word,” he almost crooned.

You scoffed, not intending to give it to him so easily. You leaned to the side, watching, tiptoeing to reach one of the too few tomes on Zaun in the entire library.

Viktor seemed amazed at how stubborn you could prove to be, especially about him.

“Don't tell me your leitmotif resides in what doesn't kill you makes you stronger?” he questioned as you leaned dangerously toward the books.

“My leitmotif,” you pointed out as you almost reached the binding of the tome you were after, “resides in what doesn't kill you disappoints me-”

You'd reached the book, but your sentence was cut off at the end by your sharp gasp of breath. You'd just lost your balance, your feet slipping off the ladder step as you felt the air rush beneath you and expected to slam heavily into the ground.

The sound of something falling to the floor echoed, the sensation of hands on your back and waist catching you off the ground. Your heart pounding with the shock of sudden fear, you realized what had just happened in the blink of an eye: Viktor had caught you in your fall.

You could feel his thin fingers, warm and tentative, resting on the vest of your uniform around your waist. He held you there, firmly, and you felt your back brush against his chest, his breath landing on the nape of your neck and raising the hairs on it.

You released yourself from his grip and turned to face him, suddenly backing away, heart still pounding, but unable to differentiate whether this was due to the suddenness of the fall, or something else.

He seemed just as surprised as you were, lips parted. He didn't seem to be about to make a condescending remark, a joke about your lack of balance that could be matched by his, nothing.

You leaned back against the shelf, trying to calm yourself as your muscles relaxed from the apprehension of your fall.

There was a moment of quiet, a moment when, for once, neither of you knew what to say to the other. Your eyes fell to the ground, where Viktor's cane had fallen. You swallowed on a dry throat, inhaling to try and grain back your thoughts.

You knelt down to pick it up, straightening up to hand it back to him. He studied you for a moment, his eyes fixed on yours. He brought his hand tentatively up to the handle of his cane, stretched out towards him.

“Did you mean it?” you asked in a low voice as his hand reached the pommel, his thin, long fingers a minute ago resting on your waist wrapping elegantly and slowly around his cane.

“The truce?” he questioned, his voice almost reaching the whisper, as if he feared any higher volume would burst the delicacy of this bubble you were both in.

You let go of the cane, leaning back against the bookcase again, like a prop, like your crutch.

“The other night,” you began, eyes lowered to your feet on the floor, ”you said that it seemed impossible to me that you wanted to learn more about me, out of genuine curiosity. And now, you said you wanted a truce.” You raised your head, straightening to look at him. “Did you mean it, all of this?”

You felt very small, as if you were walking and, in the middle of the nettles, had found a patch of grass where you could put your feet without stinging yourself.

He seemed touched, but this emotion seemed to give way to confusion.

“Why wouldn't I mean it?”

Why would you mean it? you wondered. You'd had enough examples of how trust was doomed to fail you. You pulled yourself upright, drawing your armour back over you, closing your heart before it went beyond the confines of your chest.

“Oh sorry,” you resumed, sarcastically. “I forgot how through your many gallantries in our discussions you have evidently shown to be the most agreeable young man in the world.”

He smiled, his cheerful attitude back in place in the blink of an eye. “I cannot deny that exchanging with someone like you brings out the more playful part of me.”

“Someone like me?” you stressed, almost offended.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Your morals are like a legend - rumoured to exist, but no proof to back it up.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes as you started walking back to your table. “My expectations for you were low when asking this, but somehow you still failed to meet them...”

But your sentence had died on its end, as not far from your table, an unfortunately familiar, tall figure with blond curls stood.

Fuck. Tyler.

Seeing you reappear from between the shelves, he noticed you both, a cheeky grin spreading across his face as he strode towards you.

“Ah,” he smiled as he approached you, ”my tormentors.”

You sighed, standing by your table as he reached the height of your chair. “You again.”

“What?” He chuckled, feigning offense as he rested his hand on his chest. “Aren't you pleased to see me?” He arched an eyebrow. “I'm sure you've got another one of these filthy Zaunite, barbaric lessons to give me.”

“You wish you were worth the effort.” You huffed, moving closer to your chair, but he came between you and it. 

You glared at him, who seemed satisfied with your reaction. He turned to Viktor.

“Your dog's got quite the bite, Moravec.” His eyes settled on you again, watching you up and down until they returned to yours. “Where did you get one of those?”

You breathed heavily, the annoyance of his remarks demeaning you to a supposedly docile and pliable being making your blood boil.

“Turns out she has a mouth and proper aligned thoughts that you could not fathom reaching, Tyler.” Viktor pointed out, coming to sit in his respective place.

The blond watched you, not letting go of your eyes for a moment as he took a step back and took his place in your chair. “How noisy insects are this time of year.”

And he was proud, of his insolence, of his overflowing egotism, which he displayed like the most expensive and chic jacket he owned in his priceless wardrobe.

“Tyler,” you began, inhaling as you tried to calm yourself, “‘piss off.’”

“Such a soft language.” He sneered, lounging in your chair as if he'd ordered its manufacture himself. Who knows, maybe all the academy's furniture rested on his family's finances. “Do they all speak like that in Zaun?”

“Why? Wanna go visit?” You inquired, crossing your arms over your chest. “I wonder what'll get taken first, your pretty blonde locks, or your tongue.”

You played on his unfamiliarity with the city, his prejudices ingrained in his mind, unfolding a terrain of fictitious threats that could be very useful to you.

It had its effect. For a slight moment, you noticed the concern in his eyes, a very silent ‘... is that true?’ that didn't cross the boundary between his mind and lips.

“My patron came to me.” He confessed, looking away as if ignoring you. “Seems like your detention ran a bit short, didn't it?”

You heard Viktor chuckle, but didn't even turn around. “It's just like you said, Miss,” he remarked, leaning forward on the table. “Looks like he is obsessed with us."

“You're not worth a thought.” Tyler spat, obviously insulted by Viktor's remark. He turned to you, grabbing one of your pencils to play with like it was his. “Didn't know you had your own patron, though.”

“Let me guess.” You sighed, placing your weight on one of your hips as you stood. “Your little clever mind aligned two dots and thought that Zaun and Patron together was an impossible combination of words here in the Academy.”

He was amused, but obviously annoyed. You must have touched a reality in his reasoning that he didn't like you to know.

“This one was a second thought.” He admitted all the same. “The first was,” he leaned in slightly, “how the hell does a girl as irascible as you managed to pull any social strings to get yourself a patron?”

You giggled. He was trying to push your buttons. Perhaps he was simply a masochist, you considered, perhaps he had a pronounced desire for humiliation. Or perhaps he was just profoundly stupid.

“Funny, I thought the same thing about you when I met you.” You offered him a smile that possessed no warmth. “But I guess walking around with a golden spoon in your mouth and shitting in silk sheets during your childhood up until now must have its advantages. Right, Hoskel?"

Tyler frowned, hemming his lower lip in anger. His eyes shifted from yours to Viktor's. “She truly is-”

But you cut him off, placing both hands on the table and leaning towards him. “She is in front of you. And she,” your voice darkened, ”can add some new marks on your face to match the blue of your eyes.”

Tyler tensed, the seriousness in your stare convincing him for a moment that your threats weren't empty words, but promises that would come true if necessary.

He let out a nervous laugh, nodding as if you'd just given him a most satisfying demonstration. He was probably thinking, right then and there, that he was safe. That on the floor of the Academy, you wouldn't repeat the violent acts that had earned you an hour's detention.

“You, are a tough one, my friend.” He laughed. “You still have the essence of your hometown so far, you as well as he.” He turned to Viktor. “Paint stripes on a toad, it'll never make it a tiger.

Your blood ran hot, the sentence like an iron that had just burned your skin raw. You gripped his tie, pulling so hard that Tyler nearly stumbled and strangled on it as you pulled him towards your face, your face twisted with hatred. 

His eyes were filled with a new fear as you rumbled, your voice low. “Say that again, and I'll fucking kill you.”

His chest bulged and sagged rapidly as his shoulders were up to his ears in fear, stressing as your knuckles turned white under the tight grip you had on his tie.

He swallowed, staying that way until, in the blink of an eye, his gaze landed on your lips. 

The simple act brought you back to the reality of your proximity, of your two faces so close together that anyone could have considered this something intimate. You let go of his tie as if it carried an infection, as if it had suddenly become so hot that you had to let go of it at all costs. You frowned, stepping back, watching Tyler as he breathed just as heavily.

The great doors of the library opened, and the tiny silhouette of Heimerdinger poked his pink nose into the room. This was enough for you to put aside the previous event, same for Viktor and Tyler who both turned to the professor in surprise.

You eyes widened, straightening up as he strode contentedly towards the center of the room. What was Heimerdinger doing here?

It was unusual to find teachers in the library, and obviously all the students around you seemed just as confused about the situation. He trotted on, making his way to the very center of the room under the curious gazes of students.

“Young folks,” he called, “I have an announcement to make. Please gather around me, so that I don't have to see you all one by one in the immensity of this room."

The students exchanged surprised glances, approaching him. You looked at Viktor, who was frowning. He stood up. You approached Heimerdinger. When a small arc had formed around the professor, he cleared his throat.

“I would have liked to have waited until our next class to tell you,” he admitted, “but with the news just in and the weekend coming up, I thought it wiser to tell you as soon as possible.”

Everyone was hanging on his every word.

“You see, we've been communicating for some time, the Academy members and myself, with The Great Demacia University.”

Murmurs began to rise in the tiny group of students, whispers about the white region running through the air.

“And we have concluded, after many very promising exchanges, that a few classes from the Piltover Academy will have the privilege of traveling to Demacia as part of a school trip.”

Surprise filled the room. A school trip? 

"The Academy and I,” continued Heimerdinger as he walked hands behind his back, the two elements of his sentence simply inseparable, ”consider it a real cultural benefit to be able to organize such a program to link our two schools. The trip will therefore take place in a month and a half's time.”

Some of the students laughed, the joy of the news filling them. The idea of a school trip puzzled you. You'd never left Piltover or Zaun. You'd always clung on to those two towns, and upsetting that perspective was something you hadn't quite figured out yet. But it would undoubtedly be a good way of discovering new horizons, of not having to confine yourself to the same landscape of two cities you didn't like for different reasons. 

However, your thoughts paused for a moment, as you sensed that Heimerdinger hadn't finished with his announcement. 

“Yes, I know.” He chirped. “The excitement of a new journey is not a small thing in young souls. However, an event such as this deserves an organizational rearrangement.”

And that's where things got complicated.

“First of all, your duet presentations that were due in two weeks' time have now been determined by myself into an overall assignment for your year.”

The majority of students rejoiced, but your heart fell into your stomach. An assignment, spread out over the whole year, that you were to do with none other than Viktor as your sole partner in this work?

You exchanged a glance with him, the latter seeming unaffected, neither hot nor cold.

“And...” The professor resumed. “The planning of this event alone will eat up a good two weeks of this year. Consequently-” Silence fell, everyone waiting for the end of his sentence, "the exams in each subject for this semester have been brought closer together, and will therefore take place in two weeks’ time.”

Your lips parted, as if the apocalypse had just been added to your diary. 

Two weeks. You had two weeks to study everything. Two weeks to get to know everything. 

Two weeks to overtake Viktor and regain your place at the top of the ranking.

✦﹒ previous chapter

✦﹒ next chapter

[nonexistentirl]

The crown hosts a ball. Of course all noble households in the Roan kingdom are present. Same goes for the Duke's House of Henituse as well.

Cale, who had separated himself from the rest of his family members to go to a corner and enjoy the desserts with the invisible Raon and had kept his Dominating Aura activated to keep the annoyances away, is approached by his youngest sibling.

Lily, being the brave knight she is, asks her eldest brother for a dance. Cale, who already feels guilty for being as absent from her life as he is and not being a proper older brother for her, accepts it for her sake. He needs to do at least this much for her as an older brother.

There is, however, one tiny problem.

Cale, no, Kim Roksoo doesn't know how to dance. The original Cale Henituse was so invested in his act of being a trash that he never bothered to learn it, so currently Cale had no muscle memory to rely on either.

Lily, who kind of predicted this when she approached him, ends up leading the dance. It's truly an unexpected sight to see Cale Henituse dancing a waltz in the middle of the ballroom. The Commander, who was often seen bleeding out on the battlefield as he fought in the forefront, elegantly moving his body to the flow of the music was truly captivating.

Basen Henituse has never been so jealous of his little sister seven years his junior. Neither has he ever felt so remorseful of being born a man. He wishes he could share a waltz with his elder brother too.

Cale, the magnanimous brother as he is, readily agrees to dance with him. When they're off the floor, Basen makes a victory fist as soon as nobody is watching.

Duchess Violan hesitates at first. But then she decides she should join in on the fun too. Thus, for the first time ever, she shares a waltz with her step son. Something she only used to do with her husband and son, Basen, in the past. She never expected there would come a day when it would be possible for her to dance with Cale. However, as it seemed, today was the day.

Deruth is much too overwhelmed at being reminded of Jour to ask Cale for a dance. He's just happy watching the others enjoy themselves.

The thing that Lily started, what was continued by Basen and Violan, naturally everyone wanted to be a part of it. Not everyone was lucky enough though. Cale accepted their requests for a dance because they were his family. As for the rest of the people present in this ballroom? He could care less.

He does end up sharing a dance with Amiru Ubarr and Rosalyn though, people who were good at leading the dance for the inexperienced him.

Once he returns from the ball, the children demand he dance with them. Raon, who watched his dance at the ball, tries to imitate his partners leading Cale through the dance. On and Hong are quick to learn as they watch before each following suit one after another.

It was the night the Black Castle shone the brightest and illuminated the Forest of Darkness to the point the name had never felt less fitting as it did that day.

Bonus:

Taking a leaf out of Basen's book, Alberu asks his precious dongsaeng for a dance. Cale is disgusted and flabbergasted but also plays along.

"dongsaeng, are you purposefully trying to step on my feet?"

"hyung-nim must know I never learned to dance, so it's expected."

"you didn't step on anyone else's feet though?"

"maybe they were just better at leading the dance than you are."

Alberu, baffled, "cheeky brat."

"the brat is older than yourself, hyung-nim."

"ha!" Alberu is in disbelief. "Well, i guess I should assign a dance instructor to my beloved dongsaeng then."

The dance ends and Cale whispers to him before walking away "sure. Send him to the Black Castle." Knowing it's near impossible for anyone to withstand the presence of the individuals residing there.

The next day, Tasha is at the Black Castle.

"My nephew asked me to teach the young master how to waltz. I was the one to teach that boy, so you can rest assured!"

Cale feels like he lost for the first time in a while.

[corroded-hellfire]

Hurt/no comfort: shy!Reader slips a note in Eddie’s locker asking him on a date, but when he reads it, he just laughs and tosses it in the trash.

My brain needed to slip a soft landing in there in someway. So, there is no comfort for reader-in-the-fic, but there’s a little bit kinda sorta for person who is reading the fic. There’s a small gap if you wanna stop at the absolutely no comfort though! Did this make sense? Hope so.

Words: 1.2k

Today was the day. There had been a few times over the past couple of weeks where you’d told yourself that, too, but this was really it. 

The note is clutched in your hand as you turn the corner to the correct hallway. One more deep breath and you force your foot to take one step forward. 

Anxiety begins to creep up inside of you, threatening to seize your lungs and close your throat. To keep it at bay, you recite what the piece of paper in your grip says, over and over again.

Hi Eddie, 

I would’ve asked you in person if I weren’t so shy, but here we are. I was wondering if maybe you would want to go see that new movie The Breakfast Club with me on Friday night? I know that might not be your thing, so I’m down for whatever you might want to do! Just let me know, okay? Maybe in our last period bio. Whenever Old O’Donnell stops droning on. I’ll see you then, I guess!

“Then with a little heart drawn next to my name,” you mumble to yourself.

Your sneakers squeal against the white linoleum tile beneath you as you come to a stop at Eddie’s locker. The silver plate engraved with “527” stares back at you from where it’s soldered to the metal. 

With one last deep breath, you fold the letter up as tiny and as flat as you can before you slip it through the slats on the front of the locker door.

Quickly, you turn away from the locker. You keep your head down as you briskly walk towards the corner you came from.

Why are you running away like you’re leaving a crime scene? You ask yourself as you listen to the fast squeak of your shoes on the floor. Afraid someone is going to tell Eddie they saw you put something in his locker? Your name is already on the note, genius! 

With a soft groan, you come to a stop and lean against the cool white brick wall just on the other side of the corner. You press your back flush up against the wall and let the chill help calm your body down. 

Nothing you can do now, you tell yourself as you close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. The note is already in there. Now it’s a waiting game. It’s in Eddie’s hands. 

Speak of the devil…

Boots thud against the floor as Eddie heads your way down the hall. His Hellfire shirt looks wrinkled, like he slept in it, but he sports his signature layers of leather jacket and denim vest over it anyway. 

You adjust your position against the wall, trying to look more casual than conniption-y. He notices your movement out of the corner of his eye and gives you a small, quick smile that does nothing to help your raging heartbeat calm down. 

You flash him a brief smile in return before heading the opposite way, farther away from him and his locker—or so you want him to think.

As soon as Eddie turns the corner to his locker, you spin around and make your way back to where you just were: in the perfect position to peek around the wall and spy from a distance. 

Slowly, you stick your head out so you’re able to see around the corner. Eddie is standing at his locker, entering the combination. It looks like he’s whistling, but you’re too far away to hear. 

The metal clanks as Eddie swings the locker door open, and you see the small white piece of paper that’s from you floating gently down to the floor. Eddie’s brows furrow in confusion as he crouches down to pick up the note. He slips the piece of paper between his lips to hold it as he shoves his backpack in the locker and pulls out a single yellow notebook. 

Once he’s finished and closed the metal door, Eddie tucks his notebook beneath his armpit and removes the paper from his mouth. He unfolds the paper, and your heart feels like it’s unraveling with every motion to open the note. 

You watch as his eyes scan your scrawl written in blank ink. Everyone else in the bustling hall disappears. There’s no one but you and Eddie. And the note.

It feels as if it takes Eddie an eternity to read the few lines. Your lungs burn, reminding you to breathe as you await some sort of reaction. 

Then, a corner of Eddie’s mouth quirks up and your spirit is floating with hope. But the smile turns into a snicker, which turns into a chortle. With the cackling sound, your hope drops down below the hideous linoleum tiles that cover every inch of these halls. 

Eddie crumples the note in his hand, and he might as well have done it to your heart. Nausea churns through you, coming on so fast that it’s dizzying. Your hands brace you against the wall, so you don’t fall—even if your legs give out, like they’re threatening to. 

Eddie turns so his back is to you and he walks farther away. Parked in front of a window is a janitor’s trash can, which Eddie unceremoniously drops your letter into. 

Black spots fill your vision, and you find yourself needing to take giant gulps of air. You are not okay. Escape. That’s what you need. 

Sneakers protest their meeting with the linoleum floor once more as you push yourself off the wall and stumble towards the school exit. All the nerves that were previously fluttering around your body before have now turned to shards of glass, scraping and cutting you from the inside with every step you take. The people who had all disappeared when you were so focused on Eddie have now come back with a vengeance, appearing to multiply by the minute as you attempt to squeeze past them all. 

The school doors are just at the end of the hall, but your spotty and blurry vision gives you a funhouse effect, making the distance to the door seem longer and more difficult than it is. Finally, your hands land on the silver bar and the biting chill of it brings you back to reality. 

Hot tears are streaming down your face and hiccups force their way up your throat every few seconds. Snot is rapidly filling your nose and all you know is that you need to get out of here now.

You push the silver bar and the door opens, leading you into the bitter February morning that was awaiting you. Unfortunately, the first thing you’d done once you got to school was stash your jacket away in your own locker, but you’ll be damned if you step foot back inside that school today. Instead, you grit your teeth and rub your hands up and down your arms in an attempt at warmth. 

A few yards away, your car sits, beckoning to you. Knowing you’ll finally be able to have the breakdown you so want to in there, you jog in the direction of your parking space, praying the tears flowing down your face don’t freeze against your skin. 

Eddie lets the crumpled ball of paper roll off his fingertips and land in the trash can. He can’t believe it. He’s still laughing as he shoves open the door to his homeroom.

“Nice try, Jason,” he murmurs to himself as he finds his seat. “But I’m not falling for that one. Better luck next time.”

[after-witch]

Eight Deadly Mistakes [Yandere Alastor x Reader]

Title: Eight Deadly Mistakes [Yandere Alastor x Reader]

Synopsis: You've made a lot of mistakes in Hell, but this one has to be the worst.

Birthday fic for @absolute-flaming-trash who is absolutely awesome!

word count: 1899ish

notes: yandere, abuse, obsessive behavior, humiliation, I'm joining the 'alastor yanks reader by a chain' club

Hell was full of mistakes, and you figured that yours amounted to a sizable chunk--particularly since meeting Alastor. Of the countless mistakes within that particular bucket, there were at least seven distinct mistakes that led you to this very moment. 

One. It was a mistake to thank Alastor for holding the door open for you, the day you entered some run-down market in search of a book. Your voice had been surprised and sweet and ever-so-thankful.

Two. It was a mistake to let him strike up a conversation with you a few minutes later, and not pay attention to the horrified looks that even the most hardened patrons in the shop gave you.

Three. It was a mistake, later on, to think he was your friend; to believe that the shared meals, the late night discussions about music and books and little topics you’d forgotten you enjoyed, were a sign of pleasant companionship. 

Four. It was a mistake to sell your soul to Alastor, after his honeyed offers of protection from the seedier elements of Hell, his casual assurance that your friendship would go unaltered. 

Five. It was a mistake to move into the Hotel when Alastor asked, and not think there was some ulterior motive behind it all. 

Six. It was a mistake to think Alastor was actually kind, just because he was helping Charlie with her hotel, and seemingly protected those within it. 

Seven. It was a mistake to, on this day, ask Alastor if he would give your soul back, now that you’d decided to aim for heaven. Because you were friends, and he cared about you, and therefore, he should want what’s best for you--which is to get (you pardon yourself the phrase) the hell out of Hell. 

Every one of these seven mistakes--the last, you must admit, being the most significant--led you to here. 

To you, trembling on the floor, the tangy copper of blood in your mouth from where your teeth rattled against the end of your tongue when Alastor’s palpable anger made your knees literally buckle. 

“I… I don’t understand,” you spit out, voice trembling as much as your body. “I thought--I thought you…” The words don’t need to be spoken for Alastor to know them.

I thought you liked me, I thought you were my friend, I thought you would be happy to do it.

“You thought what, exactly, my dear?” 

A low electric current buzzed in the air, making the lights flicker once, twice, and again before he continued.

“That I would simply let you go?” He laughed, but there was nothing pleasant about the sound. It was full of mockery and something else, something metal and cold. 

Your stomach squirmed awfully. It was not a feeling you’d ever experienced around Alastor, despite some other’s trepidation around him. He’d never given you a reason to feel that way.

Until today.

Until you asked Alastor to let your soul go, and the room seemed to fizz with electrical interference that left the lights sparking and 

Your eyes went wide. And your brain, stupid thing that it was, pieced things together that you had been all too naively eager to ignore until now. 

The stories of Alastor’s past that you’d heard in snatches and dismissed as jealous fantasy, probably all deriving from Vox and his ilk. The way people who knew Alastor from before his sabbatical tended to steer as clear of him as possible. 

Or how Alastor always insisted you try the things he liked--clothes he left in your room (even before you told him where you lived, before the Hotel); music he insisted you’d admire more than your current collection of alt-rock CDs; foods that were tastier, he said, than your favorites. 

“I didn’t think--” The words stuck to your mouth until you forced them out. “I didn’t think you’d be mad that I wanted to get better, repent and--and get out of here.”

Alastor, despite his smile, did not look impressed.

You didn’t have time to flinch as he swung his microphone down and out, pressing it against your throat.

“Don’t act surprised now. After all,” The microphone dug into the flesh of your neck, lifting your chin until you were looking at him through blurs of oncoming tears. He continued, voice softer, missing most of its usual radio sound. “You made me like this.” 

You wanted to shake your head, but the microphone kept you only capable of looking up and straight at him. His smile made you sick. 

“I didn’t do anything,” you said, voice light, but not quite naive anymore; you didn’t fully believe the words now, and your voice wavered. 

Even if you didn’t mean to do anything to draw the attention of the radio demon, that didn’t mean Alastor wasn’t clearly--wasn’t clearly… affected by you. In some way that you didn’t understand; moreover, you didn’t want to understand it. 

What you thought had been a surprising friendship made in the bowels of hell was something else entirely, and you hated the newfound knowledge. 

Whatever it was that Alastor actually felt for you, it was dark and awful, like sprinkles of mold you find underneath the bathroom sink. Damp and rotting and unwanted. 

“You,” he said, pressing the microphone harder into your throat for emphasis, “have been quite the busy bee when it comes to me, my dear.” He sighed in a way you’d heard him do a hundred times before. But now it feels wrong; sticky, oozing. “I’d never given much thought to… certain endeavors before you. And now I find myself distracted.”

His neck turned again, cracking, and a song began to play from somewhere. 

“Distracted?” You asked, feeling sicker and sicker. 

“Oh, yes,” he answered, dragging out the word. “Quite unlike me, if I must admit it. And yet there’s something about you that’s been making me…”

He didn’t finish. The song got louder, mingling in with the ambience of the room. It was almost soft and wistful, except for the lyrics that made your skin feel cold, repeating on a loop.

And you’re mine… mine… mine…

“And you thought…” His voice continued, each word punctuated by an awful radio crackle that made goosebumps blossom up your arms. “That you would get to simply leave me after all I’ve put into you?”

All he’s put into you.

The dresses, the food, the guidance on what to listen to and how to dance; who to talk to and who to avoid. Advice from a friend, you thought. Advice from someone stronger and maybe smarter.

“Well,” he said, almost cheery now, pulling the microphone away from your sore and probably bruising throat. “I trust you’ve learned your lesson and we can avoid this…” A crackle, short and low. “Unpleasantness in the future.”

You should have said that yes, you learned your lesson; yes, you won’t ask again. But you didn’t. Instead you swallowed hard, feeling the ache from where his microphone pressed in, and added an eighth mistake to your list.

“We can avoid it if you release me from my contract--if you give me back my soul.” 

“Well,” he repeated. And this time, his voice was muffled by a brief, shrieking radio frequency. “Perhaps a reminder is in order.”

The reminder came with cold metal choking your throat; a vivid green chain led straight from your imprisoned neck to Alastor’s hand. 

One trembling hand came up to feel the collar. It was real. It was there. And the chain, too, was solid and unbreakable. 

It was a shocking sight. 

You’d seen the chains of other owned souls before. Angel’s, in particular, when you’d accidentally witnessed an argument between him and Valentino. But there had never been a singular thought given to the fact that you, too, must have had chains. Alastor never showed them to you and until now, had never seen fit to remind you about your lack of freedom.

Until today.

Your surprise and fear made you stupid, and you tried to yank yourself away from him; he held fast to the chain and began to wind it around his hand, forcing you to look upwards, speaking all the while.

“You are never to ask me to release your contract again. And you are certainly never to even entertain the silly notion of leaving me, now or in the future. Do you understand?”

An awful, slimy feeling overtook your gut. He owned you, and he had owned you for some time. You just had been closing your eyes to that reality.

A reality that was now choking you.

“Well?”

You nodded. You didn’t think you could speak, not now. Not to him. 

But it wasn’t good enough. He yanked on the chain, choking you. 

“I don’t believe I heard you, dear.”

“Yes.” The word was spoken through gritted teeth. It tasted like tears. 

“Yes what?”  The grin on his smile widened deceptively as he yanked against the chain, jerking your head upward. It hurt inside and out. 

It was so unfair, that your heart could hurt like this, even after you were dead. 

“Yes, sir.”

That should have been the end of it. He should have let go of the chain and let you slink off in fear and shame, off to sob in your bedroom over the sudden turn of events. 

Instead, he leaned down, and for a moment, his eyes glowed in a painful flash. 

“You can do better than that, my dear, can’t you, to the person that owns your very soul?” 

His hand wrapped around the chain, shortening it even further as he leaned in so close you could smell the rot around him. But it didn’t matter that you wanted to pull away from it, because he held you--literally, held the chains that kept you bound to him. Forever. 

Yes, he owned your soul. He owned you.

“Yes, boss?” you murmured, copying what Husker sometimes said; you were unable to look at him anymore as humiliated, hot tears spilled down your cheeks. 

In an instant, the chain was gone, and you fell to the ground with a clumsy thud. Your chin hit the hard floor before you could brace yourself with your hands. 

“Wonderful,” he said, praising, almost cooing. His neck cracked to the side and you imagined his bones shifting in impossible ways to achieve it. “I suppose I should remind you who you belong to when you get out of sorts like this, my dear.” His smile widened. “A healthy reminder now and then is good for the soul!” 

He laughed. Whether he thought it was a joke or not was unclear. 

“Although, I hope I won’t have to remind you too soon. I do so enjoy your company more when you’re not being…” He waved his hand in the air, glancing up at the ceiling for effect. “Stubborn.” His eyes darted to you, accompanied by the faint sound of a radio hum. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” you breathed out without hesitation, unable to stop shaking from your position on the floor.

“Good girl,” he said, patting the air above your head. You watched his footsteps until he paused at the threshold of the door. You heard his neck snap as he turned it back around--you didn’t dare look up to see. 

“Don’t forget to tidy up before dinner.  I’ve left a dress in your bedroom that I’m sure will look lovely on you.”