#you can drink the tea itself if you can get it away from the cups

[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

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Jungkook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s, uh…”

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

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

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

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

“Isn’t that right?” he asks.

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

“You’re healthy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, no. You know I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm? Who?”

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

You shrug. “I wasn’t staring.”

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

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

💔💔💔

Jungkook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?” Jungkook answers on the second ring.

“Jungkook.”

“Oh, hey. Everything okay?”

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

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

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

“Why? What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he breathes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seems pretty simple, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I understand.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I think so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

Jungkook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, guys.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, too, Jungkook.”

💔💔💔

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

Jungkook

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

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

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

“You missed it.”

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

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

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

“She? It could be a boy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, is everything okay?”

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

“I’m on my way!”

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

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

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

“O-okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Yeah.”

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

“Do you want me to find a wheelchair?”

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

“Yeah.”

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

“I can come?” he wonders, hopeful.

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

“Oh, she’s not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kinda weird, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That would be great, thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is everything okay?”

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

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

“Where have you been?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is not what happened at all!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next Chapter⇾ (coming soon) ◅ Back to story masterlist  

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2024-02-13 ColorMePurplex2

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

[stvrni0lo]

𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞

matt sturniolo x reader (fluff)

summary: an innocent kiss in the kitchen which makes your heart race

warnings/notes: kissing, that’s about it

requested?: yes! number 1 “hugging and A absentmindedly kissing B’s neck” from my actions prompt list

> > >

Matt was over at your place today. He claimed he needed a break from Nick and Chris.

“I want to spend time with just you,” he had said.

He loved his brothers, but he also loved having you to himself occasionally. So now he stood in between your legs as you were perched on top of your kitchen counter, a movie mindlessly playing on your TV in the background.

He was watching you make yourself a cup of tea, eyes drifting to look at you as you waited for the water to boil.

Matt always thought you looked beautiful when you were in your comfy clothes. Something about seeing you engulfed in his sweater and a loose pair of sweats set his heart ablaze.

He fiddled with the neck of your - or his - jumper, adjusting it slightly as it was tucked inside of itself. Setting his hand down onto the counter to rest at your sides, he kissed the space on your neck absentmindedly.

Your breathing hitched slightly at the act. Somehow he still found ways to make you giddy and flustered, even after all this time.

“What?” he asked, amused by the heat rising to your cheeks.

You shook your head, giggling. “Nothing.”

“You liked that?” he teased. He just wanted to get a reaction out of you.

“Shut up!” you said as you lightly shoved his shoulder before covering your face up with your hands.

Sometimes you hated how much he could make you blush with the smallest of actions. You also loved it. No one could make you feel the way he did, and he knew it.

“Oh come on, I think it’s cute that you’re getting all embarrassed,” he said as he took your hands away to look at your face.

“Don’t hide that pretty face,” he added as he intertwined your fingers together.

He was killing you right now.

“Maattt,” you whined, looking away.

He laughed at your flushed state, noticing how you were looking down at the counter instead of at him.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry.”

You hesitantly looked back at him, only to be met by him staring at you with the most adorable eyes. You couldn’t stay mad at that face. The adoring look that he had in his eyes would’ve made your knees buckle had you not been sitting down.

Matt’s hands moved up to your waist and encircled behind your back, moving you closer to him.

“How about an apology kiss?” he asked rhetorically.

Brushing his hair out of his eyes with your fingertips, you leaned forward to meet his lips.

His arms hugged you impossibly closer, your chests meeting in the middle. He always found a way to get you near him. You were just so intoxicating to him.

Hands burying into his hair, you deepened the kiss. He gently sighed into your mouth, molding his lips perfectly against yours. Suddenly you realized that you could die happy like this.

The boiling water was almost forgotten as you pulled away, Matt’s eyes still closed as you checked your tea cup.

“I need to finish my tea,” you stated, catching your breath.

He wasn’t having any of it, though. His lips chased yours once again, holding your cheek in one of his hands as he rubbed his thumb over it.

“The tea can wait,” he mumbled against your now warm lips.

“Mhm and you can’t?” you laughed back.

He looked you in the eyes, shaking his head with a dopey smile on his face. If there was anything Matt was good at, it was convincing you to forget about anything else you were doing in the moment.

Giving one last peck to his lips, you continued making your tea. His hands were now on your thighs, rubbing small circles into the fabric as he watched you.

Leaning his forehead on your shoulder, he waited for you to finish making your drink.

“Can I get a reward kiss for being so patient?”

You laughed yet again. He tended to be clingy, but today he was exceptionally affectionate.

“Matt, that was less than 2 minutes.”

“2 minutes too long,” he said as he watched you pick your tea up and jump off the countertop.

Taking your hand in his, he lead you to the couch to finish the half-forgotten movie.

- - -

@lollibumblebee

@d0wnt0wnstu4n1ol0

@gracietaylorsversions

@20nugs

@thetriplets3

@stxrniqlo

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagine #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic

[fuxuannie]

hello ! this is my first hsr req ! can i have dan heng nd blade (separate) with an s/o that somehow made them laugh? (cus yknow both of them are cold and shi😭)

↳  pairing : dan heng & blade x gn reader

↳  synopsis : request ♡

↳  authors note : thought this would be a cute idea, i had tons of fun writing this! i hope you enjoyyy !! ssliiightly suggestive for blade ❔❔that was so harf to write im CRYING!!!

People can't say they aren't surprised over the relationship you and DAN HENG formed over the years you two developed a bond. The seemingly ice-cold Cloud Piercer spending time with the Space Stations researching sweetheart was certainly a sight to see. And while you'd be lively chatting away, Dan Heng was at your side intently listening and inserting his input now and then.

One day, while you two were talking over lunch, you decided to make a really stupid joke while you two were eating.

"Psst. Why did the rocket scientist dump his ex?" Dan Heng blinks a few times in confusion as he drinks his tea, setting it down on the table before sighing. "Weird question.. why?"

"Cause he had no comet-ment!"

You can see his eyes widen slightly, a hand going to his mouth as you can see him muffle a laughter but eventually allows himself to snicker at your horrible joke. "Was that a laugh?!" You smile, standing from your seat while slightly slamming your table in the process. "Did I just get the Dan Heng to laugh?"

He eventually ends his fit of laughter, crossing his arms as he looks at you with a rather endearing look. "Yes yes, you got the Dan Heng to laugh.. whatever that means."

"I got my Dan Heng to laugh, hehehee.." You giggled, walking over to give him a hug as he's happy to return the embrace. "Yeah yeah, you with your corny jokes.."

"Heey..!-"

You weren't entirely sure how to get your stone faced boyfriend to laugh, let alone smile at his own will. The closest thing you've gotten was his hums of pleasure whenever you two would kiss, so maybe thats the way you'll get your boyfriend to smile.

You tap him on the shoulder, catching his attention as he turns his gaze to look at you. Tapping your lips with your index finger and he immediately understands what you're asking, grabbing your hand softly as he brings you to a much more hidden area. "This was sudden." He'll say, caressing your cheek as you smile. "I mean, not like I can predict when I wanna kiss you."

He's more than happy to satisfy that for you, leaning down to kiss you in the exact way you always want. But to his surprise, your hand travels to the back of his head as you pull him close and run your fingers through his hair. You can hear a startled muffle from him amidst the kiss you shared, but his body language clearly showed he was into it. Leaning further in as his hands explore every inch of your body, you can see that he's lost in his own enjoyment.

Blade takes a moment to pull away for a breath of air, and as his forehead is pressed against yours - he lets out a breathless chuckle with a clear smirk across his features.

So you can imagine his confusion when your gaze of passion turned to excitement, pulling away as you smile. "I did it!"

"Did.. what?"

"I got you to laugh! Even with a smile, technically smirk.. but a wins a win!" You hummed, cupping his face in your hands as he sighs. "So that's why.. you could've just asked to see me smile, you know?"

"But wheres the fun in that? I just wanted to see you smile is all."

"You alone make me happy, though I may not show it physically, my actions and heart speak for itself.. so please, my heart asks if we can continue where we left off."

#˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ bailu's candy stash #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #dan heng x reader #blade x reader #blade hsr x reader

[cameronspecial]

Let Me Take Care of You, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings:  Threatening to Get Someone Fired, Reader being sick

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.8K

Summary: Y/N can barely stand but it doesn't stop her from trying to go to class, so Rafe steps up and goes for her.

A/N: This is like a prequel to Let Me Handle It, Angel, but you can read it by itself or in any order.

Masterlist

Her nose shouldn’t be so stuffy with the amount of liquid dripping down from it right now. The tickle in the back of her throat that won’t go away no matter how many cough drops or tea she drinks is driving her crazy. To top it all off, she is constantly going between being hot and cold, which causes her to turn dizzy as she is taking Rafe’s sweater on and off. She blows her nose again to alleviate some of the build-up, but she still can’t breathe. 

Meanwhile, Rafe is in the kitchen getting her lunch ready. He hopes his mom’s homemade chicken noodle soup has enough broth to counterbalance the too much salt he accidentally put in. The butter bread he lays on the tray is to give her a little more substance and he is about to pour her some freshly squeezed orange juice into her favourite mug. He goes to get the juice to find his frat brother, Topper, about to pour the last of the juice into his own cup. The death glare Rafe sends his best friend stops the other boy. Rafe grabs the glass jug from the boy and pours it into her mug. He brings the tray of food upstairs to find her trying to change into some leggings. She got dizzy trying to put them on standing up so now, she is rolling around his bedroom floor trying to yank her pants up her bloated lower body. Rafe sighs at the sight of her and places the tray on his desk. 

“Stop, please. Let me take care of you, Angel. Please,” he begs, taking off the leggings and putting his sweatpants back on for her. She resists a little, not because she is uncomfortable with his help but because she wants the leggings on, “No, Rafe. I have to go to class. I need to put some clothes on.” He shakes her head at her begging. “No, angel. You can barely stand up, let alone go to class. Please, sit back down and eat something,” he orders, guiding her to sit up against his headboard so she can eat. She refuses, “I have class, Rafe. I need to go. This prof takes attendance for a mark.” “Well, then I’ll go for you. I’ll record the lecture and even take notes for you, angel. Just please, stay here and get some rest,” he offers, starting to get changed into some clothes to head to her class. 

“Rafe, that would never work. The professor knows what I look like and that I’m a girl.”

“Don’t worry about it, my sweet angel. I’ll take care of it. Now, I expect to see all of that food gone by the time I get back, understand?”

——

Rafe sits at the back of the lecture hall with different coloured pens and a pencil before him. He writes the date in her notebook as neatly as possible then switches to a blue pen for the title. One lazy afternoon together, when they first got together, she was studying while he just watched her. He asked her why she liked handwritten notes and why she used different colours. She explained that the handwritten notes are better for her to transcribe when she studies and the different pens help her visualize the notes better. So he is going to try his best to copy her notes how she likes it. 

The clock hits 2 P.M. and Professor Simmons begins the attendance. “Y/N Y/L/N,” he calls out, looking around the front rows for her familiar face. Rafe’s hand darts up, “Present.” The masculine voice causes Professor Simmons to look up from his computer. “You aren’t Ms. Y/L/N,” he questions with an arch brow. 

“No, I am not. But she is currently sick at the moment so I’m filling in. So you can just mark her as here.”

“I don’t know who you are, but this isn’t how this works.”

“Well, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Rafe Cameron. Y/N’s loving boyfriend, but also a Cameron. The same Cameron, whose name is on the business building. One phone call and I can have you fired. Tenure or not. So do we have any problem with me being here for Y/N?”

Rafe holds his phone up about to dial his dad, who would do anything in a heartbeat for Y/N because he thinks she is good for Rafe. The auditorium goes silent as they wait for the professor to answer. Professor Simmons shakes his head and continues on with the list. 

——

The door opening makes Y/N look towards it. Her boyfriend stands at the entrance with a grin on his face and ice cream in his hand. “How did it go?” she barely gets out between coughs, reaching for the pint of ice cream she knows she shouldn’t be eating. Rafe wraps his arm around her and places a kiss on her temple, “Without a problem. How are you feeling, angel?” “That’s good. Thank you for going. And a little better. I haven’t puked since you left,” she tells him, eating another bite of ice cream. He smiles at that fact, “I would do anything for you. I’m so glad you are better. I love you, angel.” 

“I love you too, Rafe.”

#let me angel #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x y/n #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader #rafe x you #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #rafe fic #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron x you #outerbanks #outer banks rafe #obx #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #obx fic #obx x reader #obx x you #obx x y/n

[shxtodxroki]

𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚂𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚘𝚓𝚘 𝙸𝚜...

Warnings: Swearing

Dating Satoru Gojo is butterfly kisses all the time. He first heard of the concept online somewhere, immediately rushing over to you like an eager little puppy to try it out, and now he’s constantly giggling as he softly flutters his eyelashes against your skin, adoring this newfound, gentle form of affection he can share with you.

Dating Satoru Gojo is multiple mistletoe hidden in every room of your house when December rolls around if you celebrate Christmas or want to partake in the tradition, since he just can’t resist taking the chance to surprise you with a quick kiss whenever the opportunity presents itself

Dating Satoru Gojo is bringing home a small sweet treat for him whenever you go out, because you just can’t resist the way his face lights up when you treat him to yet another candy bar or sugary pastry, and him repaying you by always spoiling you and buying you whatever you set your sights on when the two of you go out together without you even having to ask

Dating Satoru Gojo is him shoving his gross, sweaty feet into your face when you’re unsuspectingly trying to relax on the couch on your day off, and cackling as you shove him off the couch and lecture his (endearingly) annoying ass once he’s fallen to the floor wheezing

Dating Satoru Gojo is his large frame curling into a minuscule ball as he rests in your lap on his bad days. It’s hard for him to talk about his fears, his sadness, his stress and his guilt, even with you, but he still seeks comfort in your touch. He relishes in the fact that he can just be sad or be stressed, and you’ll be there to run your gentle fingers through his hair and press sweet kisses to his face to soothe him

Dating Satoru Gojo is never hearing your real name from his lips. Not once, even during arguments. Sweets, honey, baby and especially babe are constants in his vocabulary, even the occasional pookie or sugar when he feels like messing with you, but never your name. Pet names are your boyfriend’s pride and joy in this relationship

Dating Satoru Gojo is him going all-out for every birthday, every anniversary, every special day. He hates the fact that his job takes up so much of his time, despises that he can’t spend every waking second with you and constantly show you the love he knows you deserve, so he tries to make up for it as best as he can on special occasions. He never, ever forgets, filling the whole day with plans catered to what he knows you’ll want to do most, and surprises you with gifts he knows you’ve had your eye on while showing off just how much attention he pays to your wants and needs

Dating Satoru Gojo is him replacing the sugar with salt if you drink morning tea/coffee, then giggling like a madman as you chase him around the house in a grumpy, sleep-deprived state. Don’t worry, he makes it up with a replacement cup of coffee/tea, homemade breakfast and plenty of cuddles afterwards

Dating Satoru Gojo is clothes being left everywhere around your apartment. For some reason Satoru can not seem to manage to get them into the dirty laundry hamper most of the time no matter how hard he tries to remember, especially considering he comes home dead tired and incredibly sore from work a lot of the time and just tosses his clothes anywhere he can as he climbs into bed with you and passes out. He’ll always pick them up and place them properly in the hamper when you ask him to, coupled with an apology, though, and any time you put his clothes away for him he’s sure to notice and thank you for your kindness and understanding

Dating Satoru Gojo is needing a fan in the bedroom as you sleep during the warmer months, because his body just runs so hot it’s like he’s a furnace but he can’t sleep without cuddling you :’( He needs to know you’re there, that you’re safe and that he can protect you even in his sleep, so you find compromise in keeping a fan running on your side of the bed to keep you from overheating as you cuddle with your human heater during the evening hours

And dating Satoru Gojo is, most of all, loving him with your full heart and soul, your entire being. It’s knowing how little love he’s felt through his life, how desperately he craves it without him even saying a word, and doing everything in your power to fill that void, to let your love seep into every crack and crevice of his body and soul as you embrace and adore him as your soulmate, your one and only <3

A/N: Idk where this came from lol I literally just had the thought about the butterfly kisses randomly the other day and thought it was too cute, and then that spiraled into this </3 I love Gojo sm I just want to write about him all the time but I’ve mainly been focused on trying to get caught up with Flufftober amidst the 30,000 projects that have all been/are due in school over these few weeks :’) I hope you guys enjoyed this though, and my requests are currently open so if you have any requests feel free to send them my way!

If you’d like to be added to any of my taglists, you can fill out this form here! Thank you for your support <3

#{✏️} - bee's writing #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jjk hcs #jujutsu kaisen hcs #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo headcanons #gojo hcs #gojo fluff #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo headcanons #satoru gojo hcs #satoru gojo fluff

[ponderingmoonlight]

Yoriichi saving you just in time from getting killed by a demon

Pairing: Yoriichi x midwife!reader

Word Count: 4k

Synopsis: Your job takes you to the poor Kamado family, who are expecting their first child. But instead of a joyful birth, you are greeted by the cruel claws of a demon. What luck that an extraordinary swordsman shows up on this fateful evening.

Warnings: near death, injury, child birth, I'm not a midwife mystelf so this part isn't that detailed, lots of angst but comfort, this is my first demon slayer fic EVER so please show some support, I really appreciate it 🤍 (added 2 additional pics into the fanfic because I'm so amazed by the insane quality of these ai pics)

Tags: @froufrousnowman

„Excuse my rude interruption, but is this the Kamado residence?”

You are exhausted, sweat dripping from your forehead on this warm summer day, the sun shining down on you with all its strength. But you were called here, so you came. After all, this is your job. As a midwife by heart, you fear no weather when it comes to aid another woman by delivering her child.

“Yes, I am Sumiyoshi Kamado. Are you the midwife we were calling for?”

The man in front of you smiles at you kindly. You can tell by one look into his inviting eyes that he’ll be an amazing father. But before that, you have some work to do.

“That’s right, my name is (y/n). May I see your wife?”, you ask kindly, taking off the package of tools you were carrying on your back.

“She’s sleeping at the moment, but please allow me to lead you inside. Would you like to eat or drink something? I just cooked dinner!”

The excitement dripping from his voice really warms your heart. In times like these, gifting a child into the world seems like a burden, like an impossible task. It was in no way granted that an expected child was in any way welcomed. You’ve seen it all, the horrible things father and mother would do to prevent the new life from existing, how fate itself decided to stretch its hands out and take the child away from this earth way too soon. You’ve seen tears of joy, tears of grief, tears of despair. But oh, just one loving look of fresh mother and father into their babies’ tiny face is enough to make it all worth it for you.

“How did your wife feel within the last days? Did she complain about pain, especially in her back? Bleeding? Did she have to defecate more often than usual?”

Carefully, you place your tools onto a white cloth and disinfect your hands with strong alcohol when entering the room.

“She looks very peaceful, that’s great”, you hush.

What a beautiful woman she is, laying on her side with her hands covering her belly even while she sleeps safe and sound. Instinctively you kneel down next to her, gently caressing her cheek.

“This is your first child, isn’t it?”

“Yes. And I am beyond grateful you decided to help her even though we aren’t able to pay you decently. I wish I could give you more-“

“Please, don’t worry about it. I really enjoy being here. And if it helps your wife, no coins in the world are a better reward”, you interrupt with soft voice, looking down at her one last time before getting up and silently leaving the room along with her husband.

Your eyes dart towards the small window. How lovely the sunset looks today. Is it already this late? You must have been traveling for quite some time. As if on cue, your stomach begins to rumble. Well, maybe a cup of tea and something warm to eat would be a blessing right now.

“I am a little nervous. After all, I know nothing about the birth of children and how to care for them afterwards. But I love my wife so dearly, imagining a little child with her eyes truly makes me feel whole. Do you have any children yourself?”

What a kind man he is, sitting opposite to you with a cup of tea in his hand and his eyes glistening in the down-going sun. Despite the cruelness of the world, the tales of demons hunting down humans with what seems like no aim, all the bitterness and tears, this man was able to keep his warm smile and optimism.

“No. While I do adore children, I am not married. It’s hard to find a man willing to marry a midwife”, you explain briefly.

There is no sense in denying the fact that you are of low birth, a self-taught midwife since no man was willing to teach you. And in a world full of gorgeous young girls with skin like porcelain and kimono’s worth more than your housing, you will never catch the attention of a male. But somehow, you’ve found your inner peace with that. After all, helping other woman to finally receive their own little family fills you with enough joy to overlook that you’ll never have a man or a chid by your side yourself.

Confident knocks against the wooden door rip you out of your conversation.

“Are you awaiting someone?” you question.

Within the village you live in, it is told over and over to not leave the house after sunset. And while you don’t consider yourself superstitious, not going out when it’s all dark always seemed plausible enough for you. But now, the sun almost set, the trees around you barely lighten by the weak beam.

“No, but maybe it is someone who needs help.”

You get up from the ground, mindlessly holding onto the cloak in your hands tightly while holding your breath. It might be someone in the need of help. But out here in the woods, who knows…Shivers run down your spine, eyes staring at the door filled with curiosity.

The sight in front of you isn’t one of a robber, an old lady in distress or a demon though. Your orbs widen slightly. No, this is a man. And what a man he is.

The way he carries himself with so much peace and elegance. He looks…majestic. His fuchsia eyes lay upon your host. And even though you don’t understand from afar what they are talking about, you can tell that his firm but calm voice could tame entire oceans. What a remarkable perfect face he has, the only interruption being a scar covering his forehead. So elegantly clothed with a katana attached to his belt? You draw a little closer, take in his sight a little clearer. He looks like one of the men you’ve seen before in your village right after a whole family was brutally killed during night. He was armoured with a katana too. Could it be?

“Are you a demon slayer?”

You want to curse yourself for speaking to him so ruthlessly, for interrupting their conversation so harshly. But you’ve got so lost in his sight that it seems your mouth opened itself.

“Indeed. This is a riskful area. Keep your doors and windows locked during night time and do not leave your wife unattended. Please don’t roam around the house on your own and stay with your husband”, he instructs towards both of you.

Why does he look at you while calling you “wife”? You blink a few times when realization slowly but surely hits you. Oh. Your face reddens instantly, eyes snapping towards your host in pure shock.

“Oh, you misunderstood! She isn’t my wife, but the midwife that will help my wife delivering our firstborn. She’s sleeping at the moment”, he explains calmly while smiling at you.

The stranger’s eyes lock with yours, you can’t help but hold your breath. From all the men you’ve seen come and go in your lifetime, he definitely is the most captivating one. Is it because of his flawless appearance, because he carries himself with so much elegance? Or is it the calmness that radiates from his voice, the power you’re able to sense on him? Maybe nothing, maybe both.

“That is very kind for you. I will stay in this area tonight, but please look after yourself”, the stranger continues, glancing at you one last time before turning around and heading back into the woods.

“Thank you!”

“What an interesting man!”, your host comments towards you, closing and locking the door like he was told you.

“Do you believe in demons?”, you question.

His eyes darts towards you, the positive spark in them gone for the split of a second.

“I’ve witnessed a lot of deaths that happened during the night, terrible massacres with no one surviving. I am firmly convinced that a human being could never to something like that.”

“Humans can be cruel too”, you argue, pictures of all the horrible things you’ve seen within the years you’ve been working as a midwife flooding your mind.

Sometimes you can’t help but wonder who the real monsters in this world are. The demons, the wild animals? Or humans who pretend to be on top of the world, who tear down everything and everyone when they feel like it?

“That is correct. But we are trying our best, right? And that is all that matters for me.”

“It’s getting late, I should look after your wife. Is it alright if I rest with her for today?” you mumble, fingers fumbling with the white cloak to distract your mind from the stranger, from his words, from this whole conversation.

“Of course! I will prepare everything!”

You sign to yourself, gaze glued onto the woman laying in front you sleeping peacefully. Everything will turn good, right?

-at night-

Your eyes shoot open immediately, roaming around the dark room. There they lay, bodies intertwined with each other while being fast asleep. What was that fade away rustle you’ve heard, then? As quietly as possible you lift yourself off the futon Kamado-san prepared for you, naked feet greeted by the cold of the wooden floor underneath. Maybe you just dreamed it. Or is an animal outside? Given the fact that you are located in the middle of a forest, this wouldn’t be a surprise. You furrow your eyebrows, a fade away cracking from outside catching your attention all over again. No, something is off, you can sense it by the way your guts turn.

Instinctively, your hands grab the knife with which Kamado-san prepared your food just a few hours ago. You are by no means an experienced fighter, you have been skilfully avoiding situations like this your entire life. But waking up both of them over nothing would be ridiculous. Just a little glimpse outside the door, just to check on what’s probably a deer. Your heart hammers against your ribcage, palms sweaty in response.

With your free hand, you grasp the handle of the door. Breathe in, breathe out. Tame your pounding heart, get a hold of yourself. With a swift motion, you swing it open.

And get greeted by a pair of venomous red eyes.

There is no time to react any further. Not too late you are able to escape his grasp, naked feet carrying you further inside the forest.

“A demon! There’s a demon outside! Get into safety! A demon!” you scream on top of your lungs.

Please, let Kamado-san hear your desperate cries, let him drag his wife into safety. The disturbing tall and crippled figure of the demon draws closer to the house, closer to the soon to be family.

You don’t know what has gotten into you. Sympathy, a protective instinct? Whatever it is forces you backwards, right into the claws of the demon.

“I can’t allow you to harm a single soul in this house”, you hiss through gritted teeth, holding onto the knife in your hands for dear life.

How is it even possible to kill a demon? Do you even stand a chance against it? It doesn’t matter now. You slash forward with a cry of determination, aiming for its carotid artery. The cut doesn’t have to be deep if you hit him with enough precision, your muscle strength should be enough.

But before you are even able to come close to his body, his claw slices open your right arms with ease. Your eyes widen in pure horror, body unable to move even an inch. It moved so fast you weren’t even able to see its hand moving, sliced you open so effortlessly while you’re gasping for air like a fish on land.

Your body falls to the ground, the demon positioning itself on top of you. No, you won’t let it end like this. After all, you still have plenty of work to do, Kamado-san’s wife didn’t deliver her child yet. With full force you push your arms against it, trying to keep your keep your face out of its gaping mouth.

With one push you free your arm, yanking the knife into its eye. Now or never. While its loud groans fill the air with fright, you get off the ground, run deeper into the forest, desperately try to stay alive. You can’t die like this. Not you, not Kamado-san, not his wife, not their unborn baby.

But the demon is right on your tracks, hunting you down the dark forest without any mercy.

“Ouch.”

 A moment of inattention is enough for you to stumble over a thick branch, knees meeting the floor harshly. Is this your end? All you can do is stare up, glossy eyes widen in the dim moonlight with a tiny trail of its blood on your face. Hopefully the demon slayer from last evening will return soon enough to at least safe Kamado-san and his family. If not you, at least they need to survive.

There you kneel, face gone emotionless, orbs directed towards the frightening creature that lunges towards you. One hit. One hit of its claws will be enough to behead you. One second and your life will be nothing more than a fade away whisper in the darkness, ended way too soon just like so many others. You never thought it would be you, that of all the people you’d get killed by a demon slayer. After all, you were always so skilled in avoiding trouble, never allowing yourself to get into danger.

But oh, now you are. And it will cost you your young life.

Yoriichi can’t catch his breath, feet carrying him so rapidly to the scene laying itself out in front of him that the trees around him merge. He told you to stay inside, to keep windows and doors shut. Why are you outside? Where are the man and his wife? Please, let it not be too late, let him be able so safe those people.

Finally. With a determined slash of his blade, the demon in from of him gets beheaded, its ashes raining down onto the ground. You look…uninjured. Frightened, in pure shock, but uninjured. And unbelievably lovely with the dim moonlight highlighting the delicate features of your face.

“Are you alright?” he questions softly, slowly approaching you and stretching out his hand.

Carefully he lifts your trembling limbs off the ground, your hand holding onto his for what seems like dear life while your sharp and heavy breaths hang in the cool air.

“Yes”, you finally breathe out.

“Are the other two alright? Did someone get hurt?”

“There are inside. It was only this one. I lured him away”, you huff.

 Yoriichi swore himself to never get close to another human being again, to fulfil his duty in silence. But you…Did you really risk your life for a family you didn’t even know until yesterday? Did you run into the woods so selflessly to distract the demon? What a brave woman you are, truly remarkable.

“I was hoping for you to return”, you add.

His warm hand feels almost therapeutic against yours, calming down your tingling nerves and beating heart. You survived. Is this really possible? While kneeling down and staring right into the face of that frightful demon, you already accepted your fate. But that he’ll show up like a knight in shining armour, saving you just before getting beheaded…It seems like a miracle to you.

“I came here as fast as I could. This area was full of these creatures”, he explains briefly, fuchsia eyes resting on you.

“(y/n)!”

A thick stone falls from your heart. It’s him.

“Kamado-san, is your wife alright? Are you alright?” you blabber, the man sprinting towards you as if his life depends on it.

“You saved us. Even though you don’t even know me and my wife, you risked your own life to save ours. And you…You really came. I’m beyond thankful.”

He falls to his knees, leaving you completely speechless.

“She really was outstanding brave. Normally the sight of a demon alone is enough for most humans to lose their minds. You are exceptional, (y/n).”

It sounds so strange, hearing your name out of this charismatic stranger’s mouth. But the way his eyes lock with yours sends shivers down your spine, makes your heart pound against your ribcage all over again.

“What is your name?”

“Yoriichi Tsugikuni.”

Yoriichi. What an exceptional name that matches his majestic appearance perfectly. It seems so easy to get lost in his eyes, to study every inch of his face. And his smell…

“I don’t mean to interrupt your conversation, but I think my wife will deliver her child soon.”

Your eyes dart towards Kamado-san immediately.

“Why are you saying so?”

“Since she woke up from your screams, she seems to have contractions.”

You don’t think twice. As fast as your feet are able to carry you, you sprint back into the house, back to the reason why you originally came here.

-the next morning-

“Sleep well. You deserve it”, you whisper into the woman’s ear gently, wrapping her up inside a blanket before leaving the room discretely.

The birth went smooth and faster than you expected for a first born. Not long after you arrived by her side, she delivered the baby with tears of joy running down her face, her husband telling her over and over how much he loves her. It was bittersweet, seeing in front of your very own eyes what you’ll never have. Just after encountering him, just after those strange feeling that he triggered in you.

“I’m glad to see you are alright.”

You stop in your tracks, staring at the back of him in disbelief. There he sits, facing the sun while his broad shoulders catch your attention all over again.

“I’ll make some tea”, Kamado-san discretely announces before hushing into the house.

“I am in no way responsible for the miracle that happened tonight. That was you and Kamado-san’s wife”, you explain briefly, sitting down next to him.

The sun caresses your skin gently. You never thought its hot beams would calm your nerves before the incident of this night. You smile at the little bundle of joy Yoriichi is holding in his arms. Oh, how well it suits him. Someone like him must be a good father.

“I’ll be leaving after I had a cup of tea. It wouldn’t be right to keep eating for free here”, he announces all of the sudden.

“Don’t say that.”

Out of instinct, you place on hand on his firm shoulder and wrap the other around his strong biceps.

“You saved our lives tonight. It if hadn’t be for you, not only would we be dead, but this child you’re holding in your arms wouldn’t be born, either.”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Your eyes freeze, unable to tear away from his beautiful sight. Why does he make you feel this way? What is it that makes this stranger so special? Is it his sword skill, his ability to fight? No. In fact, you couldn’t care less about that. It’s the way he carries himself, the elegance within every step he takes. It’s the fact that he sacrifices himself for others.

Just like you do.

“Like what?” you hush.

“As if I am some kind of special person. I don’t deserve the affection you hold in your gaze.”

“You deserve every spark of affection for your being”, you argue.

“You’re wrong about that. I failed to protect anything that was important to me. And throughout my life, I was unable to do what I was supposed to do. I am worthless.”

“How could you even say something like that? How could you talk about yourself so negatively after saving four lives this night?”

“Because of the countless lives I failed to protect.”

“So what? Does it make be a bad midwife that I wasn’t able to save every single child? The losses are tragic and never forgotten, but as long as we are doing our very best, there is nothing to regret. Tonight, you were able to save a young family. You should be proud of yourself instead of talking you down.”

He stands up, handing you the new-born carefully before grabbing his sword.

“Are you about to leave?” Kamado-san questions from afar, storming outside with tea in his hands.

You thoughtlessly hand him is son, eyes directed towards the charismatic man in front of you.

“I have to leave now. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Wait!” you shout all of the sudden.

You don’t know what has gotten into you, but there you are, running after him and grabbing his hand just like you did this fateful night.

“Will I ever see you again?”

For a moment, time seems to stand still. He can’t believe his ears, usual tame heart almost beating out of his chest. When was the last time a woman ran after him, the last time a female even looked his way? He can’t remember. But especially you…Why would a woman like you be interested in a broken man like him? What do you see in him?

“Why would you want that?”

“I can’t tell. I just know I have to see you again”, you reply automatically.

The air between both of you seems thick enough to get cut by his knife, your eyes almost piercing through the back of his head. Please, just say something. Just move, turn around, smile. Just do anything besides standing still. Never in your life did you even think about the possibility to get to know a man better. Why him? Why a man you didn’t even know before last evening? Why someone who seems so unapproachable?

“You will see me again.”

And with that, he’s gone in the wind, leaving you with your feelings all over the place.

-a few months later-

“I almost thought you wouldn’t come”, you comment, resting your head against the cool grass.

The weather changed. As soon as the evening arrives, it’s getting way too cold outside to stay for long. But when he’s here, none of that seems to matter.

“You know I always do. How was your day?”

He lays down next to you, closing his eyes for a brief moment while you position your head on his shoulder. Oh, how much you loved these innocent little meetings. After you returned to your little village, Yoriichi found you wherever you went. Always keeping an eye open for you, staying longer from meeting to meeting. Until you randomly laid down in the grass the whole evening, talking about your life and eventually, got even closer. Innocent touching, him drawing circles on your back while you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat.

“The baby I delivered today, they were actually twins. Two healthy girls, the father almost fell unconscious when he found out.”

Your cute little giggle lights up the air around him and fills his heart with joy he hasn’t felt in a long time. Being happy seems so easy since he got to know you.

No. It’s far more than simply knowing you. The feelings he holds for you go far deeper than that.

“I love you, (y/n).”

Your heart skips a beat, gaze darting towards him the second those magical words leave his lips. Did you dream that? Are you really resting in the meadow with Yoriichi telling you none other but that he loves you?

How much you longed for this sweet moment, how often you thought about saying those words too. Without hesitation, you press your lips against his.

While the world around you seems to fall apart, at least this is fine. Yes, laying here in Yoriichi’s arms while tenderly kissing him like you’ve always imagined makes everything around you whole again.

“I love you too”, you whisper against his lips.

Who would have thought going to work and almost getting killed by a demon would turn out this nice?

#demon slayer #kny #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #kny x y/n #kny x you #demon slayer fluff #demon slayer kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer yoriichi #yoriichi x you #yoriichi tsugikuni #kny yoriichi #yoriichi x reader #yoriichi fluff #kamado family #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu yoriichi #tengen uzui #tengen x reader #kyojuro rengoku #rengoku kyojuro #kny rengoku #rengoku x reader #tanjiro kamado #demon slayer tanjiro #tanjiro x reader #tanjiro kimetsu no yaiba

[wondernus]

- ̗̀ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 ˎˊ-

✏︎ pairing: teacher!vernon x teacher!yn (gn)

✏︎ synopsis: falling for the young and flirty high school history teacher is inevitable especially when he pays for your groceries and calls himself your work husband

✏︎ genre: fluff, romance, comedy

✏︎ warnings: food/drinks, innuendos, insecurities, language, mutual pining (you know that feeling you get when you really like somebody but you can't bring yourself to tell them so all you can do is enjoy the moment that you're spending with them? it's that), skinship, spirit week/rallies should be a warning itself imo, everything that happens in the last chapter

✏︎ wc: 8.8k

✏︎ a/n: the full vernon work husband fic is finally here ahh!! this one is dedicated to those with secret crushes and those who are too shy to confess. I hope this au can give you a bit of comfort, joy, and happiness. please let me know if I missed any warnings! + comments and reviews are always appreciated. I finished editing this A LOT faster than I imagined so pls enjoy my bbs &lt;3

“I need you to go on a double date with me.”

Your friend’s question appears out of nowhere and catches you off-guard. Some of the latte you drink dribbles out of your mouth, runs down your chin, and splatters on your slacks. Your friend quickly leans over the table and takes your cup out of your hand, handing you some napkins. You wipe your chin and dab away at your slacks, groaning at the thought of returning to class and standing in front of your science class with prominently stained pants – cinnamon oat milk flavored if it honestly matters.

“Absolutely not,” you put the soaked napkins on the table and grab a wet wipe from Jeonghan’s stretched hand. He learned to always be prepared when it comes to you – it’s not very often he doesn’t see you with some weird stain on your clothes; after all, you are an Environmental Science teacher. 

“Come on, Yn,” he whines while you rub furiously at the stain with the wipe. “I didn’t even tell you when or where the date is going to take place. How could you reject me so quickly?”

“Jeonghan, I really don’t have time right now,” you sigh and drop the wipe next to the wet napkins. He stares at you with pleading eyes, his hands in prayer. “You know how busy I get whenever Spring Break is almost here. We have midterms this week, there’s the spirit rally, and not to mention my errands…” you trail.

“But what if the person I’m meeting is sketchy?” he sulks.

“Then they should be the one afraid because you’re the sketchiest person I know,” you exclaim. “Where did you even meet them in the first place?”

“Tinder,” he takes a sip of his Iced Americano and places the glass cup back down on the beige café table.

“You know what…” you let the thought marinate in your head for a brief moment. “You’re right. They actually might be sketchier than you are.”

He quickly nods his head in agreement. To him, this is a more than good enough reason for you to go on the double date with him.

“But I’m not going on a double date with you. People already get the wrong idea about us.”

.

In the middle of the same café, Seungkwan thanks the barista at the cash register and walks over to the side of the counter to wait for his coffee. While stuffing his wallet into his back pocket, Seungkwan’s eyes gloss over the several artisanal coffee bean bags and teas on display along the white café walls before his eyes wander to the several people sitting in the café. His head gently bops to the music playing in the background while he people watches. There are a few college students hunched over their laptops and a couple of people near the windows having lunch. Sitting in the corner of the room is a familiar face he’s seen on social media and sometimes in passing when he drops by Vernon’s classroom for lunch.

You seem to be bantering with the guy sitting across from you, but Seungkwan can’t hear anything from where he’s standing. From the looks of it, his friend’s earlier apprehensions about your lunch plans seem to be confirmed. His cellphone vibrates in his hand, and he flips it open to look at the text from the same friend who stayed up worrying last night:

[text from: nonie]

nonie: wyd? i'm bored rn bc yn isn't here

kwan: apparently looking at yn on a date

nonie: should I be concerned?

kwan: yeah you should be bc he's pretty handsome

kwan: should be you tho

nonie: see? I told you it was a date bc they styled their hair differently

kwan: but don’t people normally dress differently for dates?

nonie: but yn always dresses nicely bc they spend too much time deciding what they're going to wear for the day. like they even take into consideration the weather changes throughout the day.

nonie: so nice hair = extra effort

kwan: I’m begging you to go get a life

nonie: bro call me

kwan: i'm picking up my coffee now. byeee

.

“You see my wallet?” Jeonghan opens his black wallet in front of him like a picture book for you to see. He tips it forward and opens it slightly so you can see the bills stacked neatly against each other. “I will literally pay you to go on this double date with me. If anything, maybe the friend will be hot and Vernon will get jealous and actually ask you out.”

You roll your eyes at him and motion for him to put his wallet away. You can’t believe he came prepared with his monetary bribe. “But Vernon doesn’t seem like the type to get jealous.”

Your phone pings and three consecutive messages wake your screen:

[text from: work husband]

work husband: I miss you. my lunch sucks today :P

work husband: I’m eating in my classroom today bc I’m avoiding Carl

work husband: fucking Carl

Jeonghan’s eyebrow arches while you try your best to avoid replying to Vernon. Not the type to get jealous my ass, Jeonghan thinks while reluctantly putting his wallet away. Telling you to do your hair differently was his idea. So, if his plan worked, Vernon probably sent you messages because he thinks you’re on a date with somebody. 

“How about you ask out Vernon yourself?” Jeonghan takes his provided fork to prod at his forgotten slice of cake in the middle of the table. He knocks off the strawberry at the top of the cake and plunges his metal fork into the tip of the cake. The fluffy spongey matcha cake that sandwiches diced strawberries and fresh crème fraiche? A perfect mouthful. 

His question doesn't mean anything in particular. Jeonghan usually asks you whatever he thinks, but you’re glad you aren't drinking anything this time. If you did, your latte was absolutely going to end up anywhere but in your mouth. So while Jeonghan enjoys his dessert, you’re faced with another problem:

“How? I don’t even know if he flirts with me because it’s a part of his work husband act or if it’s because he actually likes me.”

“You bring him lunches every day and he pays for your groceries. I’ve tasted your cooking before,” he says in between bites. “There’s no way that man isn’t in love with you.” He places his fork down and reaches over, taking a sip of his Iced Americano to cancel a bit of the cake’s sweetness. He nods in delight. Going to this café for afternoon tea was honestly such a good idea. 

“You know I only bring lunches for him because I always end up cooking extra,” you grumble while thinking about whether or not you should answer his texts.

Your phone pings again. Jeonghan props his elbow on the table and lazily rests his cheek against his knuckle. He notices you itching to pick up your phone and sighs to himself. He’s now halfway through his cake while your apple pie sits in front of you, idle and long forgotten. He thinks that maybe if he feeds you some of his cake you would forgive him for eating your slice.

“I’m literally your best friend. Shouldn’t I be the one you’re cooking for?” he huffs.

Your phone is in your hand. You’ve managed to go a few minutes without replying back to Vernon. Jeonghan is secretly proud of you.

He waves his fork in front of your lip to offer you a bite of the cake. When you notice, you open your mouth to accept his offer.

Fuck yes, he thinks after he sees you close your mouth and chew. He immediately reaches over to swap his half-eaten plate for yours.

[text from: work husband]

work husband: oh I signed us up for crowd control for this Friday’s spirit rally because I know you don’t want to participate in the spirit rally games.

work bb: oh thank god. I completely forgot signups were today.

work bb: if I knew I was going to have to attend spirit rallies again I would’ve never become a high school teacher

work husband: but you wouldn’t have met me :c

Jeonghan leaves his seat to walk to your side while you quickly reply back to Vernon. He tries to look over your shoulder while you shrug him off, turning your body toward the window. Jeonghan is positive that there is no way Vernon isn’t in love with you.

“Anyway,” Jeonghan gives up and returns back to his seat. “I already told my date you agreed to the double date. See you this Saturday.”

“What?” you look up at your best friend and he shrugs while picking up the half-eaten slices of cake and pie.

“Our lunch break is almost over. I’m going to go get these wrapped so you can take them with you to work. Can you throw away our trash? I’ll come back for the drinks.”

[text from: work husband]

work husband: I think some students are filming tiktoks outside my room. I’m going to go scare them.

You tell Jeonghan to order you another cake while he’s getting yours boxed at the counter.

chapter two: gymnasium; spirit rally

It honestly did not make sense at all that Friday’s Spirit Week theme would be called “Tie-Dye Friday,” when Tuesday or Thursday are arguably days that better suit the theme. Nevertheless, you’re standing with Vernon at the side of the school gymnasium wearing the sweatshirt he lent you during the few minutes before your second period class started. Your little interaction certainly caught the attention of some students, and it has been the subject of a majority of their conversations. Because when you have two young and hot teachers at your school who seem to be really close friends, word spreads, and ships sail.

The two of you were hired at the same time two years ago, both fresh out of college with a teaching certificate in hand. It is a pretty distinguished school district, a district that receives awards every year for its rigorous pedagogy. In all honesty, you and Vernon landed your jobs by an extreme stroke of luck. This school district? Hiring not one but two new teachers with little to no teaching experience? There were a few positions open because some teachers were retiring. The teacher who was hired before you had to leave the job for personal reasons, and the teacher hired after that one never showed up for training. It kept going on. You were their last option. Putting pride aside, you were just happy someone decided to hire you. But maybe it was the same stroke of luck that brought the two of you together.

You met Vernon during the summer orientation and quickly became friends, realizing that the two of you had to stick together to try to make it through your first year of teaching. Your classrooms are close together, and he would stop by for a quick chat during breaks, coming over to tease you or disrupt your class. You don’t know what he is doing half the time, but he’s a good teacher. His class is relatively easy as long as you do the studying, and the tests are hard enough that you can’t bullshit your way through and expect an A – they’re in essay question formats after all. Despite his easygoing personality and calm demeanor, rumor says that he’s the strictest person when it comes to testing season. (Mafia boss the students call it.) 

But here you are, standing next to your crush wearing one of his most cherished sweatshirts while a bunch of high schoolers sit on the bleachers and on the wooden floors. A student walks up to the two of you and asks if they could use the restroom. Vernon nods, and the student leaves. Vernon tells you that when a student directly asks you if they could leave the assembly, he would answer for you. He knows you’re the shyer one between the two of you.   

When you have a crush, a big and stinky larger than the sunflowers growing in the garden in front of your classroom type of crush, you cherish any moment spent with them because you never know when the next moment will come. 

“Don’t you have to go get your driver’s license changed?” Jeonghan asked you one night while the two of you were eating dinner at your apartment.

You scrunched your eyebrows together deep in thought, “I don’t think it’s expiring soon.”

“Your address doesn’t match the one on your license though,” Jeonghan pointed at your wallet on counter above the sink.

You got up from the couch and walked over to grab your wallet. You were pretty sure you had at least two years until your license expired, but it didn’t hurt to check. You opened your wallet and looked through the transparent slot in which you put your wallet.

“But my address is correct,” you walked back to the living room and pulled out your license for your best friend to see.

The crowd cheers as students are called from each year to participate in the next activity. It’s cacophonous, but you don’t mind. You join their rambunctiousness – laughing and cheering with those around you.

Vernon leans in and gently nudges your left arm, “You look nice.” He compliments loudly enough so only you can hear.

You grin and raise your left arm in front of you to admire the mix of blue, white, and grey. The fabric smells fresh and feels soft against your skin. It was probably treated with the fabric softener he bought the last time the two of you ran errands together. “I’ll return this to you after I wash it,” you promise him.

“Keep it,” his hands automatically reach to adjust the hood on your sweater so it lays nice and even against your back. “It looks good on you,” he murmurs when he stands in front of you while adjusting and pulling the strings in front of your neck so they’re even.

More cheers erupt from the crowd in front of you, but you are too busy trying to keep yourself from blushing to even care about what is happening in front of you. A few students could’ve exited the building without asking, and you still wouldn’t care.

“No, it’s definitely wrong,” he took the license from your hand and tapped his finger on the printed country.

You leaned in to look at the error on your card.

“It should say Simp Nation right here,” he snickers.

You snatched your license from his hand, “I’m kicking you out of my apartment.”

Over the course of the next few minutes, they make the teachers participate in an obstacle course, show a video about Spring Break safety, and have the school band perform. Vernon somehow procured two seats so the two of you could sit instead of stand the whole time. In the middle of talking to your co-worker about grading midterms, you hear the entire student body shouting for the both of you.

You look up to see some participants making their way to the center of the gymnasium for some game they were nominated to participate in. The two of you shake your heads and politely deny their request. They groan in response, but it can’t be helped. Everybody knew that the two of you rarely participated in assemblies, especially when it came to doing anything remotely physical. Although the two of you are the high school’s youngest staff members, the two of you are also some of the most unmotivated and uncompetitive people to ever exist. Everybody already knew that the two of you were going to reject their request, but it never hurt to try. The most the two of you have done during a spirit rally was walk across the gymnasium while holding a banner the students made. There was also that other time the two of you volunteered to participate in the spicy noodle challenge because the two of you were starving, but that was honestly about it.

When the assembly ends the two of you direct the students out of the gymnasium and stay behind to pick up forgotten belongings to bring to the lost and found.

“Let me take those for you,” he takes the sweaters out of your arms for you. “Do you have any lunch plans today?”

“Yeah I do,” you reply. You look at his face to see if he is at all disappointed. His expression remains blank and he purses his lips.

“It’s your loss,” he makes his way to the gym doors while you walk over to stack the chairs the two of you sat in. “My Rubiks Cube club is having a crazy pizza party,” he calls on his way out.

.

If you count a bunch of students lounging around a history classroom with a bunch of Star Wars and other pop culture memorabilia trying to solve their different types of collectible cubes a party, then this one is a banger. A rager even.

Mr. Chwe sits at his desk, right leg anxiously bouncing up and down while he holds his second slice of pizza in his hand. He thought that he managed to play it cool when you told him you had plans, but in reality, the thought of you having lunch plans for the second time this week is making him mentally scream on top of his imaginary mountain into the empty abyss below.

In the background, Dokyeom screams when he solves another side of his Megaminx and proudly holds it up for his club members to see.

[text from: nonie]

nonie: seungkwannn

nonie: help me

kwan: see, you wouldn’t be freaking out if you just asked yn on a date

kwan: you’re constantly flirting with them. I don’t see how you never accidentally asked them out

nonie: I have a bunch of times but they never take me seriously

nonie: yn told me they have plans for lunch

nonie: do you think they’re on a date again?

kwan: oh speaking of dates I have a double date this Saturday

nonie: wait keep talking about that so I stop thinking about yn

kwan: when do you not think about yn?

nonie: never

nonie: they’re actually wearing my sweatshirt today. can you believe it?

kwan: my best friend is a SIMP!

kwan: a shy one who won’t properly confess his feelings! but still!! a simp!!!

kwan: one of my friends from work needed someone to tag along because they’re meeting someone they met on Tinder. I only agreed because they said they would cover one of my overtime shifts for me

nonie: oh that’s scary. the tinder part. not the overtime part.

kwan: right?

nonie: but the idea of yn going on a date that’s not with me is scarier.  

kwan: no wonder you’re a history teacher

nonie: because the humanities is for hot people?

kwan: because you’re a loser

kwan: like I bet you’re actually enjoying the pizza party with your lame rubiks club rn

nonie: oh my god I’m a loser

kwan: a hot one tho!

kwan: wait yn’s classroom is literally under yours. can’t you just go downstairs and check if they’re there?

kwan: did you not do that before you started overthinking?

kwan: Vernon?

.

You adjust your sunhat to shield your face from the brazen afternoon sun. You’re in your gardening overalls, Vernon’s sweatshirt folded neatly and tucked away in your classroom for the time being. It’s finally Spring and you’re tending to the nursery pots in the small garden located outside of your classroom. Around you, your agriculture club works and chats amongst themselves.

Intrusive thoughts are distracting you from what would usually be a lovely day in your garden. Maybe you should’ve told Vernon that you were going to be in the garden with your club today. Vernon probably isn’t overthinking it like how you are, right? But still, was saying you had plans a little too much? Does it sound like you had something important to tend to?

You sigh and stand to stretch your knees. Behind you, your little garden is beautiful, lush, and thriving. The flowers are in bloom and provide shade for the vegetables in the dirt. Everything seems to be thriving and buzzing with life. It makes you happy to see how far the little seedlings have grown.

A student arrives with refreshments that they picked up for everybody. You tell your club to take a break under the shade. It would be a shame if one of them has heatstroke. You take off your gloves and shove them in your side pockets. Your phone pings in the front pocket of your overalls while you make your way into your cool classroom.

[text from: work husband]

work husband: hi love. you took the bus to work today, right?

work husband: let’s pick up some groceries after work and I’ll drop you off at your place

work bb: even when I smell like dirt?

work husband: you’re an envisci teacher. I’d be concerned if you didn’t smell like dirt

work bb: you don’t have anything to do tonight right?

work husband: did you just assume I have no plans on a Friday night

work bb: omg sorry it’s because we always hang after work on Fridays

work husband: no you’re actually right. I have no plans.

work bb: then I’ll cook dinner for us

work husband: I know I’m already work-married to you, but I’m going to marry you one day

work husband: lol

work bb: haha silly

“Teacher Yn,” a couple students approach you while you set your phone face down on your desk.

“Hmm?” you up at them while taking off your sunhat.

“Can we send you a list of ideas we came up for our club education trip? We know we have to fulfill the requirement before the end of the semester, but we wanted to get it out of the way.”

You nod at them, “Sounds fine by me.” You pull up a website on your desktop and show it to your students, “Did you guys include the city garden? It’s pretty close by and it’s pretty this time of year.”

“Did you choose that place so Mr. Chwe can tag along? I heard he likes running there.”

You look at your students in disbelief. How did they even find out things like that?

Just then, someone knocks loudly on your open door. All eyes turn to see Vernon standing at the opening with his gaggle of students behind him, Rubiks Cubes, pizza boxes, and packs of sodas in their hands.

“I brought nerds and pizza.”

One of your students leans in and whispers to you, “Looks like your boyfriend is here.”

You don’t know if you should be happy or if you should consider this to be one of the most horribly timed entrances of all time. You decide you’re going to be happy – it’s Vernon after all.

chapter three: grocery store; dinner

People are definitely staring at the two of you while you grocery shop together. It’s not because the two of you are wearing your tie-dye outfits from earlier today, but because of the fact that Vernon is handsome. At least that’s what you believe. It’s enough to make the other shoppers stare for at least a brief second before they return to their usual routes.

You think your shoes covered in dirt are a direct juxtaposition to his pristine white sneakers. There’s a part of you that will always be insecure whenever you’re in public with your crush, but your hand in his reassures you otherwise.

“Do you think people don’t approach you at grocery stores because I’m next to you?” you ask him while the two of you are hunched over the leafy green section. A handwritten sign states the organic kale is finally on sale.

“Why would you think that?” Vernon curiously asks you. His tone is a bit upset, but he still peruses through a few bundles of kale before choosing the one he like most. He drops it in the plastic bag you opened for him.

“I don’t know,” you shrug while placing the bagged kale into the shopping cart. “You’re handsome and people stare, but nobody is making a move.”

“I don’t care about other people,” he muses. He reaches for the baby carrots on the top shelf and passes the bag to you. “You know I only have eyes for you.”

You push the shopping cart to the fruit section and he follows closely behind you, happy his comment made your ears turn red. He knows you’re embarrassed and is purposely moving onto the fruit section when the two of you still have a few more greens to buy.

But it’s true, he only has eyes on you. Only you don’t seem to realize that he does. He constantly tells you his feelings, but you never seem to take him seriously. He clings onto you and holds your hand in public because he also sees people looking at you. Was it wrong of him to be jealous? Was it wrong to want to hold your hand at all times? Maybe it’s his fault you never do, yet he can only wish for you to take him seriously.

“Hey babe,” Vernon calls to you from the mountain of potatoes in front of him. He sees your figure shoot up like a meerkat standing among pyramids of fruit, looking side-to-side to try to locate the familiar voice. “Right here,” he calls to you again, this time holding a bag of potatoes above his head. He laughs when he sees you cover your face in mortification while you cart your way over to him. You’re cute, he thinks. His little meerkat.

.

The two of you pose while he takes a picture of the two of you in the black and white monitoring screen above the self-checkout machine. He scans his loyalty card and begins to scan the items in the cart.

“Hey Vern,” you pass him a box of pasta for him to scan.

“Yes, baby?” he winks while taking the box from you.

“Why do you call yourself my work husband even when we’re off work?” you ask him while passing him a bag of bagels.

“You’re right. If we’re off work then that just means I’m your husband,” he takes the bag from your hand and scans it. “Because the adjective describes the fact that we’re at work, but we’re not at work. So just call me husband.”

“Smartass,” you grumble to yourself. He’s constantly embarrassing you, but you somehow like it.

“What is that?” he pokes at the touchscreen. He clearly heard you grumble to yourself.

Checkout. Beep. No Bags. Beep. Credit/Debit. Beep.

“Are you filing for a divorce just because we’re not at work?” he purposely makes his voice louder than usual and brings his phone to the screen to pay for the groceries. “Do I mean nothing to you?” his tone clearly implies he’s poking fun at you, but it’s enough to let the workers around you two eavesdrop.

“Vernon, oh my god,” you quickly shuffle to his left to put the items in the reusable tote bags in the cart behind the two of you. “People are staring.” You pull your hood over your head and he gently pulls it back down, quickly running his fingers through your hair to minimize the mess.

The workers point and giggle at you two before going back to work, telling those in line to move to an open self-checkout machine.

“Just like how I stare at you at work?” he takes the receipt and consecutive coupons from the mouth of the machine and folds it before putting it in his back pocket. He moves the shopping cart behind the two of you and separates the cold items from the fresh and boxed items.

“Babe, I’m going to file for divorce,” you grab the bag of baby carrots and wave it in front of his face. “And I’m taking the children with me.”

“Aww you called me babe.”

.

You wish you could be as open as Vernon when it comes to flirting, but at the same time, the jokes and the act that the two of you put on around each other often times sound and feel a little too real. Your feelings for him are real, but you struggle to understand whether or not he’s joking with you. You know you could just ask him, but there’s a ninety percent chance he would joke with you and a ten percent chance he would tell you the truth. However, because of how the two of you normalized flirting with each other, you know you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between his truth and his jokes. You’re afraid of telling him the truth, but you’re also afraid of letting go of this false reality the two of you created.

Where is the thin line between flirting romantically and flirting jokingly? How do you find it? How do you cross to the romantic side?

The two of you are currently in you apartment. His shoes are placed in the usually open spot next to yours on the shoe rack, and his car keys are in the ceramic tray next to yours. You are prepping the ingredients for dinner while he sorts the groceries he bought into their rightful places in your tiny kitchen.

“You know my student, Chan, right? The one who I swear is out to get me?” your co-worker asks you nonchalantly while reaching above your head to open your white kitchen cabinet. “Right when I was about to play a video for the class, Chan raises his hand and has the audacity to ask me if I’m ever going to teach them.”

“How did you respond?” you lean over the kitchen counter to shut the microwave door and start the timer. You’re used to his daily post-class lunchtime rants, but he somehow forgot to tell you until he saw the picture of the two at orientation stuck on your refrigerator with a magnetic turtle.

Vernon sighs while looking through the cabinet contents, “I called him lame and told him to watch the damn Crash Course video.”

He gently places his palm on top of your head to shield your head from getting hit when he swings the cabinet door close, a colander in his other hand. He places the colander in the sink behind the two of you and turns back to you. He is interested in what is in the microwave and mimics your position, bending over to stare through the translucent screen. It’s hard to make out what is spinning slowly through the glass so he leans in, accidentally brushing his shoulder against yours for a brief moment. It is brief, but it is enough to make you question what you have done in your past life to deserve this moment.

“Wait,” you turn your head to look at your co-worker beside you, curiously asking, “students actually get annoyed when we show videos in class?”

“I don’t know,” he stands upright and scratches his head, his expression clearly showing that he was dumbfounded that a student would be against watching videos. He leans against the back counter and crosses his arms. He frowns. “I mean, am I ever going to tell them that watching videos stimulates different modes of cognitive learning? Of course not,” he answers his own question. “I’m the cool teacher.”

Spoken like a mantra.

“I’m just defrosting the garlic bread so I can pop it into the oven so you can snack while I cook.” You notice he is looking around your kitchen. You think it’s because he doesn’t have space to exit with the tote bags on the floor and the lack of mobile space in your kitchen. “Did you want to exit? Let me move out of the way so you can go chill or grade in the living room.”

It’s exactly the opposite of what you think.

Vernon loves your place despite how much you hate its small size. To him, your tiny apartment feels like home. You’ve told him several times how much you want to move out. You hate how you don’t have a desk to do your work on. You hate how your bed is literally pushed in the corner of your bedroom against the wall and window. You even hate how there’s no closet in your bedroom so you have to use the hallway closet as your closet.

He wishes you know just how much he loves it when he can hear the soft hum of the in-unit washer and dryer in the background while he lounges on your plush sofa. Because of the size of your apartment, the smell of your baking sometimes lingers for hours. Because of the lack of space, you’re forced to display many of your things for your guests to see instead of tucking them away in some storage bin or cabinet. There are postcards your friends sent from around the world, pictures on the fridge, awards hung on walls, and small trinkets placed all around your apartment. The sticky notes the two of you exchanged during orientation are pinned to your corkboard. Not to mention, the sectional sofa with the chaise you bought with your first paycheck proudly lines your living room. It’s one of the most comfortable things he’s fallen asleep on. Although the apartment may seem suffocating at times, this apartment is you personified.

Of course, it wasn’t like he never offered you to move into his place multiple times in the past. You slapped his arm in response every time he suggested.

.

Earlier, the two of you decided to power through grading midterm papers for your respective classes so the two of you could freely enjoy Spring Break without any worries. It is now nearing midnight when you blindly reach into the popcorn bowl on the side table beside you only to feel nothing. You are out of movie snacks. Your legs are stretched out on your chaise and Vernon’s head is still in your lap, pointed toward the second movie the two of you are watching that night. You decide to not get up to make more popcorn just in case he is sleeping.

Next to the empty popcorn bowl, your cellphone pings and Vernon stirs.

Damn you, cellphone.

There is another notification sound, and Vernon pushes himself off your lap to sit up. You look over at your phone. It’s fucking Yoon Jeonghan.

[text from: devil’s incarnate]

devil’s incarnate: don’t fowget about ouw double date t-tomowwow (//▽//)

devil’s incarnate: the reservation is at noon at the bistro opposite of the café we went for lunch

headache personified: WHY MUST YOU RUIN EVERYTHING FOR ME

Vernon somehow manages to quietly squeeze himself behind you while you lift yourself to text  Jeonghan. When you put your phone down he tugs your body closer to his, his legs stretched out and sandwiching yours. He points to the blanket at the foot of the chaise and he lets go of his arms around you so you can lean forward to grab the blanket.

You open the blanket so it covers both of you and his arms sneak around your stomach, pulling you into his chest. He puts his chin on your shoulder to see the screen in front of you. He emanates warmth like a human-sized hand warmer, like the warm summer sun on your skin the first day you met him.

About halfway into the movie your body naturally turned to lay against his. You’re not watching the movie anymore because he knows you’re tired. It’s not the first time the two of you have cuddled this closely before, but he only hopes you mistake his uncontrollable fast heartbeat as his reaction to the movie.

You’re fiddling with the strings on his clean hoodie and he takes your hand in his and puts it on his chest.

“The plot is really good,” he hopes you can feel his chest vibrate.

You do. You’re on cloud nine.

“You can stay over if you’re not comfortable driving back at this hour,” you suggest to him. Your hand goes back to playing with the aglet on his hoodie string.

“Mmm,” the thought of leaving makes him groan. “I’ll stay until the movie ends.”

In the closet toward the entrance, your dryer hums. The air smells like rose petals and warm vanilla. In his heart he knows the two of you are way past the simple “work spouse” phase. He hugs you tighter and wishes the movie never ends.

[text from: devil’s incarnate]

devil’s incarnate: btw I’m picking you up so you have no way of escaping (o¬‿¬o )

devil’s incarnate: see you soon baby <33 -xoxo

chapter four: bistro; double date

The loud knocking on your front door causes you to jolt awake and fling the blanket covering you onto the living room floor. You can recognize that impatient knock anywhere. However, what you’re afraid of is not the knocking sound, but the person currently knocking.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” you repeat while you sit up and look around the living room. You realize it’s Saturday morning. The television is turned off, and you can still see the stacked pile of midterms pushed to the side of your coffee table. Is Vernon still in your apartment?

Your phone is ringing on the side table next to you. You look over your pillow from your bedroom. I don’t remember bringing one from my bedroom. You see the Caller ID. It’s Jeonghan trying to reach you from outside your door.

Then you see it, a light blue sticky note stuck in the empty popcorn bowl next to your phone. It’s his handwriting, tiny and scrawled. He says he took your laundry out of the dryer and took out the trash on his way out. He’s sorry he couldn’t lock the door. There’s a tiny heart next to his initials. He doesn’t tell you when he left.

The note is in your hand when Jeonghan barges into your apartment and shuts the door behind him. He stands in the doorway and stares at you, his hands on his waist. He’s annoyed.

Your apartment is silent. Even leaky faucet decides to rest for a while. You swear you can hear your best friend’s heavy breathing.

“I’m sorry,” you squeak while you stand up to face him, hiding the note behind your back.

“I. Sent. You. So. Many. Texts,” he roughly kicks off his shoes and storms into your living room.

You scream when you realize he is making his way over to you. When he reaches your sofa, the two of you circle around your coffee table.

“I’ve been outside your door knocking like a man trying to win back his ex. Do you know how embarrassing that was for me?” He wants to strangle you at this point, but he can’t because he needs you to go on the double date with him. “And I couldn’t even park in your second parking spot because guess who I saw get into his car in your second parking spot in the morning?”

Does that mean Vernon slept over last night? And Jeonghan now knows about it?

He lunges. You scream again.

.

Seungkwan sits on Vernon’s barstool and faces the door, ready to read his friend to filth the moment he walks into the door. His legs are crossed and he’s counting the number of cardboard boxes stacked near Vernon’s front door. It’s Saturday morning and Vernon isn’t in his own apartment. He’s a loser who can’t even properly confess his feelings to his crush – where the hell was he last night?

Seungkwan has a double-date to attend in about an hour. For him, lecturing Vernon would take at least 15 minutes and asking for opinions for his outfits would take around 5 minutes. Driving would take at least 10 minutes if it was all green lights. However, if there is a stop light or two-

Vernon calmly unlocks his door and opens the door to see his friend sitting at his counter. It’s totally normal to have Seungkwan invite himself into his apartment – he gave him a spare key for a reason. However, when Vernon is halfway through the doorframe, he realizes he’s wearing his extra set of clothes he sometimes leaves at your place. He is also holding his work bag from yesterday. Seungkwan seems to have already noticed as his legs uncross and his eyes widen at the sight of his friend. Vernon slowly backs out and closes his front door ready to leave and never come back. Start a new life maybe.

“Get your ass back here,” he hears Seungkwan’s menacingly sweet voice from the other side of the door.

He audibly sighs. He has no choice but to open the door.

.

You’re folding your laundry in the backseat of Jeonghan’s car while he drives the two of you to the double date. You can tell he’s still angry – his sleeves are rolled up. He already undid his collar to let off some steam and pent up anger when you told him you didn’t want to go on the date. You can see the gorilla grip he has on his steering wheel. His arm veins protrude prominently, and you swear you can see them throb. Jeonghan glares at you through his rearview mirror every chance he can get, so you sulk in his backseat and quietly fold your clothes. You probably also lost your aux privileges. For the next week or month maybe.

He purposely makes a hard break at a stop sign when nobody is around, and some of your folded clothes launch themselves to his car floor. You look at your t-shirt crumple to the floor and bite your lower lip. You nod to yourself. You deserve this. You were on a winning streak last night so karma (Jeonghan) has to show up to make sure everything is set at equilibrium. There must be balance to this world.

“Did you shower last night?” Jeonghan softly asks you when he notices you’re a lot quieter than usual. He turns on his right blinker, ready to make a right.

“Of course I did,” you pouted when you realized your favorite pair of socks rolled under the front seat. “I smelled like dirt.”

“So you showered while a man was over?” he snickers. There’s a glimmer in his eye. “Naughty.”

“He was grading in my living room,” you protest while looking out the window. Your clothes are folded and placed back in the laundry basket.

You can tell Jeonghan’s anger is subsiding. He rolls his shoulder backwards and stretches his neck left and right. The gorilla grip is gone. You know he cares for you. That you are certain of.

The two of you are still relatively early when Jeonghan parks. He rolls down his windows and turns of the engine and then his car. He drops his car keys in his cupholder and turns back to look at you. He smiles.

“Spill.”

.

Seungkwan is holding onto the car handle above his seat for dear life.

“So I woke up with Yn in my arms, but their phone was going off like crazy because someone was spam texting them. I reach over to switch their phone to silent because I’m a good husband who cares about Yn getting a good sleep, but I see the same person texting them and calling them. Bro this person was using all the pet names that I use. So, already, in my mind I was like ‘oh my god am I a home wrecker?’ And then I looked at their phone again even though I shouldn’t have been looking through their notifications, but it was just right there and I saw that he said he was going to come over soon because they have a date. So I tidied up a bit and packed my bags and zoomed out of there. Because what if they’re really dating? What if he’s the same guy you saw at the café? Dude my mind was racing so much. But Yn looked so peaceful and serene. I was going to melt then and there and then reality hit me: I may have just been a homewrecker. But it all doesn’t make sense because their lock screen photo is the photo I took of us at the grocery story yesterday. Wouldn’t it make more sense if your lock screen photo was your boyfriend instead? So I was freaking out and I’m still freaking out. My non-existent love life is in shambles bro.”

“Is this car ride over?” Seungkwan’s eyes are closed and his knuckles are turning white. “Am I alive? Is the car in one piece?”

Vernon unbuckles his seatbelt and then Seungkwan’s, “Yeah dude. I parked a few minutes ago. Were you listening to me rant at all?”

“I’m going to step out and take a breather,” Seungkwan nods to himself. It was his fault for making Vernon drive. He knows how fast Vernon can drive, but he didn’t take into consideration that he would be sitting in the passenger seat. Was it worth it in the end to arrive early to a date he wasn’t even going to enjoy?

He opens the car door and stretches his legs. “Do you see that café across the street?” he points at the café he visited earlier this week. “Please stay in there and clear your head. Drink some tea. Coffee will make you even more jittery.”

Seungkwan exits the car and shuts the door. Before he starts walking towards the front entrance, he turns around and points at Vernon who looks like he is on the brink of a mental breakdown, “But stay in there in case I need an escape plan.”

.

Vernon recognizes this café as the same café printed on the tiny cake roll box you left on his desk earlier this week. The sticky note you attached to the underside of the box is tucked away in his wallet as are some of the other ones you wrote for him in the past. He keeps them all and occasionally switches them depending on his mood.  

Did you miss me? the note reads. I’m sorry you had to eat lunch alone. This roll reminded me of you because it’s round like your hair when it’s flat. HA! Did you think I was going to write “sweet?” -yn ;-)

He’s been staring at the chalkboard menu for the past few minutes, his eyes squinted and his head deep in thought. The baristas think he’s having a hard time looking at the menu up above and offer him a physical menu in larger print. It takes a few tries to get his attention, but he bashfully takes the menu from them and moves to the side so the incoming customers can order their drinks and other menu items.

He regrets not asking you out sooner. He’s sulking and mentally beating himself up in a café in which his crush had a date a few days ago. How lame is that? While you’re out enjoying your date and probably having the time of your life, he’s regretting all of the chances he didn’t take in the past. But the angel on his shoulder reassures him – he was still by your side despite not taking the chances in the past. It comforts him a bit. Maybe is all just a big misunderstanding. Maybe you don’t have a boyfriend. Vernon promises himself while walking up to the counter to order his drink: if the universe sends him a sign anytime soon, he is going to take it. No questions asked.

[text from: kwan]

kwan: sos

nonie: do you think I should go for a fruit tea today?

kwan: I s2g if you don’t get your ass over here

nonie: how bad can your date be?

nonie: did the food come out already?

kwan: my coworker is meeting yn’s bf

kwan: MY COWORKER IS MEETING YN’S BF FOR OUR DOUBLE DATE

kwan: YN’S BOYFRIEND IS A CHEATER

nonie: YOU FR?

nonie: WHO TF WOULD HAVE THE AUDACITY TO DO THAT TO YN?

kwan: YOU’RE A TEACHER. COME TEACH HIM A LESSON.  

nonie: I’M COMING

kwan: not the face tho. it’s a money maker

nonie: WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON?

Vernon practically sprints out of the café. Thank you universe!

.

[text from: devil’s incarnate]

devil’s incarnate: did u grab my wallet?

devil’s incarnate: save me. my date came and I was totally catfished (╬`益´)

devil’s incarnate: and your date is sending me death glares for some reason O.o

headache personified: when we go home we’re signing you up for bumble

headache personified: I’m almost at the front entrance. you want me to act like you’re my bf?

devil’s incarnate: oh we haven’t used that tactic in a long time

headache personified: wait is that you three under the umbrella at the porch?

headache personified: is my date vernon’s seungkwan?  

devil’s incarnate: bro how should I know how vernon’s seungkwan looks like

devil’s incarnate: ahh fuck it I’ll just be mean and call my date out for catfishing me.

devil’s incarnate: can you record for me <3 -xoxo

You’re already outside the front entrance when you think about ways to try to avoid Seungkwan while you're inside the bistro. You think if you walk along the bistro’s perimeter instead of heading inside the bistro, you can get a better video angle of Jeonghan without having to show your face to Seungkwan. However, someone gently grabs onto your arm and tugs on it.

You turn around and you're surprised to see Vernon looking back at you. He looks frazzled and out of breath. You wonder if he really goes jogging in the city garden like what your students said.

“Hear me out. I have to tell you something,” he pleads.

Your heart is screaming Omg it’s Vernon! Vernon! but you’re worried Jeonghan might get mad at you if you don’t record him while he’s lecturing the catfish. You can probably email the bistro for a video recording tomorrow. If Jeonghan draws enough attention, you can probably have one of the bistro patrons text you a recording of the interaction.

“I had so many chances to tell you how I really feel, but I keep beating myself up for not telling you my feelings. I really like you. I really do,” he takes both of your hands in his hand. “And I don’t want you to go in and end up with someone who is on a date with another person.”

Fuck Jeonghan’s video. Vernon is actually confessing to you. Yet at the same time, something about his confession doesn’t really make sense. How did he find out about your double date?

“What do you mean you catfished me because you thought I was a catfish? Have you seen me?” you can hear Jeonghan’s shrill voice screeching from where you’re standing. You imagine he’s standing up and gesturing at his own face. “Why would I need to catfish as someone else?” You swear you can also hear Seungkwan laughing.

Vernon also seems to recognize Seungkwan’s laughter. His mouth hangs slightly agape and he looks at you and back at the patio in horror.

In that moment, everything made sense. Seungkwan probably texted Vernon that Jeonghan showed up to the date while believing you were dating Jeonghan. It’s honestly not the first time the confusion happened. You smile and pull him in a hug.

“The person I like thinks my best friend is cheating on me when in reality I was forced to go on a double date. So if anything, you just stopped me from going on a date with Seungkwan before I even went on a date with you,” you laugh into his chest. “Did you really run to try stop me from seeing my best friend cheat on me?”

He hugs you back and you can hear his heart beat slow down. He’s relieved.

“Baby,” he hums into your hair.

“Hmm?” you look up at him.

“Do you still want to call me your work husband at work even if I become your boyfriend?”

You groan in embarrassment while he laughs at you. He separates from you and starts walking backwards with his hand stretched out.

“Let’s go on a date. I heard the café across the street has really good cake rolls.”

He’s waiting for you to come hold his hand.  

You can still hear Jeonghan yelling in the background. You think Seungkwan is also yelling with him. Considering the fact that they haven’t been kicked out already, the two of you know they’ll be fine without the two of you.

“The ones that look like your hair when it’s flat?” you catch up to him and interlock your hand with his.

“Exactly.”

taglist: @jiminismybabymochi, @anissanightyoung, @bat-shark-repellant, @woozarts, @jaycheoluwu, @deadlyarepa, @hoothootreiber, @sleeplessdawn, @ryujined, @staysstrays, @carat-cakes, @whyisquill, @kitacore, @grannysdirtbag, @heeseung-lover686

Copyright © 2022 Wondernus. All rights reserved.

#+ dedicated to those who don't know how to act around their crush #ily #it's been 2 weeks since this went live and I just want to say thank you to everybody who read it ㅠ #honestly so much love for you all especially from a person who wasn't expecting anything at all #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #Vernon imagines #Vernon au #Vernon x reader #Vernon x yn #Vernon fluff #seventeen #svt #svt au #seventeen fic

[shankschewtoy]

Yo Evou!! I hath returned, my idea for this time is;

How would the monster trio, and whoever else you would like to add, react to you staying up for around 48 hours?

Basically we’re all sleep deprived, so our judgement is impaired and you get more clumsy and all that. And basic tasks become harder too.

(I’m doing it right now, so if there’s spelling/grammar mistakes, that’s why 😉😉)

Here’s a pic of my dog btw, his name is Shanks funnily enough!

Anyways take care of yourself!! 💟💟💟

a/n - your dog is absolutely ADORABLE 😭💜💜 important question tho- (is he missing an arm?)

Warnings ⚠️ - crack, g/n reader

- oh he can stay awake for literally forever because- well- he’s Luffy 💀 but he’s not normal ok? So when you stay up it’s a whole different story

- it’s hour 48, and you were way past the point of drinking tea or coffee. The dark circles under your eyes were that of Law’s, no- probably worse 💀

- you could barely keep your eyes open, and holy shit going down the stairs was dangerous asf 😭 i pray for your safety

- “Hey y/n!!! Can you make me one of sanji’s sandwiches from yesterday? I’m soooo hungry :)”

- the way you turned around and even Luffy was shocked, (you looked like pre-timeskip law college drunk, missing an assignment, drank 10 cups of coffee law)

- “WHOA-! Uh- y/n…. Are you ok?”

- “yeah mhm! Totallyyyyyy fine 👍”

- no you’re not fine.

- you looked in the fridge to see a couple extra sandwiches, and you tried to reach inside and grab it. But your depth perception was so off that you were I think a foot away from grabbing it 💀

- luffy was a saint, waiting as patiently as he could as he watched you struggle and fall asleep a couple times as you tried to grab a sandwich

- when you finally grabbed it, cutting open the paper wrapping was going to be…. A rollercoaster-

- grabbing the scissors, you literally almost sliced one of your fingers off multiple times, you had Luffy looking like this right in front of you

- man is scared for your safety. But he still let you struggle until you finally got it 😭 when you slowly handed it to him, he made you sit down and eat the sandwich

- man was literally trying to shove it all in your mouth because he thought you were just low on meat (he thinks it’s meat itself is a vitamin)

- “Y/n! Open your mouth wider!”

- *snoring*

- “DON’T FALL ASLEEP WHILE EATING I HAVEN’T TAUGHT YOU HOW TO DO THAT YET!”

- in the end, nami slapped him and made him go help you upstairs to get some much needed rest, and Luffy hugs along with it :)

- the fact that you can stay up that long is amazing to this man, and without a single nap? Damn that’s admirable 😂

- staying up for that long comes with consequences though, and they were hitting… HARD.

- “Y/n where did you go?” -zoro

- you were in front of him the whole time he just got lost and went the other way 💀

- “here..”

- you were on top of the stairs, slowly making your way down, taking wobbly steps and barely being able to hold onto the rails

- he could see that you were about to fall but the dude was just confused as to why you looked like you hadn’t slept in years

- sure enough, you skipped a step and started to fall down, skidding down the wooden steps as zoro stared like an idiot

- didn’t even catch you 💀💀💀💀 what a loser (jk)

- you fell asleep immediately after you fell in front of him, and man was so confused

- “Are you sleeping?”

- no y/n’s not sleeping, WHAT DO YOU THINK FUCKING MOSSHEAD???

- started poking you and literally trying to check if you were sleeping or not 💀 but don’t worry! He actually carried you to bed and just watched over you, even put the covers over you too 👍

- took the day off from training to make sure you were ok- because you scared the mosshead

- if there’s a time Sanji has even let you stay up this long it’s this time- this guy KNOWS mental health and sleep is super important. He’d totally make you sleep at a decent time

- but this was an exception, you had a ton of stuff to do around the thousand sunny, and the fights seemed to never end on the island you went to with nami

- when you got back oh god you looked terrible 😭 disheveled to say the least

- you were dying. Dying

- “Y/n! Welcome ba-“ HORSE WHEEZING GASP

- man had a heart attack, those dark circles sent him to the all blue and back 💀💀💀

- wasted no time in forcing you to drink water and do all your tasks for you, don’t worry, pervy cook’s on it 💪

- “Y/n, do you need some more tea? I’ll go and buy more of your favorite!”

- “Sanji- that island is… hell”

- “I would gladly go to hell for you my love”

- everyone needs someone like Sanji 💜

a/n - love anime’s ideas because I’m laughing as I’m writing them like an idiot

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece hcs #anime hcs #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #zoro #zoro headcanons #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro x you #zoro op #op zoro #one piece zoro #luffy x you #Luffy #luffy x reader #straw hat luffy #luffy headcanons #monkey d luffy #one piece luffy #monkey d. luffy #luffy x y/n #zoro x y/n #luffy op #sanji x reader #black leg sanji #sanji x y/n #sanji fluff #sanji op #sanji

[dreamsgazer]

Getting Sick and Getting Better

Reader gets sick. Tangerine takes care of her!

Minors DO NOT INTERACT.

Also, reblogs and comments and kudos are GREATLY appreciated.

--->--->--->--->--->--->--->--->--->--->--->--->--->--->--->--->--->--->--->--->

“Would you fucking just lay down?” Tangerine practically snarls, his cockney accent stronger than ever. It always makes an appearance in full force when he is stressed.

He seems very much stressed out now, you yawn, while he pushes a rebel curl away from his reddened face. You would laugh if you weren’t feeling as sick as you are sure you look. One of the deadliest assassins in the world – the one who did the Bolivian job, the one who was fished out from the wreckage of a Japanese train with a bullet in his neck, the one that after finding his twin convinced him to be back at work less than two months after his very, very near-death experience – one of them was fretting because you got a fever.

Granted, it sucks. You rarely get sick, but when it happens, you subscribe the full package: nausea, fever, bones turned into splinters inside your limbs. It is a mess, and to make everything worse, you don't seem able to hold anything in your stomach.

After the third time in two hours that you visited the toilet on wobbly legs to give back to the planet your cup of tea, Tangerine has taken the reins of the situation, ignoring your protests. He called – screamed – for his doctor to come and visit you right away. You can’t be sure, but the words “firing you and then setting your studio on fire” were possibly growled.

The doctor has told the two of you exactly what you told your very worried, very handsome boyfriend: you simply need to rest, stay hydrated, and take some paracetamol.

“Told you, T,” you have coughed as soon as you were again alone with him. You have tried to get up and go in search of a box of paracetamol, prompting him to …  firmly invite you to lay down.

At the beginning of your relationship, you had been a tad hurt by his manners. It has taken a bit to understand that Tangerine cares for the people he loves with ferocious passion and stubborn, twisted tenderness.

He looks at you, your head peeking out from under the mountain of blankets he has insisted to wrap you in “Sorry,” he mutters rubbing a hand over his eyes with a sigh “I’ll fetch the medicine for you, alright, love?”

You nod, grateful. It’s a welcomed change to have someone looking after you.

He helps you to drink a bit of water, and you make an effort not to wince while trying to swallow the pill. It really hurts your throat, and he can sense it.

Tangerine helps you to lie down again and presses a kiss to your burning and sweaty forehead. You want to cry at the tenderness he displays, and when he looks at you, he grimaces, misunderstanding your emotion “That bad, darling?”.

You shake your head and whispers words of gratitude and affection for his presence, words that make his chest tighten with love and fury. Love for you, who has decided for whatever miracle to let him in your life, in your bed, and in your heart. Fury remembering how badly you must have been threatened to be moved by something as trivial as having him offering you a cup of water when you lay sick and helpless.

You haven’t talked much about your past. He knows you have family and he’s aware that some of those relationships are complicated to say the least. You haven’t told him a lot, yes, but he has lived enough and seen enough to understand that something has gone very wrong.

However, he seems to decide that the past can go fuck itself. You need him now; he can get angry at your family later.    

You cough a bit, making him sigh. Of course, your throat hurts, it has been two days that your lungs wouldn’t give you a break.

He sits next to you, gently rubbing your shoulder “Do you think you can eat something?”.

You think about it carefully, chewing your lip. During on of your first dates, you had confessed him it bothers you so much to bite your lip when you are thinking.

“Why?” he had asked, with a smirk, comfortably laying on his chair. You had shrugged “It makes me look childish, I guess.”

“I think it makes you look sexy,” had been his smooth reply. You had blushed, hard. His smirk had grown bigger. On anyone else you would have found it insufferable, but on him?

His smirk had made you want to crawl over the table and stick your tongue in his mouth. Which you did as soon as you were back in his lavish car, by the way, and later that night he – always the gentleman – had reciprocated sticking his tongue in your cunt.

While you are reviving your delightfully indecent memories, Tangerine seems lost in thought “I can’t cook shit” he mutters to himself, rubbing his forehead “but I’m gonna order something from The Terrace.”

He brought you there during your very first date. It is his favourite restaurant in London.

Classy enough not to have chairs but little, shockingly comfortable velvety armchairs, and quiet enough that you can hear the gentle piano music playing in the background, and leather covered menus that don’t specify how much those dishes with complicated names cost.  

You still remember how much you two chatted that evening. How much you wanted him to kiss you senseless – which he did as soon as you two stepped out from the restaurant, pinning you against a wall, releasing months of pent-up pining.

“Do you think they make broth there?” you inquire. He shrugs “ ‘ bet that if I pay them well enough they are gonna cook pretty much anything.”

“You know, I think I can manage to get up and make some broth,” you try again.  His glare stops further suggestions “Nonsense. You are sick, pet, and sick people should stay in bed and let their partner take care of them.”.

You want to reply that you don’t want for him to spend so much energy or money over you, but he huffs, frowning “Jesus Christ, you are almost as bad as I am! Lay down, would you? And then I will read something for you. If you behave,” he tuts sternly, pressing another quick kiss on your forehead.

You smile at those words. He rarely offers to read aloud, not because he doesn’t like having your full attention, but because reading for someone else is possible the only thing that makes him slightly conscious of his accent.

The afternoon it clicked for you that something so trivial was bothering him – You are not going to understand half of the words, love, trust me! Better if you read it on your own! – was the afternoon you spent telling him how charming you thought his accent was. Not that he has ever admitted he is unsure about it. Like you never said out loud you were scared he was going to run for the hills the moment he was going to see you naked, rolls and stretch marks on full display.

Some things, even if unspoken, come clear with time and require kind words, and tenderness, and affection. Sometimes, they require silence. 

You sleep a bit while he calls the restaurant, and he gently wakes you up entering your bedroom with a massive tray. His broad shoulders and tall frame occupy your visual in such a perfect way that it seems completely normal to have Tangerine in your bedroom, insisting on spoon feeding you, sitting on the edge of the bed, close enough that you can smell his rich cologne.

The broth smells delicious as well, actually, and you have managed to convince him you are weak, but not on your deathbed. He lets you eat by yourself but surveys your movements like a hawk, ready to intervene in case of need.

“It’s really tasty,” you sighed happily, slowly sipping it from your spoon. He beams with pride as if he has been the one to cook it. You can’t help but reciprocate his smile.  

“I will feel better soon,” you promise, taking another sip “you won’t have to take care of me for much longer, I swear.”

He gently wraps a hand on the back of your neck, his blue eyes staring right into your heart “Tired of me already, love?”

You huff a laugh, gently pressing your forehead against his “I will never be tired to have you in my bedroom, Tangerine.”

He grins even if your joke is pathetic, and you continue, more serious “I just don’t want to waste the time we have together before you and Lemon have to leave again.”

Tangerine nods. You know he disagrees this is a waste of time, but he also understands that is not easy for you to let him go to his missions.

You will probably never voice that aloud. When you understood what he does for a living and who he is, he had given you the choice to waltz out of his life.

A chance you had refused without a second thought. A chance you still refuse with all your strength.

It doesn’t mean it’s easy. But god, you think kissing the tip of his nose and making him chuckle, it’s so worth it.  

#tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x y/n #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine x plus size reader #bullet train movie #tangerine

[heli-writes]

Seven summers, part 6.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x female!reader

Summary: Every summer, Draco and y/n meet. First, by pure coincidence, then intentionally. Unbeknown to Draco, y/n's a muggle who has no clue he's a wizard. With the rise of the dark lord, how long can this go well?

Disclaimers: Make-out session, allusion to sex, no full-on smut (they're still minors, y'all!)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sixth summer, July.

The weather in England has been cold and rainy lately. It doesn't seem to be July at all. Y/n longs for those warm, long summer nights outside in her parents' garden, playing cards and drinking bubbly lemonade. Instead, she's clinging to her umbrella and making herself as small as possible so that she doesn't give the wind too much space to attack her with its whipping water. She's waiting for Draco near the entrance of Diagon Alley. She watched several wizards enter and leave the place, but no Draco so far. Y/n wonders if he will actually show up. They've been exchanging letters via owl, as usual. At the beginning of the school year, Draco's letters have been arriving quite frequently but there were less and less letters the last few months. Y/n knows there's been some arguments with his rival Harry and a new teacher. Draco was appointed a certain position in a Club or something. He didn't really tell her what's it about but ever since he's been more reserved than before.

Y/n waits for almost an hour before she gives up. She walks through the pouring rain back to the bus stop. She stops by a Costa and treats herself to a hot cup of tea on the go in an attempt to warm herself up. On the bus, she plugs in her headphones and stares out of the window. She tries really hard not to cry and hopes that none of the other passengers notice th water dwelling in her eyes. When she gets off the bus, her head's pounding from the oppressing of tears. Y/n walks straight home and up to her room, without taking off her jacket and boots. She can hear her mother complaining about the water on the floor, but she doesn't care. She's just dropped onto her bed when she hears the soft clank of Draco's owl on her window. Y/n gets up and sniffs. This guy has some nerve, she tells herself as she walks up to the window. She takes the letter from the owl and throws some dried meat in its direction, a habit she picked up a while ago. She leans back on a chair and reads.

Dear y/n,

I won't be able to make it today. I'm really sorry but there have been some issues in my family recently and my mother needs my support. I hope the whole situation dissolves itself soon.

I'll send you a letter when it's possible to meet again. I hope you can understand.

Draco.

Y/n folds up the letter and puts it in a box beneath her bed where she keeps all of Draco's letters. She writes a quick response and hands it to the owl who is patiently waiting outside. She watches the owl fly away. I must've just missed his message, y/n thinks. Yet still she can't shake the feeling that something is off.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco lets y/n wait for two weeks. Y/n got antsy with every passing day without hearing from him. Eventually, he sends her a letter and proposes a meeting in Windsor Great Park for a stroll and coffee. Y/n is nervous all morning and has to redo her makeup twice after ruining her eyeliner. Again, y/n is the first to arrive. She walks up and down the entrance of the Savill Garden.

"Hey", she suddenly hears behind her. Draco is standing right next to her with a loopy grin on his face. It doesn't reach his eyes, y/n thinks. She smiles at him nonetheless and opens her arms to hug him. Almost hesitantly, Draco hugs her back. It's a bit awkward. "Do you want to go inside?", y/n says and points to the garden. Draco nods. They take the tourist route but there aren't many other people around. It's probably because of the grey clouds that hang low above their heads. They walk along the path between rows of bushes and other plants.

Draco doesn't make an attempt to start a conversation, so y/n does. "So, how's your family? Everything alright? Your letter sounded quite serious.", y/n asks him. Draco shrugs and doesn't answer immediately. "I guess, we're alright. Things haven't been resolved but it will be ok.", he tells her. Y/n nods reassuringly but she feels that Draco does not really believe that last part. "If you don't mind me asking... what happened?", she asks carefully. Draco kicks a stone out of his way. "My dad has been involved in some stuff. He's temporarily contained.", he tells her. Y/n stares at him with big eyes. "Like jail?", she blurts. Draco gives her an angry look. "Yes. My mother did not take it too well.", he replies. "Oh.", is all that y/n manages to say. They walk in silence for a moment. "What about you? How do you take it?", she asks him. Draco shrugs again and does his best to look somewhere far ahead. "Draco...", y/n mumbles and touches his arm. "I'm fine.", he says harshly, "My mother needs all the support she can get. I can't be weak in a situation like this". Y/n steps a bit closer to him and rests her cheek on his arm while taking his hand. "It's not a weakness to feel bad about a situation like that. It only shows how much you care about your parents.", she tells him. Almost instantly, she can feel Draco's shoulders slump down. He turns to her and finally pulls her close. He hides his face in her hair. "I must do everything I can to clear my family's name. One way or another.", he points out. Y/n thinks about this for a moment. "It's not your responsibility. Support your family as much as you can, but don't let the weight of it pull you down.", she replies. Draco shakes his head. "You don't understand... my mother...", he starts. "...is an adult. We're only sixteen, Draco. There's only so much we can do. Somethings we must let the adults handle.", she points out. Draco shakes his head again. "No, my mother can't handle this. I'm the one who has to fix things. I've been chosen.", he tells her. Y/n frowns. "Chosen? By whom? For what?", she asks him. Draco lets go of her. "It doesn't matter. The point is I'm going to handle this. Don't worry.", he says coldly. Draco walks a bit ahead and y/n stares after him. She's got a really bad feeling about this but it's clear that Draco isn't ready to talk about this.

She jogs after him. "Alright, let's not talk about this anymore. We haven't seen each other since Christmas and I really am happy we're spending time together today.", she announces and gives him a bright smile. She holds out her hand to Draco and looks at him expectantly. Draco sighs and then takes her hand. They continue their stroll and y/n tries to distract Draco with silly stories about school and her friends. She updates him on Olivia's situationship and manages to pry some stories about Blaze and quidditch out of Draco. The atmosphere loosens up a bit and soon she finds Draco genuinely smiling again. They wander deeper into the garden and don't notice how the clouds above them get darker and darker. They're laughing about one of y/n's stories when the first drop landed on y/n's cheek. Draco wipes it away carefully. They look up and notice how armageddon is right above them. Within seconds, it's pouring. Draco pulls her close and uses his wand as an umbrella. However, the wind whips raindrops onto their sides. They rush along the path, deeper into the rows of trees ahead of them. They're almost soaked when they finally find shelter in a stone pavilion.

Y/n is shivering but glad there are still some parts of her that are dry. Draco sits down next to her and puts an arm around her. Y/n nuzzles closer into his side. Draco leans his head against hers. They don't speak and when y/n finally looks up, she immediately meets Draco's gaze. He must've been staring at her for a while now. Immediately, he leans close and they meet in a kiss. For a moment, everything outside the pavilion seems to stop existing. Y/n kisses him back feverishly and grabs his collar. Draco's hand is tangled in her hair and his other hand wanders down her side. Y/n presses her upper body closer to his and Draco pulls her onto his lap. They kiss until they can't breathe anymore. Y/n leans her forehead against his as both of them catch their breath. There are no sounds besides the pouring rain outside.

"Draco?", y/n breathes. "Hm?", he mumbles in response. Y/n's heart leaps in her chest. It takes all her courage to say: "I think I love you". Draco leans back and looks at her with surprise in his eyes. Clearly, he didn't expect a confession of love. Immediately, y/n feels embarrassed. She wishes she could take the words back. "Y-you don't have to say it back. I just thought...", she rumbles but doesn't get to finish her sentence. Draco puts his hand onto the back of her head and pulls her lips against his again. He gives her a deep, longing kiss which leaves y/n breathless once again. When he lets go of her, he looks at her longingly and strokes over her cheek. Then he presses a kiss on top of her head and pulls her into a hug. Y/n feels warm and fuzzy inside and she almost forgets that Draco did not return the confession.

They stay in the pavilion until the heavy rain fades into a soft summer drizzle. Only then, they start wandering back to the entrance of the garden. They part ways rather quickly since the rain started again after some point. However, y/n proposes that he should come visit her soon. Her parents will be visiting her grandparents all the way up in Keswick and will be gone for a couple of days. They put y/n under house arrest for the time being (considering what happened last year), but allowed to have a friend over. They probably thought about Olivia but when y/n asked her, Olivia immediately declined saying that y/n simply must invite Draco. Draco is a bit hesitant to accept the invitation and says that he will have to see how things at home. They both decide to write soon.

On her way back to the train station, y/n has mixed feelings. On one hand she's over the moon about meeting Draco finally again, on the other hand, she's also worried about him. Having a father in jail is already troubling but it sounded as if Draco was ready to do anything to fix that. She wonders if that included more than giving a testimony in front of a court. One way or another, he said. She hopes Draco is smart enough to not do anything stupid, or illegal.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sixth summer, a few weeks later.

Anxious. That's how y/n feels as she waits for Draco at King's Cross. Y/n and Draco have been writing back and forth for the last couple of weeks. Draco's been really quiet about his father's situation and y/n didn't push too much. However, whenever y/n brought up Draco coming over, he kept saying it probably wouldn't be possible and that too many things were going on. Which clearly indicates that things haven't been resolved. Surprisingly, Draco sent her a letter a few days ago saying that meeting her would be possible after all. Apparently, his mother and his aunt visit a family friend, giving him a chance to slip away. When y/n got Draco's letter saying that he would be visiting after all, she immediately called Olivia who immediately rushed over. Giggling, they wrote lists and prepared the house for what y/n's parents assumed was a sleepover. It also leads to her parents being quite relaxed about leaving y/n alone for a few days.

Right now, y/n is waiting for Draco to arrive at King's Cross. Obviously, Draco does not take a muggle train. He arrives via floo powder somewhere close but they agreed to meet at the station from where y/n would take him home. Y/n nervously scans the crowd in front of her. Suddenly, she feels a tap on her shoulder. "Hey, there pretty girl.", she hears Draco say behind her. When she twirls around, he is mere inches from her face. "Draco!", she laughs and throws her arms around him. Draco almost drops his bag while trying to keep his balance. Y/n quickly retreats. "Sorry!", she says. Draco puts down his bag. "That's alright.", he tells her and pulls her close by her arms. He hugs her close and hides his face in her hair. Y/n's heart skips a beat. When he lets go of her, he looks over his shoulder nervously. Distractedly, he says: "So, uh... is your house close by?". Y/n tries to see what's behind him or what he's looking for but when he turns back to her, she gives him a bright smile. "We'll have to take the bus.", she tells him and takes his hand. Draco sighs behind her. "You don't happen to have a fireplace, do you?", he mumbles. Y/n laughs. "No, sorry! We have central heating.", she says as she pulls him along with him.

While Draco feels visibly nervous in the station, he relaxes once y/n and him have entered the bus. When y/n asks him why, he tells her that there are probably no wizards here who could see them. Y/n nods understandingly. It's a short walk from the bus station to y/n's house. Her house is one of these terraced houses with white, wooden windows and a small front garden. It's nothing special really but her parents had to save up for it for quite some time and they're really proud to call themselves 'homeowners'. Y/n thinks it's a bit ridiculous but then again she's never bought a house and doesn't even know how much it would cost. Y/n pulls out her keys and opens the door.

She holds the door for Draco. "Ladies first. You can put your shoes over there.", she tells him as she quickly pushes him inside. Ever since they made a turn into y/n's street, she's been the one looking over her shoulder. Can't have the neighbours see her sneaking a boy in. She's pretty sure that the nosy old lady from across the street would just love to tell her parents all about that. Y/n quickly closes the door behind her and pulls off her jacket. Draco is standing in the hallway looking around and feeling a bit out of place. Y/n points past him. "Go on, straight through that door. There's the kitchen", she tells him. They enter the kitchen together and y/n quickly puts the kettle on. "C'mon.", she tells him and leads him to the room to the right. It's the living room which has a small conservatory attached to it. It's her mother's favorite room since it's always bright and open. In the middle, there's a large couch with pillows and blankets. On the left is the telly and a coffee table. "It's cozy", Draco notes as y/n leads him to the coach. "Sit down. I'll make the tea.", she tells him as she rushes off back to the kitchen.

She prepares a tray with tea, mugs and some biscuits. When she enters the living room again, Draco still sits in the same position as she left him. I guess he feels a bit awkward, she concludes. After she pours him a cup of tea, she asks him: "So, what do you think? Is this how you imagined muggles to live like?". Draco laughs and rubs his head in embarrassment. "Actually, I'm not sure what I expected. But it's really nice. I like this room.", he says and points to the conservatory. Y/n pulls one of her legs under the other and takes her tea cup. "Hm, you really had no image in your head how I live like?", she asks. Draco shakes his head. "How do you imagine I live like then?", he replies. Y/n thinks about that for a moment. "I guess I imagine a big house, maybe a villa. An old one, maybe Victorian? I imagine a big staircase right when you enter. Old, but classic and high-quality furniture.", she explains. Draco looks at her surprised. "That's actually not that far off.", he tells her. "I can't imagine your room though. I feel like I can imagine your dorm room better than your room at home.", she says. Draco takes a sip from his tea. "Do you want me to describe it?", he asks her. Y/n nods excitedly. He crooks his head. "Let's see. My room is upstairs, in the East Wing. It has a window facing the East as well so that I can see the sunrise every morning. My walls are painted in a greyish-blue. My furniture is black. When you enter the room, you're standing in front of my bed. Opposite the bed is the window and in front of it is my desk. To the left of the desk, is my wardrobe which is always messy and to the right are some shelves with books.", he describes. Y/n tries to imagine the room. In her head, the room is kind of empty besides the furniture Draco described. "Is there anything else in the room?", she asks. Draco names some quidditch equipment and some other tokens that y/n has trouble imagining. Draco tried to explain quidditch to her one time but y/n fails to truly understand the game. Probably, because she's never seen a person riding a broom.

"Would you like to see my room?", y/n proposes and Draco nods. They walk back to the hallway and up the stairs that are on the left. "My room is all the way up, beneath the roof.", she tells him as they climb up the stairs. Y/n's room is the only room on the last floor. When she opens the room, there's her bed to the left and behind the door is her closet. Right in front of the door are three windows. In front of the middle one, is her desk. On the left is a little reading niche and on the right is a dressing table and a cupboard. A chain of lights is strung from one side of the room towards another. Y/n makes some space for Draco to enter. He looks around the room in silence. "So, what do you think?", she asks. "It suits you. I don't know how I'd imagine your room but this fits you perfectly.", he tells her. Y/n giggles and drops onto her bed. "You think so?", she says. Draco nods and turns around in her room before joining her on the bed. Y/n thinks the sight of him in her room is a bit strange. Like he doesn't quite fit into it. He's dressed in black (like always) and her room is dominated by beige and pastel tones. "Yeah, it's bright and warm. And girly. And cozy.", he replies. Y/n snuggles up to him. "You like it?", she asks him. Draco pulls her closer to him. "Yes. Actually, I like your whole house. Everything is very home-ly.", he murmurs and kisses the top of her head. He pulls her back and they fall on top of the comforter of y/n's bed. Draco turns to his side, pulling her closer to him. Y/n takes in his scent and puts her head on his chest, just beneath his head. Draco's hand finds its way into y/n's hair and he scratches the skin of her skull a bit. Y/n feels how the three magical words lay heavy on her tongue again, begging her to speak them out loud once more. She swallows them down quickly, however. She doesn't want to make a fool out of herself once again.

They lay there for a while and y/n is not sure whether or not she may have dozed off a bit. The room's colour faded to grey indicating that the sun was about to go down. Draco stretches next to her and sits up. "Are you hungry?", y/n asks him. Draco shrugs but y/n knows him well enough that that means yes. They end up ordering pizza and watching y/n's favourite movie. Setting up the telly, Draco is fascinated by the technology and asks a bunch of questions about how it works without magic which y/n definitely can't answer. She lets Draco choose a movie afterwards and they spend the evening rotting on the couch. Eventually, the titles roll and y/n sits up stretching. She peeks over to Draco whose eyes are closed. Did he really fall asleep?, she thinks and pokes his cheek. He wrinkles his nose and opens an eye. "Sleepy? Wanna settle for the night?", y/n asks and Draco yawns and nods. They get up and climb up the stairs to y/n's room. After brushing their teeth, they climb into y/n's bed and Draco pulls her close. Y/n leans her head against his and lets her hand rest on his chest. Draco gently strokes over her back and places soft kisses on her forehead, her cheeks and her nose. Y/n crooks her head and meets him in a soft kiss. It's slow and sweet. Draco puts his hand into her hair and pulls her face closer to him, deepening the kiss. Y/n's heart starts beating faster. They kiss like this for a bit until Draco rolls her over so that y/n lays flat on her back. Draco hovers over her while continuing to kiss her. Y/n puts her hands behind his neck and one of Draco's hands runs up and down her sides. Y/n feels goosebumps forming all over her body. Draco's hand finds the hem of her shirt. His fingers dip under it, softly circling the skin of her hip. He leans his head back for a moment. "Is this okay with you?", he asks. Y/n nods breathlessly, not trusting her voice to say yes. She's expected it to happen tonight. Hell, she kinda hoped it would. Draco pushes his hand under her shirt exploring the warm, naked skin underneath it. Y/n lets her hands run down his back and pulls his shirt up a bit. Draco sits up for a moment and pulls it over his head. Y/n stares up at him in awe. He looks even more pale than usual with the moonlight hitting his skin the way it does at this moment. She sits up a bit and runs her hand down his chest. Draco gently pulls on the neckline of her shirt, silently asking for permission to take it off as well. Y/n swallows. She's nervous. "We don't-", Draco starts but y/n cuts him off by pulling her shirt off as well. Draco doesn't say or do anything for a few seconds. Then he slowly traces a line from her shoulder over her collarbone down to her chest. He leans forward again, kissing her deeply while finally cupping her chest with his hand. Y/n lets herself fall back on the pillow.

She won't worry about anything tonight. Not about her parents or Draco's parents. About whether or not a wizard and a muggle can be together. By the time Draco's hands wander down to her pants, she has forgotten about most of it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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#harry potter #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #wizarding world #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy x y/n

[avatar-anna]

Hunger

summary: harry reflects on a relationship that's long over

words: 6k

Candles burnt down to the floor, wearing less than you were before, shoes sitting by the door, never put them on. We would stay in the house for days, spilling breakfast on pillowcases, your stuff don’t taste the same, now that you’re gone.

Harry sat alone in his kitchen, his fingers clasped around a pale blue mug. The lip was chipped and the paint had visible streaks on it. It stood out against the rest of his collection of pristine, white and navy blue mugs, but his hand always reached for the same one that he should’ve thrown out by now. 

The high-pitched shriek of the kettle startled him away from his thoughts, though he wasn’t thinking so much as staring blankly at the pair of little initials and the date scribbled on the bottom of the mug.

He prepped his tea, his movements mechanical as he relied on muscle memory to guide him through his kitchen. When he finally slumped back into his seat at the kitchen table, he looked around. He used to think the table would one day be surrounded by high chairs and littered with sippy cups and homemade placemats. The fantasy was so clear in his head it felt real.

Now he felt nothing.

Harry took a sip from the mug and grimaced. He didn’t know why he still had this flavor of tea, he’d always preferred something more floral. But he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. She always insisted on having a box of it in the house at all times. Harry always secretly hated it, but now he was drinking her tea from her favorite mug.

Each sip brought back a new memory; puzzle pieces fell into place until four years worth of a relationship laid itself out in front of him.

“Don’t go yet,” he said.

The morning air prickled his bare shoulders, but he didn’t bother with clothes. He hoped they wouldn’t be necessary in the next few minutes. 

“‘Don’t go?’” she repeated. “I haven’t been home in three days.”

The last few days replayed in his mind like an achingly sweet summer melody.

Harry had always loved the beginning of a relationship. The giddy uncertainty, the easily flushed cheeks, butterflies that thrived all the time in lovesick bellies. He never thought anything could beat the initial euphoria of a budding romance. It was a practically perfect feeling.

“I want to make breakfast for you,” he said, not realizing the words were true until they were out of his mouth.

Her movements stilled. She’d been slowly slipping back into her clothes, had just been about to put on her shoes, when Harry made his offer. With one boot dangling from her hand, she seemed to consider her options.

“It’s not gonna be, like, beans on toast or anything like that, is it? I can fake a lot, but I don’t know if I can fake enjoy eating that.”

Laughing at her admission, Harry shook his head. “No, I will not make you eat beans on—Wait a minute. Did you fake anything the last three days?”

Her responding grin was coy. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“You Americans are so brutal,” he said, clutching his chest as if he’d been wounded. “But now that you’ve said that, I simply cannot let you leave. I must rectify any ill performances on my part.”

He wasn’t actually upset by her teasing. He liked to think he was humble, but he also knew if he hadn’t been anything less than satisfactory, she wouldn’t have stayed at his place for three days.

Harry watched as the boot slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud. His grin widened when she came over to him and straddled his waist on the bed. Her kiss was soft and sweet, the kind of kiss that wasn’t rushed or feverish because they had plenty of time. It was the kind of kiss that gave him a feeling he wanted to chase for the rest of his life.

Carefully, he flipped her over so that she was on her back. With one last peck to her lips, he said, “Now, make yourself comfortable again and I’ll bring breakfast up for the two of us to share.”

“You want to eat up here?” she asked him. “We’re gonna get food all over your million threadcount, hand woven, personally delivered Egyptian sheets and pillowcases.”

“Oh hush.”

Since seeing and feeling his bed for the first time, she gawked at how cloud-like it felt and had teased him mercilessly when he rattled off a brand name and description that sounded about as expensive as the bed probably was. Harry put up with it, had found it funny, even. Her laugh was music to his ears and her smile was even moreso. She was beautiful in every possible way, and he wanted to keep her in his bed for as long as she would let him.

Sliding out of bed, Harry put on a pair of briefs and a robe before going to make breakfast. Something quick and easy. Not because he couldn’t do anything else, he just didn’t want to be away from her for so long. 

Harry had never felt like that before. There was this indescribable insatiability he developed when they met. He simply couldn’t get enough of her.

Thinking back to the first few stanzas of their epic, Harry waited for butterflies to flutter so much it made his head spin. But they didn’t come. The flame on their candle had burned out a long time ago. Now all he felt was the harsh reality of her absence.

I guess I’m prone to overthinking. One thing goes wrong and I can’t adjust. I’ve lost the taste for the good in us, and I’m sorry.

“So, Harry, tell me how you’ve been.”

Harry shrugged, looking down at the scuff marks on his shoes. “Fine, I guess.”

“I’m gonna need you to do a little better than that, Harry.”

He didn’t really have anything to give, though, so he just shrugged again. The woman sighed, and though he wasn’t looking at her, Harry imagined his therapist taking off her glasses to rub the lenses with her sweater.

He’d been seeing her on and off for the last few years, so they knew each other quite well, which did not work in Harry’s favor at the moment. She could tell he was hiding something, and she was patient enough to wait him out until he eventually told her what was on his mind.

But they only had an hour, and he could use a little push in the right direction.

“You’ve been thinking about her again.”

He shrugged again. “A little.”

“What about her?” she asked.

Confused, Harry looked up for the first time since the session started. “What do you mean?”

“Are you thinking about just her as a person? Oe the beginning of the relationship? The end?”

Harry’s foot began bouncing rapidly. “The end, I guess. Why it ended.”

“And why do you think it ended?” she asked him gently.

“I let my fears get the best of me, of us, I suppose.”

“So you get to live your dream, but I can’t live mine?”

“That’s not what I’m saying! I’m just asking you if you really thought about this. Japan is a big deal.”

“Have I really thought about this? This is what I’ve been waiting my whole career for! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and it sounds like you want me to turn it down.”

She was a journalist, trying to make her way in the fashion industry. When Harry met her, she was taking some no-name publication and rebuilding it from the ground up. She made it trendy and worth reading, and was praised for her work. But when an offer to be a head editor at Vogue Japan was made to her, she couldn’t believe how well her hard work paid off. 

And all Harry could do was ask if this was really what she wanted.

“Come on tour with me,” he said desperately. “We can be together and you’ll get experience—”

The emotions on her face switched from frustration to disbelief to anger when he made that suggestion. “That’s your solution? Giving me a handout?”

“No, of course not! I just want us to be together. Is that such a bad thing?”

“I—I can’t believe this. I thought you would be happy for me.”

“I am, darling. Please, I only meant—”

“I need some air,” she said suddenly. 

Grabbing her keys off the counter, she left, not saying if or when she’d be back. 

“But that’s not when you broke up, is it?” his therapist asked him. She’d heard bits and pieces of Harry’s relationship in previous sessions, but not enough to paint a full picture.

“No, but that was the beginning of the end. She took the job and moved, and I convinced myself I couldn’t do long distance. We’d done it when I went on tour and she had to stay behind and work, but this was different. More permanent.”

“And what about her? Could she handle the long distance?”

“She was willing to try.”

His therapist didn’t say anything for a while, considering her next questions and waiting to see if Harry would offer up anything else. He didn’t.

“How do you think you would respond now, if you were in that position again?”

“Wh—Why are you asking me that? It’s over. She hates me now.”

“Do you really think that?”

He wasn’t ready to answer that question. He didn’t want to consider the gut-wrenching possibility that she hated him. So he did what he’d been doing in these sessions lately. He didn’t answer the question. Instead, he answered her original question.

“I would fight for us,” he said. “I would do everything I could to make it work.”

Not mentioning how he ignored her other question, the therapist said, “So you still love her then.”

Harry hung his head and mustered a small nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I still love her.”

We had a hunger then, only each other then. Couldn’t get enough when we started. Always a hunger then, now it’s just emptiness. We were in love, we were starving. We had a hunger then.

Harry’s heart pounded as he gripped the mic stand. He’d played shows in stadiums packed with tens of thousands of people, he’d stood in front of a room full of the world’s most beloved artists to accept awards, and he performed at the Grammy’s. How was this performance more nerve-wracking than any of that?

He was at a friend’s wedding, and a few months back, the bride and groom asked if Harry would sing the song for their first dance. He’d said yes, but now that the time had come, his palms began to sweat in a way they hadn’t since his early One Direction days.

“And now, please give a round of applause for the bride and groom!”

That was his cue. Curtains drew back, revealing Harry to the rest of the wedding guests. He’d been there for the ceremony, but his performance remained a secret until now. 

His eyes immediately searched for hers, the way they always did. She was always able to calm his nerves like no one else could. She was his rock. 

Finally, he spotted her. Her eyes were wide with surprise like the rest of the wedding guests, only when she regained her composure, she narrowed her eyes at him as if to say, “I can’t believe you hid this from me!”

Harry grinned, then looked back down at his lap to make sure his fingers were in the right place on the guitar before quietly counting, “One, two, three, four.”

“Woah, my love, my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch. A long lonely time. And time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much. Are you still mine? I need your love, I need your love. God speed your love to me.”

His eyes found hers subconsciously as he sang. They always did. This time, though, Harry searched her face to read her reaction. “Unchained Melody” was one of her favorite songs. She hummed it often while they were in bed reading together, in the kitchen while they danced, in his dressing room after a show. “I’ve always wanted someone to love me like that,” she explained to him once. “To have someone hunger for my love. Doesn’t that seem like a bad life, does it?”

Harry was more than willing to be that someone.

As he sang, he looked directly into her eyes. He wanted her to know that this—this performance—was hers. The song was for his friends to dance to, but his performance was dedicated to her.

“Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the open arms of the sea. Lonely rivers sigh, ‘Wait for me. I’ll be coming home. Wait for me.’”

“God, I love you so much,” she panted, pressing him up against the door of the hotel ballroom’s bathroom. Neither of them could wait to go back to their room, so they snuck away like two teenagers at prom.

“I love you too,” was all Harry could muster. He prided himself on being more poetic with his declarations of love, but her kiss was dizzying and left his thoughts muddled.

There was no need for words after that, anyway. Her lips detached from his neck and found his again, her hands finding purchase in his hair. Harry’s hands were all over the place—the ends of her hair, her cheeks, eagerly gripping and caressing whatever he could, the noises she made only spurring him on.

Taking advantage of the flimsy straps that held up her dress, he pushed them off her shoulders and watched it fall in a lacy pool at her feet. He was quick to get on his knees, kissing up her leg and stopping at the high point of her thigh. He sucked a spot into her soft skin.

“H, come on, please,” she whimpered, a tremor running through her body.

“Don’t worry, angel, I’m coming to take care of you,” he mumbled against her, dragging his lips up, up, up before lifting her leg over his shoulder.

She whimpered again, but not so much at his touch. She never said it, but she loved when he called her angel. "You are to me," he told her once. "The closest thing a man can get to heaven on earth. You're heaven. My heaven."

It was safe to say neither of them left the confines of his bedroom that day.

Harry raised his eyes to meet hers. “I love you. You want me to show you just how much?”

“Yes, please. Come on, we don’t have much time.”

Harry paused, a grin twitching on his lips. “Oh no. Can’t rush work like this. We’re gonna have to stop if we don’t have enough time.”

She pouted at him, clearly not amused with his teasing. He enjoyed it, though, loved how desperate she became when he dangled himself like a carrot in front of her. When she was seconds away from stopping her foot out of frustration, he kissed her inner thigh again.

“I’m only teasing, angel. I’ll make sure no one notices we’ve been gone too long.”

She huffed, but there wasn’t any more time for pouting. She gripped his hair, harder than she normally would, as retaliation for not giving her any warning, but he was only loving on her the only way he knew how, with his entire being. Ardently. Unequivocally.

We could ruin a perfect night. On my birthday I made you cry. You told me you learned to drive, I guess you lied. I could never get sick of you, I just bit off more than I could chew, and as one year turns into two, I’m still not over you.

Harry left therapy in a daze, his head still dredging up memories from the past. He seemed to be stuck reliving all of his worst mistakes. No amount of time had eased the ache of regret. So much so that he tried not to keep tabs on her anymore. When they first broke up, he would spend an unhealthy amount of time on her social media, just so he could see her smile. It had been so long since he’d seen it.

He wanted to reach out so many times, but he never did. No one would let him. His sister held his phone hostage at night for a month, his manager eventually changed the passwords to his social media accounts, and his mother simply helped him see reason. Their breakup was final, and both of them were hurt in ways that would take a long time to heal. Contacting her before either one of them were ready wouldn’t do any good.

So for a whole year, Harry was miserably alone. He hardly slept, and even when he did, tears soaked the pillow. There was no more breakfasts in bed, no more dancing in the kitchen, no more anything. His house was glaringly empty.

All he could think about was the past, where he pretty much lived for the better part of a year. Harry dwelled on their best and worst moments, torturing his guilt, picking at the scab on his heart instead of letting it scar. He thought about that night, especially. The one that ended it all.

Harry didn’t always have a party on his birthday, but this year he thought why not. 

She came, of course she did. They’d hardly spoken the last few days, their busy schedules and differing timezones limiting them to a couple of texts. But she was happy, she was so, so happy. Harry could tell through her texts and the phone calls. She loved her job, she loved her apartment, and she loved the people she worked with. She was filled with so much love for her new life in Japan, that Harry sometimes felt that she was leaving him in the dust. She wasn’t, of course, but there were moments where Harry feigned being tired or pretended to be asleep when she called because he missed her too much.

It was crazy to think about in hindsight, but he never claimed to be an expert at relationships. Harry loved her more than the day they met, but the physical distance between them allowed for bitterness to sink its nasty claws into him. And when she’d told him in advance that she wanted to bring a friend from work, and Harry told her it was fine, but all that did was make him even more paranoid.

She was so happy to see him despite the palpable tension and unsaid words between them. And he had been happy to see her too, had spun her around in his arms and reacquainted his lips with hers in a kiss that made him want to send everyone home. For a minute, nothing was wrong. For a minute, everything was as it should have been. They were together again, everything was going to be fine.

And then she introduced him to her friend.

Looking back now, Harry had the common sense to know that that was all he was to her, a friend. But Harry from the past thought differently. 

All night, his vision grew redder and redder as he watched her flaunt her “friend” to everyone at the party. She laughed loudly, stuck by his side, bragged about his long list of accomplishments, shared anecdotes and inside jokes. With each drink Harry knocked back, Harry’s anger took root, grasping onto every pre-existing doubt and fear he had to form one monstrous knot in the pit of his stomach. 

“A toast,” she said when everyone had gathered around at her request. “To my beloved, the only person in my life worth traveling thousands of miles for. I love you more than words can describe. Happy birthday, baby.”

Everyone awwed and clapped and raised their glasses. Everyone but Harry. How could she say things like that when the man she was cheating on him with was in the room with them?

Raising his own glass finally, he gave a toast of his own. “My girlfriend, the liar, everyone.”

His words caused the chatter in the room to cease as all eyes turned to the two of them.

“What are you talking about, baby? Is everything okay?” she asked him, her cheeks flushed.

“You really didn’t think I wouldn’t figure it out? You’re fucking him,” he spat, nodding his head angrily at her colleague.

Shock came before anger, but she didn’t say a word, which only served to make Harry feel more vindicated in his accusations. “You’re not even going to deny it? Not even gonna try to give me some lame fucking excuse?”

“You’re drunk,” was all she said, shaking her head bitterly.

“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong! How could you do this to me?”

A frustrated tear rolled down her cheek, but at that moment, Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. He was just so furious.

People started coming up with excuses to leave, and they slowly trickled out of Harry’s house until it was empty. Her friend was the last to go, muttering under his breath that he was going to his hotel. She simply nodded and gave his arm a squeeze.

It wasn’t until they were completely alone that she spoke. “Are you really that insecure to think I would cheat on you?”

Her voice was calm, thinly veiling her anger. Harry was the complete opposite, too many drinks in to be anything but loud. “What am I supposed to think? I hardly see you, you spend all your time with him—”

“You’re supposed to trust me!” she cried, her limits finally reached. “You’re supposed to have faith in me because we love each other and we’ve been together too long to think that someone could come between us!”

“You were all over—”

“Do not even finish that sentence, Harry Styles, I swear to God,” she warned. “He doesn’t know anyone here, I was being a good friend. And besides, you were the one whose been hiding behind your fucking liquor—”

“Oh, so it’s my fault, is it? I’m the one who screwed up here?” he said, not backing down. He should’ve, but he didn’t.

“You were the one who decided to let drunken stupidity think for you, Harry. He’s my co-worker, we work on a lot of projects together, of course we’re close. Do you know how many times I see or hear that you’ve cheated on me with some actress or model? But I’ve never believed any of that bullshit because that’s all it is. Because I don’t think so little of you.”

She wouldn’t look him in the eye, she couldn’t. Her cheeks were stained with tears, and as Harry’s fog of fury dissipated he wanted to reach out and wipe them away. He’d been so wrapped up in himself, he never thought about what the distance would be like from her perspective until it was too late.

“Angel, I—”

“You just humiliated me in front of all of our friends over something that isn’t even true,” she said, a little astonished that he’d behaved like this. “And you know what? Maybe he and I are good friends, but H, you’ve been so distant. You hardly call, you’ve skipped out on FaceTime dates. You iced me out for no reason. All over something we could've resolved if you just talked to me.”

Harry did reach out to her then as another tear fell, but she stepped away from him.

“How could you do that to me? To us?”

“I’m sorry, I—I know you would never cheat. I don’t know why I would—”

“We were designing something together. For you. That’s why he came tonight. I wanted him to see your reaction in person,” she said, her voice steadier now than it had been since the argument began.

Sighing, she reached for his hand and kissed his knuckles. It should’ve felt relieving, but it didn’t. Somehow, he knew they'd reached the end. They both did.

Harry would live to regret that night for the rest of his life. Before, the issues they were having could’ve been fixed. She could take time off, he could call more, visit more, but he’d done irrevocable damage, and now he had to pay the price.

A year after they broke up, Harry went to see her to apologize. He was a wreck without her. Life just wasn’t the same when she wasn't in it. So after a year went by, he hoped enough time had passed where they could talk things out, possibly test the waters of their relationship once more.

But he was in bad shape, and she wasn’t in a place where she could fix him. She was still in love with him too, but she also wasn’t ready to forgive him yet. So she sent him away, and it fell like they’d broken up all over again.

All Harry could do was cry in the weeks that followed. That goodbye felt final. She didn’t want him back, and he could only blame himself for being alone.

We had a hunger then. Now it’s just emptiness. Couldn’t get enough when we started. Always a hunger then.

Harry didn’t really want to come to this event. There were too many people with cameras and questions, and too much socializing that he wasn’t really in the mood for. He had no desire to wear a smile he didn’t feel and make small talk with people in the industry who only wanted to talk to him just to say they did.

But he came anyway, was practically forced out of his house by his manager. So he was here, but he was keeping to himself. Anyone that wanted to talk would have to come up to him, he wasn’t about to go out of his way. The red carpet entrance alone was exhausting. People asking for his next album or single or anything. He just gave a close lipped smile, resisted the urge to fidget with his rings, and stepped inside the event space.

He was at the back of the room, counting down the minutes until he thought it was appropriate to leave. The dinner was fine, having sat next to people he was familiar enough with. An Italian designer, a director and his wife, two members of a band, and himself. He let his table do most of the talking while he picked at his food and sipped on his sparkling water, and having picked up on his somber mood, they pretty much left him alone.

The members of his table cleared out after dinner to get more drinks or talk to other guests they recognized or to make their way to the dance floor. Harry stayed where he was for another fifteen minutes before deciding to head home.

“Harry?”

That voice. The one that haunted his dreams at night and kept him company in his daydreams. Part of him thought he really was losing his mind when he heard his name, but then she called out to him again, and he knew it had to be real.

Turning around, he silently prayed his knees wouldn’t buckle.

She was radiant, she was Venus emerging from the sea. She looked the same, yet different, like she’d done a lot of living since the last time she saw him. Harry was happy that the last two years seemed to have been kind to her.

“Hi,” he finally managed to say, his voice barely discernible above all the others in the room.

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised to see her here. It was some event put on by Vanity Fair, so it would make sense that she would be invited. Harry had to be forced out of the house by his manager tonight, but now he couldn’t be more thankful. Just seeing her again made him feel just a little bit better.

She stepped closer to hear him better, and he could only hope she wouldn’t notice the bags under his eyes. To Harry’s surprise, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Too shocked to process what was happening, he hardly felt it, his arms remaining awkwardly at his sides.

“How are you?” she asked.

The truth simply wouldn’t do. She didn’t need to know that he was still catastrophically in love with her, even after two whole years of them being broken up. So, giving her the same line he gave his therapist two days ago, he said, “Fine, I guess.”

“You guess?” she asked, a playful smile on her lips.

Harry blushed. “Yeah, it’s just—it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he said, like he didn’t know the exact number of days since they’d seen each other.

“It has,” she replied, but he didn’t sense much in terms of fondness or nostalgia in her voice. Whatever feelings she had or didn’t have, she was doing a much better job of hiding them than he was.

He probably shouldn’t have, but he found himself saying, “I—I’ve missed you.”

The room they were in was much too loud, but Harry swore he heard her breath hitch. Other than that, though, she didn’t really react. Harry took her lack of response as his anser. His conversation with his therapist had been on his mind, and in a stroke of courage, tried to extend an olive branch, and he only ended up looking like a lovesick fool.

Harry mumbled some kind of goodbye and excused himself. He hated that he was still in love with her and she wasn’t, that she’d been able to move on and he couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. He just wanted to be loved again and—

“Do you—Do you want to dance?”

Harry froze in his tracks. Slowly turning back on his heel to face her, he said, “You want to dance? With me?”

She nodded and held out her hand.

So now they were dancing. A hand on her waist, one on his shoulders, two joined together as they swayed back and forth to the music. Other couples had their heads rested on their partners’ shoulders, but she stayed standing up straight. She wasn’t rigid, just keeping enough distance between them so as not to confuse things further.

Harry didn’t really know what to feel. He was over the moon, of course. He’d wished and waited and hoped and dreamed and prayed that an opportunity like this would present itself, and it finally had. Only he never accounted for the confusion and uncertainty. He didn’t know what their shared dance meant. Was it merely a dance or was it a door opening to more? He couldn’t be sure, and since she didn’t say anything, he didn’t either, settling for enjoying having her in his arms again in this small way.

She smelled divine, the familiarity of her perfume a punch to the face. Memories of them tangled together—a picnic date that ended with Harry sleeping on her lap, him rushing her to the Emergency Room when she slipped and fell trying to reach a salad bowl on the top shelf, their first “I love yous,” the last time he saw her completely bare—flashed across his mind as they danced. It all felt nearly perfect. If it wasn’t for the uncertainty of how this dance would end, it would’ve been.

“Can I confess something?” she asked out of the blue.

“Of course,” he said, trying not to sound too eager.

“I can’t—I can’t remember the song,” she said.

“Can’t remember what song?”

“The song you sang when you washed my hair that one time. I—I can remember the shampoo you used, and I can remember what you were wearing, and what color nail polish we were wearing, and I remember you humming a song, but I don’t remember which one.”

For a moment, Harry’s heart stopped beating. He remembered the day, thought about it often. He just didn’t anticipate her bringing it up so plainly like that.

“You’re not getting in with me?”

When she had particularly stressful days at work, Harry liked to run baths for her. It was a way to help her relax, but it was also an opportunity for them to spend time together intimately too. He usually sat behind her and just listened as she said whatever she needed to get off her chest, or talked about random things until she eventually fell asleep against him. He’d rub her shoulders, kiss her neck, feed her grapes, do whatever he needed to until the tension was released from her body.

Used to their bath rituals, she expected Harry to climb into the tub after her, but he stayed where he was. He hadn’t even removed a stitch of clothing.

“No, I want to try something different, if you don’t mind,” he said.

Kneeling next to the tub, Harry took a pitcher and ran the faucet, filling it up all the way to the brim. She watched his expression closely with curious eyes, noting the concentration etched into his face.

“Tilt your head back for me, please.”

Realization dawned on her, and she did as he asked, her eyes closing as Harry poured the water down the crown of her head. His fingers were feather-light as he moved her hair around to soak it thoroughly, his touch sending happy little tingles from the top of her head down to the rest of her body.

Neither of them said much, though sometimes he asked if he was being gentle enough, and she quietly gave him pointers on how to properly care for her hair. It was peaceful and comfortable, both of them content to just bask in the other’s presence.

“Tonight you’re mine completely. You give your love so sweetly. Tonight, the light of love is in your eyes. Will you still love me tomorrow?”

Harry’s voice was so soft, she could hardly make out the words, but she was just able to. The words, his hands in her hair, it filled the room with warmth, made her love him even more than she already did. She’d never met anyone so loving, so eager to express their love in ways that were unique and personal, as Harry. She knew from that moment on that it was a privilege to love and be loved by him, and she vowed she would always reciprocate that kind of love for him.

“I remember,” he said quietly, his eyes darting down to make sure he didn’t step on her toes. How could he not? "It was a Carole King song."

“I think about that night often,” she admitted.

Harry couldn’t quite believe the conversation they were having, couldn’t believe they were having it in a room full of people. But he was too scared to alter this moment in any way, so he didn’t suggest finding somewhere more quiet to talk. He worried that the tiniest of changes would ruin it. All he could do was be thankful that the music was loud and people seemed to be in their own worlds and not paying them any attention.

“Y—You do?”

She nodded. “I—I feel like it’s the only time I hear your voice these days. Why—Why don’t you sing anymore, Harry?”

“I write now mostly,” was his non-answer.

How could he admit to her that he couldn’t stand to sing the songs he wrote because he cried every time he tried to? Every lyric was a tribute to the passion they shared, the love between them, how he ruined everything. The songs he wrote relieved and punished him at the same time. He felt like Tantalus, who was always within reach of food but could never eat it, cursed to starve for eternity. Harry was tormented by these songs, starved of living the life he had in them, but knowing he never could. So he sold them off or kept them to himself instead.

“Oh,” she said. “Are you—Does that make you happy?”

“Are you happy?” he asked her.

He needed to know if she was as starved as he was. If she wasn’t, if she was happy without him, it would possibly kill him, but he wouldn’t admit that he wasn’t over her. Her happiness meant everything to him, he wouldn’t ruin it again.

“I—Yes. Yes, I’m happy.”

Tears were coming, he could feel his throat closing up and his eyes stinging. The hand on her waist curled in on itself so that his nails were biting into his palms. Harry tried to focus on that pain and not his heart shredding itself into tiny, irreparable pieces.

“Good. That’s—That’s good. I’m happy for you,” he said around the lump lodged in his throat. He began to pull away, not caring if it made his true feelings obvious to her. He needed to get away before he really made a scene. “It was nice seeing you again.”

Harry tried to turn around, to turn away from her, but she grasped his hand before he could, her thumb soothing over where his nails had dug crescent moons into his palm. Raising their joined hands, she kissed his knuckles, the action alone powerful enough to bring him to his knees.

“I’m happy, but I—I could be happier.”

He tried to find the words, any words, but he couldn’t. His brain was short circuting. All he could do was rest his forehead against hers, tears of solace falling silently as they continued to sway to the music.

#harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles fic

[otomefiend]

Victor

Collection Event: Mirror mirror...

A little Victor treat cause I missed him. ♡ Pardon any awkwardness since I don't have much time to proofread it.

~~~

(Where... am I...?)

(I'm sure I went to sleep in my room at the Crown castle, did I not?)

I decided to walk around and assess the situation...

Victor: "Hi there, Kate."

...I was greeted by Victor, who suddenly appeared in front of me.

Kate: "Victor....!? You appeared out of thin air..."

Kate: ".. oh, is it a magic trick, perhaps?"

Victor: "Pfft, it's not a magic trick. This is just a dream you're having, so anything is possible!"

Kate: "A dream...?"

Victor: "Yes, anything that happens here, happens according to your wish."

Victor: "Whether it's gorgeous gem- adorned dresses or delicious, buttery pastries..."

Victor: "One wish from you, and you can have anything you want."

As he said this, he picked up a tree branch that lay at his feet.

Victor: "Let's see --"

He gently waved the branch as if it were a wizard's wand.

At that moment, a table ready for a tea party and a large wardrobe fell from the sky.

The wardrobe opened itself, revealing a variety of colourful dresses.

Victor: "... ta da!"

Kate: "Whoa... amazing! It really is a dream..."

Victor: "Your enthusiasm is appreciated! Well, no point just standing around; let's continue our chat over a cup of tea."

He urged me to sit on the chair that had just appeared and drink the tea prepared for me.

(I feel like I'm always drinking tea with Victor...)

(...it's strange to enjoy myself like that in a dream)

Kate: "By the way, why are you my dream, Victor?"

Victor: "I'm here to make your dreams come true! It's like a stage set-up."

Kate: "My dreams, you say..."

Victor: "Yeah, no matter how daring they may seem. Tell me what you want?"

Victor: "Let your imagination run freely. Whether you want to fly, do something outlandish, or just visualise it!"

Victor: "I'll accept anything and make it come true!"

Kate: "Then... I want to spoil you, Victor."

His jewel-like eyes widened in astonishment.

Victor: "...spoil me?"

Victor: "Um... it's definitely something you want to do, yes? You're not trying to fulfill my wishes?"

Kate: "Yes, it's what I want."

Kate: "You're busy working as the Queen's Aide and looking after the Crown."

Kate: "And yet you never show that you're tired and always take care of me..."

Kate: "So I thought I'd let you rest your body and mind."

Victor: "........."

Kate: "But whenever I try to persuade you to take a break in real life, you politely refuse..."

Kate: "And there's only so much I can do when I lend you a hand with work."

Kate: "So... will you allow me to help you, even if just in a dream?"

Kate: "That's what I want."

Victor: "Seriously... you know you've already helped me enough?"

Victor smiled softly in an attempt to dispel my anxiety. He was kind even in a dream.

(Still, it was true I've been performing my duties as a fairytale writer...)

(Little by little, I feel like I'm helping the Crown)

(... but, that's not enough)

I wanted him to need me more. I wanted to be useful... I wanted to get closer.

These feelings welled up in my heart whenever I was with Victor.

Wanting to dote on Victor was more for my own benefit than his.

Victor: "........."

Kate: "I'll do whatever I can, so..."

Victor: "...now now, don't be too hasty saying things like that."

Victor: "Even if I'm just a figment of your imagination."

Victor chided me but then winked playfully.

Victor: "But... if that's what you want, then by all means, feel free to pamper me."

Kate: "Thank you so much...!"

Victor: "Haha, I should be thanking you."

Victor: "Hmm, so you want to pamper me then... but what should I ask you to do?"

Kate: "Would you like to have a nap? You could use my lap as a pillow!"

Victor: "Lap pillow...?"

(Oops, I got carried away and said something weird... offering my lap was a ridiculous idea...)

Kate: "S-sorry, forget what I said..."

Victor: "What a splendid idea, Kate!"

Victor: "I'm tall, so I always look down at you, don't I? It'll be fun to look up for a change."

He did not find it strange and accepted the proposal.

As I sat down in a field of flowers, Victor took off his coat and gently placed his head on my lap.

(It's strange... the touch of Victor's hair and his warmth feel so real)

Kate: "Are you comfortable?"

Victor: "Of course! It's perfect... though isn't my head too heavy?"

Kate: "Not at all, it's very light... Erm, I don't mean that your head is empty or anything like that...!"

Victor: "Haha! Don't worry, Kate!"

Victor: "I know you wouldn't look down like that at anyone... I can see right through you."

Kate: "... thank you."

His words made me happy; I could feel my lips curve into a smile.

Victor, who had been watching me from the lap, reached out and stroked my cheek.

Victor: "Being able to see your happy face at such a close distance... definitely makes me a fan of this position."

Victor: "Thank you for being by my side and always keeping a smile on your face."

His tender touch tickled me, and I returned the favour by combing my hand through his hair.

We continued talking about trifle things, until...

Kate: "....achoo!"

I suddenly felt a chill and let out a small sneeze.

Victor: "Are you feeling chilly? I'd hate for you to catch a cold."

Victor: "Put on my coat for now... I'll get something else to keep you warm."

He stood up in a hurry, intending to leave me.

Kate: "W-wait, please! I'm fine, so stay with me a little longer..."

It was Victor's presence that brought happiness into my dreams.

I felt that the moment he disappeared from view, the dream would end, and I would be back to reality...

I stopped him, wanting to immerse myself in this world a little longer.

Victor: "... then, may I hug you?"

Kate: "Huh...?"

Victor: "There's nothing here that can keep you warm other than me. Kidding --"

Kate: "... is it okay to impose on you this way?"

I was aware I was dreaming, and yet I did feel a bit chilly.

I wanted Victor to stay by my side, and I wanted to stay warm,

His offer satisfied both of those needs... so I gladly accepted it.

Victor: "........."

Hearing my reply, Victor became unusually silent, and then, hesitating, he gently pulled me into his arms.

He wasn't supposed to be real, and yet I could feel his body heat,

my own body, which meant to be cold, gradually started to warm up.

(I don't know why... I feel so calm)

Being held like that by a man made me embarrassed.

But more than that, it was like my body had been waiting for Victor to embrace me for a long time...

It gave me a sense of security—the sensation that I was where I belonged.

Without saying a word, I hugged him back, and his arms, initially hesitant, tightened their grip around me.

Kate: "... I think I like being hugged by you."

I said it without thinking, and then I realized. This was not the reality but the world of dreams.

Kate: "Still... this is my dream and my desire. I'm sorry for making you go out with me..."

I was happy to have my shallow desires fulfilled by the dream Victor...

...yet my happiness rang hollow.

Victor: "... you think so? Maybe this isn't just your wish."

Victor: "I'm sure the real Victor would appreciate it as much."

Wrapped in the arms of an imaginary Victor whose words were kind, just like in reality.

I sincerely hoped that this pleasant dream would last a little longer.

~~~

#ikemen villains #ikevil #victor #ikevil victor #ikevil collection event #fan translation

[mehidktbh]

"I made you're favourite."

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: You catch the disease that's spreading throughout the prison and you've been forced to quarantine with the others.

Warning: Reader coughs a bit of blood, blood, mentions of turning, throwing up/vomiting, Daryl gives the reader a comforting hug, he's so cute, established relationship and fluff (Angst?)

A/N: This is during season 4

The sound of coughing can be heard through the cell block, to people throwing up and coughing you continue to lay down on the hard mattress, looking up at the other bunk bed and thinking. Thinking about what it would be like to be outside, helping Rick with the farming or helping Beth with Judith. But instead your stuck in the small cell only you and your thoughts, a blanket wrapped tightly around you. Even if you wanted to move around you were too scared too, the thought of someone turning haunted you every night, you slept every night with one eye open.

You looked to the corner of the cell, noticing your pile of clothes starting to make a mountain with a cup of tea placed right on top. Hershel must have left you a cup while you were asleep, you heard everyone got one and that it would "help" you. Looking at the steaming cup you eventually stumbled out of bed, throwing the blankets aside and trying hard to stand up.

You wobbled and stumbled over to the corner of the cell, groaning and coughing as you held it in your hand, looking down at the steamy liquid. Sitting back down on the bed you began to drink it, it passed your throat and suddenly the taste hit you. With this sickness, you couldn't taste much but with the random flavour hitting you all your mind could think about was throwing up. Throwing the cup down on the floor in an instant you turned around and began to throw up in the toilet, your hands gripping the wall to the toilet itself.

♡ ♡ ♡

Sitting on the edge of your bed you began to think about Daryl, how much you miss him and that all you want to do is hold him in your arms. You miss his sweet touches and soothing voice, so protective and charming. Even if he didn't show it through physical attraction you still appreciated him, he'd get you little treats and trinkets from his runs. That's why hiding in all of your clothing was a jumper with pockets that zipped up on both sides, they were filled with little gifs. And some nights you'd grip onto it, fiddling around with the objects as you tried to drift away to sleep.

"Hey." A familiar voice snapped you out of your train of thought, turning your head around you see Daryl leaning up against the entrance of your cell. A bowl in his hand, you smiled. Daryl's heart lit up, seeing you there still alive and still smiling only made his day better, he dreaded the thought of coming to check up on you only to see the worst.

"Daryl..." You whispered, "You're not supposed to be in here" He shook his head, his hair flopped as it stuck to his face and neck. He began to slowly walk towards you, making sure to keep his distance but still within touching distance. "I made you're favourite." His dark voice was muffled against the black bandana he was wearing, it hugged his face perfectly and for a second you could almost see his smile forming through it. "Aw, you didn't-" You started to cough, trying hard to cover your mouth with your hand. A speck of blood didn't go unnoticed by Daryl as you sat your hand back down on the bed. "You didn't have to Daryl" He looked back up to you, looking into your eyes and down to your pale lips, cracked but still plumped.

"Yes, I did. Been worryin' about ya' all day" He handed over the lightly steaming bowl, the sight of the steam coming from out of the bowl brought back memories. You weakly grabbed the bowl, your fingers ghosting over Daryl's, his heart pounding out from his chest. Butterflies flew through you, looking down at the thick soup the smell faintly tickled your nose. "Need somethin' else?" He questioned, looking at you concerned but still comforting to you. "Wish I could give you a hug..." You giggled, Daryl laughing silently too.

The sound of the bed creaking, rattling against the concert walls the sound echoed through the cell block, the coughing could only drown it out before it filled up the whole block. "M'gonna go check on Glen," You nodded, "C'mere." But before you could push away Daryl he had you trapped against him, his muscular arms wrapped around your waist. Normally hugs were a bit awkward with Daryl but the way his head was tucked in your neck could speak a thousand words, his tight and comforting hug was all that you needed. So tight it felt like he was scared that the second he lets go you would disappear. But it all felt too sad like you wanted to sob right in his arms but now it hurt even more to cry and you didn't want to put more stress on Daryl than he already had.

#daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead #the walking dead fic #the walking dead x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fic #norman reedus

[metalomagnetic]

Snippet from "It runs in the blood"

We get to hear a little from Arcturus, just because I can't have enough Blacks whispering their opinions in my ear.

***

She’s scowling at Cygnus, eyes barely visible under her dropping eyelids.

“Master shouldn’t yell at Tesuth!” she hisses, snatching Cygnus’ cup away. “Tesuth is old, and she has a headache. If Master doesn’t like the tea-”

“It’s not tea, you cretin! You made me coffee, and you know how I despise-

“Then Master shall drink nothing!”

“Cygnus!” Arcturus warns him, when Cygnus looks ready to blast Tesuth into different pieces. He always was a violent man, this one. Quick to anger.

Cygnus settles, Tesuth leaves, mumbling. Arcturus takes a sip out of his cup. It is, at least, good coffee.

“Forget the elf. Are you certain about Sirius?”

Cygnus stares after Tesuth, murder in his eyes. “I obviously didn’t see for myself, he's not stupid enough to wear it in my presence. But Yaxley told me he wears the ring at all times. When I asked Lucius, he pretended not to hear, and that in itself means it’s true.”

Arcturus turns his head, slightly, to watch the dead garden. Oh, how Orion must suffer.

“Yaxley says Sirius is far too familiar with Voldemort, that they smile at each other, that he gets preferential treatment above all others, even Bellatrix.”

Sirius always was lovable. Since he was born, he was everyone’s favourite. Even Arcturus’ father, a harsh, stern man that never once hugged his children, never had a kind word for them, would often lift Sirius up, tickle him, place him on his lap, whispering all sort of inappropriate things in his ear.

Tom Riddle is a creature, an aberration far from human, yet even it is not immune to Sirius’ charm, apparently.

“And this never happened before?”

“No. Voldemort never paid anyone so much attention.”

“Bella-”

“It’s different,” Cygnus insists. “It’s different with Bella. He is fond of her, but this? He gave Sirius his family ring! When he talks of Sirius, he looks- I have never heard that man speak this way of anyone. Not even at school. Oh, and he very much enjoys speaking of Sirius, asks questions about him, useless things that can be of no use in war.”

“Is it aware of the significance of giving away his signet ring?” Perhaps the animal doesn’t know, what with its terrible upbringing.

“Yaxley alluded that they have an…intimate relationship,” Cygnus sneers. “And, I must say, if Sirius is wearing the Gaunt ring, then- yet I didn’t suspect Sirius finds men appealing. Quite the opposite. As bad as-” he trails off, before he can say ‘Orion' and risk Arcturus’ displeasure. “It’s not something I would accuse Voldemort of, usually, but I am starting to wonder if he…gave Sirius something.”

“Unlikely.”

Riddle has never resorted to bedding anyone to reach its goals. And it was handsome, back in the day, filth disguised by aristocratic features. Yet it never had a lover, not one Cygnus or Yaxley or Arcturus could find, at least.

“But Sirius is- he never shied away from his affairs, he has no shame; if he liked men, surely we’d have heard about it. Especially when he was with those tolerant morons.”

Sirius was, indeed, interested in girls, since he was alarmingly young.

But not many knew about that boy, that Rosier. Arcturus would not have found out either, if not for Walburga, who came to complain to him.

“Orion doesn’t seem to care, but you should. I don’t want Sirius turning into Alphard. Talk to him, or do something about it.”

Walburga was always so dramatic. It was obvious to anyone else that they would have no trouble marrying Sirius off, that he most likely would give House Black many children, what with his appetites. If he kept some male company outside of it, it wouldn’t have been the end of the world. But she made such a scene, Orion confessed, when Arcturus asked about it- and no one could throw a fit quite like Walburga. No doubt, she traumatised Sirius, like she traumatised him in so many different ways, to the point where Sirius was never seen even looking at a boy.

“What does Bellatrix think about it?” Another crazy one, prone to rage. So much like Walburga is as if she were her daughter.

Arcturus hears she killed Sirius’ previous woman, in a fit of jealousy. If only she would kill Riddle, too, driven by that same undue possessiveness over her cousin.

Sirius wanted to wed her, but Orion learned from his own mistakes and forbade it. Even Walburga was against it, and she adored Bellatrix back then.

“She’s in denial,” Cygnus huffs. “She refuses to talk about it. She insists that Voldemort gives tokens of affection to his most loyal, that he gave her something, too. Yet I told her this is not some vase, it’s a family ring. She said ‘her lord’ doesn’t put any value in our ‘stupid traditions’ and is probably unconcerned with the significance.”

Arcturus snorts. That could be. But- “Sirius is certainly aware of the implications. And yet he is wearing the ring.”

#it runs in the blood #Sirius/Voldemort #being a Black grandfather ain't easy #arcturus black #Arcturus thinks his old elf is the sanest member of his family

[plutoio]

peppering your face with kisses

floyd leech / vil schoenheit / trey clover

𝗳𝗹𝗼𝘆𝗱 𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗰𝗵

Your body starts to feel the tiredness in them once you're beginning to realize that you're slowly waking up from your long sleep.

You groaned, shifting slightly in your bed. You didn't to wake up yet, the thought of sleep immediately entering your mind when you woke up. Turning to your side trying to find a more comfortable to fall back asleep, the sinking feeling in your bed tells you that it will ruin that plan of yours.

"Shrimpyyyyy. Wakey wakey." The voice that you're all too familiar with giggled. You mumbled Floyd's name out, telling him that you want five more minutes of sleep.

But he complained, complaining to you that you were the one that told him to wake you early. You didn't answer, completely ignoring him in hopes to make yourself go back to sleep. You even brought your blanket up to cover you wholely. But of course, Floyd won't let you do as you please.

He'd think of this as a little game; singing in an annoying tone about where his shrimpy could be hiding, trying to grab your blanket off of you as he laughs maniacally when you told him to shut up. And since you don't really have enough strength to fight off your sleepiness, Floyd successfully pulled off your blanket from your, revealing yourself to his view.

"There you are shrimpy." He suddenly leans in, only to press a tiny kiss on your forehead. His kisses didn't stopped there; he leans in for more, cupping your cheeks in his hands and peppering your face with slow and light kisses. You whined at the affection, feeling loved at each kisses that he gives you.

𝘃𝗶𝗹 𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗲𝗻𝗵𝗲𝗶𝘁

Waking up is an easy feat itself, but trying to move your body around to do what you needed to do in the morning is the hardest of them all. You even haven't accomplished pulling yourself up the bed, as you remained laying on it.

But good thing Vil is there to help you get the job done. He yonks the covers from you, telling you to get up because you have at least one hour to prepare yourself for school. It didn't go successfully at first as you proceed to grabbed the covers back on you. Vil huffs, his eyes narrowing down to your form.

"Don't be so stubborn. You had enough rest." He pulled your covers for the second time, and this time you finally comply to his words. You sat up and just sit on your bed. Vil walked away for a moment before coming back to give you a cup of tea and warm bread that he had prepared for you.

It took you a while to actually drink it since you're still in a sleepy state. So after finishing every last bit of the tea in your cup and eating the bread off the plate, Vil grabbed the now empty cup and plate off your hands and let you do your thing to prepare for the morning and your upcoming classes for this day.

Vil decided that he will do your makeup; he has his hand cupping one of your cheeks, slowly pulling you close to him so he can see your face clearly. He can see how sleepy you still are even after taking a shower, especially when you let out a yawn in the middle of him putting mascara on your eyelashes, causing for you to shut your eyes.

He sighs, stopping on his tracks. "Still sleepy, are we? I know what will wake you up." He puts away the item that he's holding, turning back to rest one hand on your cheek before leaning in close to your face to place a kiss on your cheek. A giggle escaped your lips, making him smile. Giving you another kiss on the other cheek, giggles continue to leave your lips as he begins to pepper each part of your face with kisses.

𝘁𝗿𝗲𝘆 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿

You woke up to the sounds of loud snoring, along with soft breathings that you can hear near around your ears. You slowly opened your eyes, slightly glaring. You wanted to sleep more, and that woke you up.

When your eyes finally adjusted to your surroundings, you were able to find the source of that loud snoring. You forgot that you slept with Trey last night. The man beside you has one of his arms wrapped around you, with the other you're using to rest your head on. Your eyes continue to stare at your sleeping boyfriend, occasionally giggling because of his loud snores.

Smiling, you carefully lifted yourself up without waking Trey up, with the covers that were once covering your body falling off to pool around your waist. You stretched for a bit, before laying your eyes back to your boyfriend who is still sleeping right next to you. You moved to hover above him.

Brushing Trey's hair with a gentle look in your eyes, you leaned down to press a chaste kiss on his lips. You kissed him a couple more on his lips, before going upwards to give him a kiss on the nose, and then to his forehead. You repeated the ritual, but this time going downwards.

After a while of showering Trey with your kisses, you felt him shift beneath you. He was staring up at you, though his sight is currently blurry at the moment you're sure that he knows that it's you. He chuckled lowly when you continue to kiss him anyway. "Kissing me awake, huh...?"

He rests one hand on your waist, lifting himself enough to able to reach your face. The same as you, he kissed you chastely on the lips. He continued to placed soft kisses on your lips, before leaning forward so your positions will switch—with him now hovering above you as he peppers your face with many kisses. You'll playfully try to escape, but Trey will only hold you down without stopping his kisses for even a single moment. Ending it with a long shared, gentle kiss, you two rest your foreheads against each other with your eyes simply sharing a look of warmth.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland imagines #twst headcanons #twst fluff #twisted wonderland fluff #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech headcanons #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit headcanons #trey clover #trey clover x reader #trey clover headcanons

[soopersara]

Respite

Zutara Week 2023: Day 5

Read it on AO3 | @zutaraweek

At the Western Air Temple, Zuko and Katara can't stop arguing. But at night, to let the others sleep, they go by different rules.

“Can’t sleep?”

“No. You?”

Zuko shakes his head. “Still not used to the snoring. I thought my uncle was bad, but between Sokka and Aang, there’s never a quiet moment after sunset.”

He’s lying. Katara has heard him jerk out of sleep enough times to know that he has nightmares, and she suspects that he’s noticed the same about her. But they’ve come to an understanding by now—they may not be friends, but after dark, they don’t have to be.

They don’t argue. That might wake the others.

They don’t ask too many questions. That might make them argue.

It feels like a delicate balance sometimes, but their nighttime truce hasn’t failed them yet. By now, it’s beginning to feel natural.

“The snoring doesn’t bother me too much. You get used to that pretty quickly when you grow up in a tent.” She peers at him from the corner of her eye. “I’m less used to Toph kicking me in her sleep.”

If he recognizes the lie, he gives no sign of it. Instead, he gestures toward the empty space farther down the terrace. “I made enough tea for two cups if you want some.” He raises his cup enough to give its contents a sniff, and his mouth pulls to the side. “It’s—probably a little better than last time.”

“Did you make two cups deliberately, or did you just forget how much water you needed?”

A shrug. “Possibly both. I think I used too many tea leaves last time, so extra water has to be an improvement. Right?”

She perches an arm’s length away from him, allowing her legs to dangle over the edge. “You taste it first. If it’s better than last time, then I’ll think about having a cup.”

“Fair enough.” He doesn’t immediately taste the tea, opting instead to look out over the moonlit valley while the cup steams gently in his hands. “Did I ever tell you that I’ve been here once before?”

“No. But I guess I’m not really surprised.”

She looks downward too, her eyes tracing over the ribbons of mist forming along the rivers and streams in the jungle below. He’s been traveling more than three times as long as she has. After so much time, it’s no wonder that his path has folded back on itself.

“Is everything the way you remember it?” she asks. So long as she doesn’t look his way, she finds that she doesn’t mind his conversation. He is more soft-spoken, more thoughtful than she usually gives him credit for, and if she doesn’t meet his eyes, the anger that would ordinarily roil inside of her lies dormant.

“Mostly. And not at all.” Zuko pauses for a sip of tea, frowns in thought, then pours a second cup and passes it her way.

Katara shoots him a sideways glance before accepting the cup. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean the temple hasn’t changed very much, but—I don’t know. I guess I look at things differently now.”

Her hands clench, and she drags her eyes down toward the valley again. It’s nighttime. As frustrated and angry as she might be, she can’t argue with him now. Not when it could wake the others.

Still, a sharp tinge of bitterness finds its way into her voice. “Why? Because you’ve just changed so much?”

If her tone bothers him, Zuko doesn’t show it much. Dryly, he says, “I’m taller than I was last time I came here. And I can see out of both eyes since I don’t have half my face wrapped up in bandages.” A pause, and when he resumes, his voice is softer than before. “I am different now. You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to, but I have changed. Maybe not as much as I should, but at least being alone with my thoughts sucks less than it used to.”

“Hmpf.” Rather than responding immediately, she takes a swallow of tea. Though the flavor isn’t spectacular—it never is when Zuko brews it—the tea is at least pleasant enough to drink. Pleasant enough that she can hardly complain about it, even jokingly. She’s had worse in dozens of small village teashops. “I’m still waiting for you to prove that.”

“I know. I’m trying.”

She spares him another sideways glance. The fact that he always manages to sound, to look so earnest unnerves her a little. She doesn’t want to believe him, to trust him, but at the moment, she can’t convince herself that he’s lying. At the very least, he believes what he’s saying.

Maybe that quiet conviction is the problem. Why is it that he can be so certain when she doesn’t know what to believe anymore? It doesn’t seem fair. She’s been on the right side all along. She ought to know who she can trust by now. Zuko shouldn’t have this sort of clarity when he’s only just realized that his nation is in the wrong.

Katara leans back on her hands. She isn’t going to argue with him, but she refuses to give him credit for any clarity either. They have their truce, and if the only way she can maintain it without ceding any ground is to change the subject, that is exactly what she’ll have to do.

“Of all the Air Temples I’ve seen so far, I think I like this one best. The others felt so much—emptier than this one.”

For a few seconds, she can feel Zuko’s gaze on the side of her face, but then he turns forward again. “I get that. The northern and southern temples are so high up that they almost feel untouchable. Like they’re so far away from everything else that no one should be able to reach them.”

“What about the eastern temple? What’s that one like?”

He glances her way again. “You haven’t been there?”

She shakes her head. “The others left me behind in Ba Sing Se when Aang went to visit.”

“Oh.” His voice is almost impossibly soft, and he presses his lips together briefly before clearing his throat. By the weight of the silence, she suspects that he knows exactly when that visit was, exactly what being left behind led her into. “I’ve only been there once myself. It was—more open than the northern or southern temples, I guess. Spread out across a few different mountaintops, and I guess the extra space just made it feel different.”

“Hmm.” She exhales and takes another sip of tea. “I wonder if I’ll ever get the chance to see it.”

“I’m sure you will, someday.”

“What, are you some kind of optimist now?”

He shrugs. “You and the others have always managed to find a way before. I don’t see why this would be any different.”

Katara narrows her eyes. The same ember of frustration that has been sitting in her core flares up again, but this time, she can’t quite manage to contain it. “Oh, so that’s it? You decided to join us because you were tired of being on the losing side?”

“What?” His brows furrow.

“You keep telling us that you’re just here to do the right thing. I don’t think that’s true. If you really wanted to do the right thing, you could have started a long time ago.”

They’ve tread this ground before. She knows what’s coming—he’ll insist, yet again, that he’s trying to be a better person, then she’ll push back, and the cycle will go on. They’ll argue over and over, and it will never end unless he gives up or finds a way to finally change her mind.

The trouble is that even she doesn’t know what that might take.

There is a sort of melancholy that comes over his face, and his shoulders hunch. “I’ve been telling you the truth.”

A bitter laugh claws its way up her throat. “You keep saying that. Do you really think repeating yourself is helping anything?”

The tired defeat in his eyes feels like it should break her resolve, but Zuko just shakes his head and looks out over the valley again. “You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to.”

“You really don’t get it, do you? I do have to believe you. Everyone here is my family, and if you’re going to be around them, I have to trust that you’re not going to hurt them. And—” Despite her best efforts, her voice begins to wobble. “And I can’t trust you.”

“Oh.”

For what feels like a long time, that is all Zuko says. She thinks she sees his hand hover hesitantly toward her shoulder once or twice, but he never quite makes contact. She can’t decide if that’s better or worse. He cares enough to want to comfort her—or enough that he wants to make it look that way—but he’s either too disingenuous or too frightened of her to actually try.

“It was you,” Zuko says at long last, not quite looking her way.

“Excuse me?” She can still feel the heat in her own voice, and she stares daggers at him.

He clears his throat. “The other reason I came here. I mean—I did want to help. I still do. But—” He looks down into his teacup. “I had to leave home. By the end, Father just wanted to see the rest of the world burn, and I was tired of walking on eggshells to keep him from turning me into an example for everyone else.”

That figures, she wants to tell him. He’s the son of the Fire Lord. Sooner or later, life with his own family was bound to become too painful, too dangerous to bear. But the fact that he had no choice but to flee does nothing for his trustworthiness.

Zuko isn’t finished yet. With a sigh, he rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. “It took me a while to realize that I couldn’t run away unless I had somewhere else to go. But as soon as I did, I thought about what you said to me in the catacombs, and—I guess I felt like I’d finally found my place.”  

Her temper spikes. Maybe he’s telling the truth, or maybe he’s not, but it doesn’t really matter. True or not, the idea that he’s here because of her just hurts.

She slaps her teacup down and pushes back from the edge of the terrace. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare act like what happened in the catacombs mattered to you.”

Zuko rises just a moment after her. “Katara—”

She starts marching back toward her own room. If she has to stew in there alone for the rest of the night, she will. Anything to stop this conversation.

“Do you remember what you said to me?”

She fixes her eyes straight ahead. Just keep walking. Sooner or later, he has to give up.

“You told me that you thought I’d changed. And I had, a little. But now things just keep changing, and if I can’t stop that, I want to at least have some say in where I’m going.” He pauses, almost like he’s hoping that she’ll turn to face him again. “You thought I could be a better person. I wasn’t back then, and maybe I still haven’t gotten there. But I want to. Whoever you thought I could be back in Ba Sing Se—I’m still trying to figure out how to be that person.”

Katara stops walking, and her hands tighten involuntarily into fists. She wants to believe him. That fact surprises her more than she wants to admit. A person like him, like the better version of him, would make everything better. He could take an immense weight of responsibility off of her shoulders if only his change was real.

Maybe if she could shake free from the mistrust that has gripped her for so long, she would find that it is. That Zuko really is better now.

“Please,” he adds, voice soft. His footsteps come just a little closer, angling to one side where he can make out her face in profile. “I just want to know what I’m still doing wrong. I’ll fix it all if I can, I just need to know where to start.”

She shakes her head. “Nowhere. Don’t you get it? You aren’t doing anything wrong, it’s just—” Her voice wavers, then breaks. “It’s just that I believed you once before. I don’t think I could take it if I messed up and trusted the wrong person again.”

With one last, surprisingly light step, Zuko comes close enough to touch her shoulder, and this time, she feels the soft, warm weight of his hand. “You weren’t the one who messed up in Ba Sing Se.”

Though she is still both furious and hurt, she can’t help but lean into him. “What difference does it make whomessed up? I almost lost one of my closest friends. And I did lose someone else who I wanted to be my friend.”

She can only see him from the corner of her eye, but he appears briefly stunned by her candor. Then, instead of retreating as she expects, he offers her a tentative hug. “I’m not going anywhere this time. Not unless you want me to. If you ever decide to give me another chance, I promise I’ll be right here waiting.”

#zutara #zutara fanfiction #zutara week #zutaraweek #zutara week 2023 #zutaraweek2023 #Respite #soopersara's scribbles