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#and i feel how much it hurts him and makes him feel like a failure. and like he failed as a protector

a-little-ray-of-fantasy · 3 months

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An analysis on how Sir Pentious' character design represents his personality and development perfectly (beware of Hazbin Hotel spoilers)

Let's get this out of the way: Sir Pentious is a snake, an animal mostly known for generally believed negative traits such as poison, deceit and betrayal. We don't know WHY he's in Hell, maybe he was a "snake oil salesman" considering he comes from the Victorian times and he's into hyping up what he does, or maybe he was into war. Thing is, he's a Sinner whose design just scream "Evil".

(BTW, a snake could also represent "fertility": looking at you, Egg Boiz!)

He always had eyes all around him not just because of a stylistic choice.

Sir Pentious always felt like he was watched, and had to watch out for any danger.

"Everyone here is too nice: obviously it must be a lie! I can sense they are planning to kill me, but when?! HOW?! I must be PREPARED!"

Sadly, he's been constantly berated by other demons, far more effective in destruction, status, cruelty and charisma. Alastor won't ever bother to remember him, Cherri always ones up him, and the Vs, the ones he admires to most, won't care less about him.

To the point that Vox sent him as a spy without the intention to save him if things were going to fail. Heck, he even openly tells him to die while calling him a failure.

So of course he's got reasons to have trust issues, or taking everything so seriously, being constantly reminded of what he can't accomplish. So he puts an air of grandure that may be very flamboyant, but is VERY frail.

But, if we have to be frank here, his biggest source of insecurities... is himself.

He has eyes on his tail (his softer, more vulnerable side, which is ironically made even MORE lieable to getting hurt because of how sensitive those organs are), and inside his hood, so he could look out better for danger when on alert mode.

Heck, even the mark on his hood kinda resembles one eye.

Problem is, when you see his hood folded, when he's at ease, neutral or sad, those are not looking at outside sources.

They're looking at him, at his back. A constant stare that happens everytime he lets his guard down and shows how vulnerable he is. A gaze that can sense all of his weakness, his struggles, his insecurities.

And it's all him.

Pentious constantly believes that his inferiority complex will fade away once he'll accomplish something grand that will make others accept him. But he is his biggest critic, his worst enemy: HE is the one who believes he's a failure, that he'll never gain approval from others.

This show takes place in Hell, but this is Sir Pentious' personal Hell: insecurity born out of self hatred. Doomed to feel everyone's gaze upon him, including his own. Believing the danger to his self esteem is from others, when it's really from him.

But then he's accepted at the Hazbin Hotel: Charlie forgives him, he bonds with Angel, Husk and Niffty who don't care a bit about what he's accomplished or not, or what he's done in the past.

He feels more comfortable in showing his vulnerable side, and no one judges him for how easy it is for him to get emotional.

Of course he's still very insecure, considering how he struggles to confess to Cherri, but notice how he stops building machines or planning to attack others as soon as he starts bonding with the others: he doesn't have a reason to destroy or attack, now that he knows he's loved.

And his final design, when he goes to Heaven, shows how much he's changed, yet stayed the same. He may have died a hero, but he's still the same awkward snake we've come to love.

Speaking of love, let's talk about that!

No more eyes on his tail, now it's just on his chest (showing he's opened his heart), his glasses are now heart shaped, and even the markings inside his hood resemble kiss marks more than anything else.

And look: the mark on his hood is now heart shaped!

Why all these hearts? Why did all the eyes disappeared from his body? Even his eyes that were looking at his back?

Simple: love. Love defeated his insecurities and self hatred. He died for love.

He died protecting his friends, his new family, his new home.

He confessed and kissed Cherri knowing full well he wouldn't have made it, and yet he went anyway.

The usually cowardly and timid Pentious actually faced a great danger with courage and determination: he acted selflessly by putting himself in harm's way, he didn't steal (naturally) and by going against Adam he did indeed "stick it to the man"!

He used his weaponry knowhow and battle experience not to conquer, but to save his loved ones.

His only thought up until his demise was: "I'll go down protecting them".

And he's been rewarded not only by becoming an angel, but also being spawned directly in front of Emily and Sera, two Seraphim, the highest rank for an angel to have, who have also been depicted as snakes of fire throughout history! Sir Pentious, the lowly demon considered a failure by everyone, actually has been noticed by the Seraphim! He's come so far!

He's now come to represent the REAL symbolism of a snake: the duality of death and rebirth, transformation and immortality (ironically a reference to the fact he's been around since 1888 without ever dying from any Extermination or blessed weapons).

And isn't so poetic that a snake, the "source of the original evil", was the first sinner to ascend to Heaven? Or that this episode was released on February 1st, or National Serpent Day?

And of course, as the Bible itself says:

"Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends."

(John 15:13)

And knowing him, I'm confident in saying he'll keep helping his friends even in his new position, like the soft hearted noodle he's always been, but was to afraid to show it up until now.

#Vivziepop #Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin Hotel Spoilers #Hazbin Spoilers #Sir Pentious #Fave Character #Comfort Character #Personal Rambles #What a wonderful lovable character he turned out to be 🥲#Character Analysis

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a-hazbin-reader · 2 months

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Hey did you get my ask/request of Alastor and Wife!reader having an argument and Alastor says something horrible to her leaving him to have to make up for it?

I did, I just have a lot of stuff in my inbox

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Alastor being in the DOGHOUSE

Description: ☝️⬆️

Alastor doesn't mind fighting, likes to bicker with and irritate those around him as some strange show of dominance

But his wife is an exception, he hates fighting with his wife and goes to great lengths to avoid it

Despite his efforts, you two do still fight from time to time and he hates it, he tries so hard to reign in that cruel part of him

He doesn't really even remember what started the fight, probably something dangerous he did that upset you

Something like the Adam stunt

And he probably tried to brush it off, his pride not letting him admit that your fears were warranted

You were understandably getting worked up over his dismissal, and he was getting irritated that you wouldn't just drop it

Everyone else in the hotel had scattered and hidden the moment you two started to uncharacteristically raise your voices at each other

Angel had to grab Niffy to stop her from watching the entire argument play out

He just doesn't want to scare you with the idea of losing him, he wants to be your strong, invincible husband

It makes him uncomfortable that you see beyond the powerful overlord demon and instead zero in on the man beneath it all

"Darling, I would understand your fears if I hadn't come back to you in one piece, but I'm here. With you. Perfectly fine."

You could rip your hair out due to frustration, almost in tears, how could he not understand how you felt?

"Alastor! That's not the point! You can't be so reckless! It's not just you that you have to worry about anymore! You have a wife! You have to live and be safe for me!"

He fears a pang of anger over being told what to do, rage and irritation over the unintentional reminder of his failure to win

Which makes his mind wander to his deal, his fucking leash

The words are out of his mouth before he even realizes what he's saying

"If I knew that everything I do had to be approved by you then, I would've rethought this whole marriage ordeal."

Alastor regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, his ears folding back at the sight of your hurt expression

Your eyes have tears in them but you're doing your best to hold them in, turning on your heel to leave the room

"Wait-Darling, I didn't-"

"Just...give me some space, Alastor."

He regrets it so much, watching you walk away from him when he should be begging for forgiveness

He hates seeing you so upset but he hates being the reason for it even more

Alastor tries to give you the space you asked for, but it's difficult when all he wants to do is make up with you already

But he also doesn't want to actually talk about what happened

So he breaks fairly easily when he sees you again, coming up behind you and hugging you

Only to be shrugged off when he goes for a small kiss, left with a sinking feeling in his stomach

"I said to give me space, I'm not ready to talk to you yet."

Normally, Alastor loves it when you're cruel and cold, finds it a little hot, but when it's aimed at him? He hates it so fucking much

Literally looks like a kicked puppy when you walk away from him again, Charlie and Vaggie looking at anything but him

"You know what, Charlie? I do see that crack in the wall!"

He tries again later, sitting next to you and trying to wrap an arm around your shoulders while the radio bursts to life with a love song

Only to be rewarded with an ill hidden sniffle and you immediately getting up to walk away from him

"If you're not going to apologize and have a genuine conversation with me then don't even bother."

It's driving Alastor crazy not being able to be with you, to not be able to properly make up with you

But he still doesn't want to admit he messed up or have that uncomfortable conversation with you

So he tries lavish gifts and other romantic gestures that all get rejected or given to Niffty to do whatever she wants with them

"Yay!! I'm going to poison these and give them to the mother bugs!!"

Okay...maybe Angel should have these...

Alastor is starting to understand that he can't just gloss over this one

He understands it a little more later that night when you go to bed without him, and he's left too nervous to follow after you

Several hours into the night, the guilt eats at him and he breaks, sneaking into the bedroom

You're awake, your eyes red rimmed from crying but you manage to give him a glare before turning your back to him

"Darling, I believe I owe you an apology..."

The way your tense body relaxes is all he needs, crawling into bed with you and pulling you to his chest

It's a difficult pill for him to swallow, so it's easier for him to have these conversations with you like this

He doesn't want you to see his weakness even when he's laying it out for you

Luckily, Alastor is good with his words and you're willing to listen now that an apology is on the table

It's a long conversation that leaves you both sleepless and emotional in each other's arms

But things are settled and Alastor is forgiven, happy to be back in your good graces

He tried to be strong and hold himself back, he really did... but being without the warmth of your love was torture for him

It was a rough couple of hours for him

HA WHIPPED

"Angel, shut the fuck up before you get yourself killed!"

He's extra clingy and romantic with you for DAYS afterwards, making everyone else at the hotel practically nauseous

Except for Charlie, of course, she loves it

He's just so relieved that you've forgiven him, still disgusted with himself for even saying what he said

Asks you for yet another kiss that morning before Husk finally walks away, annoyed by Alastor's neediness

You don't mind your husband's clingy antics, enjoying the extra attention he's giving you

You should get mad at him more often

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin x reader

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spicyhamsamson · 1 year

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I am. So fucking tired of Batman being portrayed as a bad parent and a toxic person. And it’s so goddamn widespread. Fuck, it might be as bad as the whole “Superman being a kindhearted Boy Scout is boring” take.

I get it, the man’s not exactly stable, he watched his parents get murdered in front of him and spent years of his life training to fight crime dressed like a giant scary bat, of course he’s not perfect.

But to say that Bruce Wayne isn’t caring, isn’t empathetic, to call him abusive…it just misses the point of who the character is to me.

Why do you think he fights crime? Yes, part of it is because he’s bitter and sad because his parents were cruelly ripped from him as a child, and he’s lashing out against the corruption of his city. It’s arguably the focus of his earlier years. But he learns to become more than that. He learns to bring hope, a chance to be better.

Harleen Quinzel is the Joker’s right hand lady, but she’s also a victim of an abusive relationship and a woman with a surprisingly strong moral compass and a love for animals, and wants to get better. That’s why we see time and time again that he has a noticeable soft spot for her, because he knows that she’s a good person at her core.

Harvey Dent is a man who will decide someone’s fate on a coin toss(and a pretty inaccurate depiction of DID), but he’s also Bruce’s close friend who clearly needs help learning to live with his condition, rather than try to get rid of it, and someone who he still goes out of his way to visit, even after everything, because he recognizes he’s not just a criminal with a weird gimmick, he’s a man who is struggling with a condition that he’s mishandled his whole life.

Victor Fries is a cold, emotionless man who will callously discard allies and blame them for being careless, but he’s also a man who’s either lashing out because he had the love of his life taken from him, or just desperate to make sure she isn’t taken from him, and is willing to do anything just to guarantee her survival. Of course Batman would understand, his whole life was defined by having people he loved taken away from him.

Even the Joker, arguably one of the most morally bankrupt characters in all of fiction, is someone that Batman has offered a chance to. After the guy shoots the daughter of his friend, a girl he cared for like she was his own kid, and paralyzes her from the waist down, he tells the Joker that he doesn’t want to hurt him. He wants to get him help. He looks at this monster who has taken countless lives and says “You don’t have to be alone.”

For fuck’s sake, he sat with Joe Chill in his last moments so that he wouldn’t be alone. Joe Chill, the man who murdered his parents, who took so much from him, the person responsible for all of the misery and suffering he’s gone through. And he sits with the man to comfort him while dies. Do you know how much emotional intelligence and maturity that must take? To comfort someone who arguably ruined your life?

And you’re gonna tell me the man who did that would abuse his kids?

That he’d hold up the young man whose death was his greatest failure, the boy he grieved, and say this?

That he’d look his goddamn son in the eyes and say this to him?

Why the FUCK do you think he took in Dick Grayson in the first place? It wasn’t because he saw the kid and thought “Ah. A potential soldier.”, it was because he saw a boy experiencing the same heartbreaking loss he had so many years ago, and wanted to make sure he didn’t end up as bitter and miserable as he was.

Why do you think he smiled when Tim Drake presented him a broken watch for Father’s Day? Because he was just happy to see the boy alive and safe.

DAMIAN LITERALLY POINTED AT A COW AND SAID “I’m keeping her. She’s Bat-Cow.” AND BRUCE JUST WENT WITH IT. DIDN’T EVEN NEED TO ARGUE WHY BRUCE SHOULD LET HIM KEEP HER. HE SAID “this cow is my pet now” AND BRUCE SAID “aight, bet”.

The thing about Batman is that he wants to make sure nobody else ends up feeling the way he does. That’s not just about stopping a mugger so a boy’s parents aren’t gunned down. It’s about giving his loved ones the support and care that he couldn’t have, because it was taken from him. It’s about comforting someone who just went through a traumatic experience and letting them know that they’re going to be okay. It’s about going to someone locked away in a cell who thinks that they’re a lost cause and a burden to society and telling them that he wants to help them get better. It’s about EMPATHY and COMPASSION.

That’s what makes him a HERO. He’s meant to inspire us, to show us that we can have that same empathy for others around us, that we can turn our suffering into hope for a better future.

I just wish more people at DC would start recognizing that. But I might as well follow that example myself. Maybe through this struggle of having to see this hero mistreat the people around him and act like a grade-A jackass, people will start to recognize that missing compassion, and slowly but surely, it might come back. After all, what is this post, if not trying to bring attention to the matter in the hopes of fixing it?

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sweet-as-an-angel · 10 months

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Dating Miguel O’Hara Would Include…

Warnings: Implied Smut, Domestic Miguel !!!, Possessive Miguel, Protective Miguel, Dominant Miguel, Slight Yandere Miguel (if you squint), Fluff, Mild Angst, Hurt/Comfort, No Pronouns used for Reader Except You’.

Miguel being stoic and militant around his associates, but melting into a massive softie when he gets to see you.

His eyes literally light up when he hears you coming. He has to resist the urge to scoop you up into his arms and cuddle you silly whenever he hears you call his name, your tones music to his ears, his heart thrumming – harpstrings.

Golden retriever boyfriend to the MAX.

He brings you breakfast in bed whenever he’s awake before you – which is often considering his vampiric nature. And he looks so proud of himself when he cooks a good meal, too. Literally just a beaming, teeth-filled, closed-eye smile when you tell him he’s “Done such a good job, Babe !”

Any kind of praise sends him absolutely wild, so use it sparingly. It can either get you out of or into a world of trouble; especially if you're trying to get Miguel hot under the collar.

Miguel’s love language is, simply put, everything.

The adoration that swells in his chest whenever he thinks of you manifests as him throwing himself into your service.

He does anything and everything you ask of him, no matter how extravagant or nominal the request is. And everything you don’t.

He isn’t stingy with his words, either; he tells you how much he loves you whenever you’re alone, often coming up behind you and sliding his arms around your front, resting his head on your shoulder and breathing deeply.

He presses soft, careful kisses into the crook of your neck, making sure to keep his fangs from pinching you, inhaling your warmth, your scent.

“I love you.” His heart drums into your back. His lips capture your skin again. “I love you,” And again. “I live for you.” And again.

He’s lived with a lifetime of regret for not being able to protect those he held dear; he won’t allow you to go without knowing the extent of his adoration for you. Not when he feels he never truly got to show his family – his ghosts – how much he loved them.

On a lighter note, Miguel LOVES having his hair played with; just card your fingers through his locks and he’s as good as incapacitated.

After a rough day, he crawls into bed and lays his head in your lap or on your chest, his body winding down in your soft embrace.

He lowkey moans when you catch his sensitive spot, his brows knotting together, his voice coming out as a rasped whisper.

He knows when you’re purposely trying to get him worked up, though. And he doesn’t stand for it.

“Careful Darling,” he glowers, the phantom sensation of you tugging his hair a half-weight on his senses. He cracks an eye open, his wine irises peaking out beneath heavy lids.

“Or I won’t be so gentle when it’s my turn to take care of you.”

Miguel prefers private displays of affection over public displays of affection; he doesn’t want his subordinates knowing he’s gone soft.

But, there are exceptions to this principle.

Like if Miguel’s feeling particularly hot and desperate, by which point he whisks you away to the bathroom and the two of you aren’t seen for a good hour or so. Usually longer.

The other exception is if he’s feeling jealous or possessive, by which point his sensibilities have vacated his mind and he’s right behind you, his hands on your waist, your shoulders – anywhere he can hold you. Or, he’s filling your mouth with his tongue and your ear with his words if the other party present doesn’t get the hint that you’re taken.

“You’re mine,” he rasps, his breath hot, prickling your skin, the tips of his fang drawing goosebumps. Miguel’s eyes shine an ocean red, dark and unknown. He has you caged, arms encompassing you entirely.

“And I’ll never let anyone take you from me.”

Speaking of; Miguel is incredibly possessive.

Years of rumination and a history of scattered failures make for a very territorial man. And it shows.

He keeps his hands on you whenever you’re together or in the presence of someone he thinks can steal you from him; someone better than him.

He stares down at them until they fumble or leave; whichever prevails first. After which point, when you’re alone, he turns you round to look at him and just stares at you like 🥺.

The epitome of ‘Babe you pushed my leg off you while you were asleep; do you still love me ???’

You have to reassure him when things like this occur. Take him by the face and hold him gently in your hands; press a soft kiss to his lips and call him your “One and only,”

Doing so is a one-way ticket to a very long night.

Possessive, heartfelt, grasping, gasping love-making.

Miguel can’t stop until your bottom half is numb and the only thing you’re capable of thinking and saying is his name.

Of course, he rewards you for your endurance after the fact.

Aftercare king right here <333

Treats you like you’re glass; he runs you a bath, brings you your favourite drink and changes the bedsheets.

And, when you’re fast asleep and curled up into his chest, his heart flutters, and, for the first time in his life, he feels that he has stability. Pure, unconditional, everlasting love.

And he’ll sooner dismantle the multiverse himself than let anyone or anything take that from him.

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

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colormepurplex2 · 3 days

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Shatter With Me | Waving The White Flag

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

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

Jungkook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s, uh…”

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

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

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

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

“Isn’t that right?” he asks.

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

“You’re healthy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, no. You know I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm? Who?”

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

You shrug. “I wasn’t staring.”

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

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

💔💔💔

Jungkook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?” Jungkook answers on the second ring.

“Jungkook.”

“Oh, hey. Everything okay?”

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

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

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

“Why? What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he breathes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seems pretty simple, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I understand.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I think so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

Jungkook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, guys.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, too, Jungkook.”

💔💔💔

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

Jungkook

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

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

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

“You missed it.”

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

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

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

“She? It could be a boy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, is everything okay?”

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

“I’m on my way!”

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

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

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

“O-okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Yeah.”

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

“Do you want me to find a wheelchair?”

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

“Yeah.”

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

“I can come?” he wonders, hopeful.

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

“Oh, she’s not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kinda weird, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That would be great, thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is everything okay?”

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

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

“Where have you been?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is not what happened at all!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next Chapter⇾ (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

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1800jjbarnes · 5 months

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◇ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟑 : 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 - 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 ◇

Godess Amongst Commoner

【Synopsis】 : Overhearing for so-called friends make fun of your "failures" in life made your loving mobboss boyfriend very unhappy. No one makes his Doll cry.

『W.C』 : 1.67k

-> Genre: Mafia Au. Suggestive. Sweet Love.

Paring: MobBoss!Bucky x Chubby!Reader

[Warnings] : Shitty Friends. Mention about putting on weight (which is normal). Mention of a standard. Dark thoughts. Reader hates herself. (I love you all so much.) James wants to lowkey kill your friends. Pet names. Swearing. Crying. Kisses. Hickeys. Little bit of man handling. Fingering.

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It was supposed to be a calm day hanging out with your friends but it got turned on its head when you got the the place you were going to meet them and you overheard them talking about your ‘failure’ in life. God, it hurt hearing them explain it like that. It wasn’t like it was your fault that your life came to a crashing stop. It’s not like you asked to get a back injury and gain some weight over the healing time.

It crushed you, trying so hard to lose the weight was no easy task. It was like it stuck to you. You became so insecure about it, and you thought your so-called friends were supportive and loved you no matter what, but it turns out they now looked at you like an outsider. All because you were a few sizes bigger than them.

You felt the restaurant, not even taking the corner to where they were sat. Knowing that if you saw you, they would stop you. They would have most likely say ‘oh why are you leaving babe, don’t go’ but in reality, you now know, it was just pity. That’s how they looked at you. Like a puppy, they had no choice but to look after.

You spent the next hour walking home instead of calling for a ride, punishing yourself in a way. When you saw the gate to your front lawn, you sighed, feeling relief. It wasn’t that the walking was hard or anything. But you wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball on your soft bed. What you didn’t expect was for a motorbike parked discreetly in your driveway. ‘wonder who that could be’ you thought sarcastically.

Opening the door to your house, you notice the front door was unlocked, along with a pair of nice dress shoes sitting on the shoe rack. You took your own shoes off, hissing at the pain of walking for so long on small platforms. “James?”

You called, voice echoing in the silent home. He didn’t normally show up unannounced let alone on his bike, given he worried so much about your safety. But when you entered the lounge room and spotted him lying on your soft sofa with one of your plushies tight in his grasp that you keep nearby so you could cuddle it while sitting on the couch alone. You had to smile at him. For a roughed-up mob boss, he sure looks like such an innocent baby right now.

“You better be laughing at yourself, doll.” His deep grumble caught your laughter in your throat. He didn’t even open his eyes, just twitching slightly. He knew it was you the moment he heard the pitter-patter of your socked feet padding around the small home. He was, after all, in a line of work where he needed to be vigilant. “Why are you home anyway?”

You were hoping he wasn’t going to ask you that question ‘cause he knew you were going out with your friends―that he frankly didn’t like―today. Sighing, you took a set on the lone loveseat against the other wall. You knew you would have to tell him cause if you didn’t he would just come up with his own answer. “I left ‘cause I overheard….uh….” Fuck you didn’t even want to talk about what went down in fear that if you saw it aloud it would be real.

He noticed your shift in demeanour instantly, sitting up he shuffled along the couch until he was leaning against the arm. The plushie still nestled in his lap as his harsh grip squeezed its poor head. “What did they say?”

“Nothing important… it was um…” You began to panic, maybe lying would have been the better option now. Bucky goes up from the couch, moving to sit next to you, pulling your legs up to rest them over his lap. You felt a sudden feeling of disgust as he lifted your figure. How could someone like Bucky be in love with someone like you? He was toned, rugged. A handsome bachelor that could have women falling at his feet. But yet here he was. Staring at you with devotion and full of love. You were the only one in his heart… why?

“I swear if you don’t tell me right now.” He sounded threatening, but in truth, you know he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or others, without knowing you were completely okay with it. You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling a tear fall down your hot cheek. You didn’t even know when you started crying, but it was like it was out of your control. You were useless, worthless, a failure, and everyone’s eyes. So why not he as well? Why didn’t he not leave for someone else when he clearly deserved better?

He rushed to you without a second thought, holding you close as he hushed you softly. His hand raked through your hair, soothing you while his other hand found your thigh making shapes in your plump flesh. You were so perfect to him, and seeing you cry broke his heart, and when you finally were able to tell him exactly what your so-called friends had said, he lost it. Sitting up, he cupped your face slowly, wiping your tears away as he spoke tenderly. “Honey, you are perfect no matter what anyone says. Including me. Your own opinion about yourself is all that truly matters. You are such a powerful woman, and I wouldn’t be here today if it was not for you.”

You hiccuped, sobbing quietly as he rambled about how much he was devoted to you. His lips found the corner of your wobbling mouth. His hand that once cupped your face now dared to hold the back of your neck while the other perched itself on your hips. He knelt between your legs, locking his lips while mumbling ‘I love you’ over and over through shaken kisses. He needed you to understand how beautiful you are in his eyes. His queen. Without another word, he pressed you gently on the couch, man-handling you until your boy was lying flat on the soft cushioning.

His lips danced down your jaw and neck. “My pretty angel. Perfect like honey. My everything.” His hands played with the buttons of your jeans, popping them open before drawing a hand down your panties. You tried to stop him, feeling you were too ugly for him to touch you. But he protested, smacking your thigh with his free hand. “I’m going to touch you. Pleasure you like the queen you are, and you are going to lay here and scream my name like a good girl.”

You whimpered, still crying, but you nodded, whispering a quick “Yes..Sorry.” but he stopped your whines with his fingers gripping your chin so you’d gaze right into his intense stare.

“Don’t you ever apologize for something you never did. You aren’t the reason for these tears.” He wiped one away with his thumb. “The only time you cry is when I’m pleasuring you so good. You got that, Honey?”

“Yes, Sir…”

“Repeat.” He growled slipping his fingers inside your soaked cunt.

“YES Sir…Fuck…” You moaned, bucking your hips up, spreading your legs without thinking. He hummed in approval, fucking you slowly with his fingers. His lips attached onto your neck, sucking a few harsh marks making sure to put them in places where he’d know people would look. Where your ‘friends’ would see. You see, your lover was an honest man. A fair man. And he had already made plans in his mind of what exactly to do with these so-called friends of yours and once he was down worshipping you as you deserved he was going to have fun…talking… with those disgusting women.

He pulled up your top, tugging down your bra so your breasts would pop out. He wasted no time in littering your gorgeous tits with kisses, licks, and bites. “Mine. You got that darling. You’re all mine. My good girl.” His fingers got faster placing his thumb on your clit making you scream out his name over and over. His chuckle vibrated on your nipples making you shiver in pleasure. His praises booted an ego you thought was on the ground and his lips helped wash away any negativity you mind portrayed towards your lover. “you gonna cum baby? Make a mess on my fingers?”

“Yes, Bucky. Pleaasee.” Your hands flew to his hair, tugging sharply making him groan from the painful pleasure. He rubbed sharp circles on your clit helping you tip over the edge squirting all over his hands your jeans.

“Such a good girl.” You tried to sit up to inspect the damage but Bucky placed a firm hand on your shoulder, effectively pushing you back down onto the couch. “I’m going to strip you naked okay and then you are going to go have a bath while I take a call. And then I’ll join you. How does that sound?”

You know all too well that bath means he wants to fuck you in the tub. One of his favourite places to fuck you since he was surrounded by your scent and sweet candles. But the phone call scared you. Bucky is a dangerous man and a cruel and mean one. One work is going well and he wants updates or… he wants someone dead. And from what you told him prior you know he’s planning the second option. Cause in the end, Buckg was willing to kill for you. Protecting you, if that means wiping an entire continent out. You were his everything and he plans to show you that every day at every hour and every minute.

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biceratops7 · 9 months

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I’m gonna SCREAM-

We’ve already established as a fandom that Metatron could teach a masterclass on gas lighting, but I wanna talk about how he specifically validates the things Aziraphale cares for while simultaneously devaluing them under the surface.

First off, this moment?

Tells us everything we need to know. It sets the scene for exactly the games Metatron is playing. He makes Muriel feel important while openly insulting them (flat out calling them stupid), aka seamlessly reinforcing the idea that they’re less than to both them and anyone else in the room. He knows he can get away with this easily, he knows that Muriel, lonely, overlooked little Muriel, will be completely distracted by the fact that someone so important is taking an interest in them.

This is already horribly clever, but then later on you realize it’s doing even MORE heavy lifting when he appoints Muriel to run the bookshop. “See? What’s important to you is what’s important to me! I’ve graciously taken the time to ensure your beloved shop is looked after by Muriel. You know, the dim one!” …let’s suffice it to say he’s ensnared too birds with one net for this one, and that a pattern is already starting to arise.

So when Metatron says Gabriel came to Aziraphale because he’s a “natural leader” and “doesn’t just tell people what they wanna hear”? Yah he’s full of shit. Aziraphale struggles with his sense of purpose when he doesn’t have someone or something guiding him, and for thousands of years he’s been terrified of sharing his true feelings and opinions to 90% of people he’s known. Completely just trying to butter him up. Wanna know the real reason Gabriel seeks asylum with Aziraphale?

Exactly this. Gabriel just says so point blank. It’s not because Aziraphale is this person for him, it’s because despite knowing nothing, he has this instinct that Aziraphale is the only one who can possibly understand why Gabriel did what he did. He is, I mean as far as we know, the only other angel who has fallen in love. (In general, let alone with a demon.)

But nope, can’t have that. We can throw the promise of restoring Crowley in the mix to sweeten the pot, but we can’t acknowledge why he’d want that so badly in the first place. So now it’s cause they work so well together. We can praise the angel for the fallen archangel Gabriel himself coming to him protection and guidance, give him a gold star. But we couldn’t DARE imply that it was by virtue of Aziraphale’s courage to choose earthly love over heavenly. How Gabriel didn’t need a leader, but a friend who’s truly known the joys of adoring that “particular person” and the pain of needing to hide it.

Cause then Aziraphale would start getting crazy ideas, like that his silly little human feelings have a great deal of worth. That they have the power to inspire, form cracks in the institution, fundamentally weaken what has controlled and harmed him. We wouldn’t want him to know the true value of the cards he holds when he has the ace in a match against you, now would we? After all…

Metatron uses this ingeniously sinister tactic of taking away Aziraphale’s choice while giving the illusion that he’s actually opening up doors. Notice how he tells Aziraphale he would have the authority to do something as extraordinary as turn a demon into an angel, yet he never once puts the much simpler alternative of just working with a demon on the table? The sleight of hand here is that he’s being offered the opportunity to freely be with Crowley… but he’s already freely with him as is, no bargain to be made. In fact he fought to be. Metatron disappears this accomplishment right before our eyes, while seamlessly maintaining the illusion to Aziraphale that he (Zira) is in control.

He sets Aziraphale up for failure by only providing the option he knows Crowley will not only decline but be deeply hurt by. It’s all so cleverly planned. Once this plays out exactly how he wants, he delivers the finishing blow by diminishing Crowley and his “damned fool questions”. Suddenly doing a complete 180 and emphasizing how foolish and troublesome he is. Metatron was offering Crowley by Aziraphale’s side as The Carrot. Now he’s telling Aziraphale it was stupid of him to want The Carrot, un-heavenly.

Aziraphale’s life, love, happiness, it’s all not only a massive inconvenience for Metatron but a liability. He has successfully taken a weapon from Aziraphale’s hands he didn’t even know he had. Metatron sees the writing on the wall, and he wants it contained.

#THE southern pansy doesn’t even realize he’s about to start a jod damn revolution #quick! annihilate his self esteem so he doesn’t start making people sniff out the bullshit on PURPOSE #good omens #ineffable husbands #season 2 #2x06 #meta #analysis #aziraphale #crowley #Muriel #metatron #Renew good omens #biceratops #Gabriel #ineffable bureaucracy

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batterygarden · 2 months

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love is in the air . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

contents: big bro! yuuta x fem & afab reader, dead dove do not eat, sex pollen, incest, virginity loss (reader), drugged sex vibes, unprotected sex w cream pies, size kink w slight pain, oral f!receiving, overstimulation, dacryphilia, 3.2 k words. hbd to my king

18+, minors dni please

When Yuuta’s teleported into his room, he’s horrified to see you already there.

You’re wearing his clothes, as per usual, and flopped across his bed while you do your homework—likely waiting for him to get home to help you with the math. Normally, this wouldn’t be out of the ordinary; the two of you have always been close and Yuuta doesn’t mind the way you tend to loiter. The thing is, you were supposed to be out shopping with your girlfriends after class today. You’ve been talking up these plans all month–-Yuuta never imagined you’d cancel.

And here he is, high off his ass on cursed aphrodisiacs (misted straight into his lungs by some flower monster) and contemplating every forbidden fantasy in his arsenal with a newfound urgency.

You jump nearly a foot in the air when you see him, so perfectly still and silent at first that he goes unnoticed.

“Oh my god, nii-san! You scared me!”

You don’t seem to catch how off he is yet, how labored his breaths come or how he’s covered in a sheen of sweat. He wishes you would. Maybe then the proper alarm bells would be ringing and you’d leave.

Yuuta only backs away, shoving hair from his face while his eyes dart all over the room, anywhere to avoid drifting to your body and the way his t-shirt pools around it.

His fatal mistake is his failure to beeline it straight out his bedroom door. In his defense, Yuuta’s thoughts are awfully foggy, and an escape route is hard to pin down, even within his moderately-sized room. Instead he trips over a book bag and lets himself tumble backwards to the floor, his katana thunking loudly when it drops from his shoulder.

His vision and hearing are a bit foggy, too, as he watches you approach him off his bed, almost appearing to move in slow motion.

“Nii-San? What happened to you?”

He makes a strangled sound when you reach to touch his face, leaning away from your hand.

“Just lost my balance! I’m okay. Y’shouldn’t touch me right now.”

Did his words come out slurred?

You frown, letting him know the fall wasn’t what you meant when you were asking, practically pinning him against the wall to feel his forehead.

“Hmm. I can’t tell if you have a fever or you’re just hot.”

“It’s probably nothing. Was fighting a curse earlier and—achoo!“

Yuuta turns away to sneeze just as you move your head to the side to look at him closer. He accidentally sneezes directly into your face, earning a little gasp.

He scoots away frantically then.

“Sorry, sorry! I don’t wanna get you sick, okay? I need to be alone. You can leave.”

You wipe at your face, holding back a giggle at the state of him. You haven’t seen Yuuta this impaired since he had the flu when you were kids.

“Nii-san, you need me to take care of you.” Your tone is matter of fact, but doting too. Deep down you’re relishing in this role reversal—Yuuta’s always the one looking after you, not the other way around.

He starts shaking his head, rubbing tiredly at his eyes when suddenly a wave of vertigo hits you.

Then you’re tumbling to the floor with him.

Your voice sounds far away when you breathe a little woah, taking longer than you should to register what’s just happened. When you do, you turn to Yuuta—a reflex whenever you’re hurt or something goes wrong—you’ve grown spoiled by his overprotective nature. So much so that even the tiniest stumbles have you expecting a warm, calloused hand beneath your elbow, lifting and steadying you.

Yuuta takes longer than he should to come into the focus of your eyes, and when he does you find his face buried in one of his hands while his other adjusts his pants.

“Are you okay?” He sounds breathless, making no move to touch you or help. Something is seriously up.

“Mhm. I don’t know why I just…” You pause, almost forgetting what you’re even saying while your thoughts navigate a new fog. Suddenly you’re warm. “I dunno what came over me.”

Yuuta only scoots a bit farther away in response, dragging himself along the wall. To you it’s almost like he’s moving in slow motion.

“Nii-san, something is wrong. I feel wrong.”

Yuuta’s breaths come in huffs when you drag yourself to him then, nuzzling your way between his bent legs.

“M-me too… that’s why I want you to go.”

You shake your head, staring at Yuuta while he stares back, squirming and uncomfortable under your gaze. The warmth inside you is starting to grow uncomfortable—almost painful between your legs. You wonder if this is exactly how Yuuta’s feeling before you consider the possibility that he may be even worse, having been infected with whatever strange illness this is before he even arrived. He’s really working to hold out on you—what a gentleman.

In fact, you think, that might be the perfect word to describe your sweet big brother. Always looking out for you more than anyone else, Yuuta sets a bar for chivalry unattainable by any man who isn’t him.

He’s always opening your doors and offering you rides. Holding your hand to cross the street, tugging you back if you try to cross without looking and, occasionally, shoving your tangled fingers in his coat pocket if it’s chilly. He always has this protective nature when other men are involved, glaring at wandering eyes and warning you of potential danger (you recall one time he tripped some guy who asked for your number as he was walking away—he was too old for you and clearly had bad intentions).

Then there’s the way he’s thoughtful. Even when you were kids, Yuuta was always getting you gifts, setting time aside from his busy schedule to play with you or take you somewhere—forging some of your favorite memories growing up. You think particularly fondly of all your old dance recitals—how yuuta would always make time to be there and give you flowers and praise (out of all the bouquets your family supplied, his were the only ones that ever earned a spot on your night stand).

Even now you’ve got a vase of pink roses in your bedroom down the hall for passing your latest algebra test.

Yeah, Yuuta’s a chivalrous brother to a tee.

And the heat in your veins has you wishing he’d be anything but.

“Y-yuuta. I need you.” Your hands reach to pull at the open buttons of his uniform, but your wrists are quickly shackled by strong hands, gentle but unyielding.

“Do you know what you’re asking?” His voice is steady for the first time since appearing in his room, albeit a little pained.

“Yes. Yeah I do.”

You scoot closer, and Yuuta’s entire aura seems to change, darkening in a way that leaves goosebumps crawling across your flesh.

Your wrists are freed but you still feel immobilized as Yuuta grabs you carefully by the neck then, tugging your face to his till his lips can capture yours for the very first time.

You can’t deny that you’ve fantasized about kissing Yuuta, if only on the rare occasions that you loosened the reins on your self control. The kiss feels as electric and all-consuming as you’d hoped, hungry like you’re trying to swallow each other whole. His lips are a bit chapped, rougher than yours and hot in a way you’ll surely imprint into your psyche. What surprises you, though, is Yuuta’s brashness; he’s not reserved like you used to imagine he’d be if he kissed you. He’s being selfish, sucking on your lips and licking inside your mouth like you’re his—and when his teeth sink into the plump of your bottom lip you start to realize that maybe you always have been.

Yuuta’s kiss is needy and passionate, but it clearly doesn’t sate him as rough palms travel over your body throughout, kneading your sides and your arms and your thighs till you're rearranged on top of him, straddling where he needs you most.

You’re instinctually grinding down on him once you are, your insides painfully empty and sensitive so that the hard feeling of him through his pant fabric pressing against your clit is the most satisfying feeling you’ve ever had. He’s quickly grabbing at your hips to help push your core against him, and that angle of pressure paired with his attentive mouth against yours has you cumming in minutes, crying out into his mouth while he grips you harshly like a ragdoll, eventually mouthing at your jaw and throat so you can breathe again. It’s the kind of orgasm that has your senses short-circuiting, your vision going in and out of focus while your hearing turns fuzzy—it’s intense and euphoric. You feel drugged.

It’s unnatural how you’re instantly needy again once you come down, panting and light-headed but impatient when you scoot back to reach for his belt. Yuuta’s hand stops yours.

“Hang on—”

“Please! Nii-san, I can’t wait, I need you—”

“I know, let me—“ he interrupts himself to peck your lips again. You want him to never stop doing that—the satisfaction is addicting. “Let me give you head first.”

Those words knock the wind from your lungs. Because now is the first time you truly reckon with a truth you’ve been avoiding… Yuuta is experienced. You don’t know who or when (as far as you’re aware he’s never had a steady girlfriend) but the way he says those words makes it clear. Yuuta has made a woman cum. The idea brings a wave of jealousy you usually keep carefully buried—it’s an unspoken rule yuuta doesn’t mention his romantic affairs, so the reality of his sex life is something you’ve avoided.

“I’m a virgin.” The words bubble out of you uncontrollably. Yuuta chuckles just a little before giving another quick kiss.

“I know. That’s why I’m gonna go down on you.”

The effects of whatever aphrodisiac you’ve been exposed to clearly haven’t waned as Yuuta manhandles you into a position of his liking before he finishes his sentence—neither of you have gained the common sense necessary to move yourselves off the floor to Yuuta’s bed a yard away. Yuuta’s still the most aggressive you’ve ever felt him as he lays you down, trailing kisses and occasional bites down your skin till he makes his way to his own boxers that rest over your hips. You catch a little glare when he spots them, a week ago he told you to stop borrowing these—you’re my little sister! It’s not appropriate.

How ironic, he doesn’t chastise you as he yanks those very same boxers down his little sister’s legs. Then he tosses them aside—not even commenting on how you got them all messy—and instantly sets to work, lapping at your pussy like a man starved.

It isn’t an experience to be taken lightly—the first lick of your brother's tongue has you moaning like a pornstar. You have to grip the roots of Yuuta’s soft hair for stability as his mouth sends electricity through your body, pleasure radiating from your cunt all throughout you till you’re not sure you know what to do with it all. Once he latches to your clit, sucking it like a pacifier while his pretty lashes blink closed in content, you can’t help but come undone again—your orgasm intense and lasting even longer than the last time—this feeling is addicting.

Yuuta licks up as much of your release as he can when you do, then he’s quickly rising up, wiping his face with an arm before tugging off his shirt.

You feel like the luckiest sister in the universe when you finally come back to earth to watch him, his sculpted body glistening in sweat as he reveals more and more skin—all for you.

Yuuta’s pants are tugged off next, but not all the way. He gets impatient once they’re low enough for his cock to be freed, stroking it shamelessly, coating it in the mess he made from cumming in his pants.

Your eyes go wide when you see his size.

“S-sorry I know t’s a lot. Are you doing okay?”

There’s a silent but in there, an unspoken i still need more.

You nod quickly, spreading your bent legs so he has full access—it’s true that you’ve cum hard enough twice to pass out for days, but your body is insatiable. Yuuta’s cock is what it truly wants; you won’t—can’t—rest till you get it.

Yuuta’s wasting no time—clearly as needy for you as you are for him. He’s already leaning over you, running his tip through your folds before you can find the desperate words to reply, “Need you inside me, Yuu.”

That’s as much confirmation as Yuuta needs before he thrusts, stretching your virgin hole till it molds to fit him. There’s a pinch, a sting that pricks tears in your eyes as you accommodate his thick girth, but it’s replaced by the pure relief of him in a matter of seconds. You whine when he bottoms out, your body clenching and grinding towards him of its own volition—again, you’re insatiable. Luckily Yuuta seems to be on the same page as he quickly pulls almost completely out of you, earning a louder whine before slamming back in, hitting a deep, warm spot that has your vision blurring.

It’s ruthless and mean the way he starts beating your cunt then—you can’t help but contrast it to the way Yuuta rocked you in his lap just a night ago to soothe you through a scary thunderstorm. This man, the one snapping his hips against your hole with bruising force and no breaks, is a different man completely.

You want to meet him halfway, to contribute to creating the absolute bliss that his cock quickly brings you, but your body can hardly keep up once Yuuta gets going. He’s so fast and strong, the most you can do is lay there and take it, clawing at his shoulders and back in a way that matches his animalistic energy.

Maybe a minute is all it takes before your body comes undone around Yuuta’s cock. Almost too eagerly and certainly the fastest you’ve ever cum before—it would be embarrassing if it weren’t for Yuuta’s loud, wanton moan at the feel of it.

“F-fuck your pussy’s too tight! Why does it feel so—ngh good—“ Yuuta fills you up for the first time then, flooding your insides with his creamy seed before you even finish twitching from your own release. The heat of your big brother’s cum in your tummy is irreplaceable—you fall in love with the feeling and don’t want it ever to leave.

Luckily Yuuta’s not done, he’s still hard even after he pumps you full, and his movements don’t relent, in fact it almost feels like he’s fucking you deeper.

“Y-yuuta it’s so much…” you manage to say through the stuffed sensation that reaches your throat.

You’re still crazy with want, you feel like you’d die if he stopped, and yet your mysterious sex-craze does nothing to counteract the overstimulation.

“‘M sorry, ‘m really sorry I can’t stop,” Yuuta pries your weak legs up while he talks, folding you up in a mating press. You don’t have the words to reassure him that it’s fine, that you need this, because then you’re coming undone again, throbbing wildly on Yuuta’s cock while your eyes roll back in your head. Yuuta cums with you shortly after, and something in you rejoices that he’s filling you with more of himself—that he’s irreversibly spilling into your most intimate parts.

He pulls out after that, and your legs go limp—all of you lifeless except your twitching, leaking cunt. It’s a good thing Yuuta’s still needy though, because even if your legs lack the strength to hold him, your insides are devastated by the lack of him—it’s wrong that he’s not still inside you.

“Yuuta—“ you start to protest before he’s manhandling you, dragging you till you’re half draped across his bed, shoving your school books and pencils out of the way. It’s like you’re partially standing, bent forward with your tummy against the mattress, but you let your legs dangle limply while you lay, unable to hold yourself.

“I know pretty,” he replies, spreading your messy thighs and cunt before shoving himself back inside you, “can’t be done.”

The sound his cock makes is obscene as it spreads you open again, paired with the whine you let out at the sensitive feeling mixed with relief. The new angle yuuta reaches makes you feel stuffed all the way to your chest.

Yuuta doesn’t waste time before he’s pumping into you as relentlessly as before, pulling easy orgasms from you again and again till your hips are bruised from his hands and his comforter is soaked with your tears and snot and cum.

Yuuta’s crying too by the time he cums a final time, gasping and whining while he fills you with what feels like his entire remaining life force, eventually using the last of his energy to pull out with a wince and collapse on the bed, pulling you up so you’re all the way on the bed next to him. You both lose consciousness finally.

When Yuuta wakes he’s under unusual covers, and finds his vision illuminated by a pink night light—it takes him a minute to recognize that he’s in your room.

But he’s still naked. He sits up with a gasp, reaching for you as the events of evening come flooding back to him, but you’re nowhere to be found—he realizes you must have coaxed him in here for some reason then left. The clock beside him reads five in the morning, but considering how early the two of you passed out the night before, it’s not surprising you’d clearly already woken.

Yuuta sips from a cup of water on your nightstand, then finds a used bath towel you’ve got hooked on your door and wraps it around his hips, venturing dizzily out into the apartment.

He hears the laundry machine going, and passes his room to find his bed stripped of sheets, the mess from your school supplies cleaned up.

Then he finds you in the kitchen with wet hair, clean clothes and an apron, flipping pancakes.

You look delighted when you see him—more than usual—with a sweet smile and giant pupils.

“Yuuta! Made you breakfast.” You say making your way to him.

Not that Yuuta’s had much time to think on it, (he wasn’t worrying over his future when your tight pussy was milking his drugged senses yesterday, that’s for sure), but in the back of his mind, he was sure that fucking you would have irreparable effects on your relationship. You’d always love each other, of that much he was certain—you had a mutual trust in that department for sure. But he was also sure things would be awkward, maybe you’d need space at first and wouldn’t look at him the same.

But then you hop your way over to him once he walks into the kitchen, rubbing hands up his bare chest before locking your arms behind his neck, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss his lips. And it’s not just a peck, either. And the curse’s aphrodisiacs have worn off.

And maybe, the irreparable effects from last night aren’t going to be so awkward after all.

#yuuta x reader #jjk x reader #yuuta smut #jjk smut #yuta x reader #yuta x y/n #🐞 writes #tw.incest #tw.sex pollen #tw.drugged sex #🐞 q

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azsazz · 7 months

Text

You Know My Desires

Kinktober Day 1: Azriel x Reader [Wingplay]

Summary: Azriel is a jealous male, and you know just how to calm him down.

Warnings: Smut, wingplay, jealousy, possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics.

Word Count: 2,892

Notes: Alrighty, let’s do this!

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He’s trapped.

Boots rooted to the unusually pristine floors of the Court of Nightmares ballroom. Body rigid and frozen, nearly vibrating with rage. His wings ache from being held taut, and his teeth are on the verge of cracking from how tightly set his jaw is.

If he moves, this entire sub-court will perish.

A patron indulging on the gluts of the party—rich, fae wine and hor d'oeuvres paired with teasing touches and lew moans—stumbles nearby, her steps faltering as she passes through the bubble of his anger. Azriel watches her from his peripherals as she locks up, shivering as if his shadows are raking their way down her spine. His hazel glare stays locked somewhere across the dance floor.

Right to where you’re dancing with him.

Not even the fire that had scorched his hands when he was young hurt as badly as watching this bastard twirl you around the ballroom.

Rasor’s grin is a wicked one. It’s twinged with secrets and chaos that Azriel doesn’t like; pale, gray eyes alight with mischief and lust. He hates the male leading you in this less than formal dance. Of course he does—he knows every single creature lurking at this unnecessary party. Rasor is a suck up, a male who gets off on trying to be like his High Lord, snarky and silver-tongued.

He is a failure at even that.

Azriel fantasizes about killing him for the way that his hands are on you. One, settled so low on your hip it’s nearly on your ass, the other clutching yours tightly as he guides you gracefully across the floor.

Everyone’s attention is on the two of you and it stings. If he knew anything other than hundreds of ways to torture a male for touching what is his, he might have asked you to dance. The shadowy corner of the room provides the darkness he requires to seethe like the fucking pathetic male he is.

You need to calm down, Rhysand says gently within his mind. Azriel desperately wants to roll his eyes at the High Lords warning, to cut a glare to where he’s lounging on his throne, but his mind doesn’t allow him to let his gaze stray from you for even a moment. Or everyone’s going to wonder why the ballroom is pitched in darkness. And I can only cover for so long.

Immediately, Azriel reels his shadows back. He watches the way your brows furrow and cast over Rasor’s shoulder when he pulls you against his chest in a move that makes even the fae fucking in the corner gape in awe. You’re seeking him out, wondering if he’s reigned his shadows back because he’s left.

No. He would never leave you.

I hate this, is all Azriel replies, but he means much more than that.

I need her for a bit longer, Rhysand says, and Azriel can feel that violet gaze on him, even if he’s shrouded in darkness. Do I need to have Cassian remove you?

Azriel wants to fight. He wants to launch himself across the ballroom and land a killing blow to your dance partner. No—he wants to paralyze the male and then take you to the floor and fuck you, claim you, mark you with his hands, his teeth, his cum, until every last patron knows who you belong to.

He takes a breath but it’s a struggle.

No.

But you laugh at something Rasor says and Azriel sees red.

His shadows consume him, moving him from his spot in the corner of the room to the middle of the dance floor.

A female shrieks at his sudden appearance but he doesn’t care, baring his teeth when her partner runs into his side. He’s behind you, catching you around the waist mid-twirl. Your dress is still the silky smooth it was when he caressed your thighs and had taken you before you left, his cum leaking down the insides of your thighs masked by the dark fabric. He had wanted to lap the mixture of both of your orgasms from your legs like the Godly ichor it was, but instead he’d asked you to let it dry, a warning to any male who’d try to make their move on what’s his.

Rasor either hadn’t taken the hint or he’d ignored it completely, a dangerous act, and one Azriel will kill over.

The shadowsinger swears he can feel the other male’s fingerprints on your hips, and he doesn’t like it.

Not. One. Bit.

Your gasp is soft as Azriel’s hands gently but possessively wrap around you. It makes his cock twitch in his leathers. The way that your hands find his, clutching them tightly as he moves you makes him preen on the inside, his face a solid mask of steel.

Rasor looks less than pleased to have his dancing partner taken from him. His eerie gray eyes flicker over to where the High Lord has sat up in his throne. Azriel doesn’t like that, fighting the urge to strike. Rhysand pounds on the solid walls of shadow in his mind but Azriel doesn’t answer the demand. He doesn’t care if he’s not invited to the next ball, he’ll kill Rasor before then so there’s no chance of him getting his hands on you again.

As badly as he wants to growl ‘mine’ to the still-staring male, Azriel allows his shadows to twine around the both of you in an intricate manner that has some of the patrons flushing. His pets put on an extravagant show as they twist and turn around you, swallowing you to take you from this plain to the next, and Azriel grins like a feral beast, meeting the eyes of the wretched male who had taken you from him tonight, before the darkness consumes you both.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

“What was that?” you ask, annoyance lacing your tone. You hadn’t finished your mission—hadn’t schmoozed Rasor enough to slip you the information your High Lord desired. No, Azriel had appeared—though you hadn’t been surprised, you could feel his anger writhing through the room like a beast stalking its prey—before he had stolen you away from the party, depositing you back in your shared chambers.

Azriel stares. His demeanor is calm, but his hazel eyes are brimming with fury. You cross your arms, looking right back. A challenge.

“You laughed at something he said.” It sounds silly now that he says it aloud, but it irks him, your eyes lighting and that sweet sound falling from your gorgeous lips because of another male. A more disgusting male. A more untrustworthy male.

“I didn’t mean to,” you reply, a touch softer. You tug on the bond tethering your souls together, but Azriel does not react.

“It was no accident.”

“You know my desires,” is your simple answer. And with it, you tug on the bond again, harder this time, watching how Azriel sways slightly towards you, the way that his throat bobs. A teasing smile threatens to stretch your lips, but instead you bite at your lip, a taunt. “Do you want me to show you?”

There is no waiting for his answer. You slide the shoulders of your dress off, heat pooling between your legs from his heated stare alone. Your nipples tighten as Azriel follows the movements of your manicured nails, the salacious way your body writhes as the buttery fabric slips down your body. Your eyes flutter shut and your lips part in a gasp as the dress slides across your sensitive breasts.

Azriel closes the distance in one step but your hand flies out, planting right over his pounding heart to stop him in his tracks.

“No,” you whisper as his brows pull tight. “I want to show you.” Punish him, you mean, for ruining your mission.

He grunts roughly, shaking his wings out to dispel some of the frenetic energy rushing through his veins. Your eyes catch on them, and it gives you an idea. Your heart beats with desire, right in time with your mates.

Stepping forward, you help him out of his leathers. Your movements are slow, a tease of your fingertips across his chest as you reach around him to undo the buttons of his shirt. Azriel growls low as you intentionally brush across the ridges of his wings, and his large hands come to plant themselves on your hips, steadying you so that you don’t touch them again.

You look up at him through lowered lashes, licking over your lips seductively. Your mate tracks the motion, and his arms tremble with the effort to keep his hands still instead of dipping down between your thighs where your arousal calls to him.

“Sorry,” you whisper against his lips, and when he closes the distance you pull away, kneeling in front of him.

Gods, do you look fucking delicious on your knees for him like that. Staring up at him with wide eyes and a sinful smile on your lips. You look like you're two seconds away from taking out his length to lick down his shaft and shove him down your throat, and he can’t wait.

He stays silent, patient as you lean forward to mouth at the fabric keeping his throbbing cock contained. Every breath is a shudder, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, empty by his sides. He wants to bury them into your hair and guide your head down his cock, but you’ve said that you want to touch him, and until you say otherwise, he will obey.

Azriel’s cock springs free as you pull the leathers from his legs. His glorious, thick thighs on display, packed deep with muscle. You’re soaked, and the urge to grind yourself against him hits full force. Azriel steps out of his trousers and you almost whimper at the sight of his cock pulling away from you, but you remind yourself that you have ulterior motives here.

Your mate helps you to your feet upon your request, and then you’re throwing your arms around his shoulders and kissing him deeply. Distracting him is what you’re doing. Azriel’s hands find your waist and hold you tight, lifting you into his arms with an ease that makes your heart skip. He’s thoroughly occupied with touching your exposed skin and dipping his tongue into your mouth, and then you strike, trailing your fingers across the tips of his wings again.

Instead of ripping his mouth from yours in irritation, Azriel presses further into you, tasting you deep with a noise that you take as approval. Again, you gently finger over the rugged skin of his wings, dipping lower as he raises them for you to touch.

They’re silky and soft, raised in places where they’d been wounded, but even the silvery scars make him shudder with pleasure. He bites your lower lip, grunting and bucking his hips into yours when you breeze over one of the more sensitive parts of him.

“Bed,” you gasp against his mouth, and he has no complaints.

You seem more than eager, tugging on him with both hands and bond, so Azriel lays himself on the bed, keeping you flush to his chest while he settles.

It’s perfect for what you want to do.

Azriel bucks but you pull your hips away from his. He groans your name, hands sliding down your sides to curl around your waist and tug you back into his body, but you’re not having it, no matter how much your body craves to be against his.

You chide, “I want to touch, Az, remember?”

He sighs in frustration. He loves when your hands are all over him, needy and desperate, stroking his cock and leaving marks across his chest, but right now, still annoyed with Rasor and Rhysand and the entirety of the Court of Nightmares, all Azriel wants to do is fill you with his seed until he owns you and you’re screaming his name.

You peck him on the mouth once, twice, pressing your chest flat against his. You shiver at the touch of your hardened nipples against the warmth of his body, but you keep your hips high, hovering above his cock. You can feel the heat it’s giving off, the throbbing uncomfortableness that’s shared down the bond with you, like you might take pity on him and sink down on it.

You won’t.

Instead, you spread his arms wide, tracing the dips and curves of his musculature until your fingers slip off and onto his wings, spread flat against the bed.

Azriel jumps. Your name is a low warning from his mouth but he doesn’t have the time to say anything else because you’re scratching lightly down the softness of his wings and his words break off into a breathy moan.

“Fuck, baby.”

And you know he likes it, no matter how much he warns you to stay away. You can feel the heat blooming in your own gut, mirror to his emotions that are drifting down the bond. It feels good, albeit dulled because you’re not him, but it makes your cunt wetter, dripping onto his cock below.

“You feel so good,” you murmur, kissing along his neck. It’s exposed from the way that his head is thrown back at the sensations wracking his body from your touch, and you take full advantage, marking him in the way that he wants to claim you.

“I’d feel even better inside of you,” he curses when you swirl your fingers around the base of his talons, followed by spreading your palms wide and dragging them across the velvety body of his wings again.

“We’ll get there, Az. Soon,” you respond, peeling your torso from his. His hands steel themselves to your hips. He’s afraid that you’re pulling away completely when actually, you’re leaning over one of his wings and brushing your mouth against it.

Your lips on his wings feel like your mouth on his cock—wet, warm, and sensitive. Your touch is gentle, a soft scrape of your nails against the thin skin has him pressing his head further into the pillows, biting through his lip to keep himself from cumming.

The taste of his blood only adds to his arousal.

His body shakes, hands planted so firmly on your hips as you hover above his aching cock that you know he’s leaving bruises. You don’t care, not because he ruined your assignment from the High Lord, but because he is yours just as much as you are his, and you were made to be marked by him.

“If I could make your cum stain my skin, I would,” you whisper against the flesh of his wing. You know he’s heard you because his hips buck higher, seeking out yours, and the debauched moan that slips from his mouth is a song to your soul. “So everyone knows that I am yours, Azriel.”

He cums with a noise that he’s not all too proud of, but his mind is muddled and he’s seeing stars. He spurts hot and white, coating the inside of your thighs and you quake when it splatters on your opening, legs nearly giving out from the feeling alone.

You work him through it, though it feels even more tortuous now, because his wings are sensitive. Your fingers trace pretty lines across the expanse of the leathery skin, tongue lapping across raised scars and dips that have never been touched, so sensitive that he chokes back a whimper, cock twitching, trying to rise again.

It’s as if you’re on top of the world, making your mate cum without touching his raging cock. It’s neglected, red at the tip and weeping still as you slowly retract your touch from his wings. His hands are slack against your waist but his body is taut, rock solid, and there’s a full body blush creeping from his chest and up his neck, embarrassed that he’s cum from your mouth on his wings alone, even if they are the most sensitive part of an Illyrian male.

But you’re beaming, gaze heavy and hot, aroused at the sight of him undone beneath you. Your cunt clenches with need. Your thighs are soaked and for a fleeting second you regret letting him cum because you need his cock filling you up right this very second or else.

Azriel senses it, as a good mate does. His fingers dig into your hips again before one releases you. He takes his cock in hand, giving it a few rough tugs before guiding you lower. Your head falls back on your shoulders at the feeling of his cum-coated cock nestled against your entrance. Your entire body shudders, but you force yourself to look at your mate, a questioning look in your eyes.

“I need you again,” his voice is rough, strained. Azriel’s cock is sensitive but it’s already filling up again at the touch of your cunt alone. It will be a bit painful until he’s fully erect again, but it won’t be long because you are the most beautiful female he’s ever seen, and your cunt is otherworldly. He’s going to keep you here all night, he decides, and he will take you until the both of you are cum drunk and unable to move. His hazel eyes grow a shade darker at the thought. “Now be a good girl and ride it.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Kinktober Taglist: @bunnymallowo

#azriel x reader #azriel smut #azriel wingplay #azsazz #azsazz kinktober 2023 #acotar #acomaf #acowar #azriel/reader

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thecreelhouse · 2 months

Text

crystal clear

Paring: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

WC: 14k (i am so sorry)

Summary: What started as friends “helping” one another out, turns into something much more than either of you anticipated. Secrets are revealed, mistakes are made, and confessions are confessed.

This is the 3rd and final part of this lil unnamed roommate trilogy! You can find part one and part two here!

CW/Tags: language, smut, PiV sex, oral sex (m & f receiving), cum play, super brief anal play, free use, praise kink, humiliation kink, switch!steve & switch!reader, cockwarming, choking, jealousy, angst. Lots. Of. Angst., hurt/comfort everywhere, internalized biphobia, weed mention, happy ending i promise!!

A/N: this took way longer to write than I expected, and apologies for the late post, I had too many technical difficulties 😭 major thanks to @stevenose for hyping this up and helping me on some parts<3 this one’s long as hell, and there’s a LOT going on, but I hope y’all that enjoyed the first two like this one as well. thank you for the support on the others!! <3 title is from a hayley williams’ song by the same name lol.

“Is it weird yet?”

The first time either of you asked the question in the backs of both of your minds, Steve had you bent over the bathroom sink, pulling your hair, forcing you to watch as he railed into you relentlessly.

You can’t remember who asked first, but neither of you answered it. Not out loud, at least. You were too busy moaning Steve’s name to worry about the question.

“Isn’t this kinda weird?”

The question came from you, after Steve came home from a failed date, a failure you silently celebrated. He was in a funk, not expecting anything, but you offered, so how could he say no?

Because turning down the offer of you riding him until he cried—his request, comfortably carried out by you enjoying the mini power trip over your roommate, seemed foolish. You did your best to hide how smug you felt that Steve’s date didn’t work out, so when you offered to cheer him up, and he begged on his knees to touch you, you’d be insane to turn down the opportunity.

“People do this? But that’s… weird, isn’t it?”

“So… what if you’re not in the mood? ‘Cause I don’t wanna initiate anything when you’re not feeling it. Like, I get that’s the whole point, but I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable—”

You’re laying on Steve’s bed, the morning after fucking around when you got home from the bar. It didn’t last long, with the two of you too drunk, too tired, getting handsy but being clumsy messes while laughing and falling over one another multiple times.

Instead, you fell asleep in his arms, and you wanted to kick yourself for it.

You’ve been trying to distance your feelings from whatever kind of roommates-with-benefits dynamic had appeared between the two of you, but fuck it wasn’t easy.

“What if I wear something specific when I’m cool with it?” You suggest, tugging on the scrunchie on your wrist. “If I have this on my wrist, you’re free to do whatever.”

Steve was leaning against his dresser, arms crossed as his eyes were glued to your figure, barely covered by an old shirt of his while it clung to the softest parts of you.

He wishes you didn’t look so goddamn cute in his clothes.

“Uh— yeah. Yeah, that works, I guess— ” Steve pauses to overthink. Again. “Are you sure this isn’t too weird?”

“Babe,” It slips out, making you stall as you sit up, clearing your throat to brush past it. “If I thought it was too weird, would I be the one to suggest this?”

Steve blushes, in the way where it’s so much red across his face, it blooms to the tips of his ears. He can feel it, brushing his hair over his ears, ignoring the look you give him.

“Right… Uh, so what should I do? Like, to show you I’m cool with it?” Steve’s puzzled on how this even works, or who would find this hot to begin with. Yet with each confession of what turns you on, the quicker it is for him to get harder with every, and probably any fantasy.

“You want a scrunchie too?” Steve rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t dim the red hue across his face. You giggle at how flustered he is while pulling a thin, black hairband from your other wrist, holding it out. “Would this work?”

Hesitantly, Steve takes the hairband before slipping it over his hand. “Okay, but… What if someone says something?”

You snort, “First of all, it’s just an elastic band. People won’t know. And if anyone’s inspecting your wrists that closely, they’re just fucking weird.” He slips it onto the other wrist, the one his watch is always on, hoping it blends in better. “Steve, now I can’t see it.”

He rolls it over his hand before stretching it between his fingers, playfully shooting it back your way. “Fuck it, I won’t use anything.”

“You sure? That’s— what if I did something when you’re not in the mood?”

“I’ll tell you.”

“Immediately?”

“Immediately. I swear.”

You’ve appreciated how easy it’s been to talk about whatever either of you want, or don’t want. This roommates-with-benefits thing might’ve been awkward, still is if you’re being honest, but talking about boundaries from the start with Steve gave one less thing for the two of you to worry about.

He rubs his jaw, lost in thought. “What’s it called again?”

“Free use, but If you’re not comfortable, or just want it to be one sided, don’t be afraid to tell me.”

“N- no! ” Steve shouts quickly, immediately embarrassed by how desperate he sounds. “I mean… what’s off limits for you?”

You smirk, twirling the scrunchie between your fingers. “Nothin’. You?”

Steve exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Uh… I wanna say nothing, but… if something happens that I’m not cool with, or you’re not cool with, we can stop, right?”

“Yeah, Stevie. We’re not doing this if either of us aren’t into it. If I do something to you that you don’t like, tell me, okay? It’s just like fucking around any other time, but a lil’ more… exciting.”

With a scoff, he sits next to you on the bed, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were bored when we fuck. You never sound like you’re bored when you’re shouting my name.”

You elbow his side, ignoring the way your stomach flips, “Shut up, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How’d you even find out this was a thing?” His curiosity’s going to kill him someday, he just knows it, but he can’t stop himself from asking. “I doubt those romance novels get that filthy.”

“Um…” You retreat into yourself, growing shy. “I might have, like, a teensy tiny stash of some… movies… and stuff.”

Steve’s face lights up like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

“You? Since when?!” He’s smirking while regret sets in; should’ve kept that one to yourself. “Wait. Why haven’t I seen you in the back at work?”

Laughing, you admit, “Steve, why the hell would I go where you work to rent porn? I’m not that much of an idiot.”

“Well— I- I wouldn’t make fun of you, y’know.”

Again, you bark out a laugh, “Bullshit, you totally would, especially if you saw wh—” You freeze eyes darting away as your laughter dies in your throat. Steve’s lit up like a fucking city skyline now.

Why, oh why did you have to be cursed with such a big mouth?

“Say it,” He taunts, a smirk growing on his face. “Tell me.”

“Harrington, I’m not telling you a damn thing.”

Steve nods a few times, like he understands, then shoots a mischievous look. “Where’s the tapes?”

“That’s none of your business!”

“Neither was your vibrator dying, but look, it brought us to some good things, right?”

“Th- that’s different, Steve.” You can feel your face heating up, your skin prickling as he puts you on the spot, hand resting on your thigh as he studies your expression.

Leaning in, his voice drops low as he asks, “How different are we talkin’?” His palm is warm, long fingers already close to your heat without even trying.

“Steve…” The warning tone in your voice means nothing to him right now; your gaze follows the direction his hand heads in, inching closer to where you want him most. Where you always want him. Where you always need him.

You expect him to stop, but his fingers ghost over your cunt, covered by the sweet, heart-patterned fabric of your panties— his favorite pair. You shiver as he adds some pressure, slowly rubbing along your sensitive core.

“What, did talking about being used like a slut make you wet already?” Steve taunts, chuckling as you roll your hips forward, trying to chase the feeling he’s barely giving you. “Tell me where the tapes are, and I’ll give you what you want.”

You shake your head, biting your lip to hold back any noises that might give him satisfaction and an ego boost. He mocks you with a pout and a whine.

“Well, guess I’ll have to find ‘em myself,” Before you can register what Steve says, he’s out the door and rushing to your room, while you’re left to shake yourself out of the fog of lust he left you in.

“H- hey! Don’t you fucking dare!”

When you make it to your room, Steve’s on his hands and knees, snooping under your bed. “Not there…”

“Steve, please, ju- just drop it.”

“Why?” He’s having way too much fun teasing you like this, but you’re embarrassed, wishing you could take your confession back. He’s casually opening drawers in your dresser, peeking inside each one with no success. “You wouldn’t have told me if you didn’t want me to see.”

“I— there’s some stuff I wanna keep to myself, I didn’t mean to say anything.” You’re digging your nails into your palms as they roll into clenched fists.

“Thought you liked being humiliated?” When Steve brings it up, it’s part of the teasing, until he looks up to see your uncomfortable body language. He steps away from the drawer he was digging through before making his way to you.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” He comes over to you, cautious as he watches the way your fingers curl into your palms and tense into fists, while you look at the floor, trying not to cry. “I promise I didn’t see anything. And I- I’m sorry for invading your space.”

Steve looks ashamed, and you feel bad. He didn’t know your tears were serious, but you’re already consumed by your own emotions.

You finally look at him, bottom lip curled into a wobbling pout, eyes glassy, “Can I be alone for a bit?”

“You- Yeah, f’course,” Steve automatically wants to comfort you, but he fights it off, just like the time you came home after your awful day, giving you the space you need. “I’ll be…y’know… yeah.”

Steve gently shuts the door behind him, leaving you to cry in the comfort of your own solitude.

···························

A few hours pass, with Steve spending most of it curled up on the couch, trying to mindlessly watch a movie, but he can’t get his mind off of you. He feels horrible that he didn’t catch onto your emotions earlier. He was hoping you’d come out by now, but you’ve been holed up in your room since you asked him to leave.

In the few moments he wasn’t consumed by his guilt, Steve’s thoughts would be spinning, trying to figure out what was on those tapes that would make you so upset if he saw them. Maybe you were just into kink. He wouldn’t judge you for that, everyone’s got their own… interests.

What if they contained something violent, or dark? Again, he wouldn’t judge you, but he’d be concerned for you and your safety. Then again, if it’s between two consenting adults, it’s none of his business.

Still doesn’t stop him from wishing it was his business.

All this time, up until the vibrator incident, Steve had every right to believe you were such a sweet, innocent person. Now, he’s not so sure, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Steve’s so wrapped up in his own spiraling thoughts, he doesn’t hear you open the door, or walk into the room. Instead, he notices you when you drop a cardboard box on the floor near him, startling him out of his layered overthinking.

“Holy fu— ” He sits up and rubs his eyes before locking his view with yours, heart sinking over how tear stained your face is. How swollen your eyes are. Had you been crying this whole time? “… Hi. What’s— are you— ” Steve’s unsure what to ask first: “what’s in there?” or “are you okay?”

You make it a point to sit on the floor, far from Steve. Crossing your legs underneath you, you’re beginning to pick at your nails nervously, unable to look at him.

“That’s what you were looking for earlier,” You rasp, fighting off another wave of tears.

Steve’s tempted to rip the box open immediately, but he restrains himself. “Honey, if you don’t want me to see, it’s okay. I had no right to dig around earlier, even if I was just joking. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I- I’m so sorry I did. And if it makes you feel better to keep this to yourself, we can forget about all of this. I’ll never bring it up ever again.”

His sweet, apologetic rambling just makes this heavier for you to bear. You lean into your hands, face buried in your palms as you groan, frustrated. “Steve, sometimes I wish you were a dick, because it’d make shit like this so much easier.”

“What are you talking about?”

“At this point it’s just… look, it’s probably for the best you know about this, since we’re fucking around.” You murmur into your hands. “Let me know when you’re disgusted and want me to move out.”

Steve’s brows furrow, really concerned now. “I’d never… I don’t want you to leave. Why would you think that?”

You sit up but look away from him, giving a weak gesture towards the box. “You’ll see.”

Again, Steve hesitates, but you look at the box as you still avoid his gaze, nodding in reassurance. “This isn’t a trick, or anything. I’m letting you— I’m showing you what you should know.”

So, carefully, he opens the box’s flaps one by one before peering inside; Steve slides off the couch and to the floor next to the box, pulling out a tape.

It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before; some tacky porno, with sleazy cover art and a corny title. It’s got your standard, generic shot of a man fucking a woman from behind, with her hands bound in front of her and a blindfold over her eyes.

“This…” He stops himself before finishing with ‘is nothing’, because maybe it’s still a big deal to you. “It’s not worth getting yourself upset over. Why’d you think I’d hate you for this?”

You shake your head. “That’s not the one I’m worried about. I didn’t take anything out, figured I might as well show you everything. Keep going.”

Steve sets the tape on the coffee table before reaching into the box again, pulling out another tape. Similar design layout, but the cover photo is of a woman sitting back, pulling her legs up and back with her, while a man slips a plug into her ass. Steve flips the case over, finding the same couple, positions switched while the woman rims the man.

Steve chokes down a moan, thrown off that you’d be into this, and yet, it’s still not shocking enough to him to warrant kicking you out.

“Y’know this isn’t that bad either, right?”

“Yeah, that’s not the one I’m— you’ll know it when you see it.” You murmur, looking over at Steve, clearing his throat as he adjusts himself on the floor, playing it off like he’s finding a comfy position to sit in. You wish you could tease him over this, but you hold off, knowing he’s going to hate you any minute.

Steve continues plucking tapes out of the box, examining each one, still unsure what would have you so distraught if he were to find out.

Bondage? No big deal. Choking? He kind of figured out you liked that the first time the two of you fucked. It’s common. Free use? You just broke that down for him, so it can’t be what has you upset.

One of the tapes has a few kinks sprinkled throughout; gangbangs, exhibitionism/voyeurism, orgasm denial, femdom—

“Jesus, this one’s got everything, huh?” Steve tries to break the tension, but you don’t laugh. “This… this was the one, right?”

You huff out a mirthless laugh, pulling your knees to your chest before resting your head on them. “I fucking wish, Steve.”

He can’t stand how hard this is hitting you right now. “I don’t need to know, not if it’s going to hurt you. Seriously, it’s your business, whatever it is, and that’s okay. We all have our secrets, right?”

“Jesus fucking christ, Steve.” You scoot over to him and the box, digging to find the one you’re worried about.

“Hey, wait— ” He holds your arms softly, looking into your cry-worn eyes, only making your bottom lip quiver again. “Seriously, you don’t… whatever you’re hiding isn’t for me to know, clearly. And I’m not going to take something that personal to use as leverage to kick you out— why would you even think that? I love living with you. No weird kink is gonna change that.”

The last part almost makes you laugh. Almost.

You wish the way he said he loves living with you didn’t make your stomach flip, either. Any other conversation, that'd be one of the sweetest things he’s ever told you, but you know that’s going to change once he’s too disgusted with you.

When Steve stopped you, your hands had already grabbed the tape. You pull it out, tossing it on the table before pushing yourself back, away from him as you anticipate the worst.

He’s quiet for a bit as you watch his eyes fall on the cover, taking in every detail, flipping it over to read whatever the corny summary says. He looks back at you and just shrugs.

Steve just fucking shrugs.

“Threesomes are… not a big deal. Like, at all.” He doesn’t say this to belittle you or your feelings, more to assure you that there’s worse to worry about than liking porn about threesomes.

You start crying again, silently, as you hug your knees to your chest again. “God, Steve, please don’t make me spell it out.”

As his brows furrow while looking over the tape again, he gives another shrug. “I feel stupid— ”

“You’re not stupid, I promise. I’m just scared to say it out loud to you.”

“Okay, two girls, one guy, having consensual sex together. I genuinely don’t g— ” It hits him, and he feels a little sick, not from your silent confession, not from the topic itself, but the fact he didn’t get it sooner. He hates how he dragged this out, only making you more upset. “... Oh.”

You’re not straight. You clearly still like men, but attraction doesn’t stop there for you. He glances down into the box, finding another tape, one of just two women together. It looks like the one peeking out under that is similar, too.

“Yeah. Yep, okay, there it is.” You push off the floor to your feet, sniffling. “Well, it was cool being friends and… whatever the fuck, but I’ll pack and get myself out as soon as I can.”

Steve scrambles to get up, following you down the hall as you head towards your room, beating you to the doorway. He stops in the frame, blocking you from retreating to the bedroom.

“We’re talking about this. You can’t just… you can’t just drop that and expect me to brush it off, or be disgusted with you. Neither are happening.” Steve’s tone is firm, but everything he says is with care. Your eyes well up with inevitable tears. “Hey, honey, look at me.”

You try pushing past him, but he refuses to let you in. “Stevie, p- please— ”

“No, enough with the hiding. I know this is scary to talk about, but please, don’t shut me out.” He moves into your room, gently pulling you in with him to sit on your bed. “Can I be cheesy and thank you for sharing something so personal? That’s not easy for anyone, but you still did. Even if you thought you had to, that took guts.”

You reach for a pillow to cry into, and Steve doesn’t stop you, just lightly hangs his arm across your shoulders. You lean into him instantly, hugging the pillow for a moment before abandoning it, wrapping your arms around him instead.

“I thought you’d hate me,” Your voice is so small and shattered; it kills Steve that your fear has been weighing so heavy on your mind and heart. “That’s why I was so scared for you to find the box.”

“Nothing could ever make me hate you, angel. I’m sorry I caused so much stress for you.” He hugs you tighter, wishing he could take back these last few hours.

“It’s not like you knew. I’m not mad at you, Steve. I should’ve told you sooner.”

That shouldn’t make Steve huff out a laugh, but it does. The noise he makes turns into a silent, shoulder shaking laugh as he holds you. You’re so confused.

“Steve, what the fuck? You just told me— th- this- none of this is funny.”

He tries to control his laughter, and he does, but only for a moment. A quick pause to kiss your forehead. You push him back, reading his expression, still bewildered.

”I’m sorry, I— ” He runs a hand through his hair as he stifles his laughter, more successful this time. “— lemme grab something quick, okay?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer, just gets up and rushes to his room, snickering a few times to himself. You’re left baffled.

What the fuck just happened? And what the hell is so funny?

There’s sounds of some movement floating out of Steve’s room, soft grumbles of “where the hell did I put that?” and “jesus this is heavy”, making you smile, ever so slightly. He’s only gone for a moment before he returns with an old milk crate, carrying VHS tapes and magazines, it looks like.

Steve sets it on the bed next to you. “This… this is funny.”

Your brows furrow, still trying to understand what the hell he’s talking about.

“You can look, y’know.”

Most of the content is tacky porn, just like yours, mostly straight couples—

Wait.

You’re about to grab a tape, one similar to the film you showed Steve; another threesome porno, but this one has two men, one woman. It doesn’t take you more than a second to get it.

You snap your head up to look at him, holding the tape up, lost for words. “Are you— shut up. You’re joking.”

Steve leans back against your headboard, hands behind his head, almost appearing smug, but he just finds the coincidence really fucking funny. Sure enough, he starts laughing again. It’s not cruel, nor does it have a sharp edge. It’s just his usual warm, sweet laugh.

“I’d never joke about this. I swear.” His smile is like sunshine peeking out from behind the clouds on a stormy day, making you feel comfortable, happy, even. You’re not alone in this, you don’t have to be. Feelings aside, Steve proves time and time again how thoughtful and kindhearted he is as a friend; a completely different person from who he tried so hard to be back in high school.

“You didn’t have to tell me— n- not that I’m upset you did, just hope I didn’t pressure you to say something by being such a crybaby.”

“No, no way. When you said you should’ve told me sooner, I figured well, shit, I might as well come out to you, too.” Steve admits, “Honestly, I’ve wanted to tell you for a while, but I was scared you’d hate me.”

Your heart sinks; why does coming out have to be such a nerve-wracking event? Sometimes even dangerous if you confide in the wrong person. You’re grateful that’s far from the case here.

“I could never hate you, Steve. Never ever.” Though sincere, your attention falls back on the crate, eyes dancing over all of the tapes and magazines when a certain photo sticks out like a sore thumb.

He notices the way you pause, eyes falling on the familiar white border of a Polaroid, peeking out among the mess of filth. He lunges to grab it, but you beat him to it. Your jaw drops with a gasp at the lewd image.

“Steve, this is— ” He reaches out to grab it, but you push back, stumbling as you stand before rushing across the room, Polaroid in your hands. You stare at the photo in awe.

Striding across the room, Steve makes his way to you, about to grab the photo from your grip, “Give it back— ” You hide it behind your back while you’re against the wall, tucked in the corner with a smirk.

“Fuck no, this is karma for making me cry,” You giggle, causing relief to wash over Steve. He’s not even mad about this. He’s just happy to hear you laughing after today. You spin around, head ducked against the wall, studying the photo. “You’re so pretty on your knees, Stevie.”

Steve ignores how your comment makes his stomach flip, sneaking his hands around you to snatch the photo back. Eyes rolling, he jokingly grumbles, “Yeah, yeah, you had your fun.” You twirl around, attempting to grab it back, but he effortlessly holds it high above your head. He tries playing off the blush that rises up his neck and to his cheeks over your comment.

You can’t help thinking, How’d you even fit that into your mouth?

Steve chokes on air, eyes wide, “W- what?”

Apparently, you think out loud now.

“M’sorry,” You whisper, cringing at yourself. Steve just shakes his head as he clears his throat between laughs. He ends up sitting at the edge of your bed, tugging you closer to him, hands in yours.

Glancing up, he locks eyes with you while softly asking, “Are you disgusted by me?”

You stare at Steve, unsure if he’s joking or serious. “What? Because you’re not straight? No way, why would you even ask— ”

He holds his arms out with a lazy shrug. “There ya’ go, there’s my answer to you, too.” It takes a minute for you to understand what he means.

Why does he always have to be a smug little shit when he’s right?

“Okay, wait. Why the fuck were either of us worried? We’re both still friends with Robin, even after she came out.” You and Steve lock eyes before bursting out into laughter.

“It- it’s different when it’s just a friend!”

“Thought we were just friends.” Steve forces a teasing tone to his words, but maybe you’d answer differently this time.

“Well, yeah, but— it’s different since we’re fucking.”

So much for that.

It’s silent for a beat before Steve mutters, “We’re both morons.”

You smirk, “Now, that picture on the other hand, disgusts me,” Steve’s smile falters, your words making him nervous. “Because it looks like you’re totally better at deepthroating than I am.”

His jaw drops, face flushing red. “Okay, listen—”

“That’s a compliment, I promise!”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

Steve plucks the scrunchie on your wrist back, letting go to softly snap against your skin. “This still okay?” Your breath hitches as you nod, feeling a hand slide to the small of your back, bringing you even closer to him.

“You- you don’t have to ask, that’s the whole point,” You rasp, trying to suppress the breathy, light groan threatening to break.

“Oh, I know,” Steve gets up, smirking down at you over how flustered you look. “Just wanted to make sure.” He slides past you to reach for the crate of filth before leaving the room.

Resisting the urge to let out a disappointed groan, you mutter under your breath, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’m not,” Steve quips as he walks by your room. Now you groan dramatically, and he just laughs while making his way down the hall.

Two can play that game.

You find Steve in the kitchen, looking around in a drawer, until you come up behind him and slam it shut. Startled, he jumps, and you take the opportunity to flip him around to face you, hands grabbing his hips before pinning him to the counter.

“Whoa— ” Steve’s eyes are wide at the abrupt maneuver, “—what are y- you- oh, shit.”

In the blur of manhandling him, Steve didn’t realize his pants are already around his ankles, not until you begin stroking him slowly. He grips the edge of the counter as a shuddered breath slips out, watching you from under hooded eyes.

You spit onto his length, coating his skin for a smoother glide, one that makes his hips buck roughly, challenging the grip you still have on one of them. When he settles down, you lick slowly along the underside of his cock, eyes locked on his as your tongue makes its way to the base, then down to his balls.

As you begin lapping and sucking, Steve’s head falls back against the cabinet, a classic move you usually make; halfway through one of the prettiest moans he’s made yet , he grumbles an “Ow, what the fuck?”

Naturally, you laugh, but with him in your mouth, the sensation of your muffled sound replaces his ruined moan with another. “Fuck, fuck— honey, I- god, I need you.”

His words bring you back to his shaft, one hand toying with his balls, while another reaches around to squeeze his ass, all while you take him into your mouth fully. “H- ohmyfuckinggod,” Steve’s face contorts into an expression at the crossroads of being pained and absolutely blissed out.

While you bob up and down on his cock, making him rasp out an airy cry when he hits the back of your throat, your hand on his backside inches towards his taut, sensitive hole.

He shivers, overstimulated by all three of your actions, “H- hey, angel, you… fuck… y’don’t gotta do th—” His words die on his lips, replaced by a throaty groan as your finger gently circles the tight ring; you moan around him, and he’s a goner, spilling into your throat without much warning.

You were going to leave him with a ruined orgasm, but another idea pops into your head.

“Fuck, fuck m’so sorry,” He’s babbling apologies as his hands fly to your head, holding you down onto his cock, still using your mouth as a personal cum dump. His chest heaves as his high winds down, hands letting up on your head, too.

Back on your feet, you kiss him roughly, but as he allows you in, you’re swapping spit with cum; surprised, he whines into your mouth as he pulls you against him, kissing back with a desperate, pathetic fervor. His fingers dig into your hips, tongue gliding along yours while he tastes himself. As you break the kiss, you murmur against his lips, glistening with the lewd slick, “Swallow.”

With a wicked smile, you step back and watch as he follows your command, adam’s apple bobbing before his mouth falls open with heavy pants.

You stretch up to kiss his cheek, whispering, “Good boy,” before turning on heel, leaving the room quiet, and a breathless Steve who feels filthy.

···························

The next day, you’re up early to catch up on some priorities, including some chores. You’ve got your headphones on while vacuuming, bopping around and (poorly) singing along to I Wanna Dance With Somebody while sweeping the hallway. Both the music and high pitched, droning suction of the vacuum block out any sound, especially Steve sneaking up behind you.

In one swift motion, he pulls your shorts down and pushes into you immediately. The surprise stretch makes you cry out in a little bit of agony, and a whole lotta’ bliss. You’ve got one hand on the nearest wall, while the other keeps you balanced on the vacuum handle as he lifts your leg to go deeper.

Steve rips your headphones off, “Are you always this fucking wet?”

You can’t answer, not with words, not when every and any thought has been fucked out of your head already. All you can do is whimper as your eyes roll back further with each rough slam into you.

The harder he thrusts, the closer you move to the wall, until you’re completely shoved against it. One hand wraps around your hip, the other tangles into your hair to pull you out and bend you over even more. All that holds you up is the wall against your chest, shoulders, and head, along with his grip, departing from their original spots to tug your arms behind your back and restrain them.

“Stevie…”

“This what y’wanted? With your gross, little fantasy?”

You shake your head— not the easiest when you’re shoved against the wall— pouting, and Steve immediately slows down, almost completely. “What’s wrong?”

“More,” is all you can rasp out.

“More… what?” Ever so slowly, he begins to move again. It’s still not enough.

“H- harder,” You murmur, and Steve mockingly hums in understanding, shoving himself to the hilt, knocking the wind out of you.

“Was that it?” He’s asking but he knows the answer.

“Faster,” Your needy little whine is just what he wanted to hear.

His pace picks up, unforgiving while railing into you, “That’s my girl.”

It doesn’t take much longer for Steve to climax, leaving you dripping, without release as he pulls out, satisfied. He swipes two fingers between your folds before they slip inside you, pushing his cum back into your entrance, laughing cruelly at the way you clench around him and groan tiredly.

Steve pulls his fingers out and brings them to your face, tapping your lips with the sticky, pearly slick covered fingers. “Open.” You obey, and gag as he shoves his fingers back farther. They slip back out, and he squeezes your face, mocking you from the night before, “Good girl.”

As he retreats to his room, you’re left alone, still an aroused mess, barely holding yourself up against the wall while trying to catch your breath.

···························

In the last few weeks, you’ve grown more comfortable with less clothing around Steve at home. He’s not complaining, especially later that night, when Steve watches you pass his room with the infamous vibrator in hand. Your outfit of a comfy bralette and shorts earns a double take from him.

“Hey, where ya’ goin’ with that?” He smirks at the bothered look on your face, probably still wound up from being used like a toy earlier, abandoned without your own climax.

“Shut up, Steve.” You grumble, but still stop in his doorway, flicking the switch on the wand on and off. Nothing happens, and you pout. “I think it died.”

“So… put new batteries in?”

“No, it’s like, dead dead. This was the third round of new batteries I put in, and still, nothin’.” You sigh with a shrug, “Eh, good riddance, I guess.”

You’re about to leave when Steve murmurs, “Not like you need it now.” Your face heats up and something pulls in your lower stomach.

“I mean… I do.” You walk away, and Steve follows you out the door.

“Huh? Why? You’ve got me.” It’s supposed to be a teasing joke, but it comes out more sincere than Steve intended.

“I- I’m not gonna just expect you to be in the mood whenever I am and need to… y’know.” Flipping the garbage can lid open, you drop the defunct sex toy into the trash. “Thanks for the memories, you stupid, janky wand.”

Steve snickers, “Yeah, the best memory being the day you needed my help.”

Ignoring him, you grab a glass from one of the cabinets, heading to the sink, but he leans against the edge to block you from the faucet.

Steve smirks; this could be fun. “And no, I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

“See, that’s why I like my vibrator. It can’t sass back like a certain someone.”

“There’s many ways to shut a certain someone up.” You shove Steve aside and he scoffs. “Alright, well, next time you need to get off, don’t come crying to me.”

When he leaves, he ends up in the living room, turning the TV on before flopping onto the couch.

You frown and crinkle your brows as you shut the faucet off, muttering in a mocking tone, “Don’t come crying to me. Blah blah blah.”

“Heard that,” Steve flips you off, and from where you’re standing in the kitchen all you see is his arm shooting up above the couch, making you giggle.

“Wasn’t trying to hide it.” You shuffle over to the couch, about to sit on the opposite end of Steve, but he lets his arms fall open lazily, looking at you expectedly. “What?”

“C’mere,” He whines, forcing a pout.

You narrow your gaze, setting your glass on the table. “My vibrator wasn’t this needy, either.”

Steve leans forward, grabbing your hand as he pulls you back down near him. You yelp, landing next to him, fidgeting a bit to get comfortable. “Yeah, well, your vibrator wasn’t this hot, so is it really that much of a loss?” His arm hangs over your hip, while the other reaches for your back; he traces mindless patterns along your exposed skin, prickling as you shiver.

With your back to the TV, its glow slips over you and onto Steve, illuminating his features as the two of you grow into a comfortable silence, as your hands lazily wander his body. It’s only sweet, gentle caresses from the both of you, something you wish you could get used to. Something, a small, mundane detail you wish the two of you had in a relationship.

Except, there is no relationship, and you have to remind yourself often you can’t become more attached and attracted to Steve than you already are.

You’re just friends.

“This is… kinda nice,” He murmurs as you duck your head under his chin, cuddling closer.

Just friends. Just friends. Just friends.

“Y’know, if you ever just wanted to, like, hang out like this… I’m cool with it if you are.”

“‘Hang out’, I didn’t know cuddling had a new name,” He softly teases, embracing your frame. “Hey, I’ve been wanting to ask you something, you got a minute?”

“No, Harrington, I’m actually late for a meeting at…” You turn over to read the wall clock, glancing back at Steve, “… 8:36 p.m. We can reschedule for tomorrow though!”

“You’re the worst.”

“But I’m the best at being the worst, right?”

He doesn’t answer, just gives a drawn out, exasperated sigh before letting his head fall forward, onto your shoulders while he sneakily pushes his pants down. Just enough to free himself. He rests there for a few moments before he pulls the fabric of your shorts aside, teasing the head of his cock at your entrance. You whimper and push back against him right as he guides himself into you. The stretch, as always, renders you silent as you adjust to his size.

“Is this what I have to do when you won’t shut up?” His arm winds around your neck, bringing your back flush against his chest; he’s not choking you, but when his arm flexes around your throat, your walls constrict around him. “Yeah, thought so.”

You wait, but no movement comes. No rocking his hips into you, no slow, teasing thrusts; Steve just lays behind you, buried deep in you, enjoying the way you squirm.

“I wanted to get you off to make up for earlier, y’know, just trying to be a good friend,” The last two words came out with an edge. “Trying to reward you for being such a good little fuck toy,” His arm tightens a bit, adding the tiniest bit of pressure; you throb around him, shuddering. “But now, I think you can just keep me warm instead.”

“Steve, please… I- I‘ll be good, I’ll be so good,” You babble, desperate for some kind of movement, some kind of friction, anything. He tightens his hold on you a little more, laughing breathily into your ear as you try moving. You gasp, “Touch me, p- please?”

“I’m already touching you.”

“That’s not what I mean!” You’ve got a short fuse when he riles you up just to drag out the teasing.

Just like the first time, neither of you know when to quit.

“Okay, so what do you mean?”

Whether it’s from the teasing now, or being used earlier. Maybe it’s both, mixed with the feelings you have for Steve that are getting too overwhelming. Whatever the case, you get pissed off enough to touch yourself instead.

“I didn’t say— ”

“I don’t fucking care what you didn’t say, if you’re not gonna do it, I will.”

Sometimes the tension makes you mean, and it’s something Steve likes, but refuses to admit, with his words, at least.

His throbbing cock inside of you, on the other hand, has no problem telling the truth.

“Well, fine, guess you don’t need me then,” Steve’s arm loosens from your neck as he begins to slip out, but with all of your strength, you reach back to hold him in place. It’s an awkward position, sure to make your arm sore tomorrow. You open yourself up a little more, throwing a leg back over his.

“You’ve been teasing me non-fucking-stop, asshole. Least you can do is stay while I get off.” Your fingers try finding a satisfying pattern to tease your clit with, but you’ve been so spoiled with your stupid toys, and Steve, it doesn’t feel the same. Doesn’t feel as good.

You can feel the smirk Steve makes as he leans against your shoulder, looking over to watch your hand and fingers struggle to keep you blissed out.

“Aw, honey, is it too hard for you?” He kisses the back of your shoulder, then slowly makes his way with more up your neck. Your breath shudders as you clench around Steve, just from his words alone. “Doesn’t feel as good as that toy, huh?”

You can feel hot tears begin to surface; you’re angry that you can’t make yourself feel good, angry that he’s taunting you after trying to take over and show him you didn’t need him.

But you do need Steve, and that’s been fucking with you so much since the first time the two of you kissed. That alone had you soaked, but right now, your own fucking hand isn’t cutting it, and you’re angry at how embarrassing this is.

Sure doesn’t stop Steve from humiliating you, though. “Doesn’t feel as good as my hands, hm?”

You bite your lip, holding back groans of frustration, but Steve can feel how tense you are.

“Must not feel the same as my tongue. Not even close,” he murmurs into your ear, kissing the skin behind it, then back down to your jaw. “No way those fingers can ever feel like my cock.” He nips at your jawline, “I bet you can’t get rid of that ache between your legs, not without my help. You need me, don’t you?”

Steve slides his hands onto your chest, tugging the bralette down before roughly, yet slowly, grabbing you. He pinches your nipples, enjoying the view of you arching into his touch, whimpering as your hand slows down on yourself, defeated.

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what, Steve?” You spit through gritted teeth. He grabs your face to bring your attention to him. Something flashes across his eyes at the sight of you near tears, not lust, not desire, but you can’t figure out exactly what it is.

“That you need me.” You tighten around him, already giving your answer. He smirks, but again, something’s hidden behind that dominant exterior, past the pleasure over humiliating you.

What the fuck is he hiding?

“I d- don’t,” You lie, but your wobbling pout gives you away immediately.

“Angel, the sooner you tell me, the sooner I can help you.”

You’ve abandoned touching yourself completely, exhausted and embarrassed. Holding one another’s gaze, there’s a softness in Steve’s eyes that makes you finally break. “I- I need you, Steve. Please?”

One hand still teases your nipple while the other slides down, down, down, reaching your waistband before he pulls out completely, causing you to whine in protest.

“Hang on, angel,” He pulls your shorts off completely, leaving you bare before gently sliding back into you, groaning, “Wanted t’really feel you.”

Sex with Steve has usually been rough, or fast, or both. It’s usually needy with desperation to get off. Sometimes there’s a fantasy one or both of you want to fulfill.

This… this is different. Just like the look Steve held, you can’t figure out what is different, but it’s not bad.

In fact, you might like this the most.

“You want me to move?” Steve asks, and it’s not cocky. It’s not the demeanor he was teasing you with before.

“I don’t— do whatever, just need you to touch me,” Your whining is pathetic, but at least he finally reaches down to where you need him. His fingers slide between your folds, groaning when he meets the slick of your arousal. He’s slow, not painfully slow, rather careful as he thrusts into you. It’s soft, and you can feel every inch of him, really feel him.

“This okay?” His breathy question is just above your ear while he kisses along the shell of it.

“So, so okay.” This position might be your favorite, with the way he’s so deep in you, forcing your eyes to roll back into your head as he fills you completely. You lean back into him, and he takes one look at you before leaning in to kiss you, like he knew what you were silently asking for.

It’s soft, languid, the kind of kisses that make you squirm with a certain need, one he’s fulfilling right now.

Pulling back, his lips barely touch yours when he teases, “You’re s- so tight… y’really like it soft, huh?”

You only answer with a nod and a whimper, leaning in to kiss him again, but he moves back with a smirk. It’s not taunting, for once. He’s just really enjoying how turned on you are right now. How much he’s turning you on.

“I like it w- when we— god, fuck— when it’s…” You’re struggling to find the right words, fucked out already. Steve still watches you, listening intently as he can feel your walls pulse around him “… Intense, but this is s- so— oh!”

It’d almost be embarrassing how fast he can push you over the edge, but it feels far too good to care. You shake against him, tensing up as your head lolls back against his chest, jaw dropped in a silent moan. Then, it finally slips out, and it’s loud.

“Good girl,” Steve murmurs, kissing your temple. “Doing so— fuck— s- so good for me.”

Before you can even rest, he convinces you to let him keep going, give you more pleasure, murmuring how you’re ‘his girl’, how you can take one more, just ‘one more’.

By the third round, Steve’s question is long forgotten by both of you.

···························

“Why am I taking the backroads again?”

“It’s a… nicer ride. Just trust me.”

Steve drove along the lonely, winding road. The sunset began to blanket the sky in hues of oranges, purples, and pinks.

“Okay, but… you know it’s a longer drive this way, right?”

You’re leaning over the seat to unzip his pants, and Steve freezes, but not before hitting the gas by accident. He only speeds up a little before catching himself. “Are you trying to kill us?!”

“I only touched your pants. Are you really that sensitive?”

“I- I just didn’t expect it— I’m driving and trying to be safe.”

“Yeah, and I bet you look both ways before making a turn, too.”

“I do!”

You pull his cock out, half hard already, and waste no time leaning down to lick up the precum already beginning to seep out.

“H- hey!”

You pull off. “What? Don’t want this? I can stop.”

“This- it’s just— unsafe.”

“Is that your only complaint?”

“Well… yeah, I gu— shit- ” Steve tries suppressing a moan as you take him in completely without hesitation, and the sound that leaves him just sounds strangled and pained. He white knuckles the steering wheel while your eyes water, gagging around him.

Not a soul to be found on the roads, and Steve’s still nervous he’ll hit something. Or someone. But you’re humming around him, and making these sweet, little gagging noises, he has to remove a hand from the wheel to pull you off of him.

With his strong hand, he yanks you back, still focusing on driving. “I thought you’d like this,” You pout, backing off as you settle back in your seat. “I’m sorry.”

“I do, but I- I think I like it a little too much. As much as I want you to finish, I need to make sure we get to Robin’s... Um, alive.”

“Okay, well… What are y’gonna do about that,” You point to his crotch, cock still hanging out of his pants, flushed red with need with precum still pearling at the tip.

Steve sighs, exhaling roughly through his nose, thinking for a moment as he drives on. He mutters a quick ‘fuck it’ before grabbing you by the hair to pull you back onto him. He doesn’t miss the mischievous smirk that flashes on your face before he shoves your mouth onto his cock.

“You— mnfph— that’s it, just— oh, g- god— relax, angel, relax that p- pretty throat f’me,” His cock twitches against your tongue, making you moan. “Wish I could fuck your face right now.”

Popping your mouth off of Steve, he catches a quick glance of your lips covered in your spit and some of his own mess, “Fuck…” You wrap your hand around his length, stroking him slowly.

“Kinda wish we did this on the highway instead,” You murmur as your lips attach to his neck, sucking the sensitive skin softly. Steve’s eyes almost flutter shut, but he forces himself to grip the wheel and keep his eyes on the road. “It’d be kinda hot, huh? Trying to do this without gettin’ caught.”

“Uh-huh…”

“Soooooo… If I keep going, can you finish before we get there?”

Steve’s answer comes in the form of his hand on your head, twisting his fingers into your hair before shoving you back down on his cock.

···························

It’s under an hour since you and Steve got to Robin and Vickie’s new place, where she said it’d just be a small, casual housewarming party, and two things have you incredibly bothered right now:

This party is anything but small— you didn’t think Robin even cared about this many people to invite them over.

Steve’s kissing someone else right now.

While wandering around to find Steve and ask if you could leave early, you stumbled upon Steve playing goddamn tongue hockey with someone else.

If it happened when you and Steve were just friends, you’d be happy for him, genuinely. Hell, even if the two of you were FWBs and you had no feelings for him, you’d be thrilled he felt comfortable enough to kiss someone tonight that wasn’t a cis woman.

Shit, you’d even be a solid wing-woman and cheer him on for any action. Yet your feelings for him just turned it all into envy. Nothing but envy coursing through your veins. You had no right to say anything in the first place, because it’s not like the two of you were actually together.

It still didn’t settle your jealousy, or the overthinking triggered by the mixed signals he’s given over the last few weeks. The audacity, too, for Steve to pull this only hours after you fucked… just one hour after you gave him road head—

Yeah, you had to leave, ASAP.

“Hey, where ya’ goin’?!” Robin slurred after you, too drunk to get up and check if you were okay.

So you just call over your shoulder, “This was fun, but I gotta go home!” And you knew damn well you weren’t fooling anyone with the way your voice wavered; you hoped everyone was too drunk or distracted.

The front door creaked open as you hurried down the porch steps, relieved to breathe some fresh air, at the very least. The soft song of the crickets in the woods kept you company.

Your arms are crossed over your chest, shielding yourself from the breezy spring air. You wish you didn’t leave your jacket in Steve’s car, but this was better than having to see him kiss someone else.

Until a familiar BMW pulls up alongside you on the empty street.

Harder to shake than a cold.

Rolling the window down, Steve calls out, “Angel, why are you trying to walk home?”

“Don’t you have a throat to shove your tongue down, or something?”

Steve taps the breaks as he mutters, “Fuck.”

“Surprised y’all didn’t do that, either.” You continue on, and he continues following you in the car.

“Please, just let me drive you back? Don’t have to talk to me or anything.”

“No thanks, I can get home on my own just fine.”

Steve hits the breaks, sighing as he throws the car in park. He steps out of the car, leaning on the roof. “Yeah? What direction is home?” You spin around, walking backwards as you throw your arms out, exasperated.

“Fuck you, Steve.”

He bites his tongue, resisting the urge to say some stupid shit like “Already did”; riling you up wasn’t the answer right now. You angrily point in the direction you’ve been walking, continuing on with all the confidence in your body.

“Try again.” His remark makes you whip around, flipping him off, before marching on in the wrong direction again.

Okay, he deserved that, at the very least.

Steve jogs to catch up to you, though it’s not like you made it very far, stumbling over your own feet. You’re about to lose your balance when Steve makes it to you, just in time, catching you mid-fall.

“Alright, c’mon,” He groans as he attempts to get you stable on both feet, before slinging your arm around his shoulders, and yours around his waist. He guides you back to the car, not giving into your little grumbles and protests as he helps you into the passenger seat.

An agonizing silence settles between the two of you on the ride home, and you’re not sure if you can break the silence without crying. So you don’t. Steve has no problem speaking up first anyway, otherwise, the silence will just send his anxiety skyrocketing.

“I’m sorry,” He sounds sincere, as always. He tears his eyes from the road for a moment to glance at you, only feeling worse when he can really see how hurt you are. “I didn’t… I didn’t think it was like… that. With us, I mean. And I’m sorry.”

“S’fine,” Your voice wavers with weakness, “I know what this was. I- I knew what we were getting into. If anyone should apologize, it’s me, ‘cause I had no right getting jealous.”

Steve forgets his response immediately, pausing a moment to take your words in.

“You were jealous?” He almost sounds pleased to hear you admit this.

Oh, god fucking dam—

“….. No?”

“You literally just said you got jealous.”

“I- I don’t— shut up. You misheard me.”

“Oh, I did?” Steve Harrington can be such a smug and snarky motherfucker sometimes. “What’d you say then? Just wanna make sure I hear you correctly this time, honey.”

You fire back, “Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Should I just call you a brat instead?”

“You know what, Steve?” You glance over and he’s still smirking like an asshole. “Don’t talk to me for the rest of the ride. Or the rest of the night.”

His face falls. “Why not?”

You don’t answer, just cross your arms and tilt your view to the window, watching the world pass by.

“Are you really gonna shut me out? Over this?”

Again, you hold back any responses. Let him dig his own grave at this point.

“You’re the one who kept saying we’re just friends.” As he reminds you, his fingers are clutching the wheel tightly, eyes glued to the road. “You’re the one—“

“No, Steve. You are the one who said from the start friends can fuck around. You said ‘what are friends for?’ after you went down on me.”

So much for your petty silence.

“You continued it! You said ‘this is what good friends do for each other’, and that fuckin’ around is just helping each other out. How was I supposed to know you wanted more?”

Steve had a point. You tried lying to yourself that you ended up sending the wrong signals his way.

“I— Look, I’m sorry I kissed someone else. And this doesn’t excuse hurting you, but did you ever think maybe I was doing my best not to fall for you?” As he pulls up to the apartments, he sinks into his seat, sighing. “I should’ve been honest from the start, or maybe should’ve ran out for batteries instead of fucking around with you and both of our feelings to begin with. I’m sorry.”

You’re exhausted and intoxicated, out of energy to continue this. Unable to look at Steve, you mutter, “Can we just… talk about this tomorrow?” There’s no chance for him to answer, because you’re already out of the car and making your way through the lobby and to the stairs.

···························

Steve took his time returning to the apartment, wanting to give you space, but also in case he got upset enough to cry, too.

He was so, so fucked, and now… he fucked everything up. Sure, you didn’t make it crystal clear how you felt about Steve when you could’ve so much earlier. But it’s not like he did any better.

When he enters the shared space, everything’s dark, and quiet. He figures you went to sleep, since your bedroom’s door is closed. To his shock, though, he finds you asleep in his bed.

Maybe you mistook his bed for yours while being drunk and tired. Steve’s unsure if he should sleep on the couch, to give you more space. But maybe you fell asleep here purposefully. Or maybe you waited here for him and eventually passed out, too tired and upset to keep yourself awake.

You’re half covered by the blankets, wearing only your panties and his shirt again, the one you’ve practically stolen at this point. Steve notices your scrunchie still on your wrist, the subtle symbol you’d give if you were in the mood for free use play. He also notices the way your skin is prickling up; you’re definitely cold, but you’re too drunk to wake up and do something about it.

Steve reaches down and slips the scrunchie over your wrist, setting it on the nightstand, then pulls the covers over you. Immediately, you curl into the blankets, making the softest hum of contentment, falling deeper into sleep.

Or so he thought.

As he changes and strips just to his boxers, Steve hesitates, questioning again if he should sleep here, or the couch. Consumed by trying to make the best choice, mainly for you, your hand reaches out and grabs his leg weakly.

“Stay?”

Your eyes are red, both from exhaustion and crying. Steve feels awful.

He also can’t pass up an opportunity to tease you lovingly. “Honey, I appreciate the invite, but this is my room.” Your hand lifts to flip him off. “Yeah, there she is.” He huffs a quick laugh out, before double checking, “Are you sure you want me to stay? I- I can give you space if you need.”

“I need you, not space.” You roll to the other side of the bed, throwing the covers back. “Please?”

Steve felt his heart ache; this wouldn’t make the dreaded conversation any easier by morning, but he didn’t want to say no, because in some backwards way, the two of you need one another right now.

He crawls in next to you, pulling the covers back up over both of you. He holds himself back from reaching out for you, an action that’s become second nature over the last few weeks.

Instead, he asks, “Can I hold you?” Steve hates the way his voice cracks with longing, giving away how awful he felt. For himself. For you. For the both of you. It wasn’t supposed to end up in this strange suspension between lust and love. It should’ve stayed a one time thing, if at all.

Only silence comes from your side of the bed as you’re already falling back asleep. Steve turns over and hopes sleep can come that quick for him, too.

····································

When morning arrives, you wake up peacefully, naturally, and with a major headache.

“Fucking christ.”

You roll over, realizing the other side of Steve’s bed is empty.

Wait. Why am I here?

You didn’t forget last night, but you can’t come up with a good reason as to why you decided to fall asleep in Steve’s bed instead of your own. Not a justifiable reason in sight after the car ride home.

Blinking a few times as you adjust to the bright light, something on the nightstand catches your eye.

It’s a note, with a water bottle and your cute little pipe with a packed bowl. A smile joins your features as you read the note.

hey, angel. figured you might need these for the rough hangover.

if you still wanna talk when I get home, we can. if not, we can do whatever makes you feel comfortable about us. either way, you better stay hydrated today. or else. not sure what the ‘or else’ is yet, but I mean it. drink your damn water.

— steve ♡

While the note, the tiny heart near his name, and kindness behind it made your smile grow, your heart aches at one line.

We can do whatever makes you feel comfortable about us.

It’s sincere and considerate, like Steve is, other than last night, but he didn’t know. He didn’t know you fell for him during all of this, so could you even count that against him?

Steve’s more worried about your comfort in all of this than his own; he always does this, he always puts everyone’s needs and feelings first.

Before you can even fully wake up, you’re reaching for the phone on the table, dialing without much thought. It rings twice before a familiar voice answers.

“Family Vi— ”

“Robin! Is Steve there? Can I talk to him?”

“Yeah, hi to you too,” She deadpans.

“Sorry. Hi. Hi Robin. Hello. Please give Steve the phone, pleaaaaaasssseeeeeee— ”

She scoffs, and you can hear the eye roll she makes, “Oh my god, shut up, shut up. I’ll get him.”

“Thank you!” You’re a little too enthusiastic in your reply. It’s quiet for a minute until you hear someone pick up the other end’s receiver.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Steve’s immediately jumping into worry mode.

“Nothing’s wrong, why would something be wrong?”

“You never call here. Just… surprised me, is all.”

“Oh… well, look, I- I just wanted to say, about the note—” ”

“Was it too much? I’m sorry if I— ”

“Steve, shut up for a minute. Please.” He pushes a soft, quiet laugh through the phone. You can picture him with his arms crossed, phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, leaning against the counter. Robin’s probably rolling her eyes. “We can… we can talk tonight. I didn’t want you to go the whole day worried about it.”

It’s silent on his end, other than distant, soft breaths. “You didn’t have to call. N- not that I don’t appreciate it! Just… y’know. I kinda have an idea of what’s coming. And it’s okay. I just want you to be—”

“Steve, I’m grateful you’re always looking out for me and my feelings, but that’s why I called. I want you to feel comfortable too, okay? Whatever works for you, works for me.”

“I— ”

“Steve, get off the phone! You can talk to your girlfriend later!”

Steve lazily covers the mic, but you can still hear him quip back, “She’s not my— whatever. Give me a minute.”

“Thirty seconds!”

“Jesus, what bug crawled up Keith’s ass?” You joke, earning a sigh from Steve.

“Definitely something annoying, like a mosquito.” He snickers back into the phone before clearing his throat. “Um… can we talk in… two hours? I can come back on my bre— ”

You cut him off anxiously. “Yes. Please. Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Okay, two hours. Yeah. Okay. See ya’ then.” Steve sounds nervous, rushing off the phone before hanging up first.

Two hours. Not that long. You should be fine.

Totally fine.

········································································

It’s been an hour, and you’re ready to move on from chewing your nails nervously, to gnawing your entire arm off.

Okay, maybe that’s a bit much. You’re still nervous as fuck, though. How can you last another hour like this?

You passed up the weed, wanting to be as sober as possible for the conversation, but you hate taking painkillers, so you keep the lights off and throw a pair of sunglasses on; the light is the worst for you with hangovers, but this barely helps.

Even worse, your head’s spinning and the constant stream of thoughts revolving around you and Steve make you dizzy. You stay in his bed, covers pulled up and blinds drawn to keep out the light, with your headphones on to block out any noise outside the apartment. They’re not even plugged into your Walkman, you’re just hoping the barrier of silence helps.

It doesn’t. You hear no sound, but your head is still pounding. Maybe you should’ve smoked after all.

The blankets are yanked back, startling you into a scream. It stops as soon as it starts when you see Steve. He’s chuckling at your reaction, and though you’re relieved to see it’s him and not some monster or masked intruder, your heart’s about to jump out of your chest.

Gently, he pulls the headphones off of you. “Sorry, honey. Uh… why are you wearing sunglasses inside?”

Every time he calls you that, or angel, you feel yourself melt. The hold this man has on you is insane.

“Hangover, lights suck, all that stuff.” You grumble, falling back onto the bed. Steve sits next to you. “I- I thought you said two hours?”

“Yeah… waiting was driving me nuts. So, I, uh, I left for the day.” He rubs the back of his neck, gaze shying away, but not before he notices you’re still wearing his shirt, and not wearing pants.

You’re shocked he pulled that off. “What’d you tell Keith to leave early?!”

“My great aunt’s in the hospital.”

You stifle a laugh, “Steve, didn’t you use that excuse a few months ago?”

His eyes grow wide. “Shit, did I?”

“Oh my god, yeah! You had me call to pretend— whatever,” You crack up, head falling back with a loud laugh. “You gotta keep track of these excuses!” You cradle your own head, wincing from the pain your own loudness brings.

“Hey, you didn’t— ” Steve’s eyes darted to the nightstand, about to tease you for not smoking yet, but you haven't touched the bottle of water either. “Jesus, no wonder your head hurts.”

“I didn’t wanna be high when we talked,” You grumble, about to lay back down, but Steve holds you upward, handing you the water. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” You take a sip. “Happy?”

Steve lets you go, running a hand down his face with a sigh. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You’re mid-sip before choking on water, struggling through a cough to ask, “I- I- did you— what did you just say?”

“Uh… good question. You heard that? I said that? Out loud?” Steve rambles a lot, but he’s great at it when nervous. “I think you’re imagining things.”

“Would’ve worked if I was high, but nice try.”

He groans with an eye roll, flopping onto the bed, landing on his back. His hands come up to cover his face, but you pull them back.

“I didn’t want to say it like that.” His admission comes without eye contact as his face burns red. “I wasn’t gonna say it at all, honestly. I kinda figured out this is the end of things anyway.”

“Wait, what? Steve—”

“N- not that it’s a bad thing!” You haven’t let go of his hand, and he’s either completely oblivious or doesn’t want to let go. “I’m— whatever you decide, I’ll respect. We can go back to being friends, or even just… boring roommates, if you want.”

“Okay, but— ”

“And since it’s all out there— not saying this to make you feel guilty, or bad, or anything, but I- I thought these feelings were new, and it turns out I’ve felt this way about you since… probably the first week we lived here.”

Your heart aches, but in the best ways; you need to tell Steve you feel the same.

“Stevie, listen—”

“But I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I can move out, if that’s easier.”

If only he’d shut the fuck up.

He’s getting himself worked up, and you wish he’d just take a minute to breathe. “Not, like, forcing that either, because if you just wanna be friends still, I- I’d be more than happy… and lucky to have you in my life still. But that’s- it’s— I’m not trying to—”

You’re growing agitated, wishing he’d give himself some grace. “Steve, take a second to— ”

“And I mean what I said last night, I’m so sorry for hurting you. I thought maybe it’d help distract me, but it just hurt you instead… I just fucked everything up—”

“Oh, for the love of— ” You swing a leg over his lap to straddle him, throwing your sunglasses off in the process. Leaning down, tone dripping with adoration, you murmur, “Steve, shut up.”

You kiss him, hoping this pauses the overthinking. He’s stunned, expecting anything but this. The two of you have kissed plenty of times by now, but this one is everything to him.

Finally, Steve kisses back, earning a smile from you against his lips. You cradle his face in your hands as you feel his run along your back, holding you against him as any uncertainty floats away. Breaking the kiss, you don’t pull away, just admit softly against his lips, “I love you, too.”

He sits up, leaning back on his arms with eyes wide in disbelief, “You- are you- you mean it?”

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t suffer through a hangover for just anyone, you know. I wish it didn’t take the whole battery incident— ”

“You mean vibrator incident—”

“Oh, will you shut— it’s all the same! Anyway,” You giggle, a sound Steve adores, one that pulls a smile across his face every time he hears you. “That’s when I realized I had feelings for you. A- and you coming out just to make me feel better about coming out, that really woke me up… and, uh, do not let this get to your big head—”

“My head is not big!”

You narrow your stare, shutting him up. “… When I saw you with someone else, and it made me so jealous, I’ve never felt that with anyone before. I didn’t think it was love until you came looking for my dumb, drunk ass on the street.”

“Someone had to, you were on your way to fucking Canada if you kept walking in that direction.” Steve snickers, but kisses your cheek, softening the blow. You can’t help huffing out a laugh with him; honestly, he had every right to poke fun at your little stunt.

Your voice falls quiet, turns small, “I’m sorry I never said anything earlier, and that I kept pushing that ‘just friends’ bullshit.”

“Hey, if it makes you feel any better,” Steve tries steering you away from taking the blame, “You’re a way better kisser than they were.”

You snort, “You’re just saying that.” It doesn’t stop your skin from prickling up, or the heat that blooms across your face.

“I’m not, I promise. You weren’t kidding, they literally shoved their tongue down my throat. You running off gave me an excuse to leave, so… thanks.”

You can’t help teasing him, “What are friends for?”

Steve rolls his eyes for the millionth time before sitting up to push you back onto the bed. He climbs on top, and you tug at the ugly Family Video vest he still has on.

“Babe, get this stupid thing off,” You giggle, tugging it down his arms. He pouts.

“What? You’re not into it? I thought it was kinda sexy,” His brows wiggle with his joke, and you throw it onto the floor, glaring at him. “What if I wore that, and nothing else? Just the vest.”

You’re pulling his shirt off, throwing that to the floor, too. “Then I’d definitely kick you out.”

Steve leans down to you, murmuring, “You’d never.” His lips brush against your jaw, kissing along your face to reach your neck.

“You’re right, but— ” Your breath hitches, holding your words back as he continues to kiss down your neck. “—w-we definitely wouldn’t fuck for a long time.”

“Now that’s a threat I take seriously,” His words against your skin vibrate and tickle, sending shivers up your spine. Then, he stops, and sits back up.

“What’s wrong? What’d I do?” You instantly cringe at how pathetic you sound, but Steve doesn’t tease you for it, just kisses your forehead quickly before leaning over you.

“Sit up,” Confused, you listen as he takes all the pillows around you, cushioning and covering the headboard. As he comes back to you, he pushes you back softly. “Okay— ”

Now it clicks. “Oh my god, I’m not gonna hit my head this time, I swear!”

He smirks, “Better safe than sorry.” Stealing your chance to quip back, his lips are back on yours, and it’s the kind of tender kiss where he likes to draw it out, take his time. The kind that only makes you squirm from the start.

“Hey, what’s got you so worked up?” Steve pulls back, resting his hand on your face; he can feel the goosebumps on your face prickle up against his palm. His touch is warm, soothing, and easy to gravitate to; you’re certainly not immune to leaning into his hand whenever he does this.

“Need you, Steve,” You breathe, legs closing underneath him to try and subside the ache between your legs.

“I wish I had a dollar for every time you’ve said that,” He teases, pushing your legs apart, fixated on the damp patch on the fabric between your legs. You whine, rolling your hips against nothing, only showing how needy you are. “‘Cause if I did, I’d have enough to get you a new vibrator.”

You feign offense with a loud gasp, “I thought you said I wouldn’t need it anymore, ‘cause I have you instead.”

Steve doesn’t respond, just hooks his fingers under your waistband, pulling your panties down. His hands run up your legs, pinning you to the bed as he reaches your hips. It’s not like you were going anywhere to begin with, but the pressure and possessiveness feels… nice.

“You do have me,” The meaning behind his affirmation spreads far beyond sex. “Always.”

You reach for his pants as he leans over you again, “Don’t have you in me yet, though,” You grumble, hands fumbling with his belt buckle. Steve stifles a laugh while you struggle. “Who designed this fuckin’ thing anyway?”

“I thought we were having a sweet moment, but your sailor mouth’s ruining it,” His joke doesn’t make you laugh like he hoped. Instead, you just look frustrated, finally loosening his belt. “Whoa, hey— honey, look at me.”

A sharp exhale escapes your lips while you glance up at Steve, but only for a moment before staring off, “M’sorry.”

“We don’t have to do this, you know that, right?” A finger slips under your chin, gently tilting your face up towards his. Your eyes meet his again, and he gives you the same soft, caring look he gave you a few nights ago. “I’m perfectly content with just hanging out the rest of the day, doing whatever you want.”

“I want to, I really do, I just… ” You try forcing your voice to come out stronger, more certain, but it just cracks as you admit, “I think I’m scared it’ll end so fast.”

Steve thinks back to the first time the two of you kissed, the first time you were fully exposed to him, the first time he went down on you— the first time anyone went down on you, how disappointed you sounded when it was almost over. He remembers telling you it could happen again, that it didn’t have to be a one time thing.

He remembers the way you hit your head against the wall, again, the first time the two of you fucked, and how he told you next time it’d be in a bed, helping you laugh off the clumsiness. You sounded so surprised that you even talked about the possibility of a ‘next time’.

Almost every time after either of you initiated anything sexual, your reaction was always shock and surprise when Steve talked about fucking around again in the future. There were more times where you begged him to not let it end yet, but he thought it was just in the moment.

Steve didn’t realize you meant you didn’t want things between the two of you to end. It wasn’t ever really in the moment. It was a fear you’ve had since the first time he’s touched you, and it’s a fear of Steve’s, too.

“Angel, I’m not going anywhere,” You move up against the pillows as he speaks softly to you, shifting with you to keep you comfortable while staying close. “I can’t speak for you, but on my end, I don’t plan on ending this fast. Or ever… but that- that’s another conversation for another day, okay?”

You nod, slipping your hand into his, “Okay.”

“Point is, this isn’t a one time thing. You really do have me. And when I say always, I mean it.”

There’s no hesitation in your response, “You have me, too, Steve. Always.”

“Let me take care of you,” His hand is cupping your face again, thumb sweeping along your cheek softly. “Get those awful thoughts out of that pretty head of yours. How’s that sound?”

You nod against his palm, hands coming up to hold his forearm as he holds you. “Please, Stevie.” Your eyes fall to his belt before reaching for it. You pull it off, adding it to the pile of his clothes. “That thing is the worst.”

“Won’t wear that one around you anymore, promise,” Steve chuckles as the two of you strip each other from any remaining clothing.

His lips find their way back to your neck, picking up where he left off with the gentle kisses. Your hands wander his body, tracing along the dips and curves of his toned arms. It’s easy to lose yourself in the scattered freckles and moles all over, making up constellations, a galaxy of his own. What brings you back is the breathy moan made from his touch along your folds.

It’s one finger, then two, and you’re arching your back, pressing yourself against him, dizzy from shallow breaths as he finds your sweet spot. His long fingers have no problem reaching where you need him most, not struggling the way you do when you touch yourself.

Steve starts kissing down your body, but you grab him by the shoulders. “You okay?”

“Stay with me,” You gasp as he continues fucking you on his fingers. “I- I don’t— it feels good, but I wanna cum with you instead.”

A blush creeps along Steve’s face as a lazy smile curls up. He makes his way back to you, retracing his kisses with new ones, of course. When he rests his forehead against yours, his hand’s still between your legs.

“Still wanna make y’feel good first,” Steve’s thumb softly swipes over your clit while he continues working his fingers, curling them just right. “You can cum twice, you’ve done it before.”

Your fingers twist through his hair, bringing him towards you as you close the gap, trying to kiss him the way he was kissing you. Your hips roll onto his fingers, feeling your legs shake and your walls constrict around him.

Steve pulls back, admiring the way your face twists in an expression of beautiful agony, so, so close to the edge. He leans down to murmur into your ear, “That’s it, angel, let go for me”. Other praises follow, but you’re just at the point of no return, unable to hear him as you finally reach your high, a strangled moan slipping between your lips with ease.

Aftershocks roll through your body while you pant shallow breaths, vision a little fuzzy from your eyes squeezing shut, and Steve kissing your temple, then your cheek, with more gentle praises, ones you can faintly make out.

You’re barely settled, still in the comedown, but you’re pulling Steve closer, “Fuck, I love you.” He beams, knowing already he’ll never get tired of hearing that from you.

He spreads your legs, but stops to study your expression. Checking on you, he asks, “Are you sure you can handle one more?”

“Uh-huh,” You try to giggle, still breathless as you nod. “As long as it’s with you.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but you know him, he loves the corny little remarks you shoot back and forth. You know him. You know him so well by now, because he’s yours. And you’re his.

“Hey, angel?” He’s admiring your figure, still catching your breath, already blissed out with hooded eyes, and the sweetest smile he’s ever seen on your face. He lines up with your entrance, slowly pushing in while he leans back down to you with a lingering forehead kiss.

“Y- yeah?” You shudder out, adjusting to him all over again. His hand slips into yours, fingers lacing together before he gives a gentle squeeze.

“I love you, too.”

The first night you had together, when Steve offered to help, it wasn’t meant to just be a one and done kind of fling. Maybe it felt like it back then, and maybe even last night, while the two of you fought over your feelings, it felt like it should’ve been an arrangement that ended long ago. But now? Now, everything’s so sure. Everything’s so certain.

With Steve, everything’s crystal clear.

It only takes the first thrust for the two of you to meld together with ease. It’s almost effortless, the way you and Steve can flow into and with one another. You’ve never felt like this with anyone else, never felt so comfortable, so at home within someone’s embrace, never felt such safety to be yourself completely.

At the same time, both you and Steve give each other the same, cheesy line, “feels like you’re made for me.” While neither of your movements stop, the two of you burst into a fit of laughter. Steve buries his head into your shoulder, while his shoulders shake along with the noise. Your arms wrap around him, laughing even harder when he realizes he can feel you laugh while deep in you.

“Hey- h- hey wait, waitwaitwait!” He can’t control his laughter, and neither can you. “Every time you do that it— fuck!” He’s trying his hardest to calm down, hoping you can, too. “You gotta stop doing that, I can- you- fuck, you’re so tight.”

You cover your face with your hands, trying to kill your giggles, and slowly it works, leading Steve to calm down, too. With a quick kiss to his chin as he lifts his head, you flip on top, riding him immediately.

Any laughter still at the back of Steve’s throat dies instantly as you grind down onto him. You finally find a steady, slow pace to roll your hips; there’s no rush, there’s no fear it’ll all disappear when the two of you finish. It’s just you and Steve, nothing else, no one else.

No distractions or kinks or secrets, just the two of you, together.

“Honey, m’not gonna last if you k- keep this up,” he breathes, strong hands on your hips, gently guiding you along.

“S’okay, I- I’m close,” You whimper, hand splayed against Steve’s chest. “A- and we can just— ” You sharply gasp, walls constricting around him. “we got all the time in the world, Stevie. You have me, always.” Your head tilts back as pleasure consumes you both, feeling him throb while your legs shake.

Before the two of you reach that sweet high together, you faintly hear Steve respond, “Y’have me, too, angel. Always.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington smut #my fics #crystal clear #*slaps post* this baby can fit SOOOOOOO much angst in it

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aviscarrentals · 1 month

Text

why i believe alex replacing logan is the worst possible decision williams could make

#1: logan’s confidence

we saw this exact thing happen with checo last year. after his brief stint of trading wins with max, max continued to consistently wipe the floor with him via the gap in their performances. this continued to eat away at checo’s confidence until, by the end of the season, he was t-boning alex albon in singapore for no reason and somehow retiring twice in suzuka. now that there has been an extended break and he has had the chance to grind and truly work on himself nonstop, he has returned with incredible form. but who knows how long this will last? as soon as there’s a race that isn’t a red bull 1-2, he will be completely torn into and i believe the downward trajectory of last year will repeat itself.

this is very similar to what logan went through last year. once he was announced, there was so much hope for an incredible debut season, but that never came his way. i think the first big nail in the coffin was getting his first p20 at his home race and i think the biggest hit was qatar. even though he should never ever be ashamed of putting his safety first, i understand why, from an athlete’s perspective, he would look at that race as a failure.

fortunately for him, he has had a team with incredibly strong leadership backing him up. giving him the opportunities he needed, never giving up on him, celebrating the single point he scored last year like he lassoed the fucking moon, and re-signing him because he has such incredible potential as a formula 1 driver. everything went wrong for logan, except for williams, who did everything right.

except now, williams has publicly stated that they have no faith in him to score points. now the only support logan has is random fans at races, strangers on the internet, and his own friends and family. that must feel fucking awful. logan has been so positive throughout the struggles of this year and last, but he has to be hurting right now. there’s no way he isn’t.

logan sargeant is not a bad driver. you can disagree with me as loud as you want to, but i won’t hear a word of it.

absolutely stunning junior career aside, logan showed incredible improvement towards the end of the season. not only did he score a point in austin, but he came unbearably close in mexico, and if it weren’t for a hydraulics failure, he very easily could have had two points finishes in a row.

this year may seem like it has gotten off to a bad start for him, but i heavily disagree. in bahrain he had great pace and was steadily climbing closer and closer to the points when he had a brake failure. the car switched his balance completely on its own and made it literally impossible for him to turn. even max couldn’t recover from that.

in jeddah his pace was wonderful again. i think his biggest struggle currently is qualifying, but he was overtaking beautifully and making his way up the field. while 15th isn’t a spectacular finish, he was matching alex quite well throughout the whole race. (also jeddah sucks so he gets a pass 👎)

george russell did not score a SINGLE point during his rookie season for williams and he is now a race-winning future championship contender and beating his 7x wdc teammate in the standings at p4. logan has already beaten that AND he has an experienced driver that he seems to get on with quite well as a teammate to mentor him, which george didn’t have; he was william’s number one driver from day one. logan has so much potential that is only being hindered by his lack of confidence, unpreparedness (reminder he was brought to f1 an entire year earlier than he was originally supposed to be; they planned for him to be a 2024 rookie), and a shitty car.

#2: alex albon

now poor alex is in the worst position of his life. brother already probably feels like shit for putting logan through this (even though it is NOT his fault and he has absolutely zero say in this decision) and if he doesn’t score any points this weekend, he will be torn to shreds by the media.

i have already seen multiple posts including alex in their list of fuck yous. this will do incredible damage to him pr-wise and will also make him feel even worse if he doesn’t somehow pull off a miracle performance.

#3: albert park

alex is an incredible driver, constantly pulling a back marker car into the points. however, this is a track that he has historically struggled at (in the exact same turn might i add!!) for multiple years in a row. who’s to say this mistake could not be made tomorrow or sunday as well? that will make everyone involved look and feel horrible.

not to mention that the fw46 is NOT SUITED for albert park. AT ALL. vcarb’s official website describes it as a ‘medium-high’ downforce track, which is exactly what the car is suited to struggle with, making it nearly impossible for albono to score points (which, like stated before, will be terrible for him) as well as making this gp a likely inconsequential race! meaning this is the perfect opportunity to let logan drive on the limit and really showcase his true talent and capabilities as a driver.

but now williams has chosen to do the complete opposite and ruined logan’s trust in his team as well as any other offers from rival teams for him for the 2025 season. if logan’s own team would bench him for his teammate, why should they take him over a talented upcoming rookie? (this is a rhetorical question; i truly believe he has the potential to, with a good enough car and team behind him, become a race-winning driver in the future.)

#4: james vowles and the future of williams

james has justified this decision by mentioning how every race counts and that a single point can make a world’s difference in the midfield. while this is true, james has also been on the record multiple times saying that he doesn’t give two shits about this season (as well as the next few). he has stated that his goal is long-term, to rebuild the team and return it to its former success of the 90s and early 2000s. so why ruin the reputation of your driver who you have been supporting since his junior career over the possibility of a single point or two? that is a short-term solution, not a long-term one. james is usually a wonderfully eloquent speaker, however, he has completely contradicted himself here.

in my opinion, the best decision would be to race logan. while i love alex to death, he’s the one who crashed his car, completely on his own with no fellow drivers or failures on the car’s side to blame. logically, he should be the one to sit out the race, no?

like i briefly touched on before, i also think this is a golden opportunity to put logan in a race where they will most likely come away with nothing anyways and give him the opportunity to pull off something incredible (which he absolutely can under the right circumstances). if he was able to have a good drive on sunday, he would be a star and williams would look like geniuses. with this decision, everyone just looks like an asshole.

final thoughts

to conclude, i am no certified expert, but this decision makes zero sense to me, as it also does to many others from what i’ve seen. i usually wholeheartedly agree with all of james’ decisions, but this one beats me. i cannot for the life of me figure out why williams would choose this.

there is a part of me that hopes williams will reverse this decision before sunday in order to save themselves from all of the pr backlash they are facing, but i understand that that is very much wishful thinking. the only good thing that can come from this is williams finally learning how to be prepared and/or logan being able to channel his frustration into motivation (although i don’t think there’s any way for him to possibly work harder than he already has).

if anyone disagrees with me and thinks this is the right decision for williams to make, i would love to hear why. no one has to agree with me, these are just my personal thoughts on the situation.

-avis 🏎️💨

#f1 #formula 1 #logan sargeant #williams racing #alex albon #james vowles #australian gp 2024

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shadesoflsk · 2 months

Text

MOONTALK

pairing: Leon Kennedy x GN Reader.

summary: After retiring, Leon often has nightmares about his past. Talking under the moon's gaze seems to help.

warnings: Smut MDNI, just oral (m receiving), angst to fluff to smut hehe, mentions of death, violence, and alcohol, catholic symbolism, dad bod leon hehe (x2) subby leon, reader is called spouse.

word count: 3.5k

author's note: Hello! This is very simple since I'm trying to get better at writing smut for gender neutral readers :) There's not enough content and while I improve at writing the whole sex scene I shall bring you this! (I'm open to suggestions or constructive criticism.) As always, I hope you're having a good week!

The starry night is chosen to be Leon’s witness in the middle of his stolen slumber.

It’s a common occurrence, part of himself longs for the pain-filled activity since it serves as a reminder of his own life. Night terrors scare him more than his anxiety. The first one clings to his soul and threatens him with an inability to wake up. Helpless to his own mind, he prefers to be fully awake.

However, his brain isn’t his friend. Even when awake and aware of his surroundings, his mind would recreate scenarios he has lived before. Blood dripping and sticking to his combat boots, the smell of the iron-ish liquid filling his nostrils painfully making its home in Leon’s head, messing up with his perception of the world and himself.

Somewhere in that messed up path, he had found you.

He didn’t intend to, it wasn’t in his plans to. He had locked his heart and thrown the key somewhere in the sea of his failures.

A feeling of regret brimmed in Leon’s soul. How could his name be attached to yours if the sole mention of Leon Scott Kennedy brought memories of hell on Earth? A former rookie cop, ready to risk his life on duty turned into the government's best weapon. He’s made peace with that, ever since his mission in San Francisco his life has gotten significantly better.

But that doesn’t mean it has stopped hurting.

He once heard Jesus presented his left cheek to be slapped. In the past, he’d have imagined the mere thought of being that naive was ridiculous.

“You have heard that it was said, 'Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.' But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also.”

Now, that passage has been planted in his heart like a thorn that wouldn't go away no matter how much he pinched the skin. But rather than being a bothersome feeling, it shaped him into the man he is now.

He would never be Jesus, he knows that much. Ever since he was a kid, his connection to religion was always dangling between trust and distrust; faith and doubt. Fear crossed his juvenile and innocent expression whenever he came across a statue of the people’s lord and savior.

God bad, Jesus good. People good and bad. The Old Testament was the backbone for Leon’s hatred towards God. If this supernatural being ‘loved’ his people, why would he punish them?

Sins are ambiguous. Killing is bad. But if he had killed creatures that were no longer humans, is he a sinner without redemption?

He’s still coming around that last statement. Were they really no longer humans?

That’s why he prefers the New Testament. A fresh start, a new life being born. Jesus wouldn’t judge him for the man that he was and is.

And just like him, he turned his left cheek in a mission in San Francisco years ago, when he ended Maria’s life. Bitter and revengeful for killing her father, the woman made it her mission to murder Leon. But ultimately (and ironically) she ceased to exist in Leon’s arms.

‘Revenge’ was met with a ‘Now you can be with your dad again.’ Merciful, he had granted her a last moment of peace.

The soundless night heightens Leon’s senses. As he tries to brush off his worries, some footsteps break the unnerving silence that Leon is in. His ears focus on the soft pace that he easily identifies as yours.

Recognition turned into monotone and monotone into mundane. And don’t get him wrong, God he loves feeling he has finally found his home.

Leon’s arms are resting on the balcony railway, blue eyes focused on the starry night.

“You should be sleeping.” He flatly says without turning to face you. Not out of apathy but guilt. Not being next to you has woken you up.

“Can’t sleep without my husband.”

Sensing you approaching, he opts to tease, trying to divert your attention somewhere else. “Wouldn’t be my dear spouse if you weren’t clingy.”

“I’m not clingy.” But you wouldn’t allow Leon’s usual antics. You know them by heart, lighthearted jokes instead of facing reality. “I’m just worried,”

“You worry too much.”

“But I’m always right.”

A sigh.

Teeth biting the inside of his cheek.

“It’s hard to sleep sometimes.” The phrase is not directed at you, but a response to his own thoughts. For him, safe and sound sleep is a blessing he’s not lucky enough to receive.

“I know.” And then again, your reply isn’t about yourself. A feeble smile appears on your face out of empathy and partial understanding. Standing next to him, your elbows rest on the balcony railway, the chill air sending goosebumps through your skin. “Did you dream about something?”

Leon’s eyebrows knit in concentration as he mull over her question. When he tries recalling his past moment of slumber he is met with the usual gruesome scenario and the same gut-wrenching screams.

“Same old tale.” He exhales. In the past he would have had a glass of whiskey in his hand, tilting the content to one side as he gazed over the starry sky. But he made a promise, and as much as his past comes back to haunt him, he’d keep it.

“Is that it?”

“Yes.”

“Why I don't believe you?”

He brings a calloused hand to his mouth as he registers your words. Under the moonlight, his expression gives away his exhausted state, a hint of darkness around his eyes, a permanent faint frown.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yet here I am asking.” It’s not until now that you notice Leon’s shirtless torso. Most of his scars are turning a light white color while his bruises are changing their hues. His body is not the same from a few years ago. His abdomen no longer shows off his chiseled abs but a slightly round and soft belly.

“Feels like I’m walking in circles.” He finally answers with his eyes closed. His restless mind can’t give him a break. Unable to completely live in peace, he finds himself pondering about his own humanity.

“The past is always clearer at night.” With an expression akin to resignation, he looks at you. “And the past tells me I’m a monster.”

The faint sound of the clock could be heard even when they were both gazing into the sky and letting their thoughts be consumed by the chill night. It reaches the dreaded ‘Devil’s hour,’ 3 AM.

“You aren’t a monster.” And it is the truth. While Leon is a complex man, it is not a difficult task to unravel and search through the layers he has covered himself in. His heart beats for the nation and therefore its citizens.

“If I’m not a monster then what am I?” He replies, his face growing somber. “If what I’ve done isn’t destruction what is it?”

“Salvation.”

It is far from salvation. It’s selfish to even think that way.

Sadly, Leon was the designated pawn to complete the job nobody wants to do.

Sadly, Leon is no more than a victim in the web of despair and destruction.

“Salvation.” He scoffs, a sharp ironic demonstration that your words weren’t the best. “I used to fight while the innocents kept falling at my feet.”

A glimpse of a past self appears in front of you. Chaos and loathing unfurls.

It’s been years since you last saw the man who used to drown himself in the deadly burning liquid. However, the alcohol no longer filled the empty spaces in his body and soul.

Truthfully speaking, nobody can fix or heal anyone. But you gladly took the role of being Leon’s partner in life. Not only romantically speaking. Silently, you made a home in Leon’s heart and he was too comfortable with you to ask you to leave him.

“You didn’t do it in the first place.” You place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “The government did.”

“But I was just another bullet in a gun.” He replies softly, his gaze drifting forward. Even after all of these years, he couldn’t completely shake off the guilt that kept haunting him. “Another man with his finger on the trigger… I was just a man with a gun.”

“And you’re also a man with a heart.” You respond immediately, not giving him a chance to continue his venom-filled words toward himself.

“If you were the demon you think you are, these late-night thoughts wouldn’t be haunting you as they do. You wouldn’t be mourning every soul even after all these years.” Your words bring a sense of comfort amidst the internal battle that is occurring inside him. The weight of his burden has always been more bearable with you.

“You think I’m that much of a saint?” A faint smile tug at Leon’s lip. A troubled expression on his face tells you he is still not believing your words. Or perhaps, he feels like he shouldn’t believe you.

“I don’t think you’re a saint. Humans are much more than black or white, good or bad. We are gray.”

Your statement is true. Humans are far from being one-dimensional beings. The balance has always been there and he knows it. When he was a child and religion was still an important part of his life, he remembers when Jesus protected Mary Magdalene.

‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.’

Leon had stained his hands with blood and gore, but he had also saved countless lives when the odds were against him.

“God… I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” He laughs, finally bringing you closer to him with his arm around your waist.

“No, you’re just human.” You reply, admiring the view your balcony provides, you think about the endless possibilities in life. If you hadn't met Leon, where would you be? And if Leon hadn't met you? How his life would look right now?

Universe works in mysterious ways, if you hadn't been in the right place at the right time, you wouldn't have your soulmate next to you.

A comfortable silence sets in as Leon finally relaxes and gives his mind a break. There were days and nights in which his brain was weak, but that doesn’t mean he hasn't gotten better.

“I would do laundry and taxes with you in every timeline.” You break the silence with a quote from a movie both of you had watched and Leon being the moviegoer he is, you know he’ll recognize it.

“That's not how the line goes, you silly.”

Bingo.

“Then enlighten me, Mr. I know every movie by heart.”

“It is ‘in another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.’” He states matter-of-factly which gains a laugh from you. But in a way, you’re used to his antics and almost nerdy personality only you get to see.

But your words mixed with the ones from the movie hold a glimmer of truth. Even in a timeline in which he wasn’t an agent and just a regular citizen, you’d have fallen for him. Because his past doesn’t make him the man he is now.

In another life, you’d love him over and over again.

“But I’d do all those things in this life and even in the afterlife.”

His eyes fall on you, the glimmer in them now being obvious. Just a few words from his love would pull him out from his depressive nights.

“You never cease to amaze me.”

“I’m just amazing like that.” You wrap your arms around Leon's neck while his hands rested on your middle section. “Now hug me because I’m fucking freezing.”

“Let’s go inside, shall we?” Laughing, he pulls you closer in a tight embrace. “I’d hate for you to catch a cold. Besides… I need my cuddling partner every night.”

As both of you move out of the balcony and away from the cold wind of the night. Leon’s hands move painfully obvious to your rear. After his late thoughts, he only wants to feel you close to him.

“I don’t think you want to cuddle.” You remark the obvious. Leon just chuckles, nodding.

“Aside from being the perfect partner you’re also a mind reader?”

You step in your bedroom. Place that has been witness to Leon’s most vulnerable moments, from the times in which he'd come back from a mission to the ones in which both of you would get lost in each other's bodies.

His sanctuary, your heaven.

You smile at him as you motion him to sit down on the bed. Both of your eyes are locked in a gaze that says what you are feeling, love. No matter how hard his or your days could be, both of you could always come back to a partner that takes care of them. No matter the situation.

As he takes a seat on the edge of the bed, you lean closer and press a kiss to his forehead, to his nose, to his cheek, and lastly to his lips. This last one lingers more than the others, sweet and slow, like how you want to treat him tonight.

“I love you.” You whisper as you pull back from the kiss, your thumb grazing over his stubbled jaw.

“Love you more.” He responds with the same tenderness you have brought him. After saying his words, his hands traveled to where your hips were, attempting to pull you closer.

“Nuh-uh. Tonight’s about you, sir.” You have your mind set that this night is going to be all about the perfect husband you have in front of you.

With that, your lips once again found their home but this time it was on Leon’s neck.

With your lips giving some attention to Leon’s sensitive skin, you treat him like he was fragile porcelain.

After a few moments, you slowly lower yourself until you're between his thighs. Another reminder of how much his body has changed, his thighs were fuller and bit less toned than before.

He has seen you like this before, on your knees and with the sweetest of looks but dear God it gets better every day.

You press your cheek against Leon’s inner thigh, your hand rubbing the flesh that is still covered with his sweatpants. He was no longer an active agent therefore he had gained some weight which you completely love. He blames the alcohol he used to drink so much and the lack of high-impact exercise. But you always reassure him that you love him nonetheless.

Your hand creeps to his clothed crotch, you gently trace along the bulge that has already formed. Leon’s breath is starting to get heavier but nothing too scandalous, for now.

“I haven’t even touched properly and you’re already this hard.” You are trying to be gentle, but there’s something about having control over him even when you’re on your knees that just prompts you to tease him a hit.

“Might as well cum in the spot, don’t you think? Bet you’re already imagining me pulling down your boxers and stroking your cock.” The face Leon was making could send you straight to heaven.

“You’re the devil…” Leon tries, he tries to gather himself by making a joke. But his high-pitched speech comes out pathetic. A rebuttal? More like a whine.

“What? My handsome husband can’t handle the spice? I expected better.” The praise seems to hit a spot somewhere in his body because the way his hips just bucked and sought the friction of your hand was contradictory to his previous words.

“Please…” And after that whimper, you no longer want to tease the man. Especially tonight in which he deserves the best.

“Ok, ok. I gotcha…” You murmur, wasting no more time and pulling his sweatpants down. A wet spot is already formed in his gray boxers. Then again, more teasing words flood your mind but you brush them off.

With a gentle kiss on his inner thigh, your fingers hook around the fabric and slide it down. His dick springs forward, and as always, it makes your mouth water. It’s the same image as always, slightly curved lenght with veins you had memorized by now and a reddish tip that tells you how bothered and pent-up he’s been.

Marriage has always been depicted as a boring and monotonous lifestyle, in which you get bored of your spouse after a couple of years. In a sense, you understand where they come from. However, Leon and you always made sure to keep things interesting, and as corny as it sounds, both of you try to make the other fall in love again.

You press a kiss on his tip, holding back a laugh as you know how sensitive he must be. The slightest touch has him gripping the bedsheets.

“You’re teasing.” He says as his lips form a pout. His calloused hands flatten on top of your hair

“Am I?” You give his shaft a few kitten licks, not breaking eye contact while doing so.

Finally, your shenanigans are followed by your lips wrapping around his tip, sucking the area. That gains a whimper out of Leon, the ones you’re so used to.

When you first met the stoic agent, you wouldn’t have thought that he’d be so vocal in bed. Even when he was supposed to be on top, he’d let the most beautiful moans against your ears. asking for permission to continue, asking for permission to fill you up.

For a moment, your lips continue sucking off his tip. Your saliva coating the area and sloppily making out with the head of his dick. Your fingers wrap around the base of it, almost overwhelming Leon with the amount of attention he is receiving.

“Ah — Fuck…” His eyes roll back as you finally take him whole. The previous ministrations long forgotten as your mouth and part of your throat surround his sensitive cock.

You bob your head, slowly at first, controlling your breath as Leon involuntarily thrusts his hips making his tip hit the back of your throat. You place your hand on Leon’s thigh, to motion him to stand still.

“Shit — sorry, sorry…” His voice gets slightly higher, now his previous words turn into pleas or straight-up moans. Drool pools at the corner of your mouth as your tongue runs on the underside of his cock.

“Too good for me…” He’s reduced to just babbles and whines, his knuckles turn white as keeps on gripping the bedsheets, an awful attempt to drown more moans. As you continuously bob your head, Leon could feel his high coming.

Unconsciously and given his dazed out state, he brings his leg to your shoulder. You were completely focused on him and this simple action made your concentration break a bit. He’s putty in your hands, his brain no longer functioning whenever you are in control.

You’d edge him, you’d definitely tease him for that. But now, you just continue sucking him off with the inner side of his thigh brushing against your cheek.

“I’m gonna — Fuck…” It’s not a warning, but a comment, a needy announcement. As much as he denies it, there’s not a better image than seeing you covered with his cum, or watching you swallow it whole. It made him feel a sense of pride, knowing that his spouse is the one making him come undone.

And as your tongue runs along a vein, he couldn’t contain it any longer. With a high pitched whine and throwing his head back, he spills down your throat.

The warm liquid fills your mouth and some of it drips from the corner of your lips.

You stay still for a moment, collecting every last drop of Leon’s cum. When you feel Leon’s hand on your shoulder —the one that doesn’t have his leg on it— you know he was asking you for a break.

Pulling out with a pop, you gently move his leg for him to rest.

For a few seconds, you just massage your jaw as Leon tries to recover. Heavy breaths fill the dark room, allowing you to relax once again.

“You good?” You ask as you are sitting down on the floor.

“Yeah — Just… give me a second.” He laughs, closing his eyes. A loving smile forms on his face.

You laugh too, getting up from the floor, you admire the scene Leon provides you: All of his body exposed to you, his sweatpants and boxers pooling at his ankles, and his fucked out expression.

Heaven.

After a minute or so, Leon composes himself.

“I’ll make sure to wake up every night if this is the treatment I get.”

“Next time I will just tie you up to the bed.”

“Oh? I like the sound of that.”

Laughing, you slap his naked chest as he pulls you closer. Nights like this are a reminder of his humanity and his right to love and to be loved. The past can never be changed or forgotten, but he can learn from it.

💬shadesoflsk: Comments, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated.

author's note 2: I just had to mention eeaao! It's one of my favorite movies and I know Leon would love it. Sorry if it was too sappy of me but then again... I'm always like that.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut #resident evil #resident evil x reader

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goingbuggy · 8 months

Text

Miscellaneous Notes About OPLA Buggy Because I Adored Episode 2:

The "knows-nose" homophone joke?? So good (not really important i just loved it ok)

I love how OPLA played into Buggy's crew being more circus than crew; the manga has them just.... hanging out on a rooftop LOL. The new theming added so much immersion!!!

Jeff Ward has the standout performance of this season imo. It feels different than Buggy from the source material, but in very good ways; Buggy usually gets upstaged in a very goofy manner, but here, it's clear that Buggy's failure stems from insecurity leading to incorrect assumptions.

Buggy never believed Zoro and Nami would come back to help Luffy because of his own trust/abandonment issues. (His logic reads borderline delusional: "Shanks abandoned me, and he was my friend.. so why would they come back for you?")

Buggy offering Luffy a place on his crew?? YES. Yet again, Jeff Ward really sells this version of the character -- he is so incredibly frustrated by rejection. Why would a "freak" like him choose to be hurt by others who let them down? (As viewers, we know Nami and Zoro are fighting to get back, but Buggy truly believes they'll leave Luffy behind.)

"You can't make people love you." AAHHHHH!!! Luffy's emotional intelligence strikes again!!!!!!!! It hits the nail on the head. Buggy so desperately craves acceptance/love that it makes him illogical and causes him to have a short fuse.

AND LOOK. OH MY GOD HIS SUBTLE REACTION...... my heart breaks for him

tldr; Buggy's big mistake in Orange Town is his overwhelming greed, which causes him to underestimate and undervalue others. In OPLA, it is his paranoia and insecurity getting in the way of logic. Both are major aspects of his character, but I love that the live action went a different route, while still staying true to his nature!

#i am still going to do a full breakdown #but seriously. this is sooooo good #like i never expected THIS #chapter 1082: the gift that keeps on giving #one piece #buggy the clown #opla spoilers #one piece live action #opla #op buggy #buggy #buggy one piece

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