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#unfortunately there were many problems with me back then

thatsmzbitchtoyou · 2 days

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My Queen Chapter 1

Steve Rogers is the newly inherited Duke of Brooklyn, struggling to fix the mistakes of his parents while enduring an overbearing, matchmaking mother. He has no intention of anything romantic in his future, but will a forced love connection with the Queen change his mind?

Warnings: smut, slight domestic violence, minor character death

Steve sighed heavily as his mother, Sarah, blabbered on about court gossip. He poured over his father’s books, trying to budget and fix all the mistakes and figure out what damage had been done. His father, Joseph, had died a few weeks prior from alcohol poisoning while gambling away whatever money he had left, leaving Steve as the man of the house and the newly appointed Duke of Brooklyn. The debts were enormous, and after selling much of the valuables from their home as well as the summer home that his parents had bought years ago, he’d been able to finally break even. His mother had been beside herself as he’d sold her favorite things right out from underneath her, more worried about how it would make her look to her noble friends.

“Oh! And great news!” Sarah took the pen from his fingers and twirled away from him to get his attention.

“Ma, please,” Steve grunted, reaching for the pen back. “I don’t have time for this.”

“I’ve been speaking to the Queen’s privy counselor, Mr. Sam Wilson, you remember him,” she continued like she didn’t hear him.

“Yes, I know Sam,” Steve rolled his eyes. “We’ve been friends for many years.”

“He’s been looking for suitors for the Queen!” Sarah quipped excitedly. “She’s getting older and needs to marry and have an heir. And I reminded him of you and your lack of a wife–”

“Ma please tell me you didn’t,” Steve glared at her as he stood.

Sarah withered a little at his tone, her eyes widening as she finally stopped moving. “I…but it’s the Queen, dearest. She’d make you a great wife. And you a great husband!” Steve rubbed his face with his hands and started pacing around the room, Sarah following him. “She could help us get back into a better place, your connection to her could be incredibly advantageous–”

“What makes you think I want to marry?” Steve turned on her, his eyes blazing. “After watching you with Father all these years and how much you hated each other and brought out the worst in each other, pitting me against each of you, having affairs,” Sarah gasped. “Yes, I know all about them. You expect me to still want to chain myself to someone cut from the same cloth as you and all the other ridiculous nobility? That's not love. That’s not anything that I want to be a part of.”

Sarah’s eyes filled with tears at her son’s accusations. “How dare you,” she whimpered. “I’m your mother.”

“Unfortunately,” Steve hissed at her. “I want no part of your matchmaking games.”

Sarah straightened herself up. “Well that’s too bad, because you have an audience with her next Friday.”

Steve’s eyes widened, his brow furrowed, causing a deep crease between his eyes. “You…what?”

“A lunch date,” Sarah sniffed as she wiped her eyes hastily. “I’m trying to secure your future, and mine. You can hate me all you want, but I didn’t endure your father for 37 years just to throw it all away. You will meet her for lunch, be the gentleman I know you can be, flirt with her, and win her affections.”

Steve hung his head, sighing again. He clenched his fists and walked closer to Sarah, making her back up into the wall behind her. His eyes bored into her as he gritted his teeth. “I will go to this lunch. But after that, don’t you ever speak for me again.”

Sarah’s lips tightened to a thin line, defiance in her eyes, but she solemnly nodded.

***

“A lunch with Steve Rogers?” Y/N asked incredulously as she reviewed the itinerary for the week. “You can’t be serious.”

“Is there a problem, your Majesty?” Sam asked, looking bewildered.

“Well, he’s not exactly friendly,” Y/N said, looking at his name on the paper again. “I haven’t seen him at any events for…God, 15 years?”

“True,” Sam agreed. “He’s not one for the spotlight. And with his father’s gambling problems and recent death, he’s had a lot to deal with.”

“Of course,” Y/N agreed politely. She had sent his family a condolences card upon hearing of Joseph Rogers’ death, although he was not necessarily someone that would be missed in the community. She could understand how anyone would be embarrassed of their parents who acted in such a way so publicly and mishandled their family money. Her own parents caused a number of controversies during their reign. She had received multiple letters from Joseph and Sarah over the past few years asking her to increase their yearly nobility stipend money. “I know he’s your friend, Sam. I’m just surprised he would call on me.”

“Well…” Sam grimaced.

Y/N eyes narrowed at him. “Oh I see. Sarah is meddling again.”

Sam pursed his lips, looking to the ground and nodding. “Yes, she’s quite…enthusiastic.”

“Opportunistic,” Y/N corrected him. She sighed. “Well, this should be interesting.”

#marvel #smut #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #duke!steve rogers x queen!reader #queen!reader #steve rogers fanfiction #royal au #modern royalty au #chapter 1 #series fanfic

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glow-in-the-dark-death · 3 months

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A Week (He Will Take You)

Danny moved to Gotham for school, while there he noticed that Gotham's ambient ecto was really murky for lack of a better word.

This didn't really affect him too much besides a mild headache every once in a while but that also just might be stress from all his school work so maybe not.

Anyway

This murky ecto seemed to effect the people who lived there or more importantly the ghosts,

They were visible to the human eye like most ghosts back in Amity but instead of looking very much like a ghost they still looked like humans if a bit off putting.

They all seemed to be continuing their normal lives as if still fully alive, with the people around them none the wiser.

Danny noticed this and began approaching them to figure out what was going on.

Apparently the murky ecto in the city had made it so that they were strong enough to still continue a somewhat normal life but not be able to cross over to the GZ.

In other words they were stuck in Gotham

Danny was the Ghost King so he could easily fix this problem, all he needed to do was give them a bit of pure ecto for around a week to fully stabilize them them then he would just open a portal into the GZ and they could cross over with all their things also transferring into the GZ for their new haunt.

Unfortunately this looked rather worrying to an outsider,

Imagine you're used to your neighbor being very outgoing so you and others see them a lot suddenly this man seems to appear in their life out of nowhere an at exactly one week, your neighbor and all their belongings in their home disappear no trace to be found.

You tell people and they begin saying the same story they knew someone and them a man with black hair and blue eyes appeared in their life, then they and all their things disappear in exactly one week.

Of course the police in Gotham do the bare minimum so they're no help.

But it starts to begin a trend, especially online.

"Oh careful or the blue eyed man will make you disappear in a week"

This of course after time catches the bats attention, Gordon had already given them all the information he had.

"Young adult early twenties, dark hair, blue eyes"

That was it.

The bats look into it and from their point of view Danny is a serial killer.

But they can't find the connection between all of his victims, they range from young children and the elderly from different backgrounds absolutely no connection,

Worrying enough he doesn't just make one person disappear he has taken entire families up to over a dozen, without anyone figuring out how he's doing it or why at all.

The disturbing thing also being that he seems to take everything in their home, leaving it like it has always been empty

Like no one had been living in it.

People have tried to take photos of Danny get some kind of evidence of his existence, but when they try to do it, it either comes out completely corrupted or their devise simply shuts down fully.

Danny of course has no clue what is happening he's just happy that he's able to help so many ghosts, and is trying not to fail his exams.

Danny leaving the house he just helped: "That went easier than I expected!"

Neighbor peeking from the window: "Shit it's that guy! "

Red Hood marching down into the cave: " The fucker took many from my territory without me even realizing it!"

Tim: "I'm pretty sure his kill count is nearing the hundreds and he just started like maybe 4 months ago, this is bad."

Barbara: " I think I got a theory, this matches up with the new school year beginning so maybe their not a Gotham native which narrows down my suspect list."

Bruce: "Hn."

Tim: "Yes thank you B for the insightful commentary"

Danny trying not to fall asleep while on his way to class: "Strange I keep seeing shadows following me, oh well must be the stress!"

Bats who are pretty sure Danny is the killer: "Has he done anything suspicious yet?"

Just an Idea

#dp x dc #danny phantom #dc x dp #dpxdc #batman #danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover #prompt fill #story prompt #prompts #writing prompt #dp #ghost #ghosts

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mostly-imagines · 21 days

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Guard Dog vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka don’t fuck with jason’s gf pt. II

3 in 1 blurbs

warnings: mild standard gotham violence, in the 3rd section: attempted sexual assault and panicky thoughts afterwards from reader

“Sweetheart, this is…not good.”

You turn your head over to him, where he’s frowning, hands on his hips as he inspects your bedroom window.

You tilt your head, looking it over from your place on the couch. “What’s wrong with it?”

He sighs, “Well for one, the lock is broken. But even if it weren’t, this thing would be so easy to break.”

“It’s the lock the place came with.” You shrug. At least it has a lock. In Gotham that’s kind of asking a lot.

“Yeah, I can tell.” He frowns at the window once again, moving over to stand behind the couch. “I’m getting you better locks.” He looks to you, “I can install them tomorrow?”

You tilt your head up to look at him, “You don’t need to get me new locks, Jay…”

“Okay.” He kisses your head, “I’m getting them.”

You sigh in defeat, though your smile makes it lose its credibility. “Tomorrow’s fine. I assume you’re staying the night, then?”

He makes his way to the kitchen as he says, “Well, I’m not leaving you alone here with this piece of shit the only thing between you and Gotham.”

“I’ve lived here for two years.” You say flatly.

“Don’t remind me.” He mumbles as he moves behind the counter. “Actually, your door chain’s broken too, isn’t it?” It is, but that’s his own fault.

You had a long day a couple weeks ago and had a very long, very hot shower the second you got home. Unfortunately, it had slipped your mind to text him that you were home safe and he’d broken through the chain in one try to make sure you were okay.

You hum, “It wasn’t doing much anyways.” Clearly.

He grimaces as he heats up the stove for dinner.

You laugh lightly, “What?”

He looks back at you with a frankly adorable frown, “I don’t like that.”

You’d never thought much of it. You hadn’t had any—well, many—problems living here before, and you still had your deadbolt and handle lock.

“It’s okay. I’m safe here.”

He looks like he strongly disagrees. He comes back over, sitting next to you, taking your face in his hands. “Will you please let me set up some security measures around here?”

“Did Jason Todd just say please?” You say in faux-shock.

He rolls his eyes at you, “I’m serious.”

You sigh, contemplatively. “I don’t want my apartment looking like the Home Alone set.”

He laughs at that, “It’s not going to. You won’t even notice most of them. Just do it for me, please?”

“I’ll agree, but only because I know you’re going to do it anyways and I’d like to pretend I have control over this.” That’s not true, you’d agree to literally anything if he said please that sweetly again, but that’s your business.

“Fair enough.” He smiles, kissing your cheek.

No, it’s not fair at all.

It’s late. You’re not even sure how late but the city has calmed from its usual noises, indicating that your boyfriend will be home soon.

You’re coming up heavy on cramps tonight and according to the mockingly empty spot in your medicine cabinet, you’re out of ibuprofen. Yeah, it’s late, but the store on the corner is a three minute walk and fuck your stomach hurts. Jason wouldn’t like it if you went out without telling him though, so maybe you should wait until—

The sound of the living room window sliding open breaks you away from your thoughts, followed by a clatter of something hitting the ground.

You walk back into the dimly lit room, finding your boyfriend sliding the window shut again, holsters abandoned on the ground. He turns and collapses onto the couch face first, body immediately gone limp.

“Hey, baby.” You bite back a laugh, coming over to rub his muscled back from behind the couch. He groans into the cushion in response. “Why don’t you go get in bed?”

He hums almost imperceptibly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes roughly with his palms.

He stands and takes your hand in his as he passes by, tugging you towards the bedroom. The deep ache in your abdomen reminds you of your earlier train of thought. You pull your hand back, stopping in your tracks.

He turns back to you with a frown, wanting to know what could possibly be getting in his way of falling asleep, holding you close.

“I gotta go pick up some ibuprofen. I’ll be right back.” You say quietly, not wanting to disturb the quietness of the night for him. His frown deepens as you head towards the door, watching you.

You’ve got your purse in hand and are reaching for the handle when you hear his footsteps following in suit. “Hey, it’s okay. Stay here, I’m just going to the 24 hour store on the corner.”

He shakes his head, “You’re not going out in Gotham alone at two in the morning. Put your coat on, it’s cold.”

You do as you’re told, shrugging the coat on as you glance over at him. “Jason, it’s okay. You’re exhausted, go to sleep.”

He ignores you, throwing a sweatshirt on to cover up his armor, and follows you out the door; albeit far more sluggish than usual.

He was right though, the night air is bitter and slaps your face with every step forward you take. He lingers a few steps behind you, honest to god almost falling asleep mid step a couple times.

Frankly, you’re not even sure what kind of fight he’d be able to put up in this state. Though, he’s surprised you plenty of times before. In any case, his head snaps up every time there’s any sign of movement around, instantly on alert.

He trails behind you as you browse through the narrow aisles, hands stuffed in his sweatshirt.

As you’re standing at the store counter paying, his neck is craned forward, resting on your shoulder. You rub soothing circles into his hand with your thumb, though you’re sure it’s not doing anything to help his exhaustion.

You’re walking back home, the bite of the air a bit more forgiving in this direction. There’s another man walking down the sidewalk approaching, hands in pocket.

Jason’s too tired to bother with subtlety, glaring directly at the passerby before he could even think of trying anything. And it works, because the guy averts his gaze real quick and speeds up past you.

He continues working at his post from just behind you all the way until you’re back inside your apartment.

He takes the medicine container out of his pocket and cracks it open for you, wordlessly filling up a glass of water after. You gulp down a couple of the pills, and he takes the glass and bottle out of your hand the second you’re done, setting them on the counter.

He turns to you, eyes barely open, mumbling, “Can we sleep now?”

You smile at his fatigued state and take his hand, leading him to the bedroom.

Your neighbor likes you. You know it, Jason knows it.

The worst he’d done was flirt with you, badly, and shut his mouth real quick whenever your boyfriend emerged from your apartment.

And Jason let that go; he knows better than anybody that you’re heavenly and sweet and clever, of course this fucking guy likes you. Jason set an unspoken rule with himself, that he won’t get violent with any guys unless they put their hands on you. Something he knows for absolute fact your neighbor has not done.

At least he hadn’t until a couple of hours ago. You’d been in the hallway at the mailslots, your boyfriend nowhere in sight, when he decided it was the perfect time to make a move. Make several moves, actually.

You’re sitting on the couch, knees to chest, still trying to wrap your mind wround what had happened when Jason sees you. You stopped crying a while ago and you’ve entered the phase of…well. That happened.

Your hear keys jingling outside the door, followed by your boyfriend's entrance. He’s carrying some grocery bags and has a book tucked under his chin.

He lets the bags slide off his arms, and sets the book on the counter with them, beaming, “You’re never gonna guess what b—“ His smile drops when he sees you. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, “Nothing.” But your blinking feels off all of a sudden, and you can’t remember what you usually do with your face when you’re not lying. It doesn’t matter though, you could be an academy award winning actress and you’re still sure Jason would be able to see right through you with a single glance.

He frowns, “Don’t lie to me.” He moves towards you, kneeling down in front of you. “Please. What’s wrong?” His eyes are worried now, more than usual.

You don’t want him to worry about this. He already worries about you too much and he’s got all his vigilante stuff and…you just want to believe that this is a manageable situation and not a problem. Not something that affected you.

“It’s just…it’s not a big deal, okay? I can handle it—”

His posture stiffens and his voice suddenly goes low and serious, “What happened?”

You know where this is going. “Jason. Promise me you won’t do anything.”

His brow furrows, and his frown turns to something closer to anger. “Did someone put their hands on you? Who?”

“Jason—”

“Who did it?”

“The neighbor, b—” he immediately snaps to a stand and starts towards the door. You hurry to grab onto his hand before he can escape your proximity, “Jason. Please don’t.”

The break in your voice is enough to make his rage falter and turn back around to face you.

“Baby, if he touched you—” His eyes are pleading, begging you to let him go take care of this. If not for you, then for him.

“It wasn’t—he didn’t do anything. He didn’t get to. I hit him and he backed off.” Which is…sort of true.

He stares at you. “In the hallway?”

You blink. “…Yeah?”

He takes off towards the bedroom wordlessly. You follow quickly on his tail, watching him sit on the edge of your bed, opening his computer and clicking through it quickly.

You slide over next to him, and see that he's pulling up a file under the name of your building and today’s date. It takes you two seconds too long to realize what he’s doing, the thought only sinking in right as you see the hallway security camera footage on the screen.

“Jason—” you try to close the computer but he bats your hand away.

He forwards through the footage, as you scramble trying and failing to reach past him, various building occupants coming in and out of frame rapidly.

“—please just listen to me.” But he did listen to you, and he heard that someone tried to hurt you. That was all he needed to hear.

He stops when he sees you enter the frame, watching closely. He sees you flipping through the mail. He sees your neighbor slither out of his apartment and stand far too close to you. You take a step back only to be met with two steps forward by him. He says something to you, probably asking where your boyfriend is.

The angle doesn’t show his face, but it does see yours, and you look incredibly uncomfortable. You don’t answer him, which evidently was enough of an answer in itself.

Your neighbor tries to brush some of your hair out of your face but you snap your head away, stumbling back a little. He uses your lack of balance as an “excuse” to grab onto your waist, pulling you close to him.

Your hands are out in front of you and you’re shaking your head as he pushes towards you. His lips land on your neck and you try to move backwards, but he grabs your wrists and holds you in place.

You fight against his grip, and upon realizing that your struggling doesn’t matter to him at all, you dig your nails into his wrists so hard you draw blood. He groans in pain and his grip on you loosens.

You snap your hands away and push yourself away, locking yourself in your apartment. Your neighbor lingers for a moment, shouting something at the door before trudging back into his apartment and slamming the door.

Jason snaps the laptop shut, coming to a stand once again. His fists clinch at his sides. “That was not nothing.”

No, it wasn’t. But you feel so helpless right now. You sure as hell felt it in the hallway, and it keeps lingering in you and you’re not sure why. You couldn’t do anything then, you can’t do anything now…it feels like all the bad things in the world are closing in on you and you just have to let it happen.

“I…I don’t want anyone to die because of me…” your words aren’t quite matching your thoughts, but this is the closest you can get right now.

He pulls back to look at you, brows furrowed. “It’s—it’s not because of you. It’s because of him. Baby, if I were on patrol and saw him grab some other girl like that I’d do the same thing.”

You know that. You know that. But communication seems impossible right now even though it’s the only tool you have to stop things from closing in.

“No, I know that. I know…it’s just…” Things are closing in anyways. Alright, this is happening now. Your eyes start watering and your voice trembles.

“Fuck, baby.” His hand flies to the back of your head, other arm wrapping around your middle, pulling you to him.

You feel a bit silly, crying over the potential death of someone who tried to hurt you, in front of the Red Hood of all people.

“I’m sorry, I—I don’t know. It’s—it’s too many bad things. I can’t…”

“Okay. Okay. It’s okay. I’ll stay here. I’m staying here with you, okay?” You nod into his chest, tears dampening his shirt.

This is a temporary solution, you know that even now. But you think once it expires, it might be easier to accept whatever Jason’s going to do later.

He’s quiet for a few minutes, holding you in his arms as you sway back and forth lightly.

“Will you forgive me if I kill him?” He whispers into your hair.

You roll your eyes but smile nonetheless. “Don’t.”

“Is that a yes?”

You pull back to look him in the eyes, face setting. “I’m getting the feeling you’re going to do something regardless of how this conversation ends.” He says nothing. “Just, please, don’t kill him.”

He holds you tighter and you do the same, laying your head against his chest again. You feel him press a kiss to your head as he takes a deep breath.

You think on it for a moment, figuring it needs saying, “And don’t get in trouble.”

Your neighbor comes home late that night, trudging through the front door with a perpetual frown. He opens the door to his notably unlocked apartment. He drops his bag on the ground with a thump and flicks on the lamp next to the door. He shuts the door and turns the lock when the red elephant in the room pipes up.

“Hey, bud.”

He jumps, spinning around, “Who the fuck—oh, shit.” He freezes the second he sees him, sitting in the armchair across the room. The Red Hood nods, loading the gun in his hand.

Your neighbor stutters, “What—what are you doing here?”

He looks up at him, cocking the gun. “You put your hands on your neighbor, yeah?”

He looks fake-shocked at the accusation. “What? No, I would ne—which neighbor?”

He can’t see it, but Hood’s face drops into a deadpan. “That is really not helping your case.”

Your neighbor eyes the gun nervously.

Hood sighs, “I’m not going to kill you. I’ve been told it’s bad manners to execute someone the first time you meet.” He glances down the nail marks on his arm and steals his jaw. “No. What’s going to happen is you’re going to break your lease and move out. Within the next week.”

The neighbors eyes widen, “A week? Are you insane?”

Hood tilts his head a bit before shaking it, “Nah, you’re right. By tomorrow night.”

“This is my apartment. I live here, I’m not going anywhere. And unless you’re secretly Saul the landlord under there, you can’t do anything about it.” He crosses his arms, clearly feeling very proud of himself. Well, killing him isn’t the only option, is it?

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” Hood clocks him hard on the head with the frame of his gun. He goes down quickly and loudly, clutching his head, groaning. “The alternative is getting beaten half to death and hoping whatever hospital you end up at knows what they’re doing.”

Honestly, neighbor boy is pressing his luck as is. Maybe it was a bad idea for Jason to bring the gun.

“Fuck! Fine! I’ll go!” He wails.

Hood kicks his abdomen with the side of his boot, though not nearly as hard as he wanted to. “Shut up. You’ll disturb the neighbors.”

The neighbor groans again, quieter. He mumbles something about Hood being crazy but it gets lost under the grunts of pain.

Hood crouches down next to him, patting him on the head with the barrel of his gun. “Don’t worry, bud. I’ll check up on you. And if I ever see you so much as look in the general direction of another girl I’ll put a bullet in your head. Sound good?”

Your former neighbor drops his head to the ground, hand still clutching the growing swell on his forehead.

#these are all wildly different lengths my b #jason todd loves his gf #jason todd the doberman #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #jason todd/you #jason todd/reader #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x you #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood fanfic #red hood fanfiction

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thatlittleegyptologist · 2 months

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Out of curiousity, do you think most national museums are participating in the same kind of thing that the British Museum is, i.e. holding onto items that they stole in conquest / archaeological items that other nations are requesting back?

I always wonder if we should be looking at the bigger picture rather than just this one spotlighted issue (not that the spotlight isn't important in raising the issue originally).

oh goodie we're digging up stuff I wrote from 2 years ago...yay

Okay, for starters, let's look at how you've phrased your question. Currently, the heavy implication is that this is all the BM is (i.e. it only holds colonial loot and contested items), which is false. Yes, it does hold colonial loot from the British Empire. No one is disputing that. It also holds contested items such as the Parthenon Marbles and the Rosetta Stone. What it also holds are many items taken from digs where the country in question permitted them taking them, and then also gifts and other such non colonial requisitions.

Mostly, I need to stress, because as someone who's adjacent to museums this drives me insane: Framing all museum collections as Bad and only containing Bad Items from Bad Deeds doesn't give you the full picture and if you don't have the full picture you can't really address the issue of repatriation properly. It's the classic 'All or Nothing' mentality and I'm begging people to seek nuance on complex topics such as this. Also governments suck and so hearing repeated 'well museums suck because XYZ' means they're more than happy to simply defund them, which they already are doing and that's not helping stuff like repatriation either.

In short, if you're asking does any other museum have a law like BM63 (I wrote 68 in the post because...I'm bad at numbers)? Not as far as I'm aware, no. The BM is unique in that instance where the government literally created a law to prevent it from divesting of its collection.

Do other national museums hold colonial looted artefacts and contested items? Yes. Lots of them. All over the world.

Germany's Neues Museum holds the bust of Nefertiti, which is contested.

The Louvre in Paris has multiple Italian artworks that were stolen in the 1790s that Italy wants back.

The Horses of St Mark's (in Venice) were stolen from Greece by Constantine in the 1200s. (Not really all that contested but they were definitely stolen).

Yale University holds numerous items from Machu Picchu. The 1911 dig had permission from the Peruvian Government, but the items were supposed to be returned. I believe (don't quote me) that less than half were originally. They have subsequently been returned, but this is not an uncommon story.

There's a bunch of Nazi looted artworks that are in museums that need to be returned to their rightful owners.

The MET museum in the US and everything it got from Douglas Latchford (this is ongoing, with some repatriations having already happened)

The National Museum of Australia also got caught out by that guy.

To be fair, the MET Museum has a problem with looted artefacts in general from the 70s onwards as they tried to compete with the European collections and thus ended up gaining a lot of 'not properly provenanced artefacts'. There was a gold sarcophagus they returned only recently that was looted from Egypt post-2011.

The Bible Museum in the US has...stuff it shouldn't (there's a lot and I'm not listing it).

*voice dripping with derision* Whatever the Hobby Lobby is up to

I could go on!

Focusing solely on the BM is a result of a US-Centric mindset, and a pervasive anglophone bias in things people will read. (Or in other words: It's fun to shit on the Brits and most of you only read English anyway.)

This has the unfortunate effect of making it seem like the BM is only museum in the world doing this, and they're not. Not in the slightest. Many museums, national or not, will have colonial looted items if that country has, at any time in the past, waged expansionist wars against other nations, no matter how brief. If your local museum has artefacts from Not Your Country there's a good chance they were looted! Again, I stress that many many artefacts that left places like Egypt were part of agreements with the Egyptian government (called partition agreements) whereby the Egyptian government took first pick of artefacts from a dig and then the dig organisers could take the rest. This hasn't happened since UNESCO World Heritage Convention 1975, which prohibits new artefacts from leaving countries which is also why I will bonk on the head with a cardboard tube anyone who says Archaeologists/Museums are still stealing things.

So yeah, if you're looking at repatriation, you'll be much better looking at the bigger picture and understanding how all this came to be in the first place than you'll ever be making memes about the BM stealing things on the internet.

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ao3commentoftheday · 6 months

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any advice about how to deal with posting a fic and getting radio silence? I know ppl aren’t owed engagement ofc, but I feel embarrassed at having spent so long on something no one cares about, and although I liked thinking about the characters and fandom before (and was considering writing more about them), now I can’t think about it without feeling that overpowering embarrassment 😭 part of me wants to delete the fic, but that would mean having to open ao3 and look at it again LMAO

sorry for the venting, I know this is probably a me problem, but has anyone else felt this, and if so, is there any way to make this pervasive shame go away??

*hugs* This is a very painful thing to experience and there isn't really any way to make it just go away, unfortunately. However, you can reflect on it a bit, when you're ready to.

Writing and posting are separate activities. If you've enjoyed writing the story but you haven't enjoyed posting it to the Archive, you can always continue writing just for yourself. This may or may not be something you'd enjoy - you know better than I do whether some of your enjoyment came from the anticipation of a reaction to your work.

Try to analyze where your embarrassment is coming from. Is it worrying that your story was poorly written? A lack of a reaction doesn't mean that the story is bad. Being unpopular doesn't mean it's bad, either. If your story is good to you, then it's a good story.

Is your embarrassment from feeling like you were "caught trying." Is it a cringe at the idea that you put effort into something that someone else doesn't (appear to) find valuable?

Is it actually embarrassment at all? Are you feeling a different kind of hurt instead? Did you hope that someone in particular would read your story and now you feel ignored? Did you hope to be embraced by your community and now you feel shunned?

These are difficult questions that I'm asking and you might not want to think about them right now. That's okay. You don't need to if you don't want to. You can definitely delete the fic and pretend it never happened. Or you can log out of that AO3 account and create a new one and never look back. Maybe you just need to take a week or a month off for a hiatus of sorts and when the ache isn't as bad, you'll be able to face it all again.

When I felt this way, it was because I felt like I'd put something into my community and that I'd been ignored. But since that time, I've found one person who gives me all of the community support I used to get from an entire fandom, and now when I post something on AO3 I don't actually need a response anymore. I get all of the fun and excitement and validation etc from my conversations and RP threads with my best friend.

Once you've got a little distance from the pain of this moment, try to figure out what it is that you were hoping to get and then figure out how you can get it. Maybe it's through posting fic to AO3, but maybe it's not.

Let's see what others can suggest. This is not something you're experiencing alone, anon. So very many of your fellow fan writers have experienced this too ❤️

#asks and answers

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cupid-styles · 6 days

Text

call it fate, call it karma (olderry x alt!y/n)

in which harry's getting an unfortunate tattoo covered up at the shop y/n works at, they're 12 years apart, and they have big, fat crushes on each other. also, harry hates frappuccinos.

word count: 10.1k

content warnings: age gap (12 years), harry's kind of an idiot at first, angst (all is solved in the end), smut (daddy kink, p in v penetration, fingering, dirty talk, choking, slight size kink, crying)

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

When Harry was 29, he made a mistake.

Well, maybe not a mistake. Perhaps… a series of poorly thought out decisions.

It started out when he met May. They were seniors in college and for years, Harry swore it was love at first sight — and with the enthusiasm and dopey, loved up grin he had when he told the story of how they met, May believed him for a long time. It always started the same: He didn’t want to go out that night but his friends begged him, telling him it was his last year in college to party before they went into the real world at full force. Finally, they wore him down enough to the point where Harry agreed, except he felt no desire to drink or smoke once they got to whoever’s house was throwing the get-together. He sat on the couch all night, nursing a warm beer from a plastic red solo cup, waiting for his buddies to decide when they’d had enough so Harry could ensure they got home safe — and then, May Wilkins walked in.

Harry always claimed that it seemed like the weed and cigarette smoke parted the second she entered the room, though he promised to revise the story when they told their future children. As soon as he laid eyes on the clean-cut brunette girl, he insisted that May would be his.

And, by the end of the night, May was his.

In fact, May continued to be his until he was 32 years old.

For the first few years, it was heaven. People doubted them — they said it was stupid to get into such a serious relationship when graduation was looming, just a few months away, but it only fueled them further. After they received their degrees, they moved in together. The following year, Harry proposed. By 25, they were married.

Within a year of marriage, the fighting started.

It seemed that they had a problem with everything the other did — if Harry stayed late at work, May was angry and accusing him of cheating on her. If May went out for a girls night with some friends, Harry was calling her at 1 a.m., demanding to know where she was. They didn’t trust one another, and the insecurities ate at them; first slowly, and then all-consumingly. Eventually, May couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as Harry. He started getting tattoos and she hated every single one. Every time he came home with a new one, she rolled her eyes and asked why he couldn’t put that money towards their savings, so they could buy a house in the suburbs like they’d planned to five years prior.

Harry wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet, though. After that, they tried couples counseling. When that ended in a screaming match, they decided to try sleeping in separate beds to put some space between one another. That worked for about three days before May got wine drunk one evening and crawled into his new bed that he purchased for the guest room. By the end of the week, they were back to sharing a mattress again.

And, believe it or not, it’s only then that he made his big mistake.

He thought maybe May despised his tattoos so much because he had so many for other people — his sister, his mum, his godchildren. Maybe if he got her name inked on his skin, she would see how much he really did love her, despite all the arguing and fighting.

Except, when he walked through the door to show her that evening, she was so angry that she stayed at her friend’s house that night.

A week later, May filed for a divorce.

He was exhausted. He wasn’t sure how they got there, but he knew it was time. There was nothing they could do to save their marriage.

The divorce was settled relatively quickly. Neither of them had much more fight left in them. They split all their assets down the middle and since they didn’t own a house together, Harry offered to move out of their shared apartment and let May live there until the lease was up. She didn’t, though. She broke their lease four months early with a mumbled explanation of not wanting to live there anymore.

When it was officially over, Harry’s friends took him out to celebrate. An evening of debauchery filled with enough alcohol and drugs to keep Harry satiated for the next decade.

But that’s when he realized that the hard part was just beginning.

Divorced life in your early 30s wasn’t easy. He threw himself into his job, but he felt lonely and empty without May by his side. It wasn’t even because he loved her anymore — he’d just spent so many formative years with her that he didn’t know who he was without her.

For five years, Harry focused on himself. He worked hard, he bought a house, he spent time with his family. He made himself the best son, brother, friend, uncle, and godfather he could be. And at 37, he was mildly content with that — he owned a beautiful home and was at the top of his company. Dating was so far down on his list of priorities that he didn’t even know how people met anymore. His friends encouraged him to join “the apps”, offering to help create a profile for him, but the only girls he dated had been from his years in school. He could admit that he was a little lonely, but the thought of starting over with someone completely new was intimidating and scary. Plus, there was one very big reminder of his past still inked on his arm.

So, that’s when he came up with his plan: He would cover up his tattoo of May’s name. He’d never gotten a coverup tattoo before but based on his research, they weren’t easy to do. It could take multiple sessions, which he was more than okay with — because, when her name was finally banished from his skin, he would officially throw himself back into the dating pool and try to find someone new.

A month later, he was walking into Jaded Tattoos for his first session.

. . .

Tuesdays are Y/N’s least favorite days.

When she comes into work on Monday, she at least has some sort of energy. She typically feels semi-refreshed from the weekend and always makes sure to stop for an iced latte on her way into the shop. Plus, Mondays are one of the calmer days at Jaded Tattoos — after all, there weren’t a ton of people coming in to get tattooed on the first day of the workweek.

But Tuesdays are just… icky. Y/N works as the makeshift secretary at the shop, so she manages everyone’s schedules and handles client booking — it would all be terribly boring if she didn’t work at Jaded, but she can get a new tattoo or piercing anytime one of the artists has some down time. Plus, no one ever judges her for the existing art on her skin, which she can’t say about other jobs she’s had in the past.

However, on Tuesdays, for some reason, the shop is always bustling. Clients are always canceling or showing up late (or, worst of all, missing their appointments altogether without saying a word), which in turn makes the artists annoyed. Y/N understands that — it’s annoying and rude, but then the energy in the shop gets all wonky and everyone feels tense and stressed out. Even her mid-afternoon break, when she takes a walk around the block to get herself a coffee and a pastry, isn’t enough to pull her out of the weird mindset.

She’s just settled into the last part of her day, using the iPad to look through the schedule when a fairly looking clean cut man walks through the door. At first, she assumes he’s lost, but only an idiot would come in without knowing it’s a tattoo shop. He has neatly groomed brunette hair and wears a navy blazer over a white tee-shirt, complete with matching trousers. It makes Y/N involuntarily quirk her eyebrows, a pesky wrinkle appearing between them as she accidentally stares at him. He offers a tight, awkward smile when he walks up to her desk, placing his elbows on the surface.

“Hi. I have an appointment at 3 with Jan.”

Y/N tries her best not to let her jaw drop. She knows she should really be less judgemental, but based on the slight crows feet wrinkles that creep at the edges of his eyes, this guy has to be nearing his 40s. Was he having some kind of midlife crisis? She supposes it’s possible, but why wouldn’t he just opt for buying a new car or house or something? He looks rich enough.

“Hello?”

Y/N realizes that she hasn’t said a single thing since he approached and parts her lips, mumbling out an embarrassed apology as she scrolls on the iPad to look at Jan’s schedule. Sure enough, she’s blocked off from 3 to 4:45 p.m.

“Um, is this your first tattoo?” Y/N asks, cocking her head to the side. Her eyes quickly roam over his body, but most of his skin is covered. There’s a spiel she says with people who are tattoo virgins — making sure they’ve eaten and they’re hydrated and if they’re not, she gives them snacks and water. It was one of the policies she implemented when she started a few years back, and it makes her happy to know that she helps newbies feel more comfortable before getting jabbed with a needle for an hour.

“No,” he chuckles with a shake of his head, “No, sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. Jan’s helping me with a coverup.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, Jan is great with those.” she replies as she slides the iPad across to him. “I’m just gonna have you fill out this consent form and some other fun stuff. I’ll let her know you’re here, but my name is Y/N if you have any questions.”

He nods and flashes her a bright smile, and Y/N swears her heart skips a beat. She wonders what tattoo he’s getting covered up. She doesn’t often ask clients what they’re having done unless they decide to talk to her about it. It can be a rather personal experience for some — while she has some completely asinine, ridiculous tattoos herself, she also has a few with meaning, and she would certainly be taken back if someone randomly asked her about them.

Jan is busy getting some sketching done when Y/N gently knocks on her open door. She turns around in her wheely chair and smiles before asking her what’s up.

“Your 3 p.m. is here,” she says, leaning against the doorframe, “He says you’re covering something up for him?”

“Yup, that’ll be Harry Styles.” Jan replies with an affirmative nod. “We chatted a decent amount through email. Took the guy like, a month before deciding to come in.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “What’s he getting done?”

Jan stands from her chair and stretches her back and arms out, revealing a sliver of her tattooed stomach. “Wants his ex-wife’s name covered up. You know how it goes. You can send him in whenever he’s ready, I just need to photocopy some stencils.”

Y/N nods and hopes Jan didn’t catch the way her eyes widened at the mention of an ex-wife. She supposes she shouldn’t be too surprised — she did figure he was on the older side, at least 10 years her age — but is still a bit shocked that someone who looks that wealthy and put together would tattoo his partner’s name on him. Y/N, despite having a plethora of permanent tattoos herself, didn’t believe in any of that. She felt like it was bad luck. Plus, she didn’t see herself ever loving anyone enough to do that. The thought itself made her shudder.

When she returns back to the front, Harry’s drumming his fingers along the surface of her desk and looking around the interior of the shop. He doesn’t look nervous, but she wonders if he is. She’d seen her fair share of grown men pass out or vomit from being under the needle.

“All done?” she asks, pointing to the tablet. He nods. “Cool. You ate before this right? Hydrated and everything?”

Again, Harry nods, but this time a crooked smirk appears on his face. “Yes. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Just making sure,” she murmurs, plugging the iPad back in the charger, “Okay, you can follow me to Jan’s workstation.”

“Sure. Just one question — is there a place I can put this?”

Before Y/N has a chance to ask him what he’s talking about, he sheds the blazer he’s wearing to reveal two heavily tattooed, very muscular arms. She has to forcibly prevent her jaw from falling to the floor as her eyes roam over the myriad of black ink that swirls over his tanned skin. There doesn’t seem to be much of a theme, but her tattoos lack coherence, too. She swallows like some kind of lovestruck cartoon character, and when she finally glances at Harry’s face, he has a stupid, cocky smirk on.

She narrows her eyes. “There’s some jacket hooks by the door.”

“Perfect,” he grins cheerfully. He turns, showcasing a few more scattered designs on the backs of his arms, and places his jacket on one of the hooks. “Now you can stop judging me like I’m some old man going through a midlife crisis.”

This time, Y/N’s jaw really does drop.

“I’m not!” she immediately scrambles, even though they both know it’s a complete lie. “I just— I didn’t see any tattoos and I wanted to make sure you were prepared—”

“Sure, sure,” he cuts her off, pointing to some of the workstations in the back. “Jan’s is back there?”

“Yes, but I really wasn’t judging you, I have a million stupid tattoos myself—”

“Right, but because you’re half my age, it’s fine, right?”

“That’s not what I thought at all—”

“Have a good rest of your day.”

Y/N’s left standing there, confusion and embarrassment seeping into her bones, as Harry walks over to Jan’s station.

. . .

Exactly one hour and 45 minutes later, Harry leaves the shop.

Y/N spent the entire time nervously straightening up, sweeping the floors and rearranging their supply closet, trying to decide on what she would say to him when he walked by. She wanted to apologize, especially because she hoped he didn’t say anything to Jan. A client had never complained about her — not once in her three years of working at Jaded, and it would ruin her to know that somebody had a poor experience because of her.

Instead, she chickened out and watched him grab his jacket off the hook. Like every tattoo client leaving, he had a clear piece of film wrap stuck to the inside of his left arm. She wished she could see Jan’s work.

A few minutes later, Jan is heading out, too.

“Don’t stay too late tonight, Y/N. The needles and ink can get sorted tomorrow.” she says, nudging her chin the direction of the closet she’s currently busying herself with. Y/N hums and peeks her head out.

“How was the coverup?” she tries her best to make her voice seem nonchalant, as if she’s sincerely curious in how it went as opposed to finding out if he made any mean comments about the nosy girl in the front.

“Fine,” Jan shrugs as she pulls her car keys from her tote bag, “We didn’t get too far. He’ll be coming in for the next three or four weeks. It’ll take some time to cover that shit up. I’ll see you tomorrow though, yeah?”

Y/N nods robotically and forces out a “get home safe!”.

Three to four weeks?

Harry Styles is going to be the death of her. She’s sure of it.

. . .

The following Tuesday, Y/N has a plan.

When she arrives to work that day, she double checks the schedule to ensure she hasn’t been driving herself insane for a week over nothing (and maybe she has, considering her brain has been a hamster wheel of overthinking a man who uttered a few snarky sentences to her). Sure enough, Harry Styles is scheduled to come in for his second session of covering up his tattoo at 3 p.m. sharp.

Here’s what she decides to do: She’s going to dig her Doc Marten-clad heels into the (metaphorical) ground and politely but assertively tell this Harry Styles that it wasn’t very kind of him to assume she was judging him. After all, isn’t that more judgemental on his end? He had been acting like a classic, wealthy, powerful man, asserting his so-called power over a young woman who was simply trying to make his tattoo experience as seamless as possible. What a dick!

It goes without saying that when he shows up at Jaded at 2:45 p.m., her eyes automatically narrow his form. She’s slightly hopped up on caffeine (she’ll admit, she’s been waiting for this moment all day). She doesn’t even allow herself to to assess his outfit today, which consists of another white tank top, a dark gray blazer, and a pair of matching trousers. It’s similar to what he arrived in last week — all business and ridiculous and stupid, she thinks, especially in comparison to her cutoff denim shorts, vintage band tee-shirt, and platform shoes.

“Hi Harry,” she says, greeting him with a fake, rage-filled smile, “Do you have a moment to chat before your appointment?”

Harry raises his eyebrows, almost as if he’s surprised that she’s even speaking to him to begin with.

“Sure.”

Y/N nods and stands from the front desk, motioning for him to head outside. He does and she follows him, immediately crossing her arms over his chest the second they’re no longer within earshot distance of the shop.

Instantly, a stormy look comes over her face and she flares her nostrils. “Last week when you accused me of judging you for going through a midlife crisis? Yeah, that wasn’t cool. You can’t just do that to people. I get it, you’re a privileged guy who’s used to getting whatever you want in life, but I’m here to put my foot down and tell you that it wasn’t nice. It actually really hurt my feelings! And, you know what, why does it even matter what—”

“You’re right.”

Y/N’s head snaps up.

“What?”

Harry shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pants pockets. “You’re completely right. The second I left, I felt awful. I wanted to say something when I was leaving, but I felt it was better to give you your distance.”

Confused, she fumbles over her words, forgetting where she was in her speech. She clears her throat and nods curtly.

“Yeah. You should feel awful.”

A small smile appears on his lips. “I do. I even brought you a cookie from my favorite bakery by my office building.”

“Really?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

Harry nods and digs into the work bag on his shoulder. Sure enough, he produces a cookie that’s the size of Y/N’s face. She recognizes the sticker on the wrapping as a bakery that’s downtown — she’ll order pastries and snacks from there for the staff sometimes, but it’s usually too expensive and far away for her to treat them. She accepts it from him, but not before she peers up at him with narrowed eyes.

“What kind is it?” she questions, as if it’s a test.

“Raspberry white chocolate,” he answers. “I didn’t know what you like, obviously, so I went with my favorite. I hope that’s okay.”

She won’t tell him that that’s also her favorite, but she offers him a short nod of approval. She swallows tightly as she looks back up at the taller man. “Thank you for the apology cookie. Do you wanna share it with me?”

The edges of his lips curl up into a grin. “Sure. I have some time to spare before my session.”

Y/N digs into the bag and retrieves the cookie, breaking it in half. She hands a piece to Harry, who murmurs out a soft thank you. Together, they stand outside the shop in silence, each nibbling on their half of the cookie. After a few moments of quiet, Y/N sneaks a glance at his tattoo. Jan was right — they haven’t gotten very far in covering it up since she can still clearly read the three letters that spell out MAY.

Harry must have followed her gaze because he glimpses down at her. “Do you guys get a lot of people covering up dumb tattoos?”

She does her best not to choke on the bit of cookie in her mouth.

“Um, I mean, some people end up regretting… certain things they get,” she replies, stumbling over her words. “You’re, um, definitely not the first to… y’know. Get their partner’s name done.”

He chuckles, but it seems more humorless than anything. “Yeah. Stupid mistake for sure.”

Y/N shrugs her shoulders. “It can’t be that stupid if you learned something from it.”

“What do you mean?”

She swallows the rest of her cookie and leans back against the cool, brick wall of the shop. It feels nice in comparison to the rising temperatures outside. Now that they’re slowly dipping into warmer climates, she finds herself appreciating small instances of cooling down, like an air conditioned coffee shop or the evening draft when the sun’s gone down.

“We all make mistakes or decisions that don’t end up working out. You’re certainly not the first person to get divorced or even get their significant other’s name tattooed,” she explains. “But did you get anything out of the process? Did you learn anything from it?”

Harry thinks for a moment. He hadn’t really considered that — not in the five years since he and May made their divorce official. It was a shitty experience from start to finish, that much was apparent. But when he ponders whether or not anything decent came out of it, he wonders if she has a point.

“I mean, I guess I did. I don’t think I would be where I am, standing here now, if it hadn’t happened.”

She hums. “It wasn’t a complete waste then.”

He shrugs. “I guess not.”

Y/N pulls her phone from the pocket of her shorts and glances at the time. 2:58 p.m.

“We should probably head back inside. Your appointment’s starting soon,” she says, straightening out her posture. “Thank you again for the cookie.”

“Sure,” Harry nods. “Thanks for the advice.”

She shoots him the smallest of bashful smiles in response.

. . .

The following Tuesday, Y/N feels far less intimidated about seeing Harry.

In a weird way, she’s actually looking forward to his 3 p.m. appointment. He’s way more talkative than some of the other clients that come in, and she’d be lying if she said his little cookie stunt from last week hadn’t placed him in her good graces. She also felt as though it was a crime not to acknowledge how attractive he was — she’d noticed it from the first moment he stepped into the shop, but now that they were on better terms, she was more open to recognizing it. Beyond the plethora of tattoos that covered his skin, he didn’t look much like other people Y/N had gone after in the past — not that she was going after him in any way.

Her exes consisted of a rough roster of less than satisfactory partners: There was Declan, who she dated in college, but they broke up after he got kicked out for doing stick-and-poke tattoos in his dorm room. After that was Alice, but it turned out she was just using Y/N to figure out her sexuality and, after three months of dating, decided she didn’t like going down on girls. Lastly and most recently there was Jonathan, who had so many tattoos he lost count. He had big dreams of becoming either a professional skateboarder or a drummer in a punk band, but he didn’t own a bed frame so his mattress took permanent real estate on the dirty, hardwood floor of his loft, and he was constantly sending Y/N Venmo requests for money with captions like “pls babe haven’t eaten in 2 days.” (It’s safe to say that all of those relationships ended for good reasons.)

While she didn’t have any plans to approach Harry romantically, there was something about him that piqued her interest. Well, maybe it was multiple somethings. For one, he was 12 years older than her. She’d never thought about dating someone that much older, but she happened to sneak a glance at his consent form to see his date of birth just out of plain — and legal — curiosity. Harry seemed to have his life together. Every time he came to the shop, he was coming straight from work in what appeared to be a put-together, expensive suit. He always tipped Jan well (30% for each session — Y/N knows because she did the math) and he was kind to all the artists, even if he’d never spoken to them before. And, she had to admit that the communication and vulnerability he offered last week had been a stark change from the treatment she was used to.

Yeah, so maybe she had an eensy, tiny, miniscule crush on Harry. But she’s sure it’ll fade away once he’s finished with his coverup — he only has two sessions left, anyway. How much damage could be done in that small of a timeframe?

. . .

“Y/N, I need you to postpone Harry’s session today!”

Jan’s haphazardly running around and grabbing her things, mumbling out nonsense as she looks for her car keys. Confused, Y/N gets up from her seat at the front desk.

“Is everything okay?” she calls out as she walks over to the jacket closet, grabbing Jan’s keyring off the hook. Shutting the door behind her, she finds Jan scrambling through her office. When her eyes flit up to see the keys in Y/N’s hand, her eyebrows relax as she grabs them.

“Not really,” she mutters, yanking her phone out of her pocket, “You know that girl I’ve been seeing? Lizzy? She was at my place with my dogs today and apparently one of them must’ve eaten something bad because now they won’t stop throwing up. I’m meeting her at the vet downtown. Tell Harry I’m really sorry, okay?”

Jan is gone in a flash, running down the sidewalk to get in her car. Y/N can’t blame her — her dogs are her entire life, so her stomach sinks as she thinks about something bad happening to them. She makes a mental note to text her and check in with her later, but not before she messages Harry to let him know that his appointment is canceled.

When she heads back to her desk, she brings up Harry’s digital paperwork to retrieve his number. They don’t have a phone specifically for the shop, so she has to text him from her personal number, which makes her heart beat a little too quickly for her own good. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she types out a message: Hey Harry, this is Y/N from Jaded. I’m just texting to let you know that Jan had an emergency and can’t tattoo you this afternoon. She’s really sorry about the inconvenience.

She places her locked phone down on the dark mahogany of the desk and tries to ignore the pit of disappointment that settles in her stomach. Had she spent a few extra minutes primping her appearance this morning in preparation to see him? Maybe, and there’s a teensy, tiny part of her that despises herself for it. Harry doesn’t want anything to do with her. She’s 12 years his junior and she’s nothing more than the nice receptionist at the tattoo shop he’s getting a piece done at.

With a self-deprecating sigh, she picks at her fingernails when her phone lights up. She reads Harry’s name across the screen and assumes he’s probably responded with something kind and unassuming; something that will make her heart beat embarrassingly fast in her chest.

That’s okay. Thanks for the heads up.

Are you still at the shop? Maybe we can get together instead.

Y/N’s eyes are the size of saucers as she quickly replies: okay! Where should we meet?

. . .

Harry chooses a coffee shop that’s within walking distance of Jaded. He’s never been there before but each week he noticed Y/N sipping on iced drinks with the name of the cafe sprawled across the cup, so he figured she must like it.

It’s been a long while since a girl has been Harry nervous, and he’s somewhat surprised that she comes wrapped up in a body with sprawling tattoos and piercings, always in cute skirts and platform Doc Martens. She’s sweet — he likes that her shoes are so heavy that he can hear her walking before he sees her and that she fiddles with her nose ring when she’s bored. He likes that her wardrobe is a rotation of baggy band tee-shirts and black jeans or plaid skirts, that her soft, smooth hands are covered in nonsensical designs that likely have stories similar to his — a friend with a tattoo gun, a boring Tuesday afternoon. She’s nothing that Harry has ever been attracted to and yet, she’s everything he wants.

He’s made careful efforts not to put her on a pedestal. At first, he wasn’t sure if he was just horny and depraved — I mean, what kind of guy would walk into the shop and not drool over the pretty, young girl working the front? And while he’s not entirely proud of what he did next, he found it to be a necessary next step: He sorted through his rolodex of hookups, texted his most foolproof girl (a tall, leggy brunette who modeled on the side), and invited her over.

It turns out, Harry could only come when he pretended she was Y/N.

In hindsight, it made him feel gross and icky; lusting over a girl who’s certainly at least 10 years younger. It’s why he forces himself to try — if she rejects him, he can move on with his life and find someone more age-appropriate.

But she doesn’t. In fact, she replies within a minute and asks where she should meet him.

It’s how Harry ends up clutching a small Americano in his hand, sitting in a back booth at Buzzybee Cafe.

He’s nibbling on his bottom lip, nervous and jumpy, keeping his eyes glued on the front entrance. Every now and then, he’ll glimpse down at his phone on the table to check the time. He halfway expects her to text and let him know that she’s not coming — an understandable and believable excuse about getting busy at work or, Harry doesn’t know, maybe not wanting to meet up with someone who’s older. Why would she? She’s capable of getting nearly anyone she wants in this world, she’s pretty and funny and smart and stands up for herself and—

“Hey, Harry.”

His spiraling thoughts come to a screeching halt when he glances up to see the object of his affection standing over him with a small, timid smile on her lips. He blinks, somewhat surprised that she’s there.

In front of him.

And he hasn’t said a thing yet.

“Hey,” Harry finally forces out, his throat bobbing as he swallows nervously, “You made it.”

“Of course!” her eyes light up and he feels his heart thump noisily in his chest, “What’d you get to drink? Do you need anything?”

“Just an Americano,” he answers, trying not to feel lame about his boring drink choice. Y/N wrinkles her face in response.

“You would be one of those manly ‘I-only-drink-espresso-and-black-coffee’ kind of guys, wouldn’t you?”

She says it with a teasing smile and it offers him permission for a small scoff to leave his throat followed by a joking roll of the eyes.

“What, was I supposed to get one of those sugary drinks you always seem to get?” he fires back, making Y/N’s eyes widen.

“They’re not that bad!” she exclaims through plush, lipstick-stained lips, “Here, now I’m gonna order one and make you try it. You’ve dug your grave, Styles!”

She’s turning on her Doc Marten-clad foot to order before Harry has the chance to offer to pay for her order. That had been the plan, but like most things about Y/N, he realizes, those pre-decided upon strategies get tossed out the window the second she pops up. It makes Harry jiggle his leg beneath the table, both as an expression of unfamiliar excitement and nervousness.

She returns to their table with some sort of coffee-hued concoction with whipped cream piled high. It makes Harry’s nose crinkle, and he doesn’t notice that Y/N smiles at the way his skin ripples underneath the cute expression.

“Okay, since you were kind of a dick to me the day we met, you have no choice but to try it.”

Harry’s eyes instantly form into rounded saucers, apologies quick to make it to the tip of his tongue. Before he can start, she puts her hand up.

“I don’t care about it now, you’ve already apologized for it. But the only way for us to move on is if you try my white mocha frappé.”

“Y/N,” Harry sighs. He scoots his elbows forward and peers up at her. “What the fuck is a frappé?”

She giggles before wrapping her lips around the straw, taking a hearty sip of the drink, “It’s like a blended coffee. It’s my go-to when I’m having a shit day.”

“You drink this when you’re having a bad day?” Harry asks as she pushes the cup in his direction. “You don’t think this will fuck your stomach up enough to absolutely ruin your day?”

“No, because it’s a fun treat. And a little treat will brighten up anyone’s day.”

Y/N answers his question like it’s plain and simple science. He wants to continue on about the sugar content, how this is likely a heart attack neatly compiled into a 16-ounce cup, but he can’t — not when he looks at her and she stares back with an expectant expression, waiting for him to take a sip.

“Fine,” he mumbles, flexing his fingers to wrap them around the cold plastic cup, “But promise you won’t bring up my… shortcomings anymore?”

Y/N grins. “Scout’s honor.”

It tastes exactly how Harry expected — sugary, way too sweet, and slightly nauseating. But when he sees that puppy-like look of excitement painted over her face, he can’t help but let out a quiet laugh and shake his head.

“See? That wasn’t too bad.” Y/N replies as she takes her drink back.

“No,” not when you look at me like that, “Not at all.”

. . .

Harry and Y/N sit tucked away in their booth at Buzzybee for far too long.

It’s easy to talk to her, Harry finds. She’s receptive and kind and lets him finish his stories without interrupting. She doesn’t judge him for his divorce, not even when he tells her that he played just as much of a part in ruining his marriage as May did. He tells her about his job as a museum curator, his affinity for playing tennis on the weekends, his six year-long trek with veganism, and his secret passion for hunting down vintage band tee-shirts from the 1970s and ‘80s.

Y/N isn’t ashamed to reveal just as much which, if she’s being honest, is quite uncharacteristic for her. It typically takes weeks, if not months for her to completely warm up to a person and start telling them about her hobbies, family dynamic, and the time her grandma cried when she realized she got her nose pierced. She tells him about how much she loves playing cozy video games on her Nintendo Switch, the myriad of plants and greenery that decorate her loft apartment, and how she actually started working at Jaded to become a tattoo apprentice, but ended up falling in love with working the front instead.

By the time the cafe is closing up and the nice employees are now glaring at them, silently pleading that they leave, Harry feels like he’s known Y/N for a million years. In some weird way, he doesn’t know how he’s gone this long without her bright smile and saccharine laughter in his life. It’s all he can think about as they throw their empty cups away and slowly stroll down the sidewalk, back in the direction of the tattoo shop. He doesn’t mean to be lost in his thoughts as

Y/N chatters on about the latest game she’s been playing in her down time, but he can’t ignore the small shining pit of happiness that’s glowing deep in his belly right now. He’s missed this — this hopeful feeling with the promise of someone special on the other end.

It’s all he can think about as they approach Y/N’s car and, when she turns to face him to say goodbye, he’s already blurting the words out without a second thought.

“Will you go on a date with me?”

She blinks, parting her plush lips as her tongue peeks over the ridges of her two front teeth. “Oh… I thought— this wasn’t a date?”

Harry’s eyes widen, “Oh! I mean— it could if you wanted it to be. I just— I didn’t ask you beforehand and I’d want to do that. And pay for you and all that.”

“I’m sorry if I misunderstood, I just thought— I don’t know what I thought—”

“No, you were right, I was just being dumb—”

“No, no!” Y/N shakes her head and the smile that edges at her lips makes Harry’s chest pulse with relief. “We’re both being silly, I think. I would love to go on a date with you, though.”

“Yeah?” he asks, the slight disbelief apparent in his voice, “Are you free this weekend?”

She nods with a small smile.

“How about Saturday? You can come over and I’ll cook you dinner?”

She has to bite her lip to hide the growing grin on her lips. “Okay. I’ll see you Saturday.”

He watches as she starts her car and pulls away from the curb to make sure she’s safe on her way home.

. . .

On Saturday evening, Y/N shows up to Harry’s house. She wears her favorite black midi dress and matches them with a pair of clunky boots. When she arrives, the smile that encompasses Harry’s face makes her chest glow.

He’d texted her earlier that day to make sure she didn’t have any dietary restrictions and made them a delicious pasta dinner. Afterwards, they cuddle on the couch, Y/N’s heart thrumming quickly in her chest at the close proximity. When it’s finally time for her to go home, Harry seals the deal by smearing his lips against hers. It’s warm and soft and his large palms splay over her hips as she wraps her arms around him, gently playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

By the time she gets home that evening (texting Harry to let him know she got back safely, per his request), they both know they’re head over heels for one another.

. . .

Perhaps quite predictably, Harry and Y/N start seeing each other more regularly after that first afternoon at Buzzybee Cafe. It’s slow at first — Harry’s nervous about scaring her away, so he sets boundaries with himself, only pledging to text her a few times a week. She’s receptive, though, and he’s thrilled that her messages start coming in more often: Sometimes pictures of dogs that come in with clients to the shop, other times it’s memes that remind her of him. (She’ll sometimes have to explain them to him because he, embarrassingly enough, doesn’t always understand.) Weeks of casual texting complimented by his weekly appointments with Jan tumble into daily good morning texts accompanied by selfies and outfit shots. When his tattoo of his ex-wife’s name is finally covered up by a detailed illustration of a sailing ship, he’s anxious in his realization that he’ll have to come up with new ways to regularly see her, but she’s already two steps ahead of him with an invitation to their second (official, third unofficial) date for the upcoming weekend.

The rest is somewhat history.

Well, sort of.

It’s a month and a half in when Harry asks Y/N to accompany him to a work event at some smarmy art museum in the city. His office had had a huge hand in sourcing the pieces and there were a ton of donors involved, so the museum’s director was throwing some type of soiree to celebrate the opening. Inviting Y/N as his plus one was a no-brainer — call him old fashioned, but he had plans to ask her to be his girlfriend sometime soon. He wanted to make it special, though, maybe with a candlelit dinner at her favorite Thai restaurant or a well thought-out picnic in the park they loved to walk through on the weekends.

“This isn’t, like, on the level of the Met Gala or something, is it?” Y/N asks that evening as she swipes a q-tip beneath the sharp cat eye of her eyeliner. Harry snorts and shakes his head from his spot in the doorway, where he watches as she diligently finishes up her eye makeup. He’d picked her up from work and eaten an early dinner together before they planned to head out to the museum.

“It’s really not a big deal, it’s just a small event with a bunch of snooty art people,” Harry replies nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s wearing a fashionable set tonight, consisting of a powder blue undershirt and a navy blazer with matching trousers. As usual, his fingers don their usual jewelry. When Y/N saw what he was wearing, she’d wanted to match him, but she didn’t have any dresses in her closet that weren’t black. He insisted that it was fine, but there was a teensy sliver of her that felt bad about it.

“How snooty?”

He thinks for a moment. “I mean, no one will be mean to you if that’s what you’re worried about. I’d never let that happen anyway.”

She ignores the way her cheeks warm as she sweeps some bronzer over the structure of her face.

“It’ll be fine, baby,” he murmurs, coming up from behind her. He knows better than to disturb her while she’s doing her makeup, so he waits for her movements to still before he drops a kiss to the top of her head. Her heart stutters at the pet name. “Almost done, yeah? We gotta leave soon.”

“Mhmm,” she nods, picking up her freshly sharpened lip liner, “Just gotta do my lips and put my dress on and we’re good.”

“I don’t know why you’re putting lipstick on when I’m not gonna be able to keep my mouth off yours all night.” he instantly fires back as he issues a squeeze to her waistline. Y/N squeals and bats him away, eager for some peace from Harry’s playful teasing. He chuckles, presses a kiss to her temple, and murmurs out something about calling the Uber as he leaves the bathroom.

Y/N has to force the smile off her face so she can finish applying her lip liner.

. . .

Apparently, when Harry meant “snooty”, he really meant to say, “the most annoying, judgemental, snobby people on planet Earth”.

From the second Harry and Y/N had stepped into the museum that evening, she was on the receiving end of horrified stares. From the colorful ink that decorated her arms to her arm being threaded through Harry’s, it seemed like everyone had something to gawk at. Truthfully, she was used to people looking at her — not in an arrogant, “pick me” kind of way, but in the way where she understood she had tons of tattoos that some people liked and others hated.

But the snide eyes weren’t just because of her ink, and she knows that. It’s because she’s here with Harry.

Harry, who knows nearly everyone at this event.

Harry, who’s apparently one of the most high up curators at his job and Y/N had no idea.

Harry, who’s capable of rubbing elbows with even the rudest of people while Y/N just stands there, unsure of what to say, because when the first person asked her what she does for work and she said “I work at a tattoo shop”, they replied with a simple, disgusted, “oh.”

She feels like an idiot.

She feels small.

She feels judged.

And the person she came here with is doing nothing, aside from the occasional grimace when the conversation finally ends.

Y/N’s last straw comes in the form of one of the museum’s assistant directors, who comes over to thank Harry once again for all of his hard work. When her eyes dart to Y/N, who has one hand curled around yet another glass of fizzy champagne, they widen and pingpong back to Harry.

“Harry, you didn’t tell me you had a daughter!” she exclaims as her lips stretch into a huge grin. Immediately, Y/N’s arm drops from Harry’s and she swallows as bile begins to build in her throat.

“Oh— Gwen, no, this isn’t— t-this isn’t my daughter,” Harry stutters nervously, blinking as he watches the horrified look in Y/N’s eyes. “Um, this is Y/N. We’ve been seeing each other.”

Gwen’s eyebrows raise, “Oh, my mistake. Apologies to you both. I just assumed Harry would spend his time with someone a bit more… savory.” her gaze flits back to Harry. “You must understand.”

Y/N doesn’t allow herself to hear Harry’s response. She knows he’s too kind and professional to chew her up and spit her out the way she wants him to. Instead, she simply slams her glass down on the nearest waiter’s tray, turns around, and rushes out of the building.

The words continue to replay in her head as tears flood her vision. All she wants to do is go home. She never should have entertained this relationship — who does she think she is? Someone a bit more… savory.

You didn’t tell me you had a daughter!

You must understand.

Fat, salty slip down her cheeks as she walks outside, her platform heels clicking against the concrete sidewalk. She doesn’t know where she’s going, instead just picking a direction and walking in it as she uses the back of her hand to wipe the wetness away.

You must understand.

Because everyone, including Y/N now, gets it — she doesn’t fit in to Harry’s world. She never has and she never will, and it was pathetic for either of them to think she ever would.

Gripping her silky dress in her hands, she continues walking as far as she can get from the museum. As her vision begins to clear, she makes half-baked decisions: She’ll order an Uber when the distance from Harry is decent enough to feel comfortable. She’ll block his number. She won’t even care to pick up any of the clothing she’s left at his house, and she’ll simply throw away the few tee-shirts and sweatshirts he’s left at hers.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been walking but she’s ripped from her thoughts when she hears loud calls of her name. She recognizes the voice — how couldn’t she, not when he’s the only person that’s seeped through her psyche and into cotton candy tufts of her dreamland — and tries to quicken her pace. She mentally curses the heels on her feet, sniffling as she begins to limp from the pain of the high platforms.

“Y/N, please! Stop!”

The sound of his shouts only makes her eyes blur with tears once again and suddenly, the tall figure is beside her, panting and breathing loudly. He wraps a careful arm around her shoulders as he matches her slow pace and shushes her, caroling them over to the side in front of a business that’s already closed for the night. Through weepy eyes, she can hardly make out his face, but she can tell it’s Harry just from his touch and scent alone.

“Baby, please,” he says, slowly smoothing his hand down her back. It’s comforting and she wishes it wasn’t. “You have to breathe, honey. C’mon, inhale and exhale.”

Y/N’s brain is a wash of noisy static so she welcomes the direction, quickly abandoning her plans to remove herself from Harry’s life. It helps that he’s reminding her of how to do the most basic of human functions, guiding her in slow, deep breaths that start to regulate her speeding heart.

“There you go, sweetheart. You’re doing so good.”

When she finally manages a glimpse up at him, his eyes are bleary and red-rimmed. She finds it difficult to believe that he would’ve been crying over her, too, so she quickly blinks and looks away.

“What happened back there?” Harry asks, his throat bobbing with a swallow, “I know that was weird, but why did you run? Why couldn’t you have talked to me?”

Y/N can’t fight the scoff that forces itself free from her chest. “All night, people were staring at me like I was some kind of alien. As if my tattoos weren’t enough of a reason to gawk, they were looking at me like I didn’t even deserve to be standing next to you. I felt pathetic, Harry. I just— I don’t fit in with this lifestyle and I think it’s better if we just… just leave it.”

“What lifestyle?” Harry demands as his eyebrows thicken with anger, “I’m not like them, you know that—”

“I don’t want to go places and have people think I’m your daughter, Harry!” she yells with wide eyes, “I don’t want to be looked down upon if we go to a work thing for you! People acted like I was your fucking sugar baby. Do you know how demeaning that is?”

“And do you realize how disgusting that makes me feel?” he seethes. “Bringing someone 12 years younger than me? Being in love with someone who wasn’t even around for the first part of my life?”

“You don’t mean that,” Y/N breathes, shaking her head in angry dismissal. “You’re just saying that.”

Harry takes a hesitant step closer and reaches out to cradle her elbow. “Yes, I do. I would never lie to you, Y/N. But I love you— I love you so much that it’s killing me that you would ever think you don’t have a place in my life.”

“I don’t, Harry—”

“You do,” he cuts her off and reaches to take her hands in his palms, squishing her cheeks together. “I don’t give a fuck what anyone else says or thinks. I don’t care what they think of us. I love you, Y/N. I want you in my life.”

Y/N swallows harshly. She can’t escape his locked-in gaze, but she doesn’t want to. It’s all she needed, even if she didn’t realize it until now — the verbalization that he wants her there. And that’s enough.

“Okay,” she whispers, nodding her head in his grasp. His eyes widen. “Okay. I want to be in your life, too.”

“You promise?”

A small smile curls at the edges of her lips. “I promise,” she says, leaning forward to press a light kiss to his lips. “Take me home now, please.”

. . .

The second Harry and Y/N walk through the doorway of his place, it’s a blurry scene of spit swollen lips, wet kisses, and sprawling touches.

Harry imagined their first time being far more romantic than this, but he doesn’t care. Neither of them do. Now, more than ever, they need each other.

The air is thick with tension when Harry momentarily breaks their kiss only to shed Y/N of the straps on her shoulders. He gently tugs them down to her shoulders before slowly traveling down her body, sliding his large palms over the silky fabric of her dress to meet her platform heels, where he diligently unbuckles them and slips them off her feet.

“Thank you,” she breathes, watching as he gets back up from his knees. He hums and cups her chin with his fingers, bringing her closer to lightly kiss her lips.

“I want to show you that you’re not making a mistake,” he whispers as he gently leans his forehead up against hers. “That giving me a chance is something you won’t regret.”

Immediately she shakes her head. Despite the close view of her face, Harry can tell her eyebrows knit together; a familiar furrow whenever she’s particularly determined.

“I know it’s not. You don’t have to show me anything.”

He notices that her fingers shake as she brings them up to his neck, winding them around to the back of his head. He swallows, allowing her the space to experiment, both verbally and physically.

And then: “I love you, Harry.”

At first, he doesn’t say anything. His heart races and his chest feels warm as he blinks, repeating the words in his brain.

Finally, raspberry lips part.

“You don’t have to say that just because I said it,” he murmurs, thumbing over the apple of her cheek. “We can go slow. There’s no pressure.”

“I know,” she nods, “I know. But I do. I love you so much.”

A pause.

“I love you,” Harry says, sliding his hands down the curves of her sides and to her waist. “Fuck, I love you, Y/N.”

“Don’t stop saying it.” she whispers. His fingers dip below the material of her dress and she swallows when he finds the bare skin of her hips. Exhaling shakily, she allows him to pull her lacey underwear down over the bend of her bum, letting them pool uselessly at her feet.

“I love you.” he says again, his hands suddenly at her wrists. He uses his gentle grasp to lift her arms up so he can push the dress up and over her body, leaving her in just the strapless bra she’d fit herself into for the evening. Just as quickly, his skilled fingers pop the clasp open, and they’re in a futile pool of Y/N’s clothes while Harry stands before her, still in his navy blue ensemble.

It’s a vulnerable place to be but she doesn’t hate it — not when he stares at her with soft eyes, dragging his gaze up and down the expanse of her form. She wants to cover herself, but she doesn’t. Instead, she reaches forward and thumbs open the button of his blazer before sliding the fabric off his torso. Just as he did to her, he watches as she slowly sheds him of his shirt, then his trousers, and finally, his briefs.

His cock is thick and long and Y/N’s hand immediately loops around it the second it slaps up against his lower belly. He hisses and grabs her hips, pressing blunt fingernails into the soft skin as he pushes her back against the couch. All too flawlessly, he’s now given himself the upper hand, hovering over her naked body, his biceps bulging as he keeps himself up.

“Please,” she says breathily, “I want you. No teasing.”

Harry huffs out a guttural chuckle as he begins to plant kisses along her collarbones and down to her chest, landing just above her belly button.

“I’m big,” he murmurs into her skin. “‘M not trying to tease. Just don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can do it,” Y/N insists, her voice growing whiney with need. “Don’t wanna wait any longer.”

"You're cute when you beg." Harry mumbles out in response as his lips curve into a smirk. Her jaw drops a smidge, prepared to respond, but he quickly stretches over her body to press his lips to hers again. Just as it was the moment they came home, the kiss is frantic and driven with energy, filled with tension and electricity. Harry catches each of her noisy whimpers with his lips, a groan of his own on the verge of tumbling out. He feels her squeeze her thighs together and assumes it’s an attempt to relieve some of the pressure building in her core, making his cock continue to swell between their bodies. If he wanted to, he knows he could get them off just like this — him grinding against the soft skin of her stomach while he dips a few fingers into her sopping pussy. But they both need more than that.

Again, he breaks this kiss, this time resulting in a rather frustrated Y/N. Her lips are slicked with spit and swollen from the frenzied kissing, his likely appearing the same.

"Is this okay?"

"Yes," she breathes, nodding her head like a bobblehead, "Yes, I want you. Please."

"You want me?" he teases, and she has to resist rolling her eyes at the sudden uptick of arrogance. "That's awfully forward of you. What happened to my sweet good girl?"

"I'm still here," she whines, "Harry, please, you're— you're being mean, you know what I want."

He ducks under her jaw to press soft kisses along her neck, gently sucking at spots of skin. Light splotches appear from the welcomed assault, ensuring that they remember this long after it’s over. She instantly weaves her painted fingernails into his curly hair.

"Tell me what you want." Harry demands, placing his hands on either side of her head. He keeps his palms flush against the throw pillow, caging her in. Her face begins to flush and her lips flutter over the words, so he leans down to brush his nose against hers; a reminder that she’s safe. "Go ahead, bun."

"I want you to fuck me," she mumbles, her bottom lip nearly quivering with need. She looks like she could cry all over again — only this time, for good reasons.

He reaches his hand up to her mouth, jutting his thumb out to pull at her lip. Immediately responsive, she parts her lips, making him smile as he pushes his finger inside. She sucks at it lightly.

"You're so good. So cute, so good," he says softly, watching her. "I want you just as bad, sweet girl. Y'sure you're ready for my cock? I haven't even seen your pretty pussy yet—"

"Shut up," she mutters out, his thumb laying heavy on her tongue. "I can take it. Promise.” He lets out a laugh at her sudden boldness. He removes his finger from her mouth, mumbling out a greedy girl as he leans down to wrap his lips around a nipple, moving his hand down to her mound.

At risk of her snapping at him again, he presses a thumb to her clit, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. He begins to circle his thumb tightly, her muscles suddenly tightening underneath his grasp. Selfishly, he takes joy in watching her slowly crumble underneath him, her soft whimpers growing into moans when he dips his finger further down, circling her hole once, twice, before dipping in.

"H," she whined, her eyes screwed shut."What, bunny?"

"I— please, need your cock, no more teasing."

He stills his fingers inside of her, gently pulling them out. On any other day, maybe he would have persisted with the slow burn of pleasure, but he’s feeling just as desperate as her. He wraps his fist around the head of his cock, using strings of her arousal to slowly pump, relieving some of the built up pressure.

"Y'still good, baby?" he asks, resisting the groan at the tip of his tongue.

"Yes, daddy."

His head snaps up to see an arrogant smirk painted on her features. "Are you gonna fuck me now?"

This time, he finally does let out a moan.

Shuffling his knees forward, he rubs his cock against her core, painting the tip from her clit to her hole, up and down, until she wiggles her hips down. He smirks as she lets out a pathetic whine. Slowly, he pushes forward, the tip of my cock instantly encased by her tight walls. He hisses at the feeling and reaches down to grab her hip, his hand gripping her skin tightly.

"More," she chokes, nodding her head eagerly, "Please, more, daddy."

Once he knows that she’s not in any pain from the intrusion, he keeps going until his hips are flush against her warm skin, his cock buried deep inside of her. Her plush lips form a soft 'o' as she reaches forward to rake her nails down my chest, a silent plea to move.

"You feel so fucking good, bunny," he mutters out as he begins to snap my hips, slowly building a steady pace. He’s careful not to push her too quickly, but the fear of coming too fast is consistent in his brain. Despite sleeping with his fair share of people, he’s never felt so complete inside of someone. The way her pussy is so snug and tight around his cock makes him feel like an addict.

She’s a moaning mess beneath him, her fingernails pressing harshly into his back. Her eyes are wide and teary now, making him smirk as he lifts a finger to wipe the liquid away.

"Don' need to cry, babe, you're doing so good for me." he says, leaning down to pepper kisses over the surface of her face.

"Yeah?" She gasped, her hand snaking down the length of her body. Her fingertips quickly find her clit and he looks down to watch her make tight little circles into the skin.

"So fuckin' good," he mumbles, entranced by the sight of her touching herself, "y'gonna cum all over daddy's cock, angel girl?" She nods eagerly and he speeds up his thrusts, desperate to make her finish before he manages to explode. He can feel his muscles clenching, her pussy somehow getting even tighter with every movement.

"What do you need?" he grits out with a clenched jaw.

She’s moments away from finishing now; he can feel and see it, but he’s determined to push her over the edge. Swallowing harshly, her jaw drops as she mumbles out, "c-choke me, please."

Groaning, he wraps his hand around the column of her throat, pressing gently against her windpipe. He watches as her eyes roll back and feels the way her muscles instantly contract around his cock, triggering his own orgasm to approach. At the sounds of her moans, he quickly pulls out and pumps his cock twice before finishing all over her stomach and chest, a splatter of come painting itself on her soft skin. They’re both breathless and Harry resists the urge to completely collapse against the girl beneath him. He would have, if not for Y/N’s closed eyes as she catches her breath. In the silence of the moment, he takes in the appearance of her naked body covered in his come. Grimacing slightly at his softening prick, he grabs his boxers and shuffles them over his hips. He stands from the couch and straightens his posture when he hears a sleepy mumble from below. "Where are y'going?" "Gonna clean you up," Harry says softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, "be right back, 'kay, bunny?” Y/N asleep before he returns a few minutes later with a wet washcloth. He sits at the edge of the couch and gently runs it over her body, wiping away the remnants of their intimacy. Her eyes blink open when she realizes he’s returned, granting him a small, lazy smile. He returns it. “You did so good for me,” he murmurs, tossing the dirty cloth on the floor. He’ll throw it in the washing machine later, but right now, taking care of this sleepy, fucked out lump is the top priority. “Do you wanna go upstairs and change? Go to sleep in my bed?” She shakes her head. “Let’s sleep down here. Too tired to move.” And yeah, maybe Harry hasn’t slept on a couch since he was in his 20s because he has back problems. Yes, his hips will surely ache from sharing the space with the girl he’s been crushing on for months. Surely, they’ll shift positions multiple times throughout the night as they attempt to find something that’s semi-comfortable for the both of them. But he’ll do anything to see Y/N smile. “Sure, baby,” he replies, grabbing a soft throw blanket from the end of the couch. He wiggles himself into her side so he’s holding her from behind, tossing the cozy material over their bodies. “G’night. Lemme know if you need anything.”

She hums, and then it’s silent.

Harry allows his eyes to fall closed, sinking into the comfort of the warm girl beside him. It’s only then that he hears her inhale, followed by seven soft words: “I love you, Harry. I mean it.”

He tucks his face into her shoulder and hides the grin that stretches over his face.

“I love you, Y/N. I mean it.”

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colormepurplex2 · 19 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

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Jungkook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s, uh…”

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

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

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

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

“Isn’t that right?” he asks.

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

“You’re healthy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, no. You know I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm? Who?”

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

You shrug. “I wasn’t staring.”

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

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

💔💔💔

Jungkook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?” Jungkook answers on the second ring.

“Jungkook.”

“Oh, hey. Everything okay?”

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

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

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

“Why? What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he breathes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seems pretty simple, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I understand.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I think so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

Jungkook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, guys.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, too, Jungkook.”

💔💔💔

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💔💔💔

Jungkook

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

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

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

“You missed it.”

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

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

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

“She? It could be a boy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, is everything okay?”

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

“I’m on my way!”

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

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

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

“O-okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Yeah.”

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

“Do you want me to find a wheelchair?”

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

“Yeah.”

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

“I can come?” he wonders, hopeful.

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

“Oh, she’s not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kinda weird, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That would be great, thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is everything okay?”

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

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

“Where have you been?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is not what happened at all!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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hannieehaee · 27 days

Text

DOES HE KNOW ?

18+ / mdi

summary: after being friends with lee chan for a good portion of your life, the boy you considered nothing but your best friend suddenly starts acting different, making you slowly fall for him. problem is, you have a boyfriend.

content: friends2lovers!chan, reader has a bf, almost cheating but not actually, afab reader, smut, oral (f receiving), wet dream (this is actually a huge point in the plot lol), masturbation (f receiving), dry humping, more oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 9.8k

a/n: rewrote this so many times but finally finished it!! i love writing channie so i hope u guys enjoy<3

masterlist | kofi/patreon

support me through a one time tip<3

Something was clearly wrong with you.

Was Lee Chan hot?

Nothing made sense anymore, and it had been the case for a while.

You could date it back to a little over a month ago, at one of Soonyoung's usual gatherings. This had been where it all began, or more so, where it all ended.

For some reason unknown to man, that was the day in which Chan began courting you (his words, not yours).

After years of a solid friendship between the two of you, a not-so tipsy Chan cornered you at aforementioned party and began dancing with you. This was a common occurrence between the two of you. Despite having been taken for the past few months, you were still quite liberal about your touchy relationship with your best friend. However, what happened next what was truly out of the ordinary.

"Hey," he had whispered against your ear.

"Yeah?", you giggled, entertained by the boy.

"Wanna know a secret?"

"Sure."

"I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you," and with that, the dam had broken.

You froze against his arms, eyes widening. Though he could not see, as you were holding each other far too close to make eye contact.

Maybe he was drunk?

He interrupted you before you could respond. Chan pulled away from you to look into your eyes with a fully sober look in his face.

"I'm not drunk, and I know you have a boyfriend. And I know you only see me as a friend. But give me a few weeks, and I'll change both those things," was the last thing he said before giving you a peck on the cheek (yet another common thing in your relationship) and walking away with a confident sway in his step.

Ever since then, you had been bombarded by romantic gestures from your former best friend – former because you truly had no idea how you felt about him by this point.

Chan bought you flowers, – even when it was raining – had your favorite beverage at hand any time you so happened to see him, tied your shoelaces should they ever come undone, plucked loose eyelashes from your cheeks, tucked your hair behind your ear, placed his hand at the small of your back before crossing a street, walked you to and from home, looked at you with an indescribable sweetness in his eye, he ... He did everything any girl would need to be completely swooned (and then some).

You were beyond confused as to when this change had come about. As far as you knew, you were nothing more than best friends. When had Chan even begun liking you? What had changed?

"Oh. He's always had a thing for you," was what your mutual friend Soonyoung said when you first brought it up.

"What do you mean? We've been friends for years, he's never-"

"Yeah, duh. You never showed interest, what was he supposed to do? But yeah, he's crazy about you," added Seungkwan, sipping his drink nonchalantly.

You had decided to meet up with some of your mutual friends while Chan was at work. You needed at least five minutes with your other friends without Chan getting in the way with his flirting.

"It's kinda sick, actually," interjected Soonyoung once more.

You remained quiet for a while, thinking back to every interaction you'd ever had with Chan that may have revealed his feelings for you. Unfortunately, you kept drawing blanks all the while Soonyoung stole fries from your plate, disregarding your confusion at the situation.

"But why now?", you finally asked, slapping his meddling hand away from your food.

He shrugged, "Maybe he got fed up of watching you with that guy."

"He has a name, Soonyou-"

"None of us really care enough to learn it."

That much was true. None of your friends were fans of your current boyfriend. Or of any of them, to be quite frank. You had certain lack of skill at picking them, though this time around you felt confident about your current relationship. He was nice and respectful. Maybe a little bit of a square, but you liked to think you brought out the fun in him. This was also the longest relationship you'd ever had, giving you the grand total of three months in a exclusive relationship and a month and a half of a very prolonged talking stage that took place before he ever asked you out officially.

"Is this because I've been taken for longer than usual?", you tried to assert.

"Oh! That might be it, huh?", Soonyoung agreed.

"Well, I guess he didn't want you to break your streak of failed relationships," chuckled Kwan.

With a slap to his chest, you dropped the subject, deciding to ignore the slight acceleration of your heart any time you thought about Chan's crush for too long.

At first you found it to be a bit of a joke, but his affections quickly began to wear you down. It also didn't help how blatant he was about it, constantly flirting up a storm around your friends, not caring for their amused smiles at your flustered half-rejections of his advances. The only times in which he held back were the rare occasions in which your boyfriend would join your friend group in their outings. He could be reserved at times, not really clicking with your loud friends, so his presence was not a common thing.

Being honest, you felt kind of bad at the genuine excitement Chan's crush gave you. Though you weren't sure of your feelings for him at this point, his interest flustered you tremendously. You'd always known him as a pretty and charming guy, despite never really acknowledging such things. You understood why he got so much attention from girls, though you never thought too much of it. He was your best friend, you never had any motive to consider anything further than platonic feelings for him. But now that you were questioning your feelings, you felt as if you were kind of betraying your boyfriend.

Not to misunderstand, you had no desire of pursuing anything with anyone while you were in a committed relationship. You were just not that kind of person. But the mere thought of blushing at the words of a guy who wasn't yours (all while actually having a guy of your own) made you feel ashamed. Specially considering that you already had a very grand preexisting fondness for the guy in question.

God damn you, Lee Chan.

"So, when are you gonna drop this game and finally let me take you to bed?", he whispered cockily against your ear.

He was always so goddamn confident about it; a trait you always liked about him but were beginning to detest.

As per usual, you simply jokingly groaned at him and pushed him away in a manner far too light to be considered serious.

"Fuck off, Lee Chan."

With a giggle, he stepped away, usual pep in his step as present as ever.

"I'll get you another drink, 'kay, pretty?", you lost him in the crowd after that.

You'd gone drinking with your friends yet again, though this time at a distant friend's house party. Your boyfriend was absent once more due to his personal disdain for such outings. He was simply not much of a social drinker, which was fine! It just bothered you at times how often he chose staying in rather than going out with you.

Despite your rejections of Chan, you felt embarrassed to admit that you loved the thrill of his interest in you. Never had you ever had someone so shamelessly after your affections despite your lighthearted refusals. It made you feel wanted and powerful. It felt specially good when it came from a guy as handsome and charismatic as Chan; a guy who could have basically any girl all thanks to his unbelievable charisma.

Yet he wanted you. He was after you.

The guy you knew most was currently infatuated with you.

Yeah, you did need that second drink.

"Where's your guy?"

Your thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice coming from behind you.

You turned around to find Vernon leaning back against the wall, a smirk on his face at having watched your encounter with Chan.

"Shut up," you walked over to recline on the wall next to him, deciding to people-watch alongside him.

"It was a genuine question," he claimed, handing you a sip of the beer he'd been nursing.

"He's working again," you sipped, handing it back to take turns as you waited for Chan to bring you your drink of choice.

"And Channie?"

"What about him?"

"Does your boyfriend know?", he asks, more curious than actually interested.

Men, nosy as usual.

You groan, "Don't ask me that, Non."

"C'mon! Has he not noticed the way Chan's been after you these past few weeks?", he seemed far too entertained by the subject.

"Of course not! Chan's kept his distance around him, but ..."

"But?"

You turned your head to him, back still leaning against the wall, "I don't know!"

"Well, do you like him? Channie, I mean."

"It's- I like the attention."

"And him?", he pressed.

"He's starting to wear me down," you admitted.

Vernon chuckled into his red solo cup, "It's cute."

"What is?"

"The back and forth, the 'will they, won't they.' But if you ask me, I think they will."

"I have a boyfriend, Non," you grumbled, not entirely convincing in your tone.

"Yeah, but are you guys even friends? Wouldn't it be better to date someone who you actually like?"

"Stop doing PR for Chan. It's not like he needs it," you grumbled, already uses to this back and forth with many of your other friends – all of whom were rooting for Chan.

"Fine. But get out of here. Your guy's probably looking for you."

"My guy's not here."

"I meant Channie, now go!"

You grumbled again before walking in the direction in which Chan had left, knowing he'd likely still be in the kitchen attempting to fetch you a drink.

It didn't take you long to find him, nor did it take you long to spot the girl standing next to him, seemingly flirting up a storm. Chan didn't seem too deterred by this either. More than anything, he appeared to he reciprocating.

Maybe this was why you and Chan started off as friends and remained so for the years you'd known each other. He always had a girl clinging onto him one way or another. Though he didn't date much, he sure enjoyed swooning girls whenever he could.

You'd always been very strict about being exclusive with whoever you dated, never wanting to compete for someone's attention or engage in prolonged talking stages. This was something you differed in with Chan. He was quite the opposite, engaging in situationships that never really led anywhere. As his friend, you never really cared much for this. If it worked for him, then that was that. However, now that he was supposedly attempting to pursue you, – despite you being in a relationship – you couldn't help but scoff at the sight of Chan still entertaining any girl that'd show interest in him.

You almost turned around and left, but were promptly stopped by the man himself, who spotted you before you could take one step and disregarded the girl immediately. The girl scoffed in your place, clearly put off by Chan's attention being taken away so easily.

"Babe!", he called out, one drink in each hand, as he approached you, "Sorry I took so long, the line was crazy."

Immaturely enough, you rolled your eyes and grabbed the drink from his hand, ignoring his statement as you sipped it. You really had no right to be jealous of Chan talking to other girls. You were taken, and you weren't even interested in Chan. Were you? Still, you disregarded those thoughts and allowed the bitterness to cloud your mind and began walking away from the boy.

"Huh?", a question mark physically manifested itself above Chan's head as you began walking away from him, "Baby? Wait, where are you going?", his arm managed to reach you before you got far enough and softly turned you around to face him.

The two of you were still standing far too close to the people crowding the kitchen, however, so Chan assessed that it'd be better to move to a quieter spot in order to properly check in on you. With a decisive nod to himself, he grabbed onto your hand and walked you over to an empty hallway before turning to you again.

"What's wrong? Did something happen while I was gone? Did someone-"

The concern in his eyes seemed very genuine, making you feel bad for being such a brat at the mere sight of Chan interacting with another woman. You had never had an issue with your best friend being around other women. Hell, you never even cared whenever he would occasionally ditch you for other girls. The two of you were simply best friends. You had always rooted for him in his romantic life, even encouraging him with it.

But things had drastically changed as soon as he began showing interest in you.

It was like his sudden interest had unlocked a part of you you hadn't known was there. It had given you this brand new possessiveness you had never held over Chan before; a possessiveness you didn't even feel for your current boyfriend.

And it made you feel embarrassed. Tremendously so. It also made you feel like a hypocrite. Here you had a guy who was clearly extremely into you, yet he had made no comment nor expressed any disdain over the fact that you already had a guy. Chan had never expressed any type of jealousy over any of your past relationships. Despite having liked you for the entire duration of your friendship (information you were unsure Chan was aware you knew), Chan always respected your relationships and even tried to befriend any guy you brought along. Yet you couldn't hold back your bitterness at him showing interest in someone else; interest you now felt should be reserved only for you.

The hypocritical nature of your feelings made you look down in embarrassment as you interrupted Chan's inquiries, clarifying that nothing was wrong.

"No, Chan. I'm fine, I swear. Just a little tired. I, uh, thanks for the drink."

"Hey, are you sure?", he lifted your face with a finger to your chin, making you hold eye contact with him.

It was quite insane how this was not even meant as a flirtatious move, but rather a demonstration of his platonic worry for you. Yet your heart sped up anyways.

"I'm fine, Chan! It's just the crowds. You know how I get. Nonnie told me to go look for you and there were so many people in the kitchen, and then I couldn't come up to you because of that girl and-"

Your rambles were interrupted by an exclamation mark practically manifesting itself above Chan's head, with the sudden realization of your jealousy hitting him.

"Oh?", he tilted his head and leaned in a bit closer as a grin began making its way onto his face, "'That girl'?", he repeated.

"Chan-"

He got closer to you, now cornering you against the hallway wall, still giving you space but blocking your view of anything other than him.

"I'm sorry, baby. Did that bother you? Hmm? Me talking to some other girl?"

"It's not like that! I just-"

"It's okay. You can admit it. I won't judge you," except his smirk was nothing but condescending.

"Chan! I-"

"But that's kinda funny, though. Isn't it?", he chuckled to himself.

"W-what is?," you stammered at his sudden shift in mood.

Though he was still far too close for a friend to be, and he was still leaning into your touch, his tone had shifted to one a bit more cynical in nature.

"You're jealous? Baby, you have a boyfriend."

"I do, and-"

"So what's there to be jealous about? You've got your guy. Yet you're looking my way? When you've been rejecting me all this time?", he leaned even closer, almost breathing right against your nose, eyes hooded as they bore into your own, alternating between your eyes and lips in a somewhat teasing manner.

"I-I'm not jealous. Just ... Why flirt with me if you're after other girls too?", you made the mistake of asking.

"Oh, baby. I'm not looking at anyone else. Not my fault you're so possessive you can't even stand other girls looking at me," you knew he was simply teasing you, knowing full well that you were not the possessive type. But his words carried a slight weight of truth behind them.

You had no reason to feel any type of possessiveness over Chan. Yet you still felt uneasy at the thought of Chan's eyes on anyone who wasn't you. Now that you had a taste of his attention you wanted it all to yourself.

"I just have one question," he whispered, far too close to you.

You nodded at him to continue, wide eyes on his own.

"Does he know?"

"Know what?"

"That you like me back," his eyes went down to your lips again.

"Chan. Stop. I-I'm not gonna cheat on my boyfriend," you huffed, avoiding his eyes – which was quite hard at his close proximity.

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, with your eyes occasionally dropping to his lips. But it was fine, since his own were also on yours – though his expression was more triumphant than anything, while yours revealed your nerves. Had you been in a less restricting position, your thighs would've instinctively pressed together at the thoughts that were suddenly running through your mind at his proximity, but thankfully the situation didn't drag long enough for your lust to reveal itself.

He finally pulled away, smirk still on his face, "I'd never ask you to do that, baby. 's just nice to know my plan's working," he chuckled.

"What plan?"

"I'm wearing you down. You want me."

Unfortunately, you had no rebuttal, knowing that Chan had won this round. Even if you denied his statement (which you had half the mind to do), he had caught you red handed. You had whined about not having his full attention just like a petulant child would. Nothing you said would save you from that.

You managed to move on from that quite quickly, finding Soonyoung and Kwannie just a few moments later and using them as an excuse to move on from the way in which Chan had cornered you. You spent the rest of the party pondering Chan's words. Did you actually want him? Or was it just that you wanted him to want you?

Now you were stuck with embarrassing moisture between your thighs and countless doubts hanging over your head.

"C-Channie! Oh, Channie, fuck!"

Your cries of pleasure were unparalleled as the pretty boy you liked to call your best friend slurped at your cunt like a starved man.

You weren't sure how long he had been at it, nor were you sure how you'd ended up in this situation, but you had no complaints. His tongue between your thighs was pure heaven, especially with the pathetic whines the boy kept letting out at your taste.

"'sso good, princess. Cunt's so tasty ... Been wanting it since I met you ... Been waiting for you for years," he mumbled against your cunt, getting back to licking and sucking immediately.

While your heart was unsure what to make of such a heavy statement, your body responded with desperation. To have a man yearn for you like that for years was doing wonders for your cunt. It made you gush like crazy, beginning to grind against Chan's face in such a depraved way.

"Just like that, fuck. Fuck my face just like that," he groaned, the vibrations of his voice causing you to grind even harder against him.

"C-Channie! It's so good ... So fucking good, oh!"

He seemed to get off on your praise, you realized, as you felt ruckus on the bed beneath you caused by Chan canting his hips against your mattress and moaning incessantly into your cunt. The knowledge of your taste alone making Chan lose himself in such a way was enough to drive you towards your high, getting closer and closer by the second.

"Gonna make me cum, princess. Got such a pretty fucking pussy," he managed to breathe out despite exerting all his efforts into fucking the mattress.

Surprising to no one, Chan claimed your orgasm on his tongue just moments later, somehow managing to talk you through it and make the experience even more swoon-worthy than it already was. Chan had managed to make you feel a way no one had ever before, making you ache for him with just his words.

It had all ended far sooner than you would've liked, but it was fine. You knew that with a few kisses to his ear Chan would give you whatever you wanted without question.

Yet before you could even get to enjoy the entirety of your high, it was abruptly taken from you the moment your alarm began ringing, awakening you from what you hadn't realized was just slumber.

Waking up from a wet dream was already embarrassing enough on its own, but waking up from a wet dream about your best friend whom you swore you weren't into like that was a new level of low.

As much as you tried to brush it off as some sort of fluke or meaningless dream, you knew better. You had never thought of Chan in such a way, much less imagined him in that context, so it was safe to say that Chan had been right. His plan was working.

The following hours were spent on alert (and still incredibly horny). You thought about calling up your boyfriend to help you out, but the thought in itself felt dirty. How could you ask your boyfriend to take care of a problem caused by your best friend? There was that, and the fact that your brain would probably not be satisfied by your boyfriend right now.

You needed to get Chan out of your system.

You knew that if you called up Chan and explained your problem to him he'd come running immediately, no questions asked as he helped you relive your dream. Such a thought had your head spinning and your knees feeling weak. Except you had a moral compass that was preventing you from doing so. So, you spent the next few hours extremely sensitive and attempting to take care of yourself in any way you could think of.

Unfortunately nothing compared to your dream. Nothing felt as warm and loving as Chan had felt. There was not a single thing that could bring back that feeling of want Chan had towards you; a feeling you were so desperate for. This led you to spend the rest of the day sexually frustrated, unable to reach your high as you felt something was thoroughly missing.

Even when your boyfriend stopped by to see you after work, things had gone awry. You'd received him at the door in a desperate manner, dragging him in with you and inciting him into fucking you. You didn't care if you had Chan in mind anymore, you just needed some satisfying release. Sadly, your boyfriend did not match your energy, opting to slow you down and have his way with you in his own way. This led to yet another unsatisfying release to add to today's tally. You were unsure if you could even call it a release, as it felt entirely underwhelming and had been mostly accomplished by your own hand.

Going to sleep, still sexually frustrated, you cursed at yourself for letting Lee Chan get in your head.

Spending time with Chan after your incident was nothing less than incredibly awkward.

Despite Chan being fully unaware of what had gone down in your subconscious, you couldn't help the blush that would take over your face any time the two of you made eye contact. He had all the power at the moment.

You had also made the mistake of discussing the occurrence with your closest friends, Seungkwan and Soonyoung. Purposely, you had not mentioned the name of the culprit behind your wet dream, but it had not been hard for your nosy friends to figure it out on their own.

"You had a sex dream about Channie?!", Soonyoung had all but whispered, causing some old ladies across the diner to look your way in judgment.

Fortunately not too many people were present at the diner you were currently hanging out at, but it didn't really help the embarrassment you felt at the words even being uttered. This was the only time in which you could see your friends without Chan's presence, so you couldn't be too picky about the setting.

"Soonyoung! Shut the hell up!", you whisper-shouted at him, throwing a rolled up napkin at him in punishment, "I never said it was about Chan."

"Please. Who else would it be about? Sure as hell can't be about your vanilla boyfriend. And anyone else like Mingyu or Wonwoo would be too obvious for you to be so embarrassed about it. It has to be Chan," Seungkwan butted in nonchalantly.

"I- It's- my boyfriend is not vanilla!"

"You didn't deny it! It was Channie!", Soonyoung was far too excited at having guessed correctly.

Giving up, and knowing you needed some external input on your predicament, you nodded in shame, admitting to your sin in order to maybe get some advice on the situation.

"What do I do? I ... I can't stop thinking about it. Fuck, I can't even look at Chan in the eye anymore."

"Was it good?"

"Soonyoung, stop! That's not the point."

"He has a point. Not really worth ruining your relationship over some mediocre head," argued Seungkwan.

"Shut up! It- Fuck, it was so good," you groaned into your hands in utter embarrassment.

"Dude I knew Chan would be good at head. It's in his eyes. I'm telling you, people with those big doe eyes are freaks in bed," Soonyoung couldn't seem to stop spewing his headcanon of Chan at you.

"Or at least dream-Chan is," agreed Kwan.

"What do I do?! It won't leave my mind. I- I've already tried fucking it out of my head, but even then-"

"Hold on. You had sex with your boyfriend while thinking about Chan? Does he know?"

"Soonyoung!"

"Man, he'd pass out if he heard that. Do you know how many time's he's walked us through his sex dreams?", cackled Soonyoung.

This obviously caught your attention, making you widen your eyes and fastening the speed of your heartbeat.

Chan had had sex dreams about you too?

I mean, it should've been obvious considering the amount of dirty innuendos and straight-up proposals he's given you these past few weeks, but you had never actually thought about it in depth.

Fuck.

Chan wanted to fuck you.

The thought made you gulp and press your thighs together, actions your friends thankfully did not catch onto.

"He, uh, he's told you about his sex dreams about me?", you asked with a complete lack of confidence in your voice.

"God, don't even get him started," grumbled Seungkwan, slurping his almost empty americano before continuing, "It's Hoshi who keeps instigating him into telling us every excruciating detail."

Soonyoung nodded in confirmation, "Dude, he gets nasty," he whispers as if it was a sin to utter out loud – despite having previously aired your own sex dream to the whole diner.

God, were you interested in knowing more. But you couldn't blow your cover. You were far too horny and pent up already. Hearing about how your sexy (yes, you were at the point of shamelessly admitting it) best friend giving it to you in the nastiest scenarios imaginable would probably make you combust in front of your best friends and every other unsuspecting person in the establishment.

With dry lips and wetness already gathering between your thighs, you simply hummed in acknowledgment and moved on with the conversation, eventually managing to change subjects without giving away your cover.

Never in your life had you ever had such urgency in getting home.

Upon locking your front door, you immediately ran to your bed, undressing yourself in the process and getting ready to rid yourself of the ache between your legs that had been bothering you since that wretched dream.

You knew that you wouldn't be able to satisfy yourself as well as you wanted without Chan's aid (you'd tried endless times just a few days ago), but trying was better than nothing.

Getting yourself started was easy. All you had to do was remember the very vivid image of dream-Chan slobbering between your legs, begging you to use his face however you saw fit and claim your orgasm as if it were a god-given right.

But imagination wasn't enough.

You had half the mind to call up Chan right there and then and crying to him to please come and take care of you. The repeated knowledge that Chan would likely come to you with no question nor judgement made the task of holding back even harder. It made you cry at the frustration your fingers were giving you; they just weren't enough. Not even after the endless attempts these past few days had you been able to calm the fire between your legs. The last time you saw your boyfriend – just after your damned sex dream – had been yet another failed attempt. It seemed like nothing could truly get you there.

That's when you thought of the perfect thing.

Chan always had the tendency of either taking you home himself or sending you a short voice message to ensure you had arrived home safely – always insisting on one in return. This message always contained Chan's raspy voice after a long day of shenanigans, usually calling you one pet name or another as he checked in on you.

No matter how ashamed you felt at it, the burning between your legs did seem to diminish upon turning up the short voice message he had left you just last week. His words, accompanied by his voice, did wonders for your imagination.

"Hey, babe", it had started, "Just wanted to check in on you and make sure you got home okay. Need you to send me a message back as soon as you can, yeah?"

This had been enough to start you up again, the usual 'babe' nickname and the soft command causing an effect on you it never had in all your years of friendship.

"You looked so pretty today," he sighed, "Did I tell you that? Need to be telling you that every day. You're gorgeous. Don't even know how such a pretty girl puts up with us," he chuckled.

Oh, Channie ...

He'd always been so sweet to you. Such a fun friend, but also such a sweet boy who'd always coddle you and treat you better than anyone else. You could almost picture him swooning at you as he reminisced on the pretty dress you'd worn that day.

You couldn't think of anyone else who thought of you that fondly. Yet you were currently too busy using an unsuspecting Chan to get off after days of being pent up due to that same boy.

"Miss you already, gorgeous. Should've taken you home myself, ugh," he groaned at himself, "That way I would've at least gotten a goodnight kiss," he paused, chuckling, "on the cheek, of course."

It was probably just your horny brain talking, but had Chan been in front of you at that moment, you would've done far more than just kiss him. You didn't know where all this sudden lust for Chan had come from, but that dream had come with an epiphany. Maybe you'd been attracted to your best friend all this time.

"'Kay, Imma leave you now, okay, princess? Message me back when you're ready for bed, alright? You know how I worry. Goodnight, beautiful. I love you," he ended the recording with a soft kiss.

The short voice message wasn't enough to work yourself up to an orgasm, so you revisited as many of his old messages as you could, recalling some specially soft ones he'd send you where he'd call you all the petnames known to man and praise you enough to make you blush.

You also thought about what Soonyoung had said, how Chan's dreams about you would get nasty. You thought of every nasty thing the man was probably itching to do to you. You thought of how easily you'd let him if he was here at this moment.

Throughout it all, you pictured Chan and the actions that would accompany his words if he were in the room with you. You imagined the soft touches and the praise he'd spew endlessly at you. The eyes full of genuine love – mixed with a little lust – that would watch you as you came undone.

And come undone you did. It wasn't as good as it would've been with the real Chan present and taking care of you, but it sure beat the multiple unsatisfying orgasms you'd had in the past few days.

"We broke up."

Those were your opening words upon approaching the usual table you shared with your friends.

This time Seokmin had decided to join.

"You what?"

"Because of Chan?"

"Really?!"

All responses were delivered simultaneously, making you groan as you sat down, knowing you were in for a lengthy interrogation from the three nosiest men you knew.

You covered your face in your hands and exhaled before unmasking yourself and facing your friends with seriousness in your demeanor.

"Didn't feel right when I kept thinking about Chan," you started, "He understood, which made it worse. Said he'd been too busy with work lately, was thinking of taking some time apart anyways."

It had been a few days since your wet dream about Chan. After your lonely escapade the night after – the night with the cursed voice memos – you had gone over to your boyfriend's place to end it. You hadn't hung out much in the past few weeks. There had been no spark for a bit. The goodness of your short-lived relationship was probably just the honeymoon period, which ended around the same time Chan decided to make his interest on you known.

It was all too much to deal with, so breaking it off seemed easier.

"Wow," aired Soonyoung.

"Yeah. Wow. How are you feeling?", asked Seokmin.

"I'm fine. Just, you know, feel kinda bad. I didn't want to be with someone if my heart wasn't fully in it," you mumbled, a little solemn.

"Does Channie know?"

"God, no. I've been avoiding him since," you eyed Kwan and Soonyoung, "uh, you know," you didn't want Seokmin to be yet another one of your friends to know about your sexual escapades in your slumber.

"Oh, you mean the sex dream?"

Your stare turned menacing, facing the only two possible culprits, "Who told him?"

"It was Soonie!", Seungkwan revealed immediately.

"Wait! No, I-"

"Did you tell anyone else? Oh my god, does Chan know?!"

"No! I only told Seokmin, I swear! He asked why we were meeting while Chan's working, so I told him."

"Don't worry, I won't tell. Scout's honor."

Seokmin held an innocent pinky towards you. Already done with the situation, you halfheartedly intertwined pinkies and moved on.

"So ... Channie?", Seungkwan asked once more.

"What about him?", you feigned curiosity.

"Playing dumb isn't gonna help things."

"What, do you want me to tell him about my dream?"

"That'd be kinda weird, man, I don't know," added Seokmin.

"I think it'd be hot."

"Soonyoung, shut up!", you told him for the nth time since the subject of your 'crush' on Chan had first come up.

Seungkwan side-eyed them before continuing, "No, but you like him, don't you?"

Did you? Did you actually like Chan?

Before Chan had showed interest in you, you had never considered it. Ever since you'd met him, Chan had always been nothing more than your best friend, your partner in crime. You had never felt as safe and comfortable with anyone as you had with Chan, and that was still the case. No boyfriend had ever made you feel as at ease as Chan always did.

His crush had brought out something in you. Had it been any other friend who suddenly revealed their feelings for you, you would've reacted in horror. But it was different with Chan. For some reason, you didn't feel put off by it, nor did you try to chase him away for his feelings for you. It wasn't one of those situations where the boy suddenly decides to pursue his girl-friend and ruins the friendship altogether. This had opened pandora's box for you, making you realize that Chan's affections would've always been welcomed by you.

Even if you jokingly rejected him or told your friends you had a boyfriend, it was all simply due to your moral compass. You weren't a cheater, so you couldn't take Chan too seriously even if you wanted to. But now you were single, and now you had to figure out if you really wanted Chan in the same way he wanted you.

"I know that I want him, but I need to make sure that I want him, you know? I'd never want to hurt his feelings or jeopardize our friendship just because I was horny one day."

"So you're scared it might just be that you're sexually attracted to him?"

"No, it's just ..."

"You want to know whether or not you like him and not just the attention he gives you."

It was surprisingly Soonyoung who had deciphered it.

"Y-yeah. Fuck. Does that make me a narcissist?"

"Nah. It's better to be sure. You've been friends with Channie since forever. It makes sense for you to wanna be cautious."

"You should probably stop avoiding him, though. He's, uh, starting to notice," revealed Seokmin.

"Yeah, he won't stop whining. Just put him out of his misery already," said Soonie.

"Okay, I guess I'll talk to him next time I see him."

You didn't really feel ready for it, but the time to confront Chan would have to come sooner or later.

Next time you saw Chan was actually far too soon for your liking. Just the following day you found yourself at yet another house party; a small gathering among your friend group and some other people. It wasn't anything too big, so you knew that you'd inevitably bump into Chan.

It had only been about a week since you last spoke to Chan, but that had been a week too long. Throughout the duration of your friendship, the longest you ever went without constant communication had been three days, which had been a total accident on both your parts. The two of you would at least text once a day, even coming to have an unbroken streak of endless texts.

Fuck, you missed him.

Chan obviously must've noticed your lack of communication these past few days. You weren't even sure why you had decided to keep him in the dark. It wasn't just the wet dream (which was still haunting you, but had moved to the back burner for now), and it wasn't your breakup either. You were just confused about your feelings for the boy, but punishing him by icing him out had been far too much. Now you felt guilty.

You felt extra guilty when you finally spotted Chan across the party, sitting alone on a loveseat while he attempted but failed at discreetly looking over at you. He looked like a wounded puppy as he did so, pout on his lips and furrowed brows. It made you want to kiss the pout right off his face.

It was easy to tell that he wanted to approach you, but was simply trying his hardest to respect the boundary you had seemingly put up out of nowhere. This meant that you'd have to be the one to talk to him.

Then you took action, throwing away the drink you had been nursing and walking over to him, ignoring his shocked expression when you wordlessly grabbed his hand and pulled him to an empty room in the shared house. You locked the door and turned to him, unsure on what to say first.

Chan was the now the one to surprise you, immediately trapping you in a bear hug and burying his face in your shoulder, loudly breathing you in.

He didn't let go for a couple of minutes, even nudging you to keep hugging him back when you went to pull away.

When he finally let go, you finally had the chance to look at the boy for a moment.

Yeah, you liked him.

You had missed him far too much to be able to deny it.

You liked Lee Chan, and you were ready to let it be known to the world.

But then he started speaking.

"I'm so sorry," he started, utterly confusing you as to what he could be apologizing for, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I, fuck. I must've crossed a line with my flirting, and I never meant to. You're my best friend, and I need to respect you, an-and I need to respect your relationship. I thought that maybe somehow I could get you to see me as more than a friend, but it was stupid of me to assume you'd drop your boyfriend just because your dumb friend suddenly had a crush on you – which, uh, isn't the case, by the way," he looked down, embarrassed, "I've liked you since we met. So much. I assumed Hoshi must've told you by now. Anyways, I, uh, I'm really sorry. I'll stop. I will never bring it up again, just, fuck, please don't be mad. I'll take anything you give me. If friendship is what you want then I'll be the bestest friend you've ever had, just-"

It was impossible to take his senseless rambles anymore. You were getting too emotional at the thought of having put Chan through this turmoil when you had spent the last few days tending to the ache he had caused between your legs and subsequently breaking up with your boyfriend in order to figure out your feelings. It made you feel equally embarrassed and ridiculous, yet the effects of your silence made you begin to tear up at the apologetic boy in front of you.

Interrupting him, you hugged him again, somehow even tighter this time. This thankfully shut him up, allowing his body to lose its tension and letting himself become limp in your hold.

After some more moments of silent hugging, you were the one to pull away this time, giving him a sympathetic smile as you raised a hand to caress his cheek. It made you soon the way in which he leaned against your palm and gave you the sweetest smile known to man.

"Channie, you did nothing wrong ... I'm sorry for cutting you off like that, that was so wrong of me. I should've talked to you and told you how I was feeling. I wish I was half as confident about my feelings as you are, but I just felt so-" you paused, not knowing what you were even trying to express, "a-and then I just started avoiding you to avoid my feelings all together. I'm sorry."

"No, you have nothing to apologize for," he put his hands on your shoulders to ensure you were understanding his point, "I should've respected your boundaries. I never even should've tried to pursue you when I know you have a boyfriend, it was so-"

"had", you clarified, shy.

"what?"

"I had a boyfriend. We, uh, we broke up a few days ago."

"You ... Fuck, was it because of me?"

His eyes were like saucers, but you could see a small hint of a smile that he quickly wiped off when he realized the context of the situation.

"I want to say no, but ... yeah, I did."

Still feeling unbelievably ashamed at the memory of what had first led you to consider breaking up with your boyfriend, – a stupid wet dream you still couldn't get out of your mind – you avoided eye contact. Now you knew that that had only been the catalyst of realizing your feelings for Chan, but it still didn't help matters much, specially knowing that Chan would find out sooner or later.

"God, I'm so so sorry-"

"Chan! Stop apologizing! It wasn't because of anything you did. I just ... I realized some things these past few weeks and .. I realized we weren't really right for each other," you took a breath, "Not when you were all I could think about."

"Y-you ...?"

"I'm going to be candid, okay? Just, please don't interrupt."

He nodded, giving you the green light.

"A little over a week ago, uh, something happened. And then I couldn't keep you out of my mind. I tried talking to the guys, I even tried using my boyfriend as a distraction, but nothing worked. I started avoiding you because I just felt so awkward realizing I was beginning to develop feelings for you. It was wrong of me, but I needed time. I broke up with him because it didn't feel right to be with someone else while you were the only person I wanted around."

Saying it felt like a breath of fresh air. Not only were you admitting it to Chan, but also to yourself. Your friendship with Chan had never been your average friendship. Even before he had decided to begin shamelessly hitting on you, he had always been the sweetest and most caring boy you'd ever met. Sending you voice memos every time you went home alone, always being in charge of getting your drinks, driving you wherever you wanted, being overly affectionate with you any time he felt you might've needed it. The boy had always been the perfect match for you, you just couldn't grasp it until he began to literally shove it in your face.

"What made you realize it?"

Not expecting him to question you, but rather just accept your sudden change of heart, you hadn't thought of how to explain to him that a sex dream was what had brought you to this epiphany.

But what did you have to lose at this point? Most of your friends already knew, and to be quite frank, you still wanted Chan extremely badly. Telling him wouldn't be the end of the world.

"I, uh, I had a dream about you ..." you muttered, eyes avoiding his own.

His already wide eyes widened even more, a smirk forming itself on his features as he tilted his head in question.

"Uhm, care to repeat that for me?"

"Chan, shut the fuck up. You heard me."

"I didn't! Just tell me. Please?"

With a sigh, you repeated yourself, this time a little more clear, "I had a dream about you."

"Uh-huh. What type of dream?"

"Chan!"

"Princess, please. I embarrassed myself for you for weeks. I pined for you for years. Just give me what I wanna hear," he pleaded, somehow cocky in the way he did so.

"Fuck, fine. I had a wet dream about you. I dreamt about you between my legs, giving me the greatest orgasm I've ever experienced and begging me for more. I dreamt of your pathetic whines while I ground my cunt on your face. And then I woke up before I could cum. I spent the entire day trying to get that feeling back but nothing worked, Chan, nothing. I couldn't look you in the eyes after that so I just avoided you."

Finally giving him the most candid version of the events made you feel a weight leave your shoulders, specially upon realizing that the boy who currently held your heart had been rendered unable to use this as ammunition against you as you watched his cocky expression turn into one of lust.

"Oh," he breathed out. Taking a few moments to regain his composure, he spoke up again, "W-was that it? Or do you, uh, do you also like me back?"

"I like you, Chan. So much. The dream was just what made me realize that I wanted you in every way imaginable."

A decisive expression now took over his face, nodding to himself before moving closer to you, taking up all your personal space.

"That's all I needed to know," he declared before claiming your lips in a heated kiss.

Chan kissed you with everything he had to give. The kiss immediately grew lustful, with Chan licking into your mouth for access the second you made the smallest sound of surprise. And, fuck was Chan a great kisser.

His tongue was practically making love to yours, rendering your legs weak and shaky. Thankfully Chan realized this, pushing you to the nearest wall so that he could continue to take over all your senses.

Scratching and pulling at his hair, you caused Chan to moan against your lips, only making you whine in return. Chan took this as a sign to move forward, beginning to grind his expert hips against your own. Already hard, Chan's clothed cock felt like heaven against your burning cunt. You had begged for a proper release for days, and you were now afraid that some light dry humping would be enough to take you there before you could finally relive your dream.

But did you care? Did you care enough to halt Chan's movements when they were already making your eyes roll back? Your body made the decision for you, pushing your hips against his own and making him release a gruttal groan against your lips.

"N-need you so fucking bad ..." he breathed against your lips, barely able to get a word out as you insisted of licking into his mouth as he spoke. This made him groan again, "Princess, please ... You're gonna kill me."

Pulling away, you grabbed his hands and placed them on your breasts, making eyed at him as you spoke, "Channie, just touch me. Don't care what you do, just ... just take care of the problem you caused."

He whined at the feeling of your body at his palms, immediately groping and feeling up every inch of your body before trapping your mouth in another heated kiss. His hands soon became too desperate to feel you through your clothes, carelessly unwrapping you from every piece of clothing he could. He left you in your underwear, having thrown off your dress and holding onto your hands so you could haphazardly kick off your shoes. Chan's clothes joined soon after, with his own hands throwing off all but his boxers.

Before he could claim your lips in a kiss again, you grabbed him by the hand, leading him to a nearby couch in order to sit him down. Sitting on his lap, you kissed him again and again, thoroughly enjoying how liberal his hands were in the way he touched you.

Finally throwing off your bra, you felt up your tits a bit as Chan watched you with a pained look in his face, mouth open and eyes glued to your breasts. His lips attached to your tits immediately after, going crazy in the way he suckled and bit at them.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," he mumbled against your tit, "Fuck, dreamt about you every night ... This pretty body and all your pretty noises. Can't believe I get to have you now," he kissed his way back up to your neck, hands never halting in their caressing of your body.

He pulled away to look into your eyes – though his eyes kept dropping to your lips, "You're embarrassed about your dream?", he chuckled, "Want me to tell you some of mine? Hmm?", he began to manhandle you, positioning you so that you could lay horizontally on the couch and he could lay above you, "So fucking nasty, baby, it'd make you blush."

"Channie ..."

"Gonna do so many nasty things to you. Want me to whine for your pussy? Oh, baby ... Gonna beg for pussy every day, shit," his hand went down to rub your wet cunt through your panties, "'sso wet," he groaned, "Gonna lick it all up again and again. Need to suffocate between these thighs," he made his way down your body as he said this, eventually coming face to face with your cunt.

Leaving a kiss on your weeping cunt, he licked through your panties, causing you to arch your back for him and throw your head back. The warmth of his tongue could've been enough to claim your orgasm, but somehow you persisted.

Chan became desperate for you quickly after that, removing your panties and lifting your thighs so that he could finally bury himself between your legs the way you'd been wanting him to for so long.

"Channie, fuck!," you cried, pulling at his hair while pushing his head further against you.

"Use me. God, just ... Grind that cunt against me ..."

And so you did. You took advantage of your pretty best friend's desperation for you and employed your own desperation for him. To any outsider, you must've looked like the image of depravity as you used Chan for your pleasure, but Chan was just as depraved. You could feel the couch shake from under you, indicating the way in which Chan ground against it as you claimed your orgasm on his tongue.

Riding your high was an incomparable experience. No one had ever made you feel as much pleasure as Chan had. Not even dream-Chan lived up to reality.

You could've sworn you lost consciousness for a few moments after your high, feeling completely weightless when it had finally died down. Your ability to think only came back by the time Chan had climbed back up your body and kissed at your chest once more, smiling at you when he finally reached your lips.

Instead of sharing a sweet moment with him, you claimed his lips once more and licked every last bit of your essence from his mouth. He groaned and allowed his tongue to mingle with yours in such a nasty manner that it made you blush when you remembered that Chan was nothing more than your best friend less than an hour ago.

"Let me fuck you," Chan pleaded when he finally managed to pull away from your greedy lips.

"How do you want me?", you asked as your lips tried to reclaim his yet again. Fuck, he was such a good kisser.

"Fuck. I get to choose?"

You couldn't help but be endeared by him. Also incredibly turned on by how much he clearly wanted you.

Without another word, he repositioned you so you'd be on your hands and knees, running his hand down your back to press the arch of your back a little deeper. He groaned at the sight of you arching your back as deliciously as you could, wiggling your ass as you looked back at him with a cheeky smile, lip trapped between your teeth.

"I've been waiting for this for years, shit. I'm not gonna last."

That made you giggle, continuing to press yourself up against him to get him to break.

"Just fuck me, Channie. Promise it's gonna feel so good."

"Yeah, baby. Gonna fuck you so good."

His tip then finally made contact with your cunt, being dragged up and down your folds as you whined at the feeling. He finally began to penetrate you after becoming too desperate himself.

"You're so fucking warm ..." he breathed out.

Sighing out at the fullness, you pushed back against him, encouraging him to begin fucking into you. Chan took no time in following your lead, adopting a desperate pace almost immediately.

The sounds of skin slapping took over the room, only accompanied by sighs and moans of pleasure from you or Chan. The occasional whiny praise also left his lips every so often. The needy way in which he fucked you had you reeling. Chan had the ability to make you feel extremely desired and like getting to fuck you was the greatest privilege known to man. The way his hands caressed you and his pleas for you to 'please push it back on him' made the experience all the more dreamy to you.

Dream-Chan truly stood no chance to the real one.

"Princess, gonna- fuck, gonna fucking cum. W-where can I?", he grunted from behind, his thrusts somehow becoming even more animalistic.

There was no moment of hesitation in your voice – though shaky from the way in which Chan rutted against you – when you gave him the green light to cum inside you. His groan upon your confirmation only made your back arch even more. Chan's want for you continued to make you feel lightheaded.

Halfway through his own orgasm, Chan triggered your own through the way his hand dipped under you and toyed with your clit. After only one day with you, your best friend already knew how to get you there immediately. He talked you through your orgasm, giving you endless praise about how beautiful you were, how he didn't deserve such a pretty bestie to fuck so good, how he'd beg for you day after day if necessary.

Upon your highs wearing down, Chan managed to reposition you so you could lay next to him. (though almost entirely on top of him) He held you close to him, soft in the way he ran his fingers up and down the length of your arm, enjoying the goosebumps forming. His hand would eventually go over to your face and caress your cheek while his nose rubbed against your own. Treating you like a doll, Chan made you swoon yet again.

"I love you."

Then the world stopped.

"I'm sorry I didn't say it before. It wasn't just a crush. I'm in love with you. And ... and I want you to be mine. Will you be my girlfriend?"

It was all whispered against you, with a soft smile accompanying the whispered words.

"I love you too," the words left your mouth so naturally you were sure they'd been stuck there forever, "Yes, Channie. I'll be your girlfriend," you couldn't help but smile as you said those words.

"Fuck, thank God," he breathed out, hugging you to him, "I never would've gotten over you if you said no. The guys never would've heard the end of it."

He made you laugh, as per usual.

You knew things would only change for the better, so you weren't scared about the change in dynamic that was to come from letting Chan out of the friendzone. All you felt was excitement to finally be with him without guilt.

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content: established relationship, chan's pov, banter, smut, oral (m receiving), mentions of lingerie, teasing, dry humping, riding, etc.

wc: 695 (teaser); 1773 (full drabble)

sneak peak:

Chan had waited for this moment for years. The moment he finally had you all to himself and the moment that would start the rest of his life with you.

Sleeping with you last night had somehow surpassed his craziest of dreams – and he had dreamt about it a lot.

The feeling of your soft skin under his fingertips, the way you moaned against his mouth as his tongue suckled on yours, the sight of your bare body, the feeling of your hands caressing every inch of his body, the taste of your wet cunt ... fuck. He could go on forever reminiscing about you and how obsessed with your touch he had already become.

It had only been a bit over a day since he had woken up next to you on that couch. Granted, the sleep had been slightly uncomfortable, but he had gotten to feel your warm skin against his own as he slept, so it had been worth it.

After some sheepish reaffirmation of your feelings for one another, you had redressed and left the shared house, pinkies intertwined as you went home. Sadly, you had busy days, so you weren't able to see one another at all throughout the following 24 hours. But! You had agreed to see each other tonight for a quiet dinner at Chan's apartment – courtesy of Mingyu's cooking.

Opening the door to his apartment, Chan's chin practically hit the floor when he spotted you in that dress.

Chan had seen you in all types of getups throughout all his years of knowing you. He had obviously seen you in the prettiest of dresses, the tightest and most sinfully tailored pieces. But nothing compared to the pretty little thing you were currently donning.

It was a black slip dress. It wasn't too tight nor too loose. The fabric barely covered his favorite parts of your body, making him reminisce on how they looked without anything covering them at all. You were also shamelessly donning the few hickeys he had left on you just one day ago. Chan was convinced you'd been sent on this Earth to ruin him, to make him a shell of himself and rid him of any ability to act as a functional human being.

The dinner went quite well. You and Chan were far too used to each other for it to go anything but perfect. Your usual banter was present, though Chan now had the privilege of running his hand up and down any sliver of skin he could reach as you teased him about one thing or another. He enjoyed the innocent touches he could give you without any sense of guilt you might be taken by some loser who didn't deserve you. The right to touch you was now entirely reserved by him, just as it should've always been.

It was all perfectly innocent until it wasn't.

Eventually moving to the couch to entertain yourselves with some streaming service, you cuddled against each other. This was an ordinary occurrence between you even as friends. Sure, the cuddling was now a little extra close – with you practically sitting on his lap – but it wasn't anything too intimate so far.

It seemed like this wasn't enough for you, though. It didn't take you too long to move onto his lap, now sitting on top of him while his arms wrapped around your middle. Chan chose to just follow along with whatever position you wanted to cuddle in, just happy to be there at all. Your hands would play with his own, clearly not attentive to the movie at all.

Innocently at first, you rubbed your own hands up and down his arms. This later came to you leading his hands to rub up and down the expanse of your thighs, coming up high enough to lift up most of your skirt. This then evolved into you dipping one of his hands to rub against your panties.

Chan's eyes rolled back when he felt the warmth of your cunt under his hand, already moist and ready for him. You kept pressing his hand against you, so Chan took the hint to play with you.

...

find the 18+ continuation on kofi or patreon!

if you have trouble finding it on there, just let me know!!<3

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dark-fics-4-you · 3 months

Note

Heyyy saw ur request were open what about dark!rafe catches you talking shit about him to your friends over text???

How a Girlfriend is Supposed to Act

Warnings: noncon, forced sex, domestic violence, choking, slapping, oral (m!recieving), toxic relationship, gaslighting

Despite being with Rafe for almost a year, you had learned all of the quirks that he had when it came to his possessiveness very early on.

The first time you caught him reading your texts, you were surprised by just how nonchalant he was about the entire situation.

He was sitting on your bed after you returned from grabbing the two of you a snack, scrolling through your phone, not even bothering to look up at you until you asked him what he was doing.

“You’re my girlfriend, Y/N.” He said it slowly, like he was reminding you of something you yourself couldn’t possibly forgot. The accusing fire in his gaze made you squirm. “Of course I have the right to look through your phone.”

At first you were too surprised to react. You had never really had a reason to look through Rafe’s phone, but you imagined he wouldn’t be too happy if you did.

“Why the fuck do you look so nervous, huh?” He was starting to sound annoyed, and his eyes were flicking between meeting yours and scanning your phone. “Got something you’re trying to hide from me?”

“What? No, Rafe! I just didn’t expect to find you going through my phone, that’s all.” You explained breathlessly. You didn’t know why he was accusing you of trying to keep secrets from him.

Unfortunately, the last thing that you should have done in that moment was try to snatch your phone away from Rafe.

His hand shot out, tightly gripping your wrist as he dug his fingers into the bone beneath your skin. You cried out in pain and watched as your phone fell onto the bed, before bouncing to the floor.

Your boyfriend was furious now, easily pulling you onto the bed by your wrist and onto your back at a painful angle before straddling you. You struggled beneath him, trying hopelessly to stop him from putting his hands on you

When Rafe slapped you across the face the first time, your ears rang and you swore that your vision went white for a moment.

Every sound became muffled but you could hear Rafe angrily chastising you from above, “dumb bitch. I mean, I pay for your fucking phone, so yeah, you’re not gonna talk back to me when I go through it.”

That was months ago, and you later learned that that wasn’t even the first time that Rafe had gone through your phone.

You weren’t cheating on Rafe, that much was 100% true. The problem was that Rafe’s definition of cheating included behaviors that you knew were not cheating.

Texting your classmate a question about homework turned into a two hour long fight that culminated in Rafe giving you a black eye.

After Rafe saw you had and Topper had sent each other a couple funny posts in instagram dm’s, he choked you so hard you passed out, leaving you to cover up the extensive bruising on your neck around your friends and family to avoid explaining what had happened.

Ever since then you had learned to be careful about who you texted, and if you ever texted anyone Rafe wouldn’t approve or said something that he wouldn’t like, you made sure to delete the conversations.

You were always so diligent in covering your tracks.

Except for the one time you really needed to.

After another argument with Rafe had become physical, once you finally got some space away from him you had texted a friend, vaguely venting your frustrations with him, without revealing too many details to make her suspicious that Rafe was hurting you.

As you shakily typed out the texts you couldn’t help but think back on the fight you had had. After catching a guy staring at you in the club, the moment you returned home, Rafe had been quick to grab you by the throat, pushing you up against the wall before hurling insults at you.

“I mean you dress like such a fucking slut, no wonder I have to chase these guys off. I bet you wanted his attention, didn’t you?” His eyes narrowed as he looked down at you with disgust.

You were so shocked by his outburst you had barely registered the fingers crushed your throat, and you finally gasped for air against his strong hand. “N-no, Rafe!”

His grip tightened as he regarded your fearful eyes, “nah, you always think you can fool me sweetheart but you never can.” His chuckled, but there was no hint of humor in his eyes, “I saw you looking at him when we first walked in.”

You shook your head against him, tears gathering in your eyes as you begged with him, “I wasn’t baby-”

“Shut the fuck up, Y/N.” He spat at you, squeezing so hard you were sure you would have deep purple bruises on your neck tomorrow.

“I never should have let you outta the house wearing that dress. You were looking for trouble walking around like that.” Rafe growled, his eyes were ice cold. You knew that he was itching for a fight, and you didn’t want to give him what he wanted.

“I’m sorry,” you struggled to force the words out with such little breath and Rafe finally gave you a respite when he loosened his grip on your throat. “You okayed it before we went out, I thought it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I knew every guy at that bar would be trying to fuck you with their eyes, but I didn’t think you’d be doing the same to them!” The more he spoke, the more pissed off he seemed to be making himself. You knew that he was just convincing himself that his actions were justified.

When he tossed you to the floor, you yelped in pain when your shoulder hit the hard wood. You barely had time to reach for your tender neck before Rafe grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced you to look up at him.

“I mean, do you even love me anymore, Y/N?” His voice sounded hurt, and even though this wasn’t the first time he had used this card on you in the middle of putting his hands on you, you couldn’t deny the tug on your heartstrings you had when you looked into your boyfriend’s eyes.

“Of course I do, Rafe!” You insisted, knowing that your enthusiasm was expected and there would be consequences if you didn’t play along.

You were terrified of your boyfriend, and after being with him for so long, you were aware of the ways to deescalate a tense situation. In moments like these you would have said anything to protect yourself.

“Nah, you don’t mean that. You haven’t been yourself lately baby. Always too busy with work to spend time with me and now you’re talking back to me?” He shook his head, tsk-ing as he glared at you disgustedly. “Not to mention, you haven’t been fulfilling all of your duties as my girlfriend.”

You stared at him, puzzled and not understanding his meaning, “what are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?” He repeated back to you in a mocking tone, like he couldn’t believe how dumb you were to not get it. “I mean, it’s been, what, five days since you last let me have sex with you? I have needs, Y/N. And when you can’t just lay on your back and spread your legs for me, you’re being a bad girlfriend.”

His words stung, and you couldn’t tell if the tears in your eyes were because of the large hand tangled into your hair, or because your boyfriend was acting like you owed him sex, like you were in the wrong right now.

“Now you’re gonna make it up to me, because you are really pissing me off right now, and I don’t want to hear any fucking complaints, do you understand?”

Your body was screaming in resistance, but you numbly realized that you were nodding your head. Rafe’s hand left your hair, finding your chin and gripping your jaw hard.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” the sick grin that was spread across his lips told you exactly how much Rafe was getting off on your humiliation right now and you wanted to be sick.

“I understand.” You forced the words past your gritted teeth, swallowing down the bile that threatened to come up.

Rafe unbuttoned his pants before sliding the zipper down and pushing them down his legs before pulling off his boxers as well.

His dick was hard, a bead of precum already pearled at the tip of his intimidating length.

You swallowed nervously, already afraid of how rough your boyfriend was going to be. You felt like you weren’t ready at all, but the sharp pain the bloomed on your cheek after Rafe slapped you told you that you must have hesitated for too long.

“Quit your damn procrastinating, Y/N,” he hissed, tangling his fingers into your hair again and pulling you to his dick, forcing the tip past your plump lips.

You didn’t have any time to be surprised, gagging and choking on him as he pushed himself deeper towards your throat. He groaned at the feeling of your throat squeezing his cock, urging himself further into the back of your mouth.

Rafe was in heaven, basking in the sight of your teary eyes and the ruined mascara that now trailed down your cheeks. You had looked so pretty at the club tonight, but now you were a crying mess. The noises of your gagging and the steady sound of Rafe’s cock hitting the back of your throat filled the space. Nothing had ever made Rafe hornier than seeing your beautiful, tear filled eyes begging and pleading with his.

He reached out to your cheek, wiping up a bit of saliva that had been forced past your lips. Your glassy eyes were unfocused now that you had given up any thoughts of resistance, too cock drunk to try protesting against the stronger man.

You were doing all you could not to gag on him and choke, knowing full well that that would only spur him on. Every time you pushed at his thigh to get him to ease up, he would slap your hand away with an annoyed grunt.

His pace was relentless now, one hand was gripping your hair and the other was at your throat, holding you still so he could push himself deeper.

“That’s right baby, fuck,” he bit back his groans, ignoring your gagging and desperate eyes when he forced himself too far down your throat, literally choking you with his cock. “Oh fuck- god Y/N, you’re better than any sex doll, you know why?”

He knew you couldn’t answer him, especially since he had started thrusting faster past your messy lips, but he still paused to drink in the sight before him.

“Because they can’t fight back,” Rafe sneered, picking up his pace again, reaching a punishing fervor.

The blond’s dick was slamming into the back of your throat while the large hand at your throat squeezed in warning anytime you so much tried to pull back.

He sped up on final time, chasing his high by forcing you to take all of his cock. Rafe held you in place and watched you choke on him for a couple seconds before letting out a low groan and spilling his salty seed down your throat, giving you no choice but to swallow every drop of it.

When he pulled his dick out of your mouth, you took a gasping breath, but weren’t allowed much air before Rafe slapped you across the face hard.

“From now on, I expect this and more from you every night we’re together. Because that’s how my girlfriend is supposed to act. And if you think about giving me any lip about that, then I’m gonna make you wish you had just kept your pretty mouth shut, got it?”

That rest of the night was no better than the beginning, after Rafe had helped you clean up, he basically immediately led you to your bed.

He chuckled in satisfaction when you didn’t fight back against his wandering hands, and as held tight to your wrists, plunging his cock into your slick cunt, he didn’t say anything about the tears rolling down your cheeks.

The next morning you had woken up sore, your entire body ached, and you weren’t surprised when you looked in the mirror and saw the red and purple blooming around your throat.

Rafe was still asleep, his deep snores letting you know that he wouldn’t be waking up soon.

You quietly snuck into the bathroom, grabbing your phone off of the bedside table on the way. Once you had shut and locked the door behind you, you exhaled deeply, unlocking your phone to check for messages.

Your friend had texted you asking how your night had gone, and feeling perhaps a little too honest, you told her that the two of you had had an “argument.”

‘he thought i was checking out a guy at the bar and said some really rude things to me last night.’ You laughed to yourself as you stared at your own words through blurry eyes. It was both funny and sad to you how used to covering for Rafe you now were.

The bathroom felt more cramped when you remembered that Rafe was just on the other side of the door, despite being asleep.

A new notification popped up soundlessly and you read your friend’s text. She was joking about gathering all of your mutual friends to gang up on Rafe.

If only she knew the extent of what Rafe had done to you. You were sure she wouldn’t be joking then. In spite of that, you were angry with Rafe and wanted to blow off a little steam with your friend.

Which is why you felt emboldened to continue texting her.

‘he’s such an asshole sometimes. i’ve been thinking about breaking it off with him soon.’

You huffed, putting your phone down before finishing up in the bathroom and opening the door.

To your surprise, Rafe was standing on the other side, waiting for you to get out before he brushed past you without a word.

You noticed he was taking longer than he usually did to just pee, and when he finally stepped out of the bathroom, you realized with a horrible chill why he had been in there for so long.

Clutched in his hand was your cellphone, and you could see that it was open to the messages you had just sent.

“‘He’s such an asshole, I’ve been thinking about breaking it off??’” His voice was cold and you cringed hearing him speak your words. There was no denying he had read your texts.

You shivered, frozen in place as he stared you down, his blue eyes boring so deep into you that you swore you could feel them burning straight through you.

Your mouth was so dry, you had never felt so afraid of your boyfriend before. Even after everything he had put you through, you had never said anything about breaking up with him to his face. “Rafe, I-”

If your instincts hadn’t kicked in, you would have taken the blow right to your nose, however you had been lucky enough to dodge the phone fast enough that it only nicked your forehead before smashing into pieces against the wall behind you.

Unfortunately, while you had been focused on dodging your phone, the taller man had closed the gap between you, easily pushing you up against the wall by your throat and choking you with both hands. Rafe’s fingers pressed down against the bruises that they had left there the previous night.

You wanted to scream, but Rafe had knocked the wind out of you and no matter how hard you shoved him, he wasn’t giving up.

“You’re mine,” he hissed as you struggled against him. “Maybe I’ve been hitting you too much recently, because I don’t remember you being this stupid when we first started dating.”

Before you could comprehend what was happening, Rafe had spun you around and pushed you face first into the bed. One of his hands was forcing your head against the mattress, while the other pawed at your silk pajama shorts, opting to rip away the fabric covering you before freeing his hard cock from his boxers.

“You think I’m an asshole?” He growled, the tip of his cock brushed against your slick cunt and you shuddered at the feel of him beginning to force himself inside of you.

“I’ll show you how much of an asshole I can be.”

#rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron noncon #dark rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fanfic #how a girlfriend is supposed to act #rafe cameron x reader

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ohmygraves · 3 months

Text

ghost, but as your fake boyfriend.

you were panicking.

your mother had called earlier, asking if you could come home for a few days. apparently, your brother had returned from overseas, and she called to let you know that every single member of your family would be there. a small family reunion, if you will. of course, she expected you to show up too, perhaps bring that boyfriend of yours you always told them about.

which was a problem because one, you don't have a boyfriend, and two, you have lied to your family for years and now it's come to bite you in the ass.

you didn't even know why you did it in the first place. perhaps the constant pestering and questions about "when will you get married?" is starting to bother you, especially when it came from so many of your relatives, wondering if you'd settle down already instead of being out there in danger all the time. perhaps you just want them to leave you alone and stop worrying about your wellbeing. after all, you're an adult, and it's just annoying to hear the same thing over and over again every single time when you went home for christmas.

so, you created this narrative of a "boyfriend", who you'd talk about when your parents called. a boyfriend who is tall, handsome, and loves you for who you are. a boyfriend who you'd live with and maybe plan on marrying too in the future. a boyfriend that is so much of a textbook nice guy that your family would approve of even if it sounds too good to be true.

you're not sure who to ask. soap would be your best bet, but he would be away on a mission at that date. which was unfortunate, he seemed really excited to play fake boyfriend with you. gaz just ran out of leave for this month, so he's out too. price is too old, your family would question it.

that leaves just one person...

"lt, can you do me a favor? please, just this once."

ghost turned towards you, leaning back and letting you explain. you told him that you need him to be your fake boyfriend for a family event.

unsurprisingly, he was very quick to stand up and leave you alone, not wanting to deal with your bullshit. still, you catch up to him, trying to convince him with whatever it is you could offer.

after a few rounds of convincing, tailing him for three days and nights, constantly pestering him, and some offers of the finest whiskey and whatever he wanted, ghost finally relented. it didn't take long for the two of you to fly back to your hometown two days before the family reunion, the two of you taking a week of leave from the base with very little trouble. you assumed that ghost had something to do with it.

before you arrived, you had to give him a rundown on what to expect, what questions will be asked and how to answer them for it to make sense in the web of lies you've created. he was definitely not thrilled, telling you that he got this... whatever "this" was supposed to be. you were nervous, hoping that things will actually go well.

surprisingly, ghost did keep true to his words. walking into your childhood home, he held your waist, keeping you close to him, even would act nicer to your nosy relatives (which, of course, was not surprising when you feel his grip got tighter around you).

dinner was quite cozy, everyone seemed to enjoy his presence and kept asking you if you two will end up married. ghost said something vague that made you blush, and while it embarrassed you, it got everyone to stop talking about it.

when the crowd dissolved, you took ghost to go see your childhood bedroom, closing the door behind him as you thanked him for doing you a good favor, and that you won't forget all about this. you didn't even realize that he stepped closer to you, too absorbed in gushing how successful the night has been, pulling you close and planting a kiss on your lips. it shut you up.

"... did you just kissed me?"

"mmhm. i reckon i deserve at least that, huh love?"

"i suppose you do..."

he kissed you once more. well, at least you won't have to lie about your fake boyfriend anymore.

#this has been in the drafts for so long #i lost track of where this is supposed to go #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty headcanon #call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod headcanon #simon ghost riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #fake boyfriend

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call-sign-shark · 4 months

Text

Of Bending and Breaking || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Always being the one who cares for others comes with a price: you break down, but the most unexpected person is here for you: Tommy, the man you were forced to marry.

Words: 2,3k

TW: Hurt/Comfort, very tiny mention of past sexual assault, no proofreading 'cause it comes from clearing my drafts.

Notes: Aunt Isabella's is a tribute to my own aunt Isabelle who, unfortunately, died because of cancer a few years ago.

It all started with Polly shaking Tommy like a tree, her thin hands firmly grabbing his nephew’s broad shoulders: “You can’t keep sabotaging yourself like this, Tom.” These were the words that left her quivering lips as she dragged his staggering frame to the bathroom and pushed his face into the bathtub right under the tap. When the freezing water splashed all over his neck, Tommy opened his blank eyes wide and inhaled sharply, as if he had suddenly come back to life. Since Grace’s awful death, the gangster was the shadow of his former self. When he wasn’t waging a senseless war with Father Hughes and the Italian, or when he wasn’t keeping his buzzing mind busy with work, Tommy usually numbed himself with a deadly combination of whisky and opium until his deep-seated pain became bearable. It was the night he almost overdosed that Polly decided to take charge of his nephew and found him a new wife, in the hope of soothing his nephew’s mind and finding a mother figure for poor little Charlie. The idea had obviously sent Tommy in a fit of anger but Polly Gray couldn’t care less.

Regarding your own situation, it was not the opium nor the loss of a dear lover that had led you to Birmingham’s most dangerous man but rather the bump in your belly. Aunt Isabella had understood what you were suffering from the moment you had stormed out of the vardo to throw up your breakfast in the nearest bush. The tall and lean woman, whose light brown and curly mane danced in the cold autumn wind, had looked at you right in the eyes and raised one of her thin eyebrows. If there was something pleasant with her, it was that words weren’t necessary.

Yet, later she encountered Polly, with whom she had been a great friend since childhood, and explained that a powerful American man had forced his seeds in you during his stay in England. Not willing to go through the traumatic experience of aborting, Isabella only saw one solution to your problem: you needed a husband who could protect you and your future baby from the evil man with his scarred lip. A wedding would be your salvation. At the realization of what Aunt Isabella had planned for you, you tried to run away from the camp in the middle of the night but she knew you too well and soon caught you, her sly hand firmly grabbing your wrist: “Y/N! It’s for your sake! He’s rich, he needs a wife and he is feared! You’ll be safe with him, don’t you understand?” She explained, cupping your face with her long fingers adorned with claws painted in red and far too many rings. “I don’t need a man to protect me! I don’t need anyone. He’s older and he’s a criminal! Who’s going to protect me from him eh? Have you think ‘bout that?” You cried, the soft light of the sunrise turning your tears into liquid gold.

But still, you wedded him and what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life turned out to be a dull event during which you dissociated the whole time. The only memories you had in mind were two piercing and frightening turquoise eyes staring right at your soul and soft whiskey-tasting lips stealing a quick peck from your cherry lips. A kiss devoid of any form of affection. And then, the groom left.

From what Aunt Isabella told you, your husband had spent most of the celebrations with his brothers, drinking and taking bets outside of Arrow House. Months had passed and still, you felt estranged to this place and its staff. The only moments your heart lightened were when Aunt Isabella visited you, or when Charlie spent time with you, otherwise you remained emotionally closed, trapped in your own mind. Overall you could not complain: You had a house far too big for you with plenty of workers willing to exhaust every one of your wishes. Charlie was a sweet boy, who loved you with all his heart even if you were well aware that you’ll never replace his mother. As for the Shelby clan, they were cordial with you without being really friendly either. And there was Tommy…

Cold and distant Tommy, who you only saw late at night when he discretely slipped under the bedsheet and turned his back to you without uttering a single word. Busy Tommy, whose replies remained concise and spoken with a quiet husky voice each time you asked him something — at least he talked to you a little bit. Trapped in a loveless marriage, that was what you were: Tommy was more a stranger, a mere gust of wind in your life, than the love of your life.

Still, the gangster stayed true to his words and he provided for everything, never refusing to give you money when you asked, and protecting you from the man who had taken your innocence. He even gifted you a wonderful stallion because he knew how much you missed riding. In exchange for his protection and riches, all you had to do was take care of Charlie and do your best to be there for your husband when his darkness threatened to swallow him whole.

You found out about the nightmares shortly after your wedding and quickly decided to do something about it. When he woke up screaming and drenched in sweat after tasting the tunnels’ dirt and Grace’s crimson blood in his troubled sleep, you always cradle him, your fingers losing themselves in his wet dark hair to pet his head gently. At first, you feared his reaction, expecting the infamous Tommy Shelby to push you and not-so-kindly ask you to keep your distance but, to your greatest surprise, he never did. Instead, he would bury his face in your cleavage, panting and trembling, and let you reassure him. Just like he let you bring dinner to him each time he drowned himself in paperwork and forgot to eat. He never commented on your cooking skills though, even if he always handed back empty plates.

The blood on his skin? You cleaned it.

The wounds of his flesh? You never failed to patched them up.

The hole in his heart? You tried to seal it off with caresses, soft kisses, and shoulder massages. Maybe one day he would slowly turn his iciness into affection. Little did you know that he needed it. And by it he needed you. Just like the whole family. How many times did you walk the streets of Birmingham at night, seeking for Arthur and then bringing him home to take care of a wasted and high him? Far too many to keep track. Similarly, you had spent countless evenings helping Ada when she felt overwhelmed, either nursing Karl or cleaning her house when, just like her brother, she overworked herself. And finally, Polly could never thank you enough for everything you did to soothe her mind after the gallows, still haunted by the bite of the hanging rope on her throat.

“Thanks Poppy.” Arthur muttered, the gravel in his voice coated with shame now that you were down clearing and disinfecting his split knuckles. The oldest brother had started to affectionately call you so for the sole reason that, according to him, you must probably grow better when blood was considering how much you had seen when patching the Shelby siblings. “Sorry for errr… For the mess.” He went on, his steel blue eyes fleeing yours.

“That’s okay.” You replied in Romani, “You, sweet idiot.” Endeared by how surprisingly soft Arthur’s harsh complexions could turn, you couldn’t help but gently put your hand on one of his cheeks. And during this tender display of affection, Arthur was convinced he had caught sight of a smile — a scarce event barely happening on your beautiful but resigned face. Comforted by the warmth of your palm, he leaned into your touch and looked at you through dark lashes, his lids half-closed.

“Tommy’s one lucky bastard to have ya for himself, eh."

"Let's both flee together then." You teased, the familiar tone of Romani language rendered even more melodious by your siren-like voice.

"Don't tempt me, little one." Arthur replied, softer than intended and probably only half-joking.

The oldest Shelby brother had barely closed the door when your smile disappeared and tears flooded your eyes. Admittedly, spending months of repressing your own anguish didn’t do any good to you despite thinking that focusing on others would have helped. Quite the contrary, all those negative emotions you had left on the back burner turned into a silent and deadly parasite that was eating you up. Dragging your tired frame to the cold and empty marital bedroom, you curled up in a ball in a corner of the room, your bruised knees pressed against your chest, “Positive. You gotta stay positive and push forwards y’see Y/N? Do the right things for the family…” You whispered to yourself as your breath started to quicken for the ball of sorrow in your throat was growing more and more. Yes, you had to smile and say that all was just fine because you knew you were lucky to be here and that you hadn’t any real reason to complain now according to the rest of the world. And yet, the truth was you were tired. So tired and overwhelmed by everything around you. With your wild soul trapped here in the mighty walls of Arrow House, you could not help but drown in an excruciating feeling of worthlessness.

You were lost in a world too difficult for you to understand. Lost and unprepared for a life that asked for too much. When you were living in the vardo with Aunt Isabella life seemed so much easier despite the lack of money and, sometimes, food. Prior to your wedding, she used to tell you that everything would become clear once you’d be a wife and a mother. You’d be an adult adult, you see? But she lied. They all lied. Even with a husband and kids, you still felt like a scared and confused child, who wanted to hide under the blanket of her warm bed and never face the world ever again. These concerns of yours? You never shared because you wanted the Shelby to keep seeing you as a reassuring presence— moreover, God knew how much their broken hearts needed your silent care.

Bringing your trembling fingers to your mouth, you muffled a first sob, convinced it would be enough to keep you from crying. What you didn’t expect was to burst into tears, uncontrollably weeping. After all this time forcing yourself to be strong, your mind had enough. As your heart-wrenching cries echoed in the room they muffled Tommy’s footsteps that were coming closer and closer. When the door flung open, you did not even move, lost in a spiral of pain and psychological exhaustion.

“Y/N?!” Tommy called you, his usual coldness swept away by a surge of panic. He closed the distance between you and him with hastened steps, and put one of his knees on the floor to be at your level, “What’s wrong, ay?” His husky voice asked, worries thickening his Brummie accent even more. You hiccuped and raised your flooded eyes towards him, parting your lips to answer. Yet, as soon as your gaze met his turquoise iris you started weeping again, louder this time. Words were at a loss by dint of never having the chance to express what you felt throughout your life. “Bloody Hell, Y/N! Speak!” Tommy hissed, his heart now drumming in his chest at the sight of his young and always-so-strong wife crumbling in bits in front of him. Never in his life, he had felt so powerless, not even in the tunnels… And, God, he hated it.

“N-nothing. I don’t… I don’t even know it’s just that— I’m so fucking tired, and lost, and confused, and afraid!” You spoke with a very fast pace, spitting years and years of repressed emotions flowing from you all the while feeling deeply ashamed of your mental breakdown. When you were done venting, you simply turned your head and waved off the topic, tears still rolling down your reddened cheeks “Anyway! You’ve got — more important things to do.”

“Stop it, Y/N,” He scolded, low voice rumbling in his chest. His strong and calloused hands, damaged by the war and hard work, cupped your face with a softness you didn’t know he possessed. For the first time in your life, his grip felt utterly reassuring as if you knew these scarred palms were not going to let you fall apart. Never. “You’re what’s important right now.” With that being said, Tommy leaned his forehead against yours and his enchanting eyes soon met yours to force you to focus on nothing else but the vast blue oceans which composed them. “I want you to calm down.”

“I can’t, I can’t—“ You tried to speak but you couldn’t, struggling to breathe under the crushing weight of your panic attack. Your mouth gaped, looking for the oxygen it couldn’t find.

“Oi!” Tommy said louder. So loud that his voice managed to overcome the cacophony of your beating heart and the buzzing sound of your anxiety that filled your head, “I want you to breathe with me, Y/N. Alright? You can do that for me, ay?” He asked, his eyebrows slightly frowned and charming crowfeet appearing at the corner of his eyes — how odd it was to see Tommy’s face veiled with something else than unsettling placidity. Caught off guard by the sudden realization of how close he was, you quieted down a little bit and soon followed the pattern of his breathing.

One long inhale through the nose, one longer exhale through the mouth, and a short pose.

Do it again.

Your shaky hands slowly grabbed his wrists in a desperate attempt to anchor you to reality. This, as well as the focus you had on his mesmerizing complexions.

His long dark lashes — you inhaled slowly.

His cat-like turquoise iris — you exhaled.

His salient cheekbones — You stopped breathing for a very short while.

The myriad of freckles — “Breathe with me, Y/N.”

The soft, hoarse lilt guided you through the dark and thick fog of your own brain, just like a lighthouse. Coming back to clearer waters, your body finally relaxed and fell almost limp in his arms. And once again he caught you, keeping you all safe against his chest. Tommy’s voice, low and steady, resonated one last time in the bedroom with a reassuring warmth as he uttered the simple yet powerful phrase, "I'm here." Each word carefully enunciated, carrying a quiet strength that soothed and reassured, like a comforting anchor in a stormy sea.

Keep your writers motivated: Reblog and/or comment if you liked it, you filthy animal! o/ English is not my first language btw.

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @red-riding-wood

#Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby imagine #Peaky blinders imagine #Peaky blinders x reader #Peaky blinders #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby smut #Thomas Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #Cillian Murphy #peaky blinders x y/n

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exhaslo · 5 months

Note

Hiii！I love your stories!!But can you write about Miguel × hybridbunny！reader？that Miguel was a rich mafia or ceo and he bought reader from a black market or an auction.（ps：make reader sit on Miguel’s desk while he works and he ended up eating her out and fcking her hehehehehhehe）🐇🐇🐇🐇

Hehehehehehehehehehe

Warning: MINORS DNI, Smut, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, creampie

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

There were many pros and cons that came with being the CEO. Unfortunally, claiming ownership of Alchemax carried far more cons than the alternative. It did not help that Miguel took over the company from his corrupt father.

There were a lot of problems that needed to be fixed. Many were within the company itself; the associates to say the least. Miguel had to fire and clean up a lot of the corrupted associates' messes. This included having Miguel silently attend a black auction market.

Turned out, one of his former coworkers who worked in genetic splicing decided to test various animals on different people. While Miguel was so focused on Spiders that created Spiderman, his stupid coworker created hybrids and sold them on the black market.

Miguel just hoped that he could save as many people as he could. The work of tracking the others down was going to be a lot harder for him.

As Miguel sat in his VIP seat with a hood on, he watched the scum below him cheer with anticipation. None of these people cared. They just wanted new trophies. Miguel was going to buy as many hybrids were auctions and try to revert them back to regular humans.

-------

Miguel was about to lose faith. The auction was at the last bid and there had not been a single hybrid. Miguel did check and this was the only black market auction in the city. It was too dangerous for there to be anymore.

"Now! What you've all been waiting for, the most popular item during our shows! A hybrid!!" The announcer cheered.

Miguel nearly gasped, leaning forward as he watched the curtains unveil, revealing you.

"We got ourselves an adorable hybrid bunny!!! You know what they say about rabbits."

Miguel ignored the sea of laughter. You were standing on stand, shaking like a leaf. Before the announcer could even start the bid, Miguel yelled out an insane number. There were gasps in the crowd and barely anyone had the guts to go higher.

And just like that, you were bought by Miguel.

--------

You were hesitant as you followed your new 'owner' to his vehicle. The chain and collar still tight around your neck. Once you were seated in the back seat, you flinched as your tail got caught in the belt. You had to lower your ears, not wanting to hit the roof of the car.

"My apologizes, I'll get a bigger car." Miguel apologized as he entered the vehicle. You gave him a slight glare, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Just fuck me," You whispered.

"No," Miguel sighed as he took the collar off once the car started moving, "I'm trying to right the wrongs that the former CEO of my company did."

You touched your neck, watching Miguel very carefully. You had an inkling of where this conversation was going, and it started to make your heart and body shake.

"My name is Miguel. I have no intention of using you for any purpose, but to try and undo what Alchemax did to you, if you would let me."

"Hah, so am I the lucky test subject?"

"No. I want to find all those who were experimented on. You were the first one I saved." Miguel noticed your hesitation and offered you a bottled water, "I have a room set up for you. Anything you want or need, just let me know and I'll get it for you."

"I suppose freedom isn't an option?"

"You and I both know what will happen if I let you go."

"Yeah, I know. Just wanted to hear your answer." You scoffed and leaned forward slightly, "I actually worked at Alchemax as an assistant. I don't think it will be easy to undo my DNA now that its been changed."

"I can try."

---------

It had been a few months since you were bought by Miguel. It came as a surprise, but he did mean what he said. You were living comfortably and Miguel was trying his absolute best to cure you. As you guessed, nothing worked.

That didn't stop you from wanting to help Miguel with his endeavor. Miguel had even rescued a few more hybrids during your stay with him. You couldn't help but feel a little jealous that you weren't his only one now. There was a simple reason as to why you felt like that.

You fell in love with Miguel.

You wanted to believe that Miguel liked you too, but you weren't sure what was holding him back. Perhaps guilt? Needing to see him, you started to hurry to his office. Thanks to your rabbit DNA, you were a fast runner.

"Miguel? Can I come in?" You asked with a knock at his office door.

"Of course, (Y/N)." He said with a smile, opening the door for you.

Before entering, your nose caught whiff of something delicious. Sniffing around, you ended up next to Miguel. You gently gripped his jacket, sniffing against his collar.

"(Y-Y/N), are you alright? Do I smell?" Miguel cleared his throat, careful to hold you back.

"Hm? O-Oh, sorry. You just smelled really good." You laughed nervously, wondering what was coming over you.

Miguel patted your head, assuring you that it was okay. You could only feel embarrassed again. This wasn't the first time your rabbit DNA caused you to do something silly or embarrassing. You were still having a hard time getting over making a 'secret room' in the building when winter was coming.

"Want to help me with something?" Miguel offered, motioning towards his desk.

You hurried over, taking a seat on his desk as Miguel pulled out some paperwork. Since it was hard for you to sit in regular chairs due to your tail, Miguel allowed you to have a spot on his personal desk. It felt like you were a trophy for him. One you didn't mind.

"So, what are you working on?" You asked. Miguel chuckled towards you as he leaned back in his seat,

"Company business."

"So how can I help?"

"You already are," Miguel chuckled again and leaned closer towards you, "I feel better having you next to me. I'm not as stressed."

Your cheeks started to burn up at his confession. Your heart was racing and you could feel yourself getting hot. This was bad. Lately, whenever you thought about Miguel you would get into a small frenzy, needing to relieve yourself. It had to be because of your rabbit DNA.

"(Y/N), are you alright?" Miguel asked, his hand against your forehead.

"Mhm," You winced slightly, shaking from his touch alone, "M-Miguel, I should...g-go," You stuttered, finding it hard to keep yourself together.

Miguel furrowed his brows as he gave you a quick check up. He checked your eyes, noticing the glossy lustful look, then your heart rate. Miguel inhaled deeply once he finally noticed you rub your legs together and your nipples perk.

"You're in heat?" Miguel muttered lowly, glancing at your once more, "Let me take-"

"N-No, let me stay," You whined, holding onto Miguel, nibbling against his shoulder, "I-I'm only...like this because of...of you,"

"Oh," Miguel resisted a groan, gently pushing you back, "Then, I suppose I need to take responsibility for you, huh?"

Oh, how those words turned you on even more. You whimpered and moaned against his touch as Miguel took off your pants. Your panties were soaked. You swore Miguel mumbled something under his breathe, but you were so zoned out that you couldn't hear him.

Next thing you knew, Miguel had taken your panties off and laid you back against his desk. He brought your legs around his head, making sure your tail wasn't crushed under you. His head directly in front of your vagina,

"My, my (Y/N), you should have told me sooner about your little problem. I could have helped you happily,"

"B-But-Ah~ M-Miguel~" You cried out as his tongue started to swirl against your folds.

Your eyes widen and your body arched as Miguel feasted. His tongue touching you in ways that your fingers could not. His aggressive licks and swirls against your clit causing that knot inside you to grow tighter.

"Ah~ R-Right...t-there~" You moaned, crying out your orgasm.

Miguel cleaned up your mess, his tongue now threatening to enter your drenched hole. Your whimpers and moans were delicious. He wanted to hear more, but he also didn't want to take advantage of your state. Licking your insides, Miguel hummed at your sweet taste. Your legs wrapping around his head.

'Miguel~" You whined, grinding your hips slightly.

"Now, now my little bunny, if you don't behave I won't be able to control myself," He hummed, sucking against your clit.

"P-Please...f-fuck me...I need you~" You whimpered.

Miguel felt his restraints snap. He flipped you on your stomach and inserted a finger inside your cunt. Your body shock as you moaned louder than before. Miguel groaned at how your cunt sucked his fingers in.

"Does my little bunny want to be fucked that bad? Even using your tail to seduce me." Miguel huffed, using his free hand to play with your tail.

Unable to take the pleasure, you cried out another orgasm the moment Miguel touched your tail. It was so sensitive. Pressing your face against his desk, you whimpered, begging for Miguel to fuck you. You needed him. You wanted him to make you feel good.

"Alright, I'll give my bunny what she wants."

"Mhm~ Y-Yesh," You babbled.

A sharp gasp escaped your throat as you felt Miguel's dick push through your folds. His cock stretched you out and filling you so perfectly. Your body felt so hot as his tip threaten to push your cervix. You could feel his shape every time your pussy clenched around him.

"A perfect fit. My little horny bunny likes this right?" Miguel chuckled as he started to thrust his hips into you at a rough pace, "My little horny bunny going into heat because of me."

"Ah~ Mhm~ M-Miguel~"

You swore you started to lose your common sense. Miguel was pounding the life out of your cunt and the air out of your lungs. Your vision kept blurring as you just focused on the feeling of him filling you.

You gasped as Miguel lifted your hips ever so slightly. His dick hitting your g-spot with each thrust while his free hand was playing with your tail. You were losing count how many times this man was making you cum.

"Does my little bunny want me to fill her up?" Miguel leaned over you, whispering your ear,

"Mphm~"

"I can't hear you, are you too fucked out to answer?" Miguel nibbled against your ear.

You pressed your ass up, "Inside~" You begged.

Miguel complied as proceeded to fill you with his cum. He moaned lowly, giving you a few more pumps before coming to a stop. Miguel started to pull out, but heard you whine in protest. A chuckle escaped his throat as he continued to slap his hips into you.

Miguel continued to fuck you until your heat finally died out. By the end of what seemed like endless fucking, both you and Miguel were out of breathe. Miguel had you seated against his lap, resting your body against his.

You whimpered tiredly, cum pouring out of your cunt. Miguel rubbed your back, his hand nudging against your tail slightly.

"Mhm,"

"Shh, it was an accident, baby." Miguel whispered, rubbing your upper back, "You should have told me when these heats started. I can make some medicine to help you."

"You're fine," You whispered lowly. Miguel chuckled, kissing your head,

"If that's the case, then it would be easier for you to stay at my place. I have been looking for a wife,"

"Mhm...I'll gladly...take that role," You muttered tiredly.

Miguel resisted a chuckle. He waited for you to fall asleep before dressing the two of you. He had one of his assistants bring your stuff to his place as Miguel took you home. He was going to make you as comfortable as possible.

But first, you both needed a shower.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hope you enjoyed!!!!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #miguel x you

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envy-of-the-apple · 5 months

Note

Omg hi are your requests still open??? No pressure!

Unfortunately I am here as a Mahito simp and your twoshot of him has me in a chokehold. I’ve re-read that an ungodly amount of times now. That said, I can’t get the thought out of my head of Mahito noncon-ing a reader he likes who can’t see him, who is eventually able to see him in the midst of the act. Aaaaaa

sfjklsdkljsdkfjsdklfjsdlksj oh my god bestie you absolute genius hold on- alsosorrythistooksolong

(Dark!Mahito x reader)

Bed Bugs

(Yandere, dark content, implied somno, noncon, dubcon, choking-but veryvery brief)

You've been waking up sore lately.

Maybe you aren't sleeping, right? Maybe it's your bed. It might not be expensive, but you bought it solely for comfort.

The pain comes from your thighs. Aching. Numb. And if you looked closely, you swore you could see bites-

Bed bugs. That had to be it.

"I hate those fuckers," your friend groans, "I got a couple bites when I was staying in that cheap motel back in California? Lasted for a week."

"I was looking at exterminators. Everything's so expensive these days," you mutter, swirling your latte, "I don't even know how I got them. Ridiculous."

She hums. The cafe was quiet during this time, not too many customers. The two of you were tucked away in a booth, still nursing the expensive coffee. You'd already heard her rant about the inflation.

"Y'know, my friend's older brother has some kinda' homerun pest control gig. I can ask him about it. Maybe he can give you a discount? I'm pretty sure he specializes in termites but I don't think there's a real difference."

You eye her. "Yeah, no. Termites aren't in any way close to bed bugs. Besides, don't they use acid for termites? I'd still like to sleep on a bed that doesn't give me skin problems."

"See? I'm giving you solutions, and you keep rejecting them," your friend sighs, "I give up. I think you just got roommates now."

You laugh, about to respond, when you feel something dangerously close to your inner thigh. You glance down. Nothing.

"Uh, speaking of roommates, what did you say was happening with yours?" You change the subject, shifting in the booth.

"Oh yeah! Her and Dan are getting pretty serious, I think she's gonna move out soon."

"Oh really?" The touch came back. Harder. More insistent. You gasp when something grabs you by the hips, squeezing.

Your friend gives you a look. "You okay?"

You look around again. Nothing. Again.

"Um, yes! I am." You managed to respond, "Sorry, sorry, just....long day."

You clear your throat, plastering on a smile as you listen to her prattle about the drama in her life. Her voice distracts you from your thoughts swirling in your mind. Each getting more ridiculous than the last.

You swore it felt like a...hand.

Work kicked your ass today.

You'd never been so tired, practically falling asleep on the train. Crowded as always. You scrunched your nose as yet another person conveniently forgot to wear deodorant that day. Wonderful.

At least, the day was over. You could resign to being as unproductive as possible for the rest of your night.

You scroll through the forum. Almost everyone said that bed bugs- Cimex lectularius because now you've researched them so much you know their scientific name- are a losing battle. The final verdict is to get rid of your mattress immediately. Either that, or you'd need to call a specialized exterminator that cost at least twice the price of your current mattress. You didn't know which was the worst deal.

You ignore the first few touches. Trains. Crowded area. People who don't understand boundaries. It's the swipe on your ass that makes you turn around and glare at the likely culprit. A sleazy-looking man in his late-forties. He barely even reacts, just arching a brow at your look.

Typical. You inch away from him, squeezing past the other bodies until you're well past the other side. You lean against the window, blocking yourself from any other unwanted touches. Finally. Some peace.

Until it started back up again.

Something solid presses against you. Like-like a wall. Insistent, begging to be noticed. You're forced back, squished against the already small space. It wasn't your imagination. You can't delude yourself. It was real. A real hand was pressing against your pants, right above your clothed pussy.

But there was no one there.

What the fuck.

The rhythm is rough, forceful as the hand starts grinding on your clit, sending tingles up your spine. You let out a confused whine, slapping a hand over your mouth as you squirm fruitlessly against whatever the fuck this thing was. You can't stop it. It's too much. Too sudden. You want it to stop but it takes you higher and higher and higher and-

It's gone just when the train rolls to a stop. All at once, the opposing wall disappears. You stumble out of the doors, legs shaking, panting.

There's a whisper of a laugh right by your ear. You realize you're very wet.

What. The. Fuck.

You could have deluded yourself into thinking it was a hallucination. That you were so tired from work you had an orgasm untouched. It sounded ridiculous, but it was plausible, right? Stranger things have happened.

But, it just kept happening.

The touches range. Sometimes, it's just a brush against your shoulder. A poke on your cheek. Other times it's more insistent. You can still remember the sharp spank on your ass in your very much-alone apartment.

You were starting to think you might not be so alone, anymore.

The worst was when you were out in public. It always happened in public. You'd be at work, typing on your computer when you'd feel a sensation on your pussy, grinding on you until you're close to cumming. When you'd break away to hide away in the bathroom, you'd always find your panties soaked.

Sometimes, you find yourself typing something ridiculous on your computer. Are ghosts real? Can apparitions touch the living?

In one of these rabbit holes, you stumble across the word Spectrophillia. Forums of tons and tons of people sharing their own experiences that are eerily similar to yours. A woman describes her encounter with her own aspiration, saying that the thing had physical teeth, a physical tongue, a physical-

You stop reading after that. A horny ghost. Is that seriously what you were dealing with? You weren't raised religiously, so the idea wasn't very appealing.

Luckily, your doctor was a woman of science.

"The symptoms you're describing are a very common indication of stress." She types away on her computer.

You eye her, both in relief and incredulous. "Really?"

"Of course," she says, "Trust me, people have come up with crazier stories. Now." She turns back to you, clicking her pen before writing a couple things down on her clipboard.

"I'll prescribe you diazepam. Take one two hours after you've eaten before night." She instructs. "Come back if you feel anything out of the norm."

You nod, still a bit dazed by her answer. Stress, that's seriously all that this was?

But it worked, oddly enough. The first night back from the clinic, you stopped feeling those pseudo touches. Your insomnia started going away. You started getting a proper sleep cycle. For the first time in weeks, things were starting to work in your favor.

And then you wake up to the sounds of your bed moving.

Creaking. Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth.

Also, you feel...good. Really really good. Tingles shoot up your spine. A pleased sigh unconsciously escapes from your lips as the pleasure between your thighs grows. You're still incoherent, hips following the feeling. Hands are wrapped around your wrists, pressing them against the mattress. There's a puff of air against your ear. Tongue and teeth that nip against your throat.

It feels like a wet dream, you think. Blearily, you open your eyes, fully prepared to see some Hollywood actor, your crush from work, a cute stranger.

You see nothing but the ceiling. But the pressure only increases.

Immediately, all sleep is gone. You wiggle and squirm under the sudden weight. Weight that shouldn't be possible, considering there's nothing there. Your scream is blocked by a hand clamping itself over your windpipe, squeezing.

The panic is immediate. You're writhing, doing whatever you can to get air into your lungs. It's not working. You can't move your hands. You can't move your legs. You're dying you're dying you're-

"Can you see me now?"

You can see him.

You were expecting something a bit less inhuman. Apart from the stitches that litter his face, he looks familiar, in terms of shape that is. Two human eyes. A human head. Human lips that are curved into a grin. Human skin.

He looks so normal. And that makes whatever is happening even more scary.

He releases your throat, and you're sucking in mouthfuls of air, regulating your breathing. He hums in clear delight, leaning away so he straddles you. He tuts when you start crying, sobs wracking your shivering body.

"Is that all you can do?" He clicks his tongue like he's disappointed in you.

"Get off," you wheeze, wiggling away, "Get-get off."

"Why? You were enjoying it a couple of minutes ago." It? You glance down at the mess of bedsheets, where he's still inside you, lazily grinding his cock back into your wet hole.

Nothing about this makes sense. What was he doing-How can he be-How is he even real when you couldn't see him before? You can't think; your mind is still drowsy on fatigue and the medication. Fuck the medication? Is that why you can barely even struggle?

"What a-are you?" You manage to slur out, words slipping around your tongue like butter.

He laughs like you just said the world's funniest joke. It only makes your stomach drop. You've never heard a sound so evil before.

"That's kinda' rude. Your parents never taught you manners?" He drawls, "Mahito, that's my name! I know yours!" You hate the way he says your name with so much perversion. He's ruining the innocence, just like how he's ruining you.

You open your mouth, intent on screaming, but at that exact moment, his cock slams back inside you. You give out a stuttered moan instead.

"See? Told you: you like it." Mahito gloats and your mind swirls in and out of focus again. You're barely coherent, moaning and huffing underneath him. You feel disgusted at yourself. For being so okay with this. But-but you can't move. You can barely breathe.

And, you note with reluctance, he's been doing this for a while. You're practically mid-way through your build-up, so close to an orgasm that you don't want. Given by a fucking monster.

"Have you-have you been-"

"Yeah, it's been me, for a while now," he answers without much cadence, "You were so close with the ghost theory. It was kinda cute watching you get so desperate. Finding whatever you could to check out of reality."

Oh. You get it. This was all a game for him. How long has he been doing this to you? Making you stumble around, drowning in your own paranoia. How long has this thing been watching you? Touching you. Fucking you.

"You, on the other hand, are on a whole other level with your delusion." He grins, showing teeth. "Fuck, seriously, did you think you were hallucinating me fingering you? At that point, I have to admire your creativity."

You can barely focus on his words, not when his cock was digging you out. You were so close, practically on the precipice. He gives one more snap of his hips, and you're gone, pussy clenching around his dick, back arching.

The orgasm feels like it lasts for hours because he refuses to stop moving. He finally grants you mercy by spilling his cum deep inside you, forcing you to milk his cock as he lazily rolls his hips, forcing your oversensitive body to jolt.

You catch your breath when the world stops spinning. When it grows quiet, you can only hear your own panting. Another wave of tears threatens to spill.

"Aw, cheer up," Mahito purrs, "At least it wasn't bed bugs, right?"

#dark content #x reader #yandere #tw:noncon #mahito x reader #dark mahito #dark jjk #yandere jjk #tw:somno #tw: somnophilia #tw: choking

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