Luca

"where ya goin'? class just ended, sweetie."

"i can't stay," you said quickly, heeled boots clicking rapidly against the floor. you'd dress so cute that—polka-dot glasses, a pink off-the-shoulder sweater, black skirt, and knee-high boots that really captured the prime look of a college girl! and it was being wasted because this motherfucker was ogling you. "i have to go back to my dorm."

"why? need an escort?"

"no, i know the way."

"well, someone might hassle you."

"somebody already is hassling me."

"huh?" that made naoya pause—but only momentarily. once he realized what you meant, he fell back into step behind you, seeming even more determined than before. "got some bite on you. i like that. lot of women don't know when they should play it easy or hard to get—you do."

you hated when guys couldn't just take no for an answer the first time. because that meant you had to use the next excuse up your sleeve—

"my boyfriend wouldn't like that you're following me. i really can't stay and talk, and i'd like it if you would kindly leave me alone."

you said it as curtly and politely as you could, then, before the surprised naoya could reboot and say anything else, you bolted through the doors of the humanities hall and out into the spring day.

campus was lively in the afternoon. there was ultimate frisbee and football being played, groups of friends on picnic blankets talking and tanning, girls swirling their boba and iced coffee as they commuted from classes and dorms—and there was ryomen's and a handful of his frat sitting on benches in the quad, lounging after smoking.

well, choso and geto were still slightly buzzed. toji hadn't taken a pass, and it took more than a few puffs to get to ryomen.

"oh my god, i can't feel my tongue," choso muttered, rubbing his eyes. his black mullet was shaggy, messed up, and he smelled like he'd been waterboarded in geto's cologne to cover up the post-smell of weed.

geto, sitting wide and strumming his guitar absently, grinned lazily. "you're too easy, man. second-hand molly in the wind would get you fucked."

"nuh-uh."

"uh-huh."

"shut the fuck up," toji muttered, waving his hand dismissively as he rubbed his face with the other. "i still have a goddamn headache."

"not our fault you hit your head on a fucking table last night," ryomen laughed.

toji groaned, turning his head to look off into the distance. the activity on campus only worsened his pulsing skull. "swear to god, 'm concussed or something. shouldn't have on that chair when i was drunk."

"you should've came." choso tapped ryomen's knee. "where were you?"

"with his giiiirrrllll," geto teased.

"yeah, yeah." ryomen didn't care if everyone in all of fucking tokyo knew he was whipped—he was whipped for you, his sweet little girlfriend. "not my fault i wanna spend one night of the weekend watchin' pretty woman again instead of watching toji crack his head open."

like he was summoned by his name, toji started shaking ryomen's shoulder. "dude."

"one sec—" ryomen was about to say something else to choso, but toji wrenched his arm to the side. "what the fuck! what?"

"look where i'm fuckin' looking." toji pointed across the quad. "isn't that—"

"holy shit," geto said when he saw you briskly walking and crying, like you were trying to escape someone—you had been.

choso frowned when he followed everyone's line of sight. "is that your girlfriend? why is she crying?"

"i... gotta go." ryomen got up from the bench without another word and started across the quad. when he realized how fast you were walking, he thanked god that he was an athlete and started running after you. "hey!"

when you hear a male voice, you automatically moved quicker, expecting it to be naoya again—but then it repeated, and you recognized ryomen.

"baby? hey, slow the hell down!"

fuck. you didn't want him to see you crying. think, think, think—

but it was too late. ryomen had reached you, grabbed you by the shoulder, and turned you around in an instant. "shit, thought i was going to lose you. what's—"

you couldn't held but sob even harder when he began to ask you what was wrong, and ryomen gaped at your puffy, round face, smudged mascara, and the salty streams of tears down your cheeks.

"oh god, angel. what's wrong? c'mere, can i hold you?"

as expected, since he had the biggest soft spot and change of attitude when he was with you, ryomen engulfed you in the comforting embrace of his arms and let you bury your face and ruined makeup against his racing jacket.

"ok, ok," he whispered softly against your hair as he stroked it. "deep breaths. in and out, yeah? gotta calm down and take proper breaths. can i see your purse, please, hon? don'tcha keep tissues in there?"

"i—" you wheezed slightly, trying not to choke on tears or words. "i was gonna wait inside until i looked for 'em..."

"all right, well, i'm here now. let me see."

carefully, he slipped your purse off your shoulder, located the pack of tissues inside, then extracted one so that he could dab your face gently. "there we go. better, hm? keep breathing f'me, just like that, pretty girl."

when you had calmed down enough to not explosively weep again, ryomen caressed the side of your face and asked, "tell me what happened."

you crossed your arms, lips pursed in a pout. "no."

you knew what he would do if you told him that naoya zenin bothered you...

"what? fuck you mean—" he inhaled slowly, then tried again, softer. "angel, how can i help if i don't know what's wrong? or—how are you gonna feel better if you don't talk about what made you cry like that? i mean, you were going pretty fast in those heels, i imagine something happened."

after a pause, he hardened. "did someone fucking do something to you?"

"ryo—"

"nah, don't give me that soft stuff. tell me who and what."

"it wasn't anything serious!" you insisted, holding him tightly. "seriously."

"tell. me."

"promise me you won't be mad!"

"no."

"ryo!"

"was it a guy?" he brushed a few hairs out of your face, grimacing. "i'll beat the shit out of him if it was."

"it was a small incident. small, that's it."

"or was it a girl? 'cuz satoshi's brother satoru knows a girl named shoko in pre-med, she'll fight anyone—unless you don't care if i do it, because i'll hit anyone you ask, babe—"

"stop!" you shook him slightly. "a guy kept following me around and bothering me, i just wanted him to go away—and he did! he just... overwhelmed me. i was scared."

ryomen stared at you when you finished speaking. he blinked a few times and nodded slowly, tongue against the inside of his cheek. "ok. yeah, ok."

you frowned, watching as his face contorted. "what?"

"this happened just now?"

"um... like ten minutes ago."

"where?"

you picked at your nails, growing nervous. "...the humanities building."

he'd turned on his heel without a second thought, and you hurried after him, having known he probably would've gone off the moment you gave him all the details, like a bloodhound with a scent for prey.

"wait—ryo! it's not that big of a deal!"

"not that big of a deal my ass." he was practically snarling.

who you didn't expect to see soon after ryomen was on his war path was the culprit himself. naoya was crossing the pavement, staring at his phone—but when he saw the tattooed, six-foot-four jock headed his general direction, he couldn't help but freeze. you also stopping, surprised and wary, was a dead giveaway on who the guy ryomen was looking for was.

ryomen glanced between naoya and you, then pointed. "him?"

you slowly let go of his arm, knowing there was little you could do to help the situation or stop your boyfriend. "yeah..."

calmly—too fucking calmly—he continued down the sidewalk until he was a few yards from naoya, then he nodded once and said, "hey, man."

naoya, contemplating fight or flight, tried to remain casual and nodded back. "hey..."

"wanna ask you—you bother that girl over there earlier?" he jutted a thumb over his shoulder, at your nervous figure in the distance.

"i didn't bother her. i was just talking to her."

"in what way."

"huh?"

"In what way—because you sound like a really shitty guy to talk to if she walked away crying."

"not my fault she didn't—"

before naoya could finish casting off whatever blame onto you, ryomen winded back a tight fist and clocked him in the nose.

naoya yowled in pain the moment the fist connected with his face, and he recoiled, hands snapping up to cover his soon-to-bleed nose. "what the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"ryomen!" you cried from behind him.

across the quad, it seemed that the others ryomen were with before had witnessed everything.

"ry!" toji waved a relaxed arm, like he knew ryomen had everything handled but still wanted to be nice and extend an offer. "good?"

ryomen cracked his knuckles, then wrung out his pulsing hand. "yeah, he shouted back. "good."

"is she ok?" choso called over, pointing at you.

"i'll take care of her."

"'kay, i guess." geto watched the entire thing with a skeptical look. "see you later."

without exchanging any words, ryomen returned to you and carted you up to his dorm. he was glad that you didn't protest or refuse to go with him—he surely thought you were mad at him, until you whispered the soft "thank you" to him at his door. he simply kissed your head and pushed the door open.

in his dorm, he insisted you clean while he ordered food. lounging in his bed, shirtless now and just in a pair of sweatpants, he scrolled on his phone while resting a hand on you. you'd positioned yourself beside him after cleaning off your tear-streaked makeup and changing into one of his hoodies.

"sushi and boba, or thai?" ryomen asked, rubbing slow circles on your thighs. he loved to grip the plush there, to kiss up from your calf to the softness of your belly—he would later, but right then, he was focused on getting you fed and rested, the two things he thought key in recovering from bad days. "wait. chinese?"

you ran a hand through his hair and leaned over to peck his cheek. "anything."

"you always say that, baby."

"i know."

"ok. sushi and boba."

you smiled. "i trained you right."

taking a moment, ryomen dropped his phone and grabbed your jaw to bring you in for a full, proper kiss that lasted until you were both breathless. and when you pulled away only slightly, hovering closely above him, lips still brushing, he licked his lips and smiled. "you're ok, right? not mad?"

"no," you said, tilting your head slightly. "not mad. maybe a little annoyed that you always jump to violence, but... i really appreciate you wanting to protect me. i know you just want me to be all right in the end."

"damn right i do. i love you, gorgeous."

smiling, you kissed him once more. "i love you too, ryo. now order the food before the place closes."

send me asks <3

buy me a kofi

You swear you were listening but you couldn’t help but take a second to drink in his appearance, suddenly feeling a hot flush wash over your chest. He was sans shirt, tattoos on full display and glistening with sweat, which would’ve been enough to fuel your desires but the tight short shorts and the hair sticking to his forehead was what really got the endorphins running. And as much as you could’ve stared at him for the rest of your days, the last thing you wanted was for Jungkook to notice how flustered you were by his appearance.

"If that thing is going to fall on your face, there's no way my twig arms are going to stop it," You scoffed, eyeing at the weights behind his head with concern.

"You just have to push it off me so it doesn't crush my chest," He shrugged with a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, far too nonchalantly for your liking.

"Oh right – just casually save my boyfriend from being crushed to death. Cool…" You sarcastically retorted while Jungkook wiped his hands on his shorts and scooted underneath the bar, back squeaking as it stuck to the faux leather.

"Just come and stand behind my head, honey," He sweetly directed and you sighed softly, knowing that he was going to keep lifting the stupid thing anyway and you would much rather be there if anything did happen.

So you shuffled around to where he’d settled himself on the bench, feet and shoulders with the part, ready to save the day if you needed to. Well, kind of ready because the view from where you were standing was not only magnificent but wildly distracting.

“That’s it, baby,” He whispered with the smallest of smirks tickling his lips.

Jungkook’s strong hands gripped the bar and lifted it carefully off the stand, flickering his eyes to each side and making sure they were securely off before bringing it down towards his tensed chest. The grunts that left his throat as the muscles and veins in his arms bulged under his taut skin sounded exactly like the noises he was breathing in your ear last night as he fucked you into the next dimension, the sound immediately transporting you back to the way his hands felt on your skin.

His tight chest puffed out in time with his sharp hips that bucked off the bench with each rep and the groans leaving his lips were making it difficult to keep an eye on the job, even though a part of you wondered whether this was all a ploy to get you in here and see this glorified soft core in session. Knowing Jungkook, it was almost definitely the latter.

"Okay two more," He huffed out, lifting the bar up and down a couple more times, concentration stitched into his sticky forehead.

The grunts got louder the closer he was to finishing the set, again casting your mind back to your night between the sheets, before he slowly pushed it up towards the stand and let your fingers hook around the bar, just in case it slipped out of his slick hands. Because every part of his body was perspiring – his biceps, thighs, neck, chest, the bridge of his nose that was achingly close to your core was glistening and so were you, from doing absolutely nothing. Dripping.

Jungkook sat up with a groan and took a couple of deep breaths, blood pumping through his veins as you watched the muscles on his rippling back contract, “You’re soaked – let me grab you a towel.”

This was your chance to try and shake the daze you were in. It was pathetic the way he wound you up without even knowing, hypnotising you with something as innocent as a workout. Maybe it was because you had been blissfully enjoying each other’s touch the second he dropped his luggage in the doorway, jumping into bed and hardly leaving it ever since.

Or because he was the sexiest creature you’d ever seen and seeing him gleaming with sweat and groaning like an animal was a massive turn on for you. Either way you were soaking after his performance, desperate to have those sounds breathing down your neck as soon as humanely possible.

He graciously took the towel you were offering with a wicked smile, wiping his flushed face and roughly drying his dark hair before spinning around 90 degrees on the bench, gazing up at you with the same smile but now with that devious sparkle in his eye that always had you hook, line and sinker.

"Thank yoooou."

It rolled off his tongue too perfectly, almost in sing-song, and you couldn’t control the eye roll, knowing how much he loved teasing you. He also loved how quickly he could get you naked when he put on that mischievous smirk, his charm always leaving you spellbound. 

"Any time," You sang in reply, attempting to leave the room before you combusted on sight but you were stopped by a fistful of fingers grasping the hem of your black cotton shorts.

Jungkook gently pulled you back, a hole already burnt into the material from his eyes zeroing in on your curves. He loved every inch of you, worshipped the air you breathed and pinched himself daily that you’d stuck around with his crazy stupid schedule and maniacal whims. God, he adored you and ached at how effortlessly beautiful you looked in your matching crop top and tracksuit pants, waltzing around the home you had created together.

And he couldn’t hide the way he felt when you looked around, bottom lip clamped loosely between his front teeth, chewing the inside of his cheek and admiring how fucking lucky he was to have such a beautiful creature in his grasp. Heaven sent.

"You look very cute today."

He was smitten; holding your hips in place as you slung your arms around his shoulders. His hands subconsciously trailed down to the back of your thighs and teased the thin hem on your shorts, fingertips melting into the skin like butter as he watched your gorgeously bright eyes narrow.

"I'm not wearing a bra just for you," You flirted, nudging closer to his chest and needing more than just the heat from his hands on your skin.

"I can see that," He hummed matter-of-factly as he gazed over the sheer top that had been driving him crazy all day, adoring the way your nipples hardened at his stare before pressing a peck to the bottom of your sternum.

Jungkook continued trailing soft kisses across your stomach as you brought your hands to his tousled hair, trawling your fingertips through the damp locks and massaging his scalp. A soft, barely audible whimper slipped from his lips as he tilted his head back and caught your eyes, succumbing to the drowsiness and closing them for a quiet moment.

"That feels so nice." 

He practically whispered before opening his eyes and pulling you closer with his hands that were now hidden under your loose top, fingertips following the arch of your spine as you leaned down and captured his soft lips. He tasted salty, tongue deliciously warm as you explored his mouth with your own. You loved the way he inhaled you and swallowed the moans he was causing. The intimacy you shared with him never ceased to make you weak in the knees, putty in his hands.

"I wanna watch you fuck me in this mirror." 

Your words were muttered against his pursed lips and Jungkook’s eyes were wider than a flying saucer when you pulled back ever so slightly, noses bumping together from how close you still were. He huffed out a soft laugh as you nodded towards the mirrors lining the walls around you both, eyeing your reflection beside him.

"Really?" He asked incredulously, a humorous expression ascending onto his blushing cheeks as you returned the raised brow, confused by his question.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" You scoffed, the deadpan look never faltering from your face and causing his goofy smile to fall; finally realising you were being serious.

"Well... no you don't but... Do you want me to do you against the mirror or on here?" Jungkook asked frowning down at the bench before bouncing up and down on it to make sure it was sturdy enough for your spontaneous demand.

"I don't really care," You almost moaned, smoothing your hands across his strong chest and over his tense shoulders, leaning down and pressing your lips to his damp neck again, "I just need you."

"I don't wanna risk breaking this because it was the last one at the shop so I guess we could do it against the mirrors…”

The consideration in his voice caused your brows to furrow in disappointment and your hands to drop from his shoulders as you stood up straight, looking down at your boyfriend with a frown. It was unlike Jungkook to not be jumping for joy at your suggestion, but although he was impulsive and spontaneous, he was also pragmatic. The duality of the man still surprises you.

"Jeez, don't get too excited about it."

The sarcasm was dripping from your tone as Jungkook shook his head fervently, quickly reaching out to pull you back. All he could think about daily was making love to you in different places in the house and shockingly, the home gym hadn’t been ticked off the list but god, he wanted to. He was already twitching thinking about it, the tightness of his shorts already cutting off circulation to his legs.

"No, no. Baby, look at you – I am so excited but you caught me off guard and I was just trying to think… what’s the word? Logically… Logistically…”

"It’s logistically but Kook – you called me in here and made me watch you gyrating and making sex noises, and then you told me I look cute and now you're caught off guard that I want to have sex with you?... Are you okay?" You joked, pressing the back of your hand against Jungkook’s sticky forehead, pretending to check if he had a temperature or if he even had a pulse at all.

He laughed, borderline giggled and shook his head, "Well, when you say it like that, it makes sense. I just didn't think you'd get turned on over that."

You couldn't help but laugh in his face at his assumption, "You're shirtless and sweaty and wearing shorts that are so tight that I can see your dick... There's no way you didn't think this would get me going."

You wagged your finger up and down his body and Jungkook simply shrugged, hardening by the second, "It didn't even cross my mind but if it's making you feel like that then let's fucking go!"

He slapped his hands down on his lap and immediately reached for the drawstring on your pants. “These are definitely coming off…” He murmured, eyes narrowed in concentration as he slid them down your legs.

"I promise if we break the bench, I will personally call every single shop in Seoul and replace it.”

You stepped out of the cotton material around your ankles, grasping Kooks’ shoulders for balance as he tugged on his own shorts; finally liberating himself of the constriction caused by his own unadulterated arousal. He had no self control when it came to you.

"Jeez, you are horny," He teased as you climbed on top of him; his tactile hands guiding your knees to each side of his thighs with a devilish grin.

He was in his element with you on top of him; he had the perfect view of his girl and could feel how ready you were for him when you rested on his thigh, your slickness cool against his soft skin. He loved how dialled in you were to his touch, every little wince or mumble making his heart pound harder in his chest – blood rushing to his dick every time you whispered in his ear.

But he knew that you knew how much he craved having you like this so of course he teased you in spirited retaliation, like any man desperately in love does to the one he adores the most.

“You know that if you ever need to get some inspiration, you can always come in and watch me work out, baby. You like it, huh?”

"I do and I intend to enjoy this so shut up."

Now he was really hard, worked up beyond his limits.

As a distraction from his edge, he went back to what he did best – kissing you. You were both as pent up as each other, embarrassingly desperate for two people who had been going at it all weekend but you couldn’t get enough. It wasn’t until the firm grip on your hips tightened even more that you finally felt how enthusiastic he was about fucking you in his gym.

"You taste like lemons," Jungkook mumbled as your tongues collided.

You couldn’t mask the smirk on your lips as he kissed you again, reaching down and massaging him over his boxer briefs. You pulled away slightly from the kiss, ghosting his swollen lips as you softly stroked him in your hand.

"I bet if you'd seen me eating that lemon popsicle, you would've felt the same way as I did watching you lift these stupid weights," and Jungkook chuckled at your annoyingly accurate theory, his warm breath fanning over your face before seizing your lips again. God, he loved kissing you.

"I probably wouldn’t have lasted, let's be honest," He whispered back with a knowing smile, completely unashamed to be enamoured by the woman slowly stoking him, eyes fluttering shut from the pleasure surging through his body.

“Maybe next time, sweetheart.”

Kook simply smiled, eyes barely open as he watched your bodies connecting in the most intimate way, tongue quickly swiping across his bottom lip in preparation for your kiss. As you gripped him tight in your hand and bottomed out on his achingly hard cock, you pressed your lips to his own, forced to swallow the loud moan falling from your lips.

You whimpered before a sharp inhale caused Jungkooks’ eyes to shoot up to your closed ones, searching your face for any pain.

"You good?" He asked softly but swiftly with his hands firmly placed on the outside of your thighs, gently holding you in place until you gave him the okay to move his hips.

"So good," You breathed, tilting your neck back and arching your spine to change the angle a little, feeling that sweet spot deep inside you being brushed ever so gently, “You feel amazing right there.”

Once you both hit that toe curling, achingly good rhythm that you had perfected together, Kook rested his chin on your shoulder and watched how mind-numbingly hot you looked riding him in the mirror, his big tattooed hands firmly grabbing your ass and spreading you out like a meal he was desperate to devour.

"My god..." He growled as you looked down and followed his eye line, biting your puffy bottom lip when you realised he was watching himself disappear inside you, every inch taken care of. And you too, were groaning at the sight.

“You look gorgeous riding my cock, baby.”

"We look so sexy," You were quick to correct, breathless from both the sight of Jungkook’s large, veiny hands leaving prints on your backside and his relentlessness to have you losing your goddamned mind on his dick.

Both had you twisted in knots, the pit in your stomach tightening with every thrust and all you could do was thank whoever had invented weight training because boy, were you reaping the benefits now. Sex in your home gym – tick.

+ + +

“Soooo,” Jungkook drawled, a smug smile lacing every syllable. 

The workout afternoon delight that had you and Jungkook panting and sending echoed moans through an otherwise silent house had required a change in location after one too many “deadlifts”. Maybe the bench press wasn’t up to the challenge but you took the risk, knowing the consequences and it was an accident, of course, one waiting to happen according to the man brushing his warm fingertips down your spine; the unspoken promise you made hanging in the thick air.

“When are you going to replace my bench press, huh?”

A grumble fell from your lips at his leading question, head buried in a pillow and still coming down from the high that had sent your mind, body and spirit into orbit. Your tired eyes caught his glimmering with humour, tickled that you were now responsible for buying him a new bench, in Seoul no less.

“But my Korean is so bad…”

Jungkooks’ soft laugh sifted through your ears, his giggle showing his hand and now you knew that this was his plan all along. He was the reason it broke, not you. He was the one who insisted on fucking you faster, harder, deeper until your legs were shaking and he had the neighbours downstairs questioning whether there was an earthquake warning for the city. He had you on all fours, rocking back on his dick like your life depended on it, loosening you and apparently every screw on the frame below. Screaming out for mercy.

And now he had the audacity to look at you with those mischievous doe eyes that had gotten you both in trouble more times than you could count, thrilled that you would have to fumble your way through a phone call for him. So instead of picking up your phone, you pulled Kook down into a deep kiss, distracting your sweet boyfriend until he was a moaning mess again.

The broken bench press was a problem for another day. 

You’re exiting the kitchen with a large tray of scones balancing on your palm which you gracefully slide into the display case to replace the empty one. After rising to your full height again, you spot him in the doorway and your eyes light up like fireworks. 

“Honey? What are you doing here?” 

Before he can even open his mouth, you scurry across the room to him. He naturally extends his arms out and pulls you in close once you barrel straight into his chest. 

“Thought I’d surprise my beautiful wife at work,” he explains. 

His lips find your temple before you unravel yourself from his embrace. 

“Aren’t you too busy for that?” 

“Eh, maybe. I’m never too busy for you, though.”

Your responding smile is just as radiant as always, and the lovesick gleam in your eye is something he’ll never tire of witnessing. 

“But how do you know I’m not too busy for you?” You retort with a smirk. 

Jungkook playfully clicks his tongue a couple times like he’s scolding you.

“That's something I never wanna hear.”

“Well, I’m a business woman now. So you don’t have much say in the matter.” 

With your hands placed proudly on your hips as they are now, you look like a sweeter-than-candy version of Wonder Woman, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards. 

“Fair enough, business woman. Are you too busy for me?”

After momentarily pursing your lips in thought, you smile and shake your head.

“Nope.”

He tsks at you.

“Put me through all that heartache for nothin’.” 

Jungkook steals your hand so he can lace your fingers together while you holler at Jennie about leaving for a bit. He follows suit by waving at her with his free hand where she’s standing behind the counter, to which she enthusiastically returns the greeting. 

It lifts his spirits to see such a massive smile on Jennie’s face. He feared she would never wear such a bright expression again, but it seems she’s found new fulfillment by helping you manage the bakery. 

“So, where are we going?”

The two of you are strolling hand in hand down the street adjacent to the building, your arms lazily swinging between you. 

“Thought we could just walk around together, maybe grab some coffee,” he proposes.

His answer causes you to stop short in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“Did you do something bad?”

“Huh?”

“Jae, the only time you’d ever leave the office for lunch was to meet with Kookie once a month. Let alone just to go on some afternoon stroll with me,” you declare. 

He debates over his reply while beginning to tug you along with him again. 

“You’re right, but I think it’s about time I change that.” His hand squeezes your own. “We’re both working now and that means less time to spend together at home.” 

“You gonna make this a little routine, then?”

“I’d like to,” he firmly states. “Anything I can do to see your gorgeous smile more often, I will.”

The blush creeping onto your cheeks and up your neck is precisely why he canceled all his early afternoon meetings to spend time with you. Moments like these are priceless and he understands now more than ever how fleeting they are. 

“Speaking of routines, there’s one you stopped doing after we lost Kookie that I’ve been really missing lately,” you announce. 

“Hm? What’s that?”

You’re gnawing on your bottom lip as though you’re embarrassed, which is both adorable and heartbreaking, considering you shouldn’t ever find it hard to tell him how you feel. 

“Well, you know how you used to bring me home a new bouquet every Friday? I didn’t mention it sooner because everything’s been such a whirlwind the last eight months, but I seriously miss smelling flowers every morning when I come downstairs.” 

Jungkook mentally smacks himself in the forehead. Of course, he vividly recalls your kitchen table always having a fresh flower arrangement in the center. Not to mention Jaehyun spoke about it plenty over the years. 

He even remembers how his twin would waltz into the house on Friday evenings with a massive bouquet in his hands and shout, “Happy Friday, beautiful!”

“Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry.” He pauses and turns to face you. “I never thought of it once this entire time.”

“I know. It’s alright.”

“But it isn’t. My grief shouldn’t prevent me from treating my wife how she deserves.”

His comment causes your eyes to roll.

“Honey, you treat me better than I could ever hope for. The flowers? They’re far above and beyond your duties as a husband. That’s why I didn’t bring it up before.”

“Above and beyond or not, it’s something I’ve done for you for years and it shouldn’t just stop because I have a lot on my mind.” Jungkook sighs while encasing your hands between his own. “I promise to do better and you’ll start regularly receiving your flowers again this week.”

You smile and acknowledge his vow with a nod before giving him a quick peck. 

The stroll lasts another half hour or so, including a brief stop for drinks to sip on during your trek back to the bakery. Jungkook kisses you goodbye outside the entrance, out of view from any customers, but waits for you to safely step inside before returning to his own workplace. 

Upon arriving at the office, he immediately begins digging around old files and notebooks for the name of the florist Jaehyun used. He imagines his brother had a weekly service set up with them and Jungkook wants to reestablish it if possible. 

In the end, he finds absolutely nothing, and has to ask Jimin for assistance. Unsurprisingly, his twin’s longtime employee already has the name on hand and scribbles the information on a sticky note for Jungkook. 

After work, he heads straight to the florist shop that’s thankfully about equal distance away from both the office and house. 

Just like the bakery, a bell dings overhead when he enters the building and the sound causes an older lady behind the counter to glance up.

“Ah! Jaehyun, dearie, I wondered when we’d be seeing you again!” 

It only makes sense she recognizes him, Jaehyun probably saw her once a week for the last three or four years whenever he picked up the bouquets. 

“I know, I’m so sorry,” he remarks while weaving through the shop towards her. “We had a death in the family and suddenly all my usual routines got thrown out the window.” 

“Oh, I know, dearie. I saw the news in the paper after it happened. I’m so sorry about your brother,” she tells him as her hand comfortingly covers his own where it’s resting on the counter. 

Jungkook offers her a small, warm grin.

“Thank you.”

“You know, I’m a twin myself.”

His eyes widen in pleasant surprise. He doesn’t think he’s come across another twin since losing his own.

“Really?”

“Mmhm. Identical, too, just like you. She passed away a couple years ago.”

It’s hard to hide how his breath catches in his throat. For eight months he’s felt so unbearably alone it’s been like carrying around a physical weight. But here’s someone who knows exactly how he feels, even if the circumstances differ.

“I’m sorry,” he quietly offers.

She merely waves him off.

“It was old age, nothing like what you went through.” Her expression shifts from professional to caring; almost motherly. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Going from two to one.” He nods, in complete awe of her speaking his own emotions aloud. “No one else understands, do they? I mean, they try, but it’s impossible. You’re with this person from conception and then all of the sudden… nothing.”

A stray tear sneaks out from the corner of Jungkook’s eye which he quickly wipes away, but she still notices and sends him a sympathetic, understanding look in return. 

“It’s indescrible,” he replies. 

“It is.”

“Other people can’t even begin to comprehend what it’s like walking around as just a half. Sometimes it feels like I’ve been cut right down the middle and I’m bleeding out.”

Her head curiously tilts while she surveys him for a moment.

“Is that how you view yourself, dearie? As half a person?” Another nod. “Well, that’s not true. You and your brother were two separate, distinct individuals. Although I’m sure your bond was much stronger than most siblings, you didn’t complete one another, you complimented each other.”

It takes a second for her words to sink beneath his skin and flow through his veins. He rolls the notion around in his mind a few times and when it finally solidifies, Jungkook feels like he’s been hit over the head with a metaphorical brick. 

His entire life, he’s always viewed him and Jaehyun as two halves of a whole. It never even occurred to him there could be other schools of thought. Rather than two magnets stuck together by a natural force, from her perspective, they’re closer to parallel lines moving at the same pace. 

Jungkook doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels a tissue being pushed into his hand. The kind gesture brings a smile to his face as he thanks her with a curt bow before drying his eyes. 

“I’ve never thought about it like that,” he confesses.

She smiles as well.

“It appears so. I hope the fresh perspective helps, dearie, I really do.”

“It does. Thank you.” 

When his grin broadens, she reaches out to pinch his cheek, causing him to giggle and scrunch his nose. 

“So, what brings you in after so long?” 

Jungkook sighs. 

“Well, my lovely wife misses her weekly flowers and if I’d remembered sooner myself, I would’ve been here ages ago.” 

“Ah, I see. Do you want to return to the old schedule? I use whatever seasonal flowers we have and you pick them up Friday before closing time?” 

He enthusiastically nods while clasping his hands together in a prayer position.

“You’re a lifesaver. Yes, please.”

She chuckles and types on her computer for a couple minutes before meeting his gaze again.

“Done. We’ll see you on Friday,” she announces.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!”

If it weren’t totally inappropriate, he would leap across the counter to hug her. Not only did she solve his problem with you, but her words of wisdom were some of the best he’s ever heard. 

The interaction leaves Jungkook with a genuine pep in his step as he strolls towards the front door after returning home. His good mood lingers beyond the threshold as well, especially when he finds you at the stove cooking dinner for two. 

“Hi, honey!” 

Rather than greeting you, he snatches your waist from behind to yank you into his chest. You squeal and kick your legs in mock protest, but he ignores you in favor of aggressively kissing your cheek. 

“I missed you so much,” he proclaims into your skin. 

“We saw each other a couple hours ago.”

“Still too long.” 

You giggle and smack his forearm so he’ll let you go. But once your feet are back on earth, you spin around in his arms for a slow, lingering lip lock. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I missed you, too,” you confess. 

Jungkook smiles into the kiss before breaking it to tuck some hair behind your ear.

“It always does.”

This is the typical affection that occurs between you two and after eight months, it’s as easy as breathing for Jungkook. 

Ever since you had sex for the first time two months ago, you’ve both been clingier. You were already a handsy couple before, but the deeper bond forged through intimacy amplified the urge to always be near each other. 

Following that night, neither of you have been able to resist one another. In the last eight weeks, Jungkook can count on one hand how many days you haven’t had sex. It doesn’t just happen in the evenings, either. Sometimes he wakes you up in the morning by kissing his way down your torso until he reaches your center. On weekends, you often pause whatever afternoon activity you’re doing to force him onto the couch while sinking to your knees. 

You’re making up for lost time. Although, for you it’s about six months and for him it’s been almost sixteen years. 

Despite having a full blown mental breakdown after making love to you for the first time, Jungkook hasn’t had any issues since. He simply lives alongside his guilt like it’s a roommate inside his head, just as he does with the grief and loneliness of being without Jaehyun.

It’s a good thing because you’re fairly insatiable, and if his emotions were still giving him pause, it would be impossible to please you.  

Like right now, when you begin guiding him out of the kitchen and towards the living room with a mischievous glimmer in your eye.

“Sweetheart…”

“What?” You nonchalantly shrug, but your smirk reveals your true intentions. “Dinner takes over an hour to cook in the oven.” 

“You know, at one point you might just milk me dry,” he warns.

“Says the one who always asks for another round,” you counter after reaching the couch and shoving him down. 

He plops onto the cushions with a low grunt, but he’s grown accustomed to this song and dance, and his eyes follow your every move as you straddle his lap. 

His hands immediately start to crawl up your spine while you focus on kissing and biting his neck. Your hips are already rolling into his, causing his dick to strain against his slacks. Regardless, he doesn’t hesitate to mirror your movements so you can feel how hard he’s become just for you.

“Not my fault your pussy’s so damn addicting.” 

You giggle and lift your head.

“You’re right, baby. I’m so sorry for having such a tight, wet cunt.”

Jungkook loudly groans while his eyes roll into his skull.

“Fuck! You just love driving me insane. Don’t you?”

“It’s only, like, my favorite pastime,” you quip.

Your lips meet before the banter can continue as your bodies work in tandem to provide friction to your most sensitive areas and nerve endings. After a little while, Jungkook sneaks his hands beneath your shirt to pull it over your head, but you sever the kiss and stop him. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks you, concern evident in his features. 

“Nothing. I’m just on my period at the moment and for whatever reason it’s really, really heavy.”

His head tilts in confusion.

“Like abnormally heavy?”

“Yeah. The cramps are killing me, too.” 

“Well, don’t orgasms help with cramps? Let’s kill two birds with one stone.”

He goes to kiss you again, but you maintain the distance between you by leaning away from him. 

“What?”

There’s a sharp edge to your tone like you suspect he’s messing with you and you’re not in the mood.

“What?” 

His iteration comes out much more clueless. 

“Jae, you’re the most squeamish person I know. You can’t handle the sight of blood at all. Let alone touch it.”

Shit.

Jaehyun did get pretty queasy around blood. Which is a shame because period sex feels fucking fantastic and his twin should’ve gotten to experience it at least once while he was alive. 

“Right, right.” Jungkook nibbles on his lower lip while his mind scores through different explanations he can use. “I guess once you wake up in the hospital next to your dead brother, that stuff just doesn’t really bother you anymore.” 

You grimace and reach up to card your fingers through his hair. 

“Are you sure? I’m more than happy just to help you out.”

He nods.

“I’m positive, baby. But I’m a little concerned about your period being so bad.”

“I mean, it happens to the best of us,” you claim.

Perhaps he simply doesn’t have enough knowledge on the matter, but he hates the idea of you being in pain or discomfort. 

“Alright. Just promise me you’ll go to the doctor if it doesn’t let up.”

You reassuringly smile.

“I promise.”

Jungkook’s hand rises to cradle your head so he can guide you closer for a kiss. You two quickly pick up where you left off, starting with him removing your top and tossing it aside on the couch. His shirt’s the next victim and then your bra, soon leaving you both nude from the waist up.

Your soft, warm skin brushing against his own is one of his favorite feelings in the world and he presses on the small of your back until there isn’t any space left between you. The two of you proceed to lazily make out and dry hump for some time, but you both eventually grow too needy and start maneuvering so you can strip your pants and underwear off. 

Once the rest of your clothes are strewn across the furniture, Jungkook’s hand slips between your legs where he glides his fingertips through your folds.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he notes as his lips travel across your jaw and down your neck.

“I think that’s all the blood, honey.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Two of his fingers push into your hole and you naturally arch towards him when he begins curling them. “Still feels fucking amazing. And so damn tight.”

He continues to slowly fuck you while maiming your throat with his teeth and tongue. The airy whimpers he elicits are music to his ears and he’ll do anything to keep hearing them. Which is why he glances up for an explanation when you suddenly grab his wrist to stop him.

“I want your cock,” you answer the silent question.

As if Jungkook could ever deny you. 

“Yeah, baby? You gonna ride me exactly how I like?” 

Following a nod, you kneel and wrap your hand around his dick to pump him. He’s already rock hard, just like he always is as soon as you touch him, but the grip still helps lead him towards your cunt as you descend again. 

When his head passes through your tight circle of nerves, you both groan, and the pleasure only increases the farther you sink down his length. 

“God, you’re so fucking big.” 

Jungkook snickers.

“Don’t act like you forget. I was balls deep in you just last night,” he retorts.

“I know, but holy shit. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how full you make me feel.” 

The sentiment is certainly shared because having his cock buried deep inside you still frazzles his brain every time. It’s especially true at the moment, since your pussy’s extra swollen and sensitive due to your period. 

He would sit here with your bodies intertwined forever if you let him, even without any movement or friction. It’s heaven on earth and he’s positive he’ll never get enough.

“No? Not even after all this time?” 

Your responding chuckle is fractured by a moan when he rocks his hips forward to send his cock straight into your g-spot.

“Yes. I’ll be eighty and still babbling about how much I love your cock.”

Jungkook genuinely cackles, causing your chest to shake along with his due to the proximity.

“Ditto.”

You join in his laughter before the noise gets muffled by your lips meeting again. Since you’re both still smiling, your teeth scrape against each other until you manage to find your footing.

While your mouths partake in an amorous dance, you begin dragging your hips across his lap. The fluid motion allows your cunt to seamlessly move up and down his shaft and it isn’t long before his velvety skin is coated in arousal with a creamy, white ring at the base. 

You’re goddamn prolific at riding dick, and Jungkook doesn’t have to do much but sit there and watch you bounce. Even so, he still lets one hand roam your spine while the other tugs on your hair. He also takes control of the kiss by nipping at your bottom lip and conquering your mouth with his tongue. 

“Shit, baby, you’re doing so well,” he encourages you. “Taking this big cock like you were made for it.” 

His words make you keen as your body instinctively speeds up. The pace isn’t too fast, not like how he pounds into you after a particularly hard day, but it’s enough to leave you both panting between kisses. 

Whatever the tempo may lack, you ensure it’s made up for by consistently sheathing his entire cock inside you. His tip keeps hitting your cervix at the conclusion of each stroke and feeling your pussy swallow him whole over and over is beyond divine. 

“It’s s’good, baby. I won’t last,” you admit. 

“Already?” Jungkook teases before dipping down to kiss your neck and shoulder. “You used to be able to keep up with me.” 

He feels your muscles tense above him and giggles in accomplishment. You may be an expert at riling him up, but he knows precisely how to push your buttons, too. 

“I’m sorry, which one of us came barely a minute into the last blowjob they received?” 

With a gasp, Jungkook lifts his head again to stare at you in faux offense.

“How dare you use that against me! You had my balls in your mouth, what did you expect to happen?” 

You boisterously giggle while tossing your head back. 

“All I’m saying is don’t dish it if you can’t take it, Mr. Jeon.” 

“Ha! Let’s see about taking it, shall we?” 

Without warning, Jungkook flips you onto the couch before driving his dick right back inside your cunt. A sinful squelch accompanies the sudden action, but it’s nothing in comparison to how zealously you both moan. 

“No fair.” Your lips form an adorable pout he has to refrain from smooching. “I wanted to keep riding you.”

“If you can hold out a little longer, I’ll let you sit on my dick all night,” he offers. “Mrs. Jeon.” 

You wordlessly accept his challenge by wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist so you can force him closer. It leads your lips to naturally reconnect at the same time Jungkook begins rocking into you at a steady pace. 

Even though he’s the one who mentioned holding out, the new position is already propelling him towards the edge of ecstasy. Between your walls fluttering around him, your limbs clinging to him, and your tongue inside his mouth, he’s a goner. 

After just a couple more minutes, both of you are breathlessly whining and digging your nails into one another's skin. Jungkook’s strokes are as deep as ever despite not being that fast and it’s clear nothing can prevent either of you from crashing headfirst into an orgasm. 

“I’m close,” you warn him, to which he concurs with a mindless nod. 

As a final push, Jungkook trails his hand down so he can circle your clit. You’re already sensitive from all the friction so far and it only takes the slightest touch for you to wail and cream his cock. 

His own release follows with a series of animalistic grunts as his seed floods your cunt and he fucks the liquid deeper inside you. You two continue to grind throughout the climaxes, causing the wet sound of Jungkook thrusting into your drenched, swollen hole to echo around the room. 

“Jae… baby… it’s too much.” 

He stops as soon as he hears your quiet whimper, but remains nestled between your walls while he catches his breath. 

“Are you alright?” 

Jungkook rises to his elbows so he can see your face before pushing back the sweaty strands of hair stuck to your forehead. Rather than answering, you just nod and tug him down for another kiss. He smiles into the lip lock, leading you to do the same regardless of how tired you are.

After pulling out and finding a rag to wipe down you, him, and the couch, which is thankfully leather, you both get redressed in a comfortable silence. Then you return to the kitchen to check the oven while he heads upstairs to file away his work stuff. 

When he returns to the first floor, you’re busy setting the table since the food only has a few minutes left to cook. 

“You know, I had the strangest dream last night,” you announce after placing the final fork. 

“Hmm? What about?”

“So, you know the bench right across from Kookie’s headstone?” Of course, he does, it’s one of the reasons they chose the location. He, you, and his parents all agreed and the four of you usually visit the cemetery together about once a month. “I was sitting there with him just like I have in some of my other dreams. We were talking about the bakery, how Jennie’s doing, etc. But when I said, ‘I love and miss you, Jungkook,’ this confused expression crossed his face and he told me, ‘I’m not Jungkook.’” 

The actual Jungkook, the one standing a couple feet away from you, chokes on the grape he just nabbed from the fruit bowl in the kitchen. Never in a million years did he expect his twin to start sending you subliminal messages in your sleep. 

“That’s so weird,” he mumbles while attempting to chew properly. 

“Right? I mean, why would he say that? I get it’s a dream and all, but it’s just so bizarre.” 

He begins racking his brain for a reasonable explanation, even though he knows you won’t actually figure him out based on a dream alone. 

“Maybe he meant he isn’t Jungkook to you. Because you always call him Kookie,” he poses. 

A metaphorical lightbulb seems to flicker on above your head. 

“Oh, I didn’t think of that.” 

Jungkook shrugs as though it was obvious and he didn’t just pull it out of thin freaking air. 

The timer for the oven saves him from the conversation as he joins you in the kitchen to help plate everything. Following dinner, despite him promising you full access to his lap for the remainder of the evening, your period makes that impossible. 

So, you two cuddle in bed together and watch a couple movies before eventually falling asleep in each other’s arms. 

In the morning, Jungkook’s surprised to find you still asleep beside him. You usually wake up hours ahead of him to prepare the day’s bakery menu. 

“Sweetheart?” 

He rounds the mattress so he can sit on the edge near you, where he begins softly combing your hair back.

“Hi,” you croak. 

Your eyes gradually blink open as a weak smile appears. 

“What’s wrong?”

“My cramps came for blood this morning. Pun unintended.”

“Have you taken anything?” You nod while resting your hand atop the one still parsing through your hair. “Should I bring you to the hospital?”

“No, baby. I already called my doctor to book an appointment for Friday.”

“But it’s only Wednesday,” he argues. 

The small grin on your lips grows until he can see your teeth. 

“I’ll be fine. Maddie assured me her and Jennie have everything handled, so I can just rest until I’m feeling better.” 

Jungkook’s hesitant to let you wait two more days, but he’s also aware you’ve suffered through enough periods over the years to trust your own intuition. 

“Alright, but I’m staying, too.”

You shake your head.

“That's not necessary. My mom will come over if I get worse. She’s driving me on Friday, anyway.” 

“Y/N, I’m not leaving you like this.” 

“You are. You’re going to go to work and I’m going to lay here and do absolutely nothing. I assure you, you’ll be far more useful at the office.” 

His head tilts in determination, but your eyes burn with resilience just the same. It’s clear any form of persuasion will fail, so albeit reluctantly, he starts getting ready for work after placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

But he does make you promise to call him if you feel worse, even if your mom comes to keep you company. 

It takes an exuberant amount of effort to coerce him into finally walking out the door and leaving you home alone. Especially when all he wants is to dive back into bed and hold you close until the sun goes down. Alas, he still has other responsibilities to uphold. 

You’re feeling a little better by the time he arrives home that evening, with your symptoms continuing to lessen throughout the day on Thursday and again on Friday morning. 

Nevertheless, Jungkook asks you to call after your appointment and you assure him you will before kissing him goodbye. You wave him off as he strolls towards the car and even though you do it whenever you’re home during his departure, it never fails to make his heart skip a beat. 

“I love you, handsome!” 

An involuntary blush stains his neck, cheeks, and ears. 

“I love you more, beautiful!”

The simple exchange sets his entire day up for success, and he finds himself practically skipping around the office until it hits five. But rather than heading straight home, he stops at the florist to pick up your arrangement. 

He has another quick chat with the owner before paying for the bouquet and telling her he’ll see her next week. The sweet, floral aroma fills the car as he drives home and it feels fitting for the spectacular mood he’s in. 

You never called him after seeing your doctor earlier, but he’s choosing to assume no news is good news. 

Upon arriving home, he locks the front door and kicks off his shoes before strolling into the house with the large bouquet in his right hand. He finds you on the couch with a novel perched between your fingers, so instead of possibly disturbing you mid-sentence, Jungkook kisses the top of your head.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers. 

A second after he goes off to find a vase for your flowers, he hears you set the book on the coffee table and stand up. He’s busy placing the arrangement in water, but can tell you’re now a couple feet away on the edge of the dining room. 

“Jungkook,” you flatly call.

“What about him?” 

He moves the vase to the center of the table before smiling to himself for a job well done. It looks just as beautiful as he remembers it being when Jaehyun was alive. 

“Jungkook.”

His brow scrunches as he turns towards you. 

“Why are you just repeating my brother’s name?”

When he finally faces you, he notices your demeanor’s completely different from this morning. Your face is cold and blank with your arms defensively crossed over your chest. 

“I’m not.” A heavy silence stretches like elastic between you. “I’m talking to you.”

The rubber band cracks like a whip and damn near knocks Jungkook off his feet, but he hides the reaction by shaking his head. 

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he claims.

A dry laugh shatters the stillness in the air. 

“Of course, you don’t.” 

Your behavior’s making his head spin and his stomach curdle, so he naturally steps closer to you. 

“Baby, what —”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” you snap.

Jungkook immediately raises his hands in surrender. 

“Y/N, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Another eerily silence floods the room as he waits with his breath trapped inside his lungs. Then you clear your throat while standing taller in preparation to speak again.

“As you know, I went to the doctor earlier today.” He nods, but intense confusion is still etched into his features. “And it turns out I wasn’t on my period this week, I was having a miscarriage.” 

His heart sinks straight through the floor and buries itself in the earth below. He’s never once considered being a father; not when he was always resigned to loving you without ever being with you. But now you’re telling him you were pregnant, past tense, and the thought makes him ache done to his very bones.

“What?”

You completely ignore him. Your stern expression doesn’t even slightly waver despite the sadness in his voice.

“But see, that doesn't make any sense, because I have to be pregnant first in order to miscarry. And considering my husband can’t have kids, that should be impossible,” you calmly explain. “That only leaves two options.” In contrast to the unspeakable tension of the conversation, you wiggle two fingers in the air. “Either I cheated, which I know I didn’t, or…” You slowly inhale as a scalding fire blazes alive in your irises. “The person I had sex with isn’t my husband.”

The world feels like it’s crumbling into ash all around him. This can’t be happening; there can’t possibly be something so unavoidable in his path. Not when he’s spent the better part of a year successfully hiding the truth from you. 

Could Jaehyun really not have kids? His brother never mentioned fertility issues, either on his or your behalf. Jungkook always assumed you two were simply waiting to have kids. 

Even though this obstacle is astronomically larger than the previous ones, he knows he can overcome it. He has to, for you. 

“Those are not the only logical explanations,” he counters, keeping both his voice and body relaxed so you don’t suspect him any more than you already do.

“No? Please, enlighten me.” 

Jungkook feigns confidence on the outside while reaching into the very depths of his mind for an answer.

“Well, the doctors could’ve been wrong.” 

Your eyebrows rise.

“About what? Me having a miscarriage?”

“Or me not being able to have kids.”

“Oh, please, they were not wrong,” you retort. “If you were actually the person there during the diagnosis, you would know that.”

His head feels like it weighs two tons and it’s difficult to even think straight when his anxiety sounds like blaring sirens. 

“Miracles happen everyday, Y/N.”

“Miracles? That’s what you’re going with?” 

He groans and runs his fingers through his hair.

“What else do you want me to say, sweetheart? Because your theory sounds fucking insane!” 

“No, it doesn’t!” You shout. “And Jaehyun would never say something like that to me!”

“I am Jaehyun!” Jungkook yells right back.

“Like hell, you are!” You take two large strides towards him before recoiling, like you forgot you don’t want to be that close to him. Then all at once, the anger seeps from your face and your shoulders slump. Tears collect along your waterline as your lip begins to quiver. “Kookie, please… please don’t lie to me anymore. I don’t think my heart can take it.”

Hearing his nickname fall from your lips in such a somber, defeated tone yanks him into reality. The reason he did this in the first place is because of you. To keep you happy and save you from experiencing the same grief he had to endure. But now you’re standing ahead of him looking like a mere shell of yourself, and he can’t convince himself this is right anymore. 

So, he takes a deep breath and counts down from three in his head.

“You’re right,” he confesses. “I’m not your husband.”

Your eyes widen dramatically, and Jungkook realizes you never expected him to actually admit it. That despite your determination and adamance, you wanted him to prove you wrong; to conjure up a reasonable explanation that could quell your doubts. Because if he’s not your husband, then that means…

“No.” It starts as a quiet epiphany, but then Jungkook watches in horror as you crumble into a ball, your knees scraping against the floor while your forehead meets the wood. It almost looks like you’re praying, which you very well might be. “No, no, no, no!” Each repetition grows louder until you’re desperately sobbing the word. Your whole body shakes from the immense force of your cries and soon enough, the short syllable turns into a gut wrenching scream. “No, Jaehyun!” You choke on his name as though it physically hurts to say. “My baby!”

Your shrieks are brutal and ear piercing, throwing Jungkook completely off balance. He can’t think, can’t breathe, and certainly can’t move. Leaving him no choice but to stand there and witness the exact nightmare he was trying to prevent in the first place. 

It honestly sounds like your vocal chords are being torn from your throat as you alternate between screaming, weeping Jaehyun’s name, and more helpless denials. He’s never heard anything so horrible in his entire life and it’s utterly paralyzing. Everything he did was to avoid this moment, but now you’re on the ground wailing in front of him and he’s totally useless. 

Jungkook doesn’t know how much time passes, too crippled by his own mind numbing emotions and your cries of agony, but he eventually manages to kickstart his brain. 

“Y/N.”

On pure instinct, he tries to close the distance between you. Except when you register the movement, you instantly sit up and shuffle back before standing to further expand the gap. 

“Don’t you dare come near me,” you state with your arms out. 

The defensive stance makes his heart shatter and his lungs tear.

“Y/N,” he pleads. 

“You’re a fucking monster.”

Despite calling himself that in the past, it kills him hearing it come out of your mouth. 

“No.”

“How… how… how could you?” Your frame’s still rattling from all the raw emotions as silent tears cascade down your face. “How could you do this to me? Lie to me, manipulate me, betray me like this? You… you stole my grief from me!”

“Y/N, please —”

“All this time, I should’ve been grieving my husband. Eulogizing him, visiting his grave, remembering our time together. But instead you let me waste it all on you!” Jungkook’s never even seen you angry before, let alone like this. The fury in your eyes is borderline animalistic. “And for what? So you could take over his life? Were you so jealous of him you had to go this far? To steal his house, his car, his job, his fucking wife?” 

“No, that’s not why —”

“But it isn’t just his life. You stole his death, too,” you proclaim. “Jaehyun died protecting you and this is how you repay him? By claiming the act as your own?” Your rage seems to be simmering into a bleak calm, but that’s actually scarier, because it feels like the person he knows and loves is fading away. “He deserved to be mourned. He deserved to have a funeral, to be remembered and prayed for, to be buried under a headstone with his own goddamn name on it!” Jungkook opens his mouth to argue, but you don’t let him. “But you took all of that away from him and now I…” You gasp for air as fresh tears escape your eyes. “I’ll never get to say goodbye,” you declare in a fractured voice. “He’s been all alone in that cemetery for eight months while I was busy playing house with his fucking brother.”

Your monologue not only rips his soul in half, but causes you to break down all over again. That’s when Jungkook realizes his face looks the same as yours; swollen eyes and cheeks stained with tears. 

“And there were so many signs,” you note between sobs. “I knew you weren’t Jae the second I got done hugging you at the hospital, but I needed you to be him so badly I gaslit myself into believing you were. Besides, the idea you would ever do something this horrendous was just unfathomable to me. So whenever your behavior didn’t make sense or you couldn’t remember something you should’ve known, I ignored it.” 

He can’t even begin to digest your words, no matter how much he wishes he could. His only thought is that he needs to fix this. It’s his duty to heal your heart and save whatever may be left of your relationship. 

“I… I’m so sorry,” he whispers. 

The despair in your eyes flickers out to make room for more wrath. 

“You’re sorry? That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

“No, I…” Jungkook inhales to gather his thoughts. “I didn’t do it to steal Jae’s life. I did it for you.”

“For me?”

He nods.

“Yes. To protect you from the truth. I didn’t want you to ever have to feel what I was feeling at that moment. I couldn’t let you lose Jae.”

His explanation makes you scoff.

“Oh, no. You don’t get to stand there and pretend you’re some selfless hero. You did this for you and you alone, Jungkook.”

“But I didn’t, Y/N. All I could think about after finding out he died was how you would react and how much pain you would be in.”

“Ha! Well, look at me now!” 

“I know, okay?” He isn’t even cognizant of his body moving towards you until you take a matching step back. It creates an even deeper wound in his chest seeing you repeatedly inch away from him. “I know it wasn’t right, but I didn’t have any other choice. I never should’ve survived that crash. Jaehyun was supposed to be the one to walk away, not me. This was all I could do to fix it.”

You disagreeably shake your head.

“Your survivor’s guilt isn’t an excuse to play with everyone’s lives like this,” you argue. “I mean, did you even think about your parents? Or Jennie?”

“No,” he answers without hesitation. “The only person on my mind was you. Just like always. You’ve been my first thought in the morning and my last in the evening for fifteen years.” 

His confession doesn’t seem to register with you like he thought it would, given how your eyebrows kiss in confusion.

“What? Why?” 

“Why?” Jungkook gawks. 

“Yes!”

He laughs to himself, although there isn’t an ounce of humor present. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” When you shake your head again, he braces himself to finally admit the secret he once swore he’d take to the grave. “I’m in love with you, Y/N. I’ve loved you since the moment I stepped foot in that classroom all those years ago. And I tried to stop it, tried and tried to get over you, but it was fucking impossible.” 

Jungkook has no clue what to expect in terms of a reaction. Maybe shock, horror, or disgust. But he certainly doesn’t think it will be absolute, unadulterated anger.

“That’s what this is about?” You yell at the top of your lungs. “Your brother bites it and your first thought is to take what you’ve always wanted?” 

“What? No!” The possibility you believe he would ever stoop so low leaves his hands shaking at his sides. “My feelings had nothing to do with it!”

“Oh, so you getting to fuck me whenever you want was just an unintended consequence?” 

“That’s not…” He pauses to take a deep breath, although he’s finding it hard to keep his lungs inflated. “Yes, my feelings were obviously a factor, but they weren’t the reason for my actions.” 

It’s your turn for an empty, heartless chuckle. 

“You can lie to yourself all day, Jungkook. But you’re done lying to me.” 

When you turn to grab your coat and bag hanging near the door, he panics and rushes forward.

“Where are you going?”

You face him again with a look of total disbelief, as though you’re shocked he thinks he has any right to ask you such a question. 

“I don’t know. I just need it to be far, far away from you.”

There’s a burning sensation in his chest that’s spreading into his veins and he has to bite back the whimper clawing up his throat. 

“No, please. We can still fix this.” 

“This? There’s no ‘this’ to fix!” Jungkook can feel you metaphorically slipping out of his grasp when you place one hand on the doorknob. “We’re not a couple, Jungkook. This marriage doesn’t belong to you. My real husband’s lying six feet underground and I’ve been a widow for eight fucking months without even knowing it. All because of you.”

Before he can find another avenue to stop you, the door flies open and you disappear from his sight. The loud slam when it closes makes him jump as the first sob erupts from his lungs and he slowly drops to his knees. 

“Y/N,” he weeps, despite you no longer being there. “Wait.”

Jungkook buries his face in his palms as his emotions pummel into him like rampant, merciless tsunami waves. His oxygen is long gone, there’s an incessant ringing in his ears, and his vision is shrouded in tears. 

Your name slips in between his cries like an undertow, pulling him so deep he can’t see the surface anymore. 

He has no sense of how long he stays in the position, but his head is pounding by the time he finally glances up. Based on where the sun is outside, or lack thereof, he thinks at least an hour has passed. 

Of course, you’re his first thought once the dust clouding his mind settles. He immediately checks your location to ensure you’re somewhere safe and finds your contact photo at the cemetery. 

It only makes sense that’s where you went. Who else would you run to at your darkest hour besides the man you love? 

The real man you love. 

No matter how well Jungkook was able to fool himself into believing what you two had these last few months was authentic, you’re right. There’s nothing between you and him but a paper house.

His fingers begin typing you a message before he can think twice. It isn’t anything of note, just a couple sentences stating he’s going to pack and stay with his parents so you can return home without having to worry about crossing paths. 

Shortly after hitting send, a new thought dawns on him. His parents. You finding out the truth was one thing, but he can’t even imagine how hard it’ll be telling them. 

Once he throws some clothes and toiletries into a duffle bag, he trudges down the stairs to survey the first floor. 

Jungkook doesn’t know if he’ll ever stand here again, not after what he’s done. It isn’t just the home where you and he lived together, either, but where his beloved twin once resided. Most of his memories of the three of you from the last five years took place in this house. By now, it’s become more akin to a physical piece of his soul than a mere building. 

The ghosts of you and Jaehyun seem to dance around the various rooms; mirages of him helping you bake in the kitchen or covering your eyes for you during a scary movie. But they’re soon replaced by visions of you and Jungkook instead. 

He wishes he could claim he regrets his choices, and a piece of him does, but he can’t wholeheartedly say so. Not when you were content, comforted, and fulfilled while he was pretending to be your husband. No matter how decimated your relationship is now, he can’t bring himself to paint your time together in a negative light.

On the drive to his parents’ place, Jungkook pictures the worst case scenarios for their reactions in his mind, and he’s downright terrified of any one of them coming true. Because if he loses his parents as well, what would he have left in this life? 

Even after arriving, he waits in the car for a burst of courage to propel him towards the house. The problem is this confession’s inevitable no matter how long he lingers outside. There’s no unwinding this wheel; all he can do now is face the music. 

As the front door swings open, he hears his mother humming to herself in the kitchen at the end of the hall. It’s mundane and something he grew up listening to around the house. If it’s the last creature comfort he gets to experience at his childhood home, he supposes it’s a good one. 

“Jae? Is that you, sweetie?” 

Jungkook halts upon reaching the threshold of the room.

“No,” he quietly responds. 

She giggles, clearly assuming it’s a joke, but when she turns around to find him looking as though all the life’s been drained from him, her face falls.

“Darling, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

An anticipatory moment stretches for what feels like an entire eternity while Jungkook wills himself to open his mouth. 

“I’m…” His hands are shaking so violently he has to squeeze them into fists. “I’m not…”

“Jaehyun?” 

While she maneuvers through the kitchen to reach him, he fills his lungs with enough air for the weighted confession. 

“I’m not Jaehyun.” 

The world freezes just like pausing a film. At least, everything except his mother’s pupils which are trembling in shock and astonishment. 

“What did you just say?”

Fresh tears are already blinding him.

“I’m not Jaehyun,” he repeats as his voice breaks across his twin’s name. 

“You’re… Jungkook?” The very second he lifts his chin to nod, she gasps and throws her arms around him. His body involuntarily buckles once he’s inside her warm, familiar embrace while his hands cling to her like a life vest. “Oh, my baby.”

Jungkook doesn’t know if he’s ever cried this hard. It’s as if hugging his mom reverted him to a child who’s just fallen and scraped their knee. The overwhelming comfort of her presence unlocks all the emotional tension within him, freeing it for the first time since he woke up in that hospital room.

“I’m sorry,” he wails into her shirt. 

“Shh, shh.” She keeps kissing the side of his head and despite the affection healing something deep inside, it makes him cry even harder. “You have nothing to apologize for.” One of her hands moves to cradle the back of his head. “I’m just so happy you’re alive. I’ve missed you so, so much.”

“But Jae… Jae’s dead. He’s been dead all this time. He died saving me and then I fucking stole everything from him,” he explains. “I got Y/N pregnant. That’s how she found out the truth. Because she lost the baby, and since Jae couldn’t have kids…” 

“Oh, sweetie.”

“He never told me. Why wouldn’t he tell me?” He feels like he’s speaking utter nonsense, but the words are just pouring out of him after being trapped in his chest for so long. “I hurt her, mom. I’ve loved her since we were kids, but I still lied to her and betrayed her trust in the worst way imaginable. I kept her from grieving the man she’s loved since she was fifteen.” The longer he talks, the more his guilt bears down on him like a cage that’s one size too small. “I’m such a monster.”

His mom delicately separates the two of them and as soon as they come face to face again, her own eyes fill with tears. 

“No. You’re not even close to a monster.” 

“No one else would be able to stomach doing something so awful.”

“That’s not true,” she argues. “People have committed far worse crimes than trying to help the ones they love.” When his mouth opens, she lifts a finger to silence any retort. “Even if their methods were misguided.” 

“He must hate me, right?” 

She shakes her head. 

“Never. Jaehyun could never hate you.”

Jungkook sniffles before drying his face with his sleeve.

“I think this might be the exception,” he claims.

“No, my darling.” Her fingers caress his cheek, right where his scars are, and he automatically leans his head on her palm. “I’m sure he isn’t the happiest with you at the moment, but he also knows you better than anyone. So, I think he understands why you did it, even if he disagrees.” 

“Mom, I fucked his wife. Repeatedly.” 

She chokes on a dry chuckle. 

“I said he probably isn’t happy with you, didn’t I?” 

The sound of his mother’s laugh eases both his heart and mind, even if just a little. 

“What about you? Aren’t you mad at me?”

“Of course not,” she assures him. “How can I be when I thought you were dead, and now you’re standing here in front of me?” 

“Because there’s still only one of us.”

“Yes, and I’ll have to work through that on my own time. But for now I just want to cherish my baby being alive.” 

Jungkook can’t help but smile. 

They end up gravitating towards the couch, where he stretches across the cushions with his head in her lap like he would do as a kid. He and Jaehyun used to fight over the coveted position all the time. 

Her fingers gently comb through his hair as she listens to him explain everything from the moment he decided to pretend to be Jaehyun, to the second you walked out the door. She doesn’t give her opinion unless asked, but hums in acknowledgment every once in a while so Jungkook knows she’s paying attention. 

“I just don’t get why Jae never told me he couldn’t have kids. I mean, did he not trust me with something like that?” Jungkook muses.

“No, sweetie, it didn’t have anything to do with you,” she clarifies. “Your brother was just so ashamed when he found out. He felt like he was letting everyone down; Y/N, your dad and I, her parents. He thought it made him less of a man, no matter how much we all assured him that wasn’t the case.” Jungkook gazes up at his mom as she speaks. “He even begged Y/N to leave him so she could find someone who could give her children.”

“No, he didn’t,” he gawks.

His mom nods. 

“As you can imagine, she totally lost it on him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so mad, especially at Jaehyun, of all people. Being a mother’s always been her dream, but only if Jaehyun was the father. She didn’t care whether it was natural or through adoption, but the only person she ever wanted to raise a child with was him.” 

“How come whatever condition prevented him from having kids doesn’t affect me, too?” 

“It’s environmental and develops after birth, so that’s why you’re in the clear.” He hums and turns his head back to the front so his mom can continue carding through his soft, black strands. “In fact, when the doctor found out Jaehyun was a twin, she suggested they ask you to donate for artificial insemination.” 

Jungkook nearly falls off the couch when he chokes and twists his entire body around so he can face his mom.

“You’re joking.”

She cackles.

“No, not even a little.” Her head shakes as she recalls the whole debacle. “The doctor told them it would be biologically the same as having their own child, since your DNA is ninety nine percent identical.”

“Oh, I bet Y/N loved hearing that,” he teases. 

“Jaehyun said she almost burned the doctor’s office to the ground.” The two of them share another laugh. “Your brother actually didn’t mind the idea, but like I said, biology didn’t mean anything to Y/N. Only he did.” 

It’s easy for anyone who knows you to understand your negative reaction. Nothing in the world mattered to you more than Jaehyun, and it only makes sense that if you couldn’t have kids with him, you wouldn’t want them at all. 

The thought causes Jungkook’s heart to start aching again because on one hand, your unconditional love for his twin is the very reason he took his place, but it’s also what makes the truth so much more devastating. 

“He knew, you know,” his mom professes. 

“Knew what?”

Her lips form a pout like she’s debating whether or not to elaborate.

“That you were in love with Y/N.”

Jungkook genuinely does flop right over the edge of the couch this time. His left side meets the ground with a thump as his mom gasps and leans forward to check on him.

“I’m okay,” he groans while sitting up. 

“God, you haven’t changed one bit. Have you?” 

He smiles before standing and sitting down beside her. 

“Apparently not.” 

“I don’t even know how you pulled it off. You two were such opposites,” she notes. “I mean, when I look back on the last eight months, it seems obvious. Even you and Y/N’s interactions were different.”

“How so?” 

She thoughtfully sways her head side to side.

“Y/N and Jaehyun moved like the earth and the moon. They orbited around each other, complimented each other, and relied on each other. But you and her were more like waves crashing against a shoreline. There was a push and pull as though you took turns guiding one another. High tide and low tide.” 

When people claim mothers know everything, his mom proves them right by a long shot. She somehow notices every little detail no matter how small and it genuinely amazes him. 

But he can’t focus on her words of wisdom with the massive elephant still in the room.

“Wait, we need to rewind,” he states.

Of course, she knows what he’s referring to, and clears her throat to explain.

“Darling, your brother knew you better than he knew himself. Just as you did with him. You really thought he couldn’t tell you had feelings for Y/N?”

“Yes! I mean, why didn’t he ever say anything? Or throw a damn punch?” 

She chuckles again. 

“Like I said, because he knew you. He was certain you would never try to steal her away regardless of your feelings. He was also sure Y/N would castrate you if you ever even attempted to.” 

Jungkook echoes her laughter. 

“That’s what you meant, then? When you said you think he understands?” 

“Absolutely. He knows where your heart lies, sweetie. That you wouldn’t do something like this out of malice, selfishness, or jealousy. It obviously doesn’t make it right, and he might cash in that punch once you join him upstairs, but I’m sure he doesn’t see you as the monster you claim to be.”

The words permeate his mind as he ponders whether or not he can agree. On the surface, he recognizes her point, but his guilt’s still too thick to wade through. 

“That’s what Y/N called me,” he tells her while fiddling with his fingers in his lap. “She’ll never want to see me again.” 

His mom reaches out to tuck some hair behind his ear, prompting him to meet her gaze. 

“Yes, she will.” 

“You didn’t see her face, mom. She looked afraid of me. Or repulsed, at the very least.” 

She sighs and drops her hand so she can cover his own. 

“Didn’t you hear all those wonderful things she said about you a couple months ago? She loves you, Jungkook. Maybe not how you wish she would, and it’ll definitely take time, but I have no doubt she’ll forgive you one day.” 

All Jungkook can do is hope she’s right. Because he truly doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses you forever. Until then, he just has to focus on cleaning up the mess he made. 

Speaking of, the sound of the front door opening and his dad calling for them ends their conversation. Jungkook looks towards his mom with fear written all over his face, but she simply reassures him with a smile. 

His dad doesn’t take the news nearly as well as his mom did. There’s screaming, an abundance of questions, and even a door slam when his dad needs some fresh air. But once the initial shock wears off, he hugs Jungkook tighter than humanly possible while whispering how much he loves and missed him.

Now that his folks know, the next step is to tell the world. The three of them spend the evening contemplating all their options before settling on claiming it as a business move. 

The official story printed in the press the following morning is that after finding out Jaehyun died, his dad worried people in the industry would question whether Jungkook could fill his shoes without any prior experience. So, they decided to let Jungkook prove himself under the guise of being Jaehyun for a pseudo-transition period. 

Of course, the entire technology world goes crazy. His dad spends multiple days fighting with board members and shareholders alike over his poor decision making. But like all news, it simmers into just some strange family drama after a couple weeks. 

Jungkook doesn’t leave the house much during that time and according to his mom, who you still regularly contact, neither do you. Apparently Jennie and Maddie have been running the bakery together in your absence while you rest and grieve on your own terms. His mom also informs him you told Jennie the truth shortly after the article dropped, so she’s the only person outside of family who knows. 

A month goes by in the blink of an eye and unfortunately, he has to return to work next week. Despite all the rigmarole, the board eventually decided Jungkook’s leadership has been exemplary these past eight months, and he should remain in his position as CEO. 

Given that real life’s about to start up again, and very soon, Jungkook swallows his nerves and ventures outside to visit the bakery. Not to see you, but to finally face his best friend for the first time since the news broke. 

He arrives just before closing time so there won’t be any customers around. Jennie also isn’t anywhere to be found, but he decides to enter the building anyway by using his spare key.

His eyes map all the different desserts and adorable decor around the room as he waits for her. Everything’s still so you even though you probably haven’t stepped foot inside the building in a month. It makes his heart throb because he just misses you so damn much, but he knows it’s his own fault you aren’t here. 

A recognizable doodle on the chalk board behind the counter is currently holding his interest, so he doesn’t hear anyone approach until they clear their throat. 

“Scout’s honor, huh?” 

Jennie’s voice automatically causes his head to whip in her direction. She looks exactly the same as she always does; beautiful, radiant, and headstrong. 

Once her comment clicks in his mind, his shoulders slump forward and he sighs from deep within his chest. 

“Jen, I —” 

Before he can even begin his spiel, she interrupts by colliding with him in the center of the bakery. He grunts in surprise, but still naturally pulls her body closer by her waist. His other hand cups the back of her head while her arms wrap around him so tightly she almost chokes him. 

She buries her face in his neck, but it doesn’t muffle her quiet sniffles very much. The sound prompts Jungkook to return her affection by nuzzling the side of her throat. 

“I’m so fucking happy you’re alive,” she whispers. 

Jungkook starts beaming following a huge sigh of relief.

“Me, too.”

They simultaneously pull apart and without thinking, Jungkook wipes a stray tear away with his thumb once her face reappears in his view.

Her eyes grow wide when his finger grazes her cheek, but her expression soon relaxes into one of content. And armed with the newfound awareness of her feelings, he also realizes it’s full of love. 

It’s strange being here with her. Even though he’s seen her numerous times throughout the last few months, it doesn’t feel like he did because he wasn’t technically himself. 

“I’m so sorry, Jen,” he tells her. “I never… I never meant to hurt you. That’s the last thing I ever want to do, but I just… got lost, I guess.”

“I know.” She’s wearing her signature smirk and Jungkook can’t resist mirroring it. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I already understand.” 

“You do?”

“Kook, you were going through the worst possible moment of your life. You made a mistake. I mean, it was a huge one, but I can’t claim I wouldn’t have done the same in your position.” 

Although he feels an enormous amount of relief because she isn’t furious with him, a part of him wishes she was.

“Sure, but I still lied to your face and let you believe I was dead. Not to mention when I sat here and listened to you confess your feelings for me like it was nothing.”

She simply shrugs. 

“Yeah, that was pretty fucked up, but it wasn’t a secret or anything,” she states. 

“Huh?”

“I would’ve told you how I felt if you’d asked.” 

Jungkook shakes his head to prevent any more confusion from infiltrating his mind.

“What are you talking about?”

Her eyes roll like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. 

“It wasn’t a secret, Kook. Me having feelings for you changed absolutely nothing between us. The only reason I never told you is because it would’ve been pointless.”

“Why would it have been pointless?” 

“Uh, because you’ve been head over heels in love with Y/N since forever?”

That response nearly knocks the air out of his lungs. 

“But you said you didn’t know who I had feelings for when I asked you that night!”

She laughs while crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Of course, I did. I wasn’t going to out you to who I believed was your brother and her husband.” Jungkook’s mouth forms a little O and it causes her to laugh again. “I’m fairly certain everyone but Y/N was well aware.”

“No shit. Mom told me even Jae knew,” he replies.

Jennie gasps.

“Are you serious?” He nods with a disbelieving chuckle. It still doesn’t really compute in his brain, either. “Damn, your brother was a saint. I would’ve kicked your fucking ass.”

“That’s what I said!” 

They share in more giggles and suddenly it’s as if no time passed at all. Being around Jennie always feels like coming home, and he sincerely hopes she knows that and agrees with the sentiment.

Then again, there’s still so much left to apologize for even baring the current situation. He honestly doesn’t know where to start, but he promised himself he would try. 

“Jennie?” She raises her eyebrows to show she’s listening. “About your feelings… I’m sorry. I should’ve considered how certain things might affect you, even if I didn’t know you were in love with me at the time. All those late night hook ups and trauma dumps. I can’t imagine what those must’ve been like for you. I used you and your body to make myself feel better and best friends should never treat each other like that.” 

“Kook, that’s not —”

He stops the interruption by throwing his hand up. 

“I know you’re going to say it’s fine, but it isn’t.” Once she concedes with a short nod, he continues. “The truth is, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make myself love you back. You’re fucking perfect, Jen. But even if I could force myself to reciprocate, it wouldn’t be fair to you. My feelings for Y/N are unalterable and no matter what, you would always come in second place. And you don’t deserve anything even close to that. You deserve someone who’ll cherish you and worship the very ground you walk on.” He sighs. “I wish it could be me. God, you have no idea how badly I want to love you. And I’m so fucking sorry I can’t.” 

His best friend looks shell shocked by the time he’s done talking, but she immediately returns the favor when in lieu of a verbal response, she clutches his head with both hands. Before Jungkook can register the sudden movement, she’s already yanking him down to her level for a kiss. 

It’s gentle and chaste. Neither of them even move their lips or attempt to deepen the connection. Although Jungkook does lightly cup her face and caress her cheekbones with his thumbs. 

She pulls back first, but they both keep their eyes closed for a second longer than the kiss itself. It doesn’t feel romantic, even though in any other circumstance it should. Jungkook also understands why she did it without her explaining herself. 

It was a thank you, an I forgive you, an I missed you, an I love you, and a “you’re my best friend” all wrapped into one. Maybe even a farewell to the possibility of ever being more. 

“You’ve never hurt me, Kook,” she assures him. “Every moment we’ve spent together, platonic or otherwise, I’ve utterly adored. My feelings for you are like an underwater current. They aren’t something I agonize over or think about often. They just… exist; a part of me in the same way my love for my other friends and family is.”

He smiles after her proclamation fully sinks in. 

“I love you, Jen. I truly don’t know where I’d be without you.” 

A matching grin appears on her lips. 

“Dead in a ditch. Easily.”

They both laugh again as the seriousness of the moment passes to make room for a new chapter in their friendship. One without any misunderstandings or secrets weighing either of them down. 

Jungkook assumes those are the only amends he’ll make this week, but shortly after leaving the bakery, he checks his phone and finds a text from you on his screen. 

You want to meet at the cemetery this Saturday to talk. 

Honestly, he can hardly believe what he’s seeing, and he even blinks a few times to check if the message will disappear. When it never does, he swiftly types an affirmative reply and hits send. 

Visiting Jaehyun has been on his list for the last couple weeks now. He hasn’t been to his brother’s grave since everything fell apart and more importantly, he wants to see the new headstone you had installed with the proper name on it. 

Besides redesigning the small monument, you’re also planning a very belated celebration of life on the first anniversary of his death in a couple months. It won’t ever replace losing your chance to give him a proper funeral, but it’s at least something that’ll be dedicated solely to him. 

On the morning of your first meeting in just over a month, Jungkook’s so nervous it feels like his entire body is resting on pins and needles. 

He’s bracing himself for this to be goodbye. In fact, he’s half expecting you to hand him a restraining order and make him sign a visitation schedule for the cemetery so you never run into one another while spending time with the person you both loved most. 

Except when he arrives at his twin’s grave and slowly approaches the bench you’re sitting on, he notices you appear totally relaxed. It could very well be the calm before the storm, but after you glance up and pat the empty space beside you, he stops believing it is. 

Jungkook follows the silent instruction, but neither of you speak at first. You both simply admire the headstone across from you as the birds chirp overhead and the leaves rustle beneath your feet. 

You quietly chuckle to yourself after a while and Jungkook finally gathers enough courage to look your way. 

“I won’t bite, you know,” you tease.

He checks his spot on the bench and realizes he’s cartoonishly far away from you. His ass is actually only half on the seat because he felt it was necessary to leave a comfortable distance. 

“Right,” he sighs before sliding closer.  

“How have you been?” 

The question feels so foreign compared to how you two normally communicate, but small talk is where you have to begin again if your relationship is ever going to be mended. 

“Alright, all things considered.” You hum. “What about you?” 

It’s a stupid thing to ask given the circumstances, but manners are manners. 

“Uh, not the best. Not the worst, either. At least, not anymore.” 

Jungkook nods to acknowledge your response, but every second the air is becoming thicker with tension.

“So —” 

“I —” 

You both awkwardly chuckle while avoiding each other’s gaze.

“You first,” Jungkook offers. 

“No, I insist.” 

It’s difficult deciding where to start, but then Jungkook remembers who he’s talking to. No matter what’s happened between you two, you’re still you. He knows he can ramble or stutter for hours and you’ll still understand him somehow. 

“First of all, the headstone looks beautiful.” 

Following the compliment, you both look towards the monument just a few feet away. It’s relatively the same as before in terms of design, except it now reads “Jeon Jaehyun” and rather than “beloved brother, son, and friend,” it lists “beloved husband, brother, and son.” 

You initially only wanted to change the final word, but his parents insisted what Jaehyun was most proud of was being married to you. 

“Thanks.” In a surprise twist, you giggle for a second and Jungkook can’t help but feel his spirits lift. “They asked if I wanted to keep the old one. And I almost said yes so I could, like, smash it with a mallet or something. But I realized that might not be very conducive to my healing.”

Jungkook genuinely cackles at your admission and as if it’s second nature, you parrot the laughter. The moment is so mundane it’s almost like nothing’s changed between you at all. 

“Damn, I wish you’d said yes. I would’ve loved to see that.” 

“Of course, you would. You’re the only person I know who’d find enjoyment in watching their own headstone get demolished.” 

“I mean, duh. That’s metal as fuck, Y/N.” 

You snicker with a familiar shake of your head.

“Next time you die, I’ll be sure to grant your wish.”

The smile on his face simply refuses to disappear. Not when you two are chatting like old times and the negative energy surrounding you is gradually fading away. 

“Will you?” He asks, bringing the conversation back to a more serious tone. “I mean, next time I die, will you be there?”

His question makes your eyebrows pinch together.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Jungkook shrugs. 

“I honestly thought we were coming here to say goodbye. That you’d never want to see me again, but were at least willing to give me some closure before you leave my life for good,” he explains. 

The words have barely left his mouth when you begin vehemently shaking your head.

“Jungkook, no,” you clarify. “No matter what, you’re still my best friend. There’s no reality where I wouldn't want you in my life. Even if I still need time to forgive you and move on, I’ll never say goodbye.” 

He doesn’t register himself crying until you shock him by reaching out to swipe at the lone tear on his cheek. Your touch causes his entire body to tense, but it has the complete opposite effect on his soul, which relaxes for the first time in a month. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he cries. “I know it isn’t enough, and that it’ll never be enough, but I am. Hurting you was the last thing I ever wanted. Everything I did was supposed to prevent that from happening. It may be hard to believe, and I understand if you don’t, but my feelings for you had no bearing on my decision. I’m sure it sounds confusing, but I never wanted you for myself. Yes, I’m in love with you, and I have been for more than half of my life. But the one person I love more than you is Jaehyun, and I would’ve never dared to take something so precious away from him. Especially when you made one another so fucking happy.” He pauses in case you want to interject, but you just gesture for him to continue. “If I had wanted that, I wouldn’t have taken his place after he died. I would’ve just comforted you in your grief in order to get closer to you. Me pretending to be Jae was so you two could stay together, not so I could have you. And I know that doesn’t make any sense and it’s so fucking twisted, but it’s the truth.” You encourage him with a nod when he checks in with you again, prompting Jungkook to take a deep breath. “When the nurse told me Jae was dead, all I could think about was how wrong that was. Not only was he always my better half, but he had so many people who needed him. Then I thought about you, and how I was feeling at that moment. And Y/N, I couldn’t let that happen to you. The idea of you experiencing the same devastating loss I was going through made me sick to my stomach. All I wanted, my only goal, was to shield you from that pain. In my mind, I had to keep Jae alive because he’s the one who deserved to live.” He sighs. “I’ve done a lot of reflecting this past month and I’ve come to realize that, although you were on the forefront of my mind, there were also other factors involved in my decision. The truth is, I’ve always hated myself for being in love with you. I saw myself as this leech constantly feeding off you and Jae’s relationship. I know that isn’t the case, but I felt so much shame about not being able to get over you. And I loved Jaehyun so fucking much, but the problem is, I think I might’ve hated myself more than I loved him. Which led me to believe I was making the right choice in keeping him alive and letting myself die.” Finally, he twists his upper body so he’s facing you head on. “I know none of this makes it right, and that you don’t owe me any forgiveness, but I needed to tell you. Again, I’m so, so sorry. There’s no amount of apologies that can ever make up for what I’ve done.” 

Once he concludes his speech, you blow air out of your mouth and thoughtfully nod. 

“I know,” you nonchalantly respond. 

Jungkook’s eyebrows rise and he looks around like someone will appear out of thin air to explain. 

“You… do?”

You ever-so-slightly smile at him.

“Yeah. The day I found out the truth, that the love of my life was dead, it felt like being sucked into a cyclone of vicious, excruciating emotions. I could hardly think straight. But after mulling it over these last few weeks, I understand your reasoning. I certainly don’t agree, and wish more than anything that you’d never done it, but I can see why you did.” 

“Oh.”

“And I’m actually just as angry at you for a different reason than lying to me,” you confess. His eyes go wide and you know him well enough to understand it means you should explain. “I am so, so mad at you for choosing to deal with Jaehyun’s death alone. Grief is meant to be shared. The only way someone can get through something so horrible is by leaning on their community. But you decided to hold it all on your shoulders without letting anyone else help carry the weight for you. Do you know how much that breaks my fucking heart, Jungkook?” He shakes his head. “You lost the most important person in your life and yet you stomached everything on your own so none of us had to lose him. It isn’t fair. And even more than that, you gave up everything that made you special; chose to live as someone else for the rest of your life if I hadn’t found out. That isn’t okay. Yes, Jae had people who loved him, who relied on him, but so did you.” You rest your hand over his own and Jungkook’s eyes flicker down to ensure he isn’t imagining it. “If I’d known you were the one who survived that day, I would’ve run to you just the same. And I would’ve been okay because I still had you. Minus any romance, we would’ve gotten through it together exactly like we did when I believed you were him.” When you squeeze his hand, he flips his palm up to reciprocate. “I’ve never once compared you and Jae. Obviously, losing my husband is an entirely different level of grief, but it isn’t necessarily worse. You both held the same weight in the world and left a hole in my heart when I believed you were gone. Just like how platonic and romantic love are two versions of one emotion, but despite being so different, can share the same intensity.” 

It takes him a second to process your monologue and he knows it’ll be even longer before he can internalize it. His self-loathing runs deep, and it’s only gotten worse after all this, so any positive feelings directed towards him are met with a hard line of defense. 

“It was an easy choice to make when I thought it would make you happy,” he counters. 

“There can’t be real happiness without truth.” 

Jungkook nods.

“You’re right.” 

You release his hand and turn back towards the headstone with an almost peaceful expression, and Jungkook finally understands. Knowing where the person you love actually is, even if it’s far away from you, is better than blind ignorance. Any happiness you might’ve felt while he was pretending to be Jaehyun is hollow in comparison.  

“Jae’s death wasn’t wrong, either.” 

His eyebrows instantly meet in the middle of his forehead. Of everything he claimed, he didn’t expect that to be what you disagree with. 

“Huh?”

“He died saving your life, Jungkook. How can that be wrong?” He’s never considered viewing it in that light before. “In a split second decision, his gut instinct was to protect you. And I know if your car had been traveling in the opposite direction, you would’ve done the same.” Jungkook fervently nods. “No matter how unfair it is or how much I wish it never happened, you shouldn’t take that away from him by belittling yourself. His death meant something and I know without a shadow of doubt that he doesn’t regret it. Not even a little bit.”

“Eh,” he objects. “Considering I proceeded to sleep with his wife countless times, he might regret not using me as a shield instead.” 

His familiar humor elicits another giggle out of you. 

“Okay. Fair.” 

Once a comfortable silence begins to stretch across the cemetery, Jungkook clears his throat so he can change the subject.

“So, where do we go from here?” 

The question makes you purse your lips, but it also seems like you might already know the answer. 

“This is the hard part,” you state. 

“What do you mean?” 

You start stamping your toes on the ground and rhythmically tapping your thighs. Any sign of nervousness is out of character for you, but Jungkook just waits for your explanation rather than probing. 

“Alright. After ‘you’ died, I automatically expected Jaehyun to be different. Grief that insurmountable is bound to change someone. Which is why I never questioned all the discrepancies I kept noticing while you were pretending to be him. I simply came to terms with the fact that my marriage was never going to be the same.” Jungkook has no idea where your train of thought is going, but he still listens intently. “Because of that, throughout our time together, I felt like I was falling in love with Jae all over again. And even though ‘he’ was different, I welcomed it with open arms. I’ve loved every version of him since we were teenagers, and this was just another iteration.” As you talk, the wheels inside his brain twist and turn until the purpose of your speech finally clicks into place. “But since you weren’t actually Jae, that means the newfound love I feel doesn’t belong to him. It belongs to you.”

If his heart could physically leap out of his chest and start doing cartwheels, it would. Jungkook genuinely can’t believe what he’s hearing. Here he thought this would be the end of your relationship forever, but you’re speaking as if it might be the opposite. 

“You… I mean, you…”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “The problem is, this love is shrouded in well over a decade of feelings for Jae, so they’re too intertwined and convoluted to properly distinguish what I feel for him and what I feel for you.” He isn’t even breathing while he listens to you, but rather holding in his air supply until you allow him to exhale by clarifying. “But I’d like to try. Not now or even soon, because I still have to forgive you and we still need to rebuild what we lost, but eventually, I think we should give it a shot.” 

It’s as though the heavens have opened up overhead and the angels themselves are singing a song of celebration. He actually worries he didn’t hear you correctly because his head’s so high up in the clouds.

“You’re serious?”

“I have one condition, though.”

“Name it,” he blurts out. 

You side-eye the instantaneous response before chuckling under your breath.

“We have to start from scratch. There’s too much history and baggage between us that’ll only weigh us down. When the time comes, I want to go on a first date like we’re total strangers. Ask one another stupid questions about our favorite colors and what we do for a living. Back to square one.”

Jungkook wouldn’t be able to stop himself from beaming if he tried. Because you’re posing the idea as if it’s a bad thing, but he can’t think of anything better than relearning everything he already adores about you. 

“Deal. I’ll even repeatedly pronounce your name wrong so it feels authentic.” Your bright laugh echoes through the air and fills his heart with song. “Y/N, I’ve loved you for so long. I’ll be happy with whatever you give me, even if it’s just an annual call on my birthday and a Christmas card.”

“I want more than that, Jungkook. Even if a romantic relationship between us fails, I never want to lose you.” Like it’s muscle memory at this point, you lift your hand to comb back his hair. “I love you. I’m not entirely sure to what degree just yet, but I do know that’ll never change.”

He cups your hand and presses them both to his cheek.

“Ditto.”

A massive smile might honestly be a permanent feature of his after this and it’s still present when he turns his head to kiss your palm. 

“So, I have this theory,” you proclaim.

“Oh, yeah?” 

You reclaim your hand before fiddling with your fingers in your lap.

“It’s kinda bizarre, but it’s helped me make sense of all my emotions.” Jungkook nods for you to continue. “Okay. It starts with the multiverse. You with me?” He nods again, albeit more tentatively. “Now, let’s assume in all the other universes, you and I, or Jae and I, are soulmates. As in, we’re always meant to find one another and be together. But what if there’s usually only one of you, but here you happened to be split into two as twins. It would explain why you both fell for me and I ended up developing feelings for each of you. Because everywhere else your personalities and traits are combined in one person.”

Well, you’re definitely right about it being bizarre. But in some strange sense, it’s comforting to imagine. Jungkook likes the idea that you, him, and Jaehyun are fated by the universe to always intertwine in one way or another. Or that he and his twin really were one soul in two bodies as he so often described. 

“I think it’s got some legs,” he confidently concludes.

You laugh again before another natural lull in the conversation occurs. It allows for Jungkook to finally admire you up close, which is when his eyes land on something shimmering around your neck.

A gasp escapes his lips upon realizing you're still wearing the pendant he gave you. He was positive you would rip the jewelry clean off after your last interaction. Yet here it is looking just as beautiful as the day he gifted it to you. 

“Why didn’t you take the necklace off?” He asks in awe. 

Your fingers rise to map the familiar outline.

“I tried, believe me. Except whenever I went to undo the clasp, something inside just wouldn’t let me,” you explain. “I’m obviously still very angry with you. There are even nights when I wish I’d never met you. The sense of betrayal and violation I feel because of what you did isn’t going away anytime soon. But sometimes when I remember certain moments from the last eight months, I can’t help but smile.”

His heart soars all over again.

“Really?” 

You smirk and shrug your shoulders like it’s no big deal, but Jungkook’s still far above cloud nine. After a moment, your hand falls from your clavicle and you affectionately gaze at your wedding rings.

“You know, I’m thinking about wearing my wedding band on my right hand and getting the diamond from my engagement ring made into a pendant. Maybe something with a ‘J’ and a sapphire for your guys’ birthstone.” 

Jungkook can already picture it in his head. Everything looks beautiful on you, but something like that would be icing on the cake. 

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

“Me, too.” 

Suddenly, he remembers his own memento he got earlier this month.

“Actually, I have something to show you,” he exclaims. 

Your attention shifts to him as he rolls up his right sleeve and presents his forearm to you. You gasp at the colorful artwork on his skin while instinctively reaching out for a closer look.

“You finally got a tattoo?” 

He’s always wanted one, but when Jaehyun was alive it somehow felt wrong. For whatever reason, he hated the idea of having something that would permanently differentiate them. As though the tattoo would make them less identical or weaken their bond. 

“Figured it was about time.” Your fingers delicately trace along the curves and sharp lines of the ink. But while you’re busy admiring his tattoo, he’s doing the same to you. “It’s a tiger lily. Jae and I’s birth flower.”

“I remember,” you tell him. “You drew this yourself. Didn’t you?”

His eyebrows rise.

“How did you know that?”

You shrug again after one last look at the tattoo. 

“I’d recognize your artwork anywhere.”

Jungkook drew all the time when he was younger until he eventually opened the bar and became too busy for the hobby. Whether a hand-drawn birthday card or personalized painting, he often gifted his art to friends and family alike. He’s always been known for his creative mind in comparison to his twin, but he had no clue you could distinguish his style from other artists.

The notion of you remembering what his brush strokes and shading looks like, even after all these years, causes his heart to beat like a jackrabbit in his chest. In fact, it’s so touching that tears begin to crowd his waterline. 

“You know, you make it really fucking hard not to be in love with you,” he notes. 

That not only pulls more giggles out of you, but a pink blush stains your cheeks and neck. 

“Sorry.” Jungkook smiles while waving your apology off with one hand. “Now I want one,” you pout.

He’s never taken you for a tattoo person, especially since you’re a self proclaimed hater of needles. Although, the devious side of his brain can’t deny how alluring the thought is. Not to mention how amazing one would look on your skin. 

“My tattoo artist was great, I can take you to her if you’re really interested.” 

“Yes, please,” you confirm. “But will you draw it for me?” 

His hand automatically flies to his chest to point to himself.

“Me?”

“Well, duh.”

“You want me to… to draw a tattoo for you?” 

You seem totally endeared by his surprised expression, evident by your eyes crinkling in the corners when you smile.

“Of course!”

Every time Jungkook believes he can’t possibly fall for you more than he already has, you come in swinging with a steel bat straight to his heart. 

“This is where I came after I found out the truth,” you state, changing the subject.

“Yeah…” Jungkook awkwardly chuckles. “I know. I checked your location.” He put his hands out in surrender when he realizes how that might come off. “Just to make sure you were safe.”

Once he hears you softly chuckle in return, he lets his arms fall.

“I probably shouldn’t have been driving, to be honest, because I could hardly see through my tears. Then I got here and immediately fell to my knees in front of the headstone,” you narrate. “I just sobbed, screamed, and apologized until I was too lightheaded to keep going.”

“Apologized?”

You nod while making eye contact with him again.

“Yes, because I should’ve known. Or at the very least, been slower to accept what you were telling me.”

Jungkook isn’t able to see your irises anymore when you glance down at the ground.

“Don’t do that. Don’t victim blame yourself,” he replies. “I lied to you for months.”

“I know. But he was my husband, Jungkook.” A heavy sigh makes your chest rise as you shake your head, seemingly at yourself. “You didn’t kiss or touch me the same. You didn’t smell like him or laugh how he did. I mean, you even tasted different. But I just kept chalking everything up to grief, despite that making no fucking sense.”

“Y/N, the world itself stopped making sense as soon as Jae wasn’t in it.” He nudges your shoulder so you look up. “Besides, I don’t think many rational people jump to someone actually being their dead twin brother when they start acting different.”

The gentle smile that appears makes him hopeful you’ll stop being so hard on yourself about what he did to you.

“You make a good point,” you concede.

Even though he would love to just talk about everything and nothing with you, there’s one more topic he wants to cover.

“Um, do you think it’s a good idea for us to talk about the miscarriage?” He poses. “We don’t have to, I just thought I’d offer.”

“Hmm.” You momentarily mull it over. “Honestly, with so much on my mind lately I haven’t had time to even think about it.” 

“Me, either.”

“Are you alright?” 

Jungkook tilts his head in confusion.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Becuase you lost something, too.”

A hum serves as his initial response.  

“I never really saw it like that. I mean, logically I know that’s true, but I was so distraught about what I’d done it almost felt like penance.” 

“Makes sense,” you conclude. “Truth is, my dream of having kids naturally ended as soon as we got the diagnosis. I was perfectly fine with adoption and Jae and I were actually planning on beginning the process later this year.” You shrug your shoulders and meet his eyes. “So when I found out I was pregnant and miscarrying, it didn’t really register with me.”

“You and Jae would’ve been amazing parents,” Jungkook wholeheartedly declares.

A huge smile forms on your lips. 

“Hopefully in another lifetime.” He agrees with a nod. “I’m actually getting my tubes tied this spring.”

“What?” 

Just last month there was a bun cooking in your oven and now you’re burning down the kitchen. He worries you’re only doing so because of him, and that’s the last thing he wants. 

“Jae and I couldn’t have kids together, so even if I do ever fall in love again, it wouldn’t feel right having them with someone else.”

“And your doctor’s willing to do the procedure when you’re still so young?” 

You scoff. 

“No. I had to go to three different practices until one of them was touched enough by my sob story about tragically losing my husband.” You click your tongue with evident indignation. “It’s such bullshit.”

That’s an understatement. Jungkook’s proud of you for standing up for yourself and choosing to do what you feel is right. It’s what you deserve after he took away all your agency.

“It is. I’m sorry you have to deal with that,” he tells you. “My mom actually told me about your fertility doctor’s suggestion to ask me to donate.” 

The memory must still irk you because you theatrically roll your eyes.

“Let me tell you, Jungkook, I almost started throwing the clipboards in that damn office.” He laughs while a vision of you chucking office supplies around plays inside his head. “Then Jae had the audacity to ask why it was such a terrible idea!”

The mention of his twin acting so clueless brings a smile to his face.

“He may have been the perfect husband, but he was still just a man.” You chuckle and concur with a short nod. “I’m surprised he didn’t react the same way you did. I can’t imagine him being comfortable with someone shooting my sperm into you given the circumstances.” 

A wave of confusion contorts your features.

“What circumstances?” 

“Oh, my mom also told me Jae knew about my feelings for you.”

It takes a moment for his words to register, but once they do, your jaw drops open.

“Are you kidding?”

“Nope! Trust me, I was just as shocked.”

You click your tongue a couple times before glancing at the headstone again. 

“What the fuck, Jae,” you mutter. “And he never confronted you about it?”

He shakes his head.

“Mom said it’s because he knew I’d never actually try anything and even if I did, you’d kick my ass.”

His mother’s explanation produces a tandem, warm laugh from the two of you.

“He sure was right about that.” 

Jungkook joins you in turning to face his twin’s grave again as you two allow the wind and rustling of leaves to fill the air instead of your voices. 

After a little while, you lean over to rest your head on his shoulder and Jungkook naturally follows suit by mirroring the position. You both stay like that for some time and although he doesn’t know exactly what you’re feeling, he believes it’s a shared emotion.

For the first time since the night of Jaehyun’s work event, the three of you are finally together again. It’s how things should be, even if you both wish Jaehyun was physically here beside you.

“I miss him so much,” you whisper.

“Yeah.”

It’s difficult for Jungkook to respond with anything else when no words exist to truly capture what it’s like living without him. 

“Everyday I find something new to miss about him. Like yesterday, I remembered how he would always squish my cheeks and shout ‘kawaii’ whenever I did something cute.” A deep, solemn sigh makes your chest rise and fall. “I always pretended it was irritating, but I would give anything to hear him do it again. Even just one more time.”

Jungkook hums in response before an idea flickers inside his head and he sits up to face you. 

“Close your eyes,” he instructs.

“Why?”

You look skeptical, so he flashes an encouraging grin in your direction. 

“Just trust me.”

Although you’re hesitant, you soon straighten your spine and shut your eyes. 

Jungkook takes a second to survey your features without you seeing him do so. Being around you brings him more peace than anything else in the world and he’s just grateful to be sitting here in front of you. 

He recalls almost nine months ago on the morning of the funeral when he spoke to you as himself to cheer you up. It made you feel better back then and he hopes it’ll do the same today. 

His twin used to do this to you all the time, so Jungkook remembers his exact tone of voice and mannerisms.

Following the short reverie, he inhales and gently clutches your cheeks with one hand. He ignores the questioning glance you shoot him. Although, he can’t deny how cute you look with your face all scrunched up. 

After another deep breath, he focuses on his memories of Jaehyun before wiggling your head back and forth. 

“Kawaii!” He mockingly cheers to imitate his brother.  

You immediately beam brighter than the sun as your eyes fly open and a laugh rises from deep in your belly. Jungkook shares in your giddiness, but he also notices fresh tears falling down just above his fingertips. 

“That was spot on,” you assure him. 

Before letting your face go, he wipes away the droplets on your cheeks. 

“It helps when you have the same voice.” Jungkook feels a sense of accomplishment when you chuckle and your smile persists. “I’ll do that for you anytime you want, Y/N. Other stuff, too, if you think of it.” He lays his hand over your own where it’s resting on your thigh. “Just because I’m not pretending to be him anymore doesn’t mean I can’t help keep his spirit alive.”

The grin on your lips broadens.

“I think I’d like that.” 

A silent calm moves through the air and settles over the scene. Even with all the grief and pain between you, it’s clear you both agree about wanting to fix what’s been broken. 

Jungkook still can’t really believe it. He also doesn’t feel like it’s what he deserves, but he isn’t going to question you. His actions already ripped away your independence and free will, whether initially good intentioned or not. So he’s ready to simply stand by your side and follow your lead.

“I’m really happy to have you back. I missed you so much when I thought you were dead.” You rest your free hand on the growing pile of appendages and squeeze, leading him to complete the stack. “My Kookie.”

Your familiar, effervescent smile could heal even his deepest wounds all on its own. Not to mention hearing his nickname pass through your lips again after so long. 

“I missed you, too.” He lets go of your hand so he can tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “My sweet Cupcake.”

By now you’re both grinning like little kids as you rest your head in his open palm. 

You two stay in the cemetery for a little while longer; sharing memories of Jaehyun, catching up some more, and reminiscing about your lives together so far. Jungkook further explains his feelings for you by detailing how contradictory they are at times. In return, you open up about your experience while he was pretending to be your husband and how you’ve been coping with the truth since.

For instance, how it would give you pause whenever he’d slip up, but you could always think of more logical reasons for his actions than him not being Jaehyun. And it was only once you were faced with the indisputable fact of a miscarriage that you couldn’t deny it any longer. 

As you said the night you found out, you needed Jaehyun to be alive, so as long as your brain could rationalize his behavior, you weren’t going to question him. 

You elaborate about how your doubts were subconscious, rather than something running through your head all the time. Jungkook’s someone you trusted, and you also had no idea he had feelings for you, so accusing him of taking your husband’s place was the last thought on your mind. 

In terms of afterwards, you tell him every day’s a different story. Most are full of despair, others are confusing, but sometimes you feel at peace. 

Jungkook actually chooses to remain even after you head home for the evening. Since the daunting conversation with you is behind him now, there’s only one person left to apologize to. 

A few minutes after you leave him alone on the bench, he stands to walk towards the headstone bearing his brother’s name. He hates the sight of it, if he’s being totally honest, because it still doesn’t feel right for Jaehyun to have a grave at all. But he can still admit it’s a gorgeous testament to who his twin was. 

“Hey, Jae,” he greets him while sitting cross legged on the ground in front of the monument. “Is this alright? I mean, I’m not sitting on you. Am I? I figured this is more like when I’d throw myself on your bed while you were studying or something.” Of course, there’s no response, but then again he never needed one even when Jaehyun was alive. They could always communicate without words. “I, uh, don’t really know how to start. Apologizing to our folks, Jennie, and even Y/N seemed fairly simply even though I was nervous as hell. But you? I think you’re the person I hurt most of all. I know that sounds terrible considering they’re here and you’re not, but none of them died so I could live.” A couple tears roll down his cheeks, but he doesn’t bother swiping them away. “Y/N’s right. You fucking gave up your life for me and just like always, I was too damn stubborn to accept it. I lost count of how many times you offered to help me over the years, in a million different ways, and I rejected you every time because of my own insecurities. I should’ve been shouting from the rooftops about what you did for me. Telling everyone I came across how my brother chose to leave everything behind; his accomplishments, his family, the love of his life, just so I’d survive. But instead I threw your sacrifice away like it meant nothing.” He’s crying much harder now, leaving him no choice but to use his sleeve so he can still see. “I’m so sorry, Jaehyun. I messed up. I betrayed you. Before your wedding you made me promise to take care of Y/N if something ever happened, and I fucking failed you.” It takes Jungkook a moment to catch his breath, but then he places his hand on the tombstone, right over where the word “brother” is engraved. “I swear to you I’ll uphold that promise from now on and forevermore. I’ll do it right this time; watch over her as myself instead of pretending to be something I’m not. And we can… we can talk about the feelings stuff another time. I’m actually a little peeved you kept that shit to yourself. But anyway, I know you might not be able to forgive me yet and I understand. I just hope by the time we meet again, you’ll welcome me with open arms.” Jungkook stares at the lettering while blinking back more tears before his emotions propel him forward until his forehead meets the stone. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.” He sighs and forces his eyes shut, trying to picture his twin sitting across from him. “I’m gonna live the best life possible, Jae. As me. For you. For both of us.” 

Maybe he’s crazy, or sleep deprived, but he swears he hears a faint echo of his twin’s laughter, almost like his response to Jungkook’s apology is: “Of course, I forgive you, you loveable idiot.”

He misses Jaehyun more than any words in the multitude of human languages that exist can describe. His life will always feel like something's missing, but he’s also certain there isn’t a single step he’ll take where his brother won’t be right beside him. 

After that night, you and Jungkook begin to rebuild your relationship brick by brick through visits to each other’s homes or the bakery, running errands together, and going on adventures you never have before. Including you finally teaching him how to figure skate and him taking you on your first ever motorcycle ride. You also try deep sea fishing off Jeju Island, hiking Dobongsan Mountain, and even a weekend trip to Japan. 

It’s all strictly platonic, but just like the last decade and a half, Jungkook doesn’t mind. He’ll wait forever if that’s what it takes, and he won’t complain even if you end up never wanting more. Simply being in your life is all he needs and without his better half, your friendship means more to him than ever before. 

About eighteen months later, three months after the second anniversary of Jaehyun’s death, you finally ask Jungkook if he’s interested in testing more romantic waters with you. To no one’s surprise, he enthusiastically accepts without hesitation. 

You both agree on upholding the deal you made in the cemetery to start from scratch. Jungkook even goes the extra mile by deleting your contact from his phone. His antics send your eyes rolling back, but there’s also an endeared grin on your lips while you re-input your number. 

The day of your first date goes by way too fast. Jungkook swears he just woke up and yet when he checks the clock, it’s already time to get ready. Perhaps it’s because he’s more anxious about tonight than he’s ever been in his entire life. 

There’s honestly no reason to be. You’re his oldest, dearest friend and you always have fun together no matter what you choose to do. Although even that knowledge doesn’t stop his fingers from shaking as he buttons up his shirt and throws on a coat. 

His new apartment is close enough to the restaurant to walk, so he decides to let the fresh air calm his nervous system.

He arrives ten minutes before the agreed upon time, but he’s thankful because even after the brief stroll, he needs a second to slow his racing heartbeat and quiet his mind. 

Jungkook dives face first into the menu as a distraction while he waits. Except it’s hardly any use because he ends up deciding on all his courses within the first five minutes.

His leg incessantly bounces beneath the table before he holds his knee down to stop the movement. That’s when he decides to pray to whoever might be listening to save him from sweating through his clothes.  

If anyone, he believes Jaehyun’s watching over him. Sometimes he’s positive he can sense his twin beside him or hear his voice in his ear. It’s comforting, even if it might very well be all in his head. 

He hopes Jaehyun isn’t upset with him. If he’s still pissed about what Jungkook did immediately following his death, that’s reasonable. What he doesn’t want is for his brother to be angry at him for moving on with you. 

Jungkook’s fully aware he’ll never be able to replace Jaehyun, nor would he want to. His twin wasn’t just your first love, but the love of your life.

Now, that doesn't mean you and Jungkook can’t live a long, happy life together full of devotion. Because if he learned anything from his mistakes, it's that love can manifest in multiple different forms, none of which are any less than another. 

He’s too deep in his reverie to hear the footsteps approaching his table. It takes someone rapping their knuckles against the wood and speaking to grab his attention. 

“You must be Jungkook.”

The familiar, yet distant phrase forces his gaze away from the menu as his head slowly lifts to reveal the person standing across from him. 

You’re smiling, but as soon as your eyes meet, it becomes a smirk while you playfully tilt your head to one side. 

Perhaps it won’t make sense to anyone else, but you somehow look identical to when you two first met and entirely different. Your brilliance, charisma, and beautiful features are all the same, but it’s also clear you’re older, wiser, and more refined.

All Jungkook can think about is how lucky he is to be able to witness so many versions of you. He wishes Jaehyun had the same opportunity, but he’s certain his twin is always admiring you from above. Just as he did every day of his life here on earth.

The memory your words trigger in his brain instantly paints a huge smile on his face and elicits a warm, nostalgic chuckle as he maintains your eye contact.

Despite it feeling like almost a whole other lifetime, Jungkook knows precisely how to reply. 

“You must be Y/N, then.” 

Then your doorbell rings and you groan and throw the covers over your head. Maybe someone is just at the wrong door. You can only hope. You miss your boyfriend horribly, but you feel like shit, you haven’t showered, or eaten, or tidied up, and your cramps are killing you. You’re the definition of a hot mess. And he hasn’t seen this kind of hot-mess-you yet.

Closing your eyes, you silently beg whoever’s at the door to go away, but they fly open at the sound of a key turning in your lock and you spring out of bed. Blood rushes down to your legs and up to your head as you rush out of your room because the last thing you need is Yoongi witnessing your rock bottom. He’s stepping out of the foyer, shoes neatly tucked in the corner, by the time you skid into the living room, blanket flailing behind you like a cape.

“Uh, hi,” you greet lamely, moving to get in his way of further entering your apartment. “You couldn’t wait for me to answer?” Fuck, you sound mean. Pms has gotten the best of you.

Despite your tone, he smiles. This guy just has to make it hard to shut him out. “I thought you might be asleep.”

“I wasn’t,” you say, self-consciously wrapping your blanket beneath your neck to hide as much of you as you can.

He turns his snapback backwards, revealing his entire pretty face. “Well, I haven’t heard from you in a few days, my love. I know you need your space, but I need to know that you’re alive. Why else would you give me your spare key?”

“So that you can bring it in case I lose mine.”

He puts his free hand on his hip, leveling you with a playful glare. “I’m your boyfriend, not a locksmith.”

You shrug, and glance over your shoulder, checking to make sure your unkempt living room didn’t manage to become more unkempt just because he showed up.

“Are you gonna let me in or am I just gonna be your food delivery guy?”

“It’s a mess in here. I’m a mess.”

He tilts his head. “Babe, when have I ever cared?”

“I care. I hate that you’re seeing me like this.”

“I just like seeing you. No matter what state you’re in.”

You stand there like a statue as you go to war with yourself because you miss him but you’re having a hard time believing he doesn’t care that it looks like a category 5 tornado ran right through your place.

“It’s not that bad in here,” he says, stepping around you to head for the kitchen. Okay, mind reader. “Just come eat.”

“I’m gonna shower first.”

He just nods and sets the food on the counter to unpack it. Halfway through your glorious shower, you pause when the bathroom door squeaks open. Instinctively, you reach for the handle to adjust the temperature to a cooler one he can stand, expecting him to join you, but you don’t hear his footsteps pad onto the damp, steamy tile. You don’t hear anything.

“What are you doing?”

All you get in response is a closed door. Okay?

After brushing your teeth, washing your face, moisturizing, and changing into clean sweats, you come back into the main area to find Yoongi in the kitchen washing dishes. The washer is running in the corner, half-empty hamper by the end of the counter. You’re horrified, that thing was overflowing, clothes smashed against the wall. And he took it upon himself to start doing your laundry?

“Please don’t clean up after me,” you say in a panic, darting into the kitchen.

“Can’t hear you,” he says, tapping his earbud, and completely ignores your attempts to stop him from scrubbing a plate. You would be annoyed if you weren’t so relieved you don’t have to do your dishes tonight. The least you can do is help.

Side by side, he silently passes you one of his earbuds and you finish up with the dishes and wiping down the counters while listening to his playlist, the one that’s filled with songs you both picked together. You almost start crying when “Mansard Roof” comes on - a song on your playlist that was on in the background when Yoongi first told you he loved you. Corny, you know. But that was the two of you. Before you can reminisce and become more emotional, Yoongi bumps hips with you and loudly sings the lyrics. You shriek when during the bouncing beat of first verse, he grabs your hand and twirls you around, ignoring your shouts of his name as he pulls you into a silly, uncoordinated dance routine. You laugh giddily and the sound surprises you. Leave it to Yoongi to bring out the sun when all you’ve known is rain.

“You’re ridiculous,” you giggle breathlessly when the song ends, pushing at his chest but he remains close. He grins and swoops in for a swift peck.

“You love it.” He turns around for the food before you get the chance to say you love him.

You sit next to him at the island counter, legs tangled together, picking from each other’s bowls. Yoongi makes sure you have enough protein, you give him extra vegetables. As you eat, your cramps slowly creep in and get worse, and they become harder to ignore, but you try your best not to let your pain show.

“Cramps?” Yoongi asks after you start cleaning up.

“You can tell?” How the fuck?

“You make a face.” Oh. You shouldn’t be surprised. Your boyfriend is insanely attentive.

“Need meds?” You shake your head.

“Heating pad?”

“It’s somewhere in my closet.”

“Go get it. I’ll finish up here.”

You can’t get over how good he is to you despite the fact that you ignored him for three days. He brought food, did your dishes and laundry, and twirled you around the kitchen when he hates dancing. Just to make you laugh. He put on your favorite chill playlist while you ate together. He didn’t ask you about your week, didn’t try to push you for answers about why you went MIA. Because he knows you prefer to eat in silence, especially when it’s been a while since you’ve eaten. And he knows when you’re in pain because of a face you make? You really hit the jackpot with him. You need to show him how grateful you are.

When you come back to the kitchen, he’s back at the sink, towel drying the dishes and putting them away. You set the heating pad on the island counter and stride up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, cheek planted on his back.

“I’m sorry I sounded like I didn’t want you here,” you apologize, guilt swimming through you. “I just don’t want you to think I can’t take care of myself.”

He sets down the dishes and swivels around, eyes filled with something that makes you want to shy away as he reaches up to hold your cheek.

“Baby, it’s okay if you can’t sometimes, though. God knows I’ve been there. You know I’ve been there.” You sniffle, remembering the times when you’ve been in his shoes, worrying about his prolonged silence, wondering if he’s okay, if he’s taking care of himself, showing up unprompted to do it for him. You don’t know why it’s hard to accept when he does it for you.

“And I love you, or something, so I want to be there for you.” You glance up to the small smile playing on his lips and it spreads onto yours.

“‘Or something’?”

His gums show under a grin and you can’t help but crack into a full smile. He reaches out to brush the corner of your quirked up lip.

“Love seeing this.”

You’ve known this man for a little over two years and dating him for eight months but he still makes you so, so shy. To hide it, you knock your face into his shoulder, heart melting when his hand smooths up to your neck and his lips press into your temple.

“Missed you,” you mumble into his shirt, tears jumping to your waterline when his scent overwhelms you with comfort.

“Missed you, too, baby,” he says softly.

“And,” you sniff. “I’m really grateful for you.”

He tilts up your chin with a knuckle. “I love you.”

Heart bursting, you lean in and kiss him with a full smile, and he holds both sides of your face as he kisses you back - soft and slow and warm and with a silent promise that he’ll always care.

“Can I stay?” he whispers after you break apart, feeling dazed and like you’re floating on a cloud.

“Please.”

“I’ll even suffer through watching your favorite show,” he sighs exasperatedly. You roll your eyes. Like he doesn’t verbally scrutinize the plot after each episode and make insightful commentary about the characters’ dynamics. 

“You know you’re just as into the drama as I am, stop denying it.”

He shakes his head belligerently. “No.”

Laugh resonating in your chest, you push him towards the living room, curl up with him on the couch under a big, soft blanket, and get into a huge debate about the direction of the cliff hanger.

Hours later, after making your bed together, you crawl under the covers, each on your designated side, and he pulls you into him as you get settled. You nuzzle into his neck and breathe in his intoxicating and soothing scent. You’re so comfortable and safe, and now you have a better reason for not leaving your bed. With his beating heart echoing under your skin and his arms wrapped snugly around you, you find yourself the happiest you’ve been in a while. You could stay like this forever.

“I’m calling out tomorrow,” you declare against his throat. 

“Good,” he yawns. “I already did.”

You kiss him in a silent thank you. As you get settled, his hand finds yours under the covers and tangles your fingers together. You go to sleep wondering how many times he can make you fall in love.

.

.

.

You don’t like the way he answered. Casual. Or as close to casual as someone can get while fighting for breath. Like this isn’t weird. Like a whole year hadn’t passed since the last time you were in a room together. Like you’re still his girlfriend, entitled to a serious response to every “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”-esque question.

“Well that’s sad,” you say.

Matt shakes his head. Pretty stupid since every movement seems to cost him, but it’s clear he means to comfort you. “They prefer it that way. Besides,” he winces, “is it the aquarium down on Surf? The building’s too small. Even if they tried, they probably couldn’t get a permit for more than one.”

“Then maybe they shouldn’t have any.”

“Even if whale sharks prefer to be alone?” 

Your traitorous eyes flick up from the needle to his lips. No one prefers to be alone, you almost tell him.

But that’s too vulnerable. Too close to an admission.

Instead, you say, “Even if.”

A flash as the billboard changes. New colors bathe the living room: bright red and bleach white. You don’t have to look to know what ad is on display.

The emergency room wait time for Metro-General.

Ironic.

If it was up to you, that’s where Matt would be right now. In a real hospital, getting real medical treatment.

But that’s an old argument, and vigilantes are stupid by nature. “Why would I need a doctor?” asks a dying vigilante. “This random civilian has seen Grey’s Anatomy, right? That’s basically an M.D. crash course. Someone, quick! Give them a sewing kit before my intestines meet a Brooklyn sidewalk.”

With the needle readied, you chew your bottom lip and consider Matt’s injuries. His muscled torso is a sweaty mess of slashing cuts. The worst cut steals your attention, a straight line from the top of his hipbone to a little past his belly button. Looking at it turns your stomach. It’s one of the wounds that reminds you the human body is nothing more than a meat sack.

You swallow bile — swallow fear — and reach for one of the hand towels beside the first-aid kit.

Gently — very, VERY gently — you dab the towel against his bloody wound.

Matt writhes, arching off the cushions.

“Sorrysorrysorry!” You hardly recognize your own voice. You’re too focused on Matt, his clenched teeth stifling a groan, fists curling at his sides.

Apologies don’t cure pain.

Distraction might.

“Have I ever told you how much I hate that billboard? I mean, don’t get me wrong! I miss penthouse living every day. But you know what I don’t miss? Falling asleep on the couch and waking up to the lights of a hemorrhoid cream ad burning into my retinas.”

True. You do hate the billboard, and you do miss Matt’s apartment.

Your current apartment is a shoebox that Foggy helped you score two days post-breakup. To call it a hellscape would be too kind. The lights are all faulty, a massive roach has squatter’s rights under your white refrigerator, and you’re one hundred percent certain that Frank Castle lives down the hall.

You’ve been careful to keep that last bit hush-hush. If Foggy or Karen were to find out that you share a mailroom with the Punisher, they’d definitely tell Matt.

Not that Matt would care.

…

…

…

Okay, fine. Matt would care. About everything.

He’d go on for hours about the risk of electrical fire, how roaches carry E. coli, that your landlord’s violating New York State law by refusing to install a carbon monoxide detector, and oh, yeah, a convicted murderer might knock on your door any day now for a cup of sugar!

Just thinking about it makes your chest hurt. The depth of Matt’s care.

And Matt — sweet, loving, woeful Matt — makes it all worse by saying, “I offered to buy curtains.”

He had.

Countless times.

Once again chewing your bottom lip, you toss the towel aside. You’d cleaned enough blood to see what Meredith Grey would’ve called subcutaneous tissue. Or maybe she wouldn’t have. Maybe it’s something else. Grey’s Anatomy, after all, is not an MD crash course.

Either way, the raw mess of his stomach proves what was already obvious: this cut is deeeeeeeeeep.

“Sure you don’t want any pain killers?” you ask him. “I’ve got Midol in my bag.”

He shakes his head once.

You scoff. “You know you don’t earn tough guy points for taking it raw, right?”

Matt laughs at your poor phrasing; though “laugh” might not be the best word for it. It’s more of an exhale turned cough turned sound of agony, but whatever. You take it as a win! If Matt wants to feel the pain of being a human embroidery project, so be it. At least you managed to distract him for a second, make him chuckle-cough over something silly.

“Hold your breath,” you tell him.

His brows knit with confusion. Soon as he starts to ask why, you shove the needle through the edge of the ruined flesh above his hipbone. His question becomes an exclamation that is very un-Catholic.

“That’ll be seven Hail Marys, Murdock.”

A vein pulses at his temple. “Feels more like a Psalm 88 kind of moment.”

“Is that a joke?” You settle into the old rhythm of stitching him up. Needle in, out, pull the thread, repeat. “You know altar boy humor goes over my head.”

“I was never an altar boy,” he reminds you.

You tut. “How ableist.”

“Not because I’m blind.” Amusement flickers through agony, reminding you that pain is second nature to Matt. You’ve only finished one stitch, yet already he can mask a wince when the needle pops through flesh. “I was a nervous kid,” he explains, “especially in front of crowds. My hands used to shake so much the pastor thought I’d drop the candles and set the altar on fire.”

“What a headline,” you say. “Local Blind Boy Burns Parish: God’s Judgment or Innocent Mistake?”

He chuckle-coughs.

You ask him, “Couldn’t you have carried the wine?”

“You mean the body of Christ?”

Your eyeroll is affectionate. “The wine.”

Transubstantiation is one of those things you’ve always filed under Complete Malarkey. How does random bread and crushed grapes become the body and blood of Jesus Christ? By invoking the Holy Spirit? Is that not a form of witchcraft? And why is it cannibalism to eat each other, but not the Son of God?

Catholics are, in your opinion, an awfully confusing people.

Matt’s no exception. A devout lover of God — yet a glimpse up from stitching reveals his mouth curving into a small smile. He’s always liked your sacrilege. It amuses him. Gives him reason to challenge his faith.

“If the pastor was too nervous to let me hold a candle,” he says, “you can bet he wasn’t eager to hand me the blood of our Savior.”

“If only he could see you now,” you say. “Well not now, but in court. I’ve seen you and Foggy tackle plenty of cases in jam-packed courtrooms, and not once have you ever set a judge on fire or spilled Jesus down their moo moo.”

“You mean the judicial robes they work decades to earn?”

“Whatever. Hey, while we’re on the subject, how come they did away with those powdery wigs?”

“A barrister’s wig?”

“Do you get paid by Big Law to make sure I use their terminology right?”

“I do,” he says, “and you’re cutting into my paycheck.”

You laugh.

A comfortable silence settles.

Matt’s stomach remains tense under your fingertips. But his breaths come easier now — a steady rise and fall that breeds comfort inside you. It’s easy to lose yourself in the rhythm. Needle in, out, pull the thread, repeat.

The room around you glows pale purple. It’s easy to lose the present in the past, you realize. Your mind flips through old memories like songs in a jukebox, lingering on a favorite.

You and Matt used to dance in this room. You both had two left feet and spent more time tripping over abandoned takeout containers than actually dancing, but what did that matter? You were always giggling. Matt was always smiling.

The steady weight of his hands on your lower back had been the closest you ever came to finding proof of religion. Because someone like Matt couldn’t be the result of some random assimilation of atoms. Perfection at his level required divine planning. The sweetness of spirit mixed with the miracle of light. A pure heart placed inside his chest by the sure hand of God.

But despite what the Bible tells you, God is not an expert craftsman.

Matt is proof of this, too.

When silence stretches into discomfort, you glance up.

Matt’s dead.

Okay — okay, okay! — not dead since he’s still breathing. But he looks dead, eyes shut and lips parted enough to go full cadaver.

You snap, “Eyes open, Murdock.”

“Why?” His quick response eases your nerves, even if he doesn’t obey your command. “Want to see if I can tell how many fingers you’re holding up?”

“You probably have a concussion.” Not to mention a bloodborne illness or two. When’s the last time he got tested for hepatitis? “The last thing I need is for you to fall asleep and never wake up again.”

You’re pulling the thread through his wound when you notice the smirk in his voice.

“Would you miss me?” he asks.

You hesitate.

Of course.

Of course you’d miss him.

“Foggy will start ditching me for Thursday brunch if I let you die,” you tell him. “Do you know how many waffles your life would cost me?”

Matt opens his eyes. He blinks like his eyelids weigh a thousand pounds. Like they might shut again at any moment.

He keeps them open.

“Three,” he says.

“Waffles?” you ask.

“Fingers,” he chuckle-coughs. “That’s how many you’re holding up. Three.”

Amusement bubbles in your chest, rushing up your throat like a Mentos dropped into a bottle of Coke. You try to stifle it, but a lone giggle slips out.

“I’m not holding up any fingers, idiot.”

He huffs softly. “Talk about ableism.”

You’re offended, perplexed, giggling even more now. “That was so not ableist!”

“Next you’ll claim Braille offers subpar education.”

“Since when did me insulting you become me insulting the entire blind community? And I’m not even calling you an idiot because you’re blind! I’m calling you an idiot because you’re an idiot.”

“Ouch. So you really think so low of me?”

“I just said so, didn’t I?”

His head tilts where it lay on the armrest. “Remember when I graduated summa cum laude from Columbia University?” he asks.

“Remember how you currently look like the victim of a violent anthropomorphic lawnmower?” You smile when he chuckle-coughs. “Yeah, not a thing that happens to smart people, Matty.”

The world stutters for a beat. Or maybe that’s only your pulse, jolting at your embarrassing slip-up.

Matty. You almost curse yourself; what was your tongue thinking?

Matt accepts defeat with a humble “Fair enough” that doubles as your path of least resistance. He’s always been good at withholding salt from a wound, giving you time to stew in self-loathing.

You have no doubt he can still hear your heart thumping stupidly against your ribs.

This isn’t easy. Being here. Seeing him. Pretending your breakup isn’t as much a third party in this room as the billboard’s glaring lights.

You’ve already stitched three-quarters of his wound. You should finish your work in silence. Then leave before he can make this anymore difficult, remind you of some reason to stay.

And yet.

“What’s Psalm 88, anyway?”

Matt likes this question.

“You dated a Catholic for two years,” he says, “and you don’t know Psalm 88?”

“Sorry, I hadn’t realized reading the Bible was a prerequisite for sucking your—”

Ever a child of God, Matt cuts you off — his voice an octave too high — with a sudden urge to recite.

“Lord, I am overwhelmed with troubles and my life is slipping toward death. You have put me in the lowest pit, in the darkest depths. You have taken from me my closest friend—” his voice wavers here “—and made me repulsive to them. Why, Lord, do you reject me? From my youth I have suffered. Your wrath has swept over me. Your terrors have destroyed me. They surround me like a flood, engulfing me completely. Darkness,” he says, “is my closest friend.”

You say nothing.

Needle in—

You think about how pain has always been second nature to Matt.

—out—

You think about the breakup.

—pull thread—

The breakup you’d initiated.

—repeat.

“NOT TO TOOT MY OWN HORN, but that is going to be one fine scar.”

Half an hour has passed since you finished stitching Matt up. If you were wise, you would’ve excused yourself the moment you closed the first-aid kit. But excuses are easy to come by, and even easier to make yourself believe.

I’ll stay a little longer, you keep telling yourself. Just to make sure he’s okay.

At some point the two of you switched places. You’re on the couch now, legs folded underneath you. Matt stands in front of you, testing his body for breaks and sprains — stretching an arm, rolling his neck.

At your comment, he pauses his self-assessment to run his fingertips over the stitches. You track the movement, a slow sweep from hipbone to belly button.

“Some of your best work.”

The praise straightens your posture.

The curve of his lips becomes devilish. “I’m surprised,” he adds. “I thought you’d be rusty.”

“Your faith in me is astounding, Murdock.”

“My faith in you is boundless,” he shoots back. “But it’s been a while since you last played nurse.”

With theatrical flair, you say, “An artist never forgets how to paint.”

“Even if they swore they’d never touch a brush again?”

Levity drops from the air like a butterfly hitting a bug zapper.

He hadn’t meant for it to come out that way. Not resentful, but…hurt. You know this because you know Matt, and he’d sooner walk into traffic than make you feel guilty for your choices.

Some relationships are like a winter storm. Rarely do we take the first snowflake to mean danger. Some people even find them beautiful — like noticing the quirks and habits of the one we love. But snowflakes pile up. They become inconvenient. Isolating. And, in some cases, they become dangerous, too.

Sometimes the only way to stay safe is to evacuate.

Matt will never blame you for evacuating.

With a soft sniff, he turns his head toward the windows. Too quiet, he asks, "What advertisement is showing?"

The billboard shines with a dark image, car keys lying next to an empty whiskey glass. "Think twice," you read aloud, "don't drink and drive."

Matt nods. "Good message."

You nod. "Indubitably."

Matt keeps facing the windows, but your own focus has already shifted back to him. He looks sad. Confused. Like he’s trying hard to hide both emotions, yet failing miserably.

A flash as the billboard changes. White light illuminates Matt’s profile — bruised, bloody, beautiful as ever.

As if he knows the ad has changed — as if he can hear it somewhere, electrical pulses whispering secrets only to him — he asks, “How about now?”

You don’t answer. You don’t know.

You can’t look away from him long enough to find out.

“I would’ve bought curtains,” he mumbles, and you don’t know what he’s talking about. Then it hits you. Your confession about the billboard, how you always hated it. “If you would’ve told me the light bothered you, I…” He swallows. Calls upon shaky confidence, betraying that what he says next lives somewhere between truth and wishful thinking. “I would’ve fixed it.”

Your eyes start to burn.

He would’ve tried, you know. He would’ve tried.

You find yourself rising off the couch. Taking a step — two, three — to close the gap between you. Matt looks away from the windows and you swear he can see you. He does, in that peculiar way of his. Through soundwaves bouncing off your skin. The smell of your shampoo. The rhythm of your heartbeat.

“I know,” you say.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

“Back then. Why didn’t you tell me back then? It would’ve been an easy fix.”

Your laugh is half-sob. “No, Matt–”

He reaches up to cup your cheek. “Yes,” he whispers.

It takes Herculean effort not to lean into his touch. You manage, but don’t pull away from him, either.

“Fine. You’re right. Curtains would be an easy fix. Get on Amazon and they’ll be here in ten seconds. But what about the bigger issues? The lies? The secrets? You trying to get yourself killed?”

He winces. “I’m not dead yet,” he tries to argue.

“Yet,” you say. “Key word, Matty.”

An awful key word. One that had been haunting you for far longer than the year you two had been apart.

You had never wanted to leave Matt. And if you’re being honest, you hadn’t even left because of the lying and the secrets — though they were factors. When it came down to it, you’d left because Matt was on a suicide mission. Because you wouldn’t survive watching him die.

Only now — with the warmth of his hand on your cheek — can you see the flawed logic in your breakup plan.

Sure, leaving Matt ensured you won’t be front row for his death. That it won’t be you holding pressure to wounds that can’t be stitched, crying “Lord, why do you reject him? Your perfect soldier, your pure-hearted boy?”

But that doesn’t free you from pain.

You’ll feel Matt’s death as a ripple effect through Foggy and Karen. You'll feel it inside of you, when his last breath severs the invisible string connecting you to him and him to you.

Distance will not spare you.

You will feel it.

It will hurt.

And will all this distance make it hurt worse? you wonder. Until tonight you hadn’t realized how unsteady you stood on your decision to leave. A single phone call had been all it took to undo three-hundred sixty-five days of progress. So much time spent assuring everyone you had made the right decision. That you’re happier without Matt. So much time — each second a tally toward a life free from pain, now useless as sand in an hourglass, so easy to flip.

You’re not happier without Matt.

You’re not happy, period.

The heat coming off his palm is too much. Does he have a fever? Probably. Is fever a normal response to getting sliced up like salmon on a Hibachi line? You have no clue. You'll Google it if you ever remember how to form thoughts not centered on the flecks of gold in Matt's eyes.

He speaks.

“I’m sorry I called tonight. I know I shouldn’t have. I know when you—” He can’t make himself say it. So he drags a hand through his hair. Pulls easier words from a bucket labeled: Half-truths. "I know you wanted to get away from all this. From me. And it was wrong of me to drag you back into it, but..." A chuckle-cough. "Whenever something happens...when I'm stressed, or hurt, or...or happy, I..."

His thumb traces your lower lip. Lovingly. Mournfully.

"You're still the only one I want around.”

You're bawling. You hate yourself for it, and you hate him for causing it. You sob and laugh and tell him, "You're a goddamn idiot, Matty."

He smiles at you. "I know."

"It was never you I wanted to get away from."

He hesitates. "I know."

You hate him for that, too. But what else could he have said? You both know nothing can erase the true problem. The Achilles' heel to an otherwise perfect relationship.

Daredevil.

God, you think, how is it possible to hate the mask but love the man behind it?

It's simple, though. You don't hate Daredevil. Can't. He'll be the death of Matt Murdock, but that doesn't make him any less the salvation of Hell's Kitchen.

You sigh. Does that justify it, then? Does some PEMDAS bullshit make it okay that Matt suffers so long as his suffering saves others?

You don't think so.

But you know Matt holds a different opinion.

A stupid opinion, but.

"I wish things were different," you tell him. No jokes. "Maybe we could drop Daredevil off at the shelter. Y'know, like a stray dog who won't stop digging in our trash."

Okay, fine. Some jokes.

Matt chuckles. “I don’t think the shelter will take him.”

“Can’t say I blame them.”

You don’t know when you grabbed Matt’s other hand, the one not touching your face. You only know that you’re playing with his fingers, trying to keep more tears from escaping. He hadn’t coughed when he chuckled this time. Does that mean he’s feeling better? You hope so — and hope not, too.

You're not ready to go back to your shoebox apartment. You don't want to crawl into bed alone. Spend all night wondering if walking out Matt's door a second time makes it permanent. What are you supposed to do? Go back to getting all your Matt-related info via Thursday brunch with Foggy? Search for scraps of him in your texts with Karen?

No.

You're not sure you can survive that, either.

But what does that leave?

"Let me buy you dinner."

Your pulse jolts. “Matt…”

"Nothing romantic," he promises. Though the way his thumb continues brushing your bottom lip feels opposite of that. "And it doesn't have to change anything. Tomorrow we can go back to our normal lives, pretend none of this ever happened. But tonight...how about pizza? We can call it repayment for you saving my life."

You should say no.

You smile despite yourself. "Fine, but I get to pick the toppings."

A flash as the billboard changes. Shades of blue wash over you both.

Even without Matt’s enhanced senses, you swear you hear joy spark to life in his veins.

"I wouldn't have it any other way.”

A/N | if you've read this far, i am in love with you and i've already booked our flight to Vegas. booked the Elvis impersonator, too. do you have any allergies i should know about? i love you.

Logan Howlett:

Logan likes to pretend like he isn’t the jealous type, despite him being the most possessive man alive. You’re his, and only his, and he’ll make damn well sure everyone knows it. His scent is definitely all over you.

If anyone is getting a little too close to you for his liking—making you laugh too much, maybe getting a little touchy—Logan is on his feet in an instant, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. 

Maybe gets a little too handsy, hands travelling lower to cup your butt, canines grazing the side of your neck. He won’t say anything, he’ll just loom there so incredibly ominously until whoever was with you gets the message and leaves.

“Logan,” you warn.

He just grunts, “you’re mine, you know that?”

And you sigh, suddenly weak in the knees, and nod along to his words. He keeps you extra close afterwards, usually sitting you in his lap and looking sideways at anyone who so much as glances your way.

Wade Wilson:

Wade is absolutely the jealous type but it takes a lot to actually get him going, and when he does, he hides his insecurity behind humour and substances. Still, it gets the best of him sometimes and he just can’t help it.

If someone’s flirting with you, he’s inserting himself into the situation immediately. He’ll sidle up next to you, prop an arm on your shoulder and grin at whoever you’re talking to.

“Excuse us for a moment.”

He won’t even give you a chance before he’s pulling you in for a bruising kiss, tongue swiping along the backs of your teeth. His hands roam your sides, maybe cheekily pinching your butt. 

You pull away gasping, hands on his chest. “Wade!”

“What?” He grins goofily, “I couldn’t help it, you look so fuckable.”

Kurt Wagner:

Kurt’s not really the jealous type, and when he is jealous, he just gets sad. He’ll watch someone else hit on you and wonder if he’s enough, if you would prefer someone less blue.

He’ll go quiet for a while, maybe get a little distant while he thinks it over. He does his best to reassure himself, remind himself that you love him and you don’t want anyone else, but it only gets him so far.

Finally, he’ll cave and come to you, dropping to his knees and pressing his face into your stomach. You rest a hand on the back of his head, tilting yours to the side, “Kurt, baby, is everything alright?”

He sighs, words muffled by the fabric of your shirt. His words all come out in one big jumble, each one mumbled and bleeding into the next. Still, you get the gist of it: he’s feeling insecure, and he wants to know if you’d be happier with someone else.

You blink, stunned. “Of course not,” you frown. 

“Really?” He pulls away, looking up at you with wide eyes.

“Yes, really.” You reach for his hands, helping him to his feet, “c’mere, silly.”

And Kurt sighs, letting you pull him in for a kiss.

Scott Summers:

Scott either gets really quiet or really arrogant when he’s jealous.

He’s analyzing the situation, watching you talk with a friend. He’s focused on the way they get a little too close, the subtle contact they make on your arm, the way your smile changes ever so slightly.

When he can’t take it anymore, he’s sidling up to you and throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Hey, doll.”

He’ll plant a sloppy kiss to your lips, lingering just a little too long until whoever’s talking to you gets the message. If he’s feeling extra devious, he’s making a snide comment.

You smack his bicep once they’re out of earshot. “Really?”

“What?” He smiles, feigning innocence, “I just missed you.”

Remy LeBeau:

Remy is so clingy when he’s in love with you so it’s only natural he’d be jealous too. But not the angry jealous type, no, Remy gets sad when he’s jealous.

Someone comes up to flirt with you while you’re at the bar and he’s sitting in the corner pouting, nursing his drink and watching. Someone calls you cute right in front of him and he’s not letting it go for the rest of the day.

“Oh that’s cute of you.” “Mhm, yeah, très mignon.”

However, if someone gets handsy with you, Remy’s on his feet in an instant, cards in hand. Is it too far? Maybe, but he doesn’t care.

“This guy bothering you, amour?”

You take a step back into Remy, letting him wrap an arm around you. “Yes,” you say quietly.

That’s all he needs to hear before he’s sizing him up and sending him on the way, hand clenched around the desk of cards in his palm.

Warren Worthington III:

Warren’s jealousy is a lot more low key, but it’s definitely there. He shrugs it off and pretends like he doesn’t care but inside, he’s in shambles. The minute someone else tries to flirt with you, he’s at your side, wrapping an arm around you and leaning his head on your shoulder. 

He smiles but there’s no humour behind it as he stares down whoever’s coming onto you.

Sometimes, if he’s been drinking a little or you’re in a safe space for mutants, he’ll even go as far as to wrap his wings around you, creating a shield between you and the other person. You roll your eyes, turning to face him in the trap of wings he’s created for you.

“Baby?”

“Hm?” His jaw is clenched but his eyes are soft when they find yours.

“Can you let me go?”

He tilts his head down, wings ushering you closer to him for a slow and soft kiss. “No.”

Piotr Rasputin:

He’s not really a jealous person to begin with. He knows you’re his and he trusts you enough to believe you’d never do anything behind your back. The rare times he does get jealous is when someone is doing something for you that he could do.

Someone else holds the door? His brows are knitting together. Someone lifts something heavy for you? He’s frowning for the next hour and a half. He’s your partner, he should be the one doing all that for you. He’ll spend the next few hours trying to show off, flexing his muscles and doing everything for you. 

He gets a little sad when he’s jealous, too. Is he not enough for you, would you rather be with someone like that? As secure as he likes to think he is, that all melts away in the face of jealousy.

Finally, he’ll come to you, tail between his legs. “Do I make you feel loved?”

You blink, looking up from your book. “Of course you do.”

“Really?”

You dogear the page altogether, putting it down to look at him properly. His lips are pursed in a frown, eyes big and wide with emotions. You rise to your feet, placing your hands on either bicep.

“What’s this about, Petey?”

He sighs and admits to his jealousy, head hung low in shame. It’s only when you cup his cheek and force him to look at you, planting a soft kiss to his lips, that he starts to feel like himself again.

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The little brunette is curled up on his lap with her wondrous doe eyes, tracking the rollercoaster his hand has become as he keeps the spoonful of ice cream just out of her reach, before bringing it to her waiting mouth with a theatrical woosh! noise. And every time, her cheeks flush like peaches under the sun, followed by endearing giggles. 

Jungkook exists the way gravity does — effortless, inevitable, the kind of pull that makes everything orient towards him.  And the moment settles in your heart like an old love letter — tucked way, but never truly forgotten.

However, your body seems to tug you towards the familiar laughter of your lover — bright, unguarded — anchoring you back to the familiar warmth of the living room. Your heart flips at the vision of his head thrown back in delight, eyes turned into tiny crescents that you long to feel under your fingertips. 

Instead, your words come out a little breathless. Fond. “Penny for your laughter, darling?”

Jungkook barely manages to speak up between those melodic giggles, but his head is tilted slightly towards Hae-in, who is now giving him a traitorous glare for painting her button nose with chocolate ice cream, her cheeks puffed up like she’s beyond all this. 

“Oh Christ—” He can’t even finish. Just dissolves back into laughter. 

For the sake of her tiny pride, you stifle your giggle and press your lips together. Instead, your feet take you toward the adorable crime scene. Crouching down to be on eye-level with her, you flash her an understanding smile. “Oh, sweetheart,” you coo, your fingers gentle as they swipe away any traces of the sticky sweetness from her offended nose. “We must find a way to get back at your Uncle, hmm?” you cheekily suggest, earning an affirmative nod from her. 

“Yes! Uncle Koo-Koo must be punished!” 

The enthusiasm in her voice coaxes a warm laugh out of you. Though you seem oblivious to the heart-stopping gaze your husband directs at you. It is only when he lets out a soft gasp — realizing the mischief you directed through your niece’s ice cream laden fingers, now painting his nose in chocolate brown  — that pulls your gaze to his reaction with a victorious smirk. 

Yet again, any retort he might have ready on the tip of his tongue is swallowed by Hae-in’s chirp voice echoing in the space between you. “Silly Uncle!”

“Silly?! You wound me, princess.” 

His lower lip juts out in a childish pout for emphasis. 

Hae-in giggles, not fazed in the slightest by his theatrics. If anything, her arms reach up to you in solidarity to which you celebrate your successful revenge by scooping her up and your beloved husband receives the playful image of you sticking your tongue out at him. 

“Oh no, my own wife is teaming up against me!”

“Heh. Gotta back up my princess, after all.”

“Woah—”

Hae-in, always one step ahead, declares smugly: “Aunt Y/N loves Hae-in more than Uncle Koo-Koo!”

“Oh, you brat—”

You laugh, warm and unguarded. Not even realizing the way your lover’s breath stills with something like realization and longing as you cradle Hae-in snugly to your chest and kiss her temple. Old letters are impossible not to revisit. 

.☘︎ ݁˖

All good things must come to an end — however temporarily — because when Jungsu knocks on your door with a grateful smile and warm hugs, there’s a bittersweet reluctance that makes home in the space between your ribs. More so when Jungkook bribes Hae-in with more ice cream for next time to which the little sunshine responds by sloppily kissing his cheek.

“Uncle Koo-Koo is the best!”

“Oh, is he now?” He chuckles knowingly. 

You, for your part, take it all in with a pensive smile on your lips. The ache in your chest threatens to consume you, but you lock that door and hope, quietly, that Jungkook will find the key. You’ve never been good at saying the thing out loud, but you’re getting better at hoping someone will ask. 

The journey is always unpredictable, but in this moment — observing the same reluctance in your husband’s posture, the way his eyes follow Hae-in until the elevator closes behind them — shows you that maybe, just maybe… you’re not as alone as you think. 

.☘︎ ݁˖

With night comes the blooming scent of jasmine, encompassing the air with floral, creamy notes. It mingles with your own scent of sweet coconut and citrus — washing away everything but the stubborn ache in your chest. 

Occasionally, the ache is stifled when you focus on the steady rhythm of Jungkook’s heartbeat beneath your ear, your head tucked under his chin. But it returns with an persistence that’s hard to lock away as meaningless. The golden lamplight holds steady. You do not. You ignore it — choosing, instead, to focus on his fingers threading through your hair with tender reverence, his inked arm wrapped around your waist protectively. 

A moment of silence passes. Then another. You sigh. Lifting your head just enough to glance at him, you note his closed eyelids and the tiny, peaceful smile on his plush lips. 

"Koo…?" you call out, soft and hesitant. 

"Mm?" 

He lazily peeks an eye open. "What is it, jagiya?" 

Despite your scattered thoughts, your lips twitch up in fond amusement at his endearing habit. He’s all sharp, beautiful curves framed by the amber glow.

As if sensing your conversational demeanor, his eyes flutter open to meet yours with renewed interest and curiosity. 

“I’ve been thinking…” you start, albeit too careful. “The day passed beautifully because of Hae-in. Don’t you think so?”  

Waiting for his reply, your thumb caresses over his cheekbone. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his own thumb stroking small circles on your hip. “She’s a delight, really. Got me wrapped around her little finger with a look.” 

He chuckles, then adds: “Even if she loved the ice cream more than me.” 

A warm huff of agreement escapes your lips. But then you go quiet again. Your thoughts drift before you can stop them. “The house seemed to bloom with her giggles,” you muse. 

Jungkook hums low in his throat. His fingers curl around your own as he brings them to his lips for a kiss to each one of your fingers. In-between kisses, he speaks— “Felt like some kind of untainted melody. I was in awe every time she smiled.”

I was in awe of you, you almost say. 

Instead, you let the silence speak for itself. The warmth blooms into something sweeter as you reflect on the afternoon spent with your niece. 

Jungkook props himself up on an elbow this time, his gaze roaming over your face. 

It’s as if he’s trying to peek into your soul. “What?” you mumble.

He smiles knowingly. “You looked really happy with her. And she seemed smitten with you.”

“Eh, don’t flatter me like that.”

“I call it as I see it, jagiya.” A pause, then warmer: “She adores you.”

Your cheeks flush a charming pink. "She does?" 

Jungkook hums, but it comes out more like a disbelieving huff. Almost like he can't comprehend how someone could be so unaware of the way she moves through the world — all quiet care and instinctive warmth, like she doesn't even notice herself doing it. 

“Hyung told me she’s usually very reserved around people, but she immediately teamed up with you—”

That earns him a small laugh from you. He grins, continuing. "So yes, jagiya. She adores you.”

Deep down, maybe the thought had already taken root, but his assurance has made it bloom and settle in your chest like flowers on an endless pathway — briefly lessening the ache. The unknown ache. Where does it lead you?  

You try to make sense of it, but it tangles like a knot the more you do. But as you think back to the time you spent with Hae-in, you’re reminded of the trust and affection she so sweetly directed at you, and it cracks something open in your chest. 

A deep, suppressed melancholy. 

Before your mind even catches up to the frown on your lips, or the single tear slipping down your cheek, you’re being cradled against a broad chest. Jungkook’s warmth envelopes you like a shield against your own thoughts — the familiar woody scent of his skin pulling you back from the longing quietly unraveling at the edges of your heart.   

He doesn’t demand, doesn’t offer empty words — just holds you like a delicate, contradictory poem. “I’ve got you, jagiya.” 

“Koo…” you breathe out, your voice shaky at the edges. “I— I don’t understand what I’m feeling. Everything feels tangled up with no loose ends.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. There’s no rush.” 

His lips brush against your temple in reassurance. “Breathe with me.”

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. 

Following the instructions, you repeat it until your heartbeat is far less erratic. 

Even so, your thoughts flow like an endless stream, all pointing to directions you’re too afraid to admit even to yourself. 

But when his arms tighten around you to hold you more snugly, you reach for the bravery you’ve not yet developed. “I…” you start, but trail off soon after. 

“You what, jagiya?” he prompts gently, pulling back slightly to look at your face. He brushes a strand of your hair, tucks it behind your ear, and smiles patiently. 

A soft pause and then: 

"Whatever it is—you're not alone, sweet girl," he promises, well aware of how words tend to fail you when it matters most. “Never.”

You search his eyes for something — sincerity? acknowledgement? — and when you find it, the last of your frustration melts away into something like longing. 

“I want to be a mother,” you confess. Your voice comes out too soft, almost like you’re afraid to let the words exist out in the world. 

Jungkook goes still as a statue, his mind working hard to process your current words with the reality of your past ones. A flicker of doubt passes over his features. “Baby—”

“No,” you interrupt gently. “I know what you’re going to say. But, it’s not a temporary ‘baby fever’ because of Hae-in. It’s—” You pause, gauging his reaction. “It’s because of you, Kook. I saw how happy you were with her. And I remember how happy we both were. It made me realize that even when the world is cruel, the softness, the love — it starts with us.”

Jungkook is silent yet again. It lingers in the air like hope and anticipation. You almost take everything back until you notice the tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Hey, hey—” You palms cradle his face with reverence preserved for prayers. “What’s wrong, honey? Did I say something wrong?” 

He shakes his head. “No, no. It’s just…” Sighing softly, he leans in until your foreheads are pressed together. “I’m so overwhelmed with emotions, jagiya. That’s all.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you offer warmly. 

There’s a moment of silence as he gathers his thoughts. When he speaks up, his warm breath ghosts over your lips. 

“I didn’t expect this. I never thought you’d change your mind,” he admits. “And it’s not that I wasn’t happy earlier — it was a mutual agreement, after all — but… if this is what you truly want, there’s no one else I'd rather start a family with, jagiya." 

“I want this, Koo,” you affirm, the tip of your nose brushing against his. “I think I’ve been haunted by the narrative of my own childhood for the longest time. But after seeing how naturally we fit in with Hae-in — it gave me something like courage.”

“You’re not your parents, jagiya. Their patterns are not yours to carry anymore."

“I know that now.” 

Adam Warlock:

He loves the look of you on your back, pretty doe eyes blinking up at him as he rocks into you at an even pace, legs locked behind him. He always insists on stripping you naked, wanting no scrap of clothing to cover your body from his gaze. And of course, this extends to him as his golden skin shimmers with sweat above you. His hand usually finds a home entangled with yours, his other arm braced on the mattress, allowing you to squeeze and feel his comforting grip. The words that tumble from his mouth as your pussy grips his cock like a vice are always sickly sweet like honey, praising the way you look squirming under him, the way your features contort with pleasure, the way your eyes look hazy with tears as he keeps going after you cum. “Those sweet eyes on me are the most powerful aphrodisiac in the universe” he’d say, honesty pouring from his tone, not even realising how flustered his words make you as tears begin to roll down your cheeks at his unstoppable movements. Because he doesn’t stop, he can’t. He has to see you experiencing the heights of pleasure, being brought to ecstasy again and again otherwise he’ll feel like he failed. It’s only after your crying out following your 4th orgasm that his hips snap inside you once, twice, before stilling and filling you up.

Doctor Strange:

He loves taking you against things, finds the almost taboo nature of being too desperate to wait oh so tantalising. He’s enjoyed fucking you against one of the bookshelves in the sanctum sanctorum, feeling the wood rattle and books fall to the floor as he snaps his hips against your ass. There have also been many times where he’s had you against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist to keep your cunt squeezing him. But best of all is when he takes you over his desk. He goes feral every time, usually due in part to you teasing him, sat there all pretty, using your foot to nudge against his bulge. Theres nothing better than putting a bratty girl like you in her place, pushing you down and making your ass stick up for him. Always spanks you a couple of times to hear you whine, telling you “how much of a bad girl have you been to drive me to take you in such a manner? Have you no shame?” before pushing his thick cock inside of you, shushing your desperate gasps. The feral nature of fucking his girl against his desk, the slight thrill of someone walking in and realising have him almost cumming too soon, having to slow down and grab the meat of your hips to calm himself down.

Gambit:

Oh he wants you on your back, but with your ankles pinned behind your ears. He’s always charming you into bed with his words, his light touches, his empty promises of “Gambit just wanna hold his woman, ain’t nothing bad ‘bout that?”. Usually it isn’t long before he’s bullying his fat cock into your pussy, remarking how easy it is to get you gushing around him. Pushing your legs up allows him to get deeper inside you, feeling every little bit of your cunt gripping him like a vice. The expression on your face riles him up, the look of pure ecstasy as he fills you so completely, but it’s the fact that all of you is for his eyes only. His fingers dance everywhere they can, groping your tits, feeling the squish of your thighs, hell even massaging the soles of your feet. Every part of you turns him on beyond belief. So the fact he can see it all laid bare as he snaps his dick into you over and over has him frantically strumming your clit to ensure he doesn’t leave his lady unsatisfied before he pumps her full of his cum. And that he does, a man like him usually isn’t satiated by just one round. Depending on how hyped up he’s been, how much tension needs to be released, he can usually be up for another round. And he loves not pulling out. The sounds of your cries mixed with the slick sounds of his dick fucking the wetness between your legs, watching his cum leak around the edges and form a ring around the base of his cock. He swears he sees god every time.

Human Torch:

He’s an ass man, through and through. So obviously doggy style appeals to him the most. Loves it when he’s standing, seeing that arch of your back as you drape yourself over the mattress, ass up and ready for the taking. Always takes the time to properly squeeze and grope each cheek, spreading them to get a good look at your empty cunt until you can’t help but beg him to put it inside. And he does, but only after a few slaps of his palm against them, moaning like he’s the one being struck. The recoil of your ass each time he thrusts into you is pure heaven, and if you’re willing he definitely records it on his phone, making sure to get each plap plap as the camera zooms into the sticky mess you’re making his cock. But when he’s gonna cum, he loves to paint your ass white, especially if his earlier ministrations mean the skin is red. His mouth is on overdrive as he jerks himself off, telling you how gorgeous your ass is, how he’s so lucky to have got a girl like you, how “god you could make a fortune from sellin’ some videos babe” before he’s cumming ropes all over. Will probably spread it all around your cheeks when he’s done, before rushing and nearly stumbling over his shaking legs to grab a towel.

Iron Fist:

Up against the wall is always one he goes back to in his mind when you’re both apart. He loves demonstrating his strength to you, relishing in the excited gasp and giggles you let out when he picks you up, muscles flexing, before pushing you snug against the nearest wall. Grinning as your legs lock behind him, as he guides his dick inside of you with a groan, cockiness slightly leaving his body as he feels your familiar walls around him. He always stutters out a laugh at your concern as you tell him he can put you down if he’s getting tired, mumbling a “you’re like a feather baby, don’t you worry about me.” Alternatively he does love pressing you against a wall, tits smushed as he pulls your ass towards him. Something about the feral nature of taking you like an animal, the desperation meaning you couldn’t wait. He loves it, slamming into you over and over again, arm wrapped around your waist to keep you still. Even better if your legs partially give way, allowing him to keep you upright as he continues to thrust away. And if you offer to get on your knees when he’s close? You swear you can see actual hearts in his eyes.

Loki:

Riding always gets him going. A god deserves to be worshipped, no? He loves to lay back, comfortable among the asgardian silks as his cock rests against his stomach. It gets to a point where he doesn’t even need to ask anymore, a simple raise of his eyebrow and nod of his head has you knowing what he wants. Letting you straddle him, watching as you position his dick beneath you and slowly sinking down, it does things to him he’d rather not admit. But he will tell you how much he loves the performance, how stunning of a pet you are as you use your body for his pleasure, how “you’re doing such a good job for your king my darling, keep it up and you may just earn a reward”. He doesn’t remain detached the whole time, as he loves feeling your hips and waist, reaching up and up to playfully pinch your nipples to hear the gasp it elicits. In times where he needs the release, it’s not uncommon for him to grip your hips hard before fucking up into you, revelling in your surprised cries and moans as you can only grasp his biceps for dear life. Other times he’s content to let you set the pace, loving the way you draw your own pleasure from your movements. But of course he’ll use a thumb on your clit to bring you to completion, after all, what kind of king would he be if he didn’t care about his subjects?

Mister Fantastic:

cher’s notes: PLEASE READ

OKAY HELLOOOO !!!! this project is heavily inspired by lorelai gilmore and luke danes from the show “Gilmore girls”. while it doesn’t follow the exact storyline or details of the original couple, their dynamic served as a huge source of inspiration so because of that, you might notice certain moments and scenes that pay direct homage to the show.

this is essentially my little self-indulgent writing corner where i get to throw jungkook and reader into whatever scenario i want, so feel free to send in requests.

at its core, this story will revolve around reader, jungkook and reader’s daughter, Go Minji, as they navigate life together in a small seaside village. their relationships, friendships, family dynamics, personal growth and allllll the little moments in between will be the heart of this project. (but ofc the major focus will be on the romance between reader and jungkook)

rather than following one strict plot from beginning to end, i want this to feel a lot like a sitcom so it’s going to be a collection of stories with the same set of characters where some chapters might focus on major milestones and character development, while others might simply be a glimpse into a random tuesday. (some chapters might also be directly inspired from the show)

there will be plenty of character introductions along the way and i’ll also be diving into different backstories, relationships and lore as the story progresses. honestly, i’m still figuring out exactly how i want to structure everything and where i want certain storylines to go. i have a bunch of ideas floating around in my head, and i’m excited to see how they all come together as i write. updates will be sporadic and entirely dependent on whenever inspiration decides to show up. no promises, no schedule… just sudden bursts of creativity and whatever scenario i can come up with :3

i. in his office

he sat in his office chair, filling out documents like usual when you'd barged in.

he knew it was you because no one else would ever have the courage to walk into his office like that unannounced.

he didn't exactly hear much that you said when you came in, but he knew it had you heated. you were pacing his office as you spoke passionately, clearly you had been wanting to get this off your chest for a while. but he wasn't paying attention to that. he was paying attention to you.

he watched your face silently as it glowed in the dim lights of his office.

god were you beautiful.

"levi, you're not even listening." you said, stopping in front of him.

"¡ am. you just began to repeat yourself."

"because you weren't listening."

"i'm sorry. finish what you were saying." he said, gently taking ahold of your wrist.

you took that opportunity to slip into his lap, letting him wrap an arm around your waist as you continued talking again.

and he let you, let your voice fill his office once more as he silently studied your features. the way your eyes squint as you furrowed your eyebrows, or the slight pout your lips had when you spoke about something that upset you, or-

"levi!"

he blinks slowly. "hm?"

"what's up with you?"

"you look pretty." was all he said, catching you off guard.

his compliment brought a smile to your face, taking that opportunity to lean in and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“thank you.”

he'd grunted in response, acknowledging your words.

a comfortable silence surrounded the both of you, one that was familiar. it was nice, familiar.

maybe he should do it now.

levi pulled you closer to him, looking at you deeply which caused you to tilt your head slightly in question as his free hand slowly gravitates toward his pocket.

"what is it?" you asked, messing with a bit of his hair.

deep breaths.

"i wan-"

he couldn't even start his sentence before someone barged into his office panting, catching you both of guard.

"captain lev-oh."

it was jean. the annoying brat.

"i'm so sorry captain." he apologised quickly, bowing his head.

you took this chance to get off levi's lap, straightening yourself up.

levi let a small noise of disapproval, the sudden lack of warmth not welcome.

"you're being requested urgently by higher ups, sir. i didn't mean to-"

"that enough." he grunts, standing from his chair. “let’s go then.”

he glanced at you as he walked toward the door, silently apologising for the interruption. you didn’t say anything, just nodding in response. you knew it wasn’t his fault.

ii. your bedroom.

rays of sunlight shone through the gaps in the curtains, casting a warm glow onto your boyfriend’s chest.

he was up, of course he was.

the fact he’d slept last night was a miracle but you were forever grateful he did because it meant you had his chest to sleep on.

you turned over to be met with levi, seated upright on the bed with some documents in hand.

he heard your movement, placing them down on the bedside table, giving you his full attention.

“good morning.”

“good morning, handsome.” you greet, leaning up to giving him a soft kiss.

levi liked mornings like these.

though they were rare because you never seemed to be up on time, he cherished them deeply.

you rested your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes again, and levi took this opportunity to look at you.

really look at you.

his gaze lingered, taking in every small detail he’d already committed to memory. he often found himself wondering how he had gotten so lucky.

he wasn’t one that was used to expressing his emotions and for whatever reason, you understood that.

you let him take his time as he tried to get comfortable with it.

and even now, though he may not be there yet, he was definitely getting better at it.

his eyes flickered briefly to the bedside table. the top drawer to be more exact. where the ring sat in its box, waiting for him to open, waiting for him to ask you. where he’d placed it there earlier without much thought.

but now it felt impossible to ignore.

this could be it.

it was quiet.

you were here.

there was nothing to interrupt him, no one to get in the way.

just the two of you.

“..levi?” you mumbled quietly, your voice thick with sleep.

“hm.”

“come back to bed.” you murmur, shifting closer to him, your hand resting against his side.

he removed himself from his thoughts, looking down at you. at the way you were barely awake, completely relaxed against him.

and suddenly it felt wrong to do it now, not when you were half asleep.

so he pushed down the thought, sinking back into bed and wrapping an arm around you to pull you close.

iii. campsite

it’d been four days since that morning.

it was dark out, the sky clear with occasional bright white dot visible in the sky.

you’d insisted on sitting out in the dark for a while and who was levi to deny his girlfriend?

you both sat outside your tent, your head resting on his lap as you looked up at the sky. pointing at the occasional star or constellation you would spot in between idle chatter.

levi didn’t say much.

not that he really did.

he much preferred listening to your voice as spoke, his hand resting on your waist, thumb absentmindedly moving back and forth.

“that one.” you say, raising your arm to point.

“which one?”

you nudge levi’s leg, raising your arm again. “there, the really bright one.”

he follows your finger this time, looking up.

“i see it now.”

you smiled to yourself before getting yourself comfortable as familiar silence fell between you both again.

your eyes remain fixed on the sky, watching the stars flicker faintly above you.

“wait,” you gasped, sitting up suddenly.

levi’s hand naturally reached out to steady you. “what?”

“look.” you say quickly, pointing at the sky again.

he follows your gaze just in time to see a bright streak of light cut through the night sky.

a shooting star.

“make a wish!” you say, immediately closing your eyes.

levi watches you for a moment.

“that’s not how it works.” he huffs, earning a nudge from you.

“just do it.” you insist.

he sighs in defeat, but he doesn’t close his eyes. just watches you quietly.

your soft expression, the small smile on your lips.

he didn’t need to close his eyes to make his wish.

he already knew.

you open your eyes and look up again, as if expecting the star to still be there and then turning to look at levi.

“what did you wish for?”

your question earned a scoff from him. “you’re not meant to say.”

“i know,” you smiled. “i’m going to tell you anyway.

he doesn’t reply. just looks at you, waiting for you to continue.

“i wished for things to stay like this. just us. for as long as possible.

if you looked closely you could see the smallest shift in levi’s expression.

“what about you?”

his face remained unreadable, stiff. but his hand reached for yours, holding it in his gently.

this was it.

the perfect opportunity to tell you just how he felt, no–

“captain!” a distant voice called, followed with the heavy sound of footsteps.

really? levi thought.

he slowly closed his eyes, composing himself before rising to his feet, holding his hand out to help you up next.

the scout was stood before you now, drawing deep breaths.

“captain, you’re both needed urgently. some movement has been detected at the left wing.”

and just like that the both of you were sucked back into work, your previous moment forgotten.

iv. on a walk

the spring breeze felt nice on your skin, cooling you down as the hot sun continued to beat down on you.

for the first time in a while, you had some time to yourself before training. but that wasn’t even the most shocking part. the most shocking part was the fact levi also had that same period of time off. so what better way to spend it than basking in the late afternoon sun whilst taking a quiet stroll through the grounds.

this was a rarity you both enjoyed whenever you had the chance.

the two of you walked a familiar path, hand in hand, taking in the stillness around you. it was quiet, peaceful in a way your lives rarely allowed, and for once there was nothing pressing waiting for either of you. no orders, no responsibilities.

this was perfect.

“we should think of heading back soon. i’m sure training will begin shortly,” levi said, glancing ahead.

you sighed softly, turning to face him. “come on, levi, don’t be like that.”

he frowned slightly, not understanding what he’d said wrong. he was right, you both had to head back soon.

“don’t you want to spend time with me?” you asked, stepping in front of him and wrapping your arms around his neck.

his hands found your waist easily, like they always did, holding you without thought. he liked when you touched him, even if he’d never say it out loud. there was something grounding about it, something he’d grown used to without realising.

“i am,” he said simply.

you smiled at that, studying his face for a second before leaning in. he met you halfway, your lips moving together in a way that felt second nature now.

he definitely liked this.

you let out a quiet hum against him as his grip tightened slightly, pulling you just a little closer as the kiss deepened. for a moment, everything else faded away.

levi knew.

this was it.

he’d planned it this time. waited for the right moment, made sure no one would be around, no one to interrupt or pull you away. everything was exactly how it should be.

slowly, his hand slipped from your waist, moving toward his pocket. his fingers closed around the small box, steady but deliberate as he pulled back from the kiss just slightly.

you followed instinctively, your forehead resting against his, your breath still warm against his lips.

“…what?” you murmured.

he hesitated for only a second before pulling the box out, holding it low between you. his thumb brushed against the lid, heart steady in his chest even as the weight of the moment settled around him.

this was it.

“…i—”

a drop of water hit your cheek.

you blinked.

then another.

and another.

you both glanced up at the sky just as the clouds that hadn’t been there moments ago seemed to roll in all at once.

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered.

within seconds, the light drizzle turned heavier, rain falling fast and sudden, soaking through your clothes before either of you could properly react.

you laughed, grabbing onto him as the rain came down harder. “okay, maybe we should go.”

levi stood there for a second longer, the box still in his hand, the moment slipping away in real time.

then he exhaled sharply, snapping it shut and shoving it back into his pocket.

“come on.”

he grabbed your hand, pulling you along as the two of you rushed back toward shelter, your laughter mixing with the sound of the rain hitting the ground.

by the time you made it inside, you were both soaked.

you pushed wet hair from your face, still smiling. “that was fun.”

“…you’ll catch a cold,” he muttered, clearly not happy with the rain.

“loosen up, grumpy,” you teased.

he didn’t respond.

just watched you for a second, taking in the way you looked; soaked and laughing.

the moment had been perfect.

everything had gone right.

and somehow, it still hadn’t happened.

v. at dinner

it was a special night tonight.

it was date night, which meant one of you cooked while the other stayed out of the way, and then you both sat down and ate together like nothing else mattered. it was a tradition you kept every month or so. something simple, but something you always found yourselves looking forward to. though tonight felt slightly different.

“wow, levi.” you smiled, taking a seat across from him.

he didn’t say much, just adjusted your chair slightly before sitting down himself. everything was neat, organised, exactly how he liked it. the food was still warm, the table set properly, not a single thing out of place.

levi had one rule on nights like these; no one was allowed to disturb. and everyone knew better. tonight, he had made sure of it.

because tonight, he was going to propose.

you picked up your fork, glancing at him again. “you went all out.”

“…it’s nothing.”

you smiled slightly, shaking your head. “it’s not nothing. this is really nice.”

he hummed quietly, his attention on you more than the food. he’d planned this. every detail, every moment, making sure nothing would go wrong. for once, everything was exactly how it should be.

the box sat in his pocket, heavier than usual.

this was it.

the conversation stayed easy between you, light and familiar, the kind that didn’t need effort. you spoke about nothing important; training, small things, whatever came to mind, and he let it happen, waiting for the right moment to shift it into something more.

when you finished, you leaned back slightly, letting out a soft breath. “i enjoyed that.”

“yeah.”

you smiled at him, softer now. “i like this. just us.”

his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than usual. “so do i.”

silence followed, calm and steady, the kind that usually didn’t need filling. this was the moment.

levi felt it.

his hand moved slightly, brushing against his pocket where the box sat, waiting.

say it.

just say it.

“there’s something i want to say,” he said.

you looked up at him, curious but relaxed. “okay.”

his chest felt tight, not in fear, but in the weight of it. of what it meant. of how much it mattered. you watched him patiently, like you always did, and for some reason that made it harder.

his fingers curled slightly against his leg. the words were there, he could feel them. all he had to do was say them.

“…we should do this more often,” he said instead.

you blinked, then smiled faintly. “i was just thinking that.”

he nodded once, like that had been what he meant all along, like that had been the question. the moment shifted, just like that.

you kept talking, completely oblivious to what had almost been said.

and levi sat there, listening, responding when needed, like nothing had happened.

like he hadn’t just failed again.

this time, there was no interruption. no bad timing. no one to blame but himself.

just him.

and the words he couldn’t seem to say.

iv.

the room was warm, lit softly by the lamp in the corner, the glow low and golden as the record player spun lazily in the background. the music wasn’t loud, just enough to fill the space, paired with the faint crackle of the vinyl.

you were already halfway through the song when levi walked in.

bare feet against the floor, hair still damp from your shower, wearing one of levi’s shirts that hung loose on you. you hummed quietly to yourself, moving around the room without much care.

he stood near the door for a moment longer than necessary, watching you move around. it wasn’t anything new. he’d seen you like this before. but for some reason, tonight it felt different.

“if you fall and hurt yourself i won’t help.

you turned immediately, grin already forming. “don’t lie.”

“i won’t.” he lied, he knew if anything were to happen he’d be by your side in an instant.

“liar.”

he didn’t bother responding to that, but his eyes followed you as you walked toward him, like you’d expected him to just… join in.

which he wouldn’t.

“come here,” you said, holding your hand out.

“…no.”

“levi.”

“i said no.”

you pulled him forward before he could finish, laughing softly as he stumbled the slightest bit, more from surprise than anything else.

“you’re no fun,” you murmured, placing his hands on your waist yourself before resting yours loosely around his shoulders.

he looked down at you, unimpressed on the surface, but he didn’t move them away.

“i’m not dancing,” he muttered again.

“you don’t have to dance,” you said, already placing his hands on your waist. “just stand there and look pretty.”

“i don’t do that either.” he scoffs in disbelief.

“you’re doing it right now.”

he gave you a look for that.

you smiled wider.

and then you started swaying again, slow and easy, guiding him without asking, like you always did.

it didn’t take long before he stopped pretending to resist.

“see?” you murmured. “not so bad.”

he doesn’t respond to that, just grunting at your words.

you laughed, leaning in slightly, your forehead brushing his for a second before you pulled back just enough to look at him properly.

“you’d be miserable without me.”

“i’d be able to get more done.”

“exactly. miserable.”

he never said anything, but something in his expression softened just slightly.

enough for you to notice.

“do you like being with me?”

the question came out of nowhere and it caused you to look at him with confusion.

“of course i do.” you said like it were obvious.

“why..?”

you let out a small breath, almost a laugh. “what do you mean why?”

“why?” he repeated.

the tone in his voice told you he wasn’t joking with you and it made you frown a bit. to you it was obvious why you were with him but levi was failing to see the same.

because.. you’re always there when i need you, even if you pretend it inconveniences you. you care for me and you’re honest. you make me feel safe.”

levi’s eyes never left your face, even when he finished speaking. instead he ket silence consume the both of you as he thought of what to say.

“i know i don’t talk a lot about how i feel.”

you huffed quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “you could say that.”

“i don’t.. but i think about it. i think about it way more than i say it.” he speaks slowly.

your smile faded slightly, your attention fully on him.

“i’ve lost a lot of people growing up. people i thought would see grow old alongside me. and i constantly think of all the things i never said to them.”

his words made you chest tighten. he didn’t talk about his past often and you knew there were scars there, scars that would most likely never fully heal. but whenever he spoke of it to you, you couldn’t help but feel grateful that he trusted you enough to open up to you.

“i know that nothing in this lifetime is promised, especially with our line of work but also know i wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything were to happen to you. i can’t let it happen again, not with you.”

your expression changed, your hands resting on his shoulders.

“i don’t want this to end because of something i should’ve said. i don’t want to lose you knowing i could’ve prevented it.”

you shook your head in response. “you’re not going to lose me.”

“you don’t know that.”

“i do.” you said, stepping closer, your hands tangling in his hair. “i’m not going anywhere.”

he looked at you properly, like he found it hard to believe.

“..then marry me.”

you couldn’t believe the words that’d left his mouth, you breath caught in your chest.

“what?” you questioned in disbelief.

his voice remained firm as he repeated his words.

“marry me,” he repeated, just as steady. “so i don’t have to keep wondering if you know how much i love you.”

your chest tightened at that, something warm and overwhelming settling in all at once.

“levi..”

you knew your answer and you also knew the fact that you hadn’t given him a proper answer yet was eating at him so you decided to mess with him a bit.

“there’s no ring.” you huffed in fake annoyance.

he paused, mentally cursing himself for being so unorganised.

“right..” was all he said before pulling away.

before you could react, he’d already crossed the room, opening the top drawer beside his side of the bed. you watched him, confusion settling in for a moment before he turned back around, the small black box now visible in his hand.

“…no way.”

he walked back over to you, slower this time. when he stopped in front of you, there was a brief second where he just looked at you before lowering himself onto one knee.

“will you marry me?”

you couldn’t believe this was actually happening. you just stared at him for a second, pure disbelief written all over your face before you nodded quickly, almost stumbling over your words.

“yes–of course i will.”

he slid the ring onto your finger carefully, his touch steady despite everything. when he stood, you didn’t even give him a second to say anything before you were pulling him into you, wrapping your arms tightly around him.

“i can’t believe you,” you murmured, your voice slightly shaky against him.

“do you like the ring?” he asked, his arms settling firmly around your waist.

you pulled back just enough to look at it again, a small smile breaking across your face. “of course i do.”

your gaze lifted back to his.

“i love you, levi.”

and for the first time in a while, you were met with a small smile.

“i love you too.”

you barely had a second to react before he pulled you back in, one hand coming up to your jaw, holding you there as he kissed you firmly, pouring all his emotions into the kiss.

when you pulled back, you let out a quiet laugh, still a little breathless. you shakily placed your hand on his chest, staring in pure shock as you get a proper look at the ring.

you stared at it properly this time, like it had only just sunk in.

“…oh my god.”

your voice was softer now, almost disbelieving, your thumb brushing over it like you needed to make sure it was real.

levi didn’t say anything.

he just watched you.

you glanced back up at him after a second, a small smile slowly forming. “did you plan this?”

he scoffed at the question, shaking his head.

“no.” he started. “i tried five times before this.”

that caught your attention immediately, laughter bubbling up in your chest.

“what? you’re kidding.”

levi shook his head, completely serious.

“i’m not.”

you pulled back slightly just to look at him properly, eyes narrowing a little like you were trying to figure out if he was messing with you. “…you’re lying.”

“…i’m not.”

“levi,” you laughed, shaking your head. “there’s no way you tried five times and i didn’t notice.”

“you didn’t.”

“that’s actually embarrassing for you.”

he gave you a look, unimpressed. “…it wasn’t my fault.”

“oh, so now it’s my fault?” you shot back, smiling.

“things kept getting in the way.”

you tilted your head, clearly entertained now. “you have to tell me about each time. in detail.”

he sighed quietly, like he already regretted saying anything.

the music from the record player continued to spin softly in the background, the faint crackle filling the space between you, playing a familiar tune.

you stepped a little closer, your arms settling comfortably around him as the two of you began to sway gently to the music.

“fine,” he muttered after a moment.

you smiled against him, resting your head on his shoulder as he started, reluctantly, to tell you about each failed attempt.

and as he spoke, quiet and low, you listened, that same warm feeling settling deep in your chest.

because every almost, every failed moment.

it had still led him here.

to you.

you smiled to yourself, eyes closing briefly as you held onto him just a little tighter.

yeah.

You’re a member of that rare club. It’s taken years of small kindness’ and lingering in Steve’s shadow to get there.

Even if you wanted to, you’d never risk ruining that just because of some schoolgirl crush. Not when Bucky might make your heart stumble and your face heat, but he hasn’t taken away your wits.

The same wits that tell you, it’s not worth the risk.

It will never be worth the risk. You worked too hard to get where you are. It’s too good a job, to burn up because you have a few fantasies. Steve Rogers famously went through assistant after assistant, before you. When you’d asked Natasha why—Steve’s a perfect boss, he lets you take hour long lunches and use sick time as PTO, as long as you don’t tell HR—she’d just shrugged.

“It’s not Steve that’s making them quit.” She’d hummed, like you were supposed to know exactly what that meant.

You hadn’t. You still don’t. Best guess, he thinks that everyone can keep up with him and forgets to slow down and match pace. But you can keep up with him just fine. Without breaking a sweat. Sometimes you out-pace him, and that earns you a loud, approving laugh and small smirk from Bucky.

Bucky.

James. You’re trying to call him James, in your head. It’s more formal. Creates a larger gap, between private fantasy and reality.

In fantasy, Bucky is a hazy voice that creeps into your dreams and rough stubble that brushes over your cheek. You tangle the sheets and blankets between your legs in bed, and pretend he’s there, holding you tight. Dreams and scenarios play out before you go to sleep, where he backs you against a wall and declares that he’s loved you since he first saw you. Or he shows up at your door in the middle of the night, pleading because he can’t take being away from you anymore. Maybe all his stares at conferences and meetings finally amount to something, and he grabs your jaw and kisses you so brutally you both just fall onto that soft couch in his office.

But Bucky doesn’t just stare at you. It’s one of his weird little quirks that Steve calls just Bucky, and Sam calls creepy and weird, he’s lucky we love him.

You do love him.

Bucky’s perfect. When you’d met him, he’d seemed as if he’d fallen out of a silver screen or leather-bound book. You’d never understood fantasies about powerful men, until one with the brilliance of fifty suns had been adjusting his cuffs in front of you. You’d barely been able to breathe, and it’s only gotten harder since you’ve known him.

At first look, Bucky’s a sharp jawline, dark hair, and eyes that follow you into your sleep. He’s cold and standoffish in that annoying way that makes the fool in your heart babble about how you could melt him. He snaps and orders and doesn’t waste time on things that don’t matter, and you’d like to hear how his voice could go soft, if you could make it.

That fool in your heart is loud. It tends to get the better of you, until the object of it’s fleeting obsession shatters the illusion by itself. Most of your crushes take a sledgehammer and destroy the heroic visage you’ve made of them in a second. You just have to wait for it, and they save you from themselves.

But Bucky likes to ruin your life.

It’s been a year, since Steve hired you. Fresh out of college, nervous, and with what Natasha called doe-eyes.

You love Bucky more than you did at the start, and it’s incredibly rude that he won’t just cut it out so you can focus.

“How’s your mother?” You ask one night, when it’s just you and Bucky.

James. When you’re alone in a room with him, and the white sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to show off obnoxious muscles, it’s important to remember you should be calling him James.

“My… Mother.”

He’s staring at you like you’re crazy. Heat floods your cheeks, but you just nod. He doesn’t get to win.

“You said she was moving.” You shrug, and Bucky’s tongue flicks over his lips.

“I did say that.”

“Yeah. I know.” You pretend to turn over a paper. “I was there.”

Bucky snorts, and it’s enough to yank your attention up. He’s shaking his head with that tiny curve of a smile, and it makes your heart do something that might resemble overdrive.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”  

“What-“

“My mother’s doin’ just fine.” Bucky says, staring at you across the room. “She loved those muffins you made her. Got me and my sisters in a lotta trouble, for not bothering to make her a housewarming gift.”

You swallow. “Oh, I- I didn’t mean to-“

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Bucky—James, but it’s impossible to remember when he looks at you like that—smirks. “I’d want you over me every time, too.”

There’s no possible response you can think of, to that. Not one that makes sense, and isn’t humiliating. You look back to your papers, mumble a thank you, and try not to let Bucky’s low chuckle pool heat between your thighs.

You don’t succeed.

But that’s a problem for your vibrator to worry about, when you get home.

Because that’s where the fantasy. And the reality is always starker. Harder to escape.

Bucky is a mountain of a man, but you’ve never climbed anything at all. Not a tiny hill, not a slope, not even a bump in the road. The most basic things, that most people get out of the way in middle school, you’ve never even brushed against. Not on purpose. It’s just… Never happened. And you’re certainly not going to start doing anything now. With your older pseudo-boss and sort of friend. You don’t have a death wish, and you’re certain that rejection will kill you with the humiliation alone.

So in reality, you’re never going to risk anything. You’ve never had health insurance this good before. Steve buys you lunch every day—technically he buys himself lunch, but you’re allowed to get whatever you want—and you got to move out of your rundown apartment with the landlady who kept getting mad you dared to have trash, but refused to fix your broken heater. In New York.

You haven’t had freezing fingers in a year. Because now, you could afford gloves. And in the harsh cold of reality, no dick is worth more than a nice pair of gloves.

Bucky’s might be. Bucky and his smile and low laugh and nobleness and silent kindness and-

No.

Nothing’s worth it. Not when Bucky wouldn’t even want you anyway.

You’d rather have the gloves.

“You get a plus one to this event, you know?”

You look at Steve over the desk, frowning slightly. “Huh?”

Steve’s lips twitch. “You get a plus one.”

“Okay?”

“Wasn’t sure you knew.” He shrugs. Your frown deepens.

“Of course I knew. I send out all the invitations.”

“Hm.”

“What’s hm? What does hm mean?”

“Just hm. Do you have the numbers, about-“

“They’re in front of you, Steven.” You narrow your eyes. “What’s hm mean.”

“Told you, nothing-“

“What.”

Sam says that there are only three people Steve is afraid of. Natasha, Bucky’s mother, and you. At the time, you’d laughed it off and rolled your eyes.

With how his throat bobs and he avoids your gaze, you’re starting to think that last part might be true.

“You’ve just always had that plus one offered.” Steve mutters, looking at the reports like they’ve suddenly turned into something interesting. “Noticed you never used it. Wanted to, uh- Make sure you knew.”

“I knew.” You snap, and Steve sighs.

“Yeah, I thought you did.”

“Then why’d you ask-“

“You wanna get lunch?” Steve’s voice raises, and the conversation is clearly over. “I think I could go for some sushi, or- Mexican. Maybe acai?”

Those are three very different things, and it is your job to figure out which one he really wants. But you can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.

You have never used your plus one. You’ve never needed to.

There’s never been anyone worth using it on, except for one, dumb, handsome man who already has his own invitation to every event, and never has a problem finding his own date. You’ve spent dozens of nights lingering at Steve’s side—because he can tell you all he wants to enjoy yourself, you’ll slack when you’re dead—and glaring daggers at the model hanging off of Bucky’s arm. Giggling at everything he says and trying to drift closer than the polite, respectable distance he keeps them at.

He lets you sit closer to him than he lets them. And they are all a little younger, so maybe he wouldn’t mind that you’re not experienced and-

You stamp those thoughts under your heel. Not worth it.

But is Steve’s noticed how you never bring anyone, maybe he’s noticed how you stare at Bucky as well. And if he’s noticed that, he might start looking closer. And if he looks closer, he’s going to realize that you’re in love with his best friend, and he’s going to tell Bucky, and you’re going to get fired, and lose your cool apartment and fuck, you aren’t emotionally prepared to be a prostitute-

You need a date.

It’s the safest, most logical conclusion. You study Steve across the room, and quickly decide against asking to be set up. That might get back to Bucky, and you don’t want him to know for reason that defy common sense. You can’t ask anyone at work, but all your friends are your co-workers. You could go out to a bar, but that sounds dangerous and exhausting, and you’re not even sure where you’d find the time.

Which leaves one option.

Dating apps.

There are millions of them. You know from college friends and social media that there are about five worth having. You download all of them, and spend the rest of your lunch setting up your profile. You’re by no means ugly, and you’ve got plenty of pictures in exciting locations thanks to Steve being unable to get through any work event without you there. You put down that you’re not sure what you’re looking for, because you’re really not. You lie about your job, because when you tell people you’re Steve Roger’s personal assistant, they usually get weird. You settle just secretary, even though Steve and Natasha would shout at you if they saw.

They won’t see. None of them will see.

And you’ll get a nice, boring date to the next event, and everything is going to be fine.

“You never tell me about your family.”

Bucky’s words are so low you almost don’t hear them. You look up at him in surprise, and hope the dim lighting hides your flush.

“You never ask.”

His lips twitch down. “I’ve told you about my family.”

“So?”

“Usually.” He mutters, glaring at his papers like the did something to personally offend him. “When you tell someone about yourself, it’s an… Exchange of information.”

“An exchange of information?” You snort. “Is that a CIA thing?”

“Not everything I do is a CIA thing.”

“Everything Natasha does is a CIA thing. And you were in the CIA together.”

“Nat was better at it than I was.” He grumbles. His brow does a tight-knit wrinkle thing, when he’s frustrated. For a grown man, it’s always rather adorable. “I’d like to know about your family.”

“I…” You blink at him, your brain turning fuzzy and useless.

He’s staring at you. Saying those words like they matter, and you can barely understand them at all.

“Why?”

“Because. We’ve worked together a while. I know… A lot about you.” He takes a deep breath through his nose, giving you a strange look. “You know about me.”

“Uh huh. That’s usually how being friends works.”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, well. You’ve met my mother. She adores you.”

“She doesn’t adore me-“

“She adores you.”

He says it like it’s really not up for debate. You flush. “Oh- Okay.”

“Everyone you meet adores you.” Bucky grumbles, like that complete lie of a statement infuriates him. “And I tell you everything about me.”

You don’t think that’s true either. You know a lot about Bucky, but not everything. Steve says Bucky’s just like that—not big on sharing—so you hoard every bit of information he offers you like a dragon with gold, but it’s far from everything. “Bu- James-“

“Bucky.” He corrects, and you sigh.

He’s not making that part easy, either.

“Bucky.” You say, smooth and careful. “You know everything about me that Steve knows. I- I can tell you more. But I’m not all that interesting.”

“I disagree.” He mutters. “You’re impossibly interesting.”

You can only hum, pressing your thighs together as he just keeps staring at you. He shouldn’t be allowed to do that. It makes your brain slow down and all your thoughts turn honeyed and gooey. His hands are right in your eyeline, and he’s got those big, deft fingers that you’ve imagined tracing over your hips and lips, and he’s giving you compliments. Compliments like they’re just breathing, like he doesn’t even have to think about them because you could be all he sees.

“What do you want to know?” You mumble, desperate to move the conversation away from this. If you offer yourself too much of his attention, it’s going to drag you under like quicksand.

“What’s your favorite kind of flower?”

“My favorite flower-“

Bucky grunts, nodding tightly. You take a deep, slow breath, careful not to look him in the eyes.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”

Bucky grunts. “Well, what kinda flowers have people gotten you before.”

“I- I’ve never been given flowers.”

“You’ve never-“ Bucky cuts himself off, and you risk a glance up to see him scowling. “Ever?”

You can hear the what about that he won’t say. What about a boyfriend.

If he’s not brave enough to ask it—although you don’t understand why he’d care—you don’t have to be brave enough to answer it.

“No. Never ever.” You mumble, and you might dissolve into a mist of humid humiliation and confusing arousal.

You have Bucky’s attention, and you both wish he’d take it back and never want him to stop pushing. You’ve never had someone poke at you this much. It makes your core ache, and you’d rally rather not explore what that means right now.

“You need to sign these.” You shove some papers across the desk, staring at Bucky’s hands again.

They’re curled in fists. You’d like them inside you-

You mentally slap yourself, and force a smile onto your face, nodding to the papers. “Steve told me not to let you go home, until you did.”

Bucky chuckles at that, though there’s still a strange look in his eyes. “Not let me go home, huh.”

“Yes, sir.” You drawl.

Bucky’s knuckles go white. You could swear his voice gets lower.

“And how would you stop me from gettin’ home, kid?”

“With lots of talent.” You shrug, giving him a tiny smile. “And my body.”

Bucky coughs, and the desk jerks suddenly. His knee must’ve slammed against it. You shoot to your feet, ready to check on him, but he waves you quickly back down.

“Fine. I’m fine.” He scowls, scooting forward in his chair. “Papers.”

He makes a beckoning gesture, and you just stare at him.

“James, are you-“

“Bucky.” He grunts. “Papers, sweetheart.”

You nod stupidly, shoving the papers into his hands. You’re not sure what’s happening. Your thoughts are all still made of candy-clouds and goo, so you don’t want to overthink it.

It’s only when you get home, that you realize what he called you. I

Sweetheart.

You can’t blame him. He can’t know what that does to you.

You really need to find that date.

It happens in the middle of work. The worst possible place for it to happen.

Steve’s on a conference call, and you’re lying on his couch, swiping through dating apps. You’re only there in case he forgets something, and you don’t have to pay much attention for that. The voices of old, annoying men drone on and on and on in the background, and you have everything memorized so well that when Steve calls your name, you answer without even realty paying attention to what you’re saying.

The call is three hours for no good reason at all. You get bored.

Hence, the dating apps.

It’s almost as mindless as the call itself. All in all, the experience is turning out to be more of a fun game than an actual method to find a date. The next gala is creeping up, though. You refuse to give up.

But you’re also picky. And you keep comparing every profile you see to Bucky, which is deeply counterproductive.

Michael is handsome, and the exact same height as Bucky, but he’s built with corded muscle instead of the softer, thicker strength you’ve seen straining through Bucky’s suit. Henry has a picture of himself with kids—his sister’s, according to the caption—but you look at it and just think of when Bucky and Steve went to the children’s hospital, and Bucky had become such a soft and approachable person you’d been worried you’d get pregnant watching him.

Leon has nice eyes, but they’re not as pretty as Bucky’s. Cal is in the military, but he’s beaming about it in a way that makes you think he joined so he could run around with a big gun, while Bucky joined because his family needed the healthcare. Jake has a sweet smile, but it doesn’t make you feel bubbly like Bucky’s. Asher and Kyle both have high paying jobs—all their photos showing them driving Maserati’s and drinking expensive whiskey—but one of the things you’ve always loved about Bucky is how he doesn’t brag. His suits are less expensive and more well-tailored. His watch costs $150—he always grumbles that he just needs it to tell time—and he drives a motorcycle that Sam says he built from scratch.

You squint at Damien’s profile, and he’s got a motorcycle too. His caption says that he built it himself, and you don’t know anything about motorcycles, but you doubt he built it as well as Bucky did.

You swipe left with a sigh, and go onto the next profile.

James. 41. Business Manager. You give the picture a quick glance—beefy, shirtless chest that makes you drool a little, only the sharp, bearded jawline of the owner visible in the photo—and squint at the bio. Wealthy bachelor looking for his Queen.

You snort, and scroll lazily down. James’ Interests include music, cars, technology, dancing, family. No kids, but wants them. Looking for casual fun—you can’t be causal, or have fun, but it’s always nice to pretend—located thirty feet away, pet cat, smokes and drinks socially-

Located thirty feet away.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

You sit up suddenly, rapidly scrolling back up to the photos and main bio. James, 41, Business Manager.   

Fucking- Fuck-

You click frantically through the photos, somehow burning alive and freezing to your bones all at once. James’ next photo doesn’t show his face either, instead displaying a fluffy white cat on his bare chest. You know that cat. You’ve fed and pet her, paying her more attention than Bucky himself whenever he brings her to the office. Alpine adores you. You have more photos of her on your phone than you do of yourself.

Next photo.

Bucky drinking at that Italian place he, Steve, and Sam always go to for celebrations. In the background, you can see Natasha flirting with the bartender. You remember that night. She’d taken him home, and you’d heard far too many details about how hot and submissive he was in the morning. You’d been happy for her, and sick with jealousy. You’d spent all of that night standing next to her, trying not to stare at Bucky while he and Steve drank.

Which means-

You pinch in on the photo, feeling a little sick when you find it. Shrouded enough in the background that you can only see it if you look, but you can definitely fucking see it.

Your lovelorn, sad expression as you stare at Bucky like he’s made of stars.

He’s seen this photo. Everyone who’s been on his dating profile has seen this photo.

You feel sick. You unpinch the photo, ready to maybe just fall back into the couch cushions and have them swallow you whole, and then it fucking happens.

Your thumb drifts a little to the right.

You swipe yes on Bucky’s profile.

And a little heart graphic overtakes your screen, the bolded words It’s a Match! Shoved into your face.

You scream, and throw your phone across the room.

Steve looks at you like you’re insane. You feel insane.

“Are you-“

“I need to go to the bathroom!” You shout, and Steve opens his mouth, but you’re already running.

You have to pass Bucky’s office—right next to Steve’s—to get to the bathroom. You pause to stare at him, unable to form any coherent thoughts but fuck and Bucky.

He’s on his phone. Reading something with a knit brow. You might actually be about to throw up.

Like he can sense you, he looks up.

Your eyes meet.

And you run away, as fast as you fucking can.

Steve is a lovely boss. When you tell him you need a week off for vague personal reasons, but that you can still work remotely, he tells you not to bother and just take the time without work.

“But- I can help-“

“I know. I’m telling you not to.” He gives you a small smile. “You’ve earned the break.”

“Steve-“

“You’re allowed to just rest,” he says your name kindly, and you shake your head. No. You’re not.

“Please give me something to do.” You plead, and Steve sighs.

“Kid, you don’t have to prove something-“

“Please.” If you don’t have anything, you’re just going to stare at your match with Bucky the whole time. And that’s a harrowing, deadly prospect of a way to spend your week.

Steve sighs, and gives in. You get a bunch of emails to send, and they’re just enough to distract you.

Barely.

Sometimes, you still manage to falter, and open up the app. Stare at the you matched with James three days ago! Banner at the top of the screen. Maybe he hasn’t seen it at all, and you’re hiding for no reason. He could be someone who never even checks who he matches with unless they message first, because he just gets so many matches. Jealousy stabs through your heart, sour and sharp, and you sigh.

It’s your best hope. That he’ll just never know.

But he matched with you, too.

He could just swipe right on every girl he sees. That’s a thing you hear men do.

Bucky’s not the type to do that.

He’s also not the type to be looking for his Queen. Maybe you don’t know him as well as you thought you did.

But you’re pretty sure you do.

This is making your head hurt.

Your real best bet is that someone’s been catfishing as James Barnes, but there’s no real hope of that with the bar photo. You’re going to have to quit your job and change your name. Maybe Steve can reference you to another similar job if you apologize enough. Maybe you can move to Alaska and learn how to be a fisherwoman. You’re not very patient. And you’re not going to be able to afford your nice gloves anymore. Maybe you should just die. The best option might just be dying-

Your phone buzzes.

Message from James.

You throw your phone again. He knows.

Death is looking lovely right now.

Your days off turn into a week off. Steve checks on you, but doesn’t push you to come back. If anything, he’s still trying to convince you to just take a real vacation.

“It’s going to help more than… What you’re doing right now.” He stands in the middle of your apartment, gesturing at your ice cream and the mess of clothing on the floor.

“This is helping plenty.” You mutter. Steve sighs.

“Look, I’m really not mad about you taking the time. I know you. You wouldn’t take it if you didn’t need it.”

“But?” You give him a pointed look, and his jaw ticks.

“But I wish you’d tell me what was goin’ on.” He says, sounding more sad than annoyed. “So I could help.”

You give him a tight smile. “Steve-“

“Anything you need. If I can’t get it, I’m sure Bucky or Nat could-“

“Steve.” You don’t want to hear about how Bucky can help you. Not when he knows perfectly well why you’ve gone into hiding. “I- I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Steve frowns, but lets it go. In the Steve way, where he keeps asking every time he visits, but always takes the no in stride.

“Can you at least tell me what I should be saying to everyone else?” He asks after a week. “People are noticing I’m missing my brain.”

You laugh softly. “I’m sick.”

“But you’re not.”

Not visibly. Your heart feels sick. Bucky’s sent you two more messages on the app, one into your personal number, and none on Teams, and you’ve read none of them. You don’t want to hear his gentle rejection, because it’s going to crush you into fine, little pieces.

“We’re worried about you.” Steve says. “And again, no rush to come back, but I don’t know how to work my own schedule and Bucky’s started pacing whenever I try to do your job, so-“

“Bucky’s pacing?” You blurt, and Steve blinks.

“Yeah? Think he misses you, too.”

You swallow, and glance at your phone. The unread messages.

Bucky only paces when he feels like something is wrong. Really wrong.

And you don’t want to know. That he’s been thinking about. That he’s been pacing. Because it all ends the same anyway.

“I’ll be back soon.” You mumble, flipping your phone face down. You don’t want to know. “Just- A few more days.”

Steve looks at you like he doesn’t believe you. You don’t believe you.

But you’re a big girl. You can survive a little rejection, and it doesn’t have to be anything at all.

You’re going to keep going, and this won’t have to have been anything at all.

Nobody asks, when you get back to the office. Nat and Sam check in that you’re okay, and Steve lets you pick lunch three days in a row—and you think he’s blaming himself for everything, which at least tells you that Bucky hasn’t snitched about anything—but the only thing waiting for you is a phone full of voicemails and a crowded calendar.

And Bucky.

Bucky, who almost acts like nothing even happened at all.

Almost.

He’s staring more than he used to, and he’d always stared quite a lot. When you’re left alone in a room together, he stares until you look up at him, before immediately coughing and looking back to his own papers. He lingers outside of Steve’s office until you ask if he needs to talk, and he shakes his head and runs off like a teenager caught trying to buy drinks. Nat shouts at him after two meetings where he wasn’t paying attention, and he mutters that he was distracted.

“What?! What could you possibly have been so distracted by that you missed every cue Sam gave you, five times in a row?”

He just shrugs, and you can feel his gaze burning straight into your heart. You bow your head, and pretend you don’t see it.

You still haven’t looked at the messages. You’re not going to. And he hasn’t brought it up, so it’s like nothing ever happened.

Like nothing ever happened.

But it happened. The world ended, but it also just kept spinning, and now you’re suspended in a world where Bucky doesn’t even treat you like a friend anymore.

Steve notices. Of course he does. Asshole.

“Did something happen?” He asks softly. “Did Bucky… Say something to you?”

You look up with wide eyes, mouth going dry. “Wha- What? No, Bucky- James and I, it’s fine.” You laugh, high and nervous. “Everything’s fine.”

Steve hums, and he doesn’t believe you. You can see it, shining in his eyes. “You know… I’ve known Bucky a long time.”

“I know. I’ve read the about page.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No. I mean, yes, but-“ He sighs. “Bucky’s not good at… Talking. When something matters to him, he shows it.”

“Okay.” He’s shown you nothing but silence and stares.

“And he, um- He’s a good guy-“

“I’m aware.”

“I know you are, but-“ Steve sighs, slumping in his chair. “Just, if Bucky ever says something to you, or asks you to do something, and you don’t want to, don’t. I’d rather you piss him off then feel pressured. Not that he’d pressure you,” he adds quickly. “But if there’s ever… Anything. And I’ve been wrong about… Stuff. Just know you’re as valuable as he is.”

He’s speaking in riddles. This has been a long few weeks. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Steve nods, taking in a deep breath. “And is there… Anything you want to tell me? As my friend?”

It’s a mean card to play. You almost want to. Steve’s kind, and he gives good advice, and you believe him. You know that if you confessed your silent, raging love for Bucky, Steve would just support you.

But you don’t need someone to support you right now. You need someone to smack you in the face and tell you to stop being a baby about your crush not liking you back.

“No.” You give him a strained smile, and it hurts on your face. “Why, is there something you need to tell me?”

Steve stares at you for a moment, then slowly shakes his head. “No. Just… You were missed.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and Steve clears his throat.

“By everyone.”

You nod, useless tears stinging at your eyes, and look back to your work.

Later that day, Bucky goes into Steve’s office and they talk for two hours. You want to eavesdrop, but that would be a new, pathetic low.

You stare at Bucky’s head through the glass, and chew on a pencil until it snaps in half.

When Bucky leaves the office, he stops in front of your desk and lingers. You can feel the heat from his body, and you’d like to fall into it. He clears his throat, and you look up like he’d grabbed your chin and demanded it.

His eyes are shining on yours, and you’ve never seen his jaw clenched so tight. As if he’s disgusted, just from the sight of you.

“You look nice.” He rasps, and you can’t tell if you’re glowing or burning out.

“Thank you.”

He nods, looking up to the ceiling, then back to you. “We all missed you.”

“I’ve been told-“

“I missed you.” He says those words firmer. They sink into your core, molten and demanding, so overwhelming you’re not even sure what to do with yourself.

You’ve been staring at him too long. Words are failing you, thoughts are failing you, and-

“I, uh- I’ll leave you to it-“

“You too.” You breathe out, and Bucky stumbles back like you hit him. “I- I missed you too.”

He blinks. His nostrils flare, and he gapes at you with a red face. For a second, you don’t see the calm, collected man you know and adore so well. You see something closer to a teenage boy, fumbling and gaping and unsure what to do with his own strength.

You like him, just as much as you like the rest of Bucky. Love it.

Endlessly and uselessly love it.

Bucky turns on his heels, and almost runs back to his office. Your nails dig into your palms, and you force your attention back to your work.

It will pass. All of this, like every storm, is going to have to pass.

You get a night off. Steve has a date, and it’s the one part of his life you have and want nothing to do with. You were going to use the evening to catch up on more voicemails, until Sam shooed you out of the building like a bird. Go rest, woman.

You are resting.

By catching up on emails.

There’s a knock on your door, long after anyone should be out doing anything. You don’t move from the couch at first, because you think it’s a mistake.

Then the knock repeats. Louder than the first time. And someone shouts your name, muffled through the door.

Not a mistake.

Bucky. That’s Bucky’s voice.

You fall, trying to get up. Your knees feel like jelly, and you haven’t even seen him yet, but he’s already doing that thing where his attention makes you feel like you’re made of electric static. Sensitive and empty-headed in the best and worst way. You can barely stand it. You can’t really stand at all.

When you finally—somehow—make it to the door, Bucky’s standing on the other side like he’s awaiting inspection. Tall and silent, shoulders squared and arms behind his back, looking at you like you’re holding his life in your hands.

You stare at him. He stares back, and you can measure your every breath in heartbeats. Louder and louder in your ears.

“Hi.” You finally say, shifting on your feet, and his throat bobs.

“Hey.”

“What’re you-“

“I wanted to check on you.” He blurts, and you freeze. “And- Talk.”

You ignore that last part. It’s the last thing you want to do. “I’m fine.”

Bucky’s pretty lips tug down. “You took two weeks off.” He mutters. “You don’t even take sick days.”

You swallow. “I- I was trying to take care of myself-“

“By working the whole time?” He looks past you again, and you follow his gaze.

Right to your laptop, open on an email draft.

“You’re supposed to be takin’ tonight off too.” He says, a little scolding, and you stiffen.

“You’re not my boss.”

Bucky chuckles. Low and deep, shivering up your spine. “Trust me, doll. I’m fully aware of that.”

Oh. That does something nice to your core. You think you might be getting a fever.

“James…”

“Bucky.” He grunts, and you take an unsteady breath. Staring at his chest seems to be the most effective way to speak to him.

“Bucky, I- I’m fine, really-“

“I brought you flowers.” He says suddenly, and his hands shoot out from behind his back.

He’s holding out a large bouquet of roses and lilies, each in about three different colors. It’s a stark contrast to his black suit and neatly pressed white shirt, petals spilling and little bits of yellow pollen clinging to the stems. To the cuffs of his sleeves.

Bucky clears his throat, pushing the flowers a little further forward. You take them with shaking hands, a little worried they’ll dissolve the moment you touch them. They don’t. And Bucky clears his throat.

“I, uh- I gave you options, and-“ He shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I come in? Please?”

You can’t think of a good reason to say no. You don’t even think you’d get out the words, if you tried. So you nod, and step to the side.

And now Bucky’s in your apartment. Looking around at your things and licking his lips, nodding slowly. He fits into it, like a puzzle piece being slowly slotted in, and-

No.

You can’t think like that. It’s not going to help anyone, not by far.

He brought you flowers.

To apologize for breaking your heart.

Bucky looks back to you, bracing his hands on his hips. You swallow, hugging yourself tight, and neither of you dare to move. Bucky takes a ragged breath, looks to the side, and back to you with the strangest, most anguished expression you’ve ever seen on his handsome face.

“Tell me if I’m steppin’ over the line.” He starts, urgent and pleading. “You gotta tell me if I’m steppin’ over the line.”

“Bucky-“

“We both know why I’m here.” He takes a step forward. You take a step back.

Bucky freezes, and you take a shaking breath, staring at his shoes.

“I- I’m sorry.” You mumble. “I didn’t mean to-“

“You didn’t?” Bucky cuts you off, and you glance up to see him frowning. “At all?”

You blink. “No, I- I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you meant it?”

You nod, and Bucky’s jaw works tight.

“Could you?”

“What?”

“Could you mean it?” He rasps, and your mouth falls uselessly open.

“Ja-  Bucky.” You shake your head, stepping further back. If this is a trick, you’re too fragile to fall for it. “I- I don’t know.”

“Why not?” He takes a step forward, your eyes trapped together. “Is it me?”

“Is it you?”

“Yeah, I- I mean- You don’t really date.” He clears his throat. “And Stevie’s never told me why, ‘cause- I’m not your boss, but I’m not not your boss- ‘s what Sam says-“

You’ve never heard him ramble. Never heard him speak like he’s not sure of the next work. It’s just as endearing as the display at the desk, but you’re even less sure what to do with it. “Bucky-“

“If it’s just me that you’re not- That’s the reason.” He’s standing over you now. Bowing his head. “Then that’s fine. I’m not gonna be an ass about it. But…” His shoulders slump. “If it’s not that. Then I- I’d like to…”

He trails off, giving you a hopeful look.

But you’re lost. Nothing he’s saying is making sense, and you’re almost being dragged under by the current of his words.

“What?” You repeat, more pleading than before. Bucky sighs.

“You never answered my messages.” He mutters. “Figured I’d need to ask in person. Needed to hear it.” He clears his throat, lips twitching. “Even if it’s a no.”

“Even…” You frown. “Even if what’s a no?”

His head shoots up, and his frown deepens. “I’m… Asking you out. On a date?”

Oh.

What.

Your surprise must be written all over your face, because Bucky looks bewildered. He can join the club.  

You just keep staring at him stupidly, and he says your name, slow and measured.

“You read my messages, right?”

You shake your head, and he groans.

“I- I’m sorry-“

“No, it’s- It’s my fault.” He mutters. “Nat told me you were oblivious-“

You cut him off indignantly. “I am not oblivious-“

“We matched on a dating app.” He drawls, lips twitching slightly. “And you’re shocked I’m askin’ you out.”

You scowl, hugging yourself tighter. “I thought you made a mistake.” You grumble, and Bucky chuckles.

He takes another step forward. Close enough that you can smell him, smell his cologne and aftershave and something deeper that’s just Bucky. You step back more out of fear that you were about to fall forward.

Bucky follows you.

Suddenly your pinned against your counters, Bucky’s arms braced on either side of your body. You swallow. Bucky’s tongue darts over his lips, and you think you did drown in his everything. You’ve been swept out to sea, and there’s no hope of being dragged out to shore.

And with how Bucky’s looking at you, you’re not sure you’d ever ask to be saved.

“You.” Bucky reaches up, brushing hair out of your eyes with a small smile. “Are not a mistake. And if someone’s been tellin’ you that you are.” He leans down, until your lips are almost brushing. “They’re damn lucky you’re lettin’ them make it.”

Dear God. You’re not strong enough for this.

“James…” You breathe out, and his brows knit. “Bucky. Don’t.”

He tenses around you. “Don’t?”

“Don’t.” You whisper, eyes dropping to his lips. They look so soft. “Don’t do this.”

Bucky leans a little back, but doesn’t pull fully away. “Why not? I told you, if it’s not ‘cause of me, we can work it out-“

“Bucky-“

“I’ll quit.” He says suddenly, and you gape.

“You’re the boss, you can’t quit-“

“There are like, four bosses.” Bucky waves you off. “Five if we’re countin’ you, which I am, and you do twice the fuckin’ work. I’ll just quit, and you can have my job, and we can-“

“Bucky.” You grab his shirt, and he falls silent immediately. “Just- Stop. You can’t quit, you shouldn’t-“ You take a deep breath, trying to focus on speaking instead of crying.

Bucky says your name softly, and big hands thread through your hair as you start to sniffle. It’s so pathetic, but you’re tired and overwhelmed and you can’t take him doing this to you twice. You’re not the kind of girl Bucky Barnes is going to want. Not for real. Not for long. And you can’t handle him pretending you are.

“It’s not nice.” You whimper, even as he tugs you into his chest.

Pressing your face into his chest is just as amazing as you’d always imagined. You wish you weren’t crying when it finally happened.

“What’s not nice.” Bucky prompts gently, and you swallow.

“You.”

“Me?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his torso. Bucky pets the back of your head, words low and cautious.

“What about me isn’t nice?”

You shake your head, hugging him tighter. You can’t stop. It’s like a reflex. “You can’t- You can’t say that stuff. ‘S mean.”

“Me tellin’ you I’d quit for you is mean?”

“You don’t mean it.”

Bucky tenses. “I do mean it-“

“No, it’s not- I’m not-“ You swallow, breathing him in. “I don’t just wanna be…”

You trail off. Bucky prompts you softly. “Be what?”

“Be fun.” You mumble. “I can’t do fun, you know than, and- And if you’re not serious, then-“

“I’m dead serious.” Bucky grunts, and you swallow.

“James-“

“No. Listen to me.” He picks you up without a warning, sitting you on the counter so you’re at his eye level. You grab his shoulders, and he keeps his hands planted on your hips, almost holding you under his words.

Forcing you to hear them, as he watches you like you’re the most important thing in the world.

“I am serious about this. About you.” He grabs one of your hands, holding it between your bodies. “I have wanted you since I met you. Don’t look at me like that,” he squeezes your hand when you give him a doubtful frown. “I have. You are beautiful and smart and bossy, and I’ve been obsessed with you so much, Nat’s slapped me about it twice.”

You swallow, closing your eyes tight. You can’t look at him right now. “Your profile said looking for casual.” You mutter, and Bucky snorts.

“Last year, Sam made that thing for me. ‘Cause I was obsessed with Stevie’s new PA, and I needed to get under someone to get over it.”

“Hm.” You peek at him. He looks sincere. “Did you?”

“I got under many someone’s.” He shrugs. “Didn’t have Sam’s intended effect. Think I just wanted you more, after every time.”

You swallow. That does explain a lot about the profile, in hindsight. Those were all very Sam things to say.

“I want you.” Bucky murmurs, pressing a little closer. Your noses are bumping, and he’s still not looking away. “You’re in my dreams, and days without you are nightmares. Just- One shot. It’s all I need. Please.”

And God, you want to give it to him. More than anything. You want to tell him that he doesn’t even need his shot, he hit a bullseye a year ago and you’ve just been waiting for him to realize it since.

But-

“I’m a virgin.” You blurt, and Bucky blinks.

“Okay-“

“I can’t do what others can. For you. And I- I don’t know how anything works- Well, I know how sex works, I got an A in health class, but everyone got an A in health, but I got an A and paid attention, and-“ You’re rambling. “I just don’t know how dating works, or- Or relationships, and I’m not- You’re very- You.”

You gesture over his everything, and Bucky’s lips twitch.

“That a problem, doll?”

“No. God, no. You’re perfect, I’m just- Not? And that’s not really fair to you-“

Bucky grabs your face, and your cut off in a kiss.

You’ve seen kissing in the movies and on TV. Read about it a million times. It’s always all sweet and romantic, with swelling music and breeze and passion.

And nothing has done it justice at all.

Kissing Bucky is awkward for a second—his lips slotted over yours, your whole body frozen as it shuts down, then reboots—and then it’s like breathing. Your hands fly back to his shoulders, your legs spread so you can lean further forwards, and your lips move without a thought. Pressing against Bucky’s, moving in a dance he seems more than happy to lead, chasing at the slight chance that you could have just a little more.

One of Bucky’s hands finds this back of your head, and the other grabs your waist. Dragging you further forward until your chests are pressed tight, massaging the softness there in rhythm with his lips. You sigh, breathy and content, and Bucky presses further down. He’s all you can feel, muscle under your hands and love pounding in your heart. You nails scrape his neck, and he groans into the kiss.

The sound vibrates against your spread thighs. His hand on your waist flexes, fingers digging into the softness, and you gasp.

Bucky pulls back too fast, and you follow. Tugging him back, unwilling to let him go just yet. He follows for a second, tongue tracing over your lower lip, then yanks himself back.

His brow presses against yours, and you both breathe raggedly.

“I like you.” Bucky almost growls. His thumb presses over your swollen lips, palm cupping your cheek, and you melt further into him than you already were.

“Bucky-“

“You’re what I want.” He leans forward, demanding and pleading all at once. “Your body.” He pushes his hand under your shirt, rough fingers dragging against sensitive skin. “Is a bonus.”

You shiver, whimpering softly. You feel pliant. Dizzy, in a way that no flirting or video has ever rendered you before. You think Bucky might’ve sucked your soul out with that kiss. You’d like him to do it again.

But when you try to lean up, Bucky pushes you gently back down. You whine, and his lips twitch.

“You like me too.” He mutters, watching you like he’s somehow still unsure.

“Mhm.” You say, and he stands a little taller.

“How long-“

“The same.”

“Oh.” He grins. “Good. That’s- Good-“

You slam back up, kissing him with an open mouth and sloppy need. Bucky responds immediately, and heat is starting to build between your thighs. It’s not just going to go away with a little touching and petting. It’s almost painful. You need him.

Bucky pulls away again. You’re going to punch him.

“Jesus.” He mutters, staring down at your desperate expression. “You gotta slow down, baby-“

“Don’t want to.” You breathe, pulling at his shirt. “Want you, Bucky. Want you now.”

His throat bobs, eyes darkening, but he remains composed. “You… You’re a virgin-“

“Then show me.”

Bucky says your name, and now he’s the one begging. But you’re not letting him off this easy.

“Show me, Bucky.” You rest your chin on his chest, giving him your best pout.

He grabs your face between big hands, chest heaving as he stares at you. You offer a sweet smile, and his nostrils flare.

“Please.” You whisper. “Anything. I just want to feel you.”

“Feel me.” He echoes, like he can’t believe it. “You wanna feel me?”

You nod, and he presses his brow over yours his, his eyes squeezed shut.

“And you want me to show you.” He rasps. “All the different ways I can make you feel good.”

You nod frantically, almost clawing at his shirt. Bucky’s eyes shoot open.

“Yeah?” He grunts, and you whine.

“Yeah. Yes. Please-“

He grabs your jaw, grip hard and unyielding, folds over you like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together. His lips move, harsh and hungry, and his hand on your hip starts to knead the skin like he’s trying to leave a mark.

“Wanted this for so long.” He grunts, dragging his hand down to squeeze your ass. “Wanted you. So fuckin’ bad.”

You moan into his mouth, and Bucky sucks on your lower lip. You can’t have enough of him. He’s warm and leaves little fires everywhere he touches. You’d like them to sweep through you, overtake you and send you higher.

“So gorgeous.” Bucky’s hand moves lower, resting on your upper thigh. “Thought about you all the time, hated bein’ in a room and not getting to touch you, was so sure I was going to lose my damn mind not havin’ you be mine.”

“I- I wanted you too.” You breathe out, almost delirious from his kisses. “Always wanted it to be you, never- Oh-“

You lose your ability to speak for a second, when Bucky starts to kiss under your ear. Your body goes pliant and soft, and his growl against your skin sends a shiver up your spine. He’s holding the back of your neck now, guiding it to offer himself better access. You tug on his hair and he moans. It makes your knees wobbly.

“Never anyone else,” you breathe, and he seems to like that. The massive hand on your thigh shifts slightly, so Bucky’s thick fingers are grazing your core through your clothing.

It’s a perfect pressure where you’d been craving any of his attention, and it’s a promise of more later. Your legs give out, eyes fluttering as your brain short circuits with arousal.

Bucky picks you up like you weigh nothing. Your nails dig into the back of his neck as he sits you on the counter, back arching as he captures your mouth in another kiss.  

“No one else.” He mutters, hand on your neck slowly, possessively moving down your spine. “Never gonna be anyone else, doll. Not for you,” he nips at your jaw, hand on your thigh teasing the sensitivity under your shirt. “Sure as shit not for me. Been no one else since I started thinkin’ of you.”

Your breath hitches, and you lean back with wide eyes. “Bucky, you don’t have to-“

“I’m not lying.” He says firmly, dropping his brow against yours. You try to lean back, but he grabs your chin, forcing your eyes back together.

You blink at him hopelessly, grabbing at the collar of his shirt like you’re looking for balance. Bucky gives you a tiny smile, pressing his lips sweetly over yours. Another, softer promise.

“No one,” he murmurs. “Was ever gonna live up to you. First few months I’d fuck a girl and feel sick the next day. Like I’d done you wrong.”

“You- You didn’t-“

“Yeah, I did. We coulda been doin’ this a lot sooner.”

You flush, looking down to where your bodies are pressed so tight together. Bucky’s dress shirt and hidden muscle, both hard and gentle all at once. Your sleeping clothes and bare feet, swinging off the counter. You lean a little further into him, suddenly feeling rather small.

“What if I’m not…” You take a deep breath, frowning at the floor. “What if I don’t-“

Bucky says your name, concerned and caring, and you shake your head.

“What if I’m not the fantasy, Bucky.” You look back up with your best pleading eyes. “What if that- That idea of me isn’t worth what you thought?”

His brows knit tight, and you try to shirk away as he studies you. You can’t tell if you like it or not, but you know you feel bare. And you both want him to look away, and never go where you can’t reach him again.

Bucky’s lips twitch. He leans forward slowly, kissing each corner of your mouth before taking it fully under his. The kiss is hot and commanding, almost forcing your brain to slow back down. You dissolve into it, your thoughts a nice haze of Bucky. He guides your legs a little further apart, and takes both of your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them behind you.

“I love you,” he mutters. “I told you. And remember,” he pulls back with that lovely, secret smile. “I’m helpin’ you through it, right?”

You nod, and Bucky leans back forward, bumping your noses together.

“Trust me?”

“Yes.” You breathe, and he grins.

“Good girl.”

Heat floods between your legs, and oh. You like that. You’re shaking a little bit, you like it so much. Want it so much. Want Bucky.

Like he’s reading your mind, he rasps against your lips. “You enjoyed other things before?”

You nod, unable to tell if that’s another flush or just how turned on you are, and Bucky smirks.

“Like what?” He kisses your cheek, massaging your thighs. “Tell me what you like, sweetheart. What you want.”

“I- I want to be under.” You whisper, and you think his hands might be magic. Pulling answers out of you that you would’ve rather died with an hour ago. “Want you over me. Tell- Telling me what to do.”

Bucky hums, nosing at your neck. You close your eyes, forcing on.

“Tell- Tell me how good I’m doing. And- Other stuff.”

He leans back, and your core throbs at the shine in his eyes. Like he’s going to eat you alive. “Other stuff?” He rasps, and you nod weakly.

“If you can- Can do that.” It’s hard to focus, between his piercing gaze and the hand wandering between your legs. Teasing your inner thigh, until you’re voice is high and breathy. “Do that, and- and be-“

“Be a little mean?” He coos, thumb pressing over your aching button. You swallow, and nod.

“A little mean.” You echo, and Bucky grins.

“Yes, ma’am.” He kisses you again, slow and romantic, and you barely notice his hand moving away. “Think that’s enough outta you for now.”

“Wha- Bucky-“

He steps away. Without warning, Bucky just backs up, and you almost fall off the counter trying to chase him. He laughs, and pushing you back into place in a second, then moves away again. Where you can’t follow.

“Bucky, come back-“

“Nope.” He grins, like he knows you’re already too lost to chase him. He probably does. Asshole. “You want me to show you?”

You scowl. “James-“

“Call me whatever you want, baby. You ain’t gonna be able to talk at the end, anyway.” He braces his hands on his hips, raising a brow. “Want me to show you.”

He won’t come back until you answer, so you just nod, crossing your arms like a scolded child. Bucky grins, and you’re hoping for another good girl and kiss, but he doesn’t even lean closer.

“Alright.” He stands a little taller. “Strip.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“Strip.”

“Like, completely?”

“Hm.” He pauses, raking over your body in a way that really shouldn’t make you feel more turned on. “Yep. All of this, off.”

He waves to your body, and gives you a silent, challenging look. Like he’s expecting you to go back, and ask for that date first.

But at this point, you’re going to explode if he doesn’t make you cum. And you’ve never backed down from him before. You have no interest in starting now.

Slowly, you peel off your sweater. Your shirt. The cold air hits your bare chest, and not wearing a bra was the right choice. Bucky’s looking at you like he wants to eat you alive, the evidence of your effect on him straining through his pants.

Your nipples are peaked, and you awkwardly palm at them the way you’ve seen in porn. Bucky shifts on his feet, hand flexing like he’s trying not to reach for you, so you repeat the motion again.

“Pants.” He grunts, and you smile sweetly.

“Please?”

Bucky chuckles, like he can’t believe you. “Jesus, woman-“

“It’s polite-“

“If you don’t take your pants off.” He grunts, giving you a firm look. “I’m gonna rip off your pants and fuck you on this counter right now.”

You swallow. That doesn’t sound all that bad, but-

Something foolish and lovesick inside of your chest demands that tonight be special. So you move on from your breast, but give Bucky a nervous smile.

“Next time?”

He softens slightly, and nods. “Next time. Pants.”

You smile, and he smiles back. But the expression quickly shifts back into desire, as you shuffle out of your pants. You take your underwear down in one motion as well, leaving you completely exposed. At Bucky’s mercy.

And he’s just watching you.

Watching you and rubbing his crotch, where an erection is demanding attention. The lewd sight makes you fuzzy in all the right places, your own legs spreading a little wider apart.

You need him so bad it hurts. Your fingers dip into your wet pussy, clumsily rubbing your clit, and Bucky groans.

Suddenly he’s back against you, staring at your hand between your legs and panting like a dog.

“Look at you.” He groans, dragging his gaze back up your naked body. “Better than a dream.”

“Thank you.” Your hips buck up against your own, suddenly flimsy and useless hand. You’ve touched yourself before. With Bucky all around you, it’s simply not enough. “Bucky- You-You need to touch me-“

“I know.” He grunts, lips ghosting over yours. “Need you to be ready, just-“

His throat bobs as he cuts himself off, his hand on his own hard dick suddenly pressing against your pussy. A spasm shoots through your body, and you almost fly off the counter.

Bucky presses further down, attaching his lips to your neck and collarbone. His tongue flicks against a pulse point as he spreads your pussy lips. Rubbing up and down while his thumb circles around your clit, working you up and up and up. You’re panting in his ear, vulnerable and dazed, and Bucky hums against your skin.

“Shirt.” He grunts. “Get my shirt off.”

You nod, and it should be a simple task. But Bucky’s relentless. He suckles on your neck, leaving possessive bruises on your skin all while working your pussy and drawling in your ear.

“I know exactly how I want you, pretty girl.” He mutters, flicking your clit with his thumb. “Told you I’ve been thinkin’ about it forever. ‘Bout every single way I’d take you if I got the chance. And I’m gonna show you all of them,” he kisses over a bruise, teasing two fingers against your fluttering core. “But tonight, we’re takin’ it easy.”

You whine, fumbling with just the top button of his shirt. “I- I don’t want easy-“

“I know, baby.” He presses just the tip of his finger into your cunt, and you clench around him with a whine. “But you’re so sensitive.”

If you had the power right now, you’d hit him for saying it like that. All mocking and syrupy. Making you try to fuck your hips down onto his fingers. But Bucky just pulls fully out, moving his attention back to your swollen clit.

“You need to take care of the buttons.” He whispers, pushing down hard on the bundle of nerves. “They need a little extra attention.” He rubs his thumb back and forth. “Before we get goin’.”

“Fuck- Bucky-“ You breathe, almost slumped against his chest. Your fingers are shaking, desperate to just hold onto something as thighs spread as wide as they can go. “Fuck you-“

He chuckles, kissing the side of your head as his thumb picks up speed. “We’re getting there, needy girl.”

You scrape at his forearm, one hand still trying to pry his shirt open with no real resolve at all. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, the asshole. Driving you insane with the teasing over your exposed entrance, never fully offering relief. You manage to get the top button open, but then Bucky pushes down hard on your clit, and an open moan falls from your lips as you double over.

“That’s it.” Bucky laughs, low and dangerous in your ear. “Doesn’t that feel good, baby?”

You nod, watching him move on you. “Bu- Bucky-“ You pull on his collar. “Help…”

“You’ve got it.” He says simply, spreading two fingers and dragging them between your pussy lips. “Just keep tryin’.”

There is no world where you have it, but Bucky’s words are enough for you to keep grasping fruitlessly at the fabric. Your head drops onto his shoulder, as you paw at his shirt. He laughs, rumbling through his chest, and slows his pace on your clit.

“All the ways I’ve pictured havin’ you.” He mutters. “This is the prettiest. Got you nice and ready, barely even touched you.”

“You’re- You’re touching me-“

“Not like I could touch you.” He says, a deep promise in his voice. “Told you, I’m going easy on my best girl. But if I wanted…”

He chuckles, kissing the side of your head. Pushing on your clit as your body starts to wiggle, trying to find more relief. “Bucky-“

“Every time I’ve seen you, layin’ on the couch.” He presses further forward, his bulge against your thigh. “I’ve thought about putting my hands all over your perfect fuckin’ body. Touching these tits,” he ducks his head, and your breath hitches as he kisses over the curve of your breast. “Touchin’ this sweet little pussy.” He plays with your clit like it a toy. “And makin’ you squirt all over Stevie’s nice cushions.”

“I’d look at you.” You gasp, holding onto his shirt for dear life. “In your chair. Wanted to sit on your lap.”

Bucky groans, hips jerking slightly. “Shit, I’ve thought about that too. Pinning you on my cock ‘till you’re sobbing, fucking you over my desk- Christ, whenever you’d bend over I’d just want to drag your ass back and fuck it ‘till you were drooling.”

“Fuck, yes.” You’ve given up on the shirt.

Your hand is wandering down between your bodies, and you rub against Bucky’s crotch, trying to return some of the favor. Bucky moans into your ear, pressing his hand flat over your cunt.

“Shit, you- Can’t just fuckin’-“ Bucky grunts your name, and you roll your hips against his hand.

“Need it. Need it, Bucky- Just- Your fingers, please-“

“No.” He mutters, his own voice gravelly as you squeeze him. “Can’t be patient, can you, sweetheart? Want this cock so bad you’re just grabbin’ for it, wasn’t even able to get my shirt off-“

“It’s a mean game.” You breathe, and he laughs, pushing his lips back over yours.

“You started it.” He brushes the hair from your face, easily moving you backwards until you’re just groping for something of him to hold onto.

“Why can’t you just- Just fuck me-“

“Because you wanted to be a good girl.” Bucky’s kisses are turning slow. Lazy. He’s groping your pussy again, but with far less purpose.

Just spreading your arousal and teasing everywhere you need him, driving you up to an edge you think might take away your mind. A mind you’d be happy to lose for him, if he’d just take it.

“And I want to show you.” Bucky rests his thumb over your entrance, his free hand pushing on your abdomen. Forcing you to stay still. “But you’ve got a greedy pussy, sweet girl. Think you need a little break?”

You shake your head—you do not want a break—but Bucky pushes his thumb a little harder, and you squeak.

“Bu- Bucky-“

“Look at me.” He orders, and you don’t have another choice. His voice is magnetic.

With just the top button exposing his sweaty collarbone and his erection evidence that he cares about this as much as you do, all of Bucky is magnetic. Gravitational. And it makes you feel so unbelievably good, just to be seen by him.

Being fucked by him might kill you.

It’s a risk you’re willing to take.

“Hi.” He smiles, and your lips wobble with need.

“Hi.”

“You still in this?”

You nod, and Bucky’s throat bobs.

“I’d like you to say it-“

“Yes, sir.” You can’t help yourself from saying it.

It’s supposed to be mocking. But your voice is still high, and Bucky looks at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“You’re lucky you’re so pretty.” He shakes his head, tone something between amused and exhausted. “Otherwise you’d be a really fuckin’ brat.”

You flush violently, and Bucky slaps your pussy once. Just enough to make you feel like you’ve been struck by lightning, and mold back into his whims.

“One day.” He drawls, one knuckle pushing up to press on your clit. “I’m gonna get you on my face. Let you ride me, fuckin’ suffocate between your legs.”

You’re shaking, watching him. He’s talking like he’s predicting the weather, but your head is running wild. The image of Bucky under you, forcing your cunt onto his generous mouth. It would be hot and wet, his hands would leave bruises, and, and-

“You’re so reactive,” he mutters, using featherlight swipes of his thumb against your clit. “Think I could make you squirt on me. It’ll be like this,” he starts to move in tiny, rapid motions back and forth. “Like this. But my tongue,” he licks up your neck, nipping at the underside of your jaw. “And your needy clit bein’ sucked like I’ve got some fuckin’ candy.”

He pinches your clit, and starts to roll it back and forth. You can feel a pressure, building and building. It’s almost blindingly good.

“You’re makin’ such nice sounds for me.” Bucky mutters. “Bet you’ll sound even better, coming apart all over my cock.”

You nod, humping into his hand. You need more, but just when you think it’s going to snap, Bucky’s hand moves back down. 

“You feel this, baby?” He circles his thumb against your hole, and you hum, eyes flutters. “She’s ready for me.”

“Yes.” You breathe. “Ready, Bucky, please- Wait-“

You almost whine when he pulls away again, but this time it’s for a good cause. Bucky rips his shirt off, tossing it to an unimportant corner of the room.

He’s a work of art. All thick, tanned muscle and scars from his time in the army. They ripple when he moves, decorate him like earned tattoos, and you want to map each one with your fingers. His arms are fucking tanks, reaching out for you, and you tumble into them without a thought.

Bucky hauls you into his arms, hooking under your ass and dragging you off the counter with only a grunt.

“Legs around me.” He orders, and you obey. It’s nice to be this close to him.

Plus the bonus, of getting to try and ride his chest while he carries you to your room. You stumble and giggle, trying to give him directions. Bucky shoves open your door with his shoulder, and you laugh as he walks backwards to the bed, his knees hitting the mattress and sending you both tumbling down.

“Shit- Bucky!” You shriek with delight as Bucky rolls you over, trapping you under his broad body. “Oh- Ooh-“

Your words fall off as he kisses you into the mattress, settling between your spread legs quickly. Your hands wander over the expanse of his back, and it’s a nice wealth to be crushed under. You’re losing cognitive function again, as Bucky ruts his still covered erection against your wet core. You don’t know how he’s kept it together so long. You feel like you’re going to cry with desperation, and you’re fully at his whims.

This is nice, though. It’s a hot pressure—still far from what you need, but enough to tide you over—and Bucky’s wall of muscle around might be the best things you’ve ever felt. Your tits pressed against his chest, his arms braced by your head as you just make out like teenagers. He glides one hand down, rolling your nipple between calloused fingers, and you gasp softly.

“Bu- Bucky-“

“I’m gonna start slow.” He murmurs, low and commanding. “Then pick it up. Fuck you ‘till you can’t walk, baby. Give you what you deserve.” He drops his hips, forcing you to stop grinding up. “That sound good?”

You nod, blinking hopelessly up at him, and he smiles.

“Good girl.” You get a sweet kiss on your cheek, his beard tickling softly. “Stay down.”

You don’t understand the request until he’s moving again, and suddenly it seems impossible. Being naked in front of him had been one thing. Naked, sprawled out in bed below him, and watching him strip is another thing.

Bucky sits up on his knees, never breaking eye contact as he pulls off his belt. You start to chew on your lower lip, and he moves back forward, stopping you with a gentle press of his thumb.

“Easy.” He murmurs. “Relax.”

You whimper, but try to. For Bucky.

And you think you might be turning into a puddle anyway, under the reverence in his gaze.

Bucky gets his pants off with practiced ease, and your mouth falls open.

His cock is thick and big. Veiny in a way you want to feel dragging against you, the head red and angry. Your breath catches as he starts to stroke it, just watching you wait for him.

Your legs close, trying to rub together for some friction. Bucky grabs your knee, and drags them back apart.

“Let me see you.” His thumb rubs in small circles. In a perfect rhythm, with his hand beating his cock. “Nice and relaxed for me, doll. Need you to be relaxed.”

You hum, watching him under hooded eyes. You can’t stop yourself from glancing down to his dick again. You feel empty, waiting for him. You’ve been waiting long enough as it is.

Bucky follows your gaze, and his lips twitch.

“You just walk around all the time?” He teases. “Waiting for some cock to fill you up.”

You nod, breathing through your mouth, and Bucky’s throat bobs.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You whisper, dragging your gaze back to his. “Need to feel you, Bucky. Pleeease.”

He swears under his breath. “Legs a little wider. Now.”

You listen quickly, and Bucky lowers down. He drags his cock between the puffed, slick lips of your pussy, the head bumping against your clit.

“Dirty girl.” He hovers over you, watching your every breath as he plays with you. “So fuckin’ pretty, should be stuffed with cock all the time, shouldn’t you. Gonna keep you in my bed, fuck you full of me.” He kisses you quickly, his words getting rough. “My smart fuckin’ baby, begging for my cock.”

“Don’t- Don’t tease-“ You mumble, and Bucky grins.

“But you’re so pretty when I do.”

He kisses your cheek, and you feel raw. A live nerve, open for him and almost vibrating with desire. But Bucky’s hands are gentle against you. And you know.

He’s going to treat you well.

“You think you can let go for me?” His question is gentle. Almost soft. “Always workin’ so hard.” He notches himself at your entrance, and your breath catches. “I’m gonna take care of you, aren’t I.”

“Yes.” You whisper. “Please.”

Bucky grins, and kisses your lips. “That’s right. You just gotta take it.”

You don’t get to even nod, before Bucky starts to push in.

And you’re not a blushing nun. You’ve used your fingers, and even some toys. Tried to see what the big deal was. But it had just felt like something was inside of you, and kind of heavy, and mostly just annoying.

This is different.

Bucky splits you open, and it knocks the air from your lungs.

“Breathe.” He grunts in your ear, and you nod uselessly. “Breathe, baby.”

You gasp for air, burying your face in the crook of Bucky’s neck, and clawing at his shoulders.

He mutters your name, and you try to arch your back up, inviting more. You need more. Everywhere he isn’t feels cold and hollow. Bucky needs to smear himself all over you, or you’re going to lose your mind.

“More.” You manage to croak out, and Bucky grunts.

“Are you-“

“Yes- Fuuuuck-“

You moan, loud and shameless, as Bucky presses deeper in. He bullies your pussy open, thick cock pressing deep into you and making your feel more full than you could’ve ever felt possible. Your body feels like it’s singing, a shiver of delight pushing up your spine as he hits that spot inside you that you weren’t even sure was real.

Your pussy clenches involuntarily, and Bucky hisses in your ear.

“Shit- Relax.” His thumb snakes between your bodies, massaging your clit. “Let me in, babydoll, come on-“

The massaging helps. You melt into him with a shaking breath, head tipping back when he bottoms out.

Bucky’s head drops into your chest, his breath hot against your breasts. You’re just sitting in each other, in the sticky, feverish heat that might drive you insane.

“You feel… fuckin’ perfect.”

Bucky’s voice is a rasp, and he sounds like a man ruined.

You might have already lost your mind.

“You too.” You breathe out, and he chuckles.

The sound is a vibration, and you bite your lip as pleasure rushes right down to your toes.

“Oh… God.” You squeeze your eyes shut, clenching again, and Bucky grabs your hips.

“You gotta stop doin’ that-“

“Can’t.” You whine. “’S- You did it, you spent forever working me up, and- And now-“

His muscles shift around you, and that’s enough for your body to keen. Your back arches, pussy squeezing, and Bucky makes a guttural sound from his chest.

You squeak, when he pulls the tiniest amount out and slams back in. Your body goes completely limp, and Bucky pushes up over you, his cock still buried deep inside as he stares down at you.

“For someone who asked me to teach her, you’re bad at takin’ directions.”

“You- Bucky-“ He’s fucking you, shallow and slow. Just dragging back and forth. You might cry over it. “You- You knew that already-“

“I did.” He muses, pressing your hips further down. Forcing you to feel every thrust of his cock against your cervix. “It’s something that I love about you, y’know? So sweet and mouthy, all at once. My dream girl. So far outta my reach.”

He angles you a little up, letting him rut against your g-spot, and any chance of a sassy retort is knocked out of your head.

“Not right now, though.” His lips twitch. “Bet you’d tell me anythin’ right now, if I fucked you nice and properly. Fucked you like you deserve?”

Your head bobs, words slurred on lust. “Any- Anything, Bucky, oh my god- mmmmh-“

His thumb swipes your clit, and it’s like a tiny shock you can’t even react to. Your body jerks, but Bucky just pins you back into the mattress.

“Think I don’t want you to talk right now.” Bucky leans down, smirking as you blink with teary eyes. “We’re a little past that, aren’t we sweetheart?”

There’s something mean and powerful, radiating off of him right now. He really knows exactly where he has you right now. And you have no desire to be anywhere else. 

“Ye- Yes.” 

“Might’ve fucked you nicely, if we’d just talked a month ago.” He raises his brows. “But you made me wait for this pretty pussy. Hurting us both, baby.”

“I- I was-“

“I know.” He kisses your nose. “You are a fuckin’ brat. Bet you thought about this every time you touched yourself.”

“I- I did.” You confess. “Needed your cock, Bucky. You’re- You’re so big-“

You mewl, as he rolls his hips and slams back in. He kisses you, open-mouthed and sloppy, and you can feel your slick need running down your ass. Or just Bucky’s sweat, as he tenses with the effort to hold himself back.

Effort is visibly, slowly slipping.

“You feel that? Feel this dick inside of you?” He fucks a little harder, and your head rolls. “All yours, babydoll. This hard, just for you.”

You whine, and Bucky sucks on a soft spot at the base of your throat.

“You’re a natural.” He groans against your skin. “Made for this cock, made to be my pretty doll, and- shit-“

He rises back up, watching you with a dark, hungry gaze.

“You’re trying so hard, aren’t you. To not choke my dick with your tight little pussy.”

“I- I am, Bucky- Please-“

“You gonna be good and listen to me, now?”

You nod, doe-eyed and cockdrunk, and Bucky hums in satisfaction.

“Hands on my shoulders.” He instructs, and your body somehow finds the strength to listen. “Mouth open. No holding back, wanna hear how you like it. Hear you scream my name.”

He kisses under your jaw, and you moan loudly. Bucky’s lips curve, and he pulls a little further out than before.

“Just like that. Good, isn’t it?”

“So good.” You whine, and Bucky hums.

“Stay just like this for me, doll.” He drags fully out, then slams back in. You think you see stars behind your eyes, and a sound you didn’t know you could make is pulled from your chest.

“Buuccky-“

“I know. Needy girl, wound up so tight.” He sets a slow but brutal pace, his hands bruising into your hips as he holds you down. “I’ve got you now.”

And he does.

Bucky’s got you so good, you’re already ruined for anyone else.

He fucks you the same way he’s been kissing and touching you. Like he’s trying to lay a claim. Make it so there’s no question what he wants, no doubt in your head that this is anything but serious. His hips piston against you, but it’s not rapid. It’s the measured, strong work of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing.

If there’s a pleasure point on your body, Bucky’s finding it and using it. You babble, as he abuses your g-spot with the thick head of his cock. His kisses swallow your every moan and plea, and you can’t think beyond his massive body, completely draped over yours. You’re tangled together, his balls slapping your ass and hands wandering over your body like he owns it.

He drags your knees up to your chest, helping him hit even deeper. You’re so wet it’s smearing all over his cock, and the sight of him driving in and out of you is enough to make that pressure in your tummy feel like it’s going to explode.

Bucky’s beyond words himself, hunching over your and taking one of your nipples in his mouth as he grabs at the other. You mewl, eyes glazed over and body overwhelmed with the need to cum. You might scream if you don’t. You’re probably already screaming.

“I- I need- Bucky, please, please, fuck-“

You scratch at his shoulder, so close to toppling over the edge but unable to figure out how to just fall. Bucky grunts, slamming down harder. His tongue swirls your nipple, sucking the peak between full lips before he crashes back up. His kiss is sloppy and open. You’re writhing in the sheet, edged into complete oblivion and on the verge of tears.

“You having some trouble, babydoll?” Bucky teases, throaty and wrecked.

You nod, shaking with the need to snap.  Bucky hums, kissing you too sweetly to be productive.

“Let go for me.” He squeezes your ass. “Just let go.”

Bucky finds your clit, and barely even offers more than a tease before you’re coming with a scream of his name.

Your back flies off the mattress, your hips bucking, and you’ve never cum this hard in your life. The tension in you burst like fireworks, heat pooling down your pussy and your body trembling. Your vision goes white. You might black out for a second, the daze of pleasure clouding your gaze.

There’s nothing but Bucky, still pounding into you. The obscene sounds of it, his guttural moans and the slide of his cock through your spasming cunt. His thrusts are jagged and uneven, his mouth kissing you everywhere he can seem to reach.

He follows you quickly, thick ropes of cum painting your insides and dribbling out of your pussy.

Bucky kisses you one more time, before he pulls out. It’s slower, like he’s trying to memorize you. You reach up to cup his face, smiling against his lips, and he lets out a heavy breath.

“That wasn’t too-“

“Perfect.” You whisper, and he relaxes.

“Good. Good.” He rises back up, brushing away the hair stuck to your face.

For a second, you just watch each other.

And with Bucky looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the universe, you feel like it.

He certainly treats you like it, too. Cleaning you up like you’re a princess, a treatment you never thought you’d want until it was Bucky offering. A warm, wet cloth between your thighs and a glass of water. He carries you into the bathroom, changes the sheets, then brings you back to bed.

He pauses after he sets you down, hovering around the mattress with a frown.

You scoot a little to the side, give him a hopeful look, and his shoulders slump.

He crawls into bed next to you, pressing his face into your breasts and holding you tight.

“We got things to talk about.” He mutters, and you hum, playing with his hair between your fingers.

“I know.”

“I was serious, about all of it-“

“I believe you.”

Bucky looks up at you with tired, but happy eyes. You smile, and they crinkle when he returns it.

It doesn’t matter if you’re the most anything in the world.

To him, you seem to be the world. And that’s more than enough.

“I’d like to take you out.” He says. “On a real date. Then the gala, too. If you-“

“Yes.” You beam. “Yes, please. I’d like that a lot.”