#sibling rivalry

When you ran over to him he was sprawled on the floor crying, not moving his arm. Your heart raced as you moved to stabilize the arm and scooped him up.

You could tell it was at least fractured, probably broken. Your nephew clung to you as you got him in the car and drove him to PTMC. You did not want to be at the hospital on your day off, especially not for your nephew. 

You tried calling your sister, but it went straight to voicemail so you sent her a voice note instead. You weren’t sure if you were more scared for your nephew or of your sister’s wrath. 

She trusted you with her son because you were a doctor, not because you were her sister. You were definitely not her favorite sister, but you were typically more nurturing than your other siblings.

It was toxic, but her son adored you and she didn’t want to take him away from you, not really. 

You parked in the ambulance bay, as far out of the way as you could, and scooped him back into your arms. He wasn’t crying as much, but his face was red and his arm was definitely swollen. 

“Ow, Titi.” Your heart sank. 

“I know Papito. We’re going to get it fixed.” As you walked into the ED your heart rate increased and you hoped it wasn’t too busy of a day. 

“Garcia?” Your head turned when you heard your surname fall out of the charge nurse’s mouth. Dana immediately rushed over to you and when she saw the boy in your arms she knew it was serious. 

“Central 6 is open.” You nodded at her as she led you to the room even though you knew the way. 

“Perlah, page Yolanda Garcia down here.” You were shaking as you got to the room and answered Dana’s questions purely on instinct. Samira came in as your nephew’s primary doctor while in the ED which you were grateful for. 

As you bounced your leg and waited for your sister to call or text you back you looked up when you heard footsteps running into the room. 

Your second eldest sister looked between you and your nephew before pulling you into her arms for a quick hug. 

“You guys okay?” You nodded as she went over to your nephew who was feeling much better after some pain medicine and a stuffed animal someone had brought him. You weren’t quite sure who. 

“Titi.” The boy whispered as she kissed his forehead. You both sat on either side of his bed. Once Yolanda thoroughly checked out his arm and agreed with your diagnosis she relaxed a little. 

She may not have wanted kids of her own, but she did love all twelve of her nieces and nephews very much. She’d been scared when she received the page because she thought something more serious could’ve happened. 

The three of you chatted for a few minutes before the energy of the ED completely shifted. You hadn’t heard anything yet, but you knew. Call it sibling intuition. 

“Where the hell is my son?” Your eyes widened as you turned your head to your sister. 

“Carmen’s in the building.” Yolanda cringed from beside you. You braced yourself as you stood from the bed. Your sister looked at you with concern written on her face. 

“It’s gonna be fine, Landie. We’re not kids anymore.” You were no longer scared of your sister like you had been as a child, but it didn’t make anything any better. 

Carmen was a force and she was even worse when it came to her children. Yolanda had learned to cope with sarcasm and practiced disinterest, but you weren’t able to compartmentalize your emotions the same way.

Carmen pushed through the doors and rushed to her son’s side. She made sure to bump you hard with her shoulder. It was a warning.

“Mami!” She pulled the boy into her arms and held him close. She was practically suffocating him as she peppered kisses along his face.

“What did Titi do to you?” You bit your tongue to stop yourself from disrespecting your nephew’s mother. You had patience when it came to your crazy family, but your sister knew how to push your buttons. 

“Me, jump Mami.” Carmen glared at you over her son’s shoulder. 

“And where were you when my son got hurt?” You gritted your teeth together, steeling your tone, before opening your mouth. You didn’t want to argue in front of your nephew. 

“Carmelita.” Yolanda took a closer step to your sister, trying to block the way. 

“Don’t Carmelita me, my son could’ve died and no one bothered to call me.” You rolled your eyes at her. 

“He wasn’t going to die Carmen. He jumped off the couch while I was feeding the dog. He’s going to be okay.” You could see heat rising in her face. There was literally smoke blowing out of her nose. 

“You’re not even a full doctor yet. Don’t tell me how my son is. Landie, is he okay?” You ignored Carmen as you looked at Papito. He was clutching his stuffed animal closer to his chest, knuckles white. You sucked in a breath as you walked over to him and he immediately crawled over to you.

“It’s okay Papito.” You cooed at him. He climbed into your lap as best he could while protecting his arm. You could hear Yolanda and Carmen whisper arguing behind you, but tried to distract him. 

As their whispers got louder you felt your nephew shaking under you. 

“Mami!” the boy yelled. The two women stilled. Papito did not yell. 

“Me hurt. Not you.” Three identical shocked expressions spread on your faces. You could see anger and embarrassment bubbling up on your sister’s face. Just as you felt her move to yell Dana walked into the room.

Dana insisted that she be the one to take the boy up for his x-rays. Papito liked Dana so he didn’t mind when his mother and aunts didn’t go with him. 

Part of him was grateful for the distraction even if he was just two years old and didn’t know how to describe those feelings verbally. Besides it was probably best for him to leave after yelling at his mother.

Samira walked into the room soon after with Baran on her heels. 

Baran’s smile softened for a second before her mask rose again. You wished she could hug you and make your sister leave, but you knew better. At the hospital you two were just a resident and attending, but it was different when those doors closed behind you. 

You’d met Baran a few weeks before she started working at PTMC and even though your relationship predated her working at the hospital she did not want everyone to know. You understood and respected her reasoning even if you didn’t like it. 

You’d been dating for close to four months now, but no one in the hospital knew about your relationship. It was hard when you wanted to spend time with your friends and your girlfriend, but you pushed through. 

In just a few weeks you’d be able to tell everyone once you no longer worked together. 

When Baran heard Carmen walk into her ED she knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Samira telling her that the angry woman was your sister only made things more difficult. 

You’d told Baran about your siblings, of course you did. It was one of the first things the two of you talked about; family. She was very open about having a son and you were very clear that it was not an issue for you. 

You’d had plenty of experience with your own nieces and nephews to know you loved kids. Plus you had no problems taking cues from Baran. 

It helped that Kian was such a sweet kid and took to you without a problem. He even enjoyed messing with you and joking about how one day you’d be his parent too. 

When you told Baran about Carmen she listened without judgement. She knew how difficult it was to be around family members that weren’t exactly healthy. No one was perfect, you knew that, but Carmen was a struggle to deal with even on one of her good days. 

As Samira explained what was wrong with the boy to the three Garcia women, Baran only looked at you. You saw her subtly glancing towards you checking in to make sure you were okay too. 

You were on edge, she could tell, but couldn’t bring it up in front of the others. You were more quiet than normal and didn’t chime in with any medical knowledge like Yolanda did. 

She couldn’t tell if the change in your behavior was self preservation or concern for your nephew, but either way she worried. 

“Thank you so much doctors. I am so happy Papito actually has some competent doctors on his team.” Carmen glared back at you. Not so subtle jabs were her favorite way to mess with you. As her baby sister you’d always been easy to rage bate. 

Carmen wasn’t paying attention to them, but between Yolanda and Baran there would’ve been a hole burned in her skull. The tension in the room was palpable. 

“We should be lucky your sister was there with him. Without her stabilizing his arm before transportation he could’ve had much more damage. She’s an amazing resident even if she was off duty.” Your eyes flicked over to Baran in appreciation. 

She always stuck up for her residents, but this felt different. This was her way of sticking up for you, her girlfriend. It warmed your heart and you were sure you were blushing. 

The color vanished the second you looked over to your sister. Her eyes were wild as she practically bared her teeth at you. She did not like to be challenged. You knew an explosion was coming. 

You saw Yolanda grab Carmen’s arm to try and calm her down; big mistake. 

“She,” Carmen pointed at you while staring at Baran, “is barely even a doctor. Anyone could’ve stabilized my son’s arm. It just happened to be her. It’s her fucking fault we’re even here in the first place. If she’d been paying attention to my son he wouldn’t have gotten hurt. She doesn’t deserve to be here.”

“Carmen,” Yolanda warned as she placed herself in between her two sisters. 

“No Landie, get her out of here! I don’t want her near me or my son!” Your ears rang as adrenaline rushed through your body. You stood as tall as you could and Yolanda moved to make space for you. 

“Give it a fucking rest Carmen. The screaming and yelling is just embarrassing for you. If you don’t want me here fine, you’re the mother and you get the final say. But don’t act like you’re mother of the year. I called you to tell you about Papito and you sent me to voicemail because you didn’t want to deal with me. The only reason you’re angry is because you're jealous that all four of your kids unconditionally love the little sister you try so hard to despise.” 

A proud smirk spread on Yolanda’s lips from the spot she’d taken behind Carmen. Your inner child fluttered happily, but your outer adult was shaking like a leaf. You’d never stood up to Carmen in your entire life, not really. 

Before you could fully register what was happening you saw Carmen’s fist coming towards your face. You braced yourself for impact, but it never came. You opened your eyes cautiously and saw that Baran had caught Carmen’s hand with her own.

“Don’t you dare lay another finger on my girlfriend.” You took in a sharp breath as Baran released Carmen’s hand. Yolanda’s eyebrows shot to the top of her forehead as she realized what the ER attending just said. 

Samira’s eyes widened as she tried to shrink into the corner like a fly on the wall. It would be too obvious for her to leave, but she secretly wanted to hear the rest of the conversation. 

Carmen’s eyes shifted from you to Baran then back to Yolanda in question. She huffed and stamped her foot in anger before storming out of the room. You’d never seen her walk away from a fight before. 

Probably because she couldn’t use her fists this time.

Baran’s shoulders relaxed the second Carmen was out of sight. She turned back to you and placed her hands on your face. Her thumbs rubbed softly over your cheeks, wiping away tears you didn’t know you’d been shedding. 

Your eyes searched Baran’s face as realization sunk in and panic filled your eyes. Your eyes flitted over to your sister and Samira. You felt Baran tap the side of your face and call your attention to her. 

“It’s okay.” She whispered before turning around to the other two doctors in the room. 

“I won’t say anything Dr. Al.” Samira said instinctively. Surprisingly Baran chuckled in response. 

“It’s okay Samira. The hospital knows. Go check on your patients.” Samira nodded and left the room quickly. 

“If the damn hospital knows, why don’t I?” Yolanda questioned. Baran moved to stand beside you and held your hand with both of hers. 

“Landie, I. Um. It wasn’t the right time. It was so new then Baran started working here and we didn’t want to cause any trouble.” Yolanda crossed her arms playfully as you turned to look at your girlfriend. She was already looking at you with her doe eyes big and bright. 

“What do you mean the hospital knows?” Baran smiled sheepishly at you as she tilted her head down. 

“I wanted to tell you tonight, but they offered me a permanent position and I took it. Before I did though I checked with HR about us and while they didn’t like it they agreed considering we predate me working here.” You tilted your head at her as a blush spread across your face.

“You’re staying?” 

“I am.”

“And that’s my cue to go. I’ll be back to check on Papito later.” Yolanda moved towards the door before walking up to Baran and placing her hand out to the woman. Baran let go of you and shook her outstretched hand. 

“Thank you for protecting my sister.” Yolanda left the room before Baran could say anything in return. 

Baran’s lips were slightly parted as she froze in the center of the room. For as long as she’d known the older Garcia she’d never seen this side of her. She’d seen genuine pride directed at you, but never anyone else. 

“Querida.” You called, bringing her attention back to you. Baran turned to you with an astonished smile on her face. Her smile only got more goofy as she focused on you. 

You blushed under the attention as she walked over to you and threw her arms around your neck. You rested your forehead on hers and breathed together. 

“BeeBee!” A familiar little scream had you both separating and chuckling at the little boy who was thankfully in higher spirits. 

“How are you azizam?” You didn’t realize how much time you, your nephew, and Baran spent together until that moment. Their conversation flowed so easily.

“I hear congratulations are in order.” Dana spoke as she got the boy settled. Identical blushes spread on yours and Baran’s faces. 

“BeeBee loves Titi.” Papito sing-songed. Baran looked over at you then the boy again.

“Yes I do.” 

***

Masterlist - Archive of Our Own

“It’s getting…weird.” you continue, crossing your arms over your chest. You’re seated at the island as Jungkook cooks, something the both of you did often. 

Ever since you agreed to move in with Jungkook and move colleges, your days and some nights consisted of you and him just like this. He’d cook, offer for you to taste what he’s made so far then sneak a kiss before going back to cooking. It would be great if it wasn’t Jungkook.

Moving schools during winter break meant you left a lot of questions from those around you unanswered. Jae kept his word, not speaking to you but also not telling anyone about you and Jungkook’s status, something you could thank him for a million times - if he hadn’t blocked you on everything possibly; even email.

Jungkook, however, was ecstatic to have you close to him again. His plan had worked entirely how it was supposed to. He had you in his home again, the both of you decorating it to your own liking. You and him were far away from home and your parents to have a level of privacy, but close enough so it all felt like it’s been since childhood.

“Weird how?” Jungkook questions finally, putting the tongs down and turning towards you. 

The hatred Jungkook had felt for you was long gone. He couldn’t blame you entirely when you ignored him for that year, but it hurt nonetheless - especially when you flaunted a man in his face. Now, however, things were better. Back to normal. He can keep an eye on you and make sure you’re safe.

“People think we’re dating.” you murmur, shrugging your shoulders. Your cheeks burn underneath Jungkook’s gaze. “It’s weird.”

Jungkook tilts his head. “Of course they do, silly.” he chuckles. “They don’t know about us.” he says matter-of-factly. “If they did…”

“I know.” you quip, your hands squeezing into fist nervously. “I don’t…want anyone to know but…if someone finds out then-”

“How will they find out?” Jungkook leans against the island, furrowing a pierced brow at you. “I’m not going to say anything. Are you?”

You shake your head softly. “No but…that’s not the point, Kook. You know that.”

Jungkook does. Eventually, it would come to this, he thinks, you and him having to talk about the future and how this would have to stop. He would have to stop sneaking into your room at night and fucking you into the mattress like you both want him to. You would have to stop coming into his room for cuddles that always led to more.

“Why is it so wrong?” Jungkook questions. “I love you. You love me. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that.” 

You wish it could be that simple, but it wasn’t. Jae was right when he said that it didn’t matter what Jungkook and you weren’t to one another, as you and he have known one another since childhood. Nothing you and him were doing was right and you’re afraid if you don't stop it now, you’ll never be able to.

“There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

Jungkook pushes himself away from the island and turns back towards the stove. His body language tells you everything.

“No.” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. “There-”

“Don’t lie to me.” Jungkook interjects. He lowers the heat before placing the lid onto the pan. The rice cooker squeals lightly on the counter. “You always act like this when you meet someone else.”

“I’m not doing this with you.” you scoff. 

There wasn’t anyone new, but if there was it shouldn’t be a problem. 

It was just a week ago when Jungkook had found you in the college cafeteria, seated with a few friends you’ve made since the transfer. He wore a wide grin on his lips when he took the vacant seat beside you. He kissed your cheek, sliding a bag your way in the process. “I cooked this since I didn’t have any classes.” he said to you.

When Jungkook made his leave, your friends had gushed, “You two are so cute together!”

They gushed about everything - how handsome Jungkook was, though you’re positive the tattoos and piercings added onto it. They told you how lucky you were to have a man that loved you enough to cook for you.

“We…aren’t dating.” you told them, cheeks warm as your leg shakes underneath the table. They had looked at you dumbfounded.

“So, friends with benefits?”

“You can’t just leave someone like that single, Y/N, someone is going to take him away from you!”

“I’m not doing this with you, either.” Jungkook scoffs back. He’s grabbing plates from the cabinets. “You think you’re going to find another man like me?”

Your eyebrows furrow at Jungkook’s words. He drops the plates onto the counters, not caring if they chipped or even shattered. He turns the stove off and lifts the lid to the pot, steam flying into the air.

Your eyes squint a bit. This isn’t where the conversation was supposed to go; you and Jungkook were arguing as if you were a couple, something you two were very much not.

“I had someone before you ruined it!” you hissed, voice dripping with venom. You push yourself off of the stool, fully expecting to storm away and back into your room.

“I didn’t ruin anything!” Jungkook snaps. He hated when you brought Jae up, no matter how little. Jae was where everything went wrong - you forgot about him. You put him last and another man first. “You were the one who sat on her fucking high horse-”

“Fuck you, Kook!” you roll your eyes. “You’re the reason why my relationship ended. You should have deleted that video-”

“Your relationship was over when you agreed to fuck me again.” Jungkook spats, this time he turns towards you. 

You turn on your heels. You didn’t have a rebuttal. It’s easier to blame others for actions you were a willing participant in. Your heart thumps in your chest and you just wanted the conversation to end here.

Jungkook follows you out of the kitchen, hot on your heels as you and him enter the living area.

“Have you forgotten the way you moaned for me? Begged me for more as your pathetic little boyfriend slept on the couch?!”

Jungkook grasps your arm and pulls you, forcing you to turn towards him. Swiftly, it happens. Your hand flies towards Jungkook’s face and the slap connects harshly. It echoes off of the quiet walls and nearly stuns you.

For a moment, Jungkook and you are silent, only breathing heavily. His grip on you doesn’t falter, if anything he holds you even tighter. Your eyes glare daggers at him as he processes it all.

“Let go of me.” you murmur.

“I guess it’s easier to blame me.”

Jungkook does let go of you, but he doesn’t step away.

“No one likes me because of you.” Jungkook mocks, his voice growing higher to imitate yours.  “No one wants to do anything with me because of you.”

“Shut up.”

“Maybe you should be thanking me, Y/N. Your little crush on Tae would’ve left you broken hearted.” Jungkook spits. “He was going to fuck you like he did everyone else and leave you. They all would have.”

“Shut-”

“Besides, do you think Jae was man enough for you?” Jungkook laughs right in your face. In this instant, it brings you back to the two of you at home when you visited weekends. How he would tease you and laugh at the look on your face. “If he was, Y/N, you wouldn’t have come crawling back to me.”

“I don’t need you.” 

Both of your hands crash onto Jungkook’s chest rapidly - over and over and over again. It’s then he notices the tears in your eyes that are threatening to fall.

“Stop.” Jungkook says, grasping your shoulders. “Calm down-”

“I don’t need you!” you scream this time, landing another shove at his chest. “All you ever did was ruin things for me!”

“Fine.” Jungkook scoffs. “Go find out for yourself, Y/N.”

You stop, this time standing, chest rising and falling. 

“I’m serious. Go.” Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “Go find that person that you believe is better than me. Find the man who you think will treat you better than I would.”

Jungkook, quickly, brings you closer to him by your waist, his lips grazing against yours. “And when they fuck you and leave like I know they will, you can come back to me. I’ll let you cry on my shoulder.”

Jungkook presses a kiss on your own lips - quick but condescending. It was the same tone in voice he’d speak to you all the time when you and he got into it and ultimately, he was proved right. 

“Fuck you.” you whisper, turning on your heels to go to your room. You were weak now, too emotional that if Jungkook initiated anything, you’d comply.

“Remember what I said Y/N.” Jungkook calls after you. “No one is going to love you like I do.”

Jungkook is a patient man. He understood things weren’t going to happen overnight. He did as you told him - in a way. He held himself back from sneaking into your bedroom at night. When you were both home, he kept his distance from you. He cooked, made you a plate, and retreated to his bedroom.

During school hours, Jungkook and you suddenly became strangers. “Did you two break up?” asked one friend one day, her eyes lingering on Jungkook strolling past you without a second glance.

“We were never together.” was your response, though your own eyes did follow after the man. 

It took two months for you to feel comfortable to put yourself out there. You weren’t looking exactly, but once you realized Jungkook had respected your wishes in leaving you alone, you were sure that things were back to normal. Just you and Jungkook were siblings, him the annoying brother who was kind when he wanted to be. That’s how it should be - how it should’ve been.

It took another two months for everything to fall apart again. It happened the exact way Jungkook said it would. Crying to him felt foolish, but you couldn’t contain your tears when you came home that evening. Your back slides down the front door, tears pooling from your eyes.

“People saw it.” you cried to Jungkook, your face in his chest as he rubbed your upper back. “W-Why…would he do that?”

You were shaking. In rage - with yourself mainly. With pure humiliation in being caught in that position, your face in the camera.

You met Eli two months back, a man a year older than you. He caught your eye just as you caught his. You avoided hanging out with him around Jungkook, afraid that he would somehow ruin it, but he hadn’t. He kept his distance - he didn’t question where you went at night, or where you’d be coming from in the early hours of the mornings.

It was after your morning classes when you noticed the stares and murmurs. There was hushed laughter, mostly coming from the boys. Their lingering stares left you feeling uneasy.

Then you saw it. You saw what the talk was all about. 

It was you.

What you were doing.

The cheap porno sight that displays a video of you on your knees, only a bit tipsy, but you knew the camera was there. It was obvious that you went along with it. It was a video only Eli had.

“I’ll handle it.” Jungkook assures. “I promise.”

You meet Jungkook’s eyes, tears streaked on your puffy cheeks. You sniffle, appearing utterly pathetic and small.

“I’m sorry.” you murmur. Jungkook places a hand on your cheek, his thumb swiping a tear away. “You were right…I…I don’t know what I’ve done for him to do that.”

Jungkook offers a soft smile. “It’s not your fault.” he says. “He’s a man, Y/N, and I know men. They’ll take advantage of you. They’ll use you and throw you away like you’re nothing.”

Jungkook doesn’t like to watch you cry, but it’s what was needed. You refused to listen to him and that meant he had to go through desperate measures. Eli was the perfect person behind a kind smile and a false persona. Reality, he was a college drop-out that needed money and Jungkook had enough to offer him.

“You want me to do what?” Eli scoffed, disbelieving when Jungkook offered. He’s holding an envelope in his hand when he meets the older man, Eli puffing on a cigarette. “Isn’t that like, revenge porn?”

“I’ll handle all of that.” Jungkook shrugged. “Just charm her. Make her like you.”

Eli takes the envelope from Jungkook’s hand. He looks inside, the amount of cash alarming for someone his age to have, but he doesn’t question it. 

“Who is she to you?” Eli questioned wearily. “Seem’s like a lot to do to one girl. She looks sweet.”

Jungkook blinks. “Are you going to do it or not? I don’t have time for your questions.”

It was you that initiated the kiss first. It was you that climbed into Jungkook’s lap, your eyes still a bit glossy and still hurting. You wanted to feel better - you wanted the humiliation and the embarrassment to go away. You didn’t want to go outside again and to face the scrutiny of your peers.

Doing this made things easier to forget. For a moment, you could forget about it all. The judging eyes of your peers, the whispers and muffled giggles. You could forget it all while with Jungkook  - and it’s exactly what you did. 

Jungkook lets you, understanding that your hurt was just temporary as your love and pleasure was permanent. He longed to kiss these very lips and it pained for him to have to let you go do it with someone who didn’t love you as much as he had, but it was a price he had to pay in order to show you that this is where you belonged.

“I’ve missed you.” Jungkook says against your lips, his hands roaming beneath your shirt. Your skin is so soft and smooth. “Didn’t you miss us?”

Your heart pounds against your chest as you release your lips from Jungkook’s, glossy eyes looking into his. You swallow and slowly nod your head. 

Your mind is racing as it replays the last couple of months - the argument you and Jungkook had, meeting Eli, falling far too hard for the man that led you back here. You don't want to think about it anymore, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as Jungkook’s words replay in your head - over and over. That same condescending warning - “Go find out for yourself.”

“It’s okay.” Jungkook’s soft voice brings you out of your head, your eyes focusing on him once more. “Forget about it. I told you I’ll take care of it, right?”

“Yeah.”

Jungkook, though offering another smile, couldn’t help the way your sad eyes made his heart jolt.

“Do you wanna get some ice cream?” Jungkook questions. “It won’t cheer you up, but it’s a start.”

You snicker humorlessly. It’s something Jungkook always offered when he saw you sad, starting way back years prior when you were scolded by your father for your grade in Math.

“Later.” you murmur, leaning into Jungkook,your nose sliding against his. “I just want to forget now.”

Jungkook has always been a great distraction. It didn’t take long for you to be naked, this time beneath him. His wet lips leaves open mouth kisses down your body, wandering hands burning into your flesh. He doesn’t tease you like he sometimes does, nor does he feel the need to savor you - after all, he’s positive you belong to him even more.

Jungkook kisses your inner thighs, eyes flickering up to your face. Your eyes are closed but your lips are parted just a bit as you let out slight breaths. 

Your back arches when Jungkook’s tongue finds your clit. His hands hold your thighs apart tightly. Two months, he thinks, since he’s been between your legs. Two months that he had to sit by and watch you while you weren’t looking and pretend that he hadn’t longed for you the entire time.

Two months since Jungkook had to allow another man to touch you just to get his point across.

It’s embarrassing how easily your body gives into Jungkook, your trembling legs only widening as he devours you, his tongue flickering back and forth hungrily. It’s shameful just as much, you think, that you find yourself turning back to Jungkook, the same person you said you didn’t need.

“I need you in me.” you demand, squeezing your eyes shut. Your voice is a bit hoarse, your throat tightening. 

Jungkook furrows a brow. “You haven’t cum yet-” “I don’t care.”

Jungkook lifts himself from between your legs, licking his lips. Your eyes flutter open just as Jungkook removes his shirt and throws it aside. “You’re always so stubborn.” 

His pants are next, his cock springing out, hard and ready. He comes closer, centering himself right between your legs. 

“I missed you, too.” you admit just as his cock glides against your clit - do warm and pulsing. “You’re the only one who hasn’t hurt me.”

That jolt in Jungkook’s heart returns. Was it guilt he’s feeling? Your words couldn’t be any less true. Jungkook was the reason why you and Jae didn’t work out. He had casted you away from your college of choice where your former friends reside just so he could have you all to himself. He’s allowed you to be humiliated in front of those who knew about your situation.

Jungkook swallows the lump in his throat. “I’ll never hurt you, Y/N.” he murmurs - it’s what he has to tell even himself. He’s done all of this for not only him, but for you. “I love you.”

Your eyes flutter a bit as Jungkook enters you slowly. Your legs begin to wrap around his waist to bring him closer to you, your hands resting on his shoulders. 

“I love you, too, Kook.” you moan, his cock deep inside of you. “We’ll figure…this out. Together.” 

Jungkook slides his cock out, only the tip in. He inhales through his nose. “Together.” he nods slightly in agreement, knowing exactly what you meant by this. Then, he slams back inside of you. 

Two months isn’t long in the slightest, but for Jungkook it was. He missed the feel of you, even outside if sex. He’s grown accustomed to your scent in his bedsheets that calmed him to sleep at night, so much so that when it disappeared so did his slumber. Outside of the sexual intimacy, he longed to hold you close against him. He longed for the unimportant conversations the two of you had while home, or being able to text you while away.

Jungkook hangs his head, your pussy clenching needily around his pumping cock so heavenly. Both of his hands are on either side of your head, his nails digging into the sheets.

Your pussy’s so wet, squelching with each pump from his cock. Jungkook watches you so intently, nearly unblinking, at the way your face contorts with pleasure beneath him. Your breast bounces, your nails digging into the soft flesh of skin on his shoulders with how deep he manages to go.

“No one else deserves you, Y/N,” Jungkook leans closer to, his forehead against your collarbone. The bedframe creaks underneath the two of you, a mixture of forbidden sounds overtaking the bedroom. “you’re too good for this world, that’s why I have to protect you from it.”

Your hips buckle upwards, wanting more of Jungkook’s cock that he gives you willingly. He’s groaning, his tongue trailing from your collarbone to the nape of your neck.

Your arms wrap around Jungkook’s neck, bringing him closer to you. Your eyes roll, his cock so good - even better than you could remember. The way your brain screams at you constantly that this was bad, but like you’ve had plenty of times before, you chose to ignore it  - because the pleasure outweighs it all. It outweighed the humiliation you were feeling not too long ago, the guilt you feel when it's all said and done and you have to remember who the two of you are to one another.

“Feels…so…good…” you say between moans, his cock hitting that sweet spot so right that it has your stomach churning. 

You hadn’t realized how much you missed Jungkook until now. How passionate he would be, holding you close while fucking your brains out, whispering disgustingly sweet nothings in your ears. When it was all done, he’d hold you even closer to him, not wanting for you to go.

“You’re so pretty when you’re like this for me, baby.” Jungkook grunts, his eyes zoning in on your fucked out face. “You can stop fighting it, Y/N. Your pussy is always going to want me.”

Jungkook connects your lips with his in a heated kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth easily. Your cunt squelches loudly with each damning thrust, the bedframe hitting against the wall. 

Your tongue dances against Jungkooks as your fingers glide through his soft hair. Your cunt squeezes around him, begging for more and more and he does exactly what it wants. Right now, it’s just you and him, he thinks, and no one else. 

“‘gonna c-cum.” you break the kiss first, that familiar pressure building up in your stomach. 

“I know. I feel it.” Jungkook hisses. There’s sweat lining his forehead. “I missed feeling this pussy around my cock. You’ve been gone for too long.”

“I know…” you moan out, eyes fluttering close. The pressure builds further, Jungkook’s cock continuously slamming against the spongy spot that has your body jerking. “...not going anywhere anymore.”

“Damn right you aren’t.” Jungkook hisses. He disconnects himself from your arms, his hands gripping your waist tightly. “No one is going to love you like I do, Y/N.”

Jungkook lifts your hips from the bed to fuck you deeper, his nails digging into your sensitive flesh. You’re cumming quicker than you’d expect, the next found aggression sending you over the edge, but Jungkook isn’t done.

Your pussy leaves a creamy substance around Jungkook’s cock, a sight he’s missed dearly. Your breast bounced erratically and the sound of skin slapping echos off of the walls. “I’m not going to let anyone else have you. They’re not good.” he hisses, fucking into you harder, his hands remaining possessively on you. “All mine - fuck.”

Jungkook throws his head back and groans - he was going to cum himself. He had to settle for his hand and old videos of you for the last two months, but now you were back. You’ve learned your lesson and understood where you belong.

Jungkook’s cum is as warm as you remembered, seeping right into you like always. Your body feels heavy and tired, your mind exhausted. For a moment, neither of you move. You’re both breathing heavily as Jungkook’s cock twitches the last bit of cum inside of you. Then, you feel Jungkook sink beside you, his arm wrapped possessively around your waist. Both of you are silent. He doesn’t want to force you into an uncomfortable conversation and all you wanted to do was forget - but it was nearly impossible to.

“I don’t want to go back.” you say after a long moment of silence, so much so that Jungkook nearly doesn’t hear it.

“To school?” Jungkook murmurs a response. His fingers are tracing lazy figures on your hips. “Then don’t go. You can finish online.”

You inhale deeply, shutting your eyes for a moment.

“How am I going to explain that to them?” 

Jungkook doesn’t have all the answers right now. “You don’t have to.” he says. “You’re an adult, Y/N. If it comes up, just say you got overwhelmed.” 

You feel Jungkook’s lips on your shoulders, peppering encouraging kisses on it.

“I’m still here, remember. I’ll always be here for you.” Jungkook exclaims. “Next week, we can go together and transfer you to online classes only.”

You let out a breath. “You actually want to be seen with me?” you say, jokingly at first, but then you remember it. The looks, the muffled voices, the smirks and knowing eyes.

“I don’t worry myself with people who I don’t give a damn about.” Jungkook scoffs. “You won’t have to see any of them again.”

You snuggle deeper against Jungkook’s warm frame, pondering if this was the right thing to do. For now, you couldn’t think of anything worse than going back and being around anyone - especially not those at your college. 

“Okay.” you murmur.

Jungkook lets a small smile form onto his lips. “I’ll take care of you, Y/N. I promise.”

"I’m sorry to come asking for this, but my heart won’t rest when my sister sends me such alarming messages. I have to see her…"

The priestess’s sharp eyes fixed on her. "Does she have no one else?"

Livia sighed. "Alas, no. Our mother has been gone for years, our father only just passed, and…" She swallowed hard, forcing back the lump rising in her throat. "…and our older sister, too. Claudia has a husband, but she’s carrying a child, alone in a foreign house… If I don’t go to her, I’ll never forgive myself. I can’t lose another sister."

Whether it was Livia’s words or the sorrow on her face, something in the senior priestess softened. Her voice was quieter when she spoke.

"Very well. Go see your sister. But don’t linger too long, and…” She hesitated, frowning, before continuing, “remember—your place is here, in the temple of our goddess and protector."

"Thank you," Livia said, relief and gratitude flooding her. In a sudden rush of emotion, she bent down and pressed a kiss to the back of the Great Maiden’s hand before hurrying out. But just as she passed through the doorway, she caught the woman’s gaze following her—heavy, somber, devoid of any joy.

And just like that, her own joy vanished.

Dark thoughts crept back in, pressing in around her like shadows. The secret she hadn’t told, the truth she hadn’t shared with her sisters. Once, they had shared everything—joy and sorrow alike—but now… Now, guilt took root in her chest, and the weight of unspoken words threatened to suffocate her.

Her sisters didn’t know.

And it was his fault.

Emperor Caracalla had shattered her quiet, ordered world with nothing but his presence. He had brought with him chaos, lies, and… thoughts that had no place in the mind of a Vestal.

But the goddess knew.

Nothing could be hidden from her. And that made it all the more unbearable.

She had tried to tell Caesonia—truly, she had—but the words got stuck in her throat the moment the other priestess started talking, her eyes sparkling with excitement about Emperor Geta. Oh, how her sister admired him! She’d praised him, laughed, made silly jokes, and seemed so thrilled that they’d be attending the games again soon.

And how could Livia ruin that? How could she say that the father of Rome had stormed into the sacred temple, had whispered things to her that no young girl should ever hear? That he had touched her, behaved with brazen arrogance, nothing like the divine being so many believed him to be?

How could she describe the filth of it? The wrongness? The things that no Vestal should ever even think about?

Sin.

She longed to bathe, to cleanse herself, as if Caracalla had truly touched her, squeezed her throat, and kept purring in her ear.

A shudder ran through her, and she bit down hard on her lip, desperate to chase away the smiling image of the emperor from her mind.

She had no time for this.

She needed to think of Claudia. She needed to focus on her sister. Not waste another moment on impure thoughts.

ৡ ৡ ৡ

As soon as the chariot began rolling through the streets of Rome, a fresh wave of panic washed over her. Livia tugged the curtains tighter, not wanting anyone to see her. This visit had to be swift and discreet—there was no reason for the people of Rome to know that a Vestal Virgin was paying a visit to the emperors’ palace.

She had no interest in the outside world—she didn’t care to see how the capital lived, neither the lavish homes of the patricians nor the cramped, crumbling dwellings of the plebeians. And yet, when the chariot slowed, she couldn’t help but peek through the slightly parted curtain. What she saw made her gasp.

The emperors’ palace, a gleaming fortress of white marble, was overwhelming in its grandeur. Even approaching from the less prominent side, away from the central square, there was still plenty to marvel at.

She was expected. As soon as she stepped inside, she was escorted directly to her sister. To Livia’s surprise, they led her to a garden, where amidst fragrant flowers, elegant marble statues, and the quiet singing of birds, Claudia waited for her in a shaded gazebo.

The young woman lounged in a garden chair, looking bored. Her legs were stretched out on a low stool, one hand absently stroking her rounded belly. But the moment she saw Livia, her expression lit up with genuine joy.

Livia lifted the sheer, pale-blue veil from her face. Beside Claudia, a dark-skinned slave girl sat at her feet. At the sight of Livia, the girl’s eyes widened—not just in surprise, but in something else. Fear? Doubt? Did she find it strange that a Vestal Virgin had come to see her mistress? Or… had she seen Livia before? Livia didn’t know, and she had no desire to dwell on it. With a simple nod, Claudia dismissed the servants, leaving them alone.

"Livia, sister, I’m so happy you’re here," Claudia said, reaching out with both hands.

Livia covered them with her own, squeezing gently. “How are you feeling?” she asked, searching her sister’s face for answers.

"Oh, this…" Claudia’s expression faltered, her eyes darting nervously. She didn’t look sick. "Forgive me for the little deception, Livia. I—" She hesitated. "You must forgive me. I just wanted to see you so badly, and I couldn’t think of any other way to distract you from your prayers!"

Livia stiffened. Anger flared through her body, and she pulled away, her movement sharper than intended.

"Do you realize," she said, her voice rougher than before, "that because of your 'little' deception, I’m in a difficult position? I have duties. What am I supposed to tell the High Priestess? That my sister is a liar?"

"You don’t need to explain anything," Claudia said smoothly. "Just tell them I’m feeling better, and that’s all. Is it really such a crime to visit your pregnant sister? Do you truly believe Vesta would be angered by that?"

But Livia remained resolute, crossing her arms and taking a step back.

"Lies—those are the real sin,” she said, eager to return to the temple immediately. “Answer me, Claudia—why did you really come up with this story?"

Her sister straightened, lowering her feet to the ground, placing a protective hand over her belly. Her gaze turned distant, uneasy. Her lips parted, but she hesitated, avoiding Livia’s eyes. She was hiding something. And Livia didn’t like it.

"I was asked to…" Claudia finally murmured.

"By who?" Livia’s voice came out hoarse. She already knew the answer.

"The emperor…" Claudia admitted softly.

Livia didn’t wait to hear more. She pulled the veil back over her face, turned on her heel, and strode toward the exit. Away from the garden. Away from the palace. Back to the temple, where her sisters—though not by blood—would never lie to her.

"Wait!"

A sister’s hand, hot and desperate, grabbed her wrist.

"I had no choice, Livia, please!" Claudia’s voice broke into a sob. "Appius is always at the Senate, and when he’s not there, he’s off carousing with the emperors. I’m alone all the time! I really did want to see you, and when Emperor Geta told me—"

"He ordered you to do this?" Livia yanked her hand free. Through the thin veil, she regarded her sister’s small, trembling figure, unwilling to show her own face. Or her emotions. The resentment in her chest tightened like a knot.

"No, but… You know the gods’ power lies in the hands of the emperors. Who am I to refuse a request?"

"You’re my sister," Livia said sharply, turning to leave again.

"Livia…" Claudia’s voice cracked.

She clutched her belly, breathing heavily, and sank back into her chair.

Livia’s heart softened, and she hurried to sit in front of her sister, inspecting her, stroking her dark hair gently.

"Don’t upset yourself, please. I forgive you," Livia said softly, fixing her sister with a steady gaze, brushing the damp curls from her forehead… and then she froze.

Claudia had always been frail. Both Cassandra and Livia had been strong, healthy—tall, just like their father, and eerily similar since childhood. But Claudia had always been different, with her dark hair and blue eyes, she took after their mother with her frailty and shorter stature.

And now, looking at her, Livia realized: Claudia truly was ill.

Her gaze drifted lower. Without touching her, she traced a faint red mark on her sister’s skin. Then another. One near her collarbone, half-hidden beneath the fabric of her deep burgundy tunic.

"What is this?" Livia breathed.

Claudia hurriedly shifted her long hair over her chest, hiding the marks.

"Nothing…"

A lie. Livia saw it in her eyes. She wanted to press her, to demand the truth—but they were interrupted.

A palace guard had arrived. The emperor was summoning her. And she couldn’t refuse.

Casting one last, sorrowful glance at her sister—now curled up in her chair, her face unreadable—Livia rose and followed the guard into the palace.

ৡ ৡ ৡ

This time, she doesn’t stop to admire the gold or marble. The sculptures and frescoes fade into the background. All she can think about is her sister—those marks. She’s seen them before… she’s almost certain.

"Wait here, priestess. Emperor Geta will join you shortly," the guard tells her before leaving her alone in the vast, empty throne room.

Livia clasps her hands together, her gaze drifting over the towering arches and columns. She doesn’t like it here—it’s too ostentatious, too… too dangerous. The sheer size of the space makes her uneasy; she longs to return to her small, familiar room in the House of the Vestals. She avoids looking at the intricately carved thrones at the center of the hall, but a bas-relief above a small, almost hidden door tucked behind the columns catches her eye.

She’s heard the story countless times—first as a child in her parents’ home, then later from the High Priestess, who taught her about the sisterhood. Carved into the white stone is a she-wolf nursing two infants. Twin brothers. Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome, who…

"Their mother was a Vestal, wasn’t she?" a quiet, sudden voice makes her flinch.

Caracalla is standing close—too close—as if he’d been there all along. Livia wills her racing heart to calm, determined not to let him revel in her fear. Thankfully, her face remains hidden behind the veil.

"Yes, my Caesar," she replies politely, bowing her head. "She bore them from a god."

"What could be more honorable, hmm? Mars, the god of war, blessed her womb with great sons," he stood in profile, his eyes locked on the relief, but she could see his lips stretch into a smile.

"And couldn’t protect her when she needed it," she retorts, bristling.

"So now we’re judging the gods, are we?" He turned to her, and she swallowed, her gaze dropping, cursing her own foolishness.

"No, we are merely humble servants, Emperor," she replied softly, and Caracalla smiled again.

The faint clink of golden bracelets fills the air as he gestures toward another wall. Livia’s gaze locks onto his pale, well-kept hand. This time, there are no rings—instead, his thin fingers are coated in gold up to the middle knuckle. She’s seen priests do this, though they used sacrificial blood… She could easily imagine blood in place of gold.

"Another one of your sisters," he giggled, eyeing Livia with interest, still smiling with slightly parted lips, like a mischievous child.

Livia presses her lips tighter. The young emperor is testing her, teasing her. She glances at the other bas-relief. Tarpeia, the traitor who betrayed her city, is depicted with a look of terror, buried under heavy shields, one hand reaching desperately toward the sky.

"The claim that she was a Vestal is a myth," Livia replied curtly.

"But the rumors exist, don’t they?" he said lightly. "Of course, not something a Vestal would take pride in. But you’re different, aren’t you? Faithful to your calling."

This time, his eyes met hers directly—so piercing, so heavy, it felt as though the veil between them didn’t exist at all. As if she stood before him bare.

"I am faithful to my vows, Emperor."

«How many times do I have to say it before you stop looking at me like that?» she thinks, clenching her fists. He immediately notices her tension, his eyes flicking downward. He seems relaxed, unserious, smug even—but Caracalla is watching her closely. He is attentive.

Dressed in sapphire blue, his eyes are even more striking—dark, tempestuous, mirroring the hue of his tunic. His hair is a wild tangle of curls, untamed by a golden laurel, and his cheeks burn with a feverish glow, just beneath a delicate layer of powder. Livia’s gaze snags on the tiny, nearly healed marks on his cheekbones, and her mind flashes back to Claudia. Could it…?

"I’m here to visit my father," Caracalla says with a nod, as if the strange tension between them never existed.

Only now did she realize that the small door led to the altar.

"You praying?" she asked, genuinely surprised. In her mind, Caracalla was a god unto himself.

"Praying?" he echoed, a sly twist in his voice. It was hard to tell whether he was answering or posing the question back at her, daring her to guess. Livia stayed silent.

"You can join me. My father may not have been a devout man or given your temple the attention it deserves," he says, his eyes swept down her body and back up again, "but a Vestal priestess might brighten his afterlife."

She hesitates for only a heartbeat before following him. She has no choice.

Alone with the emperor in the small, dimly lit room, Livia freezes against the wall, waiting for him to speak. But he doesn’t.

He stares at the gilded altar, a smile playing on his lips—not a sad one, but rather sardonic, cruel even. As if he’s pleased his father is dead, his bones buried beneath, while Caracalla stands here, alive, the emperor…

"Five years to the day since he died," his hoarse, quiet voice cuts through the silence.

"I’m sorry," Livia replies. "My father’s gone too. I understand…"

"Do you?" His high, hysterical laugh jolted her, and she stepped back toward the exit, warily watching the flushed cheekbones, the dilated pupils, the heavy rise and fall of his chest beneath the blue toga. "Were you glad when your father died too?"

And then it hits her. He hated the old emperor.

Oh, how foolish she had been, believing he could ever love anyone.

She recalls the day the emperor passed. Whispers had spread, suggesting he’d been murdered… Could one of his sons have been responsible? Unease settles in her chest as she wraps her arms around herself.

Caracalla, as if reading her thoughts, turned toward her, narrowed his eyes, and then approached so closely that she could smell the scent of aromatic oils. His hand rose, and she recoiled, fearing he might touch her. But no, his fingers merely grazed the veil, pushing it back to reveal her pale face.

For a moment, they were silent. She seemed to stop breathing altogether while the emperor studied her face with surprising seriousness and focus. They were the same height, and Caracalla was only slightly older than her, but for some reason, Livia felt like a child, a little girl. It was frightening.

"Your sister was here," he says, running his tongue over his lips, his breathing quickening again.

"Claudia?" she whispers, almost without thinking.

"Who?" He laughs. "No, your other sister."

"Cassandra?"

The name of her sister causes the emperor’s pupils to dilate even further, the blackness swallowing the blue of his irises. The shifting torchlight casts shadows across his face, transforming it into something tragic, unsettling. He stepped back from her, turning once again to the altar, standing next to his father’s bust.

Now Livia saw two profiles—one marble, one alive, human.

Yet the living emperor, standing still, was no different from the statue. Pale, youthful, beautiful, he surpassed even the finest work of the sculptor who had carved his father.

"Yes," he replied. "Little bird often brightened my days when she lived here. Sweet, gentle, obedient…"

His voice dips into a purr, and Livia’s brow furrows. Little bird. He’d called her that too.

"You’re nothing like her, though your face is hers exactly."

She felt a wave of disgust ripple through her at the tone he used when speaking of her dead sister—as if a single tender purr could tarnish Cassandra’s memory.

Livia silently turned away, unwilling to speak to him any longer. She needed to meet with the other emperor and leave the palace.

But as she took a step toward the exit, his hand roughly grabbed her wrist, and he slammed her against the wall, chest-first.

Stunned, it took her a moment to register what had just happened.

He had grabbed her!

Touched her not playfully, but brazenly, shamelessly! As if she were… Her!? Livia gasped, her cheek flat against the cold wall, his hot body pressing into her from behind, grip squeezing her wrist to pain.

"Let go! This is sacrilege!" she whispered, trying not to sound too frantic.

"I touched you—grabbed you like some common kitchen wench," he whispers in her ear, inhaling the scent of her hair, his nose burying into her neck.

"And look—my hands are still here. Your goddess hasn’t cursed me. Who’s going to punish me, huh? You? Come on then. Fight back. Hit me. Here I am, touching you again and again, right on my father’s grave! So what are you going to do to me, priestess?"

His other hand settles on her neck, brushing her hair aside. She couldn’t move.

Not wanting to anger him further, Livia freezes.

So does he.

"Emperor Antoninus, please," a desperate whisper escapes her dry lips.

His breath on her neck quickens, grows hotter.

His name stirs something in him—his grip on her wrist even loosens slightly.

"Say it again," he commands.

"Please…"

"Not that! My name!"

"Antoninus…" Her voice trembles, and he presses into her hips harder, letting out a quiet moan.

"My mother used to call me that," he whispers, finally releasing her wrist.

Livia can’t bear it any longer.

While he’s distracted, relaxed, she spins around, shoving him hard in the chest—consequences be damned. Her nails rake across the back of his hand as she rushes away, her heart pounding, dreading he’ll follow.

But he doesn’t.

Only his laughter echoes behind her.

"Fly, little bird—we’ll meet again!"

ৡ ৡ ৡ

She rushed to leave the throne room, desperate to escape the palace, but as she reached the exit, she collided with Emperor Geta. His face froze at the sight of her, his eyes scanning her disheveled appearance with a stunned disbelief.

Only then did Livia realize how she must look. Her gaze was wild, her hair a tangled mess, her veil crumpled, and her wrists were marked with blossoming bruises, streaked with traces of gold paint left by Emperor Caracalla. Geta noticed all of it. He pressed his lips into a thin line but didn’t comment on it, speaking as though everything were perfectly ordinary.

"Apologies for the wait, priestess" he says politely, inclining his head. Unlike his brother, his hair is neat, crowned with a golden laurel, as it should be. He’s dressed in night-black robes—impeccable, composed, focused. Yet, Livia can’t help but notice the red blotches seeping through the layer of powder. He’s furious. His dark eyes bore into her as if she’s betrayed him.

"Why am I here?" she said hastily, still fearing that Caracalla might appear behind her.

"I told you—I enjoy your company, I want to see you more often," Geta replied softly, licking his lips.

Her mind immediately flashed back to his brother’s words: "Geta wants you." A wave of nausea hit her.

"We agreed to meet at the games."

"Yes, I remember," his black eyes remained fixed on her wrists, and she suddenly wanted to strike him. How dare he!? He knew exactly what his brother had done! He knew it was Caracalla—he knew, and yet he remained silent, endured it! If he likes her so much, why is he tolerating this? Coward.

"I wish to see you. Without the High Priestess and your sisters. Just you. There will be a feast tonight. I want you to be there."

Livia blinked, stunned. What did he think she was?

"That’s insulting," she spat.

"It’s an honor," he replied sharply, his voice growing colder. "Didn’t your sisters in the past attend feasts, gatherings? Watching gladiators spill blood on the arena floor is acceptable, but spending an evening with Rome’s noble citizens is condemned? There will be poetry readings, singers, harpists. You’ll spend your time as you see fit. If you think of anything improper, that’s not my fault…" He smirked, brazenly tilting his chin, reminding her once again of Caracalla.

Anger overwhelmed her completely. Oh, so he wanted to show her off to his friends like some precious trinket? To brag?

Livia bit the inside of her cheek as hard as she could, forced a fake smile, and nodded.

"One evening, Emperor. And then you’ll leave me be."

Geta mirrored her smile, his curious gaze lingering on her face, before replying, obviously lying: