[ complete ] 𝐌𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐀'𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄 || 𝐉.𝐉𝐊 𝐅𝐅

64. Sweet Chaos.

Jungkook’s POV —

The living room had transformed into a warzone—except instead of swords and shields, it was pencils, erasers, and flying sheets of half-done math problems. I was leaned back on the couch, now silently watching—not the TV, because my wife had cruelly turned that off earlier—but this fascinating chaos in front of me.

And at the center of it, like a tired warrior queen holding it all together, was Y/n.

One arm around Aarohi who was squirming because she couldn’t remember how to spell “neighbour,” the other hand pointing at Advait’s half-written page like it was a national crisis. Her hair had escaped the bun and was falling into her face, her eyes sharp with focus, and her voice?

Oh god, her voice was hitting full-on “teacher about to snap” mode.

“Advait!” she said, her tone rising like thunder. “Why are you in such a hurry? Where are you going after this, huh? A press conference? A flight to Mars? Sit down and slow down!”

He looked up from his notebook, blinking innocently. “But Umma, I just wanna finish fast so I can watch cartoons…”

She raised a brow and pointed to the page. “Cartoons? With this chicken scratch? What even is this letter? Is that an ‘R’ or a sick worm?”

I tried not to laugh, but a snort escaped.

Y/n whipped her head toward me. “Don’t you dare encourage him.”

I held up my hands. “I didn’t say anything! Though, I do kind of agree—it looks like a worm who gave up halfway through crawling.”

Advait huffed dramatically and leaned back in his chair like we’d ruined his life. “But I wanna gooo…”

She didn’t budge.

“Advait,” she said more softly now, gently placing her hand on his back, “you always get awards for your handwriting. You literally beat high school kids at the handwriting contest last year. So why are you rushing now?”

He grumbled, “Because my pencil’s stupid.”

“Oh, so now it’s the pencil’s fault,” she muttered under her breath.

Aarohi, without missing a beat, said, “Appa, Advait said stupid. That’s a bad word.”

I laughed. “Trust me, princess. He’s lucky that’s the worst word being thrown around during homework time.”

“Exactly,” Y/n sighed. “Now, Advait. Take a breath. Pick up the pencil properly. We’re not trying to run a race here. I want good handwriting. Not this hurried, wobbly mess.”

“But Ummaaa—”

“Nope,” she cut him off sweetly but firmly. “Take your time. Remember that loop technique I showed you? Make the letters curve, give them style—like you do when you want to show off.”

He looked at her, cheeks puffed. “Fine.”

And then he started writing again, this time slower, tongue sticking out a little, which meant he was actually concentrating.

I stood up and walked over behind her, peeking at the paper. “Okay, okay… that’s more like it,” I nodded. “This kid has Mafia blood in him, I swear. Sharp, precise, and stylish.”

Y/n leaned back against me without a word, just letting out a long, drained sigh as she rubbed her temples.

I leaned down and whispered near her ear, “You’re a superhero.”

She turned her face slightly to glance up at me. “I swear these two are going to be the death of me. Advait writes like he’s trying to flee a crime scene, and Aarohi just asked if she can Google all her answers.”