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peachysunrize · 27 days

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[ TANGERINE DREAMS ]

Summary: being stood up on his wedding day, Aemond’s life takes a turn for the worse. Heartbroken and humiliated, he finds unexpected help in Helaena’s childhood friend, who helps him move back into his family mansion. Summer cocktail parties and a long stay at the Targaryen residency, Aemond might let the girl who’s always been in his life make a home in his heart.

Tangerines, in general, symbolize prosperity, good luck and happiness. So if these delicious fruits appear in your dreams - whole or in the form of juice - it is usually very positive. A dream with tangerines expresses the desire and the possibility of progress and prosperity

Word count: 5.1k+

Warnings: tensionnnnnn, alcohol consumption (just wine) & fluff! English isn’t my first language <3

A/n: ‘m not gonna say anything more than just that ITS THE BEGINNING OF SOMETHING NEW!! Reblog & comments are most appreciated🍊🧡

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Updates: every Saturday!!

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Chapter 3: The beginning of something new

He leans back on the chair, his book abandoned next to him on the desk as he carves a line on the wooden pallet, his glasses on the bridge of his nose, the sound of wood getting cut echoing in the old workshop.

He’s been here since early morning, all of his thoughts are consumed by you and your talk a few days ago. There’s still a part of him that is immensely guilty for how he treated you, especially after you told him about that Lannister boy.

He is heard and understood, maybe not by someone he expected, but the sweetness and calmness in this revelation makes it more special. You’ve been in the background image of his life for so long, someone always present yet too far and out of reach. But now, you’ve turned into someone important, someone he can rely on and trust wholeheartedly.

He sighs, letting the chisels fall from his hand on the table as he stretches his arms, groaning as he cracks his back and slowly lumps in the chair, glancing at Vhagar who does the same and slowly walks towards him, jumping on him to cuddle — the chair is so little to have them both sitting on it together, so Aemond has to hold Vhagar to his chest with a hand under her belly while she rests her head on his forearm as the other hand rubs slowly circle on her back.

Vhagar barks suddenly, jumping down to go near the door, alerting Aemond that someone is coming. He also stands up, grabs his abandoned book from the table, and walks towards Vhagar who is clawing at the door before he opens it and lets her out, locking the door workshop’s door behind him.

He follows her, watching as she bolts through the bushes and trees to reach whoever is approaching them. He hears your voice, melodically and softly when you start talking to Vhagar, giggling and letting her probably lick your face.

“Morning!” You say as soon as you spot him, strengthening your back before you stand up, holding two cups of coffee in your hands, “I couldn’t find you in the library, so I thought you’re probably taking a walk with your old lady.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “we had an early morning, and she gets restless and impatient when she doesn’t set foot outside.”

“Here’s your coffee, little nerd,” you hand him his cup, stepping closer to him until you’re only mere inches away from him, looking up at him through your lashes.

Aemond’s break is stuck in his throat as he looks down at you, he gulps when he sees you reach for his face, pushing his glasses up so he sees better. Your touch is warm against his skin, but your smile is warmer, more welcoming than anything he’s ever seen.

Get a grip, he thinks to himself as he thanks you quietly, clearing his throat before he wraps his long fingers around the hot mug.

“Let’s take a walk, shall we?” He asks, glancing back at the workshop door quickly.

“What’s that?” You turn around and follow his gaze, pointing at the door hiding behind the trees.

“Oh, um, that…” he rubs the back of his neck nervously, “nothing, just an abandoned storeroom,” Aemond shrugs, the book in his hands falling to the ground as his palm grows clammy.

“Shit—“

“It’s okay, I’ve got it,” you crouch down to grab the book, smiling softly when you look up and find Aemond turning red with embarrassment, especially when you glance at the book in your hand, “No way.”

“Give me that, please—“ he tries to snatch it out of your hand, but you hold it behind your back, biting your lip to stop yourself from grinning, taking a sip from your coffee to hide your smile, “tell me why you are reading Maester Orwyle’s book of Philosophy!”

“To kill some time, now please—“ he sighs, gesturing to you to give him the book by his hand while the ghost of a smirk finds its way to his face, “Don’t be ridiculous and give me the book so we can both go back to the house.”

“Nope,” you take a step away from him and he matches your huge grin as he extends his hand again, “if you want it, you should come get it.”

“Come on,” Aemond groans, “I’m not the five-year-old kid who used to chase you around the house to steal one of your books!”

“I’m not saying you should chase me, but maybe say please a few more times then I’ll agree—no!” You squeal when he leans over and snatches the book out of your hands, his tall and lean frame making it impossible for you to hold it back anymore, “You’re no fun!”

“Someone has to be the adult of this friendship,” he says, securing the book under his arm as he walks ahead of you, turning around to look at you, pointing at the path in front of you with his head, “Come on.”

“Fine, fine!” You laugh, following him towards the path leading to the backyard and the Weirwood tree.

The sound of friendship left a bittersweet taste in his mouth, something he only felt when Alys would give him backhanded compliments, but he knows you, maybe even much better than he ever knew his ex-fiance, and with the talk you had a few days ago, he is left confused. Not by your actions no, but by your words; it is hard to find someone who’s had the same experience, especially with someone so understanding and willing to share them.

“Don’t sulk now, Little nerd,” you bump your shoulder to him, watching him take a long sip of his coffee, “tell me about the book, it mustn’t be the first time you’re reading it.”

“Of course not,” he sighs and continues, “he was a friend of my grandfather, no one knows what happened to their friendship after this book was written, but apparently all the answers are in this—“

“You can’t be reading this giant hard-to-swallow book just because you wanna know about your grandpa's failed friendship,” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, “come on, tell me the truth!”

“No,” he gives you a pointed look, “this is the truth.”

“Alright,” you smile at him, not wanting to pressure him if he truly doesn’t wish to explain it, walking side by side with him until the trees are behind you except the Weirwood tree that looks so beautiful under the morning sunlight.

“The coffee is perfect…” he hums in delight as he glances at you, holding the mug in one hand with his arm keeping the book rightly against his body while he puts his right hand on the small of your back, walking slowly to your right side to be able to look at you more comfortably.

“My goodness, Aemond, I’m so sorry I didn’t realize—“ you try to apologize but he cuts you off with a slow shake of his head.

“It’s okay, don’t fret about it,” he rubs circles on your waist as you walk towards the house, the sunshine casting a glow on your face, and he fights off a smile when he sees how your eyes shine, “how did you find out I like my coffee with three sugars?”

“You’re not too hard to read,” you chuckle a little leaning to his side as he keeps his palm secured on your waist, “I observe people, mostly my friends and I wanted to make sure you were alright after everything, so I kept a close eye on you. Turns out you have a horrible sweet tooth!”

“You haven’t seen the worst of it yet,” he teases you, finishing his coffee in a sip, “Hel and I used to bake together, a silly hobby she took when Viserys and Mum separated. It was only simple cakes and bread but you know me, I can’t settle for less than perfection.”

“So you started to get better and better.”

“Yeah, it turns out Hel & I would make an excellent team, many of the birthday cakes were on us,” he explains, handing you the book so you’d hold it for him so he can open the door for you when you reach the building, “if you’re lucky, you’ll get a special birthday cake from me one day.”

“Stop being so talented—oh, fuck—“ you yell in shock when Vhagar runs past the two of you, knocking to your legs, making you lose your grip on your coffee and having it spill on Aemond’s book.

“I’m so sorry, fuck, I should have finished it first…” your voice grows quieter as you open the drenched book, reading the first page’s note, “Is this…?”

“Yeah,” he nods, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully, “it’s yours.”

“No wonder I was looking for it when I got back home after another vacation spent here,” you laugh, tracing your finger over the blue note, “I caught you reading it in your old stable. Why would you go there to read?” It was full of horseshit, yet you seemed to like it.”

“Well, it was the only place no one seemed to want to spend any time there. Best place to read the book I stole from you,” he follows you inside the building to the kitchen to leave your cups there, “besides, you’d find me and discuss the book anyway, maybe I wanted you to find me.”

“You seem to enjoy that, don’t you? Me always finding you?” You ask him after you put the book on the kitchen island, turning around to look at him.

It seems like he has caged you with his body, he is standing close, probably closer than he should but not too much to deem it inappropriate for friends, and when you look up at him, he is sure the distance between the two of you has decreased considerably — physically and mentally.

“I like the idea,” he whispers, his good eye never leaving your face as you stare at each other before he clears his throat and pulls away a bit, giving you an awkward smile, “I think Hel and others are in the TV room.”

You nod hesitantly, moving past him towards the other room, leaving him alone in the kitchen. He sighs shakily, swallowing the lump in his throat before he decides to join you after he puts his cup away.

When he enters the room he finds you leaning on the back of the coach and Helaena is curled up on your side with Dreamfyre resting her head on Hel’s calves. His brothers are playing yet another round of Mortal Kombat — which he is sure Aegon insisted on. He looks around for Vhagar, and when he can’t find her, he assumes she must be in the library, taking her morning nap.

“Morning.”

“Hey, Aemy!” Aegon greets him, “We thought you were kidnapped when you didn’t join us for breakfast.” “Fuck off, I don’t have the patience to deal with you today,” Aemond grumbles, throwing his head back, and closing his eye before he is hit by a cushion, followed by a loud snort and soft giggles from you and Helaena, “What the fuck was the for?”

“You need to have patience! This is our summer, we will be annoying you until you give up this crappy attitude and enjoy your time with us here! Who knows when we’ll gather together like this again! You live here now with Daeron and Mum, I live in Oldtown, She,” Helaena points at you, “lives in Rosby, and Aegon… well he floats around the country.”

“I have a home, you little bitch—” “Doesn’t seem like it when you constantly show up at our places,” you say, earning a loud gasp from Aegon before he pouts and rolls his eyes at you, turning around towards Daeron with a glare when he laughs at him before he says ‘I’m gonna kick your ass’ and they start playing again.

“You know what we should do this week?” Helaena asks suddenly, sitting up with glee, “Aegon should throw one of his infamous parties! That way not only our dear brother will get better and forget about everything even for a few hours, but we get to have some fucking fun!”

“I thought you didn’t like parties,” Daeron pauses the game, turning around to give his sister a pointed look. Aemond does the same, but instead, he glances at you and finds you already looking at him, giving him a tight-lipped awkward smile before the two of you look away from each other and focus on Helaena.

“I do! But that doesn’t mean I loathe them, besides, Aegon’s parties are fun, they are not like Mum’s when we have to sit in awfully formal clothes, sipping on champagne like high-class ladies.”

“I hate to break it to you, babe, but you are a high-class lady,” you say, earning a nod from everyone in the room.

“That’s not my point,” she groans, chuckling when you side-eye her, “I just wanna have fun, and Aegon is fun—” “Did you hear that, pirate?” Aegon points at Aemond, laughing when he is met with a glare from his younger brother, “She thinks I’m fun, not you, me!”

“Don’t make her change her mind,” Aemond sighs, sneering at his older brother. “Aemond is fun, mind you,” you defend him, giving Aegon a pointed look which makes Daeron laugh out loud, “You are just too chaotic to understand him.” “And you do?” Aegon scoffs, and Aemond senses something is going to happen, that his brother can’t simply keep his large mouth shut, “his fiance didn’t find him fun—” “Jeez, Aegon!” Daeron yells, face twisted in disbelief.

“What is your fucking problem?” you ask him, scoffing at Aegon’s scared look, “You are always mean to him.” “I am not!” “Shut the fuck up I’m talking,” Aemond looks at you, surprised by your outburst, “he needs your support more than ever, his face and his life are now all over the fucking internet! Have you considered how hurt he must be? Of course, you haven’t because you don’t think. He doesn’t need to be reminded of what happened constantly when he is trying his best to move on!”

“I—” Aegon can’t say anything as he looks at you like you have grown another head.

Aemond is as equally shocked as others, he fights off a huge smile as he watches you defend him, his lips parted in surprise, jaw on the floor while you talk and put Aegon in his place.

“Morning my loves,” Alicent comes to the rescue, looking around the room to find Helaena and Aemond looking at you with a pleased smile while Aegon shrinks under your gaze and Daeron nearly falls on the floor with how hard he’s laughing, “What’s going on here?” “I thought maybe I could throw a party!” Aegon speaks, avoiding your gaze as he looks at his mum, “A month has passed from summer and I have yet to throw one of my infamous spontaneous parties!” “Alright, but you know—” “I know, I know! In the guest wing, no drugs, no strippers—” “You brought strippers to your parties?” Aemond asks, giving Aegon a disapproving look who in return only smirks and wiggles his eyebrows at him.

“Did you forget your insanely cool bachelor party? Did you think I brought random girls to give you a lap dance—” “Okay enough!” Alicent laughs awkwardly, “There are better times to discuss these matters! I have more important things to tell you.” “Like what?” Daeron asks.

“New Gossip Girls season dropped?” Aegon looks at you shrugging when you snort at his question.

“Be serious for a fucking second please,” Aemond warns his brother before he looks at Alicent softly, “What’s wrong?” “Nothing, nothing! In fact, I kind of have a surprise for all of you. Not a huge surprise but I wanted to take you somewhere,” she explains, stroking her neck in nervousness.

“Where do you wanna take us, Mum? Hopefully nowhere near Father,” Hel says, making everyone sigh in relief when Alicent shakes his head.

“No, of course not!” she scoffs as if even the idea of seeing her ex-husband disgusted her — and it did — she continued, “Do you remember when I told you I had put the winery under a reconstruction? And specifically told you to not go there?”

“No?” Daeron answers, confused as he tries to remember when Alicent told them to not go there, “I doubt you did, Mum.”

“You have a winery?” you ask, a joyful smile comes on your face when Hel nods excitedly.

“Not just a winery but a vineyard!” “Oh, wow! I had no idea!” “Well, it’s your lucky day because now it’s useable again!” Alicent matches your enthusiasm, “Also, this is not just to show you the vineyard, but…” she looks at Aemond, “It’s Aemond’s birthday too!” “It’s not,” he replies, glancing at you quickly, “It’s in a few weeks.”

“Well it doesn’t matter because I am going to throw a party for you, and for that, we need to have a winetasting session and choose a few bottles for that occasion!”

“Mum, there is no need—” “Do shut up, asshole,” Aegon teases him, “what do you mean there is no need? Those are gonna be for your birthday, and also, I don’t have to drink in secret!” “I’m afraid I agree with Aegon,” Hel says, you and Daeron nod in encouragement, and Aemond has no choice but to also agree and surrounder, but it’ll be worth it, he thinks, because the way your eyes light up at the idea of visiting their vineyard makes his heart beat faster.

“Alright then” Alicent claps, shooing you all out of the TV room, “Wear something cool, I don’t want you to get sick under this god-awful heat.”

••••••••••

You and Hel put on your sundresses and you help her apply sunscreen on the back of her neck, covering her pale skin so she won’t burn under the awfully hot sun. The weather is exceptionally warm today and you regret agreeing to go to the vineyard without cars as soon as you step outside.

Aemond and Aegon are already there, smoking together as they wait for you and Hel to reach them. Aemond sends an endearing smile your way when he spots you, taking in the sight of you; you look beautiful, with your smile and the baby blue sundress you are wearing.

“Alright, ladies! Choose your gentleman— hey! At least let me finish,” Aegon whines when you loop your arm with Aemond, making a gagging sound when Aemond rests his palm on top of yours, “Ew, get a fucking room. Come on, Hel, we’re cooler than them.”

You chuckle when Aegon throws his arm around Helaena’s shoulders, taking the lead towards the vineyard not before he gives you a middle finger.

“Asshole,” you mutter, leaning your head on Aemond’s arm as you walk side by side, “since when did you guys have a vineyard? I’ve been Helaena’s friend for years and not once did she mention anything about it.”

“It was Viserys’ vineyard, everything belonged to him, but after Mum filed for divorce and the evidence she had against him, he gave it all away,” he explains, his thumb caressing your knuckles, “I’m glad though, Mum deserves this. I mean we weren’t in need of a huge house in King’s Landing, Old Town was enough for us anyway, but after what he put her through, she really deserved it.”

“Alicent is strong, I’m not sure if I could handle such a mind wrecking thing,” you sigh, squeezing his arm as you smile at the memories you wish to tell him, “I remember when your parents were getting divorced, Helaena would spend days with me at my Grandparents’ country house, she’d bring Dreamfyre too. It felt like an eternity when we were together.”

“Hel has that effect, time doesn’t pass with her,” He agrees, both of you waving when Helaena looks back and blows you a kiss, “I feel like that with you too, maybe because we have shared interests.”

“You’re lucky,” you reply softly, bumping your shoulder to his, “because I feel the same. Every talk we have had since we were kids till now is a core memory of mine. Yeah, Hel will always be my favorite, my best friend, but you are different from everyone I’ve met, you mean so much to me.”

“You’re a dear friend or at least a dear friend to my sister,” he laughs a little, “I remember those days though, it was just me and Daeron in this huge house. Aegon was somewhere probably fucking and drinking and doing drugs while I had to take care of Daeron. He was too young to understand anything.”

“I wish things were different…”

“I don’t,” you look at him, confused and intrigued, “Maybe my eye, yes, but… I’m glad he is no longer a part of our lives, I could care less if he drops dead tomorrow, I’m happy he is no longer here to pester us about Rhaenyra or anyone.”

As soon as you try to answer him, a huge truck goes past you at a fast pace, and in an instant, Aemond wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you to his side, keeping you close to his body as he steps between you and the road.

You pant, hands fisting the front of his shirt in terror as you try to regain your breathing. Aemond looks down at you, his fingers keeping you tightly against him as his other hand reaches to caress your cheek.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you nod, resting your forehead on his chest as he embraces you, “Yeah, I think I am.”

“We’re here, come on,” he finds Aegon and Hel already waiting for you, and gestures for you to follow them inside, “are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, Little nerd, I’m fine,” you reach and squeeze his hand, holding it as you walk through the entrance of the winery, finding Alicent, Daeron, and Cole already there.

“We’ll start with the winery!” Alicent announces, walking ahead of everyone with Criston on her side, “I’ve asked Qoren Martell to send us a very professional wine taster from Dorne to help us choose, and… here he is!”

“A pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Hightower,” the old man nods at Alicent, shaking her hand gracefully, “I’ve been told you produce different wines here.”

You let go of Aemond and meet Helaena midway as she takes your hand and walks with you behind her Mum and Cole, pointing at different parts of the winery. At first, you see the huge Grape-filled bowls getting crushed, the noises are loud but the fruits look so juicy and sweet.

“This is incredible!” You tell Hel as the group walks toward the next room, watching in awe how huge these oak barrels are. There are probably hundreds of them, with one glass under each so if someone wants to taste the wine straight from the barrels would have easy access.

Helaena pulls you to the next room, not just you but the Targaryen siblings are shocked as well.

“You genius,” Aegon calls his mother, “This is insane!” “I have to agree,” Aemond looks around with his hands in the pocket of his shorts as he walks toward you and Helaena, “Our previous wine cellar was so little it barely fit two people in it. This is…” “Gorgeous,” you finish his sentence and take a good look at the wine cellar; the room is rounded, the walls are curved and the temperature is low to keep the bottles cold. The shelves start from the ground to the ceiling, all of them filled to the brim with different wines in each specific section,

“It’s amazing, right?” Alicent asks, looking at her handiwork excitedly.

“You’re amazing…” It came out as a really really hushed whisper, but you and Aemond heard it correctly, Cole did say that.

You press your lips to contain your laugh when your eyes meet Aemond’s, finding him shaking his head as he reaches to rub over the huge round dining table in the middle of the room, smoothing his palm over the surface of the wood.

“Shall we start?” Alicent asks, and when you all say yes, she tells the older man to bring the bottles one by one.

You take a seat with Hel and Aemond on your sides at the table, waiting for the old Dornish man to bring the bottles. You see two other men bring a few plates filled with different cheeses and bread rolls.

“When will we see the vineyard?” You ask the siblings, pouting when Aemond chuckles at you, “Hey! Not everyone grew up with tons of money.”

“I’m not making fun of you if that’s what you’re thinking,” he replies, reaching to play with the rim of his glass, his white shirt stretching against his biceps, “your eagerness is cute.”

“Oh, fuck off!” You hide your face in your hands, laughing when Hel reaches to stroke your back, “Fine, but you need to take me there as soon as we’re done here.”

“Whatever you want,” he says, and all of you watch as Cole and the old man bring four bottles; Cabernet Sauvignon, Dornish Red, Rosè, and Chardonnay.

“Bring it on, old man,” Aegon whistles, plopping down on the chair next to the head of the table, bowing his head dramatically when Alicent sits.

You start with the Dornish Red and observe all of the siblings closely; Helaena sips gently and takes a piece of cheese immediately, Daeron and Alicent go on the exact same pace while humming at the same time, Aegon chugs the entire liquid and doesn’t let interest even for a second but Aemond… well you have only seen this move in social media but to see his slim and elegant fingers wrapped around the thin glass as he first looks at the color of the wine then swirls the liquid around before taking a whiff of the smell and after that a sip that follows with a deep rumbling from his chest.

You look away as soon as you sense he might turn around and catch you red-handed, taking a long sip of your glass before coughing at the too-sour taste of it.

“Not your favorite, huh?” Hel asks, handing you a piece of bread.

“Absolutely not,” you clear your throat before shooting Aemond a glare when he chuckles at you, “What?”

“Nothing,” he shrugs, “Come on, let's taste the next one.”

The next one is the white wine, it tastes much better than the Dornish Red, less sour but the bitterness of it is intolerable — you are by no means new to drinking alcohol, but wine has always been a tricky drink for you. You go through the third bottle as well, but again, it doesn’t taste excellent, until Aemond opens the Rosè, his arm bulging as he pulls up the corkscrew, making a delicious sound of ‘pop’.

“Here you go!” Alicent says as she brings a huge plate of lime and Tangerines to the table to cleanse your pallets before you have the next drink.

“How did you find Tangerines in the summer?” You ask excitedly, side eyeing Aemond as he pours the wine in your glasses before he sits down and grabs the Tangerine from you.

“Not easy to find, but you can trust Criston with these things,” she looks at Cole who’s standing in the door frame with a glass of Dornish Red. How typical.

“What are you doing?” You ask Aemond before you take a sip from your drink, humming in joy as you finally taste the most delicious Rosè you could have ever had.

“What does it look like? I’m peeling it for you,” he answers as if you have asked the most stupid question ever.

“Oh, okay, thank you,” you smile at him, completely dumbfounded by the amount of consideration he’s shown towards you today. You must look so bashful as you avert your eyes from him and stare into your glass, trying to stop the thoughts from flowing in your mind.

“Here,” he hands you the peeled Tangerine before he rises up from his seat and extends his hand to you, “come on, I promised you a tour and the vineyard looks so beautiful now.”

“Alright,” you put your hand in his, letting him pull you on your feet effortlessly, keeping you straight when you wobble a bit. You thank him shyly, reaching to grab your glass as well and leave the wine cellar.

“Why did the previous cellar not have enough room for all of you?” You ask suddenly, eating a piece of the Tangerine and offering him one as he leads you towards the staircase that reaches the vineyard.

“It was Viserys’, not ours,” he shrugs, “besides, Daeron and I were underage, we couldn’t drink—“

“This is… beautiful,” you exclaim the moment you step on the grass-covered path, the rows of Grenache trees have made a breathtaking sight, “how can you visit here so little? This is out of this world!”

“I’m glad you like it here,” Aemond smiles softly at you, watching as you slowly walk through the path, finishing your fruit before you reach and take one of the leaves between your fingers, slowly caressing it before taking a sip of your wine.

“It’s so dreamy, why didn’t you hold your wedding here?” You facepalm yourself, giving him an apologetic smile, “Sorry…”

“Sometimes people just… forget, and I think that’s what I want too, but… the wound is still fresh, I think about her more than I should,” he steps next to you, one hand in his pocket while the other swirls the rose wine in his glass, “besides, this place is too beautiful to waste it on someone like Alys, yeah, I loved her but…I was blinded by her sweet words.”

“I know, it’ll take a little while to get there, you know. Sometimes you feel unworthy, so ugly and bruised by everything but… it’ll get better.”

“It will, this place helps a bit, and I’m sure Aegon’s massive parties will be very helpful as well,” he grins at you.

“Yeah? Well, it definitely feels like a new beginning, right?” You ask him, taking a step away from him, biting your lip while smiling, keeping your eyes on him as he scoffs, “Which one will you choose for your birthday party, sir?”

“Which one did you like?” He asks and takes a step forward, finishing his glass. He hears his Mum calling you to go for lunch, but before you go, you answer him.

“The Rosè.”

#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd aemond #prince aemond #🍊dreams

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kat-mobile · 3 months

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Hey love ❤️ hope you’re doing good

Can I request Tommy with a gentle, empathetic and sensitive reader please. It was an arranged marriage and he found out his new wife would cry herself to sleep over a book she read or just a cat. His reaction to someone who is completely opposite of him

Thank you in advance ✨

Tommy with a wife who's his complete opposite

A/N: Hey baby, thanks for the request!! I'm doing good and I hope you are too ❤️ I forgot to put on the requests post to specify if you want it as a fic or headcanons so I've made it sort of a mix of the two, hope that's okay anon. I made this blog to try and improve my writing skills and as this is my first attempt it isn't the best, so sorry about that lol. Hope you like it!! (this is set sometime around series 1-2 cause those are my fave)

It was an arranged marriage and to be honest... you weren't particularly thrilled by the notion of being married to Birmingham's most known and feared gangster. But you would do anything for your family and if your father decided that this is what would be best for securing the future of the family then you'd follow through on your part of the deal, even if it seemed like you and Tommy had absolutely nothing in common.

This was a couple months ago now and you had somewhat settled into your new life in Small Heath and with Tommy by your side, the two of you living in comfortable tandem. You had settled into a routine and life was good, or as good as it could be with the risk of being married to a Shelby.

He would buy you any book that you so much as happened to glance at and in turn you would patch up and sew back together any unfortunate pieces of clothing that got in the way of Tommy and his dangerous life style and work, fighting back tears and worrying at your lower lip as you did so. You may not quite understand why he was constantly putting himself in danger but he was your husband all the same and you had grown to love him as your marriage progressed

you would also force him to go and see an actual trained medical professional whenever he came home with said ruined clothing, as a dead husband is less than ideal and you have grown attached these last couple months

Your empathy and tendancy to cry over him when he got hurt was a shock at first but he quickly got used to it, he even tried to avoid getting hurt just so as to not have to see you cry over him

He may not say it outright but he appreciates everything you do and how much you care for him

He doesn't like to keep secrets from you but he doesn't share all aspects of work life with you as he doesn't want you to worry too much, but if being kept in the dark would worry you even more he'd make an effort to keep you in the loop

Your gentleness and compassion is a welcome contrast to his life from before you were apart of it, Tommy didn't know that he needed it before you

If there's one thing about Tommy Shelby, it's that he protects what's his and as his wife he treats you with the utmost care (especially if you have a tendancy to seek out the good in all people)

One night when Tommy (finally) came to bed he found you curled up in a ball on your side with your back to the door, tears gently running down your smooth cheeks

Unsure of what to do when confronted by your distress but still wanting to help, he'd rush to your side and scoop you up onto his lap, holding you close with your tear-stained cheek pressed against his chest and an arm thrown protectively around your shoulders. He'd cautiously rock back and forwards whilst his hand moves slowly up and down your back in what he hopes is a soothing motion. He's a little awkward and stiff but damn if he isn't fucking trying

He'd use his forefinger and thumb to tilt your chin up and force your eyes to meet his own before softly questioning you on why you were crying

"What you crying for, hmm love? Ruining your pretty face"

He'd say, wiping away your tears with his thumb

Upon hearing that the reason for your tears was a sad ending to one of the books he bought you he'd be a little taken aback and he would honestly have to suppress the urge to laugh

It all seemed rather silly to him that you'd cry over some words on paper

"Tommy it isn't funny, it was really upsetting" you'd hiccup out through your tears

he'd just shake his head and sigh, apologising, before pulling you closer, finally laying down on the bed with your legs intertwined

Tommy had hoped it would be a one of chance but when he caught you crying in bed again over the ending of Of Mice and Men, he very quickly figured that he'd have to adapt

Tommy developed a system for when you had your... shall we say moments, he'd sit down on his side of the bed with his back pressed against the headboard before he lifted you up and placed you in-between his legs

Sitting you so that your back was resting against his chest and you could feel his heartbeat

You would then explain to him the sad moments in your books as he softly hummed and nodded his head along to your words

And when he got tired from your quiet voice lulling him to sleep he'd pull you down with him as he laid on his side, caging you in against his chest with an arm around your waist

Those were the nights that he slept the best

#tommy shelby x reader #tom shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder headcanon

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pucksandpower · 1 year

Note

Grid Kids: y/n pregnency!!

Grid Kids: Bun in the Oven

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: moments with the grid kids during your pregnancy

Series Masterlist

Kicking Up a Storm

“Did the little one just ...” Charles’ eyes widen as he pulls back his hand abruptly from where it had been resting on your stomach.

Lando, lounging on the other side of the room with a video game controller in hand, smirks, “Did what? Tried to escape? Can’t blame it, considering the rest of its siblings."

You swat playfully at Lando as Max and George, engrossed in assembling a nursery chair, look up in anticipation. “Come on, let us feel!” Max pleads, abandoning the chair pieces on the floor.

As everyone gathers around, taking turns to gently place their hands on your baby bump, you feel a flutter, a gentle kick responding to their touch. The room fills with gasps of wonder and joy.

“Feels like a future driver if you ask me,” George grins, looking at Sebastian, who chuckles, already imagining another Vettel on the tracks.

Lance, feeling a tad left out, decides to jump in. “Can it hear us? Hello in there, it’s your brother Lance! Remember to pick me as the fun brother, okay?”

Mick, who has been reading every pregnancy book he could get his hands on, chimes in, “You do realize the baby can’t differentiate voices yet, right?”

Lance waves him off, “Details, details.”

Cravings Are No Joke

“Pickles and chocolate? Seriously?” Max raises an eyebrow, holding up the two seemingly mismatched items as he stands in the middle of a grocery store aisle.

Lance, pushing the cart, shrugs. “Don’t question the cravings, just go with it.”

Charles, scrolling through the list on his phone, adds, “Oh and don’t forget the spicy ramen, blueberry pie, and ... pineapple pizza?”

George groans, “Pineapple pizza? Come on! Anything but that. I’m not even Italian and I’m still offended.”

Lando, with an impish grin, quips, “Remember when she wanted the mango gelato at 3 am? That was a fun drive.”

Mick chuckles, “Or the time we went to five different bakeries just to find that particular lemon cake she couldn’t live without.”

Lance pauses, looking thoughtful, “And wasn’t there a phase where she only wanted foods that were purple?”

George nods, “Yep, aubergines, purple potatoes, grapes ... I still can’t look at a plum without laughing.”

As the grid kids continue shopping, picking out items based on the rather diverse list you gave them, they share more anecdotes of the past months. The store’s other patrons watch in amusement as the young men navigate the aisles, often debating the merits of various brands or flavors, all to ensure they get it just right for you.

Later, back home, your grid kids proudly present their haul. You and Sebastian look on with affection as they lay out the eclectic mix of food.

“Did you guys get everything?” You ask, trying to hide your laughter.

Max feigns offense at being questioned, “Of course, we’re professionals.”

Sebastian leans in to whisper in your ear, “I’m just glad they didn’t try cooking this time. Remember the schnitzel incident?”

You giggle, recalling the disastrous attempt. “Of course I do. I was cleaning flour off the cabinets and ceiling for weeks. But hey, it’s the thought that counts.”

It’s a …

The preparations for your gender reveal are in full swing at the local park and your grid kids are at the heart of it. They’ve split into two factions: Team Girl, led by Charles and Lance, and Team Boy, spearheaded by Max and Lando.

Charles and Lance have laid out a series of pink challenges, including a three-legged race where participants wear pink tutus. “It’s going to be a girl, no doubt about it!” Lance proclaims confidently.

Max and Lando, on the other hand, have a blue-themed obstacle course, complete with a mini kart race. Lando, wearing a blue bandana, shouts over the ruckus, “I have no idea what you’re talking about because it’s definitely a boy.”

George has taken on the role of referee. Dressed in a striped shirt, whistle in hand, he’s ensuring that the competition remains friendly. “Remember, it’s all in good fun!” he reminds everyone, though his “Team Girl” badge suggests where his loyalties lie.

Mick, though undecided, has tie-dye patches of both blue and pink on his shirt. “I just want a healthy sibling for all of us,” he says with a gentle smile, standing back and enjoying the antics.

Sebastian, watching the chaos unfold, leans over and whispers in your ear, “Did we really think letting them plan this was a good idea?”

You laugh, “It’s a bit crazy but look at them. They’re having the time of their lives!”

The moment everyone’s been waiting for finally arrives. At the center of the park, a large, sealed box waits. As you and Sebastian approach, the grid kids form a circle around it, their playful banter coming to a halt.

With a shared look of excitement, you both pull on the ribbon. The box flaps open, releasing a cloud of ... green smoke?

The park erupts in a mixture of laughter and confusion.

Max looks baffled, “Green?”

Charles chuckles, “Guess neither team wins today!”

Lando, trying to waft away the smoke, jokes, “Alien? Oh my god, you’re having an alien!”

Mick wraps an arm around you, “Like I said, as long as it’s healthy.”

You smile, nestling into Sebastian’s side, “We thought we’d keep everyone guessing for a little longer.”

False Alarm

“Sebastian! The baby! I think it’s happening!” You exclaim, feeling a sudden tightening in your abdomen.

Sebastian, who was in the middle of mediating a lively debate with Max and Charles over who will be the baby’s favorite brother, nearly trips over the rug in his rush to get to you. “Okay, okay, okay. Deep breaths, in and out.”

Lance, eyes wide as saucers, frantically begins googling “how to deliver a baby” on his phone while George starts making a list of things needed for the hospital. “Towels! We need towels, right?”

Lando is somewhere on another planet, muttering to himself, “This isn’t happening. I am not ready to see a baby being born. Nope, nope, nope.”

Mick tries to restore some order. “Calm down everyone. Y/N, are you sure it’s really labor?"

Before you can respond, Charles bursts through the door, holding a bucket of ice. “I read somewhere you might need ice. Here!”

You laugh through the discomfort, appreciating the chaos ensuing because of your grid kids’ concern. "Actually guys, I think it’s just Braxton Hicks. False alarm.”

A collective sigh of relief sweeps the room. Sebastian, still slightly pale, pulls you into a hug, “You sure know how to keep things exciting.”

Lance looks up from his phone, “What’s Braxton Hicks?”

“It’s like a rehearsal for the real thing,” George explains, folding up his hastily made list.

Max, trying to regain his cool, smirks, “Well, if that was a rehearsal, the main event is going to be epic.”

You chuckle, patting your belly, “Guess the little one just wanted to see how quickly you all could jump into action.”

Putting the “Student” in “Student Drivers”

As you and Sebastian sit on the couch, going over your prenatal class schedule, a curious George peeks over. “What’s that? Are those the birthing classes?”

You nod, “Yep! We’re starting next week. It’ll help us prepare for the big day.”

Suddenly, Charles pops up beside George, eyes widening in interest. “Can we come?”

“That sounds cool! I’ve always wondered what those classes are like.” Lando chimes in from where he’s keeping an ear out in the kitchen.

Sebastian looks a bit overwhelmed, “I thought it was just going to be the two of us.”

Lance joins the group, scrolling through a magazine article about celebrity dads attending birthing classes. “Look at this! It’s a thing now. We could all go and support you both.”

Max adds, “Besides, we’re family. We’ve been there through everything else. Why not this?”

“Do they even allow so many people to join?” Mick ponders.

You can’t help but laugh at the eager faces in front of you. “I never thought I’d have to bring an entourage to a birthing class.”

Sebastian rubs his temples. “Okay, how about this? We’ll ask the instructor if it’s okay. If they allow it, you guys can join on one condition.”

Lando bounces on his toes, “What’s that?”

“No teasing or making jokes during the class. We’re there to learn and be supportive.”

Charles nudges Max, “That’s mainly directed at you.”

Max fakes innocence. “Me? I would never!”

You shake your head, “Alright, I’ll call tomorrow and see if our little ... or rather large group can attend.”

Your grid kids cheer, excited about the new adventure. As they scatter, already planning and discussing among themselves, Sebastian leans over to whisper in your ear, “This baby is already turning our world upside down and they’re not even here yet.”

You smile and squeeze his hand, “With this family, every moment is an adventure.”

***

The birthing center’s usual tranquil ambiance is slightly offset by the excited chatter of the grid kids as you all enter. The instructor, a calm and composed woman named Clara, raises an eyebrow at the large group but doesn’t comment. After all, it’s not every day that half of the Formula 1 grid walks into her class.

The session starts with everyone introducing themselves. Most couples share sweet stories of their relationship journey. When it's your turn, Sebastian starts, “I’m Sebastian, this is my wife, Y/N,” he pauses, motioning to the group, “and these are ... our sons.”

The room erupts in chuckles. One of the expectant mothers quips, “That’s a lot of kids! You two have been busy!”

Clara moves on with the class, demonstrating breathing techniques. Everyone’s earnest attempt to follow along results in a mix of deep breathing, snorts, and a few stifled laughs. At one point, Max, struggling to get the rhythm right, looks over at Lando and mutters, “I feel like I’m preparing to go underwater.”

When it comes time for practicing labor positions, the grid kids enthusiastically volunteer. George and Charles end up demonstrating a position, with George playing the supporting partner and Charles the laboring mom-to-be. The sight of Charles leaning into George, pretending to be in labor, has the room laughing, especially when Charles exaggerates with dramatic moans.

Lance and Mick take a turn next and when Lance offers words of encouragement to “pregnant” Mick, saying, “You’re doing great, sweetie,” you almost fall off your chair laughing.

Towards the end of the class, Clara demonstrates the use of a birthing ball. Lando decides to take a leap onto one only to bounce off, crashing into Max and sending both of them tumbling to the ground. The room is in stitches.

Despite their hilarious antics, your grid kids genuinely try to grasp the concepts, asking thoughtful questions and engaging in the exercises.

As the class wraps up, Clara approaches you with a smile. “I must say, this has been the most ... lively class I’ve ever taught.”

You grin, “That’s one way to put it.”

She chuckles, “But it’s clear they all care deeply for you and want to support you both in any way they can.”

Sebastian nods, wrapping an arm around you, “We’re very lucky to have them.”

For Real This Time

Lando and Charles are in the middle of a heated argument over the best way to make a sandwich (complete with props and charts) when you suddenly feel a warm sensation. Looking down, your eyes widen. “Uh, guys?”

“What is it?” Sebastian jumps up right away.

You swallow, “I think my water just broke.”

For a moment, there’s stunned silence. Then … mayhem.

Max yells, “To the car! Now!” while Lance scrambles to grab the pre-packed hospital bag.

George accidentally knocks over a vase in his attempt to find your phone. “Sorry! We can clean that up later, right?”

Mick tries to maintain calm, “Everyone, deep breaths, remember the class?”

Lando, eyes wide, mutters, “This is nothing like the class.”

Upon arriving at the hospital, the reception area becomes a scene of organized chaos. As Sebastian wheels you in, the grid kids follow in a flustered procession.

A nurse at the reception desk blinks in surprise. “Is there a convention in town?”

Mick, panting slightly, replies, “No, just family.”

Lando adds, “The biggest family you’ve ever seen.”

Another nurse, recognizing some of the faces, chuckles, “Formula 1 drivers in the maternity ward? Now I’ve seen everything.”

Inside, as the medical team preps you, the grid kids stand outside, pacing and nervously waiting. They take turns peeking through the small window, offering waves and thumbs-up.

Sebastian holds your hand and doesn’t complain once as you grab back hard enough to break every bone in it, “You know, I’ve faced pressure on the track but this ... this is on another level.”

You chuckle, squeezing his hand, “Just remember, I’m doing the hard part.”

Soon enough, after what feels like both a minute and a lifetime, the beautiful cry of your newborn fills the room. Your grid kids, hearing the sound, cheer loudly, causing several nurses to hush them.

Charles, tears in his eyes, says, “We’re big brothers now. Like, for real.”

“Wait,” Lando interjects, “aren’t you already a big brother?”

“Shush mate, let me have this moment.”

Max rolls his eyes but smiles, “Welcome to the family, little one. We’re a bit crazy but we already love you so much.”

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interstellarflare · 4 months

Text

A Cinderella Story || Anthony Bridgerton

-PART ONE-

Summary: Have courage, and be kind. Words that you tried to live by ever since the passing of your parents. Though your step-mother and step-sisters did everything in their power to hide you and your status away from the rest of the Ton, you never expected to catch the eye of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton himself.

Authors Note: This is my first Bridgerton series! I had an absolute ball writing this, and I hope you enjoy it! There is a tag list open if anyone wishes to be kept updated for future parts. Gif by @greengableslover

‘The Prince smiled, extending his hand towards her with grace and ease.

“May I have this dance, my lady?” he asked lowly, his eyes meeting hers with a kind yet mischievous twinkle. There was something about the Prince that made her heart flutter, that made her place her hand into his and reply-‘

The sound of hurriedly approaching footsteps and a chorus of shouting caused you to stuff the book beneath your pillows, a small panic settling over you as you quickly jumped out of your rickety bed and threw the old sheets over the mattress to at least make it look as if you hadn’t been lying in it mere seconds ago.

The door to the attic swung open, violently ricochetting off the wall and with a loud ‘bang’. You flinched, a shaky breath escaping you as you turned your gaze towards the form of your stepmother, her piercing greyish-blue eyes staring intently at you as she entered. She held her head high, the permanent scowl on her features examining every little aspect of the small space with precision. Her eyes landed on the small wooden table beside your bed, narrowing on the melted candle with the wax spilling over the sides.

“You were reading again, weren’t you?” She growled, her lips pursing in annoyance. Fiddling with your hands in front of you, you shrugged your shoulders slightly. “It wasn’t all night, Lady Worthington, I swear-“

“Nonsense, I can see the candle clear as day girl!” She shouted, a look of disapproval forming on her features. You held her stare, a small sense of guilt settling in your stomach the longer your stepmother remained in the attic. With a long and annoyed huff, she brushed he black-greying hair from her shoulder, looking you up and down with a look of disgust. “Get yourself cleaned up, and once you’re done start with breakfast. My girls are hungry, we have a long day ahead of us” she ordered, gathering her deep purple skirts and storming out of the room.

Releasing a breath you weren’t aware you were holding, your shoulders slumped in relief. You looked down at yourself and sighed, Lady Worthington was right. The clothes you wore currently were nothing but rags, and your day clothes weren’t much better. They were either oversized or too small, but you made do with the worn black and white maids dresses you were given. After getting changed and tying your hair back with a small piece of ribbon, you quickly skipped downstairs and into the kitchen.

You could hear Lady Worthington and her daughters cackling manically in the dining room, discussing their plans for the day, and how excited they were to be invited to Lady Danbury’s ball. Lady Danbury’s ball was one of the highlights of the season, or…so you had heard anyway. It had been a long time since you had seen the dear woman, you believed the last time you held conversation with her was when you were but a child. Your father, just after the loss of your mother, had taken you to one of Lady Danbury’s balls after deciding that leaving you at home would have been unwise at this grief-stricken time.

You remembered the beautiful dresses, the beautiful debutants who smiled and waved at your curious gaze. The kind bachelors who greeted you with a dance. And a young boy, hiding behind his father’s legs, his eyes following you wherever you went. Lady Danbury had been most gracious, you remember. A close friend of your mothers, almost like an aunt to you. But when Lady Worthington came into the picture and had taken control of your father’s inheritance after his passing, you were practically forgotten and hidden away from the ton. A part of you missed it, though you weren’t envious of today’s debutants desperately seeking husbands. Lady Worthington was perhaps one of the most persistent mothers out there, aside from Lady Featherington you hear.

This would be the third season that your stepsisters, Elizabeth and Mary Worthington, would participate in. They very much enjoyed flaunting themselves before the ton, given the state of their rooms with delicate and luxurious dresses and jewellery thrown about. They did not hide their wealth, rather your father’s wealth, that their mother had inherited, and bought the fanciest dresses money could buy. It had almost worked one season, Colin Bridgerton had visited to call on Elizabeth. But upon seeing how lavishly she lived, and how horribly she had treated you upon her request for tea for the two of them, the third-eldest Bridgerton hadn’t called again.

She changed somewhat after that, you recalled. She didn’t find much enjoyment in gorgeous dresses or glittering diamonds. She didn’t speak much to you or her mother anymore either, but Mary was her confidant. Sometimes she would glance at you, a look of guilt on her face, but it briefly passed whenever her sister or mother made some snide comment about your presence.

Preparing breakfast was easily done. Keeping a portion for yourself on a separate plate, you carried the three other plates into the dining room with practiced ease. Mary squealed with delight, snatching one of the plates from your arm and almost knocking the others out of your grasp in the process. “Oh thank goodness, I’m starved!” she exclaimed, hastily digging in as if she hadn’t eaten in days. You handed a plate to Elizabeth, who seemed to nod slightly as you placed the plate before her. Lady Worthington however, merely sneered as you placed her plate on the table.

You excused yourself from the room and retreated into the kitchen, beginning to eat your portion of the remaining food whilst listening to their gossip quietly. They weren’t quiet by any means, though you supposed that it was in their nature to be loud and obnoxious.

“Mother, did you hear! I heard from Cressida that apparently Lord Bridgerton is looking for a wife this season!” Mary exclaimed, her words muffled likely by the food in her mouth. You heard Elizabeth sigh heavily “I won’t believe it until Lady Whisteldown writes about it-“

“Nonsense!” Lady Worthington cried, interrupting her daughter with a squeal, “If the rumour is true than we are going to take every advantage we can get. The two of you are going to do your damned best get his attention-“

“And what if we don’t, mother? What then?” Elizabeth spoke quietly, almost timidly. You heard Lady Worthington scoff “Oh, you will. We are going out as soon as possible to find you both new dresses for the ball tonight”.

“Oh mother, how exciting!” Mary cried, you could hear the chair scrape harshly against the wooden floorboards as she abruptly stood up from her seat, “We are going to be the most beautiful women at the Ball!”

“Y/N! Help my daughters get dressed! We will be heading out shortly, and make sure that the horses are prepared!” Lady Worthington shouted, the sound of her shrill cry causing a sense of panic to surge through you.

Coughing as you chocked on your food, you quickly wiped your mouth and fixed your skirts. “Yes, right away!” You called back, sighing heavily as you rushed back upstairs. Upon entering Mary’s room, your shoulders slumped in defeat. Clothes lay on almost every inch of the floor, dresses, undergarments, jewellery. This was going to be a tough morning.

Tag List:

@ladybirdbeetle7 @sweetsourpus @in-deans-arms @blackthorngirl @kee-0-kee

@sometimesminsan @prawntoastsworld @scoopsahoyspidey @darkness-falls-xo

@reallysparklychaos @hottie-bishop-belova @riptidewaters @jay-being-weird

@khhhhjj @golden-girasol @linnygirl09 @xoxonoire @stanmixtapes

@freyagallileaevans @gracielou0518 @judig92 @rafaaoli @queenslandlover-93

@esquivelbianca @fanfictioncafe @hjgdhghoe @sillynilly27

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #jonathan bailey

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ginnsbaker · 3 months

Text

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (16/17)

Part Summary: You and Leigh cling to each other, counting down the days until she leaves next year for Matt's book tour.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 5.300+ | Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strap-on usage (r receiving), oral (r receiving), sex in public | Author's note: Just R and Leigh being all over each other before we wrap up this series :)

Your internal clock kicks in at five in the morning, even though it feels like you and Leigh only just fell asleep, exhausted after hours of chasing each other to the brink and back. You’ve long since stopped counting the times you’ve brought each other over the edge, a relentless pursuit of pleasure that left both of you gasping, spent, yet craving more.

Was it possible to share an orgasm that stretched into what felt like hours? If so, how were you not just a tangle of bliss-wrecked limbs, dead to the world?

You vaguely remember a drowsy conversation as you were both drifting off, your sweaty bodies tangled in the sheets. You’d managed a murmured question about the future, about what happens when Leigh hits the road for the comic tour. But she’d just pressed a lazy, silencing kiss to the corner of your mouth. “What if tomorrow an asteroid hits Los Angeles?” she’d teased, nosing the length of your jaw, pressing a kiss here and there.

You tried to frown, your mind foggy with sleep. “Be serious,” you muttered.

“I am,” she whispered back, her lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I’m dead serious about sucking every drop of now, not wasting a second on what-ifs.”

You’re not entirely sure what happened next, only that when Leigh said the word suck, you felt a tingling sensation that surged down to your core. Before you knew it, you were on your back again, with Leigh skillfully coaxing out the final, shattering orgasm of the night from you.

Stretching your back, you hear a few satisfying pop, reminding you how sex with Leigh was nothing short of a workout, your muscles pleasantly sore from it. The first pale light finds Leigh beside you, her back turned, skin bare, and just a whisper of the sheets covering her. You realize you’ve monopolized the covers throughout the night.

You carefully pull the sheet over her, tucking it around her exposed shoulder. She’s still out, peaceful, her breathing even and deep. You can’t help but slide closer, wrapping an arm around her waist, her skin so soft and warm. You kiss the back of her neck lightly, her scent—a mix of sweet sweat and the faint floral of her shampoo—fills you up.

Soon enough, the gentle rhythm of Leigh's breathing lulls you back into sleep.

When you wake up again, hours later, the bed beside you is empty. The covers are tucked around you, forming a comforting cocoon, undoubtedly Leigh’s thoughtful doing.

There’s no rush to throw on clothes; you relish the comfort of the sheets against your bare skin as you slide out of bed. It's not your first time being in Leigh’s room, but the last time you were here, you barely made it a foot inside before being overtaken by the fight you were having. Last night was different. In the darkness, nothing mattered except Leigh’s cries of pleasure, the slick heat between her thighs, and the taste of her lips, completely consumed by the wonders of her body. With the slow start to your morning, you realize you now have all the time in the world to explore Leigh’s room.

Though, quite literally, there’s not much to unpack here.

In one corner near the windows, stacks of cardboard boxes are still wrapped in tape. They are remnants, you guess, of her life with Matt. Drifting over to Leigh’s desk, you notice a notebook sitting there, its pages shut tight. The temptation to peek is there, but you respect her privacy, leaving it untouched. Above the desk, a small shelf is lined with books—classics you recognize and, surprisingly, a few romance novels by Emily Henry. You're not usually into romance, but you make a mental note to check out this author on your next visit to a bookstore.

Exploring Leigh’s room reveals a charming minefield. Clothes are draped over chairs, pooled on the floor, or spilling from drawers. The dresser is a jumble of lotion bottles, perfume, earrings, and hair ties. It's all quintessentially Leigh—somewhat untamed. Your self-guided tour brings you inevitably back to the doorway. Just as you’re turning to give one last look over the room, the door bursts open. It's Jules, and the moment she sees you, her eyes widen in horror.

“Jesus, Y/N!” Jules shrieks, throwing her hands up to shield her eyes. “What the hell?”

Scrambling, you grab a throw pillow off Leigh’s bed and hold it in front of you. “Jules! I, uh, didn't think anyone would be coming in,” you stammer, cheeks heating up.

“Why are you naked in my sister's room?” Jules demands, her voice muffled by her hands, still covering her face. The question sounds ridiculous even to her ears—everyone knew you and Leigh had a date last night.

Of course, you're naked in her sister's bedroom the next morning. Where else?

“I—We were just—” Every explanation sounds more absurd as you try to find the words.

“Just—don't. Please, just get dressed,” Jules interrupts, still not looking at you.

Nodding, you quickly grab the first clothes you can find, not bothering to check if they’re yours or if they’re clean. Within seconds, you're awkwardly pulling on a white shirt featuring a pickle wearing aviators, captioned Dill With It, and squeezing into lime shorts that are definitely a bit too snug and short for your taste.

“I'm decent,” you announce, hoping your voice doesn’t betray how flustered you feel.

Right then, Leigh emerges from downstairs, looking bewildered by the commotion. “What’s going on?” she asks, eyes darting between her flustered sister and you in your bizarre outfit.

Jules lowers her hands slowly, peeking out with one eye before fully facing you. Her irritation is palpable as she glares at Leigh.

“You said I could borrow your charger from your bedroom!” Jules exclaims, her finger quivering slightly as she points it at her sister.

Leigh blinks, her lips twitching as she fights the urge to laugh. She sneaks a glance at you, your face now resembling a ripe tomato from embarrassment, and mutters almost absentmindedly, “I assumed she'd still be asleep.”

Jules huffs, “Whatever.” She strides over to Leigh's desk, grabbing the charger with a dramatic flourish. You stand frozen, barely breathing. As Jules heads for the door, she pauses, crinkling her nose as if a new thought has just occurred to her. She turns, eyes narrowed slightly in disgust.

“And open a window, would you? It smells like a brothel in here. Gross.” With that parting shot, she's gone.

Leigh lets out a breath and shakes her head. She steps closer and wraps her arms around you, her laughter bubbling up. “Well, that was something,” she says, coming over to wrap you in a hug. She gives your shirt a playful tug. “You kind of rock the pickle look, though.”

“It's a new trend,” you joke, pulling her a little closer. As you do, you lean in to kiss her cheek softly, whispering, “Good morning.”

Leigh smiles and leans in to kiss you on the lips, but you instinctively bring up your fingers to your mouth, mumbling, “I haven’t brushed yet.”

Unfazed, Leigh simply pries your fingers away and presses her lips firmly against yours. It's a quick but solid peck, leaving you both smiling.

“Morning breath doesn't scare me,” she murmurs, tracing a finger down your throat to your clavicle. “Besides, after last night, I think a little morning breath is nothing we can't handle.”

Grinning, you dive back in for another kiss, deeper this time, as Leigh starts steering you backward towards the bed. Just as the back of your knees hit the mattress, a rumble from your stomach interrupts the moment—loud, untimely, and embarrassingly intolerant.

Leigh chuckles, her forehead resting against yours as she catches her breath. “Guess that's my cue to feed you something other than kisses,” she says with a smirk, pulling back and offering her hand to help you up. “Come on, Jules made breakfast.”

Gratefully, you take her hand, letting her lead you out of the bedroom.

“Forget that research gig, I'm heading straight to America's Got Talent,” Suzie jokes, staggering back to the table after a spirited, if slightly wobbly, rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart. She's already half-drunk but radiates happiness, her performance having drawn cheers and hearty sing-alongs from the crowd at the karaoke bar.

She flops down in her chair, cheeks flushed and grinning, as your group erupts in cheers and claps. Tomorrow is Suzie's last day, and you had her pick the venue for her farewell party. Knowing how much she loves to sing during downtime at the clinic, a karaoke bar was an obvious choice.

“Here's to Suzie!” you shout, trying to be heard over the sound of a couple belting out a ballad on stage. “For the longest time, you've been the clinic's backbone and heartbeat. We never would've made it without you. You'll be terribly missed, but remember, our door is always open for you.”

The table erupts in cheers before everyone empties the glasses they're holding up. You drop back into your seat, feeling a little dizzy after that round. It's a small group—just you, Suzie, Foreman, Sara, and your maintenance guys, Joey and Mike.

Suzie suddenly leaps to her feet, glass raised high. “And a huge shout-out to the hottest boss I've ever had the pleasure of working ‘under’!” she yells, punctuating her words with a devious wink. Your team bursts into laughter, their uproar drawing whistles and applause from some folks at nearby tables. Sara chimes in with a spirited “Hear, hear!”, while Foreman simply rolls his eyes, a hint of envy in his expression—he's already made a pass at Sara and was swiftly rejected.

You wave your hands dismissively. “Alright, alright, let's not give everyone the wrong idea,” you say, your cheeks reddening a bit from both the attention and the alcohol. Just as you're about to retake your seat, feeling the room sway slightly with your tipsiness, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You fumble it out to see Leigh's name lighting up the screen. You’d texted her this morning inviting her to join the farewell, but her busy schedule had made her confirmation uncertain.

You excuse yourself and stumble slightly as you rise, steadying your hand on the back of your chair. Weaving through the tables, you find a quieter spot near the entrance of the bar to answer the call.

“Hey,” you say, pressing the phone to your ear, your voice dropping as you move away from all the ruckus. “Everything okay?”

“Hey,” Leigh's voice cuts in, a bit choppy and barely audible over the blaring speakers. “I'm outside of the... Brass Gibbon? Am I at the right place?”

You miss the last part of her sentence. “Sorry? Can you say that again?”

Strangely, you catch Leigh's deep sigh perfectly. “I said I'm outside,” she repeats.

“Oh! Hang on, I'm coming out.”

You dash out of the restaurant and spot Leigh leaning against the wall. You can’t help but rush over and wrap her in a tight bear hug. It’s only been two days since you woke up in her bed, but you’ve already missed seeing her, smelling her, feeling her in your arms.

She laughs and returns the hug. As she tries to pull away, you tighten your grip, holding her for a few more precious seconds. She relents with a soft chuckle, patting you lightly on the back. When you finally let go, her eyes roam fondly over your face, taking in your slightly flushed cheeks and dreamy stare. Seeing this, her smile only widens.

“Someone's had a few too many,” she teases.

You hiccup and try to defend yourself, “I’ve just had three—no, four!”

Leigh smirks and shakes her head. “Four, huh? Must've been some party,” she says, taking your hand. As Leigh leads you back toward the bar, you find yourself gazing down at your intertwined hands, a goofy grin spreading across your face. You giggle softly to yourself, slightly buzzed and thoroughly enchanted by the simple act of holding her hand.

Upon reaching your table, Suzie waves enthusiastically to get Leigh's attention. Leigh responds with a bright, “Hello, everyone!” as you both approach the group. There’s a moment where everyone looks expectantly at you, waiting for an introduction. Momentarily distracted by Leigh's presence, you get a nudge and a whisper from Suzie sitting next to you, “Introduce her, you goof!”

Quickly regaining your composure, you turn slightly, still holding Leigh’s hand. “Everyone, this is Leigh,” you announce, proud and slightly nervous. Everyone takes turns shaking her hand and introducing themselves. You watch anxiously as Sara stands up to greet Leigh, but Leigh's smile never fades, and a wave of calm washes over you as you observe your team warmly interacting with your—

“Is she your girlfriend?” Foreman asks overtly. The room goes quiet. Everyone's eyes swing between you and Leigh, waiting.

You're stuck, words lodged somewhere in your chest, not sure what to say or how to say it.

And then Leigh beats you to it.

“Yes.”

You blink, staring at Leigh, flooded with relief and suddenly feeling very, very horny. When Leigh notices your dazed look, her face switches to concern. “You okay?” she asks. Before you can answer, she’s already grabbing your hand, turning to everyone, “Excuse us, Y/N's not feeling great.”

You're still reeling from her bold affirmation and too captivated by Leigh to piece together a coherent thought. The next thing you know, you're being guided—rather roughly—into one of the bathroom stalls, your back pressed against the door as Leigh locks it behind you.

Leigh leans in close, her breath hot against your ear. “You shouldn't be wearing your white doctor's coat out like this,” she murmurs.

You open your mouth to explain—it was chilly, and beneath the coat, all you had on was a skimpy black strappy dress. But as Leigh slides the coat from your shoulders, her lips find your earlobe, gently nibbling. The words die in your throat, replaced by a sharp intake of breath. Leigh pushes you harder against the door, her body pinning yours with surprising force. That's when you feel it—the unmistakable hardness of a strap beneath her pants. A deep, needy moan spills from you as she starts grinding against you.

How did you miss the pronounced bulge in the tight jeans she wore to meet everyone? Was this part of her plan? The nerve of it—meeting everyone, introducing herself so confidently and casually, all while planning to take you here, in a public bathroom. It's almost as if she was silently bragging to your team, “Yeah, I’m about to fuck your boss in a public bathroom. Nice to meet you.”

The thought alone makes you soak your panties. Despite the thrill, the risk of getting caught in public makes you hesitate. “Leigh, they’re waiting for us,” you protest weakly.

Leigh just grins against your skin. “But I'm not done making you feel better,” she whispers slowly, making you clench your thighs together from how hoarse her voice has gotten. Her hands are deft as she bunches your dress around your waist and begins to unzip her pants. All the while, she deposits open-mouthed kisses along your neck, leaving a trail of saliva in their wake.

“Leigh…” you whine, unsure if you're trying to make her stop or urging her on out of impatience. She just smirks, that knowing look in her eyes telling you she’s got you right where she wants you. Before you can protest again, she pulls you into a deep, toe-curling kiss that melts your doubts away.

Then, you see it. Leigh pulls out a seven-inch strap-on, its girth substantial. Her hand barely fits around it as she spits into her palm and coats the silicone with deliberate strokes, preparing it.

You're teetering on the edge, mind spinning, when Leigh switches things up on you. Suddenly, she’s on her knees, and before you know what’s happening, she’s tugged your panties down. You’re about to react when her tongue hits you, slick and warm, tracing up your pussy.

“Oh my god!” you cry out.

Leigh’s tongue works magic, and she hums against you. “You taste sweeter every time,” she murmurs, just before her tongue dives back in for more. You can only moan in response, words failing you completely as pleasure builds. Just when you’re about to peak, Leigh pulls away, leaving you hanging on the brink. She stands quickly, grabs the strap-on, and steps closer. Her grin is wicked as she rubs the toy against your slick folds, coating it with your arousal. When the thick head nudges your clit, you can’t help but curse out loud.

“Leigh! Fuck!”

Leigh clamps a hand over your mouth, her eyes widening slightly as she hears someone enter the bathroom. She gives you a quick, commanding look, silently instructing you to wrap your legs around her. As you comply, the toy squeezes tighter in your folds, making you shudder.

“Put your arms around my shoulders, hold tight,” she murmurs, breathless from the effort she’s exerting to hold you up. She guides the tip of the cock to your entrance. “Ready?” she asks softly. You nod, pressing your face into the crook of her neck to drown out any sounds. Without another word, Leigh thrusts into you in one swift motion. The size is a shock, and you bite down on her neck to stifle a cry, the slight pain mingling with deep pleasure. Sensing your need to adjust, Leigh holds back, her body taut yet patient, giving you a moment. Once you give a slight nod against her neck, Leigh starts moving again, slowly at first.

She continues thrusting into you, speeding up just a little, her lips just inches from your ear. “I've been thinking about this, fucking you like this,” she whispers.

Dumb with pleasure, you gasp out, “H-Here?”

“Not here, silly,” she breathes out, her rhythm faltering slightly as a particular thrust grazes her clit just right. The strap-on drags tantalizingly against your walls as she pulls out, then sinks back in deep, hitting spots that light you up from the inside. Leigh’s fucking you like the strap is a true extension of hers. For a second there, you wish it were.

“Ideally, I'd have you in your bed, where you can scream your l-lungs out,” Leigh whimpers as her movements grow more and more out of control. She drives into you relentlessly, each stroke making you slicker, drawing moans from deep within you. “S-Seeing you tonight... I couldn’t w-wait.”

You've never been so wet, so ready, and every time she pulls back, you feel the absence of her deeply, desperately not wanting this to end.

Leigh changes her approach, drawing back slowly until only the head of her cock remains inside you, before surging forward, slamming into you. Each powerful thrust pins you harder against the door, the sound of your bodies smacking together rocking you into a lust-filled haze. The sheer strength of her movements turns you on even more, making you more slippery, and soon you can practically hear the sound of her fucking you—wet, squelching noises that you're sure anyone nearby can hear.

True enough, you catch the sound of hurried footsteps and the door slamming shut as someone rushes out, likely realizing what's happening.

With the coast clear, she carefully lowers your legs from her waist, sensing that you’re close but knowing you need more. Just when you think you might lose it, she suddenly pulls out. You barely have time to gasp, ready to curse her for stopping, when she swiftly turns you around and positions you over the toilet, making you brace yourself on the seat.

Without warning, she enters you from behind, the angle allowing her to go deeper. Leigh drags your dress further up your body, her hands roaming over your smooth back before digging into your hips. Your breathing becomes shallower as she continues her unforgiving pace, but you crave more.

Sensing your need, Leigh sneaks a hand in front of you, her fingers finding your swollen clit. She circles it tightly with three fingers, massaging the engorged nub. “Look how big it's grown,” she whispers huskily in your ear. “You're so ready. Practically dripping everywhere.”

You whimper helplessly, tears forming behind your eyelids from the amount of pleasure you’re receiving.

“I wish I could come in you, fill you up.”

That does it. Your body tenses, and a powerful orgasm crashes over you, making you cry out. Leigh tries to hold you up, supporting your weight as you lose all sensation in your legs.

“Fuck, Leigh!" you moan, trembling. “That was... oh god…”

Leigh doesn't stop, her own need for release driving her forward. Despite your pleas about how sensitive you are, she continues relentlessly, her fingers expertly working your clit again. “Leigh, please,” you whimper, your body overstimulated and trembling. “I can’t—”

“Just one more, baby,” she groans. “I-I’m close.”

At Leigh’s plea, your body, still reeling from the first orgasm, starts building up again. “Oh god, Leigh,” you gasp, feeling the pressure mount once more, your body trembling uncontrollably. Within seconds, you're hurtling toward another peak, your legs shaking as she drives you over the edge. A second, even more intense orgasm rips through you, your cries echoing in the small stall. Leigh finally lets out a low, guttural moan, her own release hitting as she keeps you bent over, her fingers never stopping their assault on your clit until every last wave of pleasure has wracked your body.

Shortly thereafter, Leigh finally slows, her thrusts easing until she stops completely, still buried deep inside you. She pinches your ass appreciatively, then tests how sensitive you are with a small thrust that has you hissing. She chuckles at your reaction, taking pity on you. Bending over, she kisses your cheek and whispers, “I'm gonna pull out now, okay?”

You nod weakly, still catching your breath. Leigh begins to withdraw slowly, her eyes fixed on the junction of your bodies. She watches, fascinated, as she draws back, the wet tendrils stretching and finally snapping from your pussy to her cock.

“Look at you,” she murmurs in awe, half to herself, as she finally frees herself completely and tucks the strap back inside her pants.

“Are you okay?” she asks, noticing you’ve been in the same position longer than usual.

“Yeah, just give me a minute... or five,” you reply with a breathless laugh.

She laughs softly too, then helps you pull your panties up from your ankles. Once you're somewhat decent, she sits on the toilet lid and pulls you into her lap, resting her forehead on your chest, eyes closed, her breath steady on your sternum. You weave your fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp gently. Leigh sighs contentedly, but then her voice turns apologetic.

“I'm sorry for… I literally lost control. It's just... I keep seeing you and thinking of February, when I have to go and I—”

“I know what you mean,” you interrupt softly, tilting her head towards you with fingers under her chin. “I don't want to waste a single moment.”

Leigh nods, then quickly buries her face in your chest to hide her watery eyes, her head nestled comfortably against your breast.

For a while, you just hold each other without saying anything, content even in the cramped space of the stall. After a while, you gently suggest, “We should get back. Don’t want to give the staff any ideas.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Leigh says, lifting her head to meet your eyes.

She helps you to your feet, both of you adjusting your clothes, sharing a quiet, knowing smile. With one last kiss, you step out of the stall together.

When you and Leigh return to the group, it's clear they're more inebriated than when you left. Except Suzie. The smirk that spreads across her face as soon as she sees you gives away that she's pieced together what happened between you and Leigh. Your cheeks flush immediately, providing Suzie all the confirmation she needs. Without missing a beat, she guides you both back to the booth and strategically sits between you and Leigh, still smirking.

“Thanks for coming, Leigh,” Suzie says, offering Leigh a beer.

Leigh accepts the drink, taking a large gulp before saying, “Sorry for crashing your party.”

“No, you’re not,” Suzie says with an impish grin. “I told Y/N to invite you. I wanted to meet you properly before I go.”

“Oh?” Leigh looks up from her drink. “Why’s that?”

“Suzie—” you try to interject.

Suzie holds up a finger to shush you. Leigh's eyebrow arches at the gesture, clearly feeling provoked by your former receptionist's antics. You tense up for a moment, worried Suzie might say something offensive to Leigh.

Instead, she grins and says, “I wanted to meet the reason my boss stares into space half the time.”

You shoot Suzie a deathly glare, but she just laughs.

“Really?” Leigh asks, amused. “That bad, huh?”

Suzie nods, enjoying every second. “Oh, yeah. It’s been fun watching her daydream.”

The rest of the group laughs and then Foreman accidentally spills his drink down his shirt, drawing everyone’s attention. Taking advantage of the distraction, Suzie leans in closer to Leigh, her expression becoming earnest.

“I might not be Y/N’s best friend,” she tells her, “but consider this a friendly warning from someone who cares about her just as much. Don’t break her heart, okay?”

Leigh meets her gaze head on and says, “I don’t plan on it.”

“Good,” Suzie says, rising from her seat. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to kick off the second set of my concert tonight.”

Leigh doesn’t mention Suzie’s little warning to you, choosing to keep it to herself. Yet, as she spends more time with you, those words linger in the back of her mind, subtly coloring her perceptions and the way she observes your interactions. It’s not something she dwells on openly, but it’s there, quietly guiding her along the way.

You don’t tell Leigh how she’s been everything you could ever ask for these past few weeks, but you've noticed. You see her thoughtfulness in the small things—like how she always brings you your favorite coffee just the way you like it, or the way she listens, really listens, giving you her undivided attention when you talk about your day, no matter how trivial the details. And it's clear she's not holding back; she's refreshingly candid. Leigh shares everything that's on her mind, effortlessly expressing how your words or actions impact her, for better or worse—a true companionship.

The sex gradually tapered off, but your longing for Leigh has only grown—not just in a sexual sense. You miss her in the mornings when she's makeup-free, leaving a small mark of drool on your pillow. During the day, you wish you could grab lunch with her or talk about the new book you spotted in a shop window, especially after deep discussions about its author. You long to share every detail of your day with her, to hear her take on the little things, to see her in your dreams.

Simply put, you find yourself wanting her around all the time.

It's risky to find yourself wanting her even more than you already do, but you've long since surrendered control over your own heart. It feels like being a prisoner on death row, helplessly waiting for the inevitable moment she leaves LA for her tour.

One evening, Leigh surprises you with a picnic dinner at the park. She finds the perfect spot under a massive oak tree and lays down a cozy blanket. From her basket, she pulls out a homemade lasagna that’s still warm and a grazing box loaded with your favorite cheeses and cold cuts.

As you settle down, Leigh pulls out a bottle of wine and two glasses. She winks, assuring you she definitely got permission to take it from her mom’s cellar.

You smile, watching her pour the wine. “So.. what’s the occasion?”

Leigh shrugs as she hands you a glass of wine, her smile easy. “I just wanted to do something nice for you,” she says simply.

You take a sip, enjoying the flavor, but there’s a nagging feeling you just can’t seem to shake off.

“You've been going all out for me lately,” you quip, keeping your tone light. “What's this really about?”

Leigh’s smile fades just a touch, though her eyes remain hopeful. She takes a deep breath.

“I spoke with Matt's publisher,” she starts cautiously. “I’ve officially agreed to go on the tour. They've sorted out all the details—the itinerary, the places, everything.”

The news doesn't surprise you. You've been expecting this; neither you nor Leigh can keep avoiding the inevitable, hiding behind the rush of desire you have for each other, the comfortable days that are, you both know, numbered.

You fall silent for a while, simply lying down with your head in Leigh's lap. She seems taken aback at first, but quickly adjusts to make you more comfortable. You look up at her, smiling, finding her face and the night sky an unbelievably stunning match.

Leigh gives you a funny look, her brow furrowing slightly. “Did you hear what I said?” she asks.

“Yeah, I heard you,” you mumble, still distracted by her face. Then, as an afterthought, you whisper, “You were always going to go.”

She nods, looking upward, her eyes glistening as she tries to blink back tears.

“Are you going alone?” you ask.

Leigh takes a moment, then shakes her head slightly. “Danny might come too,” she admits. “But with his new job in Vegas, I doubt he’ll be able to.”

As you absorb her words, you realize why you asked. Maybe part of you had sensed it, maybe you needed the confirmation. Regardless, you know you have no say in the matter. If Danny is there, at least someone can look out for Leigh.

You hadn't noticed you'd voiced your thoughts about Danny possibly joining her until Leigh says, “I can handle myself just fine, you know.”

“Of course, you can,” you reply quickly, “but that won’t stop me from worrying.”

She gives you a soft smile and starts toying with your hair, gently pulling strands and braiding them. The slight tugs as she twists your hair into braids lull you into an almost sleepy state. You're drifting on the edge of dozing off when her voice, soft and tender, pulls you back.

“I love you.”

Your eyes snap open. Leigh’s refrained from saying it during sex, and not that you’ve been counting, but it’s the third time. It takes you a few seconds to process, your heart catching up with your mind, and then you notice Leigh's amused smile.

“I love you, too,” you whisper back. You can sense that your statement simultaneously makes her both happy and sad. You wish you could make it all joy, all the time.

But that’s not how life works.

Leigh bends down, her lips brushing softly against yours before she pulls away, her breath warm on your face. “Do you think this would be easier if we hadn't said those three words to each other?” she whispers, her eyes searching yours for an answer.

You sigh, mulling over her question. “I honestly don't know,” you say, voice soft but certain. “But I couldn’t have kept it to myself, not with how I feel about you. All I know is I love you, whether you’re leaving or staying.”

Leigh's eyes well up again, but this time she lets the tears fall. She leans in, her forehead resting against yours. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

“For what?” you ask curiously, sitting up.

Leigh wipes her tear with a dainty finger, then traces the line of your jaw before pecking you on the lips.

“For being you,” she whispers. “And for showing me that life can go on in any number of ways.”

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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earthtooz · 1 year

Text

x : AVOIDANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: falling for blade was not on your agenda, so naturally you decide to distance yourself. however, the last thing you'd predicted was blade being upset with the sudden space.

warnings: 2.3k wc, FLUFF, ooc!blade probably bc i'm still trying to figure it out, kafka meddles with the two of you, gn!stellaron hunter!reader who has a past lol, NOT PROOFREAD, idiots in love bc i love that trope, bad writing

a/n: thank you to the anon who gave me this idea :D much appreciated, i had a lot of fun with this one when my angstier fics were draining me af. i hope you enjoy, apologies if it's a little low quality, but it's my child <3

when you first joined the team of stellaron hunters, you didn’t expect to get much out of it, especially since the team looked so cold, calculating, mischievous, and unforgiving, greeting you with vicious smiles and muddy eyes. preemptively, you assumed the most you would receive is acquaintanceship.

however, time has proven you wrong, because on the contrary, you have found comfort, friendship, and stability in the form of this mismatched group.

you never expected to find love either.

but you did, and it might be the worst decision your heart has ever made.

“y/n, there you are. kafka and i are thinking about going out to lunch. want to join?” silver wolf’s voice interrupts your train of thought, disrupting your peace in your private spot amongst the gardens.

“oh, hi silver wolf,” you murmur, shutting your book after shoving in a bookmark. “who else is going?”

“kafka asked blade and he agreed.”

the genius hacker doesn’t notice the way you tense upon hearing a certain swordman’s name. instead, you play it cool by opening up your book again, scanning the pages in hopes of ignoring the racing of your heart.

“i think i’ll pass on this one. thank you though,” you mutter.

“really?” the silver-haired asks, popping her gum before shrugging. “whatever you say. i’m off!”

“bye!”

hearing her footsteps fade, you slump in your seat, your memories with blade hauntingly eminent in your mind. you don’t recall when you fell for him, or why exactly, all you have in your recollection is a series of moments that you look back fondly upon with a full heart, love slowly seeping in to you and causing your affections to grow to the size that they reside at now.

when you had realised, the love had already grown too big to deflate, and dejection struck moments after; a big bang of butterflies in your stomach that all disintegrated straight after.

how brutal- perhaps this was an indication that blade was rubbing off on you too much, and you need to cleanse yourself of his influence.

love, although fickle, was not something that you avidly rejected. despite having lived like a hunted deer, your experiences have been fleeting, building your delicate heart for a life of meeting, falling, then leaving when you least wanted to, needing to run before an arrow pierced you- and certainly not cupid’s one.

but with blade, everything is different. there is no arrow to run from, not in the life that elio has foreseen for you. for the first time in your life, you can stop running away and try fall into the arms of love with little remorse.

it's just ironic that you fall into the arms of a man who should not be touched.

“y/n’s not coming with us today,” silver wolf reports after meeting up with the other two stellaron hunters.

“oh?” kafka hums, “usually y/n’s always willing to hangout, why’s that?”

“busy or something, i don’t know, i didn’t care to ask.”

the slight scrunch of displeasure in blade’s expression passes by the keen eyes of both kafka and silver wolf. if either of them had noticed then perhaps it would have been a topic of interest, but for the time being, the pair move on (faster than the third member), your unusual absence dismissed in favour of where to get food.

as the days turn into nights and elio issues more missions and mumbles more futures, blade feels as though he sees you less and less.

it’s not intuition more than it is you purposefully ignoring and evading blade in your everyday, though.

“good morning,” kafka’s voice greets when she walks in to the cafeteria, where you were eating breakfast alone. setting down your phone, you regard her with a mouth full of bread. “gross. at least swallow first.”

“screw off,” you murmur. “how did you sleep?”

“fine fine, i woke up in the wrong position though and my neck is killing me, but what about you? seems like you’ve been up a while.”

“i’ve been up since asscrack of dawn.”

the purple-haired regards you with amusement. “why’s that?”

“body clock or whatever,” you lie, staring down at your glass of water.

“i see,” kafka hums half-heartedly, as if seeing right through you. “well, i’m going to get some coffee, i’ll be right back.”

“mk.”

you’re left on your own for only a few minutes, waiting patiently in silence for kafka to return. the morning is cool and pleasant, and the smell of rain is still heavy in the air as the morning dew lightens the atmosphere. the weather will surely get hotter as the day matures, but for now, you enjoy the gentle caress of sunlight on your back.

or rather- you were enjoying the gentle caress of the sun, but the methodicalness of it all is ruined when you spot a certain figure with dark, long hair beside kafka.

suddenly the last thing you know is peace and calm, and the abrupt, painful scraping of your chair against the floor symbolises that.

“going somewhere?” kafka asks.

picking up your scraps, you avoid blade’s gaze. “yeah! i- uh, realised that i have some documents to drop off for elio by twelve or whatever.”

“won't you stay to keep us company for breakfast,” the purple-haired tempts, “it feels like it’s been so long since we’ve spent some proper time together.”

“has it?” you laugh nervously and kafka easily picks up the pitchiness of your tone. “i’ll make it up soon, i promise, i’ve just been overflowed with things to do.”

“alright. you be off then. don’t work too hard.”

“i won’t. my head is remaining tight on my shoulders, don’t you worry!” you reassure before scrambling away, feeling like your legs could not be any slower as you retreat away from blade’s scrutinising gaze. when you round the corner, you sigh a breath of relief.

it’s laughable and simultaneously admirable how dedicated you are about dodging every interaction possible, but for the record, you think you’re doing quite well. not that space was doing many favours for your heart, but persistence is key.

whoever believed that distance makes the heart grow fonder just clearly didn’t try enough, because yours feels like it’s about to hammer out of your chest with how fast it is racing, and the sensation is equivalent to something like pain rather than fondness.

“i’m worried,” blade mutters, gaze lingering on where you’d just disappeared. “and why does y/n talk like i’m not right here?”

“aww, are you upset?” coos kafka, taking a seat. the swordsman mimics her.

“why wouldn’t i be? it feels like y/n has been ignoring me as of late.”

kafka hums thoughtfully, swirling her coffee cup around.

“do you know anything about that?”

“nup. nothing at all,” she answers, feigning ignorance to the many suspicions that are bubbling around in her mind. the last thing kafka is, is blind, your unusual behaviour has not bypassed her perceptive eye at all, but she believes she has uncovered the reasoning as to why; said reasoning being a certain swordsman.

the revelation is definitely interesting, and she might just be able to give the push you both need.

“y’know what, bladie? if it concerns you that much, i’d say you go check up on y/n later,” kafka suggests.

“why not you?”

“i’ll be busy, but i think some support in dire times is just what y/n needs.”

“okay. fine.”

when blade gathers the courage to check up on you, like kafka recommended, the time is nearing 5pm. the sun is beginning to cool, the animals are retreating into their nests, and the big, bad, intimidating stellaron hunter is roaming around the archives, where you’re situated to work, hoping to locate you.

it takes a few laps around to finally find your placement because you’re fast asleep, only identifiable to blade by the jacket you hung on the back of your chair.

the sight of you hunched over your desk over a multitude of forms and papers causes a wave of concern (however much he can feel) to wash over blade, and suddenly, he does something completely foreign to him: dote over someone.

gently lifting your jacket to cover your shoulders, he stills when you shift a little, your eyebrows furrowing in your sleep. deciding to leave you alone, all blade spares is one lasting look at your vulnerability before leaving.

he wonders what it is that could be making you so frustrated.

(if only he knew).

a few days later, kafka confronts you about the suspicions that’s been creeping to the forefront of her mind.

“did you do something to piss a certain bladie off?”

kafka’s saccharine voice is laced with mischief as she leans towards you, chin resting on the palm of her hand. she certainly does not miss the way you tense up at the mention of the swordsman’s name and her smirk widens when you shuffle away, subconsciously turning away, as if avoiding the subject.

“i can’t think of why i would have,” you murmur, crossing your arms. “why?”

“oh, nothing, he’s just been complaining and crying a lot recently.”

“he does that all the time.”

“so he does,” your fellow stellaron hunter hums. “except he’s mentioning your name a lot more nowadays.”

you freeze. “what?”

“hm? did i say something peculiar?”

inhaling a deep breath, you steady yourself. you know what kafka wants out of you and you’re not going to give it to her despite how innocent and pretty she spins the web to look. after all these years together, you hope to have learnt a thing or two about how to avoid her snare.

“what is blade saying about me?” you quiz.

she blinks at you. “why so curious if you haven’t done anything?”

“can i not ask about something that involves my name? besides, he’s my friend, i want to know what he’s saying,” you lean against the back of the couch, trying to calm the involuntary shake in your legs. you despise that the slightest mention of blade can cause a bottomless pit to form in your stomach and it’s not because of how intimidating or threatening he is.

no, it’s because you’ve fallen for him, hook, line, and centre.

and blade would have to die before you ever tell him.

“mostly just grumbles about wondering where you are,” kafka expands, waving her hands about to match her words. “he asked silver wolf and i if you’ve been talking to us and when we said ‘yes’, he looked pissed! when i asked why he was being a sourpuss, he just stormed off.”

“so temperamental, that man,” she sighs. then, she looks back at you with those half-lidded eyes that have always gotten her what she wants, and in this case, they’re answers. “so tell me, y/n, what did you do to our bladie to have him all riled up like this?”

“nothing. absolutely nothing.”

“are you sure?”

“positive.”

“positive?”

you avoid her curious gaze. “positive.”

“maybe i phrased the question wrong. has bladie done something to you instead?”

panic settles within you. “no,” you lie through your teeth. “he hasn’t.”

“so if i asked you why you left breakfast so abruptly that day, you wouldn’t say that it’s because of him?”

“i had work to do, kafka, you know how busy my job gets.”

“i know, i know,” she persists, “then why weren’t you in a hurry before blade arrived that morning?”

you don’t know how to refute that, letting silence speak volumes instead.

“and why did you skip out on lunch with silver wolf and i? was it because we also invited a certain someone?”

“okay! fine, you’ve got me. what do you want to know?” you explode, tossing your phone on the couch in frustration.

“so it is about blade?” questions your coworker.

“yeah. it is.”

“what about him? did he do something to hurt you? you know he’s accidentally mean sometimes-”

“it’s not that, he’s nothing but a sweetheart.”

“so what’s the problem?”

“that is the problem! he’s just… he’s him.”

“is that bad?”

“for my heart, yes.”

“oh my- so you like him?”

you exhale exasperatedly, “don’t act like you haven’t already figured that out, kafka.”

the cheshire smile she then flashes sends shivers down your spine. for whatever reason, an oppressive feeling grows in your gut, resembling something like a warning.

“you’re right, i knew,” she flaunts. then, her gaze cuts to look behind you. “but i don’t think blade did.”

your heart lurches out of your chest with enough force to pull you off the couch and you stumble around to see that, lo and behold, blade was indeed standing in the hallway. the expression he wears tells you enough; he heard you, he knows.

kafka somehow sneaks her way out of the room, leaving you alone to deal with the face of rejection. it’s daunting being in the same space as him after so long, you almost forgot about the intimidating pressure that blade naturally exudes and projects in every space he enters.

“hi,” you start, looking away.

he stalks over to you, footsteps soundless before stopping a feet in front of you. instead of saying something, the swordsman merely gazes down at you whilst you keep your eyes glued to the side.

“can you reject me already? the silence is kinda killing me,” you snap after a few seconds, crossing your arms protectively.

instead of obeying to your request, blade does something completely unexpected; he very gently lifts your chin with his hand, and red eyes bore right into yours. is it odd to feel seen in your demise? because blade is looking- no, surveying you with such immense focus and clarity that your heart stills, frozen in position because it wants him to see the most picturesque part of you.

(he sees it, but he wants to know more of you. the pretty, the ugly, the likeable, and the unwanted.)

“would you like to go on a date?” he asks.

#this was awful </3 #blade x reader #blade hsr x reader #ren x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x gn!reader #blade x gn!reader #blade fluff #blade x reader fluff

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sttoru · 7 months

Text

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 '𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐒, CHAPTER I: you finish your last lecture of the day and head to get dinner before returning to your dormitories. you stumble upon an injured figure on your way home, laying in a dimly lit alley. despite the fear in your heart, you decide to reach out towards the unknown man in need of help.

wc. 3.7k

tags. assassin!toji x female reader. sfw; fluff-ish, angst. reader's best friend oc appearance (yona). mentions of murder, blood, knives, anxiety. general warnings for all parts of the series: size difference. age gap (reader early 20's, toji early 30's).

ten seconds. you shut down your laptop and close it. nine seconds. you put your laptop in your tote bag. eight seconds. you close your books and do the same. seven seconds. you put your coat on. six seconds. you check your phone for any messages.

five seconds. you’re thinking about what to eat once you arrive home. four seconds. you decide on a pack of noodles. three seconds. you realise that you’ve ran out of them. two seconds. you make up your mind to go to your local supermarket. one second. you stand up from your seat.

“..that’s all, students. have a nice day and i’ll see you at our next lecture.”

a sigh of relief escapes your lips. you’re finally freed from the shackles of your statistics class. not like you’ve paid much attention to what your professor had been yapping about anyway. it was too boring. the daydreaming you did about your potential future boyfriend and all the cheesy romantic stuff you’d do together was all the more important.

“earth to my best friend,” your friend’s voice snaps you back into reality. you look to your side and find yourself apologising for not hearing her the first time. yona chuckles and waves her hand dismissively.

“i asked if you had any plans after the lecture,” she continues whilst scrolling through her phone. you take a peek at her screen and notice that she’s already looking up available restaurants in the area.

you’re grateful that she’s looking out for you in her own way, but you’ve already made up your mind. a pack of your favorite ramen noodles will fill you for tonight. you’re low on cash this month anyway. a fancy restaurant would have you surviving on water for the rest of the week.

“ah, i actually do. gotta go grocery shopping ‘n stuff,” you pout apologetically before buttoning up your coat. yona nods in understanding, knowing the struggles of being a college student.

“aww, all right. we’ll go next time then,” she replies with a smile.

you walk out of the building with your friend by your side, chatting about how boring the lecture was. of course, you also learn all about the recent gossip around campus. yona is practically your plug for that.

“did you hear about that one girl that allowed her boyfriend to stay with her in her dorm room for a whole month and then got snitched on by her roommate?” yona snickers, not caring if anyone around you could hear the gossip.

you raise an eyebrow in surprise. your university has strict rules about guests staying over in the dormitories. they can spend a day or two, but you’d have to sign them in. plus the resident assistants usually check the rooms for any unusual activity every other week.

to hear someone had gotten away for a whole month is quite a surprise.

“he could’ve stayed for longer if it wasn’t for the roommate snitching,” yona continues and rolls her eyes. she takes a quick snack from her bag and bites into it.

you shake your head and shrug, making sure you don’t trip and fall down the stairs whilst you’re talking, “guess the roommate got enough of the random man in their room. i mean—they pay for that room as well. not like the girl is the only one living there.”

yona nods and turns a right. you follow, your eyes scanning the busy hallways. some students are rushing between the crowd to catch their train and others are making their way to their next two hour lecture. those poor souls.

“mhm. i wouldn’t wanna live with a man i don’t know either,” yona eventually adds after swallowing the last bite of her snack, “let alone for a whole month.”

she throws the wrapper in a nearby garbage can—which is overly full already. talk about a ‘hygienic’ school.

“right,” you shiver as the thought gets put into your head. a random man living with you. . . sounds like a nightmare. you’ve heard enough stories about how dirty they can be. in both the physical and mental aspects.

after some walking - and getting annoyed by random people who block your way due to how slow they’re moving - you reach the exit of the building. yona stretches her arms and grabs her phone before turning to you.

“anyway, see you later, hun!” she enthusiastically gives you a hug. you return the affectionate gesture with a gentle smile, rubbing her back. you exchange your last words before both going your own ways.

music plays in your ears as you walk down the street. the wind blows against your face. it’s a cold day. you wouldn’t be surprised if it were to rain in a bit.

‘gotta be fast’, you think. you are not carrying an umbrella with you, so you’d have to hurry back with your groceries. your legs pick up their pace and pass all traffic as fast as they can.

it takes you quite a while to get to your destination. that’s the drawback of living in such a packed city like tokyo. there is no way to move, especially in the evening, when everyone is returning home.

you reach a crosswalk and wait for the light to turn blue. whilst you’re waiting next to a bunch of people, your eyes wander across the scenery. from the huge billboards to your right to the multiple cars to your left.

your gaze stops at one specific billboard. it’s playing some of the latest news. a recent incident had taken place just a few kilometres north from your university. three people had been found cruelly murdered in their apartments.

the definite cause of their deaths is still unknown. there wasn’t any sign of a forced entry, even when reports say that all three victims had been killed in the same way.

they speculate that the person involved must have been quite skilled—someone who’s done this multiple times before. there are absolutely zero traces of them left neither. the only reason they’re able to conclude that it is indeed a homicide, are the similar wounds left on the victims’ bodies.

another comment from the investigation team shows that there might be a survivor who’s escaped the cold blooded killer. that person is now considered missing.

the police are still thoroughly investigating the matter; that’s all you get to know before the news reporter moves on to the next subject.

you look down at your shoes. such scary stuff does make you afraid. you’re living on your own after all. you’d be less scared if you had a roommate, but you currently don’t.

some call you lucky for that since it’s a rare occurrence, yet you still wish you had someone living with you. that would make walking back home at night less stressful.

the increase of footsteps around you makes you realise that the light turned blue—a sign for you to cross the street. you eventually reach the other side. you tilt your head back, anxiously staring at the sky.

‘please don’t, please don’t, please don’t,’ you chant in your head. like the weather is going to listen to your desperate pleas. you rush inside of the supermarket.

you’ve been here often enough to know which products are in what aisle. you scurry over to the ramen, grabbing two packs. you get a few snacks along the way. unhealthy crap, that’s what you’re surviving on.

you stand in line at the cashier. you tap your shoe and bite your lip, your gaze fixated on the sky outside. you beg god to give you just a few more minutes. a few more minutes of drought.

you check your phone and go through your recent notifications to kill time. you swipe left on almost all of them—none being time sensitive or urgent anyway.

you greet the cashier politely once it’s your turn and allow him to scan your products for you. you await for him to announce your total before handing him your debit card. your eyes flicker over to the television hanging right behind the cashier’s head.

that gruesome news again. twice in a row. you shiver and try not to think about it. your mind is already overthinking the entire thing; what if you’re next?

well, that should be the least of your worries. you grab the plastic bag and walk to the exit of the supermarket, taking a deep breath. what you actually should be worried about is getting home dry.

“just my luck,” you mutter under your breath. your prayers are left unanswered as the first few drops of rain fall on your head. you kiss your teeth in annoyance.

you can’t help but silently agree as a couple walks past you, complaining about the sudden change of weather. you watch as a few more people rush past you with their bags above their head.

looking at the bright side of things, you won’t be the only one who’s running home with a bag as a shield against the rain and wind.

you take a deep breath again and mentally prepare yourself for the quick journey you’re going to make. you look to the left and then the right. when the coast is clear, you dash into the direction of your dormitory.

the rain is not letting up. you rush past a few people, those carrying umbrellas walking the slowest of them all. ‘damn them’, you think, ‘they have it the easiest right now.’

you turn a corner and nearly bump into a woman. you politely apologise before continuing your little run home. damp droplets run down your forehead. the rain is already starting to block your vision.

you tightly hug your tote bag to your chest with one arm. the last thing you want is for your laptop to get water damage. you’ve wasted tons of money on that thing to help you get through college.

you look down at the plastic bag with your food. that’ll survive. at least you think it will.

you squint. the rain is only getting worse and thus your blurry vision will as well. you try blinking the water away, but end up making it worse for yourself.

great.

your shoes are going through it. the deep puddles you’ve run through leave the material moist and you can already feel the droplets seep into your socks.

greaaat.

you turn a left. this narrow street is one you hate to be near when it’s dark. it’s a fast shortcut, but also a scary one since it’s isolated from the bustling main streets.

you think back to the cruel news you’ve heard earlier. scary images flash through your mind. your heart races a thousand miles per hour. you once again make up a doom scenario that could possibly happen.

what if the killer on the run is going after you next?

it doesn’t make sense, logically, but everything is possible now that your anxiety has overtaken your rational thoughts. you have no connections to those victims and yet you think you’re next.

you are next.

you whimper out of fear. it feels like the walls of this narrow street are closing up on you the faster you run. you look over your shoulder, excepting someone to be there—following you.

no one is there. you turn your head again and run as fast as you can. if only you had someone with you. someone who’d console you and tell you that there’s nothing to be afraid of.

that’s the worst thing about the entire situation: nobody seems to pass by this backstreet. the only things that could possibly give you any sense of comfort are the random boxes and trash laying around.

time seems to slow down once you see the end of the backstreet. there’d actually be people once you make it through. you gulp and give yourself the motivation to get over there without scaring yourself any further.

the shadows looming over you due to the lack of lightning in this alleyway creep you out. the entire atmosphere is eerie—like something or someone can jump out of those shadows and grab you by the ankles. drag you into the darkness and finish you off there.

you want to return to those vibrant lights you know so bad. you do.

your eyes are so intensely focused on the end of the streets to the point that you forget your surroundings. it’s already too late to realise that you’re tripping over something. you process that you’ve lost your balance when you’re already mid-fall.

your body lands on the wet ground with a loud thud. luckily enough, your hands touched the concrete first, softening the fall for your head. you grunt and groan; it still hurt.

your ears pick up on the sound of running water. your head lays right next to a broken pipe that’s leaking water onto the pavement. cold droplets fall in a rushed rhythm.

“ah, fuck.”

your eyes widen. the sound of a man behind you sends a shiver down your spine. is that why you tripped? did he make you trip?

‘i’m so done,’ you conclude quietly. it’s probably the killer you’ve heard about—the one who’s coming for you next. just like you had thought.

you shut your eyes tightly, awaiting the strike that would finish you. like the wounds that had finished the other victims. though, it never comes. the stabbing doesn’t happen.

the only thing you can pick up on is heavy breathing. low grunts, barely audible. the sound of cloth ripping. a man mumbling under his breath.

you sit up on your knees and look over your shoulder. slowly, little by little.

the revealed sight is like a dream. or a nightmare. you don’t know which it is. perhaps a mixture of both.

all you know is that this is the last thing you expected to see. the last thing you expected to experience today. you feel your heart drop and you freeze in place.

you’ve seen your own fair share of blood, but this is simply too much. it’s like time has stopped for you. like time has stopped inside of this backstreet.

the world outside of this alleyway continues moving. the people keep walking, chatting and living their lives. the rain keeps falling. as if nothing is occurring at the moment.

as if there is no bloodied man on the dirty ground, leaning against the wall, with crimson stained hands clutching his abdomen. his wet bangs cover his eyes which makes his identity even more mysterious.

you probably tripped over his leg that’s stretched out in front of him; also bloody. you feel bad for not noticing him earlier. your own selfish desires to get out of this alley caused you to overlook a person in need of urgent aid.

you don’t think twice before reaching out towards him. it’s like your body moves on its own command—not waiting for your brain to figure out what to do.

“oh my god,” you’re shaking badly, but your body crawls closer to the injured figure. you don’t think twice. something you have always taught yourself to do before diving into unfamiliar situations.

not right now, however. you don’t hesitate to check up on the stranger. if you didn’t see his chest moving with each shaky breath, you’d have concluded that he’s dead.

“s-sir?” you panic. what do you do? you’ve never landed in such a predicament before. you look to your left and then to your right. no one to help you nor the bloodied man.

he doesn’t reply to your voice. that further worsens your anxiety. your eyes wander down towards the man’s abdomen. the wound was deep and painful, that much you can tell from the way he’s holding tightly onto it.

a bullet wound? you’re not sure.

right—the piece of cloth he’s keeping against the wound. that’s what you do to try and stop the bleeding. the warm red liquid stains the man’s baggy pants. his black shirt is nearly ripped to shreds, the material hanging on by a thread. literally.

“uhm, uh,” you look around and spot your bag on the floor. in a puddle. you pray that your laptop has made it. you don’t recall having anything with you that could help treat wounds.

you gulp and hastily take off your scarf. you carefully kneel in front of the half-conscious man. his head is held low. you don’t know if he can even hear you.

you reach your hand out towards him, aiming for his own bloody hands that hold onto his abdomen. you cringe due to the sight, but try your best to be of assistance.

the man hisses the moment you touch the his hand. your fingers stop mid-air, not wanting to touch him if he didn’t want to.

what am i thinking?

now is not the time for that. he’s bleeding out and you have this urge to get him to safety as soon as possible. even if you’re internally panicking because of the huge responsibility that fate has suddenly assigned you.

“i’ll call an ambulance. please hold on,” you try to be reassuring, however your choked up voice betrays your true feelings. you change the old cloth with your scarf, pressing it tightly against his injury.

you fish out your phone from your pocket using your other hand. the rain makes it hard to do anything. your screen is wet, your vision blurry. you type in the first number of the emergency services.

suddenly, a bigger hand swats yours, causing your phone to go flying to the other side of the street. you watch with wide eyes as your cellphone comes to a stop right next to a big puddle of rain.

you whip your head to the direction of the injured figure in front of you. the man tries to lifts his head, slowly, so he could look you in the eye. your heart stammers in your chest.

“sir, you’re bleeding out, you need to—“

“i don’t need anythin’.”

you don’t dare to move nor let out a single breath. you can feel the tip of a sharp blade rest under your chin—nearly penetrating the flesh. one wrong move and you will lose your life.

the man had moved too fast for you to even process. you don’t know how you even ended like this. with a bloody knife to your throat and an unknown man’s face right up against yours.

“leave,” the stranger demands. you know he’s not to be messed with, even in his weakened state, “i don’t need y’r help.”

his voice sounds rough. deep and raspy. it shakes you to your core—makes you listen to what he has to say. it’s hypnotising. a gust of wind blows over the both of you.

his bangs move and your gaze finally meets his. the background noises fade for a split second. your entire focus is on those beautiful emerald orbs staring into your own eyes. they’re gorgeous.

they're gorgeous; even if they lack that sparkle of life. his eyes tell stories—the rough journeys this man probably had to endure throughout the years. you’ve never seen such a sight. it tugs at your heartstring and urges you to help him.

you don’t know where these feelings came from, but amidst your anxiety, there’s an underlying desire to take care of him.

you shake your head, showing your unexpected defiance. you’re playing with fire. you know that all too well and yet you don’t care.

“no. i won’t leave,” your breath hitches. you notice the dangerous glint in the man’s eyes. he looks like he’s going to lose consciousness any second now. though his grip on the knife tells another story, “i won’t leave you alone. not like this.”

the injured stranger grunts in annoyance, but also in pain. your persistence makes him want to shove you to the side. to leave this place already and find a way out on his own. he doesn’t want your help.

he may actually need it, but he does not want to accept it.

despite those thoughts, he’s too weak. way too weak. he doesn’t like being weak. feeling weak is not his thing. vulnerability doesn’t suit him.

“you have a fuckin’ death wish,” the man scoffs. he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold onto consciousness, but that is the last thing he cares about. he wants you gone. out of sight.

you stay in place. even through his chilling death threats. you can feel the blade start to invade the first layer of your skin. it hurts already. normally, you would’ve run. you want to. your mind tells you to get the hell out, but your heart and body yells at you to stay.

“i’ll give ya three seconds,” the stranger continues. he’s close. so close that you can feel his hot breath against your freezing cheeks. it’s intimidating, however not enough to scare you away.

the tighter your grip on the scarf against his abdomen, the tighter his grip on the handle of the knife. time will tell who’ll win this battle.

“three.”

the countdown starts. you swallow your own spit. the rain has you completely drenched. you catch a glimpse of the puddle underneath you both. the colour of it a light red as the man’s blood flows and mixes with the clear water.

“two.”

his voice is quieter than before. he’s losing his strength, but is stubborn enough to firmly keep the knife below your chin. you’re sure that your own blood is already trickling down the shiny metal.

the man’s lips part to announce the last number. your last chance. your final opportunity to escape and act like you have never seen him. you can go back to your normal life—continue living in your own world. the one you are familiar with.

one without this unknown man. this man with an aura of a cold hearted killer.

you fingers curl tightly against the scarf pressed against his wound. you refuse to let up. even if it means your own death. your eyes close—cold damp droplets roll down your cheeks. you don’t know if they’re your tears or if it’s just the pouring rain.

you hear a low, frustrated groan. he sounds so close yet so far from you. you can feel the man’s arm move to adjust his grip. probably to try and flawlessly puncture your jaw.

if only you accepted to eat out with your friend. if only you turned around and went back to your dorm the moment you knew it was going to rain. if only you didn’t take this shortcut today.

if only your fates hadn’t clashed.

“one.”

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk x you #jjk angst #jjk x y/n #toji x you #please give it lots of love 🙇🏽‍♀️

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xzaddyzanakinx · 7 months

Text

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Two: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, one-sided relationship, menstruation, sexual content, pervy behavior [eventual warning for smut; be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin loves you so much it hurts and he’s really fucking weird about it, but it’s okay since it’s love 💕 He’s a massive Perv [diary entries from Ani] MDNI 18+

Date:

June 13th

Anakin woke up in a wonderful mood this morning. Today was going to be a good day, a really really good day. It was Thursday and you were going to book club at the library, which mean you would be going out for coffee after and then you’d go visit your sister before your shift at the diner. That would give him an ample amount of time to install the necessary security equipment for your apartment.

He’d already set up the wireless connection and app that goes along with the cameras the moment the package was delivered. He’d had plenty of time to do that yesterday while you were in class. He was so relieved that he’d be able to check in whenever he needed to, just a click or two and he’d be able to see and hear the goings on in your apartment.

These little microcams were an absolute lifesaver in his opinion, not only were they the perfect size, they also had an extremely long battery life *and* the resolution was surprisingly good. It was definitely worth the extra cash to get a clear picture of your pretty face.

He practically skipped down the street to your apartment, typing the code into the keypad when he arrived. He made sure to wipe his feet on the rug at the entrance, he’d hate to track dirt into your neat little living space. He trekked up the stairs to your floor and couldn’t help the massive grin on his face as he unlocked your apartment door.

Boogie greeted him happily now, he’d made sure to feed her little treats every time he visited just to get on her good side. He’d actually become quiet fond of the little gal, he could see why you liked cats now.

They were soft and cute just like you. He wouldn’t be surprised if you purred too, and if you didn’t… well he could fix that.

He locked the door behind him and got to work. He was thankful you were short enough to need a step stool because that was really coming in handy. It made it so much easier to place the first camera in the trim above your front door. He made sure it had a good angle of your kitchenette and living room.

The next was installed in the opposite corner on top of the bookshelf that held the hoard of books you promised yourself that you’d read but hadn’t gotten around to yet. You were just a girl after all, stuff like that didn’t keep your attention very well. He thought his reading voice would hold your attention much better than your own inner voice.

Anakin smiled as he thought about which book he’d read to you first… you had quite the collection, but he had plenty of time to figure it out before the time came.

Now he had a great view of the couch and the hall leading to your bedroom and bathroom. He checked the first two cameras via the app and was pleasantly surprised to see just how perfect the resolution was. He knew it was good, but seeing it in your home like this? He’d feel right there with you every time he checked the live feed.

Your bedroom. The one place he still hadn’t allowed himself to enter, this was your private space and it felt wrong to invade that privacy. It was one thing to peek in occasionally but an entirely different thing to actually go inside.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open, the scent of you hitting him in the face had him weak in the knees. Anakin’s hands shook as he trailed his fingertips across the soft cotton sheets on your bed, you’d left it unmade.

He was already here… he might as well just try it out right?

No. No he can’t do that. If he lays down he’ll never get back up. His thoughts would eat him alive until he gave in and left a mess in your bed. Just a pillow then.

Oh… oh now he’s in trouble. Not only did he squeeze the pillow tightly and bury his face into its squishy middle to sniff every lingering bit of the smell of your shampoo… he did something very, very bad.

But it’s done now and he can’t take it back. Oh well, you won’t mind.

‘Back to work Anakin.’ He reminded himself and begrudgingly did exactly that.

He placed the third camera on the ceiling fan above your bed. Taking great care that the lens was completely covered.

He’s not that kind of guy.

He didn’t need to see what you did in bed… just hear it. You snored and Anakin just wanted to make sure you, ya know didn’t stop breathing or whatever in your sleep.

No other reason.

He took one glance over at the bathroom across the hall and really, really thought hard. He didn’t buy the fourth camera for your bathroom. He really didn’t.

He’s not that kind of guy.

He wouldn’t do that to you, but it was alright for him to think about it. Wasn’t it? Yeah. Yeah it’s okay to think about it.

With his handiwork finished he returned the step stool to it’s place under the kitchen sink and took a look around the place. It was homey, very cozy, very you.

You were alittle messy sometimes but that’s okay, so was he. Maybe he should clean up alittle. He smiled, proud of himself for thinking of it, and got to work. Just a quick run through of the kitchen and living room.

He couldn’t do *all* of your dishes, but he could certainly wash some silver ware and a cup or two to lessen the burden on you. So while he carefully washed and dried your favorite coffee mug, Anakin found himself sucking the spoon you’d used for your ice cream last night.

That’s good enough right? He’d licked it clean… you were going to use it again for ice cream tonight. He knew you would. Last month you ate ice cream for dinner the entire week of your period and you were doing the same this month. So he placed that spoon on top of the rest.

He vacuumed the kitchen and living room, your cat shed a lot and honestly Anakin should probably come vacuum for you more often because you’re not nearly as thorough as he is. He moved the couch and found at least two weeks worth of dust bunnies back there.

He knew it was difficult for you to juggle work, school and your personal life. You shouldn’t have to work, you should be able to stay home and lounge about after you’d cleaned house. He’d make sure you could do exactly that when the time was right.

Speaking of the time, he checked his watch and sighed. He should probably get going if he wanted to walk you to work.

On his way out he hurriedly placed the last camera in the stair well leading to the building’s entrance, that way he could familiarize himself with your neighbors and of course keep up to date with the door codes.

Diary Entry: June 14th

Those cameras I got for you are my new favorite thing.

It’s alittle unhealthy the way I check them as often as I do, but like they say, love makes people do crazy things.

I just can’t help it.

You’re so cute, I love the way you sing even if it’s really… not so great sometimes. But hey, not everyone is cut out for those high pitched vocals like that guy the one with the hair Kellin Quinn from that one song you really, really desperately want to hit the high note on. You’re amazing baby, but maybe don’t ever sing that one in public. Keep it at home just for me okay? Not everyone can appreciate your beautiful voice like I can.

You talk to your cat like she’s a person. Not even in a baby talk voice either, no, it’s more like she’s a girl from one of your college classes. You come home and tell her us your daily drama… it’s adorable.

I do however have a bone to pick with whoever Travis is. Travis can kick rocks. I can’t believe he did that to Amanda, and on her birthday? Unbelievable.

I think my favorite part of this new dynamic of ours is dinner time though. I even went to the corner store and got some cookie dough ice cream to eat with you. I felt like we were really there together, especially because I’m almost certain you used the spoon that I cleaned for you.

I’m so glad you have good taste in reality Tv as well. None of that Bachelor shit. No you like the juicy stuff. My kinda girl aren’t ya?

That Love is Blind show is truly one of the best reality shows I’ve watched in a while. But I had more fun listening to you laugh and shit talk those people. You’re fucking funny, it’s so cute.

Oh and guess what? I had a call with your super today! I’m next in line on the wait list for an apartment in your building baby. Hell yeah! It’s honestly really convenient, not only will I be right there whenever you need me, it’s closer to work so I can get home to you even quicker.

Diary Entry: June 18th

I’ve been alittle hesitant to tell you this sweetheart. I just feel real bad about it and I’m not great at sharing my feelings all the time. But I think it’s time I told you.

I just love you so much and I want to be with you all the time. Loving you from a distance is tolerable for now… but is it sustainable? No.

You’re a kind and understanding girl, sweet and caring, so I’m sure you’ll understand when I say that I *just couldn’t stop myself*. Your bed was so soft and the smell of you was so strong that I felt like I could drown in it. I hugged and kissed your pillow like my life depended on it but god… I found one strand of your pretty hair and that was just too much for me.

I’m sorry even though I don’t think you really mind all that much. Or if you do you’ve not said anything about it. It’s just… the fabric was so soft and you’re so pretty and I couldn’t help but think about what life would be like if I could come home to you in bed. Laying there with your pretty little eyes closed.

You’d look just like an angel. Peaceful and full of life, pink cheeks and smooth skin, warm and glowing.

So you can’t really blame me. You understand right? Really it’s your fault for being so damn perfect. But that’s really kind of an oxymoron isn’t it? You’re perfect so it can’t be your fault, but here we are.

Whoever is to be blamed, it doesn’t matter. What matters is: I’m sorry for tearing a hole in your favorite pillow.

Really and truly I’m sorry. I’ll fix it next time I stop by I promise. I just needed… something more you know? My hand just wasn’t good enough, too messy and wasteful. I needed to know that you’d be able to enjoy it too.

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking but you’ve slept alittle better these last few days haven’t you?

On second thought maybe I shouldn’t close up that hole. If me fucking your pillow and stuffing my cum into the fluffy filling helps you sleep better, well I’d be happy to oblige.

I’m not that kind of guy, I just made a mistake. But, I think you’ll thank me for it in the long run.

Your subconscious just lets you relax alittle more with me around doesn’t it? Even if it is just alittle bit of cum. You need a piece of me with you to feel safe and you don’t even realize it. My poor girl, I’ll make sure you sleep well for the rest of your life.

Eventually I’ll stuff you with my cum every night. Getting fucked to sleep sounds pretty good doesn’t it princess?

Diary Entry: June 24th

I hate to see you disappointed. Oh it just kills me inside angel.

I can’t even chide you for forgetting your debit card because it’s my fault for not making sure you put it back in your backpack after ordering those new shoes. I’m sorry sweetheart.

Don’t worry though. I’ve added a few extra bucks to your wallet, being a dollar short for coffee won’t ever be a problem again.

Realistically that barista was just doing her job and I know that, but the fact that anyone could possibly deny you something that you want is insane to me.

You’ll never have to go without your large vanilla iced coffee on laundry day ever again.

Especially after I saw how grumpy you get.

That little scowl on your face when your favorite washer/dryer were already being used. I would’ve marched over there and dumped out that old ladies wet clothes in the floor for you if you’d only asked.

But if I had then I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy watching you act like a brat out in public. I’ve never seen someone stare daggers through an elderly person like that before, you’re lucky she didn’t have a heart condition because damn that look could’ve killed her.

I’ll help you get that attitude under control soon enough princess. All you need is a good ass whoopin’ and a fat cock to tame you.

Note: Persil, those little blue shakies

PART THREE

Tag-List:

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yoonieper · 3 months

Text

For the Birds— Part 1 | JJK

I want you to stay even though you don’t want me.

♡ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (feat. Yuri)

♡ Genre: angst, smut, future fluff

♡ Rated: A for Analyze

♡ Series Warnings: Lots of smut (not always healthy), cheating, discussions of depression, this series includes Jk in a pretty toxic environment, degradation (not the sexy kind), manipulation, and overall Jk being in an emotionally abusive situation!

♡ Chapter Warnings: Therapy sessions (major wee woo!), Jk has nsfw thoughts, verbal abuse, Jk has a panic attack, lots of tears, beware friends ⚠️!

♡ Word Count: 19.8k

♡ Summary: As the son of the CEO at Golden Tech, a marriage was arranged in the name of business. Jungkook really tried to make the most of his situation and be the best husband he could be, but no matter how much he tried, his wife just doesn’t seem to want him. Then you… you came into his life and his eyes couldn’t help but wander.

♡ Now Playing: Call Out My Name by The Weeknd— see masterlist for full playlist!

♡ Betas: Thank you so much to @illyrian-book-lover and @teawithhoneyandlemon for reading this part for me! If you’re interested in betaing a future part, dm me! If you're interested in becoming a permanent beta for this series please first click here and refer to 'details about the job' section for more details and dm for any questions you might have!

♡ Author’s Note: Prepare my friends for the emotional journey ahead! This road is long so get ready for all the ups and downs :’)

No reposting, modifying. Translating is not allowed unless given explicit permission. Thank you so much : D

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A year and a half later…

Jungkook looked down at his watch, his leg bounced restlessly as he stared at the long, thin hand circle around the clock. Every sound in the waiting room felt like he was hearing a pin drop in the world’s quietest room. The smallest noises sounded like an explosion to his sensitive ears, and just made him more on edge: the secretary typing away on her keyboard, the water circulating in the fish tank beside him, the shuffling behind the door— he could have pulled out his hair at how tense his body felt.

Jungkook swiftly twisted the golden band around his ring finger as the seconds ticked away. He had been waiting here for the past twenty minutes and he’d started to regret coming so early. He thought being here would help him calm down, but it seemed to make things worse as his eyes trained on the door.

People might think Jungkook was minutes away from walking to his execution with how nervous he was about this upcoming appointment. Jimin had even said he looked like a ghost before he left work earlier. His fear was completely irrational, he knew that, but it was forcing him to come face to face with something that would keep him up at night.

Being analyzed.

There was no way to describe it other than it was as if someone was staring at him from across the room. They thought he didn’t notice, but he could see behind their eyes they had put him under a microscope, and were trying to peel back all the layers of his psyche that he didn’t know even existed. He could feel their judgmental gaze, and under their watch, he grew more self-conscious about every molecule that made up his being. On most occasions, Jungkook at least could hope it was all in his head, but today, he was walking straight into this nightmare.

Therapy was strange like that.

“Jeon Jungkook?” A soft, but deep voice called out, making him nearly jump out of his chair. Jungkook looked over and was shocked to see someone standing beside him. It was the same man from the website.

He was dressed in a nice, black suit and wore a serious expression; he had sharp eyes, longer hair, and square glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose. But the man still managed to radiate kindness with the pleasant contrast of his soft smile and delicate features. Standing up, Jungkook also realized the man was a couple of centimeters shorter than him, he needed to look up to meet his gaze.

Seeing him in person for some reason had him steadily beginning to feel more at ease.

The man smiled at him before guiding Jungkook into his office. It was a nice-sized room, decorated with modern, monochrome furniture, but it maintained its cozy feel with all the soft pillows and a blanket draped across the couch. A giant window overlooked Seoul’s emerging nightlife, a view not so different from what he was greeted with in his own office. Everything about this room helped the nerves he had been battling with all day begin to settle down.

This is for the better, things are finally going to get better— Jungkook kept telling himself as he sat down on the couch. The man took a seat in the big chair in front of him after having gone to his desk to retrieve a simple, yellow-lined notepad.

This was really happening.

“Alright. It’s nice to meet you Jungkook, I’m Dr. Min Yoongi. The time right now is 7:21pm, on April 4th, year 2023.” The doctor said, glancing down at his watch, writing something on the notepad, before returning his gaze back up to Jungkook. “As you should know, I’m a licensed couples therapist and I’m here to help you in whatever might be troubling you in your relationship. This will be our intake interview, and as you were told before, I will meet with you and your wife separately before we begin having our sessions together.” All of this was stuff Jungkook knew about, he had a feeling this was more so a reminder and for whatever record the doctor kept.

Dr. Min quickly scribbled something on his notepad again before looking up at him. He hadn’t even said anything yet, what could he possibly be writing?

“Alright Jungkook, I just wanted to ask if you had any questions for me or any concerns you wanted to discuss before we start?” Dr. Min eventually asked.

Jungkook tried to snap himself out of his anxious daze by shaking his head. “There’s nothing I can think of, I’m just a little nervous, I’m sorry.” He could hear it in his voice, the unmistakable shakiness to his tone, he was sure the doctor noticed.

“You’re nervous?” Dr. Min smiled.

Jungkook nodded, knowing it was impossible to hide it.

“Therapy… this is new for me.” Jungkook laughed lightly, but it was a big deal for him to be here.

Jimin had been the main one to encourage him to seek professional help. After the suggestion, Jungkook had absentmindedly brought it up to his parents when he went over to their house for dinner. They had laughed in his face at the mention of it.

“Your marriage is fine, why waste money on something like that?” His father had snickered as he ate his caviar.

“The only issue you both have is that I don’t have any grandkids yet.” His mother quickly added, and his father joined in because that was the only thing they ever seemed to talk about when Jungkook visited.

Therapy wasn’t necessarily a new thing he’d considered doing. It had been brought to his attention when he was in high school. After his brother left, he was faced with the daunting new responsibility of being the one who was going to take over the company one day. As much as he was excited for the opportunity, he was also absolutely terrified with all the extra pressure suddenly on his shoulders.

A friend had suggested for him to talk to a professional after he had done so himself and raved about how much it helped him. When he brought it up to his parents, much like now, they laughed and instead told him he should just talk to them about any worries he had.

He listened to them back then, but after a particularly nasty fight with Yuri, Jungkook was looking for answers, and the only place he might get real advice was from a professional. That very day he looked for couples therapists and booked with Dr. Min, hoping it might finally bring the change he’s been wanting for years.

“I understand, therapy can be a little intimidating for some. Tell me Jungkook, what are you hoping to accomplish out of our sessions together?” Dr. Min asked, still maintaining that friendly gaze that made it seem so easy to spill all his worries.

Jungkook let out a sigh of relief knowing this was an easy question for him to answer.

“I just want to know what I’m doing wrong… I know it’s my fault and…” as he spoke, he could already feel the tears stinging his eyes. “I want professional advice because I know I messed up, and I just want things to get better between me and my wife.” Jungkook was practically pleading for help.

Things had to get better.

Dr. Min tried his best not to let it show how shocked he was at the amount of blame Jungkook was putting on himself already. Most of the clients who come in usually talk primarily about what their partner was doing wrong in their eyes, or put most, if not all of the blame on the issues in their marriage on their unknowing spouse. It would usually take many sessions to even scratch the surface of the issues that they might contribute to. He’s seen that extreme end far more often than what Jungkook posed. It immediately painted a strange impression in his mind of the dynamic between the couple.

“Why do you think it’s all your fault?” He asked.

“I mean… it must be, right? I feel like my wife hates me and…” Jungkook sighed knowing he would finally need to get to that significant detail “—because we’re in an arranged marriage I’ve been trying my hardest— or what I thought was my hardest— to make our situation work, but nothing I’m doing is helping our relationship get any better.”

He really didn’t like to tell people that Yuri and him were arranged. Most people thought they were just two young people who found love early in life, a blazing flame that pushed the couple to be bold and take that next big step so quickly into their lives. Only their families and the people who attended their wedding knew that their marriage was nothing more than a business deal.

All of this was laid down a little quickly for Dr. Min. He knew with this being a high-profile client, the fact that Jungkook was coming to him meant there was something serious going on with the marriage. Most high-profiles like to keep the issues of their relationships as private as possible, seeking outside help was quite uncommon unfortunately. He’s certainly never handled an arranged marriage before, and that fact was going to make most of his usual techniques useless.

Jungkook could tell by the look on the doctor’s face that this probably wasn’t what he was expecting, but he wanted to have faith in the man. Dr. Min was known as one of the best in the country for a reason, hopefully he could help no matter the circumstances.

“Well, I’m not going to blame you. Relationships require both parties to make work, but it’s great that you’re stepping out and trying therapy. Who knows what we might uncover in our sessions together that could help you both in the long run?” Dr. Min gave a reassuring smile to the younger man and he was happy to see Jungkook ease up a little more.

“Anyway, let’s just get into some general questions to help guide us through this session. Why don’t you tell me about your marriage? I mean, just looking at your file you’re a little young to be married. How long have you and your wife been together?” It was a standard preliminary question, but in this case was extra vital to obtain.

“Three years— We just celebrated our anniversary on the 21st last month.” Jungkook mentioned. Yoongi tried not to look too surprised but he was seven years older than him, and he and his wife were just about to celebrate their fourth anniversary in June.

“March 21st, 2020?” Dr. Min reiterated and Jungkook steadily nodded.

That was only a little less than a year after him and his wife had gotten married, and Jungkook was only twenty-five? This was extremely uncommon here in Korea— the only clients he’s seen come in around that age were couples asking for simple advice on how to make their relationship work in the long run; even those instances were rare. More often than not, most couples don’t typically invest in therapy because of the unfortunate financial cost. Yoongi was most of the time helping out married couples or fiancés who had a bit more at stake if the relationship were to go south.

Jungkook hadn’t even met the average age at which couples tend to get married, he was still far from it— being twenty-five he was four years behind the overall average and six for men in South Korea. And that was based on his age now. When he first got married it was seven and nine. Finding out he was arranged, the situation made a lot more sense than when he was just reviewing his file.

Yoongi had wondered if Jungkook potentially filled out some wrong information when he looked over his forms before the appointment started. While he was relieved that wasn’t the case, the reality was a bit more concerning.

“Yeah, it was a few weeks after my commencement.” Jungkook added.

Yoongi couldn’t help but question why the parents would allow this to happen. He grew more and more baffled the longer Jungkook spoke, but now was not the time nor the place to be judgmental.

“How did you feel about getting married that young?” Dr. Min inquired further.

Jungkook sat back and grabbed the pillow beside him. He was a little unsure at first how to answer that question. It was something he used to ponder a lot when he first got married— twenty-two years old and already tied down— it sounded unreal to anyone he talked to. He never really got the chance to experience much before he had to “settle down.” Jungkook used to think about this a lot at the start. However, as time passed, he tried to focus more on saving the marriage he ruined, rather than mourning what he missed out on because he was arranged.

“I had a plan for myself before my parents told me I was going to get married. I had everything thought out for when I graduated college and getting married pretty much caused my whole plan to derail… I don’t want to speak for Yuri, but I feel like our engagement probably hit me harder.” Jungkook said, looking away into the distance.

“What makes you say that?” Dr. Min questioned.

Jungkook sat back on the cozy couch as he thought back to it. “I had this dreamy expectation of what being married would be like. Yuri and I hardly knew each other before they told us we were getting married so I had a lot of doubts if anything could ever come out of our relationship.”

He had pictured love at his wedding, yet he didn’t even know his wife’s favorite color as she walked down the aisle.

“I knew it wouldn’t be all sunshine and rainbows, that there would be hurdles we’d need to overcome, even more than your typical relationship. It was scary and I was so worried about becoming like my parents.” Jungkook's brows furrowed as he thought about it.

This immediately piqued Dr. Min’s curiosity and he could tell Jungkook was hesitant about elaborating any further. “Don’t worry, everything in our session will remain just between us.” Yoongi reassured him with a smile.

It wasn’t like it was that big of a secret. Jungkook took a deep breath before starting.

“They’re only together for our family’s public image, and me and my brother. They were arranged when they were young as well, and it would take me too long to go into just the details I know, but…” Jungkook just let the silence speak louder than he ever could. “They tried to make it work at first, but it didn’t last very long. Their relationship was hostile, if you could even say they had one in the first place. They’ve cheated on each other a countless amount of times, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were other peop—”

Jungkook could never forget his distinct memories of seeing people he hadn’t met before walking through their house unexpectedly. Some of them he only remembered seeing once, others stayed for a little while and became regulars at their residence. His parents would always reassure him and his brother they were just “friends” who stayed over. Growing older made the odd memories present themselves as what they truly were.

He also remembered all the fighting, the callous words they would spew at each other at night that he could hear from across the hall, and the look of disdain on their faces in the morning. Their relationship, if you can call it that, was turbulent to say the least. Jungkook always wondered how he ended up here, considering how things were when they were still trying to make it work.

“I always thought their marriage looked more like a prison than anything beautiful. They made it work for our sake, but I never wanted to live like that.” Jungkook’s own words were starting to get to him the more he realized his marriage might suffer an even worse fate.

A pivotal moment came when he was too small to understand the consequences of his actions; it was at this point, when he was first exposed to the true reality of their family dynamic. His parents had taken him and his brother to the park, he still didn’t know what caused his young mind to go there, but for some reason as they were walking to the playground, Jungkook realized how off things were about their family. It was then that he suddenly asked his mom and dad why they weren’t like all the other parents and couples walking around holding hands.

“Mom and dad don’t love each other the same way others do.” His dad answered and his mom had so easily agreed— way too easily. It was so stark, so to the point, and at the time he didn’t really get it but their words stuck with him as the years passed and he started to make more sense of their family’s situation.

His young mind didn’t really get relationships, he was still in that phase where he thought all girls had cooties and that boys rule and girls drool, but he could tell something was off with how his parents were with each other. When he actually learned the reason, a strange anger started to brew inside him over the years. A permanent wall his family could never climb. Jungkook had blamed them for most of his life because they could never be a normal family and he swore to himself he never wanted to give his own kids the same fate one day.

But at least his parents could tolerate each other now. They were more like friends these days than anything else, and they knew how to come together when needed. But Yuri seemed like she couldn’t even stand being in the same room as him.

He had to do something.

“I wanted passion, the thing that people write entire movies, songs, and shows about; I wanted the fireworks, the butterflies, magic— I had really looked forward to it.” It was a little silly, but he had always been a hopeless romantic. Jungkook felt his cheeks burn as his attention focused on the doctor in front of him. “I’m sorry— this probably sounds ridiculous.” He shied.

Dr. Min laughed. “I’m a couples therapist. I know better than anyone else what you’re talking about.”

Jungkook smiled at this, but his cheeks were still on fire. “I had always pictured something like that in my relationship, and don’t get me started on what I thought things would be like when I got married.” He laughed and the doctor joined in. He already embarrassed himself enough as it is.

“But then I was forced into the exact same situation as my parents with someone I hardly knew. I was terrified I’d end up in that hell.” Jungkook sighed. He had somehow ended up somewhere even worse.

Dr. Min noted on his pad again.

“This seems to mean a lot to you then.” The doctor commented.

“It really does and… I mean, besides Yuri, I didn’t have any relationship experience. I focused on school ever since I learned I was going to be the one taking over the company. I thought I would have more time once I graduated but…”

“Talk about that a little more, what do you mean you didn’t have any relationship experience?” Dr. Min pressed further. He tried his best to hide the shock in his voice. Jungkook was definitely someone he wouldn’t expect to have trouble in that department.

“I was really busy when I was still in school. I hardly had time to do anything, and certainly not enough to commit to a relationship— at least, the kind I knew I wanted. I was waiting until I had time for something more serious, but then suddenly I was engaged. I never went on a date, never had a girlfriend… I did a little physical stuff in college but it was just experimentation rather than anything passionate. Yuri was my first in a lot of ways.” Dr. Min took extra notes of this.

“Mmmm is that why you think you’re the issue in the relationship?” Dr. Min asked as he continued to write. This was a factor he especially believed played a part in Jungkook’s apparent lack of confidence in the relationship.

“We wouldn’t be here if I knew what I was doing.” Jungkook sadly chuckled. He truly had no idea what a relationship should be like besides the romanticized versions he’d seen in movies and dramas.

“That’s not necessarily true— did Yuri have more experience going into your marriage?”

Jungkook nodded. “I know she had a boyfriend in high school and then there was another guy she dated in her first two years of college. She was miles ahead of me in that department.”

Yoongi noted that down. “And did Yuri tell you this?”

He nodded his head. “She talks about them occasionally.”

“In what way?” Dr. Min questioned as he raised an eyebrow.

Jungkook stared at the doctor, suddenly, the nerves quickly came back. “Um—” He stammered. “She’ll compare me to them sometimes, mainly when I do things wrong.” Jungkook mumbled the last part, the embarrassment creeping up once again, heating up his cheeks.

The doctor stopped writing, the silence that hung in the air felt like it lasted an eternity. “And how does that make you feel?” Dr. Min asked, commiseration filling his tone.

Jungkook quickly needed to fight back the tears as he thought about all the times Yuri would bring up her exes. She would scream in his face how much better they made her feel, and how he could never compare.

…

“Worthless.” It was a simple, one-word answer that slipped out without much thought. He regretted it as soon as it left his mouth; his eyes grew more watery as he watched the doctor’s expression change to one filled with pity. He hated it.

Jungkook knew now that he deserved it. She was unhappy and it was all his fault. Her boyfriends, when they were younger, did more for her than her own husband; even after being married for the last three years.

“I’m not surprised you feel that way. We’ll need to discuss this more in depth during a session where I have you both together, but comparison is never healthy for any relationship. I like to think of fresh relationships as the start to a brand new chapter of your life— whatever happened in previous chapters with other people, might have helped shape the story of the person you are today, but now you both begin this new chapter together. Whatever happened in the past should stay in the past, instead, you should be focusing on how you both are going to choose to write this chapter now that you have each other in your lives. Again, I’ll be sure to talk about this more when Yuri’s here, but comparison is never healthy for anybody.” Dr. Min put it so eloquently, but still Jungkook couldn’t help but think he didn’t deserve the advice.

If he was a better husband, Yuri wouldn’t have the need to compare him.

“Alright, before we move forward, I just want to make sure I have a clear picture of the situation. Can you elaborate the details of the arrangement with your wife? Did your parents just put you two together randomly or was there something else involved?” Yoongi was struggling to picture how things happened exactly.

Jungkook quickly wiped away the tears before he nodded once again, realizing that might be important. “It wasn’t random at all— then again, when I offered to take over the company from my brother, I had no idea I would be put in that position but—“

“Your brother— What happened there? How about you start from the beginning.” Yoongi interrupted, focused on trying to get as many details as possible.

Jungkook internally slapped himself, realizing he was talking to the doctor like he knew all of the important details.

“My older brother was supposed to be the one to inherit the company, but he never wanted to take over Golden Tech. Junghyeon and my parents would fight all the time for years about him needing to fulfill his duty while he wanted to forget it all and pursue his dream. When it came down to which college he was going to attend, things just got extra tense when he revealed he applied and got accepted into his dream school. I hated the fighting, plus I was more interested in the company anyway, so I volunteered to take his place so he could live out his dream.” It still felt like yesterday that it all happened. Jungkook had felt so good when he stepped up and let his brother go do what he always wanted.

He can’t say he would have made the same choice now— maybe Junghyeon would have still been better suited to run the company despite his lack of enthusiasm for the position.

Dr. Min awed and wrote that down. He knew he would have follow-up questions, that context opening up a whole new can of worms, but he didn’t want to keep interrupting Jungkook. “Ok… I think I got it, you can keep going.”

Jungkook took a deep breath before continuing. “Well it wasn’t random, but they never mentioned anything to my brother about being in an arranged marriage nor did they say anything to me when I took over his position. It came out of nowhere. But Yuri’s dad and mine were close pretty much all of our lives despite them being each other's competition. Apparently, in private, they made this deal with each other that benefited both companies so they could rely on each other a little more and wouldn’t need to compete as hard. There was a lot of good that came with the contract, I saw it myself. The one bad thing about it was that they decided the only way to seal a deal like that would be to actually become family— that’s how me and Yuri got these.” Jungkook held up his hand to show off his wedding band.

Interesting.

“So you’re not only married but there’s a contract involved in your relationship?” Dr. Min asked and Jungkook nodded.

“We signed our marriage license first, and then immediately after we stamped the contract. Our wedding went from our ceremony into a party celebrating the contract being finalized.” It was just another thing that made their wedding a little strange.

Knowing that information now, the situation was starting to make a little more sense. It explained the disregard for the couple’s young age with the fact that business was involved. Still it was a bit odd, like why did this deal need to be formed in the first place? Why did the contract have to be stamped immediately? There were still many questions that needed to be answered, but this information was useful to have when considering the subjects to cover in their sessions together.

“It makes even more sense why this is such a big deal to you.” Yoongi added as he finished up his notes. Jungkook steadily nodded at his words.

“It’s not as simple as my marriage will fall apart if things don’t work out— there are so many people relying on me to make this work. I have to make this work, and for some reason, I can’t find a way to make her happy.” Jungkook tried to stop the way his voice wavered, but saying it out loud just made things real all over again.

The stakes were high, and if he failed, he—

“Now that I have the big picture, we can move back to your relationship and the troubles you’re having right now. What about Yuri? What specific issues are you having with her?” The question had Jungkook stunned for a second because of course there were things he wanted to bring up, but the guilt had him hesitating. What if Dr. Min knew how awful he was?

“I just want us to be in a happy relationship. I feel it’s my lack of experience that’s getting in the way of that happening. I don’t know what I’m doing but…”

“But?” Dr. Min emphasized as he tried to meet his gaze. Jungkook was clearly avoiding it as he stared down at his lap.

“But I feel like I’m trying hard to make us work. I just wish she’d touch me more.” It was a dirty confession, something he’d secretly wished for years. How dare he?

“Sexually?” Dr. Min hurriedly scribbled on his pad.

“I just want her to touch me… hold my hand, kiss me, cuddle, anything. I want her to want me.” Saying it out loud was horrible. He was just waiting for that gaze that suggested how pathetic he was, he deserved it for complaining, but that never came as Dr. Min's expression softened once again to something more sympathetic.

“Do you want to do all that with Yuri?” The doctor followed up with. The question seemed weird to him at first, but then Jungkook realized no one had ever asked him that before.

“Of course I do… she’s my wife.” He tried to laugh.

“I get that Jungkook, but considering this is an arranged marriage, I’m just trying to understand where your relationship stands at this moment.”

The question became that much more daunting because he didn’t have an answer for that. “It’s complicated… I don’t want to answer for Yuri but…” the words just weren’t coming to him.

Jungkook had to think about it for a while. “I feel, despite us being married for three years, we're still getting to know each other. We’ve had good moments— great moments sometimes… if I find out what I’m doing wrong, I’m sure we can share those moments together a lot more often.”

Just two weeks ago they were celebrating their third year together— or, well, “celebrating.” Their families just enjoyed holding a small gathering to celebrate the anniversary of the contract being stamped rather than the marriage itself, even though they masked it that way.

Three years together and what did he have to show for it? He hardly knew the woman he was legally bound to, and he’d just made her life miserable since the day they said their “I do”s on the altar three years ago.

People around him wished them a “happy anniversary” and pictures of him and Yuri were sprawled around the restaurant they had rented out for the occasion. It was all a lie, every picture where they stared lovingly into each other’s eyes, every wish for so many years to come felt bittersweet. He honestly wondered how anyone could have believed them, they seemed so fake in his opinion.

Jungkook had spent the whole day feeling awful and mourning the relationship he could have had. The gathering could have been a real celebration of their three years together, if he just was a little better— not just better, if he wasn’t him, how happy her life might be right now.

It was the main reason Jungkook worked up the courage to meet a therapist. Something had to change. He hoped seeing a professional might be the answer.

Dr. Min nodded slowly as he continued to write his notes. Jungkook wondered what he could possibly be writing. He hoped it was the answers to fix him so he could finally make Yuri happy, but he feared he would only hear the same judgmental remarks he’s grown used to these days.

“You mentioned you had a plan after your graduation… what did that look like for you?” Dr. Min asked suddenly as he looked back up at him.

Jungkook was a little stunned at the question at first, but then he tried to rack his brain to remember the plan he’d made what seemed like forever ago at this point. “I had planned to take a break from school before knowing I would get married. It would have been just a year, maybe two at the most in order to establish myself at Golden Tech a little more. I was going to get my master’s sometime after that, and when I got that out the way, I could finally focus on my job and get as much experience as possible before I needed to step up as CEO. However, I got married and I haven’t gotten the chance to go back like I wanted.”

“And why’s that?”

“I’m already busy with work, trying to manage a job, school, and settling into my new relationship was something I knew would be impossible. I wanted Yuri and I to be in a good place before going back but… it’s taking longer than I expected.” Jungkook tried not to think about it too much, he’s already got two degrees which, to some, might be enough. Having a master's would simply be a nice addition at this point, but it was something he always planned and wanted to have— something he still hoped to get one day.

As much as their relationship has been like a rollercoaster, he still had a glimmer of hope that they could fix things and he could go back to school.

“Plus, well, I have more than just myself to take care of now. Maybe it was for the best that I work full time, I gain more experience at work than in any classroom.” Jungkook was trying to be optimistic, but just thinking that by now he would have graduated and completed his educational journey, made the sadness come back all too easily.

But he had a wife, a family he needed to take care of.

Most people always assumed Jungkook was just this spoiled rich kid who lived off of his parents’ money, and was simply waiting for his dad to retire to finally take over the company. Jungkook never wanted that to be the case and made sure he worked just as hard, sometimes even harder, to prove he was capable.

Truth be told, he stopped living off his parents’ money the minute he graduated high school. It was a choice inspired by his brother's bold decision to just pick up and leave the country. He felt there was a lot to learn about the world, something he knew he would never experience if he had remained sheltered and continued to solely rely on his parents. That experience was especially important if he was going to run a company someday.

He lived like most of his peers who moved away from home. He lived in this cute, tiny apartment, went to work nearly every day, and struggled hard at night to catch up on his schoolwork. He was relatively normal besides the fact he drove a Mercedes to get to class— a graduation present from his father that he just couldn’t let sit somewhere. Besides that, he was on his own.

It wasn’t something his parents encouraged. They constantly wanted to give him money any chance they could. Jungkook just wanted to test being on his own and build the life experience most of his peers had.

Throughout college he lived off of any money he made from his part time jobs, gigs, and desk job at Golden Tech.

The only reason he was able to move straight into the fancy place they lived in now, was the fact that the apartment was a wedding gift from both his and Yuri’s parents. The whole reason they can live so well now is because of how hard he’s worked over the years! Would any of this be possible if he hadn’t worked full-time?

He had bills to pay and a wife to make happy, there was no way he could have managed to do that and school at the same time.

Yes, Yuri was his priority.

Dr. Min observed the way Jungkook seemingly faded out of the conversation, his eyes were wide as he stared out of the window.

Hmm.

He made sure to circle this topic on his notes for when Yuri came.

“Jungkook, you mentioned earlier about intimacy between you and Yuri— I meant to ask, how's your sex life?” The very blunt question had Jungkook’s eyes nearly bulging out of his head and quickly returning back to the doctor. His cheeks grew more pink the more he processed Dr. Min’s words.

“You don’t need to give details, I’m just trying to get a feel as to where the issues might be lying in the relationship. The fact you’re in an arranged marriage, makes this question even more important. Have you both made it to that stage in your relationship? If so, how soon? Are you satisfied?” Dr. Min reiterated.

“Ummm…” Jungkook felt his face grow hot. How was he going to explain it was one of the biggest issues in their relationship?

“Our honeymoon… we, you know.” Jungkook hoped Dr. Min would get the picture, and was relieved when he nodded.

“It was a bit too soon— me and Yuri hardly knew each other. We only went on three dates before we got engaged and then we were married. Our parents knew each other so I’d seen her a couple of times in the past, but our honeymoon was really one of our first chances at getting to know each other. It was nice… really, really nice.” Dr. Min noticed Jungkook’s soft smile at the mention of the trip.

“I feel maybe it was better to get to know each other a little more before we took that step, but you know…” No, he probably didn’t. Jungkook was such a sad human being for giving in so easily the minute she sat on his lap in the hot tub they found themselves in that day. He knew that now.

“I understand— two young people alone on a trip together— there’s nothing wrong with that.” Dr. Min tried to reassure him, noticing the way Jungkook got quiet.

“But things have been weird ever since we got back. I thought we just needed to adjust a little bit to our new life, but I feel I was doing a better job back then than I’m doing now.” Jungkook tried to laugh, but he couldn’t. Why couldn’t he remember what he did back then to make her want to be that close?

Why was he so horrible at being a husband?

“Jungkook, you never answered if you were satisfied.” Dr. Min tried to dig down, sensing this topic was sensitive.

“I try to be…” Jungkook said aimlessly, playing with the corner of the blanket that had somehow made its way onto his lap.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I try to give her what she wants but…” He could never forget her comments:

“Why would I ever want you when you don’t stop thinking with your dick for just 5 seconds?!” Jungkook had only tried to pull her close to cuddle. She saw right through his guise.

“Look at the fucking mess you made! You’re disgusting!” Yuri screamed as she pointed to spots on the bed where his cum had seeped through his pants. He’d gotten a little too excited while eating her out and made a mess. Yuri had always hated messes.

“Maybe I’d let you fuck me if you lasted more than two seconds.” Even that was generous, that day he barely made it inside before he was spilling into the condom. He could argue and say they never have sex and he was sensitive, but he couldn’t imagine how frustrating that would be.

“Why are you crying again? You’re fucking pathetic…” Yuri rolled her eyes after she told him he’d never be good enough for her. There had been a little light in the room, just Yuri’s lamp on her nightstand, when he took off his shirt. Apparently, the view had been that unsightly, she got so upset when he tried to get back on top of her. They never fuck with the lights on anymore, she says it’s easier this way.

Jimin says he cares way too much about what Yuri says, but he wanted to look good for her.

Just this morning Jungkook had spent his time in the shower, staring into the glass at his reflection. He hadn’t gotten the chance to go to the gym all week, work taking up all his time, but his week away from the gym had already started to show consequences. That muscle definition he cherished so much was already starting to soften, Yuri doesn’t like it when he’s like that.

He lives for her praise— those moments when she smiles, when she laughs, when she pleads for him to make her cum. Those moments are few and far between.

While the criticism hurt, she had every right to be upset. It was clear he lacked in so many aspects at being a good husband, let alone a good partner in general.

Yuri would always tell him how happy In Kyung Sam made her when they dated— her last ex from college, the person she mainly compared him to. Jungkook had stalked him on Instagram and it was clear he was far from what Yuri wanted.

He just needed to do better.

“I don’t think I’m good enough.” Jungkook didn’t realize he started crying until he saw the drops start to hit the pillow on his lap. He tried to work hard, tried to be a good husband, but he hated to admit how tired he was these days. The dark circles around his eyes showed his effort, and Jimin told him how much thinner he’d gotten— most noticeably, in his face.

Jungkook skipped way too many meals these days. He tried his best to follow those protein diets recommended by bodybuilders, but work always got in the way and he would forget to eat more often than not. It wasn’t on purpose, but lately, he was starting to look just as sad and tired on the outside as he felt on the inside.

Hopefully therapy would help.

Dr. Min watched the breakdown ensue, it’s happened with other clients before; eventually, they get to a touchy subject and they become emotional. However, something about watching the tears so easily spill from his eyes, was a little unsettling. Jungkook wasn’t loud, he didn’t make a scene, but his eyes grew redder by the second, his face more pained, and his cheeks more soaked with tears. His gaze however remained on the pillow and blanket that he had become fixated on.

“Jungkook, please don’t say that. I don’t know what Yuri’s done to make you feel this way, but never say you’re not good enough.” Dr. Min took off his glasses and set them on the table, before handing him the box of tissues that sat on the little table in between them.

“I want her to love me, to want me so bad that it hurts her as much as it hurts me—“ It was then that his voice started to quiver. “I feel like I try so hard but nothing works, I’m so tired…” He was beyond tired at this point. Sometimes he felt like giving up entirely.

Jungkook had even started feeling less confident at work. He couldn't even satisfy one woman. How would he ever be able to make the employees at Golden Tech happy, let alone the consumers, business partners, the media— how could he ever live up to his father’s legacy?

It scared him the amount of times he considered telling his father to hand the position to someone that might be more suitable. What would his father think of him? It almost felt inevitable at this point at how much of a disappointment he was these days.

His thoughts were spiraling; recently, they always do.

“It’s ok to be tired, but you’ve already made a great step in coming here.” Dr. Min tried to be the shoulder Jungkook could lean on, but he was too focused on all the red flags waving around in his head.

Jungkook didn’t give too much detail about Yuri, but Dr. Min had been a therapist long enough to know that this might go beyond just simple marital issues. He wanted to press for more details, but suddenly Jungkook’s phone started buzzing in his jacket pocket. It was almost startling to see how fast the young man wiped away his tears, before he reached into his pocket and answered his phone.

“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice was a little hoarse, but his tone shifted to sound a lot more professional than the soft one he used with him. Yoongi quickly figured this must be a work call.

“Wha— I’m a little busy—“ Jungkook tried to interject, but silence passed as he listened to the person on the other end.

“Oh? Oh… I see— I’ll come straight in then.” That sadness in his voice returned all too quickly, but Dr. Min could tell he was trying to mask it.

The call ended soon after, and Jungkook looked at the clock to see that they still had 10 minutes left of their session.

“I’m sorry, I’m going to need to cut our session short. I thought I was done for the day but…” Jungkook tried to smile, but he couldn’t. For some reason, he wanted to stay and talk more. This must be a good sign.

“I understand.” Yoongi said as he stood up with Jungkook.

“I look forward to seeing you again and meeting your wife tomorrow.” Usually during these sessions, Dr. Min tried his best to remain unbiased regarding couples’ problems, especially during these initial one-on-one intake interviews, but he was already starting to get a worrisome picture in his head of this woman. Their meeting tomorrow will be the real teller.

Jungkook smiled lightly before heading for the door. Dr. Min wanted to stop him, for some reason, he feared letting him go in his state, but all he could do was hope to see him again.

•────•──────────•────•

The next day, Jungkook found himself stuck in a meeting with some of the executives from the production team. It wasn’t that important, it was just an update about what they had been up to lately at the factories. Jungkook had tried his best to pay attention, but he was really tired today.

After he went home from the work emergency, he was finally able to let the emotions he’d been trying to keep at bay flow without the prying eyes of society. He didn’t know exactly why he was crying. Something about opening that door was so hard to do, and it just resurfaced all those thoughts that kept spinning around in his head over the years. He didn’t know what to do with himself; it was all too much and he had no one to talk to.

Yuri came home eventually, she walked in and was greeted with the sight of him sitting at their dining table, dinner only half eaten, and his face stained with tears. He wished she had come over and hugged him— that’s all he wanted, he was sure it would have made everything better, but Jungkook watched the disappointment etch more into her features the longer she stared at him. Yuri just rolled her eyes with a scoff and went to heat up her cold dinner.

Jungkook didn’t blame her for being upset, he really does cry too much these days.

As much as he told himself that, something about this just finally made him explode; the fragile dam that had kept his emotions somewhat under control crumbled to pieces all in an instant. He couldn’t stop his sobs as he quickly ran to the bathroom for a little more privacy. It didn’t take long for Yuri to come over banging on the door, complaining about the noise.

He probably was too loud, Yuri hates it so much when he’s loud. But he was far too emotional earlier and her pleas for him to be quiet just made things worse.

He ended up sleeping on the bathroom floor last night after he eventually passed out. He woke up with sore, red, puffy eyes, and his arm hurt like crazy from sleeping on it. It was his fault, Yuri made sure he knew how dumb that was before she left.

Jungkook had tried coffee earlier, he even had Secretary Yu cancel his plans for the next two hours as he tried to take a nap in his office. That didn’t really work; he was too worried about someone walking in and thinking he was lazy.

The only thing that kept his eyes from fluttering closed was you standing outside the meeting room. You were by the printer, likely working on those reports he asked you to do.

He should’ve been focused on the presentation, but his gaze was too busy raking up your legs that were so nicely accented by your red-bottom stilettos and short pencil skirt. The sight was a feasting ground for his imagination to run wild, and he was far more interested in picturing coming up behind you and fucking you right there against the printer. He would finally push up that short skirt that would drive him crazy as he shamelessly took you right then and there.

As much as he enjoyed the thought, Jungkook felt disgusting; he had a wife, and it went against everything he believed in to think about someone other than the woman he’s married to in a situation like that. He could try to make up an excuse and say it was all the sexual frustration he’d been experiencing these days, but how could that justify it? It couldn’t, he was awful.

But Jungkook wanted to feel something, and Yuri wasn’t giving him anything anymore. They hardly had sex these days and she found too much pleasure in teasing him, getting him to a point where he’s pleading, before something always gets in the way of anything actually happening. His mind for some reason had found refuge in imagining you in sexual situations to cope. It was one of the reasons he ultimately ended up making an appointment with Dr. Min, recently you had drifted into his mind while he was eating out his wife. How dare he?

He could continue to give excuses, nothing justifies what he’s been doing, but before he got married, he would have described someone like you as his “ideal type.” If things were different, if he wasn’t married, he would have probably had the biggest crush on you.

Neither of you had talked much since you started working at Golden Tech, but he’d taken more time than he wanted to admit watching you from afar.

Oddly enough, you were the epitome of everything his young mind had pictured dating. It wasn't like he walked around with a list in his head, but he found you checking boxes he didn’t even know he had. It was the weirdest feeling, but the longer you were at the office, the more he felt that if things were different, he would’ve liked taking a shot.

From the moment you spilled coffee on him, he knew you were gorgeous, so much so, that for some reason you always occupied his mind. It was in a way that had his eyes following you each time you crossed paths in the hallways, in a way that made him think about you even after you walked by, and in a way that made him a mess anytime you’d meet his gaze.

He was always thrown into a whirlwind of conflicting emotions whenever he’d see you. Lust, admiration, anger? He didn’t know anymore, but most of the time it was all three at once.

Workwise it was mainly admiration. You were smart, that much was clear from your first meeting, but since then you’ve continued impressing him. You were never afraid to speak your mind in the middle of heated debates between executives, and it was always your insight he found the most compelling. The amount of times alone since the TV incident they have utilized your input for important situations… It wasn’t a big shock when he found out how quickly you got promoted, you honestly did more than your superiors. You were hardworking, no matter what he threw at you, you would always manage to get it done better than expected. He would always hear the best from Director Son about your team being one of the best performing out of the finance department.

The list could go on really, but hearing about you, or even seeing you in the hall, always made him feel all strange inside. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew he hated it.

He wasn’t the only one who seemed intrigued by your charm; you made everyone around you smile with such ease. Anytime he would happen to see you in the office, your coworkers would be laughing and smiling about something you’d said. He’d tried to join in on the fun and talk to you occasionally— after meetings, in the hall when you were alone, in the office when he would pass by and see you still working late, but it never seemed to go well.

“Director Jeon! Did you need something from me?!” You had panicked that one time he startled you while you were standing by the water cooler. The minute you met his eyes, his mind went blank. Somehow his attempt at small talk had turned into checking to see if you were on track to meet the deadline for something he’d asked you to do.

Even Jimin had only the best things to say about you.

“I really don’t understand why you have a problem with her.” Jimin side-eyed him one night when they were working late. Jimin had brought you up and mentioned a fun brief conversation you had, and somehow the topic had shifted to his hyung questioning why he was always so weird when it came to you. The only thing Jungkook could respond with was giving you more work.

He didn’t have a problem with you. He really didn’t, but as much as he found himself enamored by your work, he also found it hard to stop the anger from rising anytime you’d even cross his mind. And unfortunately, that was often.

Jungkook really didn’t know you that well, but he’d seen you enough that you’d affect him in ways that he could never tell another soul about.

One time he walked by the meeting room when you were leading a meeting along with Director Son. You never noticed him standing there, but just seeing you in your element made him quickly need to run back to his office after he felt his pants start to tighten.

It was often your dark red lips that he pictured when his hand would hurriedly fist his cock. Jungkook hardly masturbated anymore, Yuri hated the mess, and he always felt sex-crazed if he ever attempted these days. However, the last time he did it was your lipstick he pictured, it was the view he had earlier that day when you bent over beside him and he could see down your shirt, it was those stupid short skirts you would wear all the time, it was you who he pictured fucking instead of his wife as he desperately rocked into the pillow that he’d been clinging onto.

Jungkook never did that again. Yuri had gotten so mad when he told her he had essentially ruined his pillow in a moment of weakness. Part of him wished he had told her it was another woman that he got off to, he would have loved to see how jealous she might have gotten. At least then he would have known if she truly cared for him at all.

You would get him so flustered without even trying. Maybe if you knew, you would hate him as much as Yuri did. Maybe it was best this way. The thought of another person screaming how pathetic he was, was enough to send him over the edge. It was probably only thanks to the business deal that he found himself getting married. No one would have said yes otherwise.

Jungkook’s attention remained on you, but you never noticed his gaze. His mind was going crazy at the thought of feeling you; the sounds of the buttons on the printer being smashed into filling the hallway as he desperately pushed into you from behind. You felt so good around his needy cock while he tried his best not to spill into you too soon.

It would be too good, and—

His fantasy was interrupted when Taehyung, a member of your financial team, suddenly walked up beside you. Jungkook watched as he seemingly came over to help you in your struggle with the printer. He just rolled his eyes and tried to go back to paying attention to the presentation like he was supposed to.

He had to remember to get that printer fixed.

It’s not like Jungkook had a problem with Taehyung, but he’s heard the rumors about you two and how everyone who worked on this floor thought you were together. There was no reason to be upset; he could feel his wedding ring on his finger, but he couldn’t stop disliking seeing the two of you anywhere near each other.

What if it was true?

He wondered what made you choose Taehyung. What did he do to win you over? What did Jungkook lack that made him so unwanted? Jungkook's gaze drifted down at the ring on his finger. In another world where he wasn’t married, he couldn’t help but think you wouldn’t have liked him anyway. No one would.

“Director Jeon?” The executive called out, finally noticing that Jungkook wasn’t paying attention to the lavishly planned out presentation.

“I-I’m sorry, what were you saying?” Jungkook hurriedly tried to shake himself out of his daze.

The meeting went on for far too long in his opinion. The production team always liked to be detailed in their presentations ever since going on two years ago when they messed up the launch of the new line of TVs. Normally he would have appreciated it, but he had trouble keeping his eyes open the entire time.

The minute it was over, Jungkook rushed back to his office, hoping to finally get a few minutes of sleep. He had an hour before his next meeting so he could squeeze a thirty minute nap in before he needed to do some last minute work.

Just as he sat on his chair, ready to lay his head down, suddenly his phone started to buzz in his jacket pocket. Jungkook groaned, the exhaustion easily made him annoyed; he just wanted to sleep. He was ready to slam that dnd button for a little peace and quiet, when he realized it had been a text from Dr. Min.

Dr. Min [4:23]: Yuri didn’t show up for her interview today.

Dr. Min [4:23]: I waited an extra thirty minutes and even tried calling.

Dr. Min [4:25]: We can still do our first official session tomorrow, just make sure she’s there :)

Jungkook stared at his phone in disbelief.

After he finally managed to come out of the bathroom this morning, the first thing he did was remind Yuri about her interview with Dr. Min. They argued a bit, Yuri always going back to the fact Jungkook slept on the floor again, but he still kept reminding her throughout their discussion, and even until she left, about her appointment with the doctor.

Jungkook couldn’t help but wonder if she actually forgot, or if she purposefully didn’t show up. Yuri, just like his parents when he brought up the idea of going to couple’s therapy, detested it, but Jungkook was insistent until she finally relented and agreed.

She knew this meant everything to him.

Jungkook didn’t know how to react. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to just break something. Instead, he texted Dr. Min a quick ‘ok’ before laying his head down to finally sleep.

He was just so tired.

•────•──────────•────•

The next day it took way too much effort trying to bring Yuri over to Dr. Min’s office. She went on and on that she had plans with friends, and Jungkook almost had to physically drag her into the car to go with him.

The whole fiasco made him incredibly flustered. She complained the entire time about how much this was going to be a waste. The whole way Jungkook was either on the verge of opening the car door and jumping out, or shriveling into a ball to just cry because why didn’t she want this as bad as he did?

Did she not want to fix their marriage? Had she already given up?

It was thoughts like these that clouded his mind on the way to Dr. Min’s office. Yuri was in his ear the whole time sighing about how she could be “sipping sparkling wine with her friends at Han Cook’s right now instead of going to this fucking scam,” her words exactly. It was irritating, Jungkook even noticed Dae-Jung roll his eyes a couple of times because she just wouldn’t stop.

At some point, even he didn’t want to be there.

They were already 5 minutes late by the time they were walking through the door. Dr. Min was standing in the waiting room talking with his secretary when he and Yuri arrived hand in hand, but not out of affection, Jungkook was just scared she might try to run away.

“Ahhhh, there’s my couple.” Dr. Min smiled at the sight.

“I’m so sorry we’re late…” Jungkook sighed, trying to repress any ill feelings he had toward his wife. Now was not the time; they were there now, that’s all that mattered.

Dr. Min quickly guided the both of them into his office, repeating the same process as when Jungkook went in for the first time. Before he knew it, they had the blanket draped over their laps, and Dr. Min was sitting in his cozy chair in front of them with his yellow notepad in hand.

“Alright, for our first session I think it might be best that our main goal should be to try to open the doors before we really begin to explore what’s inside. We should try to lay out any immediate issues you think you might be having in your relationship. It could be anything— the little things, like someone not always forgetting to push their chair in, to bigger things, like that fight you both had that has stayed with you. But first, since I never got to meet with you Yuri, I just want to talk to you briefly.” Dr. Min smiled at Yuri and he noticed the way she rolled her eyes.

“I understand therapy might be a little intimidating at first, but just think of me as a friend you’re ranting about your relationship troubles to. I’m someone outside of your relationship, I’m not here to tell you who’s right or wrong, but simply to advise and guide you in ways that might lead you both to being a happier and healthier couple.” Yoongi hoped that would do something, but Yuri continued to sit there with her arms crossed, looking completely uninterested.

Hmmm.

“Yuri, I want to first know if you have any concerns about our sessions.”

She sighed with almost palpable annoyance. “No.” Yuri mumbled, looking out the window.

Alright.

This wasn’t his first session with someone like this. Over the years, he’s learned that the best way to handle it, was to try your best to get your foot in the door. It’s all a matter of getting them talking.

“Alright Yuri, how about you tell me how you first found out about the arrangement? What were your feelings when you heard the news?” Dr. Min laid out a relatively simple question, hoping this would be enough to get her even just a little engaged.

“I mean…” Yuri looked over at Jungkook before turning back to the doctor. “We found out together, our parents sat us down and told us we were getting married. I felt indifferent to it, no one really wants to get married when they’re twenty-two but it was for a business deal, what could I do about it?”

“It’s your life, you weren’t upset?”

Yuri shook her head.

“I felt like I was doing my part for the family. My brother’s inheriting the company, and my sister works there as well. It was just me that went on a different path, so the least I could do was help secure a deal that would really benefit the company.”

Interesting.

“Alright then, let’s change the question a little. What were your feelings when you heard that you were to marry Jungkook?” The question was direct and it was asked with the hope of understanding her feelings toward her husband.

Considering the concerning way Jungkook described their relationship, it was a good way to segue the conversation into uncovering her true feelings. Dr. Min noticed the way Jungkook’s eyes widened before he turned to face Yuri, anticipating her answer.

Yoongi wished he had the opportunity to meet with her on his own. Normally, this would never be a question he would be asking with the spouse present, at least without knowing the answer first, but it was important information that would help him better plan their future sessions.

It was clear the question also took Yuri off guard.

“It was Jungkook, we had seen each other a few times before and our parents made us go on a couple of dates. I would be more surprised if it wouldn’t have been Jungkook.”

“You didn’t answer my question. How did you feel that it was specifically Jungkook?”

Yuri’s face changed. He could sense she was slightly irritated again.

“What do you want me to say, I couldn’t wait to get married to him? Is that what would make you happy?” Her words were for Dr. Min, but she eventually turned to face Jungkook.

“I’m not expecting anything. I just wanted your honest thoughts about what you felt like at that moment; the fact you were getting married forcefully, and that it was Jungkook at the end of that aisle. How would you have felt if it was someone else?”

“No different. I was only doing it for the company, it just happened to be Jungkook that I married. I mean, it probably would have been his older brother if he hadn't left.” Yuri was looking at it very logically, but she didn’t seem to care when she finished ranting about Jungkook turning away to wipe away his tears.

“How about now, do you feel the same way? You wouldn’t have cared whether it was Jungkook or his brother you married?” Dr. Min pressed.

“Well… I know Jungkook more. I’ve only met his brother a couple of times, and from those few instances, I think Jungkook and I work a little better.” This should have been the moment that gave Jungkook some hope, but all he was hearing was ‘convenience.’

It just so happened that his brother left for California and he offered to take his position. There was no “I’m so happy it worked out that way,” for all he knew, Yuri could have said the same thing if Junghyeon was here instead of him. Then again, his hyung probably wouldn’t even be here in therapy. His brother was always great with people and had ten times more experience in relationships than he did. Maybe Yuri would have been happier if she had married him instead.

What was wrong with him?

“What makes you say that Yuri?” Dr. Min could sense Jungkook was spiraling, he just hoped this question would bring some sort of reassurance.

“Me and Jungkook just… we just…” For the first time, she stumbled.

“What Yuri?” Jungkook suddenly interjected. “We what?”

“I think we work.” It was the same robotic answer from earlier. Jungkook sat there stunned wondering why she wasn’t telling him?

Something in him snapped.

“Yuri, why aren’t you telling him? He’s a professional; he’s here to tell me what I’m doing wrong. Tell him how being married to me makes you miserable. I'm trying to fix things, at least make you more comfortable. Tell him, please tell him!” Jungkook cried, he was desperate to finally understand what he had done to make her hate him so much.

Why couldn’t she understand? He just wanted to make her happy.

Yuri just leaned back on the couch and rolled her eyes, again.

“I can’t believe you’re crying about this.” She mumbled.

Jungkook hurriedly wiped his eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I can’t do anything right.” He tried to laugh it off.

If the red flags weren’t waving before they were about to fly off at this point. It was so strange. Yoongi felt like this appointment was close to derailing, so he tried his best to steer them back on topic.

“Yuri, are there any issues you have with Jungkook you want to address in our sessions? It could be anything, I’m sure you heard Jungkook is very willing to listen and hear any qualms you may have with him or your relationship.” Yoongi found himself worried about what she was going to say.

Yuri thought for a bit before settling on a simple answer. “He’s too clingy.”

“In what ways?” Dr. Min hoped to coax more out of her.

“I don’t know… he’s more into being close, I’m just not like that.” It was still vague and didn’t quite make sense.

“I get that not everyone is the affectionate type, I’m the same way actually, but there are still ways to show you care besides physical touch. People have different love languages— considering you both were arranged at such a young age, you might still be trying to explore what works best for you. I might be able to recommend to you both some exercises you might be able to try in order to explore those sides of yourselves.” Jungkook was holding onto every word the doctor was saying. Maybe this might be it.

Dr. Min made a note to return to those exercises at the end of the session.

“Yuri, I would like to talk about something that Jungkook discussed with me in our interview. I don’t want to speak for him, so Jungkook, feel free to jump in at any moment, but one of the things he mentioned was his desire for you to touch him more. I think in regards to affection—“

“Is he talking about our sex life?!” Yuri exclaimed suddenly, turning to face him.

Yoongi’s eyes widened at her outburst. “It was mentioned, but that’s not—“

“I can’t believe you…” Yuri scoffed, turning away from him.

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook didn’t even try to fight her.

“I think it’s healthy to discuss it. You’re meant to be a couple and I hope you both know that communication is one of the building blocks into facilitating a good relationship. Things like sex, which is a boundary you both have crossed, in order to make sure everyone is satisfied, should be actively discussed with each other.” Dr. Min pointed out. This appointment was going left, he had simply wanted this to be a point about compromise, but the topic shifted so quickly.

“I get it might be a little awkward with me being here, but if it’s something you feel like you need to work on in your relationship, this is the place to discuss it.” Yoongi watched Yuri scoff at his words.

“That hadn’t been my point though— I only brought up intimacy to demonstrate how relationships take compromise to work. Jungkook had mentioned how physical touch seems to be something he really values in a relationship— this could include holding hands, cuddling, kissing, small things like that. Yuri you don’t share those same values, which is completely fine. Relationships require both parties taking and giving in order to make work. In this case, Yuri, you could try and be a little more affectionate with Jungkook because you know that means a lot to him. And Jungkook, it is important that you give Yuri her space when she needs it. This balance is important in working toward a healthy relationship.” He finally seemed to hold their attention as he went on.

“Communication is key. Knowing how to effectively tell your partner whenever you feel the balance might be off, is important to maintaining the relationship. This helps your partner feel seen, heard, and allows you both not to be in the dark about how each other is feeling. Jungkook, why don’t you tell Yuri some of the things we talked about in your session?” Dr. Min ushered, hoping Jungkook’s own words would be good when articulating these points, but he could sense Jungkook’s hesitancy on how he shakily looked between him and Yuri.

Jungkook sat up slightly. “All I want is for you to want me Yuri… maybe we shouldn’t have had sex so soon before getting to know each other but…” Jungkook felt horrible for even mentioning this, “I feel like I do so much— I try my best to make you happy, but I don’t feel like you’re putting in any effort, or even want to put in any effort into our relationship. I know we were arranged and things aren’t going to just magically work out, but I thought we both agreed on our honeymoon that we were going to try our best to make the most out of the situation.” Jungkook's voice started to shake as the tears had already begun to fall.

“I know I’m making a mess of things, but I just want you to tell me what I do wrong. I want you to know I’m committed to you, to our relationship, and the reason I brought us here is all for our future, I want an ‘us.’ I just want to know you’re trying… I’ll take anything… don’t leave so early in the morning and stay in bed to cuddle, kiss me when you leave, hug me, kiss me when you come back, take me out on dates, invite me out with your friends, and—“ He was a mess, saying anything and everything that was coming into mind.

“Yuri, I want you all the time, you have no fucking idea. I promise I want this, I want you, but I’m frustrated. I wish I wasn’t, but I am because my wife is gorgeous and gives me every reason to want her every single day, but— fuck, but you always lead me on and… I know it’s hard to want me, I know it’s so hard…” Really, why would she ever want him?

“I know whenever we do have sex I’m not the best at it, I could be better, I want to be better, but—but…. but…” Somehow the tears poured out even harder when he realized he had nothing. Why would Yuri ever want him, why would anyone ever want him?

Absolutely nothing about him was worth putting in the effort that he wished for so badly.

“Jung—“ Dr. Min was about to interject but Yuri was quicker.

“I can not fucking believe this, is this seriously how you talk about me when I’m not here?!” She was yelling, this shocked Dr. Min, but Jungkook almost seemed to completely shut down, staring at Yuri blankly with these wide, round, sad eyes.

“You’re actually pathetic, I can’t believe I married such a fucking loser… And you want to know why I never want you? It’s because you act like this! You’re always fucking complaining about something, you cry about everything, you’re not normal for one fucking minute. You’re talking about our private business in front of this stranger and painting me like I’m just this bad fucking person!”

Yuri suddenly stood up, the blanket dropping to the floor.

“Why don’t you tell him there’s absolutely nothing in that head of yours and the only thing that seems to do any sort of thinking is your dick, and you whine every time I say no.” All Dr. Min could look at was Jungkook as Yuri practically screamed in his face. Jungkook just looked like a deer trapped in headlights at how scared he seemed, and Dr. Min noticed the way his hands were shaking and grabbing onto the pillow on his lap a little too tightly.

Oh no.

“Yuri please—“ Dr. Min tried to interject once again but was immediately shut down.

“Jungkook, you want to hear why I don’t want you?! You never let me do what I want, it’s always us, never me. You make me feel claustrophobic, you cry at the littles things, you fuck like a robot, and you finish in two seconds. Why would I ever want to be at home? Why would I ever want to be with you?!”

“Yuri!” Yoongi once again tried to stop her, a little more firmly this time, sensing disaster was near.

“The fact that you wasted my time bringing me here because your dumb ass can’t figure out why I don’t want to deal with you— I honestly have no words, because why did I have to marry such a pathetic fucking excuse of a man?!” Yuri lashed, and with that, she rolled her eyes one last time before she grabbed her purse and stormed out of his office.

Dr. Min was stunned. In all his years of practice, nothing like that had ever happened during any of his sessions, but his own shock was dwarfed by how concerned he was for Jungkook. The minute Yuri slammed the door behind her, his trembling seemed to only get worse, and his choked cries were replaced with gasps for air.

What Yoongi had feared became all too real when he saw Jungkook desperately reaching to tug at his tie, and he suddenly looked like he just came back from running a marathon.

Dr. Min immediately flipped from professional mode into caretaker, jumping up from his chair to sit beside Jungkook on the couch.

“Don’t worry, I’m here.” Yoongi tried to reassure him, pulling him into a tight embrace and gently rubbing his back.

“Everything she said— she-she’s fucking right.” He was hardly able to get out the words.

“No, she’s not Jungkook, don’t listen to her.”

“My wife— she’s my wife— how can I not listen?!” He choked into his shoulder.

Yoongi sensed this was only going to get worse.

“Jungkook, listen to me ok? I’m going to need you to take deep breaths for me, alright? In and out, in and out, in and out—“ Yoongi pulled back to demonstrate steady breathing, making sure Jungkook looked at him.

Eventually, he attempted to join the doctor. Jungkook was definitely shaky, but it was better than nothing.

“I’ll be right back, I’m going to get you some water real quick, but in the meantime please repeat over and over out loud— it’s okay to not be okay. Okay?” Dr. Min advised, but he could immediately tell Jungkook was not listening.

“She’s right— why-why did I—“

“Jungkook, say it with me.” Dr. Min made sure Jungkook was actually looking into his eyes before continuing.

“It’s okay to not be okay— say it with me. It’s okay to not be okay.” Yoongi kept repeating, waiting for Jungkook to join him, still trembling in his grasp.

“It’s okay to not be okay.”

“It’s okay—“

“It’s okay to not be okay.”

“It’s okay to not be okay.” Jungkook was eventually able to force it out.

“Keep repeating and continue taking deep breaths; I’m going to get you water.” Yoongi said and Jungkook shakily nodded, reassuring that he had heard him.

Yoongi was finally able to get up and he quickly made his way out of his office to where his secretary sat. Luckily for him, right behind her desk was a mini fridge where they kept refreshments.

“Dr. Min, what’s going on? I heard screaming, someone stormed out of here—“ She asked, her concern already on her features.

“I’ll explain later, can you hand me a bottle of water?— My client is having a panic attack.” Yoongi rushed out. His secretary looked shocked but quickly rolled her chair over to the fridge behind her.

“Oh my gosh, is everything ok?” She asked as she took the bottle out and handed it to him.

“We��re trying to get there. Thank you so much.” Yoongi said before hurrying back into his office.

He found Jungkook still just as distraught as when he left, but he was still repeating the phrase and trying his best to take deep breaths in between.

“Good job.” Yoongi smiled, trying to reassure him.

“Here, this will help.” He handed him the water bottle, but Jungkook’s hands were shaking so much, he couldn’t open it. Yoongi was quick to step in and screw off the cap for him, gently guiding the bottle to Jungkook’s mouth so he could drink, fearing he might spill it if he tried doing it on his own.

Yoongi put his arm around Jungkook as they both faced the window. By now, the sun had almost set completely. The city lights were bright, you could see a few stars decorating the sky, but a sliver of orange accented the horizon, the last bit of sunlight of the day fading.

Jungkook kept taking deep breaths and trying his best to repeat the phrase that Yoongi told him to, but occasionally those thoughts that probably garnered the attack would return with full force and suddenly he was shaking again and he struggled to catch his breath.

Jungkook wondered if the doctor thought he was as pathetic as he felt, but he never said a word as he cried his eyes out and tried to pull himself together. All his brain could focus on was the look on Yuri’s face as she told him how she felt. How dare he say all that? He should have known better. Why didn’t he know that? What was wrong with him?

After many more tears, Jungkook was finally able to calm down. His suit jacket was draped over the armrest of the couch, and the tips of his hair that sat right at his cheeks were soaked— which he needed a haircut. He kept forgetting to do that, it was getting too long now.

“Jungkook, how long has this been happening?” Dr. Min eventually asked.

Jungkook was sitting with his head in his hands, his face burning at an alarming degree. He felt so embarrassed for causing such a scene. He was too much in his own thoughts to realize the doctor had asked him a question. Dr. Min gently pulled his shoulder back to make sure he was listening.

“Jungkook, did you hear me? How long has this been happening?” Yoongi asked again.

Jungkook sighed, his face was still wet from the tears that hadn’t stopped falling.

“Not too long… I’ve only felt like this a couple of times before, it’s never been this bad though— which I’m very sorry for. I’m so sorry about making such a scene—“

“Don’t be, it isn’t your fault, and this is really serious.” Yoongi sighed, wishing Jungkook would stop blaming himself for everything. “Does anyone close to you know you’ve been having panic attacks?” He asked next.

Jungkook slowly shook his head.

The only other person who might know would be Yuri, but he’s always been able to run and hide in the bathroom before it got too bad. It was still new that this was happening at all. For some reason, these days when Yuri gets like that, he gets easily overwhelmed that suddenly the room he was in felt like it was closing in on him.

In the past, he would have told Jimin, but he didn’t want his hyung to see him like this. He didn’t want him to know how pathetic he had been lately.

“You should probably tell somebody. Did having me here help at all?” Dr. Min asked.

“It really did, thank you so much.” It was truly more sympathy than he deserved. None of his attacks had been as bad as todays, but the doctor being by his side, and so attentive, made this one the shortest episode he’s had.

The silence settled in the room for a moment.

“Maybe I’m expecting too much out of this arrangement, and I’m making her miserable by trying to have us act like an actual couple.” Jungkook suddenly said, letting those thoughts take over again. “We agreed to try on our honeymoon, but— I think I did something that made her think otherwise. I’m so bad at this, Yuri wasn’t like this before we got married. She was so sweet— I just…”

“Jungkook, you shouldn’t keep blaming yourself for this. A marriage, any relationship really, takes both partners putting in the effort to make it work. I imagine being in an arranged marriage would make things harder, but both partners still need to try. Even though I don’t know the exact details, to me, it seems like you should know you’re at least putting in the work. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if you’re going above and beyond.” Yoongi smiled.

“There is nothing wrong with expecting something in return. Sure, I haven’t talked to Yuri enough to know if what you’re doing is exactly what she wants; but the fact that it doesn’t seem like she’s gone through that trial and error phase with you, is an issue. You’re trying to be a couple, you’re bound to have bad days, but there should be more good ones than not. I don’t know everything about your relationship, but I can’t lie and say I’m not worried about you.” Dr. Min was being honest.

“I can’t leave though— we aren’t dating, we’re married, and not only that, so many people are relying on me to make this work! Golden Tech benefited so much from our marriage, Redno did too, and all the employees— I can’t give up. We signed a contract.” Jungkook looked panicked at the thought of what failing would mean.

“I get that, but it seems like this marriage is starting to affect your—“

“I just need to make her happy, I have to make her happy somehow. Why is it so fucking hard?! Why can’t I just do that?!” Jungkook stared down at the ground, his hands hurriedly running through his hair and tightly gripping onto his dark locks.

“Jungkook—“

“I feel like I’m letting everyone down these days— fuck, why can’t I get it together? How am I ever going to run a company like this?!” The agony he was experiencing pained his voice, and the anguish that painted his features was more than unsettling. They were sentiments that Jungkook tried to keep hidden, but everything was just spilling out at this point.

“Jungkook, that’s not—“

But instead of letting the doctor finish, he just groaned loudly, his frustration with the situation becoming overwhelming. Jungkook tried his best to hastily wipe away his tears and shake away the despair. “I should probably leave.” He suddenly interrupted, standing up way too quickly and nearly falling because his head hurt so much.

“Wait—“ Yoongi tried to stop him.

“It’s getting late anyway.” Jungkook stretched, noticing now the nightlife was already in full swing.

Yoongi wanted to tell him to stay. He felt Jungkook was close to uncovering some concerning details, but he couldn’t keep him there. But he was just really, really worried about him.

Instead, he just sighed and got up to finally turn on a light. He had kept them off, knowing Jungkook complained a couple of times that his head was hurting. Besides, the lights outside were more than enough to keep things from being pitch black.

“Jungkook, do you have anyone you could stay with tonight?” Dr. Min asked.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think it’s right for you to be alone, and maybe a night apart from Yuri would do you some good.” This was the opposite of the advice he’d normally give, but he feared any time with Yuri would push Jungkook over an edge he sensed was nearing.

Jungkook slowly nodded.

“I’m so sorry. I overstayed and went way past our session. I hope I wasn’t in the way of any other appointments, I can pay for the extra time.” Jungkook offered but Yoongi shook his head.

“You were my last appointment for the day, and there is no need. You left early for your intake interview anyway, so let’s just say we made up the time today.” Yoongi smiled. Jungkook was about to protest otherwise, but Yoongi quickly shushed him.

“Before you go though, I wanted to give you this.” Yoongi walked over to his desk and grabbed a smaller notepad out of a drawer, before hurriedly scribbling something on it.

It only took a second before Dr. Min was walking back, after ripping a page off to give to Jungkook.

“What’s this?”

“I’m a couple’s therapist, but I have a friend who might be better to talk to about yourself and what you might be dealing with. If necessary he also knows someone who can prescribe some medication to help make your days a little more manageable.” At his words, Jungkook looked at the note a little more closely.

K͟i͟m͟ ͟N͟a͟m͟j͟o͟o͟n͟

T͟h͟e͟r͟a͟p͟i͟s͟t͟ ͟(͟S͟p͟e͟c͟i͟a͟l͟i͟z͟e͟d͟ ͟i͟n͟ ͟M͟e͟n͟t͟a͟l͟ ͟H͟e͟a͟l͟t͟h͟)͟

A͟l͟o͟n͟g͟ ͟w͟i͟t͟h͟ ͟a͟ ͟p͟h͟o͟n͟e͟ ͟n͟u͟m͟b͟e͟r͟ ͟a͟n͟d͟ ͟t͟h͟e͟ ͟a͟d͟d͟r͟e͟s͟s͟ ͟o͟f͟ ͟t͟h͟e͟ ͟c͟l͟i͟n͟i͟c͟.͟

“I think it would be a good idea to talk to him. I’m a little worried about you, I can’t lie.” Yoongi chuckled lightly, but he really was concerned. It would be wrong to say the red flags in his relationship were obvious when he only got such a brief look into it, but he also feared Jungkook’s mental health was in a dangerous place.

Jungkook nodded once again, staring down at the note and stuffing it into his pocket. He turned toward the door, trying not to show how even that simple movement made his head feel like it could split open.

“I hope to see you again,” Yoongi said, hoping he’d come back at some point, yet there was a part of him that didn’t. Maybe Jungkook would take some time to think about what his relationship was doing to him, maybe he might realize he was better off without Yuri, or maybe all hope wasn’t lost and this session would be enough to spark some change in their relationship.

“Me too…” There was something so sad about Jungkook’s tone. Yoongi wanted to question him,

but Jungkook grabbed his coat and was out the door before he could even get

another word out.

•────•──────────•────•

The minute he closed the door behind him, Jungkook was nearly blinded by the bright fluorescent lights of the waiting room. They only seemed to make his headache worse.

Jungkook walked as he tried to put his suit jacket and coat on. It was still cold despite being a few weeks into spring.

“Everything okay?” His attention snapped to the secretary who was still sitting at her desk.

When he turned to her, he noticed her shocked expression. It was only then that he considered how much of a mess he likely was. His eyes were probably red and swollen, his face puffy, and he knew his hair was a mess from pulling at it.

Jungkook bowed slightly. “I’m fine, I’m sorry for keeping you here late.” He truly felt bad.

“Don’t worry about it, go get some rest. Have a good night!” Her cheery voice couldn’t stop the small smile appearing on his face. For a second he believed it actually might be.

Jungkook said his goodbyes before stumbling down the hall, trying his best to put on his jackets. His driver was already waiting for him downstairs. Dae-Jung had texted and said Yuri had left with her friends a while ago. He wasn’t surprised; he’d only been holding her back by bringing her with him.

“Where should I take you, sir?” Dae-Jung asked as they both settled in the car.

On his way down, Jungkook considered taking the doctor’s advice and staying with Jimin. He would no doubt let him stay if he asked, but he felt no greater need than to be alone right now.

“You can drop me off at the apartment, I’ll only need a few minutes to pick up a few things. I made reservations at a hotel, so you’ll take me there next.” Jungkook sighed, staring outside at the rain that suddenly started pouring the minute he made it downstairs.

Dae-Jung nodded before pulling off and beginning the journey back to the apartment.

Just a little ways down the street they passed by a street bar where they had a sign outside that read in bold letters: “Today’s Special: Dakgangjeong” (Sweet Crispy Korean Fried Chicken). It was only then that Jungkook realized he hadn’t eaten all day.

Maybe that’s why his head was hurting so much. He had been so busy earlier trying to get all his work done so he could meet Yuri at the apartment for their appointment, that he forgot to eat lunch once again.

The second he remembered, it was like a wave suddenly hit him, making him realize how hungry he was. Jungkook was tempted to tell Dae-Jung to pull over— dakgangjeong with soju sounded amazing right now, but ultimately decided against it as they rolled by.

It was raining, cold, and it was starting to get late. Besides, as much as he wanted to be alone, drinking by himself would bring him down to a whole new level of sadness that he wasn’t in the mood at all to explore. He already felt shitty enough, and being in an environment like that right now would only make him feel worse.

Instead, he promised to bring ramen with him and make it at the hotel later.

The ride back was long. Traffic was awful like it usually was, but Jungkook was so tired and his headache continued to worsen. Every little bump or sharp turn would have him rubbing his temples in hopes that it would somehow help; it didn’t.

His pain only made him recount the awful day he had and, as much as he tried to stop it, the tears started falling again. The minute his eyes started welling up only made the pain in his head worse, and the thought of Dae-Jung noticing him crying made him quickly try to fan them away.

Jungkook had already received a concerning look the minute he came downstairs and Dae-Jung was standing there ready with the umbrella. He had given Jungkook the same strange look as the secretary did upstairs. He looked like shit and he knew it. What made it worse though was the fact that he sees Dae-Jung often, and he hated the thought of people close to him knowing how pathetic he was these days.

The ride back home took almost an hour because of the traffic. By the time he was going up the elevator, all he wanted to do was sleep.

Jungkook sluggishly made his way down the hall, staring at the note Dr. Min had given him before he left. He was considering if he should really call the number sometime tomorrow when he had time, but then he came to the door and mindlessly punched in the code. Jungkook was so out of it, he had closed the door behind him without thinking too much, too busy contemplating if he should bring that wine his dad gave him after his business trip to France.

He was just ready to get this packing over with, but he was shocked when he turned around to see Yuri staring at him. She was sitting on one of the kitchen barstools, wearing a tank top and a pair of those boy shorts that normally would drive him crazy.

It wasn’t like he was mad at her, if anything, she had every right to be mad at him. He just expected she would be out with her friends still (he wished she was). He had simply planned to text her that he was staying at a hotel— he didn’t expect her to care, she was hardly at the apartment anyway. He was thinking maybe she would have celebrated, maybe even thrown a little party like that one time he left for the US for a week.

No, he didn’t expect at all to see her here. If things couldn’t get any stranger, she suddenly got up from the stool and slowly walked over until she was standing only a few inches away. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he was leaving for a few days (at least), and that he was there to pack and he’d quickly be out of her hair. But he just stood there, his eyes bouncing between her eyes that were looking directly into his, and the view down her tank top.

“Uhh—“ He started, a little dazed.

“What took you so long?” Yuri asked, the tone in her voice was low and made goosebumps quickly appear on his skin.

He didn’t even really register her question. He wondered if he should tell her what happened after she left, or at least about all the traffic they ran into on their way over, but what would that do?

“I thought you were out with your friends.” He simply settled.

“I was but—“ Yuri took a step closer, making Jungkook step back, and his back hit the door behind him. “I decided to come home early.” Her voice was sultry as she got closer, her chest eventually pressing into his. He couldn’t even look her in the eye anymore.

“W-why…?” He stumbled.

“Because…” Yuri’s fingers slowly trailed up his arm. “You said I don’t touch you, so I was thinking…” her hand rested against his neck to pull herself up so she was right by his ear. “Why don’t I let you fuck me today?” She said it so softly that he nearly moaned.

As much as the very thought of having sex with Yuri excited him, what she said during the session today was still playing repeatedly in his head. The thought of disappointing her again was almost too much to bear. He knew he would, it’s been four months since they last had sex.

It happened when Yuri had come back drunk from a New Years party; he had been sleeping in bed when he woke up to her tugging at his pants. It was 3am, he had to wake up for work in a few hours, but the minute she whispered “I want your cock,” he was suddenly very awake. This had happened a few weeks after the whole pillow drama, and he was desperate to get you off his mind and focus on his wife. He could have said he was tired, still trying to shake the sleepiness away, but the minute he got inside an actual person— not his hand, not his pillow— things did not end well. It probably only lasted a few minutes, at best, before he finished.

He could never forget the look of disappointment on her face, though he pleaded to give him a few minutes so they could try again. He had never felt so small. Yuri said something similar to what she had said in therapy today, before grabbing her clothes and storming to the shower.

The memory brought a frown to his face, which Yuri immediately noticed making her pull away.

“Are we doing this or not?” She questioned, sensing his hesitancy.

This really wasn’t something he should be doing. Dae-Jung was waiting for him downstairs ready to take him to a hotel. His head hurt. He was tired. He had no reason to be mad at her, but he didn’t want to see her. She made the anxiety he’d been fighting all day come back all too quickly.

This was wrong, but he didn’t care.

When was he going to get a chance like this again? In another four months? No, he had to do this.

Before he allowed himself to think about it anymore, Jungkook hurriedly stuffed the note from Dr. Min back into his pocket, he grabbed her wrists to pull her close, and he gingerly met her lips.

He was soft as his hands came up to gently cup her cheek. The action made his heart flutter, he wished they kissed like this more often. This was nice. Jungkook would have been happy if they stopped here, really, it was all he needed at that moment, but he felt Yuri pull at his jacket.

“C'mon, aren’t you going to fuck me now?” Yuri tried to make it sound sexy, but Jungkook could tell she was a little annoyed he wasn’t doing anything yet.

Right. That’s all this was.

He let his hands slide down and settle on her waist— he took a moment to admire her before moving back.

When will he get another chance?

“Turn around…” He could tell Yuri was a little shocked at the command, but she smirked nonetheless before turning like he asked.

“Want your hands on the table, arch your back for me.” Jungkook’s voice was low. He tried his best to be in the moment as he watched Yuri strut her way over to their dining table. Even in the darkness of their apartment the view was amazing. Normally he would be drooling right now, but he still found it hard to actually want this.

He’ll make this quick— in, out, and then he’ll quickly pack. Simple.

Jungkook let his coat fall to the floor before walking over to Yuri, and he swiftly had his hands on her waist. He hurriedly tried to lose himself in the moment, chasing his hips into hers and kissing her neck. The action got an immediate reaction out of Yuri, and he took this chance to let his hand slide down into her tiny shorts, his fingers ran through her slit, and he wasn’t surprised to find her soaked already.

Yuri liked preparing herself in advance. Jungkook had told her many times that he wouldn’t mind helping, but she would always say she didn’t want him to get too turned on beforehand, fearing he’d finish before they actually got to fuck. Jungkook always tried to believe she knew best, but it was at times like these that he missed the most being buried between her legs, tasting her, and hearing her soft sighs of pleasure.

It also made him sad to think that’s how little she thought of him.

Jungkook tried not to think about it as his fingers settled on her clit, quickly stroking the bud, hoping her soft moans would be enough to bring him back from his spiraling thoughts.

Usually by now he’d be hard, desperately trying to get his pants down so he could finally feel her after so long. He wanted that now, but he couldn’t stop his mind from being elsewhere.

“J-Jungkook, are you—“ It was at that moment when she seemed to notice the divergence from the routine.

“You’re not hard yet?” She sounded so surprised, despite him only being in the apartment for probably not even five minutes.

“Ummm…” It was an insane expectation, but he still found himself panicking.

“Let’s go to bed, maybe less clothes might help…” He sounded so unsure, but he hoped that’s all it would take.

Yuri gave him a questionable look before she hurriedly grabbed his arm and led them to their bedroom.

The minute they were inside, Yuri tried to keep up her playful, flirty demeanor as she let go of him in the doorway and began a slight strip tease as she walked towards the bed. Her tank top hit the floor before she snaked her shorts down her legs.

If this was last week he probably would have exploded at the sight, but all he could think about was how disappointed he was about to make her, and how much his head still hurts.

No.

Don’t you see what’s right in front of you? You won’t get another chance like this for months.

Jungkook flipped off the lights.

“Ummm…” Yuri was confused. “Jungkook, why the fuck did you turn off the lights?”

“Don’t—“

“Don’t you want to look at me?” She sounded as if she was about to get angry.

“You said you find it easier this way. You don’t remember?” How could she forget they normally keep the lights off for these things? It was her who told him that this was the only way she’d ever fuck him.

“Jungkook, don’t be ridiculous, turn the lights back on and get over here.” She sighed.

Seems like she didn’t remember.

Jungkook hesitantly did as she asked, he turned the lights back on and let his suit jacket fall to the floor. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the thoughts in his head that only seemed to grow louder as he finally climbed on top of her.

He tried his best to focus on Yuri, on the fact that she was here and wanted to do this with him. Right, she wants this, and he does as well. It’s been months, regardless of her harsh words in therapy, maybe there was a chance that she had actually listened.

This thought fueled him into pulling her close and kissing her passionately, he was soft just like earlier, but with a more hurried, desperate need. He wanted her and he was trying to convince his own body he wanted this as well.

“Jungkook, hurry, take off your pants,” Yuri whined, tugging at his belt.

Right, clothes need to come off.

Jungkook looked down and realized he was still fully clothed.

Right… right…

He quickly hopped off the bed, his belt hit the floor first. With burning cheeks, he undid the button and pulled the zipper down before finally his pants joined the rest of the clothes scattered everywhere.

He was about to get back on the bed, but Yuri stopped him with her hand.

“Your shirt too…” She looked down at the button-up he was still wearing.

Jungkook suddenly felt the anxiety he’d been trying his best to manage spike at the mention of taking his shirt off. He still hadn’t made time to go back to the gym this week, and of course, of all times Yuri wanted to have the lights on, it had to be the moment he didn’t look as good as he usually did.

Would she notice?

Yuri picked up on his hesitancy. “Hello? What’s wrong with you today?”

“I-I’m sorry.” He stammered.

He was going to disappoint her.

With his heart nearly beating out of his chest, he slowly undid the buttons on his shirt, letting the fabric drop to the floor.

Her eyes scanned over him and his feeble attempt at covering himself up. In that moment, all the thoughts he’d been trying to suppress came back with a vengeance. He remembered her words in therapy, the disappointment he brought, how he could never make her happy.

“Are you coming?” She asked, the irritation evident in her tone.

Jungkook slowly made his way onto the bed, trying to push those thoughts away. But as he kissed her, as he tried to ignore how shitty he felt, it just wasn’t working, and it was then that he knew she could tell something was wrong.

“You’re still not hard…?” She was angry now.

He wasn’t, but he wanted to be, he wanted her. He just needed something to take away the thoughts swirling around in his head.

“Maybe your hand might help…” He felt awful for even suggesting it. He shouldn’t be greedy considering what she was offering, but for a second he thought about what Dr. Min had said earlier: Both people need to try, and Jungkook was clearly struggling.

It was obvious his words shocked her, and Jungkook used this opportunity to lightly grab her hand. Despite how much he was shaking, he slowly guided it down his body in hopes that she’d reach into his boxers and fix the situation. He knew it would have worked. In that moment, he would have easily forgotten all his troubling thoughts, all his worries, how hungry he was, his awful day, his headache, and how much he just wanted to sleep. He would have forgotten everything the minute she would have wrapped her hand around his cock. He would have been able to fuck her like he wanted.

But no, the second it became obvious what he was doing, Yuri yanked her hand back.

“What the actual fuck?” She was rightfully pissed.

He gave up at that point, he knew it wasn’t happening. Jungkook buried his head in her shoulder, hoping to hide the shame that was burning him away inside. Not only was he unable to give himself what he wanted, but he also let his wife down.

“Yuri I’m so sorry, I don’t think I can do this.” Jungkook sobbed. Yes, he was crying again.

“What?”

“So much shit happened today— I’m so tired, I haven’t eaten all day, I can’t stop thinking, and, I just—” Was this really an acceptable excuse? He even had a hard time convincing himself. Still, he held onto her tightly. He wanted her here.

“Maybe we could try again later, please don’t leave me.” He finally pulled back to look into her eyes.

“We could stay in bed and cuddle, or I could make us dinner— we could even watch this movie I heard was really good.” Jungkook noticed her displeased expression become more irate the longer he rambled.

“Or maybe there’s something you want to watch— we could do anything you want… just… just don’t leave me alone.” All he wanted was his wife in his arms for one night. It felt so good to see her, to have her here with him, and as much as he wanted to be on his own when he walked in, he didn’t trust himself to be alone.

He wanted Yuri, he wanted to feel she wanted him as well.

Jungkook stared down at her, pleading with his eyes she’d say yes to something, anything, and it would have made up for how shitty today’s been.

He wanted to eat dinner together, to show off his mediocre cooking skills, something they could have laughed about over the wine his father gave him. Then they would have moved to the couch; Jungkook would have turned on that one movie he knew she would enjoy (he’s stopped himself from watching it, in hopes she would join him one day).

In his fantasy, they would cuddle, but he would have been fine even if they were five feet apart. Jungkook would have just been happy she was with him. Eventually, his emotions and the sexual frustration from the past few months would have him leaning over and he would have taken her right there on the couch; the movie would continue playing in the background, but neither of them would have been paying attention, as they were too busy enjoying the sounds of each other’s pleasure more than anything playing on TV.

Exhaustion would have come almost immediately after he spilled inside her, but Yuri would smile and pull him close, letting him fall asleep right there on top of her. It would have been too cozy, the feeling of her warm body embracing him as she ran her hands down his back, making him fall asleep instantly.

Once the movie would have ended, Yuri would've lightly woken him up so they could wash up before bed. She would have guided him to the shower and teased him about the fact that his eyes kept fluttering closed, but the water was warm, and he was just so happy and at peace. He would have cried the minute her hands lightly massaged his scalp, but she wouldn’t have noticed. He would have happily gone to bed with his wife in his arms, and—

This moment would have made up for all the hardships in their marriage, it would have been enough to give him hope once again, it would have erased his growing desire for his coworker, it would have made him believe that Yuri wanted him even only a little. Even if that wasn’t exactly what happened, he would have been just as happy. He would have taken anything…

Yuri rolled her eyes underneath him. “Jungkook, get off of me.”

As much as he didn’t want to let her go, he listened.

“Yuri, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He pleaded for her forgiveness as he watched her go over to grab her clothes off the floor.

“I can’t believe I left my friends for this.” She angrily grumbled to herself.

“Yuri ple—”

“Jungkook stop it, ok?!” Yuri yelled and it instantly had him shutting up. “I can’t believe I keep giving chances to someone so pathetic.” The words had Jungkook frozen on the bed.

“How am I so unlucky? We’re only twenty-five, but my god, the guy I had to marry, his dick doesn't even work! I went out of my way to come home early for you, and this is what I’m welcomed with; pathetic excuses to make up for your incompetence. And then you have the audacity to try and make me touch you because you can’t get your shit together!” Yuri gave him that disgusted look he’d feared the minute he saw she was home.

Her words cut deep, like a sword to a piece of paper. It seemed so simple and easy to her, but Jungkook was left in pieces, shattered, destroyed. At this point, he was so broken, he believed he deserved every word she said.

“And you’re crying again!” She acted shocked, but it was only an act because he really does cry a lot these days. There was nothing shocking about that.

Yuri looked at him for a second. He probably looked like a mess. He knew his face was red, it certainly felt hot, and it was just covered with tears and snot.

Despite this, despite everything, he didn’t want Yuri to leave. He feared the dark thoughts were beginning to be the only thing he could think about. He needed her here at least. “Yuri— please, don’t— don’t go. I don’t want to be alone, I’m scared, I—”

Yuri sighed. “I’m going to shower, and I’m leaving with my friends right after.” Before she walked off, she made the dramatic point of taking off her wedding ring and stuffing it into the drawer of her vanity. It was then that she stormed into the bathroom and slammed and locked the door behind her.

The silence. The fucking silence of the apartment after the door closed was too much to bear. Silence was always the perfect breeding ground for the vilest thoughts to flood into his head and engulf him entirely.

It felt like they were trying to fit just one more person in an already overcrowded elevator, but he was already tightly pressed against the corner, and the elevator was buzzing from keeping the doors open for so long. But the people in front just kept pushing him further in, trying to squeeze and shove more people inside. Just one more person, one more person and he’s sure he wouldn’t be able to breathe. Just one more thought and he feared it would be the end of him. His thoughts screamed, shrieked, wailed in his head, but even in the chaos, Jungkook could hear every fucking word.

This was all his fault.

For a moment, Jungkook wished he had listened to Dr. Min and gone to Jimin’s apartment instead. Things would have been better and at least his hyung would have stayed by his side. Now he was alone. So fucking alone.

Jungkook tried his best not to cry too loudly; he knew Yuri hated it when he was loud, so he pulled the covers over his body and put his pillow over his face to suppress his screams. He cried because he felt Yuri was right, he cried because he felt his marriage really was in shambles, he cried because he was going to end up worse than his parents, he cried because he knew he was the one causing it. But what was the loudest in the darkest chamber of his thoughts, was that he believed he wasn’t worth the love he craved for.

Jungkook couldn’t stop thinking about how miserable Yuri seemed. Even if he thought he was trying hard, for someone to say those things, for his wife to look at him like that, it was for a reason. He knew it.

Everything. Everything had to be his fault.

•────•──────────•────•

Jungkook ended up not eating that day.

Yuri left right after, just like she’d said, and she was hardly at the apartment for a few days after that. Jungkook was left largely alone, he didn’t go to work the next day, nor the next, or the one day after that. He found it too hard to get out of bed.

He was gone for a week, ignoring most of the concerned calls he would continuously get from someone at the company.

It was that weekend when Yuri came home for a brief moment only to grab something she needed. She had almost missed it completely, but before she turned to head downstairs, where her friends were waiting for her in the car, Yuri looked out the window to see Jungkook sitting on their balcony.

Normally, it wouldn’t be a cause of concern, but it had been pouring outside all day. Jungkook eventually explained that he had been sitting out since the rain had started (which was around noon), but when Yuri came home it was nearly 8:30pm…

He got really sick after that, pneumonia.

Yuri yelled at him for being dumb, but it just made things worse. Jungkook at least hoped the diagnosis would be enough to get Yuri to stay, but of course, why would she stay with him when he was battling pneumonia?

He believed he deserved the suffering. It was karma for skipping work for a week, for wasting his day instead of being productive, for being glued to the wine fridge and drinking everything he’d been saving for a special occasion.

Jungkook was never the same after all of this.

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#bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #for the birds #bts #jungkook #bts fluff #bts angst #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bangtan boys #bangtan sonyeondan #bts fan fiction #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst

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notjustjavierpena · 7 months

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drabble idea - javi and reader at some family/friends party before the kids, maybe engaged already and reader is holding a cousins baby or something. Javi isn’t with her and when he enters the room he’s awestruck. He already knew he wanted kids with her and a family but just seeing her bouncing the baby while laughing at something someone is saying just completely takes his breath away.

Baby (Drabble)

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This is so incredibly adorable, and of course, I will make this come true for you, Anon. I hope you enjoy 💖🫶

Summary: Javier spots you at a party with a baby in your arms. Suddenly, he knows what he wants.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: Tooth-rotting fluff, baby fever, lovelovelove.

Word count: 1k

Baby

Amidst the lively chatter of a family gathering, Javier looks for you in the living room after having had a beer with his father outside on the terrace.

He passes by several tías who pinch his cheeks and compliment his choice of shirt to which he gives you the credit. They call him handsome, and he charms them back as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“No wonder you ended up with such a catch, Javi,” one of them says, referring to you. She nods in your direction but he still cannot see you for all the people having gathered in the tiny house, can’t hear your voice either in between bursts of laughter and screen doors opening and closing.

He starts to make his way in your direction, craving your gentle touch when he starts to feel overwhelmed by these kinds of things. On his way, he ruffles the hair of one of his nephews who shows him a stack of colorful football cards.

“Very cool,” he says genuinely as he looks over the boy’s shoulder. He hasn’t been home in so long that he isn’t up to date with the local team anymore, otherwise he would have mentioned that.

“I’m only missing a few of my favorite team,” his nephew replies excitedly and it earns him another hair ruffle. Javier continues through the crowd afterward.

There you are, he thinks to himself, and just when he is about to approach you, all the wind is knocked out of him because you are in the middle of a conversation, laughing at something that is being said, and you have Sofía, his cousin’s daughter, on your hip.

He stops in his tracks, freezing to the spot to watch you. At that moment, he knows that he wants to build a family with you. It becomes so clear as he observes you naturally talk to the baby on your arm, smiling widely down at her only to giggle when you receive a grin right back. He catches a glimpse of the future and the incredible mother you could be and on top of that, the incredible mother that he wants to make you.

It isn’t that he has never had the thought of starting a family with you before but seeing you navigate having a child in your arms so effortlessly makes him grasp how real and possible it is that it’ll one day be his child you are holding.

A few children run past him, shouting loudly as they chase each other and the noise pulls him out of his trance. All the other grownups have faded into the background, and it seems that his brain can only think of kids, bedtime stories, coloring books, and parent-teacher conferences. His head swims.

Even more so when the noise also makes you look up and catch his eye. You smile at him and it tugs at something in his chest. He needs to be close to you, taking longer steps than normal to get to you quicker.

“Hello fiancée,” he says when he approaches and kisses you softly. You say hello back but seem busy staring down at the baby in your arms. He turns his attention to the little bundle of joy, reaching out to twist the soft hairs on top of her head until it is standing up in a spiral, “Y hola a tí, Sofía, ¿Cómo estás? (And hello to you, Sofía. How are you?)”

Sofía gurgles at getting further attention. She swings her little fists.

“Your cousin just asked me if I could take her for a moment,” you explain with a shy smile, bouncing Sofía on your hip. She smiles widely up at you, squealing with delight as you make a face at her, “And you are so cute, aren’t you? Oh, look at her little tuft of hair.”

Javier adores you. He watches Sofía reach out for your earring, trying to yank on it and you grab her little hand but never once look irritated. Instead, you let her hold onto your fingers instead and say something gentle again.

“We should make one,” he announces quietly so only you can hear it, leaning closer to you to keep the conversation private. You look up immediately but still tickle at Sofía’s tiny palm.

“A baby?” You ask with wide eyes. It’s a little louder than you intended, and a few heads turn to look at you. You lower your voice, clearing your throat at first, “A baby?”

“Sí, mi amor (yes, my love),” he snakes an arm around your back to rest his hand on your hip, “A dozen of them actually.”

“We’re getting married next year,” you tut, shaking your head as if he is being ridiculous, “I’m not looking like someone who swallowed a soccer ball in my wedding dress.”

“You could wear an old football jersey and I would still marry you,” he kisses the side of your head, “¿Pero qué no (but why not)?”

“One thing at a time,” you say with a nervous chuckle. Then you shift Sofía in your arms, “Can you take her? I am so damn thirsty.”

“Sure, bring her here,” he holds out his arms, “C’mere, Princesa (princess).”

The transfer is so smooth that one would think you have done it before. He gets a tiny hand in his face, Sofía feeling his cheek.

“Be right back,” you say with a sweet smile, “Both of you.”

One thing at a time, you said. However, with the way you turn back to watch him with Sofía in his arms as you head for the drinks table, he knows that this is what you want too.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

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jolapeno · 2 months

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20. rainier grey

frankie morales x f!reader | epilogue of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.8k chapter warnings: dad!frankie. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. flirting. they're no longer idiots. an: the end

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key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

You sure you got everything from the house, baby? I think so! Does this mean you're giving the keys in?

Unpacking another box, you slide a photograph onto the shelf, right next to his. You smile, shifting it, trying to make your things look like they belong as much as his.

Evidence of you already slotting in. Books sitting with his, plants finding homes in corners that look as though they were made for them.

Yeah. Unless you've changed your mind? Not even a little bit. Good. Because I already handed them in. And what if I had said I thought I’d forgotten something?

The bubbles in the corner appear, fluttering and twitching, until they vanish. You roll your eyes, grabbing a tissue-wrapped small artificial cactus, placing it, and tilting your head as your phone vibrates.

You know I’ve checked the place twice. Did the sex chair go into storage okay, by the way?

Even from here, you know he snorted. A breathy laugh, one that has and will always make your lips press together before sliding up into a smirk. You giggle at it, imagining him trying to suppress it if he's with people. Shaking your head at the image as you see him typing.

You gotta stop calling your office chair a sex chair. Well, the only thing that happened in it was that. Gonna drive now, you menace. Hurry home, baby.

Sighing, you rip the tape from the underside of the box and flatten it, staring at the wasteland of boxes that have taken over his living room. Despite the chaos, you feel like you're finally home, for the time in a long time.

A thing you'd whispered to him when he'd hooked his leg over yours in bed this morning.

Steam billowed, carrying the scent of spices, tomatoes, and herbs blending into the air as you hear the front door open.

It brings a smile, tugging at the corners of your mouth, even though this should feel ordinary by now. A thing you should be used to, it feels like the first day all over again.

No more boxes, all unpacked, places for everything and newly learnt routines that you know to listen for.

Head turned to the doorway, hearing one thing after the other landing in the bowl: Keys, wallet and two thuds of his boots being removed.

It's all a routine now, something normal. Dinner is divided between whoever arrives home first. If he gets home first, he starts it, the two of you relying on the board on the wall to keep track. The one that's a vibrant array of colours—butterscotch orange, dinosaur green, and rainy day blue—highlighting the various shifts, jobs, and school pick-ups your month has in store.

This week, it’s a lot of orange. Things are picking up, with more word getting out about Frankie’s business and what he can do. The reviews are trickling in, and you know he’s already quickly outgrowing the summer house in the back garden. You commented on it when the two of you made the decision, something he assured you would be fine. You still agree that paying for two homes wasn’t a wise choice when he was already taking a risk.

Risky—a word you could never use to describe him. But a word you let him have, relenting, melting into his arms as you bid goodbye to the office he made you, with the promise of a better one in the future.

Now, standing in the kitchen that used to be just his and is now ours, you count in your head the seconds until his arms slide around your middle, his mouth pressing a kiss to your head.

“Smells good.”

Turning your head, fingers sliding under his chin—you steal a kiss, and another, sliding your digits around his jaw before they’re tangling in his hair.

“Could get used to this.” You hum against his mouth, murmuring a what that makes him smile, smirk, right up against yours. “You in our kitchen.”

“Well, it has been months now—I’d hope you’d be used to it.”

Shrugging, running his hands up down your arms, he steps back and leans on the counter. On the days when he beats you home, you bring home stories of Harry, customers and the random paint name you’ve found that you make him guess the shade of until he gets it right. Tonight, you ask him how his day has been. A mundane question, a thing that arises every day and yet the answer is never the same.

He talks about another enquiry, how the photos of your old office space, in the place you once called home, had inspired another couple to get in touch. And you try not to smirk, to wear a knowing smile, but instead nod, stirring and grabbing plates as he folds his arms and keeps his gaze on you.

A thing you thought would have lessened, but hasn’t.

“You need my help with this one, or?”

Shaking his head, folding his arms—looking you up and down as he traces his tongue across his bottom lip.

“What?”

“We said if we did this you wouldn’t try and do it all.”

You might not groan outwardly, but you do inwardly. His brows raise as though knowing so too, a thing which almost drags a laugh out of you. Almost.

“Come here,” he says, hand extended, finding your slides in as he drags you close. “I appreciate you, you know that?”

“I do.”

Good, he whispers, brushing your cheek with his thumb—the roughness of it making liquid heat spark in your stomach as you bite the inside of your cheek.

“You want a hand dishing up?”

Shaking your head, you kiss his wrist. “No. Go change—you can’t do it all.”

His snigger stays in the kitchen with you, long after he’s left to go change.

Luca told me something interesting at drop off.

Not sure I want to know.

Apparently, we’re getting a dog?

Little shit. No. He asked me and I said I’d think about it.

Well, apparently he thinks that Saturday when we pick him up we’re going to get him a dog that lives at our house.

Fuck.

Fuck indeed.

Are we against a dog?

It takes a second for the squeals to calm down.

Your arms may be scratched, and you may have wanted to sob as you tried to build the crate on your own, but the joy thrumming inside you as Frankie wrestles the puppy and Luca screams with laughter makes it all worth it.

It feels right that there are two bowls on the kitchen floor, both sitting on a plastic mat covered with paw prints.

It makes the home feel complete, even with a wet patch on the rug, even with your new shoe marked with tiny teeth marks, and even though you're exhausted beyond words.

Grinning, you lean back on the couch, watching Frankie pretend to bark and growl as the puppy tries to nip at him. The two alternate between rolling around, evading each other, the creased laugh marks on Frankie's nearly enough to make you get on the floor and join him, just to brush your fingers against them.

Instead, you teasingly poke the boy next to you. “Luca, what do you want to call him?”

Mouth sliding from side to side, Luca shuffles and bounces along the sofa before his head comes to rest on your arm. Frankie shifts to playing a version of tug-of-war. “Tyler.”

“Tyler?” Frankie asks, pausing to stroke the retriever's ears.

Luca smiles and then beams. “Like tyrannosaurus.”

Somehow, you suspected you should have seen that coming.

“Okay, well, Tyler needs to go to the toilet. Do you want to try and take him?”

Luca, nodding and smiling, taps your arm. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course I will.”

As you stand, you catch sight of Frankie beaming up at you, warmth flooding your cheeks and ears at the sight of it.

What are you doing for lunch, baby?

Well, I was going to treat myself to a coffee and maybe a sweet treat. But what are you thinking?

I was thinking of letting Tyler out, bringing you fast food and sitting in the office at Harolds?

Oh, it’s been a while since we’ve done that. I like that our roles have reversed here.

I know. Do you know when Harold will let you have lunch?

Delivery is almost away, and then I just have to do a few bits.

I’ll be there in an hour. I’ve missed your face today.

Sounds good. Maybe you should have spent more time with it this morning then, than between my legs.

I have zero regrets about how I started my day.

“Have you seen the yard—I think that’s enough room for Tyler, how much bigger can he even grow after a year, and look here...”

Your fingers loop in between his, tugging him, practically dragging him with you to the kitchen window—the slightly overgrown grass and white fence greeting the two of you.

It’s the eleventh house the two of you have seen. Fingers brush over his thumb as he follows you around the rooms in a house that’s spacious, with three bedrooms, and two-and-a-half baths. It’s airy, light—ridiculously bright.

But it needs work.

A thing you can tell he’d thought on sight, even if the most he’s done is make a snort or a hum.

You suspect Frankie is paying more attention to the things wrong with it, than what is right. Missing some of the things you point out to him, too busy calculating square footage as the two of you walk around it. Ignoring your opinions on floor-to-ceiling bookcases and hallway mirrors, if the two of you could get a bigger bed than you both have now.

You do think he catches that you think Luca should have the largest room—your reasoning dripping from your tongue that he needs space as he grows up, that you both have a bigger closet in the second biggest.

“—And, we'd probably need to get him one of those beds soon, the ones where he has space under for a pull-out or a desk. The closet is decent, but we’ll have to get him some drawers too.”

Your fingers trace along the doors of the closet as he blinks, coming back to you, to the house, to the room.

“Wait—what…”

And you smile. Not just with kindness or joy, but with everything. Push it outwards, hoping it stretches its warmth out over the entire room, hoping it’ll surround him, maybe he’ll allow it to wrap itself around him as you tilt your head.

“I think this should be Luca’s room.”

Walking towards you, the heels on his boot sounding on the wooden flooring. “Baby, you can’t think that. For one, this house is—“

“Perfect,” you finish, palms finding his cheeks, thumb stroking the hair on either side of his lip. “It’s perfect, Frankie.”

You can see it, even if he doesn’t say it: it isn’t.

You’ve suspected for a while that he has an idea of a home the two of you should have. He’d whispered it to you three months ago in bed, head buried in your neck, fingers fanned over your hips as he talked about garden size, a pool, a workshop and even an office.

In some capacity, this house ticks some of those boxes. It has a spacious kitchen, it has a decent yard and a pool that needs a deep clean. There’s a room that could be an office, but would most likely be a spare bedroom for friends, for Benny or one of your own.

And, you’re grinning. Watching him smile in response, all radiant like he thinks you’re the reason the world rotates.

Then he says it, the thing which has been ticking behind the scenes. Unsaid, unspoken—ignored as though it doesn’t have its own pulse. “You deserve better.”

You don’t mean to, but your forehead wrinkles, brows knitting together as your smile fades into a thin line. Feeling it, etched and written across your face as shame works across him. The evidence of a battle he’s having with himself—something churning, twisting as you slide your hands down his neck and loop them at the back.

It’s clear now it’s been needling him—likely making his chest tight, wrapping vines around his chest, all thick and full of spikes, as he rolls his neck and sighs.

Tilting your head, trying to keep your tone level, you whisper, “Baby, what do you mean?”

Because the realtor is downstairs.

Not wanting to cause a fight—a scene. Your skin prickles as you momentarily panic that you’re whisper isn’t a whisper, when his mouth opens, but no sound leaves it. Worry tangles in your head, and in your throat as you move closer. Wanting more words to appear, to conjure, tell me, tell me, tell me, burning a hole in your tongue as you need him.

Your hand brushes his cheek, forehead smoothing out—concern replacing earlier confusion. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The edges of your mouth twitch. “And, I love this house.”

He snorts, shaking his head as you glare.

“Don’t… don’t do that, Francisco. Don’t think for me because you’ve concocted some image of what I want.”

Letting his eyes hang down, he sighs. “I’m not–I’m not doing that.”

“You are. You… you’re looking at each house as if it has a checklist to meet—like it’s being measured against something.”

“Doesn’t it?”

You sigh, dropping your hands from his face. And you miss touching him the moment you do. Wanting to place them back, have him take your wrists and put them back, but you’re already folding them, shaking your head as you stare out the window.

“You can’t be mad at me for wanting the best for you.”

You snort this time, narrowing your eyes as you shoot him a glare that says you can, and you will.

“If, and I mean if we take this house, I… I want, no, I need to do a lot of work on it. Because you deserve the house of your dreams, and admittedly, I can’t afford to give it to you. Because houses are fucking expensive, but I can make it for you.”

Biting down on your lip, you glance, catching the sight of him running a hand over his face. Fingers pinching the inside of your arm as you try not to let tears bubble, swim and then fall.

“I… I don’t want that.”

“What do you mean?”

You look up, blinking away the tears. Seeing the doubt spread across his face, like he wants to rewind the clock—take back ever saying you deserve better.

And you don’t want to fight, not with him.

“Frankie… I don’t want it to be my dream house, I want it to be ours.”

He takes a step towards you. “I know.”

But you raise your hands, not pushing him back, but not inviting him in either.

“But you don’t. You’re not picturing a doorframe we can keep measuring Luca growing up. You’re not thinking of warm Sundays with our friends around the pool—and you’re not seeing the lick of paint needed so our bedroom is a little dimmer, so your eyes don’t burn from all the off-white.

“I don’t need an office—I like working with you and at Harold’s. And, yes, I’m not walking around thinking you won’t have to do anything to this house, because, of course, you will. You’re good, you have an eye. We wouldn’t even be thinking of buying something bigger if you weren’t. But, you started a business a year ago—we can’t afford perfect. But we can buy good and make it perfect. If, and when you stop thinking of me, and instead us.”

Brushing a hand over his face, he takes a moment. Swallowing a sigh, an annoyed grunt. His fingers itch at his forehead, pushing strands of hair under his hat before he drops it and stares at you.

“You really want this one?”

Nodding, you roll your lips. “What about you?”

And so he looks around. Hands digging into his jacket pockets, walking in slow footsteps around the room—

Hoping you've helped him see it, picture it, with all your earlier ramblings.

Where the wooden trunk he made will go, the bed you just talked about—the prints of stars, spaceships and galaxies. He glances out of the window, spotting the long drive and the trimmed grass—the quiet neighbourhood that he could teach Luca to ride his bike in.

He feels you come up behind him, arms sneaking around his waist, his hands clutching your fingers as he smiles.

“You want to take another tour, Morales?”

He smiles, nodding, before he turns in your arms so he’s facing you, clutching your face as he kisses you. One which is full of sorry’s and love.

He lingers his palms on your face, just for a fraction. “Will you tell me all the other things you picture as we walk around?”

Grinning again, like before. One which would rival the sun and the beauty of the full moon on a clear night sky.

“Sure,” you whisper, taking his hand, leading him out of the room that in several months will be his son’s.

I’ve packed our case and it’s in the shower in our en-suite, so do not turn the water on without looking. Luca’s is half done, but just need you to help me with a few last-minute bits?

Can I ask why our suitcase is in the shower or am I missing something?

Luca is being nosy. He goes into our bathroom but not into the shower. Trying to keep a surprise from him is harder than you think when I apparently “have lying face”.

You do look very suspicious when you lie.

Good job I don’t have to lie for a living.

Is he behaving?

We’ve baked cookies for tomorrow—even if he thinks it's for a movie day. And he’s currently using my iPad to talk to Sam.

I keep hiding in rooms with boxes so he doesn't ask me things.

Rainy, baby.

I know, but it's only a few more hours, right?

Yeah, promise. Sam called me earlier, and said she has managed to get Monday off so she can meet us there on Sunday—says we should pick somewhere in the park so she can surprise him properly.

Do you want me to get to thinking and then text her?

If you don’t mind baby? I should be done here around 7.

Sounds good. Gives me something to focus on until you're home.

You sure you're doing okay?

I’ll be better when we tell him tonight, I’m feeling really bad about lying to him even if it’s for a good reason.

I promise you, the moment he realises we’re going, you’ll see how it’s worth it.

I know. Plus, the promise of you in Mickey Mouse ears is really keeping me going.

The photo of you getting off one of the rides is what is keeping me going.

Mean.

But I love you.

Love you too.

Peaceful—that’s how you’d describe it.

Condensation slips under your fingers, sliding under your wrist, pooling at the watch strap as you hear him shouting something to someone as he makes his way over. The music is quieter over here, the loud voice that attempts to synchronise with the lyrics seems less shrieking, and more full of harmony.

You were only hovering on the outskirts to call to see if Tyler was okay, and then you found yourself lingering. A moment needed, not questioned or protested.

You know that's why he’s been biding his time. Watching, eyes flicking to you just in case you beckon him to come. Now, you smile as he approaches, it pulled from you with so much ease it's reactionary at this point, no thought. Just a-Frankie-smile, all his, hopefully forever his.

The once-warm air has now cooled, whipping the fabric around your frame as he saunters over.

“Wondered how long it would take you.”

Snorting, he takes a sip from his glass—letting it wet his lips, admiring the same view you have been for some time.

Slipping his hand around your waist, you move closer with ease. Hip moving to hip, cheek coming to rest on his shoulder—contentment filling your bones when he brushes his fingers up and down your back.

“You cold?”

“Not now.”

And he smiles, light—it coming with ease now that he has you back by his side.

“Missed you.”

“That’s because you’re a needy boy, Butterscotch.”

Snorting, he buries it in your neck—light, airy—before pressing a kiss to your head and turning to watch those moving on the dance floor. The soft glow of twinkling lights shimmering in his brown, fingers teasing up and down his white shirt.

The moment is only punctuated by a distant sound—a shift in melody embedded into the night breeze. It takes a second, one far too much before you recognise the tune, the song. Smirking to yourself as you remember your passionate rendition in his car the other week. An updated version to the one over a year ago. The look the same, though, all grin, all teeth and almost crinkled eyes.

You feel him turning your head, eyes meeting his.

It’s simple, uncomplicated—a movement that seems rehearsed as you move, leaning, resting your head on his chest as you feel a soft sigh escape his lips.

“When we do this, we’re eloping.”

Brow arching, he smiles. “When?”

“Like you’re not desperate to slip a ring on my finger, Morales.”

Snorting, resting his chin on your head, you take a comforting breath.

Hearing him swallow, you look at him, finding his tongue flicking against his teeth as he stares ahead at the party. “What if I was… desperate?”

Smirking, finding his eyes now on you, even if his head is facing forward. “Well, Frankie, maybe I’d be desperate to say yes.”

Have I told you today you’re beautiful?

Are you texting me from across our hotel room?

I am. I can see your smile in the mirror.

How the roles have reversed. You look good in a suit, have I told you that?

Told me I look good in a different kind of suit today.

Oh baby, you always rock that one very well.

Can’t believe I’m marrying you today.

Can’t believe there’s a chance I’m going to be married by the real Elvis today.

I hope he says uh-huh-a-huh.

If he doesn’t, I say we annul and try again.

You do really look beautiful.

You should take a photo with Will’s camera—I guarantee I’ll get sauce down me.

You and white.

It’s actually rainier grey, but maybe I should have worn butterscotch.

Not sure I’d have survived that. Already pretty close to falling apart at the sight of you now.

Shut up and come here and kiss me.

AN: The End.

God, I was emotional last week, but as much as I am this week, I'm just grateful. Grateful you've all followed, that I got to tell this exactly how I wanted to. But, mainly, that you let this pair into your hearts. I love you, thank you.

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal character fanfiction #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales

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thebenjiblackwoodexpress · 1 month

Text

Delicate Part. 5

Gwayne Hightower x Reader

Description: Hoping to sway her heart to him, Gwayne gifts Y/N with an heirloom of House Hightower. Gwayne displays his willingness to defend his lady when a Lannister lord insults her at a banquet. When Y/N, Gwayne, and Alicent go too far into their cups at the Tourney banquet, Gwayne makes sure the object of his affections makes her way back to her chambers safely.

Writer's note: Thank you to everyone who follows this series! I really appreciate all your lovely comments and the support for the ace rep, I just really wanted to see myself in a character. I'm so glad it resonates. And a special thanks to @just-some-random-blogger for your iconic commentaries!

Warnings: Female reader. Touch averse and Asexual reader.

As Gwayne pushed back the tissue paper of the box he was holding, a sense of doubt entered into his thoughts: that his gift might seem presumptuous to Lady Y/N. That it might displease her. Having shared his feelings about her friend with Alicent, she had been excited at the thought of her dear brother and best friend forming a union that would mean she would not have to part from either of them. Despite his attempts to temper her excitement by reminding her that the likelihood of Y/N accepting his suit or returning his feelings for her was minimal at best, he was unable to entirely repress his own joy at the picture that Alicent was painting of their potential future.

To have his two favourite ladies always with him would turn the ghostly halls of his ancestral seat into a paradise he scarcely dared to imagine becoming a reality. Still, her increasingly affectionate gestures towards him made him tentatively hopeful that such a future was not altogether impossible. He resolved to try and win her love if he could. With these thoughts in mind, he had sought to find a way of expressing his hope that she might accept his suit for her to become his wife and Lady Hightower one day. After first running the idea past Alicent, he had sent a raven back to Oldtown, requesting that one of his mother’s emerald encrusted necklaces be sent to him, forthwith. By making good on his previously expressed hope that the three should all wear green to the opening banquet, he hoped also to convey his earnest wish to Y/N that she would, one day, not only wear the colours of his House, but also belong to it.

Walking towards the library, where he knew he would find his love, he could not quash his fear that she would reject his gift outright, either frightened or displeased by his suit. He did not wish for her to feel that by accepting his gift she was also obligated to accept his love, he only hoped that she would permit him to try and win her love. This gift was intended to be a subtle indication of his hopes, without overwhelming her with outward displays of affection, which he knew would only serve to make her uncomfortable.

Upon entering the library, he immediately spotted Y/N ensconced within a dark corner of the room, the candles bolstered to the walls casting an ethereal glow across her features, which had him momentarily arrested in place by her beauty. Recollecting himself, he strode towards her and met her smile with his own, as she looked up from her book, hearing him approach.

“Ever studious. I wonder what you can be reading so intently. Plotting how to best me at the upcoming tourney, no doubt.”

Y/N laughed at this, before indicating that he sit in the chair next to her.

“What brings you to my sanctuary, Ser. Should not you be terrorising the other knights with your charm?”

Gwayne smiled affectionately at her, enjoying the joke that she had continued since they met, which had him secretly hoping she really did find him charming. Nevertheless, he sought to invest his voice with the levity that her tone suggested.

“Alas, there are plenty more hours in the day for me to do so, but I must first terrorise you with my charm.” He smirked at her, a glint in his eye, in an attempt to seem less nervous than he really was. Removing a deep green, velvet box from his tunic, he tentatively held it out to her.

“May I entreat you to accept this humble gift, in the hope that you will wear it at this evening’s banquet?”

A quizzical look passed over Y/N’s features, but she nonetheless accepted the box, carefully opening it and removing the papers that protected his family heirloom. Y/N emitted a small gasp at the beauty of the necklace she held in her hands, before her eyes snapped up to meet Gwayne’s uncharacteristically anxious expression.

“Gwayne, this is beautiful.”

Gwayne released a breath he had been holding, relieved that she should think so, before she continued.

“But I cannot accept such a gift.”

His heart momentarily stuttered before plummeting, as he feared she was rejecting his suit for her love outright, believing his gift to be presumptuous. He was relieved when she explained.

“It is far too beautiful and precious to be given to me, no doubt it is a Hightower heirloom.”

“The beauty of the trinket, I think, should befit that of the wearer.” His mouth upturned and his heart swelled as a light blush dusted her cheeks.

“You did promise that we should all wear green for this evening’s banquet, I distinctly remember. I would be honoured if you would accept this token. Both Alicent and I wish for you to accept it.”

Holding her gaze so that she would know that he really meant for her to accept the gift, whilst simultaneously attempting to convey the love he felt for her, in his eyes, he anxiously awaited her answer.

Her returning smile, as she clipped the chain around her neck, had his heart soaring at her acceptance of his gift and the image of her wearing his ancestral heirloom.

“I will gladly wear it then, if it so please you and Alicent. Thank you, Gwayne. It’s beautiful.”

Gwayne could not but think that the wearer was far more beautiful than the necklace she admired, but he rejoiced that she had accepted his gift and he grew hopeful that she would, one day, also accept his love.

Y/N placed her hand upon the cool chain around her neck, admiring how the green gems glittered and complimented the emerald gown she had chosen to wear at that evening's banquet. She had worn the gown partly as a homage to her and her two friend's constant refrain that they should all wear green to match one another. More than that, it was also her way of expressing her love for them and her intrinsic sense of affinity with their house. House Hightower's motto, 'We Light the Way', well expressed how much her friends had become a light in her own life, amidst the shadows of Court life. Before she had befriended Alicent and Gwayne, she had felt entirely alone, both within Court and within her own family. Now she was scarcely alone, always either accompanied by Alicent or Gwayne or both.

She had come to particularly value Gwayne's attentiveness, always eager to listen to anything she had to say and considerate whenever you spoke of her troubled family life or her fears for the future. His gift of a Hightower heirloom that morning had moved her greatly, seeming to suggest that he valued her friendship as much as she did his. She could not deny that she also hoped his gift might intimate that he harboured stronger feelings towards her, that it might symbolise his desire that she should one day join his and Alicent's family; the only family she could ever envision belonging to.

She quickly pushed the thought aside, rebuking herself for her presumptuousness and foolishness. Whilst she had found herself quickly falling in love with Gwayne, she resolved that she could not hope to ever marry him, even should he desire such a match. She would never be able to fulfil the expectations of intimacy required of marriage, the thought alone causing her intense anxiety. She would merely have to be content with loving him quietly, without imposing her feelings on him, when she could not hope to be the marriage partner he, no doubt, sought. The idea of him marrying another caused an intense feeling of pain to constrict her chest, but she knew that she had no right to such a feeling, and strove to squash it as it rose.

A knock at the door disturbed her from her thoughts and she called for whoever had knocked to enter.

"The Hightowers await your presence, my Lady."

A degree of nervousness seeped into her heart at the thought that Alicent and Gwayne might not like her dress, might think it too transparently a symbol of her emotional affinity to their House. Nonetheless, she would not leave them waiting, and she quickly turned on her heel to meet them at the entrance to her father's apartments. With trepidation, she entered the main hall to meet her friends and her heart was warmed to see them both dressed in green, matching each other.

Gwayne had spent the rest of the day at the training yard, after Y/N's acceptance of his gift, in a half-dazed state of happiness. The thought of her wearing his mother's necklace, the heirloom of his House, led him into potentially dangerous fantasies of her accepting him as her husband and becoming the future Lady Hightower. Perhaps he could convince his father to allow Alicent to return to Oldtown, so that the three could live together. He tried not to allow himself to be carried away by such visions of future happiness, but Y/N's sweet acceptance of his gift had him struggling to contain them. He did not believe that she yet fully understood the import of the gift from his side, symbolising as it did, for him, his hope that she would one day become part of his family. That she would be his wife. However, he hoped that her acceptance of the necklace could yet be a positive sign of her warm feelings towards him, and that he may yet hope to further cultivate them into a love like he bore for her.

Ahead of the tourney, set to begin the next day, Gwayne had dressed in a green velvet tunic. Alicent had similarly dressed in a silk, green dress, both in the shade of the lights of the Oldtown watch. As they made their way through the Keep towards Y/N's apartments, he could not but hope that she, too, would be wearing the colours of his House, and that he could hope to see her wearing his gift. The very thought of such a divine image left his stomach in knots, and he could scarcely conceal his nerves from Alicent, as she looked up at him with a knowing smile. They had barely been waiting a moment within the entrance hall to Y/N's apartments before she emerged in a forest green, velvet gown, the exact shade of his House colours, his mother's necklace glittering against her throat. The sight of her beauty, and the vision it conjured of her as the future Lady Hightower, had him opening and closing his mouth several times. A hit to his arm from Alicent reminded him that he must look like a fool in front of the lady he so wanted to impress.

"I'm so glad you decided to wear green, too, Y/N. We match perfectly!" Alicent cried, clasping her hands together delightedly, before embracing her friend.

At Y/N's sweet smile in both of their directions, Gwayne was once again at a loss for words, before a slight fall in her expression, perhaps at his silence, had him recalling himself.

Holding her gaze in the hope of conveying the truth of his feelings for her, which he dared not yet vocally pronounce, he addressed her with a level of adoration he did not attempt to conceal from his voice: "You are a vision, my Lady. I should like to always see you wearing the colours of my House."

Her light blush at his words lit a spark of hope within him that his feelings for her could one day be reciprocated. If he could convince her that he only wanted her, not anything she had been led to believe would be expected of her from marriage by her father and the Court, he could yet hope for his vision of her as his wife to become a reality. Her presence before him in his House colours, wearing his mother's necklace, seemed to him to be a happy harbinger of such a future.

Holding his free arm out to her, with more confidence now, knowing she would accept it, he felt a degree of contentment he had never before experienced, as he led his sister and his beloved to the banquet.

As the Hightower siblings and Lady Y/N entered the main hall of the Red Keep, a slight hush fell across the hall at the sight of them atop the stairwell. The matching shades of their dress, and their united front, arm-in-arm, recalled to the minds of many at Court tales of the lights of the Hightower watch burning green, when called to action. The three descended the steps and approached the end of the table reserved for the Hightowers. Gwayne was forced to slow his pace when he noticed that his love had stopped walking, tugging lightly on his sleeve.

He sought to ascertain the reason for her hesitant expression, as she looked between himself and Alicent.

"Should not I sit elsewhere. I am not a Hightower."

Realizing the reason for her hesitation, even as he quickly refuted it in his own mind, since she was already so deeply embedded within his own heart, he sought to reassure her.

"Not in name, but you are our dearest friend and we should be honoured by your presence at our table." He was quickly supported in this by Alicent nodding and pulling Y/N's arm forward, affectionately.

Rewarding him with a beatific smile, Y/N allowed herself to be led to their end of the table by Alicent, as Gwayne held a chair out, first for his sister, and then for his beloved. He held her hand and gaze longer than was strictly necessary, as he led her to her seat, before he seated himself in between his love and his sister.

The evening turned out to be one of the most enjoyable Gwayne had ever passed at a Court proceeding, as he spent the majority of it laughing with his dear sister and lady love at the antics of the Court's lickspittles and sycophants. Gwayne had both ladies doubling over with laughter at his description of Tyland Lannister's 'bizarre mating dance', as the fool continued to try and capture Alicent's attention. As the Lannister approached their table, Gwayne ineffectually gestured for the ladies to quiet their laughter, as they continued to break into it every time they made eye contact with each other. A condition made worse by the amount of wine Gwayne and Y/N had consumed, much to Alicent's disapproval.

Ostensibly unperturbed by their ill-concealed mirth, Tyland Lannister confidently swaggered up to their table, until he stood directly opposite Alicent. Holding his hand out to her, he pushed his chest out as he asked her to dance, seemingly assured of her ready acceptance. Gwayne sensed the danger when Alicent made eye contact with him and knew it was all over when she turned to Y/N, as they all broke out into laughter again.

Alicent was the first one to rally herself into some semblance of respectability, wiping her eyes of the tears that her laughter had elicited.

"I am sorry, my Lord, to have to decline your kind offer. I will not be dancing with anyone this evening."

Tyland's expression darkened as he surmised that he was the cause of their inordinate mirth. Realising that Tyland still stood before their table, a threatening presence before his sister, Gwayne decided to take control of the situation, and redirect his anger towards him.

"The lady has declined your offer, my good man. Be so good as to move away from the table, you are blocking the ladies' view of the dancing."

He said this with a light, but firm tone, which made clear this was not a request.

Growing irritated at the Lannister's continued presence before her friend, who she could see was becoming uncomfortable under his gaze, Y/N lost her cool.

"It appears that the lady does not care to partake in your particular dance, Ser. Did you not hear her decline?"

At the emphasis Y/N placed on the word 'dance', Alicent and Gwayne broke out in laughter again, at her reference to Tyland's 'mating dance'.

That was before Tyland addressed Y/N, directing a cold glower towards her.

"I do not remember asking for your opinion, Y/N."

Gwayne was immediately on his feet, glaring into Tyland's face, with fury behind his eyes.

"I think I just heard you address the Lady without the proper respect due to her, Ser. I would advise you to remove yourself from both ladies' presence before I am forced to do so."

Both Alicent and Y/N were surprised to see Gwayne so incensed, having never been on the receiving end of his anger, and Tyland seemed similarly surprised at his anger, taking a step back from the table.

Begrudgingly offering his apology to Y/N for the insult, he stalked away from the table. Gwayne did not return to his seat until Tyland had made his way back to the centre of the room, continuing to glare in the direction of his retreating back. Alicent pulled him back down to his seat by his arm, retaining a comforting hold on it. He patted her hand affectionately, and reached out to take Y/N's hand, which she quickly placed within his own.

"Pay him no mind, Gwayne. He is only a fool in Court clothing." Alicent said comfortingly, patting his arm. Gwayne nodded in response, looking down at her affectionately as he tried to calm his breathing, still angered by Tyland's presumption towards his sister and his rudeness towards his love.

Y/N squeezing his hand helped to calm him from his rage, as he turned to her, looking into her eyes with a look of earnest concern.

"I hope you were not distressed by that fool's behaviour, my Lady. I can have another conversation with him, if such be the case."

Correctly predicting by the emphasis Gwayne placed on the word 'conversation' that Gwayne meant more of a physical, than a verbal, altercation, Y/N indulgently swatted him on the arm.

"There will be no need for that, my good Ser. I think we have all effectually put that peacock in his place."

The feeling of her soft, delicate hand still placed within his own, and her playfully affectionate gesture, served to calm Gwayne, whilst her jest had them all breaking out into laughter again. Gwayne gazed down at her, the bell-like sound of her laughter filling his ears, as his eyes glittered with the love he felt for her.

The sound of muffled laughter could be heard, as Gwayne and Alicent made their way back through the Keep towards Y/N's apartments, with Y/N in tow. Both Gwayne and Y/N had drunk far more wine than was sensible, Y/N not having realised her limits, as she continued to stumble her way forward. Her movement was only made more haphazard by her inability to stop laughing at Gwayne's impression of Tyland's mating dance, as she wheezed, holding onto her stomach. When she nearly fell, as they rounded the corner, Gwayne caught her by her elbows and held her up.

"Steady, steady, how many fingers am I holding up?" he smirked at her, raising three fingers to her face.

She smiled blearily at him, before responding delightedly, "five!"

Gwayne chuckled indulgently, shaking his head as he looked downward, before sighing.

"Nothing for it, I shall have to carry you, though I can scarcely stand myself. You are to be blamed as a bad influence. If I had not been trying to best you, my Lady, I should still be in full possession of my cognitive and physical abilities."

Attempting to swat his chest, but missing, nearly careening past him, had not he caught her again, holding her waist with one arm, she laughed.

"I thoroughly bested you Ser, let there be no doubt."

Smiling at her, finding her antics adorable, he assumed a mock serious tone of voice.

"I would never be so bold as to suggest it, my Lady. Now if you could kindly get onto my back, I hope we might return you to your chambers before morning comes."

Turning away from her and lowering himself, he held his arms out behind him to lift her, as Alicent helped Y/N get onto his back.

They made it approximately half way up the turreted stairwell to Y/N's apartments before Gwayne, inebriated himself and laughing at the situation they found themselves in, slipped on a step, hitting his knee. A look of alarm crossed his face as he turned to assess whether his fumble had harmed his lady, but it was quickly replaced by a grin of amusement, as she swatted his head.

"Stupid horse, what do you mean by falling. Get up at once."

"Apologies, my Lady, your horse is not feeling very steady, himself." Laughing, yet secretly rejoicing at her touch, and that she should feel so safe with him, as she leant her head against his back, he raised them both and continued up the stairs. Whether by the grace of the Seven or Alicent's skillful steering of her brother and friend, the three managed to make it to Y/N's apartments in one piece. Hugging Alicent and patting Gwayne's head still, it seemed, under the mistaken notion that he really was a horse, Y/N retreated behind the door of her apartments. As the Hightower siblings turned to go back through the Keep to their own apartments, Gwayne wrapped an arm around his sister, a gesture of affection which also ended up being necessary, as he was now passed the point of being able to make it back in the right direction to their own apartments.

Waking up the next day with a headache, Gwayne couldn't find himself feeling sorry for it, when it was the result of a night of such merriment and joy with his sister and lady love. He had dreamt of Y/N standing at his side in his own ancestral seat, as his wife, and had awoken hoping that she might sometimes dream of him too. With such a happy thought to buoy him up, he rose and began to dress for the first day of the tourney, hoping that his lady's headache was not as bad as his own. At the thought that she could be suffering from one, he sobered a little and resolved to make a stop by the kitchens before he made his way to the tournament.

A knock on her door, early the next day, had Y/N grumbling for her maid to enter, her head throbbing from her indulgence at the previous night's banquet. Entering quietly, the maid bought a tea to Y/N, which she looked at quizzically.

"Thank you, but I don't believe I requested this."

Lowering her head in deference, the maid informed her that Ser Gwayne Hightower had brought it up personally, assuring her that it was a herbal remedy sure to cure her symptoms from the previous night's merriment. The maid also handed her a note, which Gwayne had left with the tea.

My Lady,

I do hope your pretty head does not hurt quiet so much as mine does, although I am assured by your stalwart claims to have bested me last night that it does not. I do believe I knocked mine own on several walls on my way back to my chambers last night, as if the wine were not already enough to give me a headache for several years. I swear by the efficacy of this tea for curing all manner of ill incurred by indulging in too much wine. I do hope you will be well enough to honour me with your presence and support at today's tourney.

Remember that your knight will require someone to charm, should his fellow knight's prove impervious to his charms. That failing, I shall allow you to carry my sword for me when I inevitably drop it, since I can barely see straight to write this missive.

Yours, most faithfully,

Gwayne

Laughing at his note, even as his consideration for her wellbeing caused her heart to flutter, Y/N rose to begin getting ready to meet Alicent on her way to the tourney stands to watch Gwayne compete.

As Gwayne urged his horse forth in a canter, in procession behind the other knights competing in the tourney, his heart soared at the sight of his sister and lady smiling down at him and cheering for him from the stands. Stopping below the balcony they were seated at, he called up to them, a boyish grin illuminating his features.

"Good morrow, fair ladies. Would my two favourite ladies care to grant their champion their favours, so that he may hope to compete with their blessing?"

Taking Alicent's handkerchief from her, Y/N passed both of their handkerchiefs down to him, and he quickly caught both in his grasp, smiling gratefully up at them both, before directing his horse to continue forth. Despite his nervousness at competing in his first tourney outside of Oldtown, the sight of his sister and beloved's favours tied to his sword belt made him feel as if he was already on the way to winning the only prize he truly cared for, the heart of his lady.

Both girls had anxiously held each other's hands in their laps as they watched Gwayne compete against knights twice his age, concerned for his safety. They soon found themselves cheering, however, at Gwayne's series of victories, both in the jousting and with the sword. His age did not seem to be a weakness, rather, it seemed to lend him a boldness and unpredictability in battle, which had the other knights struggling to anticipate his next move. Every time he took a hit, both ladies would hold their breath, before he would be up again, rounding on his opponent with a tenacity they had little expected for one so young and inexperienced in battle.

By the end of that day's tournaments, Gwayne had emerged the victor in many a fight. Instead of going to the podium directly beneath the King's balcony to receive the markers of his victories, he ran straight towards the balcony that his sister and lady were seated upon.

"Are you sufficiently pleased with your champion's victories on the field today, my ladies?"

Laughing at him, Y/N leant over the balcony, folding her arms on the railing, to address him.

"Your ladies are sufficiently pleased by your victories, good Ser. We shall expect you to do equally as well on the morrow."

Gazing up at his love, she appeared almost as an angel above him, so much so that he was nearly too stunned to speak. He hoped that she was impressed by his performance that day and that his victories might also go some way to convincing her that he would be a suitable choice for a husband, as someone who could protect her and would defend her with his life.

Winking at her, with a charming smile, he met her light tone with his own.

"Depend upon it, my sweet Lady, this knight shall not disappoint you."

With that, he reluctantly turned from her back towards the King's stand, the King having been left unexpectedly waiting whilst Gwayne had bypassed him on his way to meet his lady.

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