#and then he meets up with Dream and tries to arrange to meet him more often | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mostly-imagines · 4 months

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Who Needs Heaven? : The Drop-In

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason meets his daughters

warnings: it’s not specific if the kids are bio or adopted — this probably doesn’t make sense on multiple fronts but i DON’T CARE

see for: the vibes

His body jolts like he’s snapping out of sleep. The first thing he processes is loud conversations echoing, the sound of young girls talking over each other. He surveys over a book in his hands that he’s never heard of, though it’s opened more than halfway through and considerably worn. He drops the book to the side, coming to a stand and scanning over the environment.

He looks around the adorned living room, taking in details rapidly. He doesn’t recognize the house he’s in but he can tell it’s somewhere he definitely does not belong. The room is filled with books on shelves and picture frames are littered in every free spot in between. The lights are warm and the furniture is colorful with pillows and blankets strewn all over. It’s a stark contrast to the refined stoic Manor he’s so used to; there’s a distinct feeling of homeliness and warmth that seeps through the walls.

He creeps into the front entryway to the house as quietly as he can, peering up the staircase to the landing above for any signs of familiarity or danger. From his right, a girl comes darting into the space, running face first into Jason. He immediately reaches out to steady her but she shows no sign of disruption. She makes a point of holding the wrapped popsicle in her hand away, keeping it safe. She blinks up at him before taking off past him, calling out, “Sorry, dad!”

Dad?

“Anna, I swear to God—” Another girl of similar age runs past, paying him no mind.

He gapes after her, thoroughly confused. Where the hell is he?

“Daddy?” He turns around and looks down to a younger girl who looks about six at most. She stares up at him with wide eyes and freckled cheeks. “Are you okay?”

He can’t think.

This isn’t…this can’t be real. It can’t be. This is a dream. He got knocked out. He’s hallucinating. He’s dying.

He tries to keep his breath steady as this little girl peers up at him with curious eyes. “Daddy?”

He opens his mouth, struggling to find words, let alone get them out. “Where…where’s your mom?” He can barely make out his own voice.

“She’s in your room,” she tells him, looking up the stairs.

He treds up the stairs slowly, the chatter downstairs barely getting any quieter. The second floor seems deserted in terms of the presence of children. If, if this were real (or more likely, a dream) you’ll be here somewhere. There’s no scenario where he’d ever imagine a life in a big house with a big family without you—subconsciously or otherwise.

Several doors line the wide hallway, most of them open. He peers in the room closest to the top of the staircase, finding a heartily decorated bedroom with two twin beds. Polaroids and movie posters litter the walls and clothes are strewn across on top of the bed covers and in a few small piles on the floor. An orange lava lamp illuminates the room from a desk, shining off the glossy cover of magazines. Above, sports medals dangle off the wall against a white board, a scribbled on game of hangman midway through. A full-length mirror covered in stickers along the edges reflects a bookshelf across the room, dozens of books stuffed on each shelf. He blinks vacantly, pulling back from the doorway and continuing on.

He continues on down the right side of the hallway, passing up a bathroom and a closet before peering into the next room. It also has two beds, but it’s filled with remnants of young children. A small table with a tea set laid out on top sits in the middle of the room with various princess dresses draped across the short chairs. Pink bed sheets and butterfly-filled curtains joined by toy cars lined against the wall and strings of pink starry lights hanging from the ceiling. Both beds have stuffed animals arranged in thoughtful piles. It takes Jason a moment to notice the tattered, worn elephant with the green polka dot tie on the bed with the Cinderella comforter. Pickles. It was his when he was a kid. It’s placed delicately at the top of the pile, like he’s the king of the crop. A grand dollhouse sticks out against one of the walls, the dolls all lying asleep in their makeshift beds. Fluffy bubblegum and fuschia rugs scatter the floor just enough that you could jump across the room without ever touching the hardwood.

He turns to the last room, a door directly across that’s just cracked open. He can hear light music coming from inside and the almost inaudible shuffle of movement. He pushes the door open cautiously and takes in the sight of a woman, back to the door, folding laundry on the bed. He doesn’t even need to see your whole figure to know that it’s you.

“Sweetheart?” He sounds like he’s out of breath.

“Yeah?” You turn around with your same kind eyes and gentle disposition. You look older, not much older but your face is more mature. You even hold yourself a little differently. You quickly notice the way he scans you with a look of bewilderment on his face and jump into concern. “What’s wrong?” You drop the shirt that you’re folding on the bed, approaching him with soft steps. Everything feels fuzzy.

“This—this is…” His voice seems far away, this body feels further. “This isn’t real…”

“What? Jay, what are you talking about?” You’re so genuinely concerned about him it makes his heart hurt and does nothing to help clear his head.

His breathing starts to stutter and his eyes can’t pick something to focus on. Everything is telling him that this is a false sense of security, he’s not safe, you’re not safe, everything’s wrong—

“Woah, hey, hey. It’s okay.” You take his face in your hands the way you know tends to ground him. “Catch me up.”

He tries to focus on the sliding clasp of the necklace around your neck. “I…I think this is…” He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up only to wake up in a few seconds and find that it was all pretend. Instead, he’ll settle for, “...This hasn’t happened…”

You frown at that, tilting your head. “What do you mean?”

He breathes out heavy, “I think I’m dreaming.”

“What are you dreaming of?” You walk along this train of thought with him, though he has no idea why you would entertain it. This really must be pretend.

“The future…this is…is this the future?” He’s whispering, he’s not even sure if he’s asking you or himself or maybe even God.

You’re quiet for a minute before you speak again. “Oh,” you say contemplatively, not nearly as alarmed as you should be. You should probably be calling him crazy, right? “This is—you told me about this. Yeah, it had something to do with that clock guy—”

He blinks a few times, “The Clock King?” That does sound…familiar. Was he—he was with Bruce wasn’t he? Or maybe Dick. Both?

You nod, “Yeah, yeah. You said you ‘time traveled’ for a minute...but that was in, like…”

He fills in the blank with the year as he remembers it and your eyes go wide. “Well, this would be a bit of a surprise then.”

“We have kids?”

You laugh, brushing his hair back gently, “Yes. Yes, we definitely do. Five girls.”

“Five?” He breathes.

“Yeah. Wasn’t the plan but…” you shrug easily, “Here we are.”

He barely stops his next question from coming out of his mouth and replaces it. “Is this something I should be hearing?”

“What?” You tilt your head for a second before realization flashes across your face. “Oh, you don’t end up remembering any of this.” You shrug, mouth scrunched up to the side, “So why not?”

He does really want to hear about them. “Please.” He whispers faintly.

You nod reposefully, “Okay, well…” you pause, eyes on the ceiling. “Oh, wait.” You dart over to the bookshelf against the wall and pull a book from the second shelf from the top, a large pink photo album.

You shuffle back, guiding him to the bed and sitting thigh to thigh with him and placing the album on your laps. You flip it open to the first page, which displays an array of photos of who must be his daughter.

“This is Mia—Miriam—she’s the oldest. She’s thirteen now, she’s very smart and a sort of a perfectionist. Really a perfectionist.” A couple of her baby pictures were taken in your apartment and it makes his heart absolutely melt to see you as he left you, holding a baby—his baby—with a glowing smile on your face. There’s another photo of her, kindergarten aged, dressed up as Spoiler for halloween. One shows her on a bike with shimmery handlebar streams, Jason holding her steady as she learns. He’s wearing the brightest smile he’s ever seen on his own face.

“Then there’s the twins,” you continue, flipping to the next page. You laugh when his breath hitches at that. “I know. It’s not as scary as it sounds. Well, not now that they’re older. Ryan and Anna.” You point to them as you say their names, and he recognizes them quickly as the two girls that had run past the stairs. The twins look identical, the only discernible difference found in that Ryan is grinning in every picture with a glint in her eyes and Anna nearly always has a stoic look on her face.

“Ryan is her father’s daughter. She thinks she’s very clever and even more funny, and she is but don’t tell her that, it goes straight to her head.”

There’s a picture that has to be a couple of years old by now of the two of them dressed in what looks like brand new soccer gear. Another depicts one of them chasing Tim with a firework sparkler at dusk. He sees one of Ryan covered in dirt and tiny cuts, smiling big, helmet crooked on her head.

“Anna’s a happy kid, she is. Don’t let her attitude trick you—she just likes to keep her feelings to herself.” Anna’s pictures remind him of Damian in some ways. The very intentional lack of a smile but the happiness still seeps through anyways. One of her pictures has her cuddling with two rottweiler puppies in classic Damian style. Another one shows her a bit older, on Jason’s shoulders, surveying the land.

You turn to the next page, “And Laine, uh, Elaine,” you smile, “She’s a bit eccentric. She lives in her own world but she’ll bring you into it with her. She likes magic and glitter and offbeat things.” Laine’s pictures leave a particular warmth in his heart. She has the absolute widest smile and the brightest eyes he’s ever seen. One photo shows her having a picnic with several stuffed animals, another has her drawing a rainbow with sidewalk chalk. One picture towards the bottom of the page grabs his eye, one of Laine happily braiding Cass’ short hair at what appears to be the Manor.

“And then the little one is Aurora—Rory,” You turn to a page full of pictures of the wide-eyed girl, who has the sweetest baby face. He can tell from the pictures alone that she has your personality. You point to a picture of her giggling with bubbles all in her hair as you explain, “She’s still small but she has a big heart and a very sensitive soul already.” Jason’s practically staring a hole in the picture of Rory as a newborn in the hospital, held delicately by Bruce.

You play with the hair at the nape of his neck as he processes quietly, letting him take his time.

“They’re happy?” He asks in a whisper.

“We’re happy.” You say affirmingly. He looks you in the eyes and you see a specific vulnerability in his that you haven’t seen in a long time. “You are a good dad, Jay.”

He’s still surprised that you can read him like a book, even though at this point you’d have been together for at least fifteen-some years. His eyes burn and he’s not sure he can keep it together. But you dig the knife in all the same, “They love you. A lot. We couldn’t live without you.”

You flip through until you find a page later in the book, plopping it back open fully. The first picture he takes note of shows him outside with picked flowers scattered in his hair wherever they’ll stay put, Laine and Rory trying to straighten them out. Another is of Anna hesitantly feeding a horse an apple, Jason crouched next to her, reassuring her. On the other page, Rory is mid-air being thrown into an absolutely massive leaf pile, glee adorning her face. He turns the page to find one of the girls with a red hoodie pulled over her head and a makeshift mask made from a red plastic plate with holes cut out for the eyes. One has Mia resting against his back, passed out, as he helps Ryan tie off a friendship bracelet on her wrist.

This isn’t—he doesn’t deserve this. This can’t be true, this is more than a happy ending and he’d never even expected you to love him this long, let alone give him the world and then some. He stares at the page for a while, trying to burn every detail into his head.

You tear your gaze away from his face to glance at the clock on the side table, muttering, “Oh shit. Hang on.”

His eyes follow you as you stand from the bed and walk across the room to the door, cracking it open a few inches before shouting out, “Bed!”

There’s a brief delay before a clamor starts towards them, all five girls thumping up the stairs.

You turn back to him, heedfully, “You can stay in here if you want. They’re a little…a lot.” You say tentatively. Well, if there’s anything he’s accustomed to it’s big families with bigger personalities.

Jason lingers behind you as you enter the hallway, looking like a little kid in an unfamiliar place. Whatever conversations were going on downstairs have simply moved location, no urgency present whatsoever to continue on with the progression of the night. You’re trying to verbally corral them towards their respective bedrooms, but it’s a tough job with two clear headed parents on a good day.

He stands frozen in the midst of the clutter of them as they rattle off to you and to each other. He’s scared to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing. He doesn’t want to upset or alarm them. But because he is their father, they don’t need him to do anything strange to realize that he’s being strange.

Ryan squints up at him, “What’s wrong with you?”

The question grabs Laine’s attention and she looks to you with wide eyes, “What’s wrong with Dad?”

You shake your head, “Nothing’s—”

“He’s not having a stroke already, is he?” Anna faints, no alarm in her words. Mia thumps the back of her head for that with no returning acknowledgement given by Anna.

Ryan is looking at him like she’s sizing him up. Something you did not get a chance to tell him about Ryan is that she can smell blood in the water like a shark. So it’s not surprising to you that she picks up on Jason’s disoriented state.

“Father?” She calls out sweetly.

You sigh, “Ryan—”

“No, it’s okay. I want to ask dad specifically.” She turns him away from you with a smile. She doesn’t know what’s going on and she doesn’t need to. She’s an opportunist like that. “Could I have the last popsicle?”

Anna cuts in harshly, “You better n—”

“Hey Annie, few notes for ya,” Ryan says with widened eyes and a pointed finger, “One, you shouldn’t interrupt your father, it’s disrespectful,” Anna’s face contorts at that, and she’s about to bite back but she’s cut off quickly by Ryan’s dedication to dishing out her hypocritical sermon. “Two, you shouldn’t interrupt me because it’s potentially the single greatest sin you’ll ever—”

Alright, you gave her a chance to turn it around, she’s done now. “No, you’re all going to bed now and if you’re lucky that popsicle is still there when you get home from school tomorrow.” You tell Ryan with a pointed look. She gives you a half-hearted glare, absolutely nothing compared to her real one.

“Mom, you said—” Mia throws her hands up as she recounts a promise that you may or may not have given her, it’s anyone’s guess.

Then Anna starts up, “That’s not fair, I called—”

Rory pipes up from behind you. “We’re supposed to read our story first.”

You inhale sharply, turning to face her, “Oh—” you crouch down to her level, holding her waist. “How about I read it tonight, Rory?”

She frowns, “Daddy always reads it.”

Ryan taps on Jason’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “Dad, listen,” she says lowly, like she’s trying to get him in on the deal of the century. “Anna doesn’t deserve it, she’s rooting for you to stroke out—”

You frown at Rory with repentance, “I know sweetheart, but—”

Laine looks quite contemplative as she announces, “It’s unholy to break tradition.”

You scrunch up your face and swivel your head to her, “What?”

This declaration does enough to break Ryan away from her scheme. She turns to her and says flatly, “You haven’t said anything that makes sense in like two weeks.”

Jason’s mind is going a mile a minute, trying to process the fifteen things that are going on all at once and take in the fact that these are his children. His daughters and they’re so loud and opinionated and bold and he loves it. He thinks this is the closest he’ll ever get to heaven. Hell, he’d take this over heaven a million times over.

“Mom. Mom!” Mia urges, “Can you help me?”

Your head stutters between your daughters, “I—yeah. Rory, just—”

“I can do it.” He says quietly.

“Yeah?” You look up at him, hopefully, genuinely delighted that he wants to jump into this mess without the twelve years of prep that you’re dependent on.

“Yeah.” He nods, determined and you and Rory smile up at him. Mia all but yanks you up from the floor, pulling you to her room and you can just barely make out Ryan’s hushed murmur of, “I’m getting the popsicle…”

Rory takes Jason’s hand, drowning her own in his. She leads him to the pink bedroom with all the toys, and climbs onto the unicorn bed, shoving all but a few of the stuffed animals onto the floor. Elaine follows close behind and does the same with her own bed, though the only one she keeps is Pickles.

He stands next to the bed a bit awkwardly as she pulls a book off the table next to her, the length of the book easily taking up half her arms. It takes her looking up at him expectantly for him to get the hint, shuffling to squeeze in next to her on the small bed.

She hands him the book and he regards it with a smile. Little Women. He pauses as he starts to open it, “Where, um…where did we leave off?”

She looks at him funny, smiling like he’s messing with her. She flips the book open a little more than halfway through and stops on chapter fifteen. She presses her pointer finger down to the start of the chapter with a thump. “Right here.”

Jason takes a steadying breath and begins reading in the same soft voice he reads to you in, and it seems to appease both girls. He’s not processing what he’s saying as he sits there with his littlest daughter tucked into his side and hanging on to every last word. He can feel her breathing in and out softly and it all feels so surreal now.

““I don't think you'll blame me, for I only sold what was my own." As she spoke, Jo took off her bonnet, and a general outcry arose, for all her abundant hair was cut short.” Rory giggles as Laine gasps, and Jason can feel the rhythm of his heart fluttering in a new way.

He reads to the end of the chapter and returns the book to its place on the side table, and reluctantly pulls away from Rory, standing up again. He tucks her nicely, if not inexperienced, into the sheets and kisses her forehead. She immediately holds out her toy bear, silently requesting the same treatment for him. Jason kisses the bear too, happily. He does the same for Laine, taking particular note of the way she hugs Pickles to her chest tightly.

He starts towards the door, but is quickly put to a halt. “Wait,” Laine calls out. He turns back to her wide-eyed, terrified he did something wrong. “The lights,” she says, looking up to the ceiling at the dangling stars. Oh, right. She watches him skeptically as he innocently looks around for the switch, and Rory tilts her head at him, not sure what he’s playing at.

“It’s right there,” Rory points with a mildly sullen look to where the mechanism dangles near the outlet. Jason quickly flicks the lights on, the soft orange-pink glow of stars illuminating against the walls. Rory’s pleased enough and adjusts to get more comfortable in her bed.

Laine however, hisses out a, “Hey,” gesturing him towards her. He sidesteps the tea table and comes around to her side of the room, kneeling down by her bed attentively. She glances over at Rory before asking in a hushed voice, “Are you an alien?”

That, he wasn’t expecting. “...What?”

She shakes her head reassuringly, “It’s okay, I won’t tell. But um…I would like my dad back eventually please. If that’s okay.”

His breath stutters and he forces out an, “O—okay.”

She holds out her pinky and it takes him a second to register what she’s asking. He wordlessly pinky promises her and she smiles big, pleased with the agreement.

He stands again, feeling light headed as he heads for the door.

“Goodnight, Daddy,” Rory murmurs against the pillow, watching him leave.

His gaze flickers back and forth from them to make sure they like having the door closed, Rory watches him bemusedly and Laine nods at him slyly with a twinkle in her eyes. “Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight,” He exhales, not as loud as he meant to. He clicks the door shut softly and there’s a warmth in his chest that he could get addicted to.

He wanders down the hall towards the sound of your voice, passing Anna and Ryan climbing under their covers and murmuring something to each other, half eaten popsicle in the ladders hand. He passes the staircase, peering his head into the next room over. His eyes immediately land on you and Mia stood in front of an armoire, shuffling through clothes having an exchange of considerative words.

Mia’s room is very neat and put together, everything is placed with much more intention than in the other girls rooms. Her room has more mellow colors too, largely white with soft shades of pastels throughout. There’s a desk with organized notebooks and multiple vases of flowers, with bundles of yarn placed nicely in a basket in the corner. A tall bookshelf is filled with fifty-some books with a violin case leaning up against it. Nail polishes rest beside a jewelry box on the side table next to her bed. She also has picture frames across the walls, some containing photos of flora, others of the family, and a few of what appears to be her own sketches.

“—worried it’s too showy, you know?”

You hum, “I don’t think so, I mean, not for picture day.”

Mia turns to Jason, shirt held up against her body. “What do you think?”

He takes a second to bounce back from the surprise of being asked the question, “I, uh…I like it.”

You smile at him as Mia faces you again, “Okay, so this with that flowy lilac skirt?”

“The lilac…yeah, that would be cute.”

She nods pleased, draping the shirt over the back of the armchair in the corner.

You and Jason head out of the room, closing the door on your way out so she can change into her pajamas.

“Goodnight!” she calls out through the crack in the door. You and Jason return it in sync, clicking the door closed. You hold his hand as you walk past the twins' open door, giving them the same sentiment with Jason’s own following quickly after. They call it out back, louder than necessary, and you close your bedroom door behind the two of you.

You rest against the door and he leans his head back against the wall next to you, glancing over at you. “I won’t remember any of this?” He seems dejected at the idea, not happy to have been handed the world and then having it swiped from his memory immediately after.

You consider it for a second, shaking your head, “I don’t think so.”

He’s quiet for a bit, thinking. “Do you have a marker?”

“A marker?” You look around casually, “Uh, yeah.” You unclip a sharpie from the mini calendar pinned against the wall, tossing it to him. You watch curiously as he holds his forearm out in front of him, popping the lid off with his mouth.

The light in the room starts to dim dramatically until his vision is completely dark. The pull of gravity on his body feels wrong and a pang of fire shoots against the side of his head.

“Hood.” He hears in the darkness, “Hood.” The commanding voice startles him awake once again. “Are you alright?”

He blinks up at Batman blearily, feeling like he’s just gotten hit over the head with a chair. “What…what—”

“The Clock King. He threw some sort of device at you. It knocked you out for a few minutes. Are you alright?”

He feels dizzy. “Uh…yeah.”

He cranes his head to glance over at where the Clock King is hunched over on the ground, handcuffed, inspecting the cartridge of his device closely. “Damn it, I knew it wasn’t right. Meant to knock him into the past.” He tells Nightwing like it’s some common mistake they can bond over.

Nightwing moues at him “I don’t care?”

Knock him into the—did he go to the future? He can’t get his thoughts in order, let alone summon memories from the future. Frankly, it doesn’t matter that much to him right now—he’s sore and wants to just fall asleep next to you.

He sits up slowly, grimacing as the pain in his head sharpens for a moment. Batman clasps his hand on his shoulder, holding him steady. “Can you stand?”

Hood grunts and pushes himself up, anchoring his weight against the ground. “Fuck. I’m going home.”

Batman says nothing to protest, instead joining Nightwing and pulling The Clock King up from the ground. Jason stumbles away towards his bike, thankful that he’s only a couple miles away from your apartment. Jesus, the future? You’re not going to believe that shit.

He climbs onto the bike with a groan, pushing up his sleeves as he prepares to start the bike. He doesn’t notice it until he revs it, but when he looks down at his left arm, he sees scribbled on his arm in sharpie:

WE’RE HAPPY

vote: do you have a favorite daughter?

❤️ REBLOGGING = SUPPORTING ❤️

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chilling-seavey · 2 months

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Dreamland (ln4) - Part Five

↳ A/N This part is so dang long it had to be broken into two. Whoops. But I'm also super pumped about who we (and Lando!!) are going to meet in the next two parts! Strap in, though. It's not going to be smooth sailing.

↳ Inspired By: 'Grapejuice' by Harry Styles

↳ Summary: George and Alex visit Lando in Monaco for a week that summer. Their visit seems to align perfectly well with the week where yours and Lando's situationship is tested the most

↳ Pairings: Fanboy Lando Norris x Famous!Author!Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n), University Student Lando x Internet Friend George x Internet Friend Alex

↳ Word Count: 20.6k

↳ Warnings: 18+, NSFW, angst and less than ideal ways of solving problems, talks of virginity, hints of dom/sub dynamics and possessiveness, name calling/degradation, spanking, spitting, borderline exhibitionism, oral sex (m & receiving), cumplay, [kinda rough] unprotected sex.

PART FOUR || PART SIX

You had insisted that he go by himself. In all honesty, there should have been no reason why Lando was nervous but there was something so menacing about the Nice airport in mid afternoon on Friday that didn’t help to ease his anxieties over finally meeting his two internet friends after nearly years of talking. He didn’t put up much of a fight when he asked you to come and you said he would be just fine on his own - he didn’t want to look like a baby in front of you - but as he stood in the arrivals gate with his heartbeat in his ears, he was slightly regretting not pleading with you just a little bit more.

Lando, George, and Alex knew each other better than anyone else in the world, it was just unfortunate that they lived in different parts of the country and therefore could never see each other in person. Thanks to you, that was going to change. At least for a week. With Lando living in Monaco for the summer and working alongside you and your team at your publishing company, you had arranged for his two closest friends to fly down to spend a week with him. It was yet another reminder that your relationship was something more than just something casual. A title yet to be determined between you, Lando was just happy that he was able to live out his dream of having something with you.

Lando had probably paced the arrival gate a few times over since arriving at the airport that afternoon, trying to calm himself down in this uncharted territory. He was an avid overthinker and worried if his friends would think he was boring in person or weird or if they would find someone better in the sparkling city of Monte Carlo and drop him. Lando tried to breathe. On the outside, to onlookers, he looked simply neutral. On the inside, he was completely panicking.

The large screen above the arrival doors indicated that the flight from Norwich International Airport had landed.

George had arrived first.

The moment he emerged through the arrival gates, Lando was straightening up in the crowd, his mind whirling as George scanned the faces of strangers to find him. Working up his courage, Lando raised his hand up and when George caught his gaze, he smiled widely and started over towards him. Lando bit back his grin as excitement grew in his chest to offset the nervousness that was still lingering in the pit of his stomach.

“Lando!” George greeted happily with a handsome smile and reached out a hand as they approached.

Lando took his hand and they both went in for a smooth one armed hug and a pat to each other’s backs before stepping away again. There was a moment's pause as they just stared at each other with content smiles and their slightly awkward silence had them sharing little chuckles.

“This is unreal, mate.” George said with a heavy sigh, “Wow.”

“Yeah.” Lando shuffled his weight in front of him, “Monaco of all places.”

“I know!” George reached out to nudge his arm, “Who’d have thought it, huh?”

“I mean…I dreamt it.” Lando mumbled.

“I guess manifesting works.”

“Guess so.” Lando smiled lightly.

There was another pause.

“How was your flight?” Lando asked casually, trying to make conversation until the last of their trio would arrive.

George shrugged, “It was good. Were you waiting here long?”

“Not really. Maybe twenty minutes.” Lando assured him.

George checked the time on his phone, “And when’s Alex landing?”

“Maybe forty-five?”

“Perfect. Enough time for a coffee run.” George hoisted the straps of his backpack up his shoulders and adjusted his Tommy Hilfiger jacket - that he spent an entire paycheque on last year - as he scanned the busy airport, “Which way?”

“Uhm,” Lando looked both directions before pointing in the way of the cafés, “that way, I think.”

“Great. Lead the way…and tell me all about your lady.”

“You already know everything.” Lando chuckled as they started off down the bustling airport hallways, “We text literally every day.”

“Yeah, but I wanna hear it all in person.”

Right on time, forty-five minutes later, the arrivals screen announced that the flight from Heathrow International Airport had landed.

Alex had arrived.

George still had his coffee in hand - half finished - and Lando had his hands stuffed in his pockets. He didn’t get anything from the café mainly because he still felt like throwing up from nervousness but he played it off that he had a big lunch when George asked if he could buy him anything. Their conversation had flowed pretty well as Lando grew more confident being face to face with someone he had only ever talked to through a screen but with Alex’s impending arrival, his slight anxieties were back.

When the final member of their trio stepped through the arrival gates, George wasn’t even hesitating a minute before waving to him.

Spotting him easily, Alex grinned ear to ear and raised one hand up in return, calling across the crowd excitedly, “My boys!”

The three hurried to meet up and excited hugs were shared over jackets and backpacks, standing beside suitcases and within the depths of the crowd. Alex had a way of making everything feel a little lighter - a little easier - and Lando found his nervousness melting away faster than before since familiarizing himself with George and now being completed by Alex’s arrival.

Standing in a little triangle, Lando frowned, looking between Alex and George with a playful scowl, “My God, I never thought of myself as that short but why am I the shortest right now?”

Alex laughed and George just smiled, offering him a reassuring, “You’re not that much shorter than us.”

“Are you kidding? I look like your kid.” Lando tutted.

“I’m also the oldest so it makes sense that I’m the tallest.” Alex countered, giving him a nudge too.

“Oh, older than me by, like, barely two years.” George scoffed. “Besides, is age Lando’s excuse then? He’s the baby of the group after all.”

Both George and Alex looked at him and Lando opened his mouth to say something but his words failed him and he simply held his hand over his face with a shy laugh.

“The youngest out of the three of us and the only one who’s not a virgin.” George pressed teasingly, “How’s that fair?”

“Oh my gosh!” Lando blushed, hurriedly giving George’s shoulder a shove as his two friends snickered between themselves.

“You’re so shy in person.” Alex pointed out, slinging an arm around Lando’s shoulders, “You’ve literally sent us a picture of your scratched up back and detailed descriptions of how you fuck the girl of your dreams and here you are barely being able to word a ‘hello’ without blushing.”

“Okay,” Lando dipped out from under his arm bashfully, “No need to be bullying me like this.”

“Hey, you’re like…our youngest triplet brother. It’s only fair we get to bully you a little.” Alex said.

“And it’s hardly bullying.” George added.

Lando pointed an accusatory finger at the both of them, “You be nice to me or I’ll have my wealthy and insanely successful and attractive woman ship you back home.”

“Oh, oh, oh!” his friends laughed teasingly and the three guys shared cheeky smiles and playful tugs to each other’s sweaters.

“There he is!” George patted Lando’s shoulder, “That’s the Lando we know.”

Lando just laughed and shoved his hand away, “Come on. The car is waiting outside.”

“Monaco, baby, let’s go!” Alex clapped once and then rubbed his palms together and the three of them grabbed any and all bags and suitcases and headed towards the exit of the airport, ready to face the sunshine and their week ahead.

George and Alex wouldn’t shut up about the black SUV that picked them up from the airport and took them to the hotel. Just as Lando had only a month or two before, they were just as thrilled about the mini fridge inside and the sleek leather seats that deserved nothing less than absolute gushing reviews. A personal driver to their multi-star hotel. The full Monte Carlo experience.

“You got yourself a real sugar mama, Lan.” Alex tisked through his proud smile as they stepped out of the car and onto the pavement at the front doors of the luxury hotel.

Landscaped with palm trees and coloured flowers, the hotel was in the heart of Monte Carlo and was sculpted as one would imagine a modest five-star hotel to be. In the late afternoon, the flood lights streaked up the front pillars and lined the pathway towards the sliding glass doors into the lobby. The driver started to take their suitcases from the trunk.

“Hardly a sugar mama.” Lando snorted.

“I mean, she is giving you sugar after all.” George smirked over at Alex.

“She is?” Lando scoffed, “Please. I’m the one giving it to her.”

His friends burst into laughter at his smooth response and the driver - already half sick of their rambunctiousness as twenty-something-year-old boys - set their suitcases with them and closed the trunk. They called their thanks as he returned to the driver's seat and drove off, leaving them to their own devices.

Lando led the way into the hotel and past the two-storey entryway and curling staircase towards the elevators and his friends followed eagerly, already talking his ear off with questions they wanted to hear to answers to in person that they didn’t have a chance to ask in the super cool car.

“So how often do you actually stay in the hotel?” George pressed as they all piled into the elevator and Lando hit the button for the eighth floor.

“Maybe half the time.” Lando shrugged proudly as the doors slid closed.

“My boy!” Alex shook his shoulder from his other side.

“Although we can’t really go out properly because it’s Monaco and I’m supposed to just be some interning fan at the company…kinda just feels like half-strangers with benefits but…”

His friends looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

Lando broke into a grin, “The benefits are so good.”

“How often a week?” Alex pried. “Come on. We gotta live vicariously through you!”

Lando smiled bashfully to the elevator numbers that approached eight. He shrugged, playing it cool, “Maybe five times a week? Sometimes more if we can go a second round.”

“Jesus.” George groaned, running his hands over his face.

On Lando’s other side, Alex was merely gaping and he shook his head, “Unbelievable.”

“Although,” Lando countered just as the elevator reached their floor and the doors slid open, “we’re mostly using condoms now which fucking sucks.”

The two middle aged women who were waiting for the elevator on the same floor gave him a weird look as they so clearly heard what he said as their groups passed each other. Lando went red and nearly rushed down the hallway in embarrassment as Alex and George roared with laughter and hurried after him.

“Have you told her about your little breeding kink?” George teased as Lando unlocked the room door.

“No.” Lando hushed him quickly. “It’s not something she’d be into…not right now. She’s so busy with work and writing her fifth novel…she’d probably be completely turned off of even the idea of a baby right now. I don’t want to weird her out or make her uncomfortable.”

Alex and George exchanged little changes behind his back and then followed him into the hotel room. The afternoon sun warmed the patterned carpet and pristinely made white linen sheets over the two queen beds, guiding them farther into the room and past Lando’s suitcase that was tucked empty in the corner as he had his belongings packed away in drawers and the closet. He was to be staying there all summer and living out of a suitcase would not be ideal.

“Dibs on sharing with George.” Alex dropped his backpack onto the bed closest to the window, “I don’t wanna sleep in a bed that Lando probably fucked in.”

“Hey!” Lando glared over at him and George just laughed, “First of all, the sheets are cleaned every day. And secondly, we do it at her house, not here. Thank you very much.”

“Oh, right.” George piped up, flopping backwards onto the bed that Alex claimed for the both of them and he tucked his hands behind his head, “Then say that we don’t want to sleep in a bed that you probably wanked in.”

“You guys are fucking disgusting. Have you always been this gross over message?” Lando rolled his eyes.

“Hey, you made us this way.” George argued.

“You corrupted us.” Alex added.

“With all your filthy fantasies about this author girl you were drooling over.” George finished.

“We have the receipts if you need proof.” Alex offered.

Lando shuttered lightly despite his light chuckle, “No thanks. They’re probably so cringey.”

Alex unzipped his backpack and took his headphones from around his neck to tuck away, “Too good for our thirsting hours now that you got the girl, Lan?”

“Never.” Lando chuckled with a shake of his head and he sat himself on the end of his own bed.

George was texting away in his own world and when a silence settled, both Lando and Alex looked over at him expectantly. A few seconds later, George felt their staring and looked up, glancing between them.

“What? I’m just texting my mum that I arrived.”

“Shit!” Alex pulled his phone from his pocket, “I need to do that too.”

Lando sat on the end of his own bed and rested his hands behind him, smirking proudly over at his friends, “Imagine having overprotective parents? Couldn’t be me. I’m living alone in Monaco…on my own schedule…”

Alex snorted without looking up from his text messages, “Yeah, okay. Says the twenty-one-year-old who got grounded a week before he left because he didn’t take out the trash.”

George chuckled from behind his phone.

“Wow. Lot of smart talk today coming from a virgin.” Lando clapped back.

“Oh shit!” George laughed.

Alex gaped over at Lando who just smirked sweetly and peaked a brow at him.

“That’s cold, mate. That’s cold.” Alex shook his head, although they all knew it was just in good fun.

“Hey, I dunno about you, Albono, but I plan on losing mine while on this trip.” George said proudly and tucked his hands behind his head.

“Not in our shared bed, you’re not.” Alex sassed.

“It’ll be like we’re all roommates in college!” George laughed, “We’ll put a sock on the door when one of us has a girl over.”

Lando answered quickly, “Speak for yourself. I have a million dollar penthouse to escape to when I need privacy away from you two old men.”

Alex shook his head, “Are we really just going to bully each other this entire week?”

“Maybe. It’s kinda our brand.” George chuckled.

There was a pause and at that moment, Lando’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He casually took it out to see who was calling, expecting his mother, but your name instead was across the screen, paired with your contact photo of a picture Charles had taken of you on one of the days your little work group went out for lunch. You didn’t have many private pictures just the two of you for extra privacy’s sake but Lando was okay with that - the real thing was much better than photos.

The sight of your incoming call had him jumping up from the end of the bed in surprise, gasping before alerting his friends, “It’s her! Everyone shut up!”

Alex looked over at George and they shared amused little expressions before Alex snorted quietly, “We weren’t even saying anything but okay.”

Lando answered the call and raised his phone to his ear, keeping his wide wondering eyes on his friends as they would witness their first real-life interaction between the two of you, “Hey.”

“Hey, you.” you greeted through the phone. “Just called to check in and make sure George and Alex got there okay and the driver was good for you.”

“Yeah, the car was great.” Lando answered, slightly off topic, earning a thumbs up from both of his best friends, “And we all just got to the room now.”

“Good. I gotta admit it’s a little lonely at work without you…”

“Really?” Lando answered proudly, “Do you miss me?”

“Of course. You’re coming in on Monday, right?”

George and Alex exchanged smirks that had Lando holding his hand up to them as if to get them to stop distracting him.

“Monday. Yeah.” Lando answered.

Then his friends started with the kissing faces, mocking him annoyingly with ridiculous sound effects, and Lando turned away from them to try and focus on what you were saying.

“And are we still thinking lunch tomorrow?” you asked.

“Yeah. That’d be great.”

From behind him, Alex and George were snickering together and it made Lando nervous again, feeling so watched even if it were only by his best friends. He didn’t want them to embarrass him in front of you.

“Good. I’ll text you the details and you can let me know if that fits into your touristy schedule, okay?”

“Yeah…that…” Lando glanced back at his smirking friends. “That’s good.”

“Okay.” you could tell he was distracted so you wrapped up, “And the room is on my card so you guys can order room service or something if you want.”

“Oh…are you sure?”

“Yeah! You guys have fun. I can’t always have you to myself.”

“I don’t mind when you have me to yourself.”

Your sweet laugh through the phone had him grinning adoringly and you told him honestly, “I’ll see you tomorrow, lover.”

“See you tomorrow, baby.”

Lando hung up and took a second to stare at your contact picture with a bashful grin, almost half forgetting that his friends were even there for a second. He was all too enamoured by you.

Suddenly, Alex’s mocking had him startling back to reality, “See you tomorrow, baby.”

George joined in with a, “I love you so much I want you to have my children.”

Lando turned around to face them again but he was grinning nonetheless, shushing them modestly, “Okay, okay.”

His friends laughed teasingly and Lando drifted over to the desk across the room to grab the leather covered menu.

“So she said we can order room service if we want.”

“Oo.” George jumped up from the bed and came over to join him, peering over his shoulder at the menu. “Let’s order steak!”

Alex took to Lando’s other side, “Or caviar!”

“Do you even like caviar?” George retorted.

Alex shrugged back, “There's a first time for everything.”

“Okay…how about, like, chips?” Lando pitched, “I seriously don’t want to max out her credit card.”

“Burgers then?” Alex offered, pointing it out on the menu in Lando’s hand.

The other two agreed.

“Burgers and chips all around.” Lando reached for the chorded hotel room phone.

The next morning was Saturday and between jet-lag and excitement, the three guys were up before 8am. The hotel served breakfast and by 9am, they had eaten, been dressed, and were waiting outside for their Uber to get their adventures started. Lando had already been familiar with most of Monaco since he had lived there for a few months at that point so he was excited to be acting tour guide for his friends.

He had planned a whole day - definitely not earlier that week at his desk when he was supposed to be doing real work - and had their destinations written in his phone, leaving a section free for lunch where you would meet them to take the three of them out. Most of their morning was spent around the Monaco Grand Prix routes - dreaming about their motorsports lives that could have been - and touring nearby locations of stars, artsy stores, and any locations that caught their interest along the way. Alex and George stocked up on Monte Carlo merch and George even blew a good chunk of his money on a pair of genuine Hermes loafers that he wore proudly through the square outside the Casino.

When noon came around, it was time for them to meet you at the restaurant where you would be waiting. As Lando led the way - with some help from his phone maps - he found himself growing nervous again. So nervous in fact that he kept taking wrong turns until they ended up a few minutes late. Alex and George didn’t speak to it though because it was clear that their best friend was turning into his usual shy over-thinking self and they didn’t want to embarrass him further - especially not in front of you. Their friendship might have thrived on lighthearted banter, but they knew their limits.

You were waiting outside the restaurant when they walked up, your car parked on the street with the parking meter already running and you were leaning against the passenger side door. Lando broke into a grin at the sight of you and you pushed yourself off your car with a smile that matched his own once you saw him approaching. George and Alex - only slightly starstruck at the reality check that was the fact that you were really truly there - followed slowly behind Lando as he hurried over to you.

“Hey, you.” you held your arms out and Lando slid right in for a close hug.

“Hey, yourself.” he smiled, holding onto you just a second longer than necessary. You didn’t mind.

Lando shifted to stand right at your side as he introduced you to his friends, starting with Alex who had to shift his bags of Monaco merch into the other hand so he could shake yours. When Lando went to introduce George, he was simply gaping at your car.

“Quit staring, GR.” Alex elbowed him teasingly, “It’s rude.”

“Sorry, sorry.” George held out his hand to you just as Alex had, slightly nervous himself to know if he should go in for a hug and especially under Lando’s watchful eye from your side. He looked back at your car and let his eyes scan it greedily, “This is yours?”

“Yep.” you reached back to pat the roof.

“Jesus.” George breathed. “Mercedes-AMG…C 63 S…the silver. Shit, this is literally my dream car.”

“Keep your tongue in your mouth, dude.” Alex snorted.

You laughed lightly and Lando watched you carefully as you stared at George’s obvious drooling over your shiny silver car. He just wanted to touch you so badly…to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you in and nuzzle into your neck…so he stuffed his hands in his pockets instead.

Proudly, you unlocked your car and opened the passenger door so George could look inside and you pointed out all the cool little features that had him completely fangirling over it. You kept it so perfectly clean that it was almost as pristine as new and George was almost afraid to touch any of it. Lando and Alex, waiting on the sidewalk with you and George both leaning inside your car, exchanged little expressions of half-amusement and half-concern.

But Alex ended up smiling and nudged Lando’s arm as he mouthed with a whisper, “She’s real.”

“Yeah?” Lando whispered back with a surprised expression like anyone wouldn’t believe him.

“It’s a little crazy…surreal?” Alex shrugged.

Lando looked back at you and tried not to stare at the curve of your ass in your jeans as you bent over into the front of your car. He tilted his head to the side habitually and licked away his shy smile, “Yeah.”

“Okay,” you stood back up with a laugh and when George returned to Alex’s side with a blissed out smile, you closed the door again and locked the car, “shall we head in?”

“Thanks for that.” George took to your other side as Alex led the way into the restaurant. “I’ve only ever been able to see those cars online…never in person.”

George was only being friendly but Lando caught himself dusting his hand over the small of your back almost protectively as you all entered and made your way towards the host stand for your reservation. You let his hand linger there for a few seconds, thinking he was just being polite, but when he didn’t move it, you looked back at him.

“Okay?” you asked.

He smiled tightly, “Yeah.”

You discreetly guided his hand away from your waist and then took the lead of your little group towards your table. Lando stayed close behind you and when the host set your menus down and then left, he was jumping into the booth seat beside you.

“Dibs on sitting here.” he said with a little nervous sing-song to his voice.

George and Alex sat on the opposite side of the table from the two of you and as you smiled down to your menu at Lando’s claim, his friends just snorted and shook their heads.

Alex tisked, “No one was going to fight you on that, mate.”

Lando’s cheeks flushed pink and he hid behind his menu so no one would call him out.

Under the table, you set a reassuring hand on his thigh and he reached down to tuck his fingers around yours, giving your hand a squeeze. No one noticed. You both pulled away again and continued skimming your menus without so much as a glance towards each other. It was almost as if you were too comfortable sneaking around.

The waiter came by not long later and introduced himself and pitched the offer of drink orders. George and Alex ordered soda’s and Lando gestured to you to order first.

“A bottle of red, please. Do you have Cabernet?”

“Yes. Glasses for the table?” the waiter asked.

You glanced across to the other two who shrugged dumbly, having never had wine before.

You smiled back to the waiter, “Yes, four glasses, just in case. Thank you.”

“Since when do you drink wine, Lan?” Alex asked once the waiter had disappeared.

Lando shrugged with a bashful smile, “Since a few months ago when I took this woman out for dinner and we shared a glass.”

You nudged his shoulder with yours playfully and you shared little grins.

“I guess it’s kind of our thing now, huh?” you said.

Lando’s eyes dropped to your lips for a brief second before he was meeting your gaze again and answering coolly, “Yep.”

Oh how he craved to kiss you.

The waiter returned not long after with your drinks and he poured all four of you a glass before setting the bottle on the table. With food orders placed, your little group was permitted some time to chat before it would be time to eat.

You asked George and Alex about their college careers and where they have been since graduation. Alex spoke to his degree and how he had worked part time at a cat café in London but was still at home with his parents, making sure to spin it like it was a choice rather than a necessity. George took his turn next to explain his degree and goals, how he really wanted to try his hand at motosports but his parents never had the funds to put him into it growing up.

Lando sipped his wine and paid close attention to your expression, how obviously interested you were in everything that they were saying, and he couldn’t help but see similarities in your face from the way you looked at him on the first day you met. He was overthinking again. Between your connection with George over your car to your pitch in conversation with Alex about your favourite animals, Lando was squirming for a conversation switch.

Lando set his glass down and cleared his throat nervously. You glanced over at him and nudged him gently with your elbow, urging him to look back at you. Sitting side by side, you were quite close, and although neither of you made any sort of romance-infused move, your closeness and your eye contact still had Alex and George keeping extra watch.

“So,” you started, setting a dramatic hand on Lando’s knee under the table, “I don’t think you have ever told me about how you three started talking.”

“Oh, really!” Alex’s eyebrows raised and the two best friends looked over at Lando with amusement.

“Did you not?” George pressed, his tone just as infused with teasing as Alex’s.

Lando turned his head away from you to look to the table top with a blushing smile, “Guess not.”

“Oh no.” you giggled, “I made him shy. This must mean it’s a good story.”

“You wanna tell, Lan?” Alex offered.

Lando contemplated the offer and realizing that it could have been a perfect opportunity for his best friends to exaggerate and make him sound terribly creepy, he took it upon himself, “Well…I had this little…pointless…not a big deal blog a couple years ago.”

Alex corrected him smoothly, “Two years ago.”

“And,” Lando pressed on, “on this blog I reposted your Instagram pictures and stuff and wrote little reviews about your novels and little journal entries and stupid stuff like that.”

“Aw,” you grinned and leaned into him for a moment, “That’s so cute. Like a true little fanboy.”

“Yeah and these two were my most avid followers so don’t blame it all on me.” Lando nodded to the two across the table.

“So they were fans of you being a fan of me.” you teased.

“Hey!” Alex and George laughed.

“No way were we fans of Lando.” George tisked.

“Yeah, that guy sucks.” Alex gave a thumbs down to the table.

“Okay, fuck you.” Lando chuckled bashfully.

“I dunno,” you pitched, “I think he’s pretty great to be honest.”

George hummed, “I think you might be a little biased.”

Lando’s wide eyed glare and a stiff warning shake of his head had his friends shutting right up.

“Why biased?” you pried, ready to stir the pot and see what they had to say. Lando tried to read your expression but he couldn’t, torn between whether you were teasing them or genuinely concerned. He had never confessed to you just how much he shared with his best friends regarding your little strange relationship.

“Uhm,” George tried to get himself back out of the hole he dug, “because…you know…”

“He’s your intern…and stuff…” Alex jumped in.

You licked away your little smirk and you nodded, “I see.”

“Yep.” George nodded too.

Lando held his breath.

“No other reason?” you tried.

George and Alex looked at Lando’s stricken expression and then back to you. They both shrugged.

“Oh, come on.” you tisked, “I know that you know. I’m not dumb.”

There was an array of relieved sighs from around the table.

You gaped at them, “What did you think I was going to do? Ship you all home? Like, damn, if I can tell my best friends all the tea, I think you guys should be able to know too.”

“I dunno, we never talked about it.” Lando shrugged, slightly defensively.

You bumped his shoulder again with a smile, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Says you.” Lando bumped you back.

You turned back to his friends, “Did he say I was good?”

Lando spoke your name in exclaimed surprise at your blunt question but his friends just laughed.

“We’re not ratting our boy out that easily, nice try.” Alex wagged a finger at you across the table.

“I mean not like he has anything to compare it to.” George countered.

“Wow.” Lando shook his head while you just giggled proudly and leaned into him again for a moment.

Your eyes met and the two of you kept your eye contact for a few lingering seconds, sharing sweet smiles side by side as the reminder of the history of your strange little relationship hovered in your mind. You leaned your head against his for a second before turning back to the table like there was nothing going on between you. Lando reached for you under the table and you let him hold your hand, only known by his hawk-eyed best friends but no one else in the restaurant around you. You allowed it.

The two of you acted so unexplainably platonic otherwise that George and Alex were racking their brains trying to figure out if you were even into each other or you had been pulling their legs the entire time. Even as goodbye hugs were shared at the end of lunch and you and Lando barely exchanged more than a three-second embrace with no drifting hands or sloppy kiss with it, George and Alex were utterly perplexed.

When the three guys waved you off as you drove away from the curb in your shiny car, George and Alex were turning to Lando, waiting for answers.

Lando was too apparently as he asked them excitedly, “Well? What did you think? Isn’t she amazing?”

“I mean, yeah, she’s awesome.” Alex agreed, “But, fuck, bro, I’m more affectionate with my sister.”

George nodded in easy agreement, “Yeah, I was ready for some serious PDA the way you talk about her.”

Lando just rolled his eyes, “My God…what’d you think was going to happen? We start sucking face at the table?”

“Maybe.” George and Alex both answered in unison.

Lando scoffed despite his smile.

Alex countered quickly, “You talk like you can’t keep your hands off each other.”

George repeated Lando’s confession from the previous day, “Fucking, like, five times a week.”

“And then you barely touch her! Not even a kiss goodbye!” Alex finished, gesturing towards the street that you had disappeared down.

“Guys,” Lando stopped them calmly, “seriously, I want to literally jump her every second of every day but we can’t. Her job is so public and even everyone at the office apart from her three best friends don’t know about our…relationship…thing.”

“Can’t she just tell the public that she’s dating you?” Alex crossed his arms over his chest almost defensively.

“I dunno if we ever are dating.” Lando shrugged.

“Based on the way she was looking at you?” George scoffed, “She definitely at least wants it.”

“She has a boyfriend.” Lando reminded them.

“A fake one.” Alex countered.

“The public doesn’t know that.”

“So tell them.”

“We can’t. It’s in her contract.” Lando pressed. “Believe me, I’ve asked many times. You know I can’t fucking stand that guy. But she insists that she’s not with him and that it’s just PR and I believe her…it just doesn’t make it easy. It’s nearly fucking impossible to not kiss her every second I see her.”

“Personally, I’m not going to believe you until I see you two kiss with my own eyes.” George shrugged.

“Okay. Then you might be waiting a while.” Lando chuckled as they started to walk back down the street towards Casino Square and the rest of their touristy afternoon together.

It wasn’t until Monday that Lando was going to see you again when you were scheduled to pick him up at the hotel like usual to bring him to work. Although he had the week off, you both thought it would be fun for George and Alex to see the office and to meet your friends, especially since Lily - your illustrator - had taken a liking to Alex through social media. Maybe you couldn’t be publicly romantic together but it wouldn’t stop you and Lando from being undercover matchmakers when you could.

At 8:30 Monday morning, the guys emerged from the hotel lobby to find your Mercedes parked out front waiting for them. George nearly had a skip in his step as he followed closely behind Lando towards the car and when he opened the back door, he sent a disbelieving grin back to Alex. Lando took to the passenger seat - of course - and you greeted him with a brief over-the-console one armed hug like every morning. George and Alex were tucked in the backseat and George was peering around the sleek black interior of your car with his mouth nearly hanging open like a kid in a candy store. Alex gently nudged his jaw shut.

“Morning, boys.” you greeted them with a smile through the rearview mirror.

They replied just as warmly and politely as you pulled away from the curb, letting your engine pull you towards the road with such pep that George was beaming and grabbing onto the window ledge of the backseat. Alex rolled his eyes at his dramatics.

“Are you sure I can’t help out today?” Lando asked you.

“Nope. You three are visitors only today.” you assured him, “You’re there for a tour and then you’re gone. No way I want you to be doing boring work on the week you guys have finally met.”

“We’re the office VIPs.” Alex grinned.

“Pretty much.” you chuckled, guiding your little group through the lanes of early morning downtown Monaco traffic. “Although this is a one time thing and I twisted a lot of arms to allow you guys to pop by so just try not to be too too distracting, okay?”

Alex spoke up jokingly from the seat behind you, “Yes, mom.”

Lando turned over his shoulder to send Alex a weird glare all while you just laughed. George and Alex snickered.

Just like you had when Lando had first stepped foot in your office, he now accompanied you on showing around George and Alex. The four of you walked the lap of the office from meeting rooms to the lunchroom and the printing room and everything in between and all the while, Lando was just smiling proudly at you. He kept glancing at his best friends just to make sure they were still listening as you explained everything you were proud of when it came to your little office sanctuary. Finally, you ended your walk at the main open space of the office where most of the employee’s desks were laid out.

Lando flopped into his chair, “And this is my desk. Where the magic happens.”

George snorted, “Okay.”

Although everyone was working diligently - most with headphones on - you pointed out each important person from your team, ending right down by the desks where you were closest to your office, introducing your three best friends; Oscar, Lily, and Charles.

Oscar, who had been trained to nearly follow your every move, was already at your side once you approached the area and he held a few files in his hands, insisting that you prepare for your afternoon media interview. You spoke to him quietly for a second, leaving the guys to busy themselves.

Both Charles and Lily were at their respective desks with their headphones on and their minds busy with their work. George was sitting on the side of Lando’s desk and staring at everything he could possibly stare at, just taking it all in.

Alex, on the other hand, was pacing slowly, skimming the busy office and the dedicated workers that took it up. Lily’s desk was somewhat close to Lando’s and, being the next person nearby, he approached her quietly with his hands behind his back. She was clicking and typing away on her laptop as she edited one of her mockups; she knew your taste well after so long of working together. Alex watched from over her shoulder for a few seconds, going unnoticed by her, and when his gaze shifted from her screen, he scanned her desk. It was busy with some of the work she needed to have on hand but still quite organized and a few trinkets littered the corner.

He smiled at the sight of the little golfer figurine and he stepped closer casually to poke its bobblehead, making the head with the visor sway to and fro. The sudden close presence had Lily startling out of her zone and she literally jumped at the movement of his hand into her space.

“Sorry!” Alex took his hand back quickly.

She pulled off her headphones and turned to him, “What are-”

Her words halted.

“Sorry.” Alex repeated. He cleared his throat and then gestured to the golfer again, “Just liked your little dude there.”

Lily followed his point to the bobblehead and then she looked back up at him, “I…thanks.”

He glanced over his shoulder towards Lando and George who were watching him casually and he turned back to her, “I’m just here with Lando…he’s my best friend.”

Lily nodded with a small smile, “I know.”

“Right.” Alex chuckled. “Of course you know.”

There was a pause.

Lily looked back to her golfer bobblehead that had been gifted to her by yourself on her one year anniversary of working with you. She directed a casual question to the handsome young man who had somehow helped himself to her desk, “So you like golf?”

“Yeah.” Alex answered easily, “But I’m so shit.”

The shared light laughter.

“That’s so cool.” Lily replied, “I love it too. Have you given the Monaco course a try?”

“No, not that I could even afford a round.” Alex snorted, suddenly realizing how uncool he sounded.

Lily offered him a sweet smile and a little shrug, “I mean, you can always come with me sometime. I have a membership.”

Alex gaped, “Really?”

“Yeah, definitely! I’m in desperate need of a golfing partner. None of my friends ever want to come.”

“Seriously. I’m so down.” Alex offered honestly.

“Alright then.” Lily shared in his grin.

“Lily!”

Your call from a few metres away had them both looking over at you as if they had been caught doing something they weren’t supposed to. Their shocked expressions had you peaking a brow.

“Was gonna ask if you wanted lunch? Oscar’s gonna order something.”

Lily nodded, “Yeah. Sounds good.”

“And our guests have to get going…I have to prep for that Zoom later.”

Alex quickly shoved his phone at Lily, “Can I have your Instagram or something? We can keep discussing this later if you want?”

She laughed lightly, “We already follow each other.”

“Oh.” Alex could have mentally punched himself in the face, “Right! Yes, I knew that. Sorry.”

She simply giggled and set her gentle hand on his forearm as if to reassure him with a soft, “I’ll message you.”

“Yeah. See ya.” Alex took a step back, “And sorry again for scaring you.”

“That’s okay.” she smiled bashfully and turned back her laptop.

Lando, George, and you were already heading for the elevator and he followed after you quickly with a beaming smile across his face, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“Was wondering how quickly you and Lily were going to find each other.” you chuckled knowingly as your little group waited for the elevator to arrive.

Alex just licked away his smile and took one last glance over his shoulder towards the row of desks across the office. George nudged him as the elevator doors slid open.

Stepping inside, the four of you had a moment away from the looming public and Lando slid his hand into yours easily as if the four walls of the office elevator had already seen enough of your secrecy before. You smiled over at him, letting the presence of his two best friends on his other side fade away as they fell into quiet discussion over two of your friends.

“You have a good week, okay?” you told Lando gently, “Enjoy not having to work. I’m jealous.”

“But does this mean I won’t see you all week?” he pouted slightly, keeping his gaze on your face.

“You can see me whenever you want…but I want you to enjoy yourself with your friends too.” you replied, reaching over to rest your hand against his chest. “Okay?”

Lando nodded, speaking quietly to your lips, “I know. Thank you.”

“You’re so welcome.” you smiled.

He leaned in towards you naturally and your hand slid up his chest to wrap around the back of his neck as you met each other halfway for a soft kiss. Lips locked softly, you both lingered there for a moment as the elevator beeped past floor after floor. Only a few seconds later, you were moving back for a lick to your lips and the gentle sound of your kiss had Alex and George whipping their heads around to look, their conversation immediately dropped.

Lando could feel their eyes on the back of his head and he smiled proudly as he leaned back in towards you and captured your lips with his own. Sharing a few more gentle kisses, you were soon leading him away by your hand back against his chest and you grinned to the elevator screen as the ground floor approached. Lando leaned in once more to kiss your cheek and then you had to let go of each other’s hands to face the public reality once more.

George and Alex were deer in headlights next to the pair of you, startled by the sudden display of affection you shared and the fact that you had shared it literally right beside them. Meanwhile, Lando was walking on air and as you said your goodbyes and they headed for the bus stop, he was literally radiating.

Once you were out of earshot, his best friends nearly jumped on him, tugging at his shirt and cheering dramatically for such an innocent kiss. Lando wasn’t totally sure what the big deal was - you had done plenty more than that - but he basked in the attention with pride over the fact that he had you and his best friends held the proof.

Monday moulded quickly into Tuesday, the days speeding by with trips all over the Principality and the South of France. As Tuesday ended with a tennis match for the guys and an Uber back to the hotel from the game after a long day, Lando found himself missing you more and more. Laying alone in his hotel room bed, he added up the days it had been since he had been able to fall asleep with you and he dramatically came to the conclusion that he hadn’t gone that long without you sleeping beside him since before he came to Monaco. He didn’t necessarily appreciate that discovery.

So, to take matters into his own hands, he let his friends keep themselves busy on Wednesday morning as he insisted that he visit the office for lunch. Alex and George didn’t put up much of an argument and they made a plan to meet Lando after at a location to be determined.

Under the sunny Monte Carlo sky, Lando took the bus farther into downtown to locate the street where the office building was located and he got off a bit early in order to make a pitstop on his way. He first stopped by a florist that housed the most vibrant arrangements of flowers along the sidewalk with chalkboard signs and billowing awnings that reminded him of France and he took his time walking along the rows of water filled pots to find the perfect little bouquet.

With a bunch of pink peonies in hand and wrapped prettily in paper and cellophane, Lando continued a few stores down to a small bistro. He ordered your favourite pasta that you would always get when you went there - he always paid attention to every little thing about you…you were his dream girl after all and he would take any and every chance to impress you - and then he skimmed their wine list.

“Anything of interest, sir?” the waiter asked when he returned from punching in the pasta order.

Lando, who had virtually no experience in ordering wine, hesitated, “Uhm…I want something red.”

“Aged?”

Lando bit his lip, “Yes…old?”

The waiter smiled knowingly at the inexperience of his customer and leaned over the counter to look at the drink menu with him, “Our house wine is good to start off with.”

“Oh, it’s not for me.” Lando said, deciding to chance his invisibility in public without you at his side and therefore not being associated with him, “It’s for my girlfriend.”

The word tasted too good on his tongue and he looked back down at the menu to hide the rouge that dusted his cheeks, a red that burned as deep as the wine he was ordering.

“I see. She enjoys red?” the waiter asked.

“Prefers it.” Lando nodded.

“Then how about our Cabernet Sauvignon? Grown just outside Nice in local vineyards. Aged to perfection.”

Lando shrugged, convinced, “Sure. If that’s what you think is best.”

So he ended up with a bag of take out pasta, a bottle of red, and a bouquet of flowers in his arms as he took the elevator in the office up to the familiar floor. Maybe it looked suspicious that he was bringing you lunch when he had a week off but he missed you too much and he was willing to risk it for a romantic gesture as such. It had him brushing off the slightly confused smile in greeting from the secretary as he walked past and towards your office. He stopped outside the glass wall and peeked inside, only to find your desk empty.

“Lando.”

The sharp whisper had him turning around to see Oscar hurrying over to him. A few of the other employees were glancing at him from their desks, probably just as confused over his appearance with a strange combination of items.

“Hey, Osc.” Lando smiled coolly.

Oscar grabbed his arm and yanked him into your empty office, shutting the glass door behind the two of them.

“What are you doing here?” he spoke quietly but sternly, eyeing the items he was carrying.

“I brought her lunch.” Lando answered softly, “And flowers. Because I missed her.”

Oscar glanced back out to the office, his arms folded over her chest.

Lando followed his gaze, “Where is she?”

They looked back at each other.

“She’s in a meeting.” Oscar answered.

“Okay. I can wait.”

“That’s not a good idea. Not with all this.” he gestured to the flowers, “What were you thinking? What kind of message does this send?”

Lando pouted, “A nice one?”

Oscar sighed, “Yes, it’s nice but not for the office. This is so risky. Especially today.”

“Why especially today?” Lando frowned.

His obvious pout had Oscar pausing, staring at the sweet blush on his cheeks and the pleading look in his green eyes, his arms full of caring gifts for Oscar’s best friend. Oscar huffed and dropped his arms into a shrug.

“It’s not my place.” he admitted in half defeat, “You’re right, it’s a nice gift.”

“I just wanted to bring her lunch.” Lando mumbled.

“I know. That was nice of you.”

“I won’t get in the way.”

“I know.”

“Is the meeting almost done?”

Oscar glanced back at the analog clock on the wall above your desk and then answered him, “Momentarily probably.”

“Can I wait here?”

“Sure, but I have to tell her that you’re here.”

“That’s fine.”

Oscar brushed past him and he turned to watch him go, only finding the reason behind his slight panic the moment his eyes caught sight of the subject oncoming down the hall. Lando had to grip tighter onto the items in his arms as the slender brunette figure walking at your side had a fictitious knife jamming itself right into Lando’s heart.

He had only ever seen pictures of your PR boyfriend, suffered through months and months of watching through social media and news coverages of your dates, your sickening comments on each other’s posts, and everything in between that made him feel his lunch in the back of his throat. Now he knew it was all a facade now but the mere sight of him had Lando’s fight or flight triggering.

Oscar couldn’t get a single word out before you had already spotted Lando through the glass wall of your office. He had never seen your face fall at the sight of him before that moment. He swallowed. The man at your side locked eyes with him.

Lando turned away from the hallway as he took a deep trembling breath, “Shit.”

The office door opened and in you came. Lando glanced back to the hallway and Oscar could barely send him a pitied glance, Charles with wide eyes beside him, staring back at him, before you were in his line of vision.

“Who’s this?” the brunette asked, standing almost protectively right at your side, his words laced in a pristine French accent. Lando could have vomited on his brown designer boots.

“Oh…this is Lando,” you introduced as calmly, coolly, as you could. “My intern.”

The fictitious knife twisted in Lando’s chest.

You unknowingly dug it deeper as you gave skewed context to the man beside you, “Y’know…the fan I flew out for the summer?”

“Ah, that’s right.” he snapped his fingers as if it all came back to him. He then held out his hand to Lando with an honest smile, “Nice to meet you. I’m Pierre. I’m her boyfriend.”

“Yeah.” Lando exhaled shakily but he didn’t have a hand free to take his. The cellophane that the flowers were wrapped in crinkled under Lando’s white knuckled grip.

You spoke to him plainly, “What are you doing here? Isn’t it your day off?”

Lando’s eyes searched yours. He wasn’t prepared for this…what it all meant…what he was allowed to say.

“I…just picked you up lunch.” Lando tried.

“Right.” you played it off expertly, shooting a smile to the slender Frenchman at your side, “I forgot I had sent for it.”

Lando pulled a tight smile as you took the take out bag and the wine from him.

“Thank you.” you said, drifting past him to set them on your desk.

Pierre gestured to the flowers that Lando still held, “The flowers?”

“I asked.” you grabbed them right out of Lando’s hand and barely gave him a second look, your own heart hammering in your chest, as you hurried back across your spacious office to set the bouquet in the empty vase on the table by the window, “Just kinda…brightens up the place.”

“They’re nice.” your boyfriend smiled and nodded.

“Yeah.” you turned back to Lando, “Thanks.”

Lando’s voice wavered as he answered, “You’re welcome.”

“Anything else?” you asked him, although your eyes nearly begged him to leave.

Pierre drifted over to you again and draped his arm around your back.

Lando swallowed back the lump in his throat and he took a step back, “Nope.”

“Okay. See ya.” you said.

“Yep.” Lando nearly walked right into the glass wall before his shaking hand found the door handle. He yanked it open and hurried out into the main office space, sniffling casually as his hands jammed into his pockets and he bit his lip so hard it hurt. Lily, Charles, and Oscar watched from their desks as he hightailed it towards the elevator.

But, as your door closed slowly behind him, he caught your boyfriend speaking to you softly, “It’s cute…you can tell he’s a fan; his voice shakes when he talks to you.”

Lando didn’t wait around long enough to hear your response.

It wasn’t until Lando reached his hotel room that the reality of the situation settled in and - just his luck - his best friends weren’t there. Struggling to keep his breathing controlled as his eyes burned with tears, he pulled out his phone as he started to pace up and down the length of the carpeted room. The fact that he had no message from you only made him more upset and he opened the group chat with his friends.

landonorris: Where r u georgerussell63: We’re eating lunch at this place a few streets down from the hotel georgerussell63: You’re done already?? landonorris: No landonorris: It went really shitty landonorris: Are you almost done landonorris: Can you come back georgerussell63: I mean our food JUST got here…do you wanna meet us here? Tell us about what happened and maybe eat? landonorris: No I can’t landonorris: I’m losing my shit rn I can’t be in public georgerussell63: Fuck mate that bad?? georgerussell63: Wtf happened?? alex_albon: George is a horrible texter when he’s speaking for the both of us alex_albon: We’re coming Lan just hold tight a few minutes landonorris: k

Lando sat himself down on the end of his bed and exited the group chat, being faced with some fan account’s repost of Pierre’s story. It was a picture of you - of course - as you ate your pasta at your desk with the bottle of wine and bouquet of flowers just barely visible in the side of the frame. The caption on the repost was something from the fan expressing her excitement over how ‘cute’ you were and how ‘perfect’ he was for bringing you lunch and flowers. Lando wanted to throw up.

He opened up his message thread with you, ready to send you some angry note but his thumbs hovered over the keyboard without pressing a button. The last messages stared back at him; your exchange of hearts and kissy emojis and Lando had to rub his hand over his chest from the ache in his heart that lingered.

The sound of the hotel room door opening startled him - not having expected his friends so soon - but Lando jumped up from his bed to meet them, his face a mix of emotional and pathetic expression. George and Alex were just as wide eyed and not knowing what they were going to be walking into, take-out bags in hand. Lando’s bottom lip trembled over the fact that his friends skipped their lunch for him and the emotions that overtook him from the last hour and he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes to try not cry in front of them.

“Fuck.” he said through his teeth.

“Shit, mate, what the fuck happened?” Alex set his takeout bag on the counter and George did the same, the two older friends hurrying over to tend to the obviously distraught youngest.

“He was there!” Lando said loudly, dropping his hands. He had to explain but your boyfriend’s name always tasted bitter on his tongue so he settled for the codename that he and his two best friends had made back when your relationship went public, “Fuckin’…guillotine.”

George and Alex’s eyes only widened more.

“Oh-“ Alex stumbled out.

“Did he say something?” George pried.

“H-He was nice but he clearly doesn’t know who I am and she didn’t bother telling him!” Lando continued loudly, “I brought her her favourite lunch and favourite flowers and even a bottle of red wine and she…she played it like she had told me to pick it up for her. She introduced me as her intern. As the fan.”

“I mean…was the entire workplace listening?” George offered an excuse.

“No!” Lando answered, “It was just the three of us in her office and he was just…he was looking at me! I wanted to punch him in the face! Putting his arm around her…talking to me like I’m a kid! ‘Oh he’s definitely a fan…how cute’. Shut the fuck up. I’d like to hear him try and call me cute again after he finds out the way I fuck her.”

George and Alex smothered their shocked laughter over Lando’s quick snap back.

Alex spoke first, “She was probably just surprised that you were there and didn’t know what to do.”

Lando only continued in his emotional tangent, “If their relationship is fake then why does she have to hide it from him? Not like she’s cheating. He’s not the public. What’s it to him?”

“That’s valid.” George agreed.

Alex nodded.

“And!” Lando wasn’t done, “He posted a picture of her eating the lunch that I bought her! Now all the fans are taking it out of context because they don’t know and thinking he bought her all that. ‘What a great boyfriend!’”

His voice broke at the end as he struggled to hold back his tears. George and Alex exchanged nervous glances while Lando waited for their life-changing words of wisdom.

George sighed, “Jesus, Lan, we hate seeing you like this. We’ve always been a little apprehensive that you’d get hurt through all this and, well, here it is.”

“It’s always good.” Lando assured them easily with a sniffle, “It’s just…not good today.”

“It’s part of that Monaco life, huh?” Alex pressed, “Like you have always said. It’s fucked up but it’s all just part of this balancing act?”

Lando nodded, “Yeah. It’s so fucking hard to stay afloat.”

“She’ll message you soon to clear today up…I’m sure of it.” George assured him with a gentle pat to his shoulder, “When she does, tell her how it felt today…being a little trapped like that. She’ll understand, I’m sure. Just give her the evening. We can tell she’s super into you so try not to get too in your head about it.”

Alex concluded easily, “And try not to read shit online. People are dumb.”

“Yeah.” Lando rubbed his hands across his in exasperation.

George stepped closer to pull him into a hug first and Alex quickly joined, the three of them lingering in a group hug for a moment. Lando let out a heavy breath as he found his momentary comfort in the presence of his friends that had once only been able to reassure him with online messages. But now, sharing a hotel room together in Monaco, the three best friends sat down to divide up the two take out bags of lunch just to make sure that Lando had something to eat too.

Lando didn’t hear from you all afternoon…all evening…and even well into the following morning. Sitting by the hotel pool that Thursday afternoon, Lando was simmering in his constant state of stress with his phone resting impatiently, screen up, on his thigh. His notebook was open on his lap and he was scribbling notes down in messy lines across the pages as a way to let his anxieties out rather than the less than ideal alternative of sending you emotional paragraphs in your dms. It had been all too long since you had messaged him and not only was he missing you but he was upset with you all in the same.

On the lounge chair on his right, Alex was bragging to the other two about his nearly daily messages with Lily where they filled the times discussing travel, their families, and their shared appreciation for golf. Lando tried not to be envious - what was there to even be envious of, he would silently tell himself, he was the one who had his girl in bed after all - but the green eyed monster wasn’t kind. Even right there, lounging by the pool, Alex’s shared stories were interrupted a few times by a ding on his phone to which he would make a point to pause his entire train of thought to answer Lily’s message. If it was any other time, Lando would have been elated for his best friend. Because it was right then, he was sure that if he rolled his eyes any farther back he would see his brain.

“Anyway, where was I?” Alex put his phone down again and tucked his hands behind his head as he stared up to the Mediterranean sun with a smile, “Ah, yes. Lily was saying that she wants to take me to the Golf Club before I leave. She said it’s the most famous one in Monaco…views of the ocean. We might make a day out of it…if she was serious. Maybe she was just being hypothetically nice. Shit, do you think she was just being hypothetical?”

“No way!” George answered easily from Alex’s other side, scrolling aimlessly through his phone although he was still completely listening. He glanced over, “You gotta hold her to that, mate.”

“I know, I know.” Alex agreed. “We only have a few days left…maybe I should make a plan for tomorrow. Were we going to do anything tomorrow?”

George shrugged, “Nothing specific.”

Lando answered from Alex’s other side, “Just hating my life.”

Alex reached over and snatched the notebook out of Lando's hand, “What are you even writing in here?”

“Mate.” Lando huffed and tried to grab for it but Alex held it out of his reach as he skimmed the lines.

“What is this? A poem?” Alex flipped the page.

“Maybe. I dunno. I’m just scribbling random shit.” Lando mumbled, twirling his pen between his fingers anxiously as his private words were read by the eyes of his best friend.

“It’s really good.” Alex told him. “You always tend to do your best work when you’re emo.”

“Yeah, well…” Lando faded out as his notebook was passed back to him. He skimmed a few of his own lines before taking his pen and scratched out a large chunk.

“Hey!” Alex frowned, reaching over to smack his arm, “What are you scratching out?”

“It’s shit.”

“It is not.”

Lando slouched farther back against his lounge chair and continued writing without another word. Alex sighed and picked up his phone from his lap again to answer his messages from Lily that he had missed while reading Lando’s notebook. As he typed his response with a smile, a notification popped down from the top of his screen.

georgerussell63 sent a post

Glancing to his right in slight confusion, George was already staring right back at him, his expression flat. Alex tapped the notification to open his private chat with George to see what he had sent in such secrecy. The post that was revealed had his eyes going wide.

alex_albon: Oh fuck georgerussell63: Right?? georgerussell63: Wtf do we do alex_albon: We need to tell him georgerussell63: Do we? He’s already so down after yesterday. This will just make it worse alex_albon: Yeah but he’s going to find out somehow regardless. Better he hears it from us georgerussell63: True…

In unison, both George and Alex looked over at Lando on their far left. Sensing their sudden stares, he looked back at them. Glancing between them, Lando frowned in confusion.

“What?”

“We’re gonna show you something and you’re going to hate it.” Alex warned.

Lando’s face fell, “What? Then…don’t show me.”

“We have to because it’s going to be everywhere in a bit and we need to rip off the bandaid.”

Lando nibbled at his bottom lip, “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“What is it?” Lando’s voice was wavering already.

Alex passed over his phone.

Lando took it cautiously and glanced at the Instagram post that was on the screen. Posted by paparazzi was last night’s footage of you and your boyfriend walking hand in hand to a date venue. Lando scrolled to the next slide and the next, witnessing photograph after photograph of you in a short black dress being touched and swooned over and kissed by this man. Lando zoomed in on the last picture, right up close, so he could stare at the way you were leaning into him with your smiling lips pressed to his and an expensive glass of red wine in your hand.

Lando had spent all night virtually waiting by the phone for you to call and you weren’t even thinking of him. You were busy getting dressed up and going out with your fake boyfriend; not a care in the world to the way you hurt him that very same day. He never once received a message from you or a warning or any sort of reassurance that it was nothing.

Lando gave Alex his phone back, letting it go before wiping his hands on his towel beneath him like the news was physically disgusting. He closed his notebook. His two best friends watched him carefully, worriedly.

“What are you thinking, mate?” George asked.

Lando didn’t answer as he took a second to stare across the glimmering pool into space, trying to collect his whirling thoughts enough to make a cohesive sentence.

“Lan?” Alex pressed.

Lando took a breath and then grabbed his notebook and pen and phone, “I gotta go.”

“Where?” Alex started to get up too.

“Not you.” Lando stopped them both quickly as he stood up. “Just me. I just…need a fucking second.”

“Are you sure?” George asked.

“You don’t have to be alone right now.” Alex added.

“Yeah.” Lando barely offered them a response before he was walking off down the side of the pool area and back into the hotel.

Alex and George watched him go.

Lando was burning with heartbroken anger as he approached the elevators and pressed the call button a few times in impatient desperation. He didn’t feel like crying over it anymore - he was so numb to the sight of you with Pierre over the prior year - but now that everything was made more complicated by your situation-ship, Lando was just angry. Hurt and angry made for a cruel emotion stewing in his chest.

Up in the hotel room, Lando was muttering unpleasantries to himself as he dressed into street clothes, leaving his phone on his bed as he did so. The screen lit up with a response from Oscar to the message he sent on his way up in the elevator,

-She’s working late at the office tonight. Why do you need to know?

Lando didn’t bother replying as he snatched his phone from the bed, his wallet from the dresser, and was out the door in a flash.

The late afternoon welcomed Lando out onto the street and he took the usual bus route farther into downtown, leaving his clueless best friends behind without a word of warning. His heart was absolutely hammering in his chest despite the fact that he had no plan ahead of him. Running on emotion was a dangerous thing to do but he needed to do it. He had only spent the last few years chasing you and he wasn’t going to let one useless, irrelevant guy get in the way of that.

It was past 5:00 when Lando arrived at the office building and it was perfectly silent on the floor when the elevator doors slid open. The reception desk was empty and the logo on the wall behind the desk was dark and Lando hurried right past it and into the just as quiet office that was laid out behind it.

The only light that was on - countering the fading light from the horizon outside - was the one in your glass framed office. It felt surreal as Lando made his emotional run to you without the slightest clue what he was going to say to you or expect of you once there. Regardless, he stopped right outside your office and took a second to stare at you as you sat at your desk, typing away at your laptop without a care in the world. You were wearing your usual work attire of a skirt and blouse and your hair was free flowing over your shoulders, still hanging onto the shape of the curls that you had styled last night for your date. The pink peonies sat on the corner of the desk across from you.

Lando pushed open the glass door and helped himself to the room, startling you slightly from your silent writing bubble you had placed yourself in. You looked across your spacious office to where he stood in the doorway.

“Lando…” you breathed in surprise. “What are you-“

He wasn’t willing to let you speak first. He wasn’t willing to give you the upper hand that you always had on him since the very start.

“Don’t.” he snapped. “Don’t act surprised because I know you’re not that fucking dumb.”

You shut your mouth in utter surprise over his sudden out of character hostility towards you without even so much as a hello.

“I know that this,” he gestured between the two of you as he took a step farther into your office, “is really confusing and unlabeled and made so much more difficult because of your work and I get that - I really do - but I am also not a fucking emotionless rug you can walk all over and expect nothing to come of it.”

“Lando-“ you tried.

He kept going, his words obviously emotional, and his expression screwed up in an angry mix of sadness and frustration, “We never spoke about what we are and maybe that was stupid but in case you didn’t know, I really fucking like you. My entire goddamn life revolves around you. I uprooted my entire summer to come out here not just to help your team but to be with you because I care about you and I want to spend every second of every day with you because I like you more than you clearly know. You took my fucking virginity for God’s sake, how do you expect me to act after that?”

You sighed softly and closed your laptop, “Lan-“

He cut you off again, “So sorry if I’m not another emotionless shell like everyone else in this stupid fucking city but I thought you’d at least have the decency to tell me when shit was going down. Like, I dunno, when he showed up?”

“Pierre?” you questioned.

His name made Lando literally flinch.

“You know he’s just a PR stunt. It’s not real-“

Lando jumped in easily, speaking loudly through your office, “Then why did you introduce me as your intern? Just some stupid fan? If he’s that meaningless then why can’t you tell him about us? Or do you have something you want to tell me?”

You stood up from your desk, “I don’t have anything to tell you. You know more than a lot of people already.”

“Maybe so but you don’t care! Because if you cared you would have told me that he was going to be here! Or that you were going out last night! Instead I had to find out on Instagram about your date night and see pictures of you touching him and kissing him like you’re supposed to be touching and kissing me.”

“It’s for promotion, Lando, I promise you-“

“I don’t give a shit!” Lando shouted.

It was the first time you had heard him yell and it startled you into wide eyed silence. As he took a step towards you again, you could see the way his eyes nearly shimmered with tears but he kept them back almost expertly.

“I don’t give a shit what it’s for and who tells you to do it! I deserve to know!”

“Why?” you pushed back.

“Because you’re mine and I hate this!” Lando yelled.

“Oh, I’m yours?” you pressed.

“Yes!” Lando was right on the other side of the desk from you, pressing his finger to his chest purposefully as he spoke directly to you, “You’re mine. You are literally part of my heart and I deserve to know when things happen in your life…things that affect me!”

You leaned your hands on the glass desk in front of you and his eyes dropped to the open neck of your blouse for a split second before meeting your gaze again as you countered him expertly, “What happens in my business world is honestly none of your concern.”

“Didn’t know being a slut for paparazzi cameras was such an important part of your sales.”

You stood back up straight and crossed your arms over your chest with a rush of rouge to your cheeks so you could only stumble out a, “Oh fuck you.”

“Fuck you.” he snapped right back, turning his index finger towards you next, “Don’t even try to paint me as the bad guy here.”

“You called me a slut!”

“Fine! Not like it bothered you before but then pick a better word!” Lando threw his hands up, only growing in volume with each second and each slow taunting step he took around your desk towards you, “What were you being, huh? Selfish? Ignorant? A stupid bitch who likes flaunting her money and her body around this fucked up city for any sliver of male attention because apparently having a genuine every-day guy from the middle class is too goddamn boring for you.”

“Who the fuck are you right now?” you snapped back, “Because there is no way in hell that you are the same guy from that book signing…the one who brought me flowers-“

“Oh so you finally acknowledge that the flowers were from me! Nice!” Lando checked his imaginary watch, “Only took you almost two fucking days.”

You let out a scoff in exasperation.

“Sorry that I’m being a bit intense right now but I’m not going to apologize for being hurt.” Lando continued. “Because I’ve been sitting in my hotel room nearly crying since you completely blindsided me yesterday-“

“I blindsided you?” you gaped. “You came storming in here with a romantic lunch for two like it's our goddamn honeymoon while knowing full well that no one can know about us!”

“What about Pierre? Why can’t he know about us? Are you still involved with him? Are you still sleeping with him and that’s why you couldn’t tell him the truth?”

“Listen to yourself!” you shouted at him desperately, “You’ve gone fucking insane! I’m not sleeping with Pierre! I don’t lie to you! I didn’t feel comfortable telling him everything right there because if you weren’t aware, my entire fucking staff was sitting there with only a piece of glass between us! Get a hold of yourself!”

“Hard to believe when you were sucking face on your date later that night!”

“It’s our job, Lando! Fuck!” you raked your hands through your hair in exasperation, “It was a complete set up! We anonymously tipped the paparazzi to be there and everything for the publicity! We had to play the part! It wasn’t more than a few kisses, a few drinks over dinner, and meaningless hand holding to and from the car. I certainly didn’t enjoy it!”

“A text wouldn’t have been too much to ask!”

You slammed your hand down against your desk with frustration, telling him sternly right to his face as he stood only a foot or two to your right, “If you can’t handle the responsibilities that come with my job then maybe this position isn’t right for you.”

“I’m not here for the job!” Lando answered loudly.

You responded quickly with a step closer, matching his volume perfectly with your upset expression staring right into his, “Then maybe being with me isn’t right for you!”

Lando’s hand was on the back of your neck before you could even flinch and he yanked your mouth to his effortlessly. Your lips met a little off centre and you stumbled a bit closer to him as he forced you into a kiss. Almost nervous to touch him, your hands hesitated in midair between you for a beat as your lips locked with his in fiery passion that burned your skin.

The heat from your intense argument had his heart racing in his chest, thudding against his ribs, and his clothes felt suffocating. He was desperate for air - a release that only you could give him - and your empty threats just made him crazy for more.

Lando’s hand slid around from the back of your neck to grab you by the throat, guiding you through your shared open mouthed kisses in your silent vacant office. Both breathing heavily from your borderline screaming match only seconds before, the silence rang in your ears and your fingers dusted over the front of his t-shirt, still hesitant to touch him. But Lando just tugged you closer by your throat, taken over by some other force that pulled him out of his shy spell, and his sudden dominance was making you weak at the knees.

You moaned softly as he guided you back against your desk and your ass hit the edge, your hands falling blindly onto the tabletop behind you, lips still taken by his.

With a strong bite to your bottom lip, Lando was pulling away from your kiss and his hand around your throat kept your gaze on his as he spoke lowly to you, “Don’t you ever say that to me again. Being with you is and always has been my life’s entire goal.”

You stared at each other for a moment and as the honesty of his words settled in, you reached up to the back of his neck and pulled his lips to yours once more. Lando took a step closer to you, trapping you back against your desk as your arms slung around his shoulders and your body moulded against his. His cautious hands found the dip of your waist and he held you securely as he leaned farther into you, almost bending you backwards slightly as his lips locked with yours.

The heat of your argument was still lingering in the colour on your cheeks and the sudden flip from anger into passion had your heart thudding in your ears. Your ten fingers pressed into the back of his neck, holding his mouth on yours through desperate emotional kisses that left you dizzy. When you tilted your head to kiss him deeper, Lando’s hand slid back up to your throat and he eased you away with one more nip to your bottom lip.

“On your knees.” he ordered lowly.

You had to physically bite your lip to hide the smile that threatened to come to your face at his growing dominance and he stepped away from you just enough to allow you to sink to your knees in front of him. Right away, you were pushing up the bottom of his shirt and popping the button on his pants and tugging down the zipper.

“Fuck.” Lando breathed in near shock, trying his damndest to keep his composure, knowing he had the upper hand there. He grabbed your wrists to stop you before you could strip him down and you peered up at his face expectantly, the sweetest expression on your face that for a second he forgot why he was so mad at you. But he recovered quickly, “Who’s the only one you're getting on your knees for?”

“You, sir.” you responded easily.

“Yeah?” Lando let go of one of your wrists so he could push his thumb past your painted lips. “Why’s that?”

You hummed softly around his thumb, sucking gently as you stared up at him from your spot on your ground. You let him pull it from your mouth with a wet pop so you could answer him, “Because I’m yours. Only yours.”

He almost believed you just by the look in your eyes.

The concept of you submitting to him was invigorating and he shuffled down his pants and boxers to his knees and then slid his hand into the back of your hair to pull you closer impatiently. Your hands rested against his bare thighs and your mouth opened gladly, letting him guide his semi-hard dick in against your waiting tongue. You wrapped your lips around him and suckled softly around the head of his cock, humming at the feeling of him growing harder in your mouth with each passing second.

Lando brushed your hair away from your face and over your shoulders, wrapping it messily around one hand so he could get a good look at you as he slowly eased you closer, his other hand holding up the bottom of his shirt. His dick disappeared into your mouth inch by inch and the warm wet confines that welcomed him in had his mouth falling open silently, burning with desire for you. You had a way of pushing his emotions to the edge time and time again; good and bad. He wanted all of you.

“That’s it.” he breathed, pulling you deeper until your nose touched the warm smooth skin of his pelvis, “You wanna lie? Keep stupid little secrets from me? Should punish this mouth of yours.”

You moaned around him, choking slightly as he stiffened completely by then and nudged at the back of your throat. He would never admit that he learned a lot from your novels - especially after hearing from you that you only wrote what you yourself were into - and only more so from firsthand experience in your bed. He only wanted to be good for you. And he wanted you to know just how much you meant to him. He only wanted you.

On your knees for him, you held yourself steady by your hands on his thighs, starting to bob your head along the length of his dick until he was gripping tighter to your hair and starting to thrust into your mouth. Gagging loudly around him, you dug your nails down into his flesh but took what he gave you, letting him fuck your throat. You shamelessly had craved it since the first week you had met him, wanting him to get rough with you. There was no better time than that mid-argument make-up sex.

You tapped out on his thigh, letting him know you needed air and he let you sit back for a second. You gasped out of it, watching how strings of spit connected your glistening lips to his swollen dick in front of your face. Blinking away tears that blurred your eyes, you looked up his body to the lustful expression on his face, shadowed by the dim lighting of your office and the sunset lights through the floor to ceiling windows only steps away. Lando set his hands flat on your glass desk, standing strongly in front of you. He impatiently dropped one hand back down to tangle in the back of your hair and pulled your mouth back down on his dick.

“Fuck.” Lando hissed quietly, greedily starting to thrust into your mouth shallowly.

The little gags that he fucked from your throat nearly made his eyes roll and he slammed his hand back down on your desk, leaving you to take what he gave you without guidance. You did, of course, holding onto his thighs with your manicured hands as he towered over your body and helped himself to your heavenly mouth and beautiful throat.

He could have finished himself off right there, dizzy on the perfect sensations of your mouth and the lewd sounds of your throat constricting around him with each thrust he gave you. Standing behind your desk with a clear view of your pristine office surrounding him, Lando was sure it was a dream. It couldn’t get much better than that. Even as he slowed his hips down to a stop, you raised a hand up to keep yourself going instead, moving hand and mouth in quick steady time around his slick cock.

Lando dropped his hand down to grab your hair and pull your mouth off him again, scolding down to you, “Did I say you could keep going?”

Your soft grip pumped his dick a few more times, coughing out a, “No.”

“Guess you really are a cockslut, huh? Just fucking desperate for dick?”

“Oh my God.” you groaned at his words, “Yes.”

Lando forcefully guided you to your feet by your hair, “Get up.”

You grasped onto his shirt for balance, gasping against his kiss as he tugged your lips on his again. He was filthy with it - choking you with his tongue until you were arching into his body hungrily and your fingers were pulling at his shirt for more. Oh how he had learned so much over the summer so far…

Lando spun you around and shoved you forward against your desk and you caught yourself with your hands flat on the table top. He flipped up your skirt and slapped his whole palm down against your ass, forcing a sharp gasp from your chest as the sound echoed through your glass framed office.

“Whose are you?” he asked.

“Yours.” you breathed.

He spanked you again, “What was that?”

“Yours, sir.”

Another spank, “Are you?”

You arched your back a little more so your ass was sticking out farther for him, “Oh my God, yes.”

He groped the flesh of your ass in one hand and jiggled it, “Does anyone else get to touch you like this?”

“No, sir.” you answered softly, licking away your eager smile.

“Why’s that?” Lando slapped your ass again.

“Oh, because I’m all yours.” you rushed out, pushing back against him desperately.

Lando’s hands caressed your ass and your waist as you ground back against his body until his cock was pressed between your cheeks and against the thin lace of your skimpy little panties.

“I’m your pretty little slut.” you promised.

Your words and your insistent touch had him groaning lowly, his eyes focused down to your ass and he linked one finger around the lace of your panties and pulled them to the side, allowing himself room to teasingly angle the head of his cock between your cheeks. You shuttered at the feeling, hands flat on your desk and just waiting for him to take you, any hostility immediately vanished from your mind at that moment.

“Please.” you breathed.

Lando nudged the head of his cock against your pussy, smearing it between your slick folds, “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” you answered easily. “Please, sir, I’m all yours.”

Lando brought his hand up to lick across his three fingers so he could smear it between your legs to get you just a bit wetter. He then had to take a silent anticipatory breath before easing steadily inside you, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as your body gripped around him so tightly. Your stiff whimper at the stretch had his hand raising to wrap around your throat and his other grabbed a handful of the back of your skirt that was bunched up around your waist and he slipped deeper into you.

“Holy shit.” you exhaled shakily, “You’re so fucking big-“

Lando didn’t bother giving you a second to adjust before he was starting to thrust into you, tightening his hand around your throat. Your tight whimper and the snug grip of your pussy had his jaw clenching and his rhythm growing faster. His hand smacked down hard across your ass, making you squeak.

“You like this, don’t you? Dirty slut.” Lando growled from behind you, letting his lingering anger out on your welcoming body.

“Yeah, I’m your dirty slut. Your dirty little fucking slut.” you cried out, trying to fuck yourself back on him.

He spanked you again to stop you and then took his hand from your throat to push you down by the back of your neck, forcing you to bend at the waist over your glass desk. His tight grunt as he sped up had your mouth dropping open, slouched forward onto your forearms on either side of your closed laptop and your body took his quick strokes as deep as he could reach. It just made it easier for his balls to clap wetly against your pussy, making you arch deeper for him until they were hitting your aching clit with each thrust.

“F-Fuck-“ you choked out.

His hand grabbed a fistful of your hair to tug your head back as he had his way with you, fucking you over your desk until your moans were filling the glass framed room just how he had always dreamt. He spanked you across the ass again, leaving a blushing pink handprint on your skin in the light of the desk lamp that rattled with the rhythmic shuttering of the desk beneath. He wanted to claim you as his forever.

Dizzy with lust, he let it speak for him, “Whose is the only cock you’re taking? Hm?”

“Yours, sir.” you choked out and reached an arm out to grasp the opposite edge of your desk for something to hold onto. “Fuck, it feels so good!”

“Yeah?” he tugged your hair harder, making you cry out loudly through the office.

“Oh, God, Lando!” you sobbed out, struggling to keep the smile from your face, “Just like that!”

Wide eyed at his unknown ability to have you so pleading and responsive, Lando was burning with energy. He had enough practice with you over the summer that he wasn’t going to come so early anymore but he knew that wasn’t going to last long if you kept crying out for him like that. Even then, he definitely didn’t want you to stop.

You only grew wetter as the seconds passed until you were streaking his cock in slick arousal right down to the base, dripping down his balls, and the sound of him fucking you over your desk just grew louder. His hand in your hair prevented you from dipping your face down against your desk, forcing you to keep your eyes up and across your spacious corner office, staring right out the floor to ceiling windows opposite with a view of dusk painting the city. But with one more sharp spank across your ass, Lando was leaning down over top of you with one hand flat on your glass desk and the other moving from your hair to your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs as he fucked you faster, deeper, his blue eyed gaze watching how your expression moulded into pain and pleasure all in once. It was erotic.

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous.” Lando groaned. “I better be the only one getting to see this face…looking so screwed up with pleasure for me.”

“Only for you.” you promised quickly, struggling to get words out with the way he pounded you over your desk. Even still, you arched your back for him the best you could to help him deeper, squeaking out a tight, “Yes.”

“Good girl.” Lando mumbled, his warm breath falling against your temple, “Good little slut.”

“Oh my God, s-sir- I’m gonna cum-“ you choked out, whimpering under his hand around your throat and your toes only curled in your red bottom heels against the floor.

But before you could, Lando stood up and pulled out quickly, leaving you shuttering through the sudden emptiness and gasping as his hand left your throat. You slumped forward onto your desk until you were laying across your laptop, writhing with how close he had gotten you before leaving you throbbing with desire. He grabbed you by the back of your shirt and bunched up skirt and tugged you up, holding you in front of him like that, trapped between his body and the desk. You reached a hand back to try and pull his lips on yours by the back of his neck but he grabbed your arm to stop you.

“Do you think you deserve kisses?” he asked lowly, right to your face.

“I just want you to touch me.” you pleaded sweetly, grinding back against his body.

Lando responded right against your ear, “I think I need to hear an apology before you are allowed to cum.”

You licked away your smile as you stared back at him, “Sorry.”

He slapped his hand down against your ass, “Not enough.”

You whined softly for him, trying to pull his hands to touch you. Lando stepped away.

He kicked off his shoes as he gave you your order, nodding to the narrow table against the wall behind your desk, “I want you up on that console table there. Legs spread.”

He was so demanding it made you drip and you didn’t argue before hopping up onto the finished wood console, watching as he dropped his pants and boxers completely and kicked them to the side. His shirt came off next and you licked your lips at the sight of his naked body standing before you, your legs draped open wide over the edge of the narrow table, waiting for him. Your shirt was next as Lando pulled it up and over your head to let it drop to the floor with his clothes before he was following, getting on his knees in front of you.

He barely gave you a second to process before he was prying your thighs apart wider and dragging his tongue up your pussy. You exhaled shakily and dropped a hand down to his hair as he moved right back in with strong purposeful licks to clean up the messy wetness that had smeared all over your skin from the way he fucked you only moments before. He had grown so addicted to the taste of you over the summer that it was almost rare when he wouldn’t go down on you. Even when you made him the angriest, the saddest, the most worried, he always wanted a taste. It was still you after all; his dream girl.

“Lando…” you called sweetly, dazed with lust, and you reached down between you to link a finger around your soaked panties that were still just pushed to the side, “please take these off.”

He couldn’t say no to that and he took hold of the bunched up waistband and dragged the lacy material down your legs and to the ground. He then grabbed one of your thighs and pushed it up to hold you open for him, letting his tongue push inside you greedily to lick you out properly. Your hand in his hair only held him closer as your head fell back against the wall with a string of heavenly moans and whimpers that he forced from your chest. He only knew your body and no one else's so everything he learned was catered to you, meaning that every single thing he did was enough to make you breathless.

Lando’s tongue toyed with your clit soon after, his eyes staring up at you from between your legs as he flicked a steady rhythm only increasing with speed consistently. Your hips ground against his face as you whined and moaned through your office, your head falling gently back against the wall between your two framed literary awards that hung proudly behind your desk. Lando was in complete heaven, all-encompassed by your taste and sounds that only proved to him that he was always the one for you.

He suckled at your pussy with wet lips and tongue until his mouth was glistening and you were draping your leg over his shoulder, your heels falling from your feet one after the other until they hit the ground with two dull thunks. Writhing under his touch, you were moaning to the darkened ceiling, tugging at his hair, and blessing your office with the sound of his name on your lips.

But then Lando was pulling away again and standing up, forcing a displeased cry from your throat that he silenced with his mouth on yours. Your hands grasped the sides of his neck as he kissed you strongly and you worked to keep up with his insistent pace of lips and tongue. You couldn’t think of anything else but him, not ever, but especially not when he was situating himself between your legs and pushing your thighs apart farther until they burned and he swallowed your strained whimper with his pillowy lips.

In seconds, he was gliding his dick between your folds and then pressing it inside you again, watching how your head dropped back to break your kiss with the most erotic expression spread across your face. Lando could hear his heartbeat in his ears, burning at the sight of you giving into him. He grabbed your hips for stability and right away started to fuck you again, letting the filthy slick sound of your soaked pussy taking him in again and again fill your silent office.

“Oh my God, Lando.” you cried out softly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders tightly to keep him close as you propped the heels of your bare feet up on the edge of the console table to keep your body spread for him.

“Whose are you?” he tried, his breath falling against your cheek in jagged pants from the rough way he was fucking you.

“Yours.” you answered melodically.

“Whose?” he pressed, wrapping his fingers around your throat again.

You groaned beautifully under his hand, staring into his eyes, “I’m yours, Lando.”

“Uh huh-” he licked his lips, staring at how your breasts were pushed up nice and full in your bra, “No one else’s.”

He used his other hand to grab onto the bunched up material of your skirt so he could fuck you hungrilly, keeping his eyes on your face as he did so. That way he could see every flash of expression that grazed your face, framed in the background by your awards that he himself had magazine cut outs of back in his bedroom at home. Now he was fucking you in front of the real things…having you as his own…life was a dream. A dream of just him and you.

You could feel that overwhelming warmth building inside you again, your toes curling over the edge of the table with how you were spread for him, and your fingers dug down into his shoulders pleadingly. His hand tightened around your throat, choking your moans, and he kept his dick ramming into you in quick precise strokes that had your muscles fluttering around him. He was going to lose it.

So he pulled out.

“Oh fuck you!” you gasped out sharply, the growing pleasure withering away into nothing again. You dropped a hand down to rub pleading at your pussy but he shoved you away, determined to stay completely in charge.

“You are not the boss of me, you hear me?” he spoke sternly to you. “Just because you’re pretty and rich and successful does not mean you can walk all over me.”

“No, sir.” you hurried out, wrapping your legs around his waist to try and pull him into you again.

“No, sir.” he mocked you gently, squeezing your cheeks in his hand. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You dropped your tongue out expectantly. He spit strongly into your mouth.

“Hold onto me.” he ordered quietly.

You tightened your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders and he anchored his hands under your ass so he could hoist you up off the console table and into his arms. He wasn’t insanely strong but it was still impressive and you dipped down to kiss him messily as he walked you across the office and over to the closest floor to ceiling window. Your back hit the cool glass first and you moaned into his mouth as the evening soaked city lay beyond you, threatening with sights of strangers if it weren’t for the unrecognizable height you were at in the building.

He took you so confidently like he had experience from the start and the sudden switch in his demeanor was completely arousing to you. You held his lips on yours by a gentle hand holding his jaw as your other arm was slung securely around his shoulders, breathing between your filthy wet kisses that only made you drip down your thighs.

“Lando…” you exhaled shakily, “Please.”

Despite the way you were magnetized to his lips, his eyes were open and lingering on your sweet face, holding your angelic body in his arms right up against the glass window to show you off as his own. He licked his way into your mouth, hungry, lost in the way you begged for him.

“Please, baby.” you pleaded against his mouth, tugging gently at the roots of his fading blonde dyed hair, “Please fuck me. I want your perfect cock inside me, please.”

“Only mine?”

“Only yours, yes, sir.”

Lando hoisted you up a little higher against the window and when he was sure you were secure, he moved one hand from supporting you to angle his dick between your spread legs.

He opened his mouth to speak but you were one step ahead of him, giving him exactly what he expected of you with a breathy, “I’m yours.”

“Oh my God, good girl.” Lando groaned, rewarding you with the fullness of his dick sheathing inside you once more.

Your head fell back against the window with a gasp, “Fuck!”

Lando was sure he was running on adrenaline, buzzing with desire for you and the way you submitted to him so easily. He was hungry for you and completely dependent on the sound of your moans and how you begged for him, barely giving you a second to adjust before he was fucking you against the window, his eyes focused on your face.

“Fuck!” you squealed again, clinging onto him tighter, “Yes!”

His arms were aching slightly with how he needed to hold you up but your body wrapped around his made it impossible for him to stop. It was slightly clumsy the way he held you up with both of his arms around your waist and he would have second guessed his ability if it weren’t for the way he nearly had you sobbing. Your hands in his hair only tugged harder as he fucked you faster, grunting lowly against your cheek as the warmth of lust washed over him.

“Oh my God, please don’t stop!” you cried out, body bouncing against the window as he had his way with you.

A thing right out of his fantasies.

He had you pinned right back against the glass and with every thrust he was pulling out nearly all the way before slamming back into you, making you feel every inch of him in such quick succession that your mouth was hanging open in near awe, struggling to keep his eye contact. The sounds you made were filthy and he couldn’t get enough of them, paired so perfectly with the wet slap of your skin. Lando’s left hand landed heavily against the window, leaving his arm around your waist since the way you clung onto him was support enough, giving himself the support to hold himself up.

“Yes, just like that!” you pleaded, curling yourself into his neck in pleasurable overwhelm and your arms went right around his body. “Yes, sir, yes, sir, yes, yes, yes-”

“Fuck, baby-“ Lando moaned right up against your ear.

Your nails raked across the skin of his bare back, painting him in red scratches that only expressed the way he brought pleasure to your body, clinging onto him desperately. He was overwhelming and the moans that spilled from your lips were uncontrollable, all thanks to the way he fucked you like you truly were all his.

“Please-“ you sobbed into his neck, “Please- I’m gonna cum-“

Lando didn’t flinch, “Tell me you’re sorry and then you can cum.”

You answered easily, loudly, “I’m sorry!”

“Mean it.”

He still hadn’t stopped fucking you in that same addicting pace and you struggled to put together words to create a coherent sentence.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you!” you stumbled out, your words only made jagged by your messy moans and whimpers that he forced out of your body. “I’m sorry! I’m only yours - I promise! I promise!”

Lando’s proud smile was directed out the window as your body was clinging onto him and your face was buried in his neck. You obediently waited for his permission but holding yourself back was almost unbearable.

“Please.” you whimpered.

“Cum for me.” Lando ordered.

“Oh my God.” you gushed in relief, letting yourself so quickly fall into pleasure that he brought you.

Your nails pressed tighter into his back and your teeth sunk into his neck, needing some way to let out the intense feeling that rushed within you and bubbled to the surface. You tensed up in his arms, your pussy squeezing the life out of his dick as he fucked you into your orgasm and he groaned tightly to the window as he forced himself through it.

Shuddering in his arms, he had to take his other hand from the glass to wrap around you again, holding you close as you gasped out his name and a pleasurable tear escaped your eye and fell onto the flushed skin of his neck.

“Lan-do- fuck-“ you choked out of it, only having your easing out interrupted by the first thick spurt of him coming inside you. “Yes-“

His moans were loud and beautiful and you shut your eyes to focus on every inch of him, right down to how he shoved deep into you and gave you every last drop of warmth. All for you.

Your hand raised to the back of his neck and you blindly pulled his lips to yours, sharing a few breathless off-centred kisses as he finished inside you, leaving his throbbing cock deliciously in place for a few more seconds. You gave each other little moans and sighs as your pleasure tapered off and after a few seconds, Lando had to pull away from your lips to catch his breath.

“Gotta put you down.” he whispered.

“Okay.” you permitted, carefully removing your wobbly legs from around his waist so he could pull out and help you stand on the floor properly. But your arms stayed around his neck and his hands rested on your waist, letting your heavy breathing fall in steady time as your noses brushed. Your lips nudged onto his next, sharing a few soft chasté kisses in the quiet light of your office, darkened by the sunken sun as he held you against the window.

You pulled away with a lick to your lips and gently ran your fingers through the back of his hair, “You hungry?”

Lando let a small smile play at his lips, “Yeah.”

“Okay.” you rubbed his shoulders and dragged your hands down his chest, “I’ll order something and we can eat and talk for a bit.”

Lando nodded, his pride suddenly exchanged with nervousness, “Okay.”

You shimmied your skirt back down and Lando drifted across the spacious office to retrieve his discarded clothes and he pulled on his underwear and tossed you yours, trying not to let his mind stew over what you wanted to talk about.

You grabbed your phone from your shifted desk and opened up an app to find something to order in, sitting yourself down on the small couch opposite your work space in only your skirt and bra. Lando drifted over to join you and he - almost nervously - sat himself down on your left.

“Anything you’re craving?” you asked.

He just stared at you, “Nope.”

“Burger?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

With your food ordered and waiting for its delivery, you were left to the silence of your empty office and the comfort of your private little lounge area despite the glass wall that stretched in front of you. The employees’ desks and meeting rooms were dark and vacant. Lando was staring at you as you stretched forward to set your phone on the coffee table and then you rested back again.

You looked back at him. When you saw the expression on his face, you reached out a hand to rest against his bare chest and feel the thudding of his heart under your palm. A tiny smile came to your face, “What’s got your heart racing?”

“You.” Lando answered easily, his voice gentle as if the dim lighting of the office required it.

“And fucking me all over this room?” you teased.

He laughed lightly despite the nervousness that rose within him, “Yeah.”

Teasing him just a little, you caressed the side of his neck, “You did well. You’re learning lots, young Padawan.”

“Shut up.” Lando looked away from you with a small smile and a gentle shake of his head.

There was a pause between you, tense silence lingering, and Lando kept his gaze on the coffee table with his teeth sunken into his bottom lip.

You rubbed the back of his neck tenderly, “Can you look at me please?”

He took a small breath and looked back at you.

“I’m sorry.” you said, “I really am.”

Lando dropped his gaze to his lap, picking at his fingernails anxiously.

Your hands framed his face and gently pulled his head up to get him to look at you again, “That was really shitty of me to not tell you what was going on.”

“Yeah.” he breathed, barely audible.

“I promise that you’re my only one. You’ve captured my heart in ways no one else has, I told you that.”

He nodded.

“You’re the only thing that matters.”

You leaned in to kiss him, locking your lips with his in slow sensual kisses that had nothing but the strongest devotion behind them. Lando slowly lifted his hand to the back of your neck, melting into your lips and touch as he followed your lead until the gentle passion made him dizzy. You felt the same as he had a way of sending your heart and soul spiraling and you shifted a little closer to him on the couch so you could feel more of his heavenly presence.

After a few long seconds, Lando’s words were suffocating him at the back of his throat, desperate for more reassurance, and he had to pull away from your kiss for a moment. You almost didn’t let him but you brushed your nose against his adoringly as he licked his lips and worded his question, “And Pierre?”

Dizzy on bliss with a mind only taken by the man in front of you, you hummed out a, “Who?”

Lando smiled lightly, “Good answer.”

You giggled with realization and pushed your lips back on his once, twice, and then you were sitting back.

“He’s nothing. He’s work.” you rehashed, petting your hand through his messy hair, “I’ll tell him about us, okay?”

Lando, suddenly feeling a bit of shame, replied, “You don’t have to.”

“I do.” you nodded, “You made some good points when you came in here yelling at me.”

You shared small smiles and Lando scoffed lightly with a shrug, speaking to your lips since looking into your eyes felt like too much sometimes, “I will never let you push me away.”

“I’m not…pushing you away.” you spoke as casually as you could but the words held some sort of realization on your tongue and you faded quietly. You looked down, unable to meet his gaze as he stared at you so intently right beside you.

Lando whispered his gentle notice, “You were pushing me away.”

“I…” you didn’t know what to say. You hadn’t even realized it. You turned to face forward on the couch, eyebrows furrowed in thought as you reminded yourself of your actions from the last week.

“I don’t know why you don’t think you deserve to be treated nicely. Even every time I compliment you it’s like you can’t ever accept it.” Lando continued softly, “You are my dream girl…woman…both inside and out and I’m not just saying that. You really are unbelievable to me…you take my breath away all the time and I still can’t believe that you want some random guy like me. Maybe sometimes that makes me a little paranoid and scared…maybe we’re kinda the same like that.”

“Unable to accept the niceness of each other?” you chuckled.

Lando smiled and shifted to sit forward on the couch too, “Yeah?”

You sniffled although you weren’t crying and you looked at him at your side, “Yeah.”

“Nothing you could do could ever put me off.” Lando promised. “Unless you lie to me and hide things from me…then I’ll be a little upset but nothing we can’t work out, okay?”

You nodded, “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.” he leaned in to kiss you once.

You smiled softly and chased his lips for one more kiss. Your hand reached for his on his lap and you slid your fingers between his, “And I’m not going anywhere so don’t keep thinking I’m going to find someone better because I’m not.”

Lando leaned into you, “Okay. I’m gonna hold you to that.”

You rested your head against his and, hands holding each other’s, you sat there in peaceful silence for a moment. Lando even closed his eyes, cherishing the warmth of your presence. He really wanted to tell you he loved you.

Your phone lit up from its place on the coffee table and you reached forward to retrieve it, skimming the notification before announcing, “Our food is here!”

Lando held onto your hand a little longer even as you stood up from the couch and you dipped down to kiss him once.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Promise?”

You smiled widely and kissed him again, “Promise, lover.”

He let you go.

You tugged your shirt on and slid into your heels while on your way out the door of your glass framed office and you hurried to the elevator to meet the delivery driver on the street. It was only then that you realized you were dripping cum down your inner thighs and you did your best to keep your legs together under your skirt as you shuffled across the vacant building lobby to the front doors. The driver was waiting on the other side and you pushed them open to grab your bags with a polite thanks and a wish good night. There was a handsome man waiting for your return upstairs after all; no time for small talk with strangers.

When you were walking back down the hallway towards your office, you stopped outside the glass wall to watch as Lando - in only his boxers - arranged a little set up for the two of you on the rug. He had pushed aside the coffee table and set the two throw blankets and few decorative cushions on the floor in front of the couch, leaving the room still dimmed to only the light of the desk lamp. Despite the faint lighting, the emergency lights that lined the main hallway allowed a bit more visibility and enough so that you could make out the red scratches down his back.

Smirking proudly, you lingered in the doorway just to stare at him for a moment, “Those pretty red scratches down your back do you wonders, baby.”

Lando glanced over at you in surprise at your appearance but he broke into a bashful grin, “Glad you think so.”

He then grabbed something from the couch and tossed it over to you. Your panties landed at your feet.

“You forgot something.”

“I know.” you chuckled, kicking them back towards him with the toe of your heel, “I was kinda leaking down my legs the entire way downstairs. My thighs hurt from clenching them together so tightly.”

“You know, when I passed them to you, that meant put them on.” Lando tisked lightheartedly as you set the takeout bags on the coffee table and he stood close at your side.

“Where’s the fun in that?” you replied casually as you started to unpack your food, “I like feeling you drip out of me.”

Lando’s little shuttering gasp made you smirk and he gave your bum a gentle smack, “Dirty girl.”

With your food spread out on the table and the bottle of red wine you ordered sitting prettily in the middle, you left Lando to get situated as you retrieved two glasses from the bar cart by the window and once you passed them to him to fill, you kicked your heels off and pulled your shirt back over your head. You couldn’t let him be the only one half bare.

You joined him on the rug and cuddled up close to his side with you both leaning back against the bottom of the couch. In your close proximity, you gently clinked your wine glasses together with your eyes focused all on each other as if you couldn’t get enough.

“To us?” Lando asked.

“To us.” you agreed with a smile and you took your first sips.

As close as possible on your office floor, you shared your late dinner for appetites that had only grown substantially since he had helped himself to your desk more than an hour earlier. It was quiet for the first little bit as you focused on eating and drinking but as you slowed down, your focus was turned back to each other.

Lando’s arm was around your shoulders and you were leaning into him happily, sharing fleeting feather soft kisses between feeding each other french fries. After almost two days of lows, Lando felt on top of the world again. You had a tendency of doing that to him.

It was the way you always wanted more of him as you chased his kisses with one more, two more, pulling him in by the back of his neck to taste the rich red wine that stained his lips. Lando always seemed to swoon over how you silently showed how you craved him just as much as he always craved you.

You rested your head on his shoulder with a quiet sigh, “I’m sorry my work is shitty.”

“It’s not shitty.” Lando answered easily.

“I don’t like that we have to be so cautious all the time.” you confessed, gently swirling your last few sips of wine around the bottom of your glass absentmindedly, “I want to be normal with you.”

“What’s normal?” Lando asked.

“Where we can go out for dinner without speculation…hold hands…look at each other for more than five seconds even around the office.”

Lando smiled to himself at the thought of those simple acts that were off limits for the two of you but he gave you a gentle squeeze, “That’s okay. It’s moments like this that make up for all that.”

You looked at him, “You sure?”

He nodded, his eyes drifting between your lips and your eyes, “Totally sure. I don’t mind being your little secret. It’s kind of thrilling sometimes.”

You smiled back at him, “It is, isn’t it?”

He slid his arm from around your shoulders and gently pulled at your bottom lip, “Mhm.”

You leaned in towards him so you were almost resting against his chest and you caressed his cheek with the back of your finger, “I’m so thankful that I met you…that you waited in that lineup…stayed until the very end…and convinced me to come to dinner with you.”

Lando rubbed your back, staring deeply into your eyes, “I’d do anything for you. Always have. Always will.”

You leaned in to press your lips to his, lingering there a moment or two before pulling away again.

“Mm mm.” Lando hummed, raising his hand to the side of your neck to pull you back in for more.

You smiled happily into his kiss, sharing a few closed mouthed innocent kisses as the last few french fries grew cold in their takeout containers. But as you both melted into each other and your lips locked deeply, kisses growing stronger, warmer, your leftovers were the last thing on your mind. It was like a dance between the two of you that had been only perfected over the summer right down to the way your tongues matched each other’s motions precisely until you were feeling those perfect butterflies in your stomach. Lando knew if it went on any longer, he’d definitely get hard again - that was so easy for you to do to him.

But it wasn’t long before you were pulling away slowly, leaving both your lips pouted naturally out of it as your eyes fluttered open to meet each other’s gaze. You caressed his chest with your hand that wasn’t claimed by your glass and you requested of him breathily, “Come home with me.”

He would never say no to you.

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peppertoastuniverse · 3 months

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pep reads: geto suguru – long fics

But dang, i didnt realise we were all so thirsty for geto the brainrot is so real

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

☆ as we walk by cerialilith [AO3] [status: unknown ◦ 29/? chapters] [singledad!geto] [slow burn] [eventual smut!] [nocurses!AU] #sweet, softest sugu

He only loves two things in life: the scent of coffee and his daughter. But perhaps he can make a few adjustments.

— In which the single mother across the hall manages to catch Geto’s eye without him realizing it.

☆Temptations by @peachsayshi [AO3/tumblr] [status: ongoing ◦ 5/6 chapters] [ smut!] [nocurses!AU] #sugu treats you RIGHT #pep MELTED Suguru Geto is a playboy. A man who's had more lovers than he can even count. You've never been in a relationship, not even experiencing a real kiss when you first meet Suguru. But the two of you fall for each other, and you know that he's the one you want to experience all your firsts with.

☆ Breathe Me In by lovelied [AO3] [status: completed ◦ 5/5 chapters] [smut!] #pep love this characterization of Suguru Desperate for distraction, a troubled Suguru Geto began inviting you over each night. It began as a casual arrangement, but over time, you found yourself yearning for him in ways you couldn’t quite explain.

☆The good morrow by @temozarela [AO3/tumblr] [status: ongoing? ◦ 2/? Collection of fics] [smut!] #pep’s comfort fic

You narrowed your eyebrows as you felt your body being jolted, large hands gripping your face, and then your shoulders. Groaning softly, you turned in your sleep, trying to make sense of the voice fading in and out of your brain. It didn’t sound like it was from your dream… It was hushed… low… soft…

It sounded like your name.

aka.

geto finds you after his defection to say goodbye

☆ Mascara by softsellars [AO3] [status: unknown ◦ 5/7 chapters] [smut!] [tw!cheating] [nocurses!AU] [artist!suguru] #complex reader, patient sugu

You've never been a particularly good person, you're self-aware enough to know it. It's your only flaw, and recently you've actually been working to better yourself.

For example: paying for a 30-dollar Uber so you can take your friend home only for her to ditch you for some guy when it comes down to it. Although you’re pissed, you decide to try and make the best of it instead of get into a screaming match with her.

It's an easy thing to do when Getou Suguru is offering you everything to do just that. Everything a party entails: liquor, weed, and sex with a perfect stranger.

And Getou knows perfectly well you have a boyfriend, so it's not like he'll want anything serious.

***Porn with a little plot

☆ Whisper of the Petals by @nanamis-baker [tumblr!] [status: on going ◦ 2/? chapters] [slow burn] [College!AU] #SO SO SWEET #sugu with dumb feelings

A mystery blooms on your doorstep. A breathtaking bouquet of white flowers, a silent whisper of apology... but it's not for you. Delivered under the name of a man so handsome he takes your breath away, the mix-up sets your heart racing.

Fate seems determined to keep throwing you together, and soon you're caught in a whirlwind of chance encounters and undeniable chemistry. It was almost as if it was trying to bring you together. ☆ AFFECTION'S EDGE by @rush-the-stars [AO3/tumblr] [status: completed ◦ 3/3 chapters] [omega!verse] #THE INTENSITY?!

“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

*** Suguru tries to tame you.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

bonus!

☆ Musubi by Penrose_Quinn [AO3] [status: unknown ◦ 2/? chapters] #LOVE THE CHEMISTRY

Then there was a quiet shrewdness in the way he carried himself. You would call it cocky, but this one proved to be more poised and collected on how things would unfold for him. Framed with the anchor of his composure, legs stretched out in front of him but not overly laid-back, and his mind – whatever unfathomable brilliance that dwelt underneath – was unperturbed, self-assured. You wouldn’t claim to have known him entirely though like this, Suguru looked more like himself. “But you won’t disappear,” he concluded. “Not yet anyway.” You gave in to a hum. “You’re really making it tempting for me to leave you hanging on nothing.” Suguru listened, waiting. His pursuit was a game of patience and you chased after the gamble.

Or: the string of each encounter was an entanglement to what brought you closer to him, twisted in each other’s darkness, torn and tied back together throughout the years.

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biolumien · 4 months

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but thankfully, the wind...

notes: do not ask me how much research i did for this. the answer is that while wikipedia is a helpful source, i wonder if i am missing out on the real info, trenches deep in a 39 page article about fertility and marriage in the heian period...

also this will be multichapter. peace and love on planet earth!

samurai!soshiro hoshina x fem!reader reader throws hands. this is an arranged marriage fic word count: 1364

there was never any room for love in your life. you knew that much. your eventual arranged marriage—because it was never a choice, really, it was an inevitability—would always be for political reasons.

your family wasn’t a particularly powerful one—you were the daughter of a dying clan with no male heir, so your father was desperate to find you a good match. to sell you off to the most desperate buyer, you’d say archly, glaring at him. at night, while you listened to the chirping of summer cicadas turn to fall crickets and then to the dull silence of winter, you wished that your father’s search for an appropriate marriage candidate would fail, that the matchmaker would find no one.

eventually, however, your family would receive a marriage offer from the hoshina clan.

the hoshina clan was a name that held great prestige—its sons were known for their swordsmanship, for a lineage of honorable and noble samurai. but recently, the name seemed to take on a more negative light—rumors of the eldest son, soichiro hoshina, running off to become a lawless ronin and forcing the second son, soshiro hoshina, to take on the mantle of heir.

you’d watched as your father celebrated his good luck—his good luck at finding you a partner. the blight on the hoshina name aside, the prestige of a family of well-known and reputable samurai could be enough to pull your family out of its dying state.

but your life, as far as you were concerned, was basically over.

you wanted nothing to do with the prestige of anything. what did it matter, that the hoshina clan was of great renown? of course, you knew that you’d never marry for love—but even a caged bird dreams of the opportunity of getting to fly on its own, surely. you dreamed of a possibility of marrying for love—that you’d meet some nice man that would whisk you away to the countryside, where you could live out the rest of your life.

but you’d be forced to abandon that dream now.

and so, while your family and the hoshina clan arranged meetings through the matchmaker, you mourned the end of your life.

but for better or for worse, soshiro hoshina… was an interesting man.

he was very quiet, or that’s what you thought for the most part, at least. he spoke softly, sharply towards his father, but would smile cautiously towards you—but in a way where you could tell it was a clear mask, all a part of the facade of the good son, the soon-to-be-wed husband following tradition.

his hair was just long enough to be tied back into a small bun, and the kimono he wore was a stark black with the faintest hint of violet–the kind of dye saved only for royalty, the high nobility. his hakama was that same shade of violet, a clear sign of wealth, in any case.

when he deigned to look at you, you found his eyes were a bright scarlet.

the first two meetings of your omiai were nothing much of note. soshiro was simply calm, watching you. even when you were given time alone with him, he never made any attempt to touch you, nor to speak. the first time he’d done it, you’d tried to fill the air with words, only for him to just watch you. your face flushed from embarrassment and something like anger, and you’d lifted up your sleeve to hide the wave of emotions crossing your face.

you’d never asked to be married to this man. so why wouldn’t he speak to you? why did he have to look at you like he pitied you and was upset at this whole fraught affair?

the third meeting was always the one of most importance. it was an implicit agreement to marriage—and despite knowing there was no way your father would have let you say no to the third meeting, you faced it with a sort of irrational upset. it was like standing in front of a precipice that you couldn’t back away from—acknowledging the cliff but still being forced down it.

this time, soshiro stood in front of you, his father absent. two katanas were sheathed at his side, their handles interwoven with fine black and golden cord.

“my father suggested that the two of us take our time to be alone today,” soshiro says, looking at your father first, before turning to you. “shall we, then?”

“as if i could say no,” you say, your voice gentle and lilting. you remember your lessons—when you got married, you would be forced to hide your horns, so to speak—your shame and your anger, jealousy and desperation. the feelings that were utterly unbecoming for you—or so your father and mother would say.

you guide soshiro through the halls of your home, guiding him towards the room your father had set aside for the omiai—it was beautiful, ornate, delicately furnished, of course, with a balcony leading out to a beautiful garden.

as you folded your legs to sit down, soshiro remained standing.

“i suppose it might shock you,” soshiro says. soshiro’s voice was soft. gentle. “the marriage offer, and the suddenness of it.”

his eyes flit to the beautiful garden outside. you know the truth of it—it’s beautiful, but it’s a gilded thing, hiding the rot and abandonment underneath. your family’s legacy in a nutshell, you think bitterly. a collection of power plays and alliances in a desperate attempt to curry favor, to maintain the idea that there was still something good here. as if any of this was worth saving.

“it doesn’t shock me at all,” you say, trying to keep the bitterness from rising in your voice. “we all have roles we must play. and mine was always destined to be this.”

“i never wanted to be married,” soshiro says. “the role of a faithful husband and proper heir was always more emphasized for my brother.”

you laugh archly, delicately, raising yourself to your feet.

from within a pocket in your kimono’s sleeve, you unsheath a beautiful and ornate knife. the gift had been from the hoshina clan—when your father had opened the gift, he’d sounded extremely honored to have received it— something about the knife representing the hoshina clan’s hopes that you would bear for them a son that might become a sword prodigy as well.

as you raise the knife to soshiro’s throat, you simply smile. you think it might be an expression unbecoming of a woman of your station—the soon-to-be bride of a samurai. soshiro’s eyes simply watch yours. he doesn’t even shake, his hands not even moving to the katana sheathed at his side. somehow, that irritates you. does he think so little of you that he wouldn’t even raise his sword against you?

“i truly do apologize,” you murmur, venom in your voice. “it must be such an inconvenience for you, huh? to be married to the daughter of a dying clan, as the second, disgraced and unwanted son.” you press the knife further—not enough to draw blood, but the threat of it, you hoped, conveyed enough.

“i didn’t have a say in any of this, though,” you say. “when your family’s offer came, all i was told was how honored i should be that the hoshina clan picked me. that my family could’ve picked any other clan, a worse and older samurai that would’ve wanted me for different reasons.”

soshiro’s gaze fixates on the dagger pointed at his neck, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

you drop the dagger on the ground.

the blade slices into the tatami mats, embedding itself there.

“but of course. i will sympathize with you, for solidarity’s sake. we’re both doing things we’d rather not be doing.”

you walk past him, moving for the door.

you raise your hand, touching the corner of the folding screen. you try not to think about how it would feel to punch a hole through it.

“i’ll see you for the betrothal ceremony,” you say. you turn to him, and you think you must be the picture-perfect appearance of a vengeful, resentful spirit. “but don’t you dare ever sympathize with me again.”

#kaiju no 8 #soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #kaiju no 8 x reader #x reader #kn8 x reader

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moonmunson · 1 year

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electric touch - eddie munson x reader

summary: eddie hasn't had much luck with dates - not until you.

warnings: ppl being mean to eddie (only for a little bit!) and some discussion on eddie's penchant for kinda being used by the popular girls but there's so much fluff and some kissing at the end

word count: 2.8k

a/n: i started this when speak now tv came out and then completely abandoned it but she's my little brain child

When Eddie was in eighth grade, he spent a week rehearsing the best way to ask a girl out on a date. He practiced in the mirror every day, making sure to sound hopeful, but not desperate, eager, but not pushy. He’d almost given up and asked his Uncle for advice, but in case it didn’t go the way he wanted it to, he didn’t want Wayne to be waiting for an update.

There was a new horror movie premiering in the theater downtown, and he’d heard that scary movies were the best to bring a girl to - because if she got scared, Eddie could put his arm around her and protect her from the fictional monsters.

He never even got the chance to ask her. He’d tried, to be sure. Monday morning of the next week, when he’d worked up enough nerve, he walked up to the group of cheerleaders she was a part of, and didn’t even open his mouth before the group of girls ganged up on him - asking him what he wanted, calling him a freak, telling him to get away from them. Later, the girl he’d been pining after approached him - sans clique - and apologized on behalf of her friends. She didn’t feel the same as them, but she couldn’t ruin her “reputation.” They saw each other in secret for half a year before she got a boyfriend on the basketball team. Typical. It hurt Eddie more than he was comfortable admitting.

Eddie doesn’t love referring to himself as a cynic, but the repetitive cycle of being used by popular girls for a night of fun - fulfilling their dream of sleeping with the town’s resident bad boy before never speaking to him again, exhausted Eddie to the point of declaring that true love was a capitalistic ruse created to sell laboratory made diamonds. It would never work out for him, and he convinced himself that he was okay with that.

For the remainder of high school, Eddie continued to play the part. Rich kids invited him to ragers and tried to weasel their way out of paying full price for his weed, even though they were buying with daddy’s money, not their own. He hooked up with random popular girl after random popular girl, always leaving immediately and feeling like shit after. But at least he was getting laid, right?

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

Now, Eddie is sitting on the couch in his living room, meticulously arranging and rearranging Wayne’s automobile magazines that live untouched on the coffee table. Has there always been this much dust on them? He wasn’t sure, and the thought only offered a momentary distraction before the nerves swept him back into the electric current of anxiety running through his body.

He’d already spent most of the past hour making sure there was no visible trash laying out in the open for you to see. He’d even gone so far as to make his room slightly presentable in case you wanted to go in. He wasn’t expecting anything - quite the opposite, actually. He was sure that you’d see the place he lives, turn around and walk out without giving him a chance, and never speak to him again.

Logically, he knows that this won’t be the case. He knows that Dustin wouldn’t lie to him about your reciprocated interest. He’d spent the entire drive back to Eddie’s trailer for their Hellfire meeting trying to convince him that he saw how giddy his sister had been when she opened the door and saw him standing there. She’d known Eddie was coming to pick her younger brother up, and she’d put on mascara to greet him - as if Eddie truly knows enough about girls to take that as a surefire sign that you were excited to see him. Dustin hears you talking over the phone to your friends about him all the time, and he only shares with Eddie that what you say is positive - not wanting to disclose the nitty gritty. It’s not your fault that the walls of your adjoined rooms are thin, and your friends are loud.

Still, Eddie is nervous. When he gave you his phone number under the assumption that you might want to call to check up on Dustin, he was shocked that you called days after the Hellfire meeting had ended, and Dustin had returned home. So shocked, in fact, that he wasn’t even the one who had answered the phone - Wayne was. When he’d heard the sweet lilt of your voice on the other side of the line, he’d practically shoved his uncle to grab hold of the phone. You sounded unsure saying hello to him - nervous and breathy and a little bit quiet, but not unenthusiastic - and Eddie knew that Dustin had been telling the truth.

Eddie spoke to you for an hour that night before he worked up the nerve to ask if you might want to come over to watch a movie. “No funny business, just the sweet sight of David Bowie in tights that no other man would ever be able to pull off.” You’d giggled - a sound Eddie was determined to hear again - and asked how he knew that Labyrinth was your favorite movie. The truth was that he’d overheard Dustin complaining about how you chose it every time it was your turn to pick for family movie night, but he brushed off the question and said that he just “Had a feeling.”

The sudden appearance of headlights beaming through the trailer window brings Eddie out of his reverie long enough to remember to wipe the dust from his hands onto his jeans. The sound of your car door opening and closing, and the crunch that your shoes make on the gravel pulls Eddie like a siren song from the couch to his trailer door, and the creaking of the wooden steps leading up to said door, has him pulling it open faster than he means to.

You’re a vision of comfort. Of soft things. Of light wash jeans with no rips in them, of cardigans and sweaters and rose perfume. Your fist is raised in the air like you were about to knock, and for a moment, Eddie thinks this whole thing was a mistake.

“Oh-”

“Sorry, I-”

There’s a beat of silence. The energy between the two of you is almost palpable - eyes wide and palms clammy - before he breaks the connection and moves out of the way for you to come in. He knows he can turn on the charm once you’re settled, but this has been the part he’s been dreading the most.

It doesn’t matter to his friends that he lives in a trailer. It doesn’t matter when there are beer bottles on the coffee table or old socks on the couch, he knows the guys won’t care. But as you step in, and your eyes begin to sweep over the small living room, the reality of his economic status has never felt bigger, or made him feel smaller.

As he looks at you though, he notices the soft smile on your face. Taking stock of the collection of hats and mugs lining the walls, of the throw blanket laid over the top of the recliner.

“The uh, the hats and stuff are my Uncle’s.”

“They’re really cool,” his eyes trace your movements as you walk along the edges of the room, arms at your sides, reading the puns and state names embroidered on them. “has he always collected them?”

Eddie makes his way to the couch, and sits - trying to direct his line of sight to the same ones you’re looking at. Trying to put himself in your shoes and guess what you might be thinking, but coming up short.

“Wayne was a trucker for a few years,” you turn to look at him, to pay attention to what he’s saying. Eddie does a lot of stupid shit to get people to look at him, he knows that. It doesn’t matter that the expressions he receives the most often are sneers or ones of annoyance. Exasperation. But you look genuinely interested in what he has to say, and it throws him for a loop. “And then he got stuck with me, so he doesn’t really get to buy new ones anymore.”

“Stuck with you?”

“I mean, yeah, kind of. It’s a long boring story,” Eddie claps his hands together and launches himself up and off of the couch, and you know to stop pushing. “Want the grand tour?”

“Absolutely,” you nod.

“Well, my lady,” you watch from your position by the recliner as he struts to the middle of the living room, puts his arms out horizontally at his sides, and bows deeply, “welcome to Castle Munson. The maid did actually remember to show up tonight.”

“Oh yeah? She did an excellent job,” you huff out a laugh, and Eddie snaps back up to a vertical, a smile on his face that showcases the lines around his mouth.

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

“Eddie? Can I ask you something?”

After giving you a short but enthusiastic tour of the main parts of the trailer and presenting you with the array of snacks he'd gotten for the movie, you both settled on the small couch in the living room. You'd had to resist the urge to curl up into his side, and instead curled up into the arm of the couch.

“Anything, sweets. Go for it.”

“How did you really know this was my favorite movie?”

“I’m psychic,” He taps his index finger to his temple a few times. “I didn’t tell you that?”

“Eddie.”

“Y/n.”

“I’m being serious!”

“So am I!” He matches your raised pitch - teasing, but not condescending - and you almost raise your hand to hit him on the shoulder, but you don’t know if you’ve reached that level of familiarity yet.

“You don’t have to answer the question if you don’t want to. I’m not weirded out or anything - just curious. Honestly, I’m kind of like, flattered, I guess? I don’t know.”

Had you overstepped? Eddie’s eyes flit over different things in the room in rapid succession, and he exhales - you can almost see the cogs turning in his head - like he doesn’t know whether to keep joking or offer a moment of true vulnerability. You don’t think the latter comes naturally to him.

“I heard Dustin complaining to Wheeler that you always pick it for family movie night. It seems like the kind of thing you’d like. Very dreamy and hazy, that kinda thing.” Eddie shrugs and looks off to the side, trying and failing to put on an air of nonchalance, but his tinted cheeks suggest otherwise.

“Is that how you think of me? Dreamy and hazy?” You duck your head to try and meet his gaze, and when he turns to look at you, you think it’s the first time you’ve ever truly seen him. The boyish, innocent version of him that he doesn’t allow to rise to the surface all that often. His charm is still there, and bright as ever, but you can see the uncertainty in the way he struggles to keep his eyes on yours.

“Maybe. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all.” The smile that graces your features is so easy and genuine that Eddie has no choice but to beam his own right back at you.

You settle into an easier silence for the remainder of the movie, save for the comments the both of you share. You think it’s especially funny when Eddie compares The Fireys playing volleyball with their own heads to a “Muppet snuff film on acid.” When it’s over, he grabs a few Dr. Peppers from the fridge and asks if you want to smoke with him before you head back home. You decline, because driving while high makes you nervous, but you don’t mind sitting with him for a bit longer.

“Plus, there’s one more room I haven’t given you the tour for, if you’re interested…”

“I get to see the King’s quarters?”

“More like the dungeon,” he gestures to himself, still clad in his Hellfire shirt, “but yeah, totally.”

“Lead the way then, dungeon master.”

He looks behind himself to see if you’re following, and extends his hand back so you can hold onto it. It’s not like you’re gonna get lost - the hallway is less than ten feet, but it gives you an excuse to finally touch without overthinking it. Eddie doesn't care to ask whether the jolt of static he feels when your hands meet for the first time is because of your shuffling socks on the carpet or the nervous current running between the two of you. Guessing by the way you suck in a soft breath - one he could barely hear - he doesn’t think you care either.

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

“All I’m saying is Jareth’s a weirdo for wanting a whiny sixteen year old to be his queen.” Eddie is laying on his stomach, legs bent at the knee and ankles crossed in the air. When you’d entered his room, he’d shown you his favorite things before quickly ushering you to get comfortable on the bed. He said that he needed to have an in depth conversation about the movie you’d just watched.

“The age gap is bad for sure, and she is whiny, I totally get what you’re saying, but-” You’re sitting across from him, elbows resting on your criss-crossed legs.

“But? Y/n. Are you about to defend him?”

“Let me finish!” You giggle and Eddie swears that he can feel it in his chest - another spark.

“I cannot let you finish if you’re about to say what I think you’re gonna say. Morally. Ethically. I cannot let you finish.” In true dramatic Munson fashion, he sweeps his hands in front of him, palm facing out for you to see. He’s almost pouting, lips folded in and corners turned down.

“What I’m trying to say,” you look pointedly at him to see if he’s going to interrupt again, “is that I think that his proposition isn’t so bad when you really think about it.”

“Well now I have to hear your reasoning behind this.”

“Think about it. He’s offering her literally anything she could possibly desire, and all she has to do is love him back.”

“Oh that’s all? I think you’re forgetting the part where he says she has to obey his every whim or whatever the fuck.” Eddie fights the urge to change his tone from teasing to serious - his heart twinging at the idea of making you uncomfortable.

“You don’t think that love is enough? Or that maybe all love has a level of devotion attached to it?”

“I think my idea of love is too fucked to give you a real answer.” He’s refusing to look at you - gaze directed towards his ringed hands fiddling with the metal tab of the soda can, eyebrows furrowed.

“I could fix that, if you wanted - make it all dreamy and hazy for you.”

Eddie can feel the wires in his brain short circuit. In the back of his mind somewhere, he knows that he only has a few seconds to respond before you start to think that maybe you said something wrong, but he can’t seem to reconnect in time. All he manages is an out of breath -

“Yeah?”

“If you wanted, yeah,” you nod, like you’ve decided something, and slowly reach to pull his hand from the soda can - taking it with you and setting it down on the crowded bedside table. “I think you deserve it.”

“Really?” He’s looking at your joined hands, but he doesn’t wrap his fingers around yours. Not yet.

“Yeah, Eddie. Really.”

His fingers finally wrap around yours as you pull him from his position on his stomach to lean over you - rising onto his knees and walking on them before planting his arms on either side of your torso. He can feel your breath, soft against his cheeks as he leans in and connects his lips to yours - once, twice, three times.

That same sparky feeling that Eddie has been getting in his chest all night finally rumbles to life. Like a car being hotwired, he can practically feel your hands pulling wires he thought were long dead and breathing life back into them - rubbing them together until the spark catches and the engine starts.

“That was-” You pull away slightly to look up at him, lovesick and dopey.

“Dreamy? Hazy? I think those are two words I would definitely-”

You laugh, already pulling his face back towards yours.

“Shut up and kiss me again, Munson.”

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

a/n: ahh! thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed this story please like and reblog i would appreciate it endlessly !!!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson my beloved #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine

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lauraneedstochill · 1 year

Text

Confess the longing you are dreaming of

summary: Aemond thinks the woman he has to marry is the most impudent and unsufferable he’s ever met. He’s also never wanted anyone so badly. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader (third person, no mention of Y/N) warnings: bantering and teasing, mentions of unpleasant sexual experience, praise kink (guess who’s got it), a dollop of softness, mild smut (... for starters ;) author’s note: couldn’t get the idea out of my head and spent a few sleepless nights writing this. I imagine her brothers as Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac ✨ words: ~8000 song inspo: Hozier — Better love

>>> Aemond isn’t present when the idea is voiced the first time — he has a hunch that his grandsire is to blame for that. No doubt, Otto was the one to plan it out, come up with arguments served with his persuasive tone. He’s always loved to make arrangements and strike deals, each one of them to play into his hands, and Aemond hates the thought of being just another pawn of his.

He is blindsided at the breakfast but it’s made sound carelessly mundane — as Otto puts down his cup, he throws him the proposal, the way one would leniently throw alms to the poor. And Aemond thinks he must’ve heard him wrong.

“Marry me to... Who?” the prince asks, hardly covering his surprise.

His grandsire directs his gaze at him, the old man’s mouth twitching into a condescending smile. Since Otto isn’t keen on idle talk, he tells him plainly:

“You’ve long been of age, Aemond, you know that,” his knife scratches the plate as he cuts the meat, his eyes not moving from the prince. “House Martell holds power, and we’ll be fortunate to have such allies. Besides,” he pauses to take a bite, and Aemond gets annoyed at waiting; Otto chews, then adds, “I’ve only heard good things about your bride-to-be. Wouldn’t you confirm, Ser Criston?”

The mention of the knight is unexpected to them both — Aemond turns his head to meet Ser Criston’s puzzled look. But the brunet effortlessly copes with his emotions:

“We met when she was just a kid. But I knew she’d grow into a fine lady,” he easily agrees. Mayhaps, too easily for Aemond’s liking so he makes a note to talk about it later on.

His grandsire only lets out a pleased hum. “Well, I’m under the impression she will make a good match for our prince,” and Aemond feels that Otto carefully picks each word, “She’s said to be both beautiful and smart, and known for being quite independent,” he’s usually so stingy with his praise, it’s worth its weight in gold.

But that is not what Aemond hears. The choice was made for him, and his rejection of it makes him paint a portrait less alluring — a pompous wayward woman raised in the traditions that are starkly different from his; and yet, it is expected of him to accept it freely. His wounded ego simmers at the thought.

“I’d add another word to that,” Aegon chimes in, half-drunk already, “Everyone knows the Martells to also be promisc—”

“Look who’s talking,” Otto glares at him, and Aegon shuts his mouth.

The word is left unsaid, only the meaning of it isn’t hard to guess, and Aemond feels embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and weighting down his chest. He deems himself an educated man, well-read and eager to put his knowledge to the test, but he has yet to learn of carnal pleasures. A memory is clawing out: him, ten-and-three and plied with wine, laid on a bed that smelled of sweat, a naked woman next to him. Despite her tireless attempts, he wanted none of it, and the repulsion made him sick — and then it made him hate the act itself.

He did go to the brothel through the years, tried watching, touching, looked at bodies of all sorts, only it felt like putting paint over a rotten wall. He felt constrained, and lacking in some way (perhaps, in many), and more so awfully incomplete. Not once he sensed a spark, a pleasure he would crave, and no amount of effort could help him fill the emptiness inside.

He quells the feeling, pushes in indifference instead, and glances briefly at his mother. She meets his eye but only grants him a faint smile, her own gaze lacking any protest.

“Her brothers wrote that they would visit in a fortnight,” Alicent peacefully explains. “It is our duty to ensure a royal welcome.”

“Brothers?” Helaena blithely chirps. “How many does she have?”

“Four but only two of them are coming,” Otto tells her softly, then looks at Aemond, adding in a voice more wily. “I am convinced they really want to see whom their dear sister is about to marry.”

He doesn’t spell it out but the implication can’t be clearer — Aemond must play the part and make a good impression. As if impressing just one stranger wasn’t tedious enough.

As if he isn’t vexed already by how unsuitable he finds her.

>>> Frustration grows in Aemond with each day, takes roots, and clogs up all his thoughts. Some other man would’ve been glad — he often heard that the Martells are quite the lovers. He can’t admit it to himself how much he’s bothered by his own misfortunes on the love field.

He bottles his emotions up and doesn’t utter any word of discontent, nor does he ever speak of the awaited visit. Although he makes just one exception.

“My grandsire mentioned that you knew her,” he reminds Ser Criston one day after training.

The knight nods. “I crossed paths with Quentyn, he’s the oldest. She used to come to watch us train.”

“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.

Ser Criston ponders for a minute, polishing his sword. “She was a quiet little girl, kept to herself. A lot of boys were always chasing after her, and she paid them all no mind,” he smiles at the memory. “But I remember one of them who was... particularly pesky. His charms didn’t work on her so he got offended, rude, followed her around. She tolerated him for over a month. One morning, he was hassling her in the training yard, and she just took a spear laying nearby — and smacked him with no warning,” he shakes his head but it’s apparent that he isn’t judging. “She didn’t use the pointy end but she got him good. And then she told him that next time he would think twice about his actions. She was impressive for a ten-year-old,” he muses and puts the sword away, then turns to Aemond, giving him a wistful stare. “Frankly, I think that you will like her.”

He does, for just a second, as his mind rushes to paint the image of a fearless little girl; and then he mercilessly wipes that image off. Maybe in other circumstances, he could’ve found amusement in that story, but Aemond only huffs and thinks back to the list of all her traits he prematurely made up. He adds “rebellious” to that list, and his self-doubt is a venom that clouds his judgment. He’s in no rush to find a cure.

>>> Their ship arrives a few hours earlier than planned — and after the dock watchers break the news, the bustle begins. Maids, servants, guards all run and faff about the castle, the dining hall gets filled with smells and noises, plates and dishes clanking.

Aemond is not excited in the slightest.

He dresses up reluctantly, each piece of clothes only dampening his mood that’s been already sour for the past two weeks. He all but drags his feet into the dining hall and by the time he reaches it, he looks so grim that one may think the prince’s preparing for his death, no less.

The minutes fly too quickly for his liking — they barely have time to sit, his mother nervously toying with the tablecloth already, and then the guards rush to announce the guests. Surprisingly, she’s not among them. The prince thinks he should be relieved; deep down, there is a splash of worry fizzling in him.

Her brothers walk in calmly in a cloud of servants bearing gifts. Their kinship is immediately clear — both tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired, self-confidence subsisting in their every step. The oldest is distinguished by a touch of gray in his short beard, his gaze more focused, a slight smile plastered on his face. The other one shamelessly stares at every maid his eyes can catch.

“Your grace, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Quentyn reaches their table first, and Alicent walks down to greet them. He keeps his distance and his smile, his tone is measured. “We were so sad to learn that the King has fallen sick. But I can tell the Kingdom is in great hands. And —”

“Women’s hands do have a healing touch,” Oberyn smoothly interrupts, his accent a bit thicker, his voice honeyed. “I will prefer a Queen over a King at any given day. Unless, of course, your husband can compete with you in beauty... I somehow doubt that.”

A shade of disapproval grazes Quentyn’s face but Alicent is too amazed to notice. The compliment may come off as blunt but she still takes it well, her smile embarrassed yet sincere.

“I hope you will enjoy your stay,” she tells them humbly, then looks over the crowd. “But may I ask where is the lady we’ve been waiting for?”

“She made a stop on our way to catch up with an old friend,” Quentyn answers, ready to explain, “It’s been years since we’ve met Ser —”

“Still can’t believe he is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Oberyn chuckles. “I think it’s all the armor that makes it look like he poses a threat. But you may reconsider if you see him in the nude.”

This time, the older brother glares at him with warning, and there’s a lull in their conversation, while Aemond’s struggling to hear what made his mother’s cheeks so red, his mind nervously preoccupied with someone else —

her laughter enters first.

It’s bright and joyful, a sound so lovely it might be enough to crack up his restraint. But then he spots her, and it feels like his whole body flares up at the sight.

She’s walking with her hand under Ser Criston’s arm, and Aemond’s never seen a dress that covers so much but hides so little. It’s muted orange, floor-length, made of sumptuous silk, with two long slits along the sides, curves of her thighs beguilingly seen through. Her neck and arms aren’t covered, and the material is intricately stitched around her waist to show a few more glimpses of her sun-kissed skin. The waves of her long hair fall on her shoulders and frame her face, each feature of it striking but her lips stand out the most — full, plump, and reddish. Not once before Aemond found the thought of being kissed so tempting.

She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him. She’s talking to Ser Criston quietly, and he’s engaged in conversation, unusually relaxed. Their difference in age is obvious, and the knight seems like just another relative of hers, but an uneasy feeling still leaves a bite on Aemond’s chest. He can’t imagine her so carefree — so beaming and compliant — by his side. His jealousy tastes bitter like a stale wine.

He hears his brother let out a short laugh. “It’s not like they were fucking,” Aegon carelessly notes. “Please ease your outrage before she runs away.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice,” Aemond snarls.

“You do look like you need it,” the blond comments, then goes back to drinking.

She gracefully approaches them, her voice melodic like a murmur of a river. “Forgive me, your grace, for being late, I haven’t seen Ser Criston in some time,” she tells his mother. “He was once a dear friend of mine.”

“I only helped to shush away a few of your admirers,” the knight cackles, earning a smile from her.

“I hope you are making use of all his talents,” she says to the Queen, making her face flush right away.

She delicately moves on to another topic. “It is a pleasure to have you here, you must be tired from taking such a long trip.”

“We found it quite enjoyable,” Quentyn remarks politely. “The beautiful sights along the way are worth the journey, and your city has some great views too.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard great things about your food,” Oberyn grins. “Hence why we took the liberty to bring some of our own,” he signals to the nearest servant, who runs to open one of the trunks they carried. “The dornish fruits are also my sister’s weak spot.”

“As if you don’t gorge yourself on them!” she jests, letting go of Ser Criston’s arm at last. “My brother is a glutton, your grace, please excuse his manners in advance.”

“You can call me Alicent,” his mother corrects her warmly. “Only seems fair to continue this discussion at the table,” she slightly moves away to let the girl go first.

Aemond unintentionally stiffens and only when he stands up from his chair to greet her, she finally does look at him. In contrast to her countenance, her gaze is dark and piercing, and the prince is staggered by how unreadable it is. Her brothers glance at Aemond briefly — Quentyn is pensive, while Oberyn looks like he wants to bite his head off; neither says a word.

She’s seated to his right, and she leaves behind a trail of scent — apples and plums, and he can’t help but catch the movement of her hips under the flowing dress. The words all mash and fall apart, and he can’t pick a single one to strike up a conversation.

Aegon is sitting next to her, and his patience only lasts a minute. “Never knew Ser Criston was such a ladies' man.”

“I’m sure he succeeded on that front but we are merely good friends,” she answers calmly, keeping her eyes on servants bringing fruits — blood oranges and pomegranates, robust grapes, and ripened cherries.

“You two seemed more than friendly,” Aegon presses, his tone evidently taunting.

She picks a golden apricot and runs her thumb over its fragrant surface. “Maybe it’s the wine that makes you see things,” she rebuts and takes a bite out of the fruit, a drop of juice risking to escape her mouth but she wipes it swiftly with her finger. She catches Aemond looking, and his cheeks heat up.

“We’ve never seen him in the company of a woman,” the older prince points out, filling up his cup once more.

She takes out the kernel and eats up the fruit, her mouth glistens. “Aren’t the knights of the Kingsguard forbidden to marry?”

“Never stopped them from bedding whoever they like,” Aegon remarks crudely, and Aemond is thankful that their mother is too preoccupied with Oberyn’s tireless chatting.

“Maybe some men have the decency to follow orders,” she responds, unbothered, taking a cherry and clasping it with her lips. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice and only gulps the wine and rolls his eyes. Aemond can’t look away.

“Aren’t you Martells known for not following the rules? I thought unruly was in your house’s motto,” Aegon argues, a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.

She takes another cherry, the third in a row, her lips already stained with juice. “I think you keep getting your facts wrong,” she brushes him off, and Aegon goes to object some more but spills the wine right on his shirt. The displeased cry brings Aemond out of his trance.

“He tends to do that when he’s drunk,” the one-eyed prince coolly interjects.

Her eyes flicker to him, then she fully turns her head. “So you can actually talk,” her teasing comes off soft but her gaze still burns. “It’s good to know.”

“You seemed preoccupied with someone else,” he musters an excuse.

“Do you expect your wife to never speak to other men?” her voice almost betrays her disenchantment.

“No,” Aemond quickly answers, caught unawares by how strained his thinking process is. “She— you are free to choose your friends, of course.”

“I’m flattered,” her tone suggesting otherwise, “Not that I would ask for anyone’s approval,” she reaches for a plum; he closes his eye with a sigh.

Aegon comes to stand in between them on the pretext of needing another carafe of wine: “I didn’t mean to interrupt your friendly bickering, please continue.”

“It seems like Aemond isn’t in the mood for talking,” she doesn’t look at him, the tip of her tongue darting to lick her finger. “And I am never in the mood for begging.”

“My brother’s hospitality leaves much to be desired,” Aegon takes a sip. “So I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” his hand falls on her chair. “But if you ever wish to be... well satisfied, all you have to do is ask me”.

It’s hard to tell if Aegon’s actually that drunk or merely provoking (or if he’s got a death wish, Aemond wonders).

She replies without much thought. “Well, if I ever find myself in need of...,” she trails off with a smile but her gaze gets harsh — her words then follow, “My choice won’t fall on you,” the smirk falls off Aegon’s face, and she glances straight at Aemond, adding, “I like them taller.”

But her straightforwardness is met with his resistance, with the deep-rooted unacceptance of his lurking needs. He adds “indecent” to the list, and they speak no more.

>>> Her boldness doesn’t pose a problem to anyone but him. To his surprise (or more so to his shock), his mother gives in first.

The morning can’t come fast enough for Aemond after he spends the night tossing and turning. A few hours later he rushes to the garden for a walk, overwhelmed by restlessness his training didn’t help him cope with. That’s when he sees it — a spot of yellow shining through the trees. He somehow knows it’s her without further confirmation but still, his feet carry him on.

Her dress is vivid like a field of marigolds, her hair plaited, wrists adorned with golden bracelets. He slackens pace and peers into her — and he wants nothing more than to drink her up, her whole appearance is the sweetest nectar... Until he hears another sound and realizes she is not alone, and it’s his mother sitting by her side, wrapped in her favorite green and, unexpectedly, in glee. He can’t remember when he saw her laugh like this — out loud, giggling, tears at the corners of her eyes are not from sadness but from joy.

“My dear, that is so improper! Did he apologize at least?” Alicent inquires with a smile.

“Oberyn rarely does,” she tells her serenely. “His lover looked way more ashamed. I hope each of your rooms has locks, gods know I don’t want to walk in on him again.”

Unlike his mother who is covered by the shade of trees, she’s bathing in the sun, the soft light caressing her skin, and Aemond’s eye greedily follows every ray. In barely a minute he feels warm all over.

“I hope that Aemond’s chambers got locks too,” she adds all of a sudden, a bit louder, and his chest is splashed with cold.

His eye moves to her face, and she’s already looking at him, direct and daring. He knows he’s hidden by the trees but there’s no hiding from her gaze.

Aemond turns away and steps back in haste, his abashment mixed with grievance at her implication. He believes someone like her would never lust for him, and her jokes at his expense not only hurt but prompt his resentment to grow stronger. He adds “deceptive” to the portrait of her he is so adamantly set on painting.

>>> She wins Helaena’s heart with ease. His sister fondly compliments her brooch — a little poppy made out of gold — and she gifts it to Helaena the same day. The silver-haired princess grabs at chance to show her own collection, and they spend the day looking through the jewels spread over the floor, sitting right there and equally amused.

And that’s how Aemond finds them. He only planned to see his nephews but hearing her voice coming from Helaena’s chambers makes him slow his step.

“... And this one he gave me for my latest name day,” Helaena babbles cheerfully.

“Aemond clearly spoils you,” she laughs without a shade of envy. “As he should!”

“He is very kind at heart,” Helaena eagerly assures her. “You will be happy with him, I am certain of it.”

There is a pause that makes him feel uneasy, makes him sneak up closer to the room.

“I do believe he’s not an evil man,” she finally says, “Maybe he just wasn’t made for marriage.”

Surely she can’t see him through the door but he can swear that he feels her gaze, like a silent challenge, a hidden mocking. He barges in without a knock.

Helaena beams. “We were just talking about you!”

His sister’s dress is milky blue, modestly pretty, and loosely fitted. It’s also treacherously pale compared to the liquid gold the Martell girl is dressed in. She’s sitting with her feet under her thighs, the bending of her back is bare and in plain sight. He should’ve walked away the second he heard the sound of her voice because not looking at her seems impossible.

“Oh, you came to see the twins? They are with Aegon but I can call— No, I will bring them back myself,” Helaena springs to her feet, rosy-cheeked and smiley, and leaves the room before Aemond can protest. And then it’s just the two of them.

He takes a breath and makes an effort, with his jaw tense and his blood rising, to drag his eye away from her. It feels as pointless as ignoring sunlight in an open field on a summer day. Only her beauty is more brazen — and so is her wit.

“I take it, gold isn’t your favorite color,” she speaks up with an impish tone. “Would be a bad idea to wear it on our wedding then.”

She never comes too close, always just a little out of reach, and yet he feels as if her presence grips him, weakening his will. He doesn’t want to be with her until he is — and then he has no wish to leave.

It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.

“Why did you agree to come?” he bristles.

“You are not asking about your sister’s chambers, are you?” she clarifies, and he hears her smiling.

He tells himself he only needs to cast a glance to check.

He does — he meets her gaze — her earrings catch the sunlight and cast a trail of glares — the scattering of specks play on her skin, her neck and collarbones, sneak to her upper chest — his own is heaving. His struggle only lasts a moment but it leaves him short of breath. He isn’t looking anymore, his eye trying to discern the pattern on the drapes behind her.

“Our marriage, how do you benefit from it?” he hates how hard it is to control his voice.

And how she watches him intently without giving him a clue of what’s on her mind.

“I plan on visiting my family a couple of times a year. It will be easier to do on dragon back,” she doesn’t sound spiteful when she says it but her words still sting.

He can’t stop an image flashing through his mind: her on top of Vhagar, lungs full of air, pressed to him. It’s tempting — to have her in his hands, and yet the vision is too intangible to cling to. Instead, he thinks that in just three days she learned to play him like a harp, his years' worth of self-control is merely a sand castle against the tide of her sharp tongue.

He only snickers dryly at her reply, then they both hear the sound of running footsteps. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys rush to greet him — but almost instantly abandon, the kids' attention drawn to the shining golden dress.

He thinks “unruly” suits her better than does “pompous”. He comes up with a fake excuse to leave; the image of her stays with him.

>>> He picks more adjectives as the week goes on — she’s audacious, disobedient, wanton. She moves around the castle as if she owns every room she’s in. She wears less, and even on rare occasions when she doesn’t, her defiance more than compensates for it. She never shies away from a deep neckline, nor does she feel the need to hold back her resounding laughs. Her jewelry clinks, each of her dresses is brighter than the other, but it’s her wicked mouth his eye always falls on first.

More times than not, Aemond can’t tear his gaze away, each meal for him now both a torture and a feast.

He watches as she parts her lips, puts them around a luscious grape, a cherry, or a peach, she swipes her tongue to lick up every running drop, savoring its tang — and keeps eye contact with him. He barely can taste the food he’s eating, and no wine can quench his thirst, his body flooding with a feeling he can’t define, his heart adrift.

He tries to fight it off with all our strength. He scratches off “unruly” to write down “unabashed” instead.

But then the dinner comes, and even though he’s never had a taste for sweets, he thinks he’d eat them from her lips (deep down, he wants to). The lies he tells himself are brittle like the flesh of fruits under her teeth.

>>> He comes to think “insufferable” fits her the best. That thought rings in his head while he is standing in the stable, his eye on anything but her. He was informed she wished to pick a horse, and he begrudgingly agreed to come, only to keep up the pretense.

What turns out to be much harder is for him to keep restraint. The dress she’s wearing might as well be a chemise — it’s just as light and white, and much to his discomfort, it also tirelessly risks hiking up to expose more of her legs.

Discomfort, mayhaps, isn’t the right word for it.

He stays out of her way but, unsurprisingly, he ends up looking — at how she walks, spring in her step, swinging her hips. She gives each horse a piece of apple and feeds them by hand, strokes their muzzles, and then she mounts and rides them, one by one. She grabs the reins, her foot easily finds the stirrup, and as she swings her leg over the saddle, her dress slips up, showing a few inches of her skin.

He swallows thickly, glances more intently — over her dainty ankles, bending of her knees, he notes how smooth her skin is, soaking up the sun. Her dress then billows slightly, and his eye glides higher, hungry, follows up the contour of her thighs that bounce a little as the horse gallops.

He feels it blooming — a sensation with no name that travels from the lower chest down to his very navel, then spreads and tightens all that’s underneath.

He is so deep in his enthrallment, he doesn’t hear the steps approaching until there’s someone standing next to him. Quentyn stays silent for a minute, throwing him a sideways glance.

“My sister’s always been terribly picky,” the man says out of the blue, “And usually it’s hard to meet all of her demands,” — it doesn’t seem like it’s the horses he is talking of. The vagueness of it makes Aemond focus as he takes his eye off her but Quentyn doesn’t elaborate, giving him a smile instead. “I do admit, your patience is commendable. Some other man would’ve already interfered just to wrap the process up.”

“I was under the impression she doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Aemond replies evasively.

“You guessed it right,” Quentyn titters, his tone veiled with the same unclear meaning when he adds, “The only thing left for us all is to accept it,” and with that, he goes to join his sister.

When Aemond — tamely, almost yielding — takes a peek at her, his gaze collides with Oberyn’s who clearly watched them talk. Unlike his older brother, he prefers to stay away, but the mischief in him pairs really well with danger. He grants Aemond a nod, switching attention back to her, his threats unspoken for the meantime.

For just a second, it gives Aemond pause as he finds it odd that no one brings up their wedding, and no announcements have been made ever since she came. He doesn’t mull over it for long because her laughter interrupts his thoughts (or maybe he just yearns for any chance to look at her). She rides around the yard, her hair floating in the wind, a little breathless but breathtaking, her lips enticing and her curves making his throat dry.

He tries to ground himself, to look for explanations, for some reprieve from the entrancing spell he’s under — he’s never been so close to losing reason —

out of the corner of his eye, he sees a couple of guards dropping their gaze in poor attempts to stop themselves from gawking; it reins his passion, bringing back his jealousy instead. He’s way too used to seeing himself unworthy to even entertain the thought of having her, and his denial prickles. He wants to burn his feelings out, and anger helps with that — it breaks out and engulfs him fast, hardening both his heart and gaze.

“Quentyn is the friendliest of the two, and you couldn’t hold a conversation?” Aegon appears out of nowhere, seemingly displeased despite the bottle in his hand. “Must you always be so gruff? I stayed behind in hopes you’d make it work!” he waves at Oberyn then glares at Aemond, waiting for a reply. “Are you pretending to be deaf or...?”

“Must she test my patience?” Aemond mutters, his tone not jealous but exasperated, his eye boring into her, “Putting herself out like that for all the men to see.”

Aegon being speechless is a rare sight. He cannot fathom it at first, looking from Aemond back to her, confusion sobering him up. And then he grins, realization creeping up on him; there are some things he’s always quick to notice.

“It’s funny that you say that,” he leans in to tell him and catches Aemond’s gaze, “Since it’s just you who’s staring,” Aegon pats him on the back and leaves to greet her brothers.

Aemond tries to choke it down — his irritation and his shame combined, but it’s too much for him to handle, his head and heart clearly in conflict. He doesn’t wait for her to make a choice, retiring without sparing her a glance (a fear nibs at him that if he looks at her once more, he will stay rooted to the ground).

He doesn’t leave his chambers for the remainder of the day, dining all alone and fuming all the same. He’s usually good at curbing his emotions but he is having trouble understanding them, wanting nothing more than to erase all memories of her. But even in his solitude, he catches himself thinking — about her cunning smile and swaying hips, her eyes on him, his hands wanting to roam and touch and —

Aemond shoves unwanted thoughts away and goes to bed earlier than usual. He remains steadfast in his resolve to find some peace, he makes a conscious effort to shift his focus to all the boring, random things his mind can come up with until he is too tired to care.

But then he falls asleep, and his subconscious welcomes her. He sees her right before his eye in that obscenely short white dress, there are no people in the yard, her tantalizing moves all meant for him. She hops off her black horse and walks to him without a single word — anticipation makes him drop his guard and hold his breath — and then he feels her lips on his, her body pressing into him, his hunger for her ruining his self-control, the kiss is searing, suffocating, driving him insane, his fingers pulling up her dress —

he wakes up painfully aroused.

He lays in bed, his heartbeat rushing, his breathing ragged, and vision blurred. While he’s still grasping for the remnants of his dream, he sneaks his hand into his breeches, wishing he could rip her dress off and sheath himself inside her, spread her on his bed, and drink every salacious sound she makes... It only takes him a few strokes to spill over his fingers; he can’t remember if he’s ever reached his peak so fast.

And only then, as he comes down from his high, it hits him, like lightning in the dark — in spite of her remarks, her audacity, her dresses, and every cruel adjective he’s found for her, he’s never wanted anyone so badly. Aemond sits up abruptly, his sleep gone, giving way to stubbornness that comes hand in hand with reticence. He persuades himself that he’ll suppress this — the spark, the pleasure that he craves, and he won’t be a slave to his desires.

He’ll rid himself of feelings, of this lust. Inevitably it will wane.

>>> It doesn’t.

Desire is a guest that never leaves, unwanted but demanding space, attention, time. It slips into his thoughts the moment he wakes up, it whispers in his ears, never giving up, it’s layered in between his clothes and his skin. He hides it well from everyone; it lodges deeper into him.

Desire is a cherry in her mouth, each fruit she bites in, savors, drinks the juice from. He doesn’t want to watch — he can’t take his eye off her, caught in his fervor like in undertow, the flavor of her lips the only one he truly yearns for.

Desire bruises more than does a hit, cuts deeper than a blade, and there’s no weapon he can fight it off with. His training brings him no relief, and he can’t sweat it out or wash it off him, and even while he soaking in a bath, it feels like longing only rises back with steam.

Desire waits for him at night, stands by his bed, slides right under the covers with him. He dreams of her, and in those dreams, her body sings under his every touch, trembles from his praise, his hands and mouth paint her with marks and kisses. He wakes up with his chest aflame and out of breath, and then it takes all of his willpower not to crawl to her.

It staggering how much he really wants her, and he hates himself for it.

>>> It’s been three weeks and they have barely shared a word. He does his best to cut down their encounters and avoid her, he doesn’t argue and takes no offense, he hopes that if he pulls back just enough she will give up and let him be.

Aemond spends his evenings in the study, his table piled with books, and for a couple of hours, it does help to take his mind off things. The night already steals in while he’s searching through the shelves for scrolls, too caught up in the process to pick up the creaking of his door.

Her gaze nearly scalds him. He only looks up out of surprise — and then he freezes at the spot, his heart a stone that plummets to his stomach.

Out of everything she’s worn, this dress might be the one to bring him to his knees — the cutting out the front so low, his eye falls in the hollow between her breasts; he envies fervently the golden chain that rests there. He takes in her whole body, bare arms, and flaunting forms, all clad in deep dark green. He’s never seen her pick that color (and he can’t help but think she put it on for him).

He’s brought back from his stupor when their eyes meet — and startled by the determination in her gaze.

“Ser Criston told me that you missed your training,” she stately starts walking toward him, “Quite a few times this week.”

“I found myself preoccupied with other things,” he clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back, the scrolls forgotten.

“With reading, I assume?” she almost sounds aggrieved (he wants to ask what else she’d rather have him do) but then her tone gets jaunty. “Would you mind if I join?”

“Actually, I would,” Aemond takes his eye off her, his coldness feigned. “I’d like to avoid distractions.”

And more than anything, he would like for her to leave; she’s not the one to give up so easily. “Maybe we can learn some things together?” she nonchalantly insists, and that ambiguity — deliberate or not — leaves his face suffused with pink.

“I highly doubt you take interest in the things I study,” he manages, his crudeness biting his own tongue.

She only sneers, already nearing his table. “You surely rush to judgment.”

“And I am never wrong.” (Although he’s been wrong once before.)

“That’s very humble of you.” (And she’s tenacious with her intent to prove him wrong again.)

“I am surprised you know that word,” he replies too hastily — and instantly regrets his outburst.

And his attempts to get away from her could’ve been valiant, but only left him feeling like a coward.

She’s got enough courage to spare. “Oh, my apologies, did I strike a nerve?” her hip grazes a stack of books. “You sound so displeased with my behavior,” she puts her hands right on his table, her cleavage in full view.

“You interrupted my studies,” he’s looking only at her face.

“Just this one time,” she clears up, her sly smile is a dare, “Sounds like you have quite a few complaints.”

Damned be her dress and the day he laid his eye on her. “It’s clear as day that we have nothing in common,” he hisses, her persistence molding his anger. “From your bawdy humor to your reckless behavior and your...,” he struggles to push the word through his mouth, “vulgar dresses — everything suggests that we will never make a good couple.”

He catches a gleam in her gaze but it’s not threatening nor hurt — and when the corners of her mouth curl up, her face expression actually looks amused. “I didn’t realize my presence tormented you that much,” she crosses arms over her chest, her hands under her breasts; he looks away that very instant. “So will it please you if I take my vulgar dresses and go back home and leave you be?”

He wants to say it will — he’s thought of it for days — but now he isn’t sure. The dreams he has of her will hardly be enough as every image he collected has got nothing on the real form.

“Is there anything that does?” she asks him suddenly and takes a step in his direction, and then another one.

Belatedly, he realizes that he’s backed against the wall. The air in the room heats up, and Aemond moves back to his table, fingers holding to its edge to find some balance. “...Does what?”

“Please you,” she swiftly clarifies, now standing at arm’s length.

“That isn’t any of your concern,” he wants to glance away and yet, his eye is drawn to her.

“I am inclined to disagree,” her lips stretch into a smile. “Shouldn’t a wife know how to make her husband feel good?”

“We are not married yet,” he tries to argue weakly.

“I’d like to learn beforehand,” but her assertiveness works quicker than his doubts.

The time is still, and seconds drag like hours. His heart leaps at the thought of being all alone with her, his concentration crumbling, his self-restraint already hanging by a thread.

“The way you look at me suggests you aren’t averse to the idea,” she tells him in a low voice, her eyes two glowing embers. Aemond gulps, she deftly rounds the table. “You act so cold and so collected,” she muses, coming closer, and he helplessly steps back. “But I am yet to meet a man who would deny himself the pleasure of laying with a woman,” her voice is warm and warming; his legs bump into the chair, prompting him to sit.

He hesitates for barely a moment but his quick reaction fails him because the next thing he knows, she’s standing next to him, her golden chain casting a blinding glint — he blinks — and then she’s straddling him, her thighs on either side of his.

Aemond’s mouth falls slack as he becomes aware: to lift her he will have to touch her. He glances down at her legs that sneaked out through the long slits of her dress, all bare to the very hips before him.

“I wonder if you are too spoiled by the attention of the ladies? Mayhaps you’ve got so satiated, the intimacy doesn’t bring you any joy,” she runs her fingers up his chest.

He only finds it in himself to shake his head. She isn’t satisfied with that reaction. “Or do you simply find it boring and have a taste for something else?”

Objection bubbles in his throat but he gets no chance to voice it — he barely registers a clinking sound before he feels cold steel pressed under his chin, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his own dagger. He meant to leave it at the training yard but it completely slipped his mind.

“Does this work better? I’ve heard that you Targaryens have peculiar tastes,” her other hand lands on his shoulder, his chest is stirring with emotions he can’t read.

“That’s not— No,” he mumbles, his voice raw, the weight and feeling of her body overwhelming.

She cocks her brow at him in disbelief. “No? So it’s just plain old satiation then?” she makes no attempt to press the blade but her questions do get pushy. “Must be so hard when women throw themselves at you ever since you were... What was it, ten? Twelve years of age?”

He would expect her to sound teasing — instead, he hears disappointment. That’s the reaction he is used to getting.

“My brother took me to a pleasure house when I was ten-and-three. He said it’s time to get it wet,” he forces out, “And it was...,” awful and humiliating, something he wishes to forget, “...Not what you are describing.”

Her face expression changes — first surprised, then splashed with sadness, and her every feature softens. Aemond sees her opening her mouth to speak but he averts his gaze, abasement scrabbling at him. His eye falls closed, and he keeps thinking that now she will get up and leave, and there won’t be any wedding, and he’s got no reason to get so overly upset already, and —

she sheathes his dagger without a word, the unexpected movement making him breathe out.

And then she dips her head down, and her lips fall on his jaw. Aemond inhales sharply. Her mouth feels softer than it was in all his dreams, and she plants kisses down his throat, moving to the part of it the blade was pressed to. He doesn’t know where to put his hands while hers lock nimbly around his neck.

She pulls back slowly, and he dares to look at her again, trying to catch the merest shadow of pretense but there is none.

“I am truly sorry that you had to go through that,” she tells him quietly. “Have you tried some more since then?”

“I did,” his answer comes off hurried, blank, “I... I am aware of how the act is done.”

“How the act is done? Aemond, that doesn’t sound enjoyable at all,” she pouts, then gently caresses his face, her voice a tender whisper when she adds, “But it should be.”

He stiffens, waiting for the discomfort to wake up, for the aversion to coil his guts, to trigger the jarring need to move away. None of that happens. Instead, he feels her fingers running through his hair, a calming motion bringing only comfort, her every touch relieving tightness in his chest.

“You seem too tense... We have to work on that,” she joyfully murmurs. “Unless, of course, my worry causes you distress,” her fingers stop, “Do you want me to leave, my prince?”

“No,” he rasps, he almost pleads, “D-don’t.”

She hums with satisfaction, bringing her hands down to unclasp his leather doublet, knowing she won’t meet any resistance. He should resent her for this but he doesn’t (he didn’t and he won’t). The air lays cold over his shirt, and Aemond shivers; she moves her fingers down his firm chest with an unspoken admiration.

“Tell me how it usually goes,” she inquires, one of her hands finding its way back to his silver locks. “Do you find pleasure in undressing them?”

Her warmth envelopes him, scented with cinnamon and peaches. “They come without much clothes,” Aemond blurts out, earning another hum from her.

“And what about you?” she glances curiously at him.

“I don’t... I don’t like them touching me,” he timidly avows, and saying it to her does bring somewhat of a relief.

With both of her hands, she cradles his face, thumbs gently contouring his cheeks — he all but melts into her palms. “And yet you are so responsive to the touch,” her voice praises, “So pretty.”

She leans in again, leaving a kiss at the hollow of his throat — and then her mouth travels up, ardent and steady, and he squirms in place. Not out of discomfort.

“You are not supposed to rush it if you want it to feel good,” she whispers in his ear and moves back to catch his gaze. “You never rush into fighting so why love making should be any different?”

Astonishment brightens his face, and she chuckles lightly. “I must confess, I did enjoy watching you train, even though you never noticed. The way you move and twirl your sword,” she’s recollecting breathy, “You are so lithe and fast and so resistant... An infatuating sight.”

She holds his gaze and lifts her hand — he follows it, unblinking, until it finds one of the straps — she hooks it with her fingers. “Fairly soon it made me wonder how would your hands feel... on me,” his heart jolts at her words.

Slowly, she moves the strap aside, baring her breast for him; Aemond’s breathing hitches. She takes his hand in hers, planting a kiss over his knuckles — and then lets his fingers graze her naked skin.

“It was so cruel of you to rob me of my pleasure,” she laments, but he can barely hear a thing, his eye wide as he fixes on the soft swell of her breast, on how her nipple peaks so eagerly under his touch.

She guides his hand over her chest, down to her ribs and waist, letting him brush her every curve, placing his fingers firmly on her hip. And then she reaches for his other hand and lowers the other strap; his body trembles. The layers of his reticence are all peeled at once, leaving his desire raw and undisguised, unshackled. He’s drawn to fondle, clutch at her plump breasts but her grip is tight and taunting, not letting his fingers roam free.

Still, when both his hands sink into her hips, he realizes that he’s getting harder by the second.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by her. With a controlled, torturously slow move she drags her clothed core over his straining cock. His mouth stays closed but there’s a sound — a muffled moan caught in his throat.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” she teases, lightly tugging on his hair, her lips reaching the column of his neck. “With how much you read, I hoped you’d be more generous with words,” each of her kisses weightless like a drop of rain but then her mouth finds a spot below his ear and suckles at it, pulling a whimper from his chest.

He thinks he should... his mind goes blank after another movement of her hips, and she picks up the pace, merciless and sensuous. He tries biting down his moans but only hurts his mouth. She notices, her rapt eyes on him, and puts her finger on his lower lip:

“Please, don’t be shy with me,” she coos, her gentle touch soothing his bitten flesh, “Our desires coincide,” she earnestly affirms him — and the spark erupts and drags him into pure bliss.

He feels that his arousal leaks, his breeches way too tight to hide it, his fingers dig into her supple skin, but she gives no complaints. He watches breathlessly through his hooded eyelid as she grinds against him, then looks over her bouncing breasts, her nipples pebbled, and the pressure curls somewhere down his spine. She peppers him with kisses — the angles of his face, neck, everything that she can reach, except for his desirous mouth. And yet the softness of her lips and hands, her skin that’s draped with the redolent scent, the rhythm of her hips all bring him closer to the edge.

Her forehead is pressed to his, their lips an inch away but never fully touching. “Let go for me,” she says against his mouth, “My handsome, fierce dragon.”

That does it for him. He harshly presses her to him, then shudders with a strangled moan and comes undone, his eye squeezed shut as her name quivers in his mouth. The pleasure whirls him in and leaves him drained and stunned, a little bit light-headed.

It takes Aemond a minute to recover before he finds her gaze again — and in another minute he discerns her shallow breaths, her parted lips, brows slightly furrowed. He wants to ask her if she reached her peak, if he can help her with it —

but she pulls back.

She stands up and only briefly grabs his shoulder, steadying herself, then promptly puts the straps back on, fixing her dress. He wants to lend a hand but she moves it away, leaning in to lightly caress his face. “No, you don’t get to have me yet. I want you to admit it first, to say that you want me,” her words are laced with dignity but cooling to his mind.

She steps back, cruelly fast, the only consolation is her naughty tone. “Until then, I have to satisfy myself some other way. But I will think of you while doing it, my dear prince,” she promises, a ghost of a smile on her lips, and then walks out without looking back.

The silence feels unwelcome in the room and hangs over the ceiling like a cloud, but Aemond he is too dazed to move, spent and perplexed to wrap his head around it.

Desire, it seems, has come to stay.

But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling.

✧... YES, there will be a second part, it’s already in the works! ✧ and yes, I didn’t bother to rename Pedro’s character 'cause I adore Oberyn sue me

✧ just to clarify, I usually age Aemond up to 20 (or however old Ewan looks to you ;) ✧ I got inspired after watching the video for ROSALÍA’s “La Fama” (give it a watch, she is soooo 🥵) but I only found it because of this gorgeous gifset so shout-out to OP for giving me inspiration

✧ my recent fic (couples who kill together, stay together 🔥) ✧ my masterlist

thank you @amiraisgoingthruit for letting me tag you in every silly story of mine, hope you’ll like this one (if anyone else wants to be tagged, don’t be shy)

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

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azrielbrainrot · 7 months

Text

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 3

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: When your own identity is challenged you're forced to find an ally in what you thought was the most unlikely place.

Warnings: Angst, Memory loss, mentions of death

Word Count: 5950

Notes: Sorry for the wait but I had to map things out to answer all the questions I started in the previous chapters (set myself up there) and lack of motivation was kicking my ass. Still, I hope you enjoy!

Part 2 ○ Part 4

You were picking at the food on your plate as Azriel stared at you, looking like he'd rather feed you himself. As hungry as you were, everything was hard to stomach. You tried to tell him as much but had only been met with a scolding, he seemed extremely interested in your health. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was content with watching you even if you never actually gave him anything. It seemed like the spymaster wasn't too preoccupied with the fact that he had caught you stealing from his High Lord.

Following your sudden breakdown, Azriel had managed to calm you down enough, insisting that you didn't talk about anything else until you ate and were ready for it. Your eyes still hurt and were probably puffy from the tears that had flowed not even an hour ago, and your head still ached, even if it didn't come anywhere close to the excruciating pain you felt before.

The same feeling as before still crawled under your skin, the same questions swirling around in your mind, but you managed to find your composure after the ache had transformed into something manageable and the tears had dried. Admittedly, you were a bit scared of prying into your mind and triggering the same reaction as before - it really had felt like your brain was trying to forcefully escape your skull.

You were still trying to make sense of everything, denying that you were missing important information wouldn't help you. There was no way Azriel was confusing you for someone else, not with the way your body reacted to him and the dreams you've had for far longer than you've been here. There was also the problem of you being a prisoner in this room, as nice and attentive as your prison guard has been there has to be a punishment waiting for you.

When your head felt like it was going to burst, you could swear someone else had barged into the room but you couldn't stay focused on it or hear what they were saying through your own desperate screams. You think you saw something red glinting, but didn't even make out anyone's form, your vision was too blurry. You're not even sure how many of them walked through the door. By the time you came to and calmed down it was only you and Azriel in the room again, and all you could feel was his arms around you, grounding you.

You bite down on another small piece of sausage, arranged as if they were meant to feed a child - you hadn't seen him cut them but you know it has to be his work - as you remembered how desperate he sounded in that moment. You're not sure if the soothing words he whispered in your ear were meant for you or for himself, he was just short of begging you to be okay. It was a little embarrassing to think about how fragile he had seen you in that moment but it was even worse remembering how intimately he held you.

Looking up at Azriel, you're not surprised to meet his eyes, they haven't left you for longer than a second, it's like he's scared you'll disappear if he looks away. You can still see the concern swirling in the beautiful hazel.

You had so many questions, knew he had even more, but you weren't sure where to even begin. Any hope of him starting to talk was evaporating faster with every second. He had told you he wouldn't bring anything up until you were ready but you thought he'd at least ask about the robbery, start off easy. You couldn't push your doubts aside any longer, it felt like you were both playing a part, ignoring the elephant in the room.

“Azriel?” His name triggers the same reaction every time you say it. You might have to go to a healer if you survive this, having your heart fluttering so often can't be healthy.

“Yes?” He leans closer letting his wings pull in closer to his body, ready to give you his undivided attention.

You've noticed how his wings move with him and can give you small clues on what he might be feeling sometimes, like a cat's ears, perking up or dropping with his emotions. The same happens with his shadows really, moving towards you when they're interested, like a tail you suppose.

“There's something wrong.” His eyes open wide and he's on his feet before you can even blink, standing over you and reaching out for your hand. That might not have been the best way to start.

“What's wrong?” He holds onto your wrist, feeling for your pulse. “Does it hurt again?”

“No, nothing hurts,” you try to calm him down, cheeks slightly flushed. “I mean this.” You gesture between the two of you, hoping he's aware of the terrified expression on his face. “You're worried about me.” He visibly relaxes at that, understanding you're not physically hurting again.

“Of course, I am.” He sits on the side of the bed, never letting go of your wrist but holding onto it a little softer, drawing circles with his thumb over your skin. You're not even sure if he's doing it on purpose, or if it simply comes naturally.

“Why would you be?” You have an idea of the answer, he's already made it more than clear that he knows you very well. “I thought you'd be guarding me to make sure I didn't escape but you've been taking care of me instead.”

His eyes roam over your desperate face, taking notice of every expression you make. He's probably scared of saying something that will send you into the same state as before, clawing at your head to stop, but you can see how much he wants to tell you, to stop pretending.

“You're my wife,” he admits, a small smile playing on his lips right after, like saying the word is enough to make him happy, and looks down at his hand still wrapped around your wrist, running his thumb down the veins to the palm of your hand, loosely holding it instead.

“I don't…” You thought there had to be some sort of romantic relationship between you and him, or the person he thinks you are, but you didn't expect him to say wife. “I've never been married.” You never even thought it would be a possibility with your job.

Him thinking you're his wife definitely answers a lot of questions, mostly the reason why you aren't in a dark dungeon after what you've done to them, but it just opens up a whole other box of chaos.

You set the plate aside, knowing you can't keep any more food down with the way the conversation has to go. You wish you could just crawl into your own bed, in your own home and wait until all of this mess passes. Running a hand down your face, you steel yourself, recognizing you need to get to the bottom of this, not only for your sake but his as well. Whatever was at play here was larger than you could have imagined.

“I don't remember you at all, Azriel,” you admit. He just nods, almost pouting, without looking away from your hand still clutched in his. “But I've dreamt about you.” He perks up at that, surprised eyes darting up to meet yours.

“I dream about you almost every night,” he admits softly, a reddish tint covering the tips of his ears.

“If I'm supposed to be your wife, should I be offended that it's not every night?” The lame joke does nothing to ease your nerves, as you intended, but the blinding smile he rewards you with certainly makes the next words easier to come out.

“What you called me before… that's not my name,” you continue slowly, “My name is Maya.”

“Maya,” he tries it out but the discomfort is obvious on his face. To your surprise, you don't like how it sounds coming from him either, while every other word he utters sounds like honey.

“I know that's my name. I know I'ver never been here or met you before,” you explain, “I know I never married you either. I can account for every year of my life, there are no gaps in my memories. You're not in any of them, neither is this house,” you look into his eyes the whole time, squeezing his hand slightly, wanting him to feel your sincerity, “but there's something wrong.”

He studies your face with an unreadable expression. If this whole situation is hard for you to wrap your head around, you can't imagine what it is like looking in from the outside. The only reason you believed him was because of your body's response to him, but all he can see is a female who looks just like his wife yet doesn't recognize him.

His hand leaves yours as he takes the ring he was wearing off slowly, taking your hand and depositing it on your palm gently.

“What's this?” It's a simple silver ring, worn out from what you assume is years of training and fighting while wearing it. Your heart palpitations come back the longer you study it, you know it.

“My wedding ring,” he almost whispers, “You had yours when…” You look up at him and he shakes his head almost imperceptibly, “I don't have it.”

You nod and let it fall on your finger, in place of where your own wedding ring would be. It's too big on you, it would likely be too loose even if you had put it on your thumb, but you almost don't want to take it off. Goosebumps spread all over your body, your heart rate picking up.

“Do you feel anything?”

“I'm not sure I can explain it,” you breathe, not fully understanding the reaction your body has to him.

“Try me,” he insisted.

“Ever since I heard about this mission and stepped foot into this city, it feels like my brain is screaming at me to remember something really important but I can't,” you say, watching the way the wedding band hangs around your finger, “and when I put this ring on just now.” You hold up your hand for him to see, the light catching on it.

You look up at him before continuing, “When I first saw you. When you told me your name. When I… When I stabbed you.” Your eyes travel to his stomach, where an open wound had been just a few hours ago. “I feel a pain in my chest.” It makes itself known again as you think of the way his blood had dripped down your hands. “Holding the ring feels right. Saying your name feels right. But hurting you… didn't.” You take a deep breath in, knowing there's no going back, “So, as insane as this whole situation is, I think I believe you, Azriel.”

The admission lingers in the air as both of you feel its weight. Acknowledging the particular situation you've found yourselves in is only the beginning. Now you must try to understand what happened and how to fix things, if you want that. Part of recognizing what Azriel told you as the truth comes with accepting that some of your life was a lie, and, at this moment, you have no tangible evidence for what is real or not aside from the goosebumps you get when the male in front of you touches you. You don't even know who you truly are.

“If you say I'm your wife then what made me leave?”

“You didn't,” the hesitation is almost tangible in his tone, “I thought you were dead.” Your hand immediately shoots up to your neck, feeling the softened scar under your fingertips. The movement seems to break the dam holding his emotions in check, making everything flow out at once.

“I don't know what happened,” he lets go of you and stands up, running a hand through his hair and pacing around as he explained with an anguished voice, “It was a simple mission. We never found out how exactly but it looked like you were taken by surprise and attacked by bandits. My shadows told me they couldn't sense you so I went to meet you but when I got there all I saw was blood. There was so much blood.”

When he meets your eyes again you can clearly see the tears gathering in them, the pain that still lingers from recalling that moment.

“I looked for you. We all did. We searched in every corner of the world, I sent spies everywhere. We found the bandits and made them talk but when they left your body was still there and your throat was cut.” His wings droop, the bottoms of it touching the floor. Azriel looks defeated. “We thought you were dead. I tried denying it for a while but it came to a point where I couldn't anymore. But now you're here and I- Fuck. I should have kept looking. I shouldn't have given up so easily.”

“Azriel,” you call for him, bringing his attention back to you. The desperation and raw pain in his voice were breaking your heart. “Whatever happened wasn't your fault.”

“I should have found you,” he whispers, completely contrasting with his tone mere moments before.

“You thought I was dead.” The words are hard to form, and you can't linger on them too long. You always knew the injury you suffered was severe, that it had been near miraculous that you survived but finding out there were people out there that truly believed you were dead was chilling. “This whole situation still feels impossible, there's no way you could have known I was still alive.”

He nods at you, but you can clearly see he can't let go of it. The attentiveness and overprotection he's been showing you makes much more sense now. Azriel sits on the chair he has barely left since you were brought to this room. He seems to try to regain his composure, combing back the hair he had tousled and bringing his wings up closer to his body again. But his eyes don't meet yours like before.

You fall back against the headboard, the impact softened by the pillows he fluffled out for you, picking at his wedding ring still on your finger. You feel like you're going insane. Maybe letting the guild find you wouldn't be so bad, at least they'd put you out of your misery. Though it's hard to ignore the fact that they seem to be the ones who put you in this situation, letting you live a lie for almost a century.

“It's been a century since then,” you repeated aloud, “And you still…” Love me? You wanted to say, but that wasn't really you, not for now at least. You don't remember anything of your time together, or about yourself. Maybe the only thing that survived was your body. There's a possibility that the female he loved had actually died, that he'll never fully get her back even if you regain your memories.

“I told you,” the smile you witnessed earlier comes back to his face, even if with only half the prior intensity, “I dream about you almost every night.”

“This doesn't make any sense.” You had moved to sit cross legged over the covers, tired of laying in bed when your body wasn't even hurting. Nibbling on a chocolate cookie the House, who Azriel told you is sort of sentient, gave you.

“I know.” He had calmed down since his outburst, going back to what you assume is closer to his usual demeanor, though he might not always act the same as when his dead wife is sitting across from him. His shadows seemed to have relaxed as well, most of them had left him in favor of swirling around the room like smoke. “When I saw you in the living room, I thought you came back.”

“But I came to rob you instead.”

He lets out a chuckle, “I couldn't have imagined that in my wildest dreams.” His gaze turns a bit more serious before he adds, “my High Lord and High Lady want to speak to you.”

“I figured as much.” You were actually surprised they hadn't shown up yet, the sun was already close to setting. “Did you tell them you think I'm your wife?”

“They know. You and Rhys were friends too.”

The thought that you could be friends with a High Lord is almost laughable, but so was being married to his shadowsinger and yet the fluttering of your heart every time he speaks to you in that deep, soft voice of his doesn't lie.

You think for a bit, remembering the information you had been granted before coming on your mission. Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, the most powerful one in history and the bearer of one of the most sought-after and frightening abilities - daemati. It's said his mate, the recently turned fae, Feyre Archeron, shares the same talent.

“Is it true that he's a daemati?” He simply nods, knowing you're following his train of thought.

“You want him to look into my head.”

“He might be able to find out what happened to you,” he nods, “the reason you forgot me, forgot us.”

“And you're sure he'll want to help me after what I did? He looked pretty mad when I saw him last night,” you say as you chew on your lip.

Granting him passage into your mind might be more than a leap of faith. You've found it easy to talk to Azriel, to trust him, but you haven't met anyone else, and can't trust they won't want to hurt you. Azriel seemed to not care much about your initial reason for coming to the court or even what you did to him but you can't expect everyone to feel the same, even if they had been your friends a century ago. And a daemati could break you beyond repair, even just seeing their abilities in action has always left you unsettled.

“Rhys won't hurt you,” he tells you, his face showing he has no doubts about his words.

“It's not like I have much of a choice anyway,” you brush the crumbs off your nightgown, stretching your legs and moving until you are sitting at the edge of the mattress. It brought you closer to him, your knees brushing his, the feeling of the leather feeling oh so familiar against your bare skin, making your next words come out breathier than you wanted them to, “You can call them.”

Something flashes across his tantalizing eyes when he looks down at your bare legs, noting the change in your tone, but it disappears when he looks back at you, nodding softly and letting his eyelids shut as if to level himself. Some of his shadows come back to him and, as his silence prolongs, you realize he must be speaking to them in his mind, calling his High Lord just as you asked.

The pressure in the room changes as soon as he opens his eyes, the air getting harder to breathe. It's not as strong as what you'd felt the night before but the tamed magic is enough to have the hairs on the back of your neck stand, and a shiver to run down your spine. You truly hope Azriel is right about them.

Azriel stands just as the door opens to reveal his High Lord followed closely by his mate. His unreadable purple eyes study your stiff form, walking inside the room and letting Feyre close the door behind them. She seems more serene, not showing any obvious hostility towards you but you know not to underestimate the human who freed the fae of Prythian.

You stand when they stop in front of you, not letting fear make you appear weak. If they chose to hold you accountable for your actions you would accept their punishment head on.

The first word out of the High Lord's lips is the same name Azriel had called you before, and the same feeling of deja vu consumes you once more.

“Maya,” you correct. His head tilts to the side briefly, before looking over at Azriel who is watching the scene unfold warily.

“Well Maya,” his eyes meet yours again, “Are you going to explain why I've found you lurking around my house?” The venom was clear in his voice, but you expected as much.

“I was sent here on a mission,” you say as emotionlessly as you can, just like the guild taught you, “I was supposed to find an ancient book with a particular set of runes, it seems it belonged to your grandfather.” You hope the lack of information doesn't make you appear suspicious because it truly is the only thing the guild had deemed enough for you to be able to complete your mission. “Since I failed the mission, they've probably already sent assassins after me, in case I tell you or anyone about them.”

“No one is going to hurt you,” Azriel promises, anger rising at the mention of someone wanting to kill you.

“You were in the wrong place for that,” the High Lord responds after a moment, and watching Azriel's reaction. “The book is in the library under this House.”

“It doesn't matter now.”

“You're right, it doesn't. What I want to know is where you've been all these years and why you attacked my brother.”

The pressure in the room increased again but you could now see it was the result of him trying to hold his power down even though his temper was rising.

“Rhys,” his mate warns, but it falls on deaf ears, his striking eyes never leaving yours.

“I don't remember you or him,” you admit.

“So he's told me.” Rhysand didn't sound too convinced. “You won't mind if I check for myself right?” He barely made it sound like a question but you nod in answer all the same.

Black talons scrape along your mental walls as soon as you give him permission, you lower them for him, pushing everything the guild taught you aside, inviting the enemy straight into your mind. If they could see you now you would definitely be mocked and executed on the spot.

His presence is barely felt in your mind before a sharp pain takes your senses, similar to the one you'd felt before. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands moving to hold your head. Scarred hands are on you immediately, holding you up against a strong body before your knees meet the ground. As the talons retreat from your mind, the pressure lessens and you take a few deep breaths before opening your eyes.

When you manage to blink away the wetness making your vision blurry, you find the High Lord looking at you with wide eyes, remorse clear on his face and his mate holding onto his arm.

“What did you do to her?” Azriel's voice was rough with barely restrained anger.

The High Lord ignores him, looking into your eyes as he explains with a notably softer tone than earlier, “There is something blocking your memories. When I tried to bypass it… It hurt you.”

“What does that mean?” Your voice was scratchy, a dull ache lingering in your head. You lean away from Azriel and sit back on the mattress. No use trying to act tough, you're truly at their mercy.

“It means I can't access your memories for the time being,” the change in his demeanor would give you whiplash if the pain you were feeling gave way long enough for you to focus on anything else, “I've never seen anything like this, there's no way of knowing what it can do to you.”

“I think your memories aren't only being blocked,” he's still speaking directly at you but you can't really wrap your mind around anything at the moment, letting them discuss amongst themselves. “They're being overwritten at the same time.”

“That's why she forgot Azriel but remembers her life at the guild?”

“I've never heard of anything like that,” Azriel's voice sounds further away, you almost want to reach out and pull him back to you.

“Me neither,” the High Lord admits, watching your crouched form warily. “We'll have to ask Amren and research it in the library but it's the only explanation.” You find yourself nodding, even if you don't know Amren you understand the ancient creature might be able to help, if she wants to that is.

“At least your mental walls are still intact. They're the same ones I taught you to build.”

“No, I learned at the guild,” you finally look up at him, sweat still covering your forehead.

“There's still an open channel, like an open door for me to be able to talk to you.” So I can do this. You can't help but jump slightly at the sound of his voice in your mind, and the promise of a smile twitches on his lips. It doesn't go unnoticed that the talons moved a lot more carefully in your mind, almost tenderly.

“You're staying in this house until we can be sure you're not a threat.” His eyes move to Azriel's, an unimpressed look taking over his face at the scowl the shadowsinger sends him. “In the meantime you can fill Azriel in on everything you can about the guild. I want to know if there's a chance they'll try to attack us again.”

“We'll try to find any information on what is blocking your memories and keep you safe from the guild in exchange,” the High Lady adds, “It's a fair trade for both parties.”

You can't tell if she's saying it to convince you or her mate but appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. Also noticing how she omits the biggest reason for this mutual cooperation - the shadowsinger standing by your side.

⋆｡°✩°｡⋆

His hair was still wet when he started dressing himself, not wanting to leave you waiting for too long, as much as he hated to admit it he wasn't too happy about leaving you with Feyre either. He can tell everyone is still suspicious of you, even after Rhys tried to read into her memories to find nothing, stuck between their memories and stories they heard about you and the image of you stabbing a knife through his stomach.

Azriel knows his High Lady, his friend, wouldn't hurt you, but you're in a complicated situation at the moment and he doesn't want to find out what that guild has taught you to do in cases such as these, doesn't even want to think what Feyre would do to stop you. She didn't know you before, meaning she wouldn't have any reason to hold back if not for his sake - something he knows she wouldn't put above saving Velaris, he would never ask that of her either.

It's hard to accept he doesn't know how you'll react in certain situations, there was a time he knew you better than he knew himself. Now, he can't even begin to understand what you must have been through working for a world known assassin guild.

He'd obviously heard about them before, he wouldn't be a decent Spymaster if he hadn't. There wasn't much information on them, no one knew how large the group even was since there were rumors other groups were actually integrated in the guild. Names for it vary as well.

Even if you hadn't tried to steal from his High Lord, he knows he'll have to try getting as much information about them from you as he can, for his court's sake, and he can only pray you'll give it to him willingly or he'll have to let go of his position.

He doesn't know how you've been able to bear the guilt a job like this brings. As much as you've forgotten, your personality didn't seem to change a lot. You always reminded him of Cassian at times like these, gratuitous killing had never been for you. He hopes you don't have to deal with the torment he had been through in the first decades of working for the former High Lord, his soul had never recovered from everything he'd seen and done during that time.

Noticing his shadows reach up his shoulders, he physically shakes the dark thoughts out of his brain. Everything has been going better than expected, not only did you agree to cooperate but Rhys had given you the benefit of the doubt. You also agreed to have dinner with him so you could talk more.

He just told you he'd be joining you for dinner, omitting how excited, downright giddy, he felt at just the idea. It had been so long since you two shared a meal, talking for hours while enjoying the tasty food the House prepared for you.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd been this nervous for an outing, even if it wasn't exactly that - it was simply a trip to one of the House of Wind's guest rooms. Going as far as picking clothes in your favorite colors on him, letting the top buttons on his shirt undone because he knows how much you liked seeing the beginnings of his swirling bargain marks.

All of this could be for nothing, you don't remember him after all, but, he was almost certain your body did in some way and it gave him hope. You calmed down in his arms just as you did a century ago, said his name in the same sweet cadence and never shied away from his touch, from his hands. His shadows told him as much. Sang to him about the way goosebumps rose in your skin at his touch and attentiveness, how your thoughts and intuition warred in his favor. He refused to let his thoughts deter him.

When he gets to the room he sees you and Feyre standing by the dresser, almost wanting to apologize for winnowing in instead of knocking first, but he can't seem to find any words as he sees you've changed as well, ditching the nightgown in favor of a sleeveless dress that went down to your knees. The cobalt blue was as striking against your skin as he remembered, the garment in itself was simple enough yet in his eyes you had never looked so stunning.

Feyre must have been the one to give you the dress, he was only surprised it had taken her so long to meddle in your relationship. If there were any doubts, they were quickly answered when she threw him a knowing smile before excusing herself from the room.

“I'm guessing the blue is supposed to match those gems you wear.”

“Siphons,” he offers, entranced by the way you walk closer to him, the silky fabric moving with your body and giving you an ethereal glow.

“Did I used to do that a lot?”

“Yes.” He observes the way your eyes run over his body, lingering on the unbuttoned shirt. Seems like his old tricks still work. “I always loved seeing you in blue.”

You tilt your head to the side slightly, biting the inside of your lip the way you always did. He tries to stand as still as possible without appearing too awkward, making sure you knew it was alright to do with him anything that crossed your pretty brain. You seem to make up your mind as you walk closer to him.

“Can I see them?” You hold up your palm and he holds his hand over it without hesitation, letting you grab onto his hand to study the glowing siphon. The swirling light shone in your eyes and he can't help but be reminded of the first time you asked him to do the same exact thing shortly after meeting him.

“All Illyrian warriors have them,” he explains, “They're used to help us control our powers.”

“It's beautiful.” He tries not to let his wings twitch as you now hold his hand with both of yours. “I don't think I've seen anything like this before.”

“You have,” he can't help the somber smile that crosses his face. The reminder makes you look away from his hand to watch him, a conflicted expression falling over your pretty face. “You always liked them.”

The abrupt change in the atmosphere has him asking the house to get the room ready for your dinner. Not being able to hide the smile as he watches your amazed expression at the table that pops up beside you, full of delicious looking food and decorated with candlesticks, the faelights around the room dim in favor of the candlelight.

“I only asked for the food,” he admits with a bashful expression. He's glad you can't tell that, aside from the candles, the plates were also some of the fanciest ones. The House was going all out for the two of you.

He uses the grip you had on his hand to guide you to the chair and help you sit before making his way to his own seat, settling down and giving order for the House to serve both of you. Letting himself enjoy every little expression you made as you eat and listening to anything you felt like telling him, also answering all your questions about the House and the food.

He knows this doesn't have the same meaning to you as it does to him, knows that, as much as you don't seem to hate his company, you're more interested in finding out more about the version of you in his memories, trying to make sense of your own identity. It's hard to imagine how this whole thing must feel for you, finding out half of your life was made up and that you forgot such an important part of it. Still, this must be the best night he's had in a century.

You set your elbows on the table and rest your face on your hands, watching him with undivided attention as he tells you about his sparring match with Cassian. Your eyes don't leave his face after he finishes, appearing lost in thought. He lets you gather them, relishing in the comfortable silence. He'd be content with simply watching you for eternity.

You let out a soft sigh and lean back against the chair, closing your eyes for a few seconds before meeting his gaze again.

“What happens if I never remember you, Azriel?” Your voice barely above a whisper.

The question and the uncertainty in your voice as you asked it make him pause. He keeps trying to push back the thought that you won't regain your memories but it seems you were having the same doubts.

Just last week, he wouldn't have believed having you back was even a possibility, so getting your memories back can't be out of reach, it just can't. He was ready to give his life to make it so.

Still, he witnessed how painful it had been for you when Rhys simply tried to access your memories, he'd also told him trying harder, forcefully, could break your mind completely. If their research doesn't go well, if they can't find who did this to you, there might not be another way of bringing your memories back.

But he'd sooner die than live another day without you, whether your memories come back or not.

“I'll make you fall for me again.”

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#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel fic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfiction #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x you #divider by saradika

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kadwrites · 1 year

Text

surprise visit | T.S

previous part | next part

or check out the series masterlist

summary ; someone pays you a surprise visit

warnings ; arranged marriage!trope, slow burn , fem!reader

a/n ; so i took a break! but im back with a new character that will piss all of you off <3

"i still can't believe she did that" you say with a frown , your hands scrubbing the dishes

you're in celest's house, with madeline and fiona. rose had caught a cold, and you thought she might need the help.

"listen.... i love your mother i do" fiona sighed , a towel in her hand as she dried the plate "but that was so....... "

"unnecessary" madeline added, her back pressed to the counter as she talked to the both of you

"more like insane" you corrected, grabbing another plate to clean "i mean why would she do that? couldn't she have just waited until the party was over?"

"you should see 'er face when she saw tommy." madeline snorts a laugh and fiona glared at her , putting a finger to her lips telling her to shut up

"tommy?" you repeat, you turn to madeline. "tommy spoke to 'er?"

"wouldn't say spoke more like...." madeline trails off

"he put the fear of god into 'er." fiona's resolve broke, this drama was too entertaining for her to not partake in

"what?" you can't help the laugh that escaped you, you dry your hand and turn to press your back against the kitchen sink "what did he say?"

"well.... i doubt they knew we were listening." madeline look at fiona

"they didn't but..." fiona puts down the plate and the towel, copying you and resting her back against the counter "he told 'er to apologize to ya, and said that he'd drag 'er out of the wedding if she thought of pulling something like that"

"i almost pissed myself and it wasn't even directed to me." madeline shudders

"oh yeah he sounded fucking scary, and very angry." fiona nodded

you just stare at the both of them with an amused smile.

"ya wanna know what else he said?" madeline wiggles her brows at you and you raise yours

"what?"

"your mum said that it's a family matter that he shouldn't middle in, and he said 'she's my family.'" she says the words in a rough voice, mimicking tommy

you hate this feeling, the feeling of a hundred butterflies in your stomach at the thought of him saying that.

you try to roll your eyes and act indifferent, but the smile says everything.

"right." you're tone is sarcastic

"i swear on my life!" madeline exclaimed

"he did say that, it's true" fiona points at madeline and nods

"well...." you try to hide the giddiness "he was pretty...... nice to me that night."

madeline and fiona look at each-other before pouncing on you

"oh my god!"

"what did he say?"

"what did he do?"

"oh my god did ya two kiss?" fiona gasps, putting a hand over her heart.

"no!" you hiss at her, waving a hand "and keep your voice down! celest and the children are asleep."

"ya got me all excited." madeline grumbles, crossing her arms

"all i said that he was being nice! ya two just love jumping to conclusions"

you tried to avoid your mother as much as you could, which was hard considering you live in the same house.

you sat in the living room, with renne. she was showing you all the baby clothes she had gotten

"look at the little pants" your voice is filled with excitement "i can't wait to meet the baby."

"believe me , i want it out of me as soon as possible" she mumbles, her hand on her belly. "i love the baby to bits, i do. but god does she like to kick my organs around."

"she?" you ask with a raised brow

"oh right" she waves a hand "your father said that he was it in a dream."

"he saw your baby?" you chuckle

your father was part gypsy, and he swore up and down that those visions were passed down to him, his dreams and intuitions.

"what else did he see?" you ask jokingly

"he saw ya." she nods

"me?" your brows furrow

"he didn't tell me what he saw, but he said ya were there" she sighed , folding the baby clothes

"why didn't he tell me?"

"no idea" she shrugged "didn't he dream that ya will get married ?"

"he did, but i think that was mostly wishful thinking" you snicker , helping her fold the soft pieces of clothing

"i do believe 'im , ya know." she looks at you

you smile at her "i do too, to a degree."

you both turn, as your mom walks in and calls your name

"someone is here for you." she looks you up and down

your brows pinch in confusion, why is she looking at me like that?

you look at renee before getting up and walking towards the door , and you see a face that made you want to vomit

"jeremy?" you almost look bewildered "what the fuck are ya doing here?"

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#kadwrites #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy shelby fanfiction #thomas shelby fanfiction

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nyashykyunnie · 7 months

Text

˗ˏˋ Valentines Day Special Fic ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

‼️[ My friend silly giving me this idea i had no other V-day special then they reminded me I'm actually a writer so O7 to u bestie ]‼️

・┆✦ Entry : 021 ✦ ┆・

╰┈➤ ❝ [ And In Those Eyes I see Heaven; My Heaven] ¡! ❞

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Jinwoo muses as he watches your face light up with a soft giggle.

Here he was, in front of you. Sporting a tuxedo that oh-so fits him perfectly that he looks straight of a dream with a bouquet of delicately arranged pink roses he plans to give to you.

Jinwoo had even went so far as to brush his hair neatly and maybe even wax it, making you laugh all the more uncontrollably as he tries to process what is going on exactly.

Silly.

It's so silly, really.

Back then, he was a shy boy who would stutter when he gives you your annual valentines day gift.

Jinwoo really couldn't spend too much money since he needed to save some for later expenses and academic stuff.

So instead he would resort into horribly handmade gifts

He started with the sloppiest and most crudely made paper boquets.

Jinwoo is ashamed of himself, but he couldn't take the gifts back since you would horde them to yourself for safekeeping.

His gifts would range to horribly made papercrafts, to seashells he found by the shore, to necklaces he put together by trinkets.

He would take you out to innocent dates, walking you on quiet parks of seoul. If the parks are too noisy, Jinwoo would go out of his way to search for possible date places.

Maybe it would be you two passing by supposed haunted buildings, maybe you two would be in the bookstore skimming around on the book covers and debating which book would look more fanciful to read than the other, other times he would take you to isolated cafes where only the two of you and the barista would be making noise in the soundless place.

No matter how funny and cute your valentines were, you knew, for sure— That whatever Jinwoo does is from the bottom of his heart.

He would think his efforts are stupid, but secretly that was why you loved him.

It's not because it was expected of a boyfriend, it was because he did something even if he knows he wouldn't do the best.

Jinwoo would always be trying for you, he would always be thoughtful of you, so much so that it makes your heart just cry from his sincerity.

How could someone just be so full of love? How could someone just give their hearts out like that? How is he so sincere?

Even if he were struggling with his odd jobs, even if he was silently crying behind closed doors from the stress living is causing him— Jinwoo always thought of you, he thought of how he could make you happy the next time you meet.

He thought of how he would hide his wounds and gashes from hunts just for you.

He always, always, thought of you.

But little did you knew, he had done some stuff for your attention.

He made those crude gifts because he wanted to see you make fun of him, he wanted to see you burst out laughing and gush about the little thing he made.

He took you to different places because he wanted you to see the more beautiful things of this world, he wanted to show you just how worth it living here is even if the world seems so dark and horrible.

He took you to those quiet little corners so he could hear your voice better without the background noise of anything else.

He often hides his injuries, yes, but sometimes he would purposely let those bandages get lose because he knew you would wrap it up for him. Whether you do it silently or you do it while scolding him, all he cared about, was how beautiful you are right at that moment.

Jinwoo loves you, more than you will ever know, more than any words could ever describe.

The swelling of his heart that never ends, the butterflies in his stomach that keeps fluttering around, and the galaxy he sees in your eyes— Oh how he loved you.

Even if he didn't say 'I love you' 3000' times a day, even if he couldn't give you everything back then— He loved you with all of him just as he does right if not more.

He loves subtly touching your fingers, he loves grazing his fingers on your lovely face, he loves staring at you in a complete daze, he loves running his hands through your soft hair.

Overall, he ust loved touching you and admiring you up close or from afar.

Because so long as you are in front of him, he doesn't really need to think about anything but just....

'Ah,... I love you so much'

Just how can he not spoil you no matter how much he embarasses himself?

And that same flimsy, wimpy and shy little boy, is now a man.

Dressed so handsomely in his suit, upright posture, a proud smile on his face.

This Man...

Your Man.

Your Sung Jinwoo

Your Jinwoo.

Not the Shadow Monarch, not the Tenth S-ranker of South Korea, not the World's Strongest hunter.

Just Jinwoo.

Your lovely, lovely, Jinwoo.

Even if he had grown so much, even if he had become so drastically different.

He is still Jinwoo.

The Jinwoo who made you crude paper flowers

The Jinwoo who dragged you into silly places

The Jinwoo who never stops at loving you.

...

"You know..." Jinwoo sighs, chuckling as he ruffles his hair to mess it up a little. "I think this version of me is better than a super formal gentleman, right?"

Yeah.

That's right.

A gentleman Jinwoo is always welcome.

But the Jinwoo who is just him is much... Much more lovable.

"Happy Valentines Day, Love."

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

#∞ ₒ ˚ ° 📎— kyunnya speaks #sung jinwoo #solo leveling #sung jin woo #only i level up #solo leveling headcanons #sung jin woo headcanons #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo x gn reader #solo leveling x reader #ore dake level up na ken

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mythicmanuscripts · 2 months

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Hiii! I read your post-Rook’s Rest Aegon angst story and omg it was so perfect!! I loved it so much! I have a weakness for angst and you write it so well!!

If your requests are still open, could I ask for some more Aegon angst or hurt/comfort? I would love your take on his struggles during season 1/pre-coronation!

Thank you so much for all the wonderful little stories and headcanons you’re putting out there, I’m reading and enjoying each and every one ❤️

Oooo great question!! Honestly I somehow didn’t even consider the angsty side of this so I’m so glad you brought it up! And thank you so much for the kind words, they mean so much and help me stay motivated. So without further ado, here’s the angsty season one aegon thoughts :))

(While there’s nothing sexual in these thoughts, there are definitely dom/sub undertones, specially sub!Aegon so bare that in mind before you continue reading.)

So firstly, I think you’d be introduced to Aegon a few weeks before he actually became king. Everyone knew that his father’s health was declining, and that Aegon would soon be king. And, everyone knew how ill equipped Aegon was to be king.

Originally, Aegon was supposed to marry Helena. That plan was cancelled pretty soon when Allicent realised that Helena was not at all up to the task of managing and controlling Aegon. Because that’s exactly why she needed to marry him. She was as fast losing her influence over him and he has not at all ready to be a ruler, so she had to find him a wife who would be harsh and strict with him and who would be able to control him.

Even worse, Allicent doesn’t hide this desire from Aegon at all. She openly tells him that she’s arranged a wedding with the daughter of another house specifically because this daughter has a reputation of being firm and unwavering and not taking nonsense. Allicent spells out to him that she doesn’t think he can rule so she has had to find a bride for him that will be able to control him and stop him from making a fool of himself.

Aegon doesn’t think he’s ever felt as humiliated as he did that dinner when Allicent announced this to him. He always knew that his mother and father both didn’t think he was fit to rule, and his brother was certainly counting down the days until the weight of crown becomes too much and he has to drop it.

But this… hearing his mother openly planning on the best way to control him? And of all the relationships for her to exploit, she wants to use his future wife? As much as Aegon tries to act all cool and nonchalant and like he doesn’t care about anything, the truth is that he has a soft soul and is a romantic at heart. He always dreamed of meeting his wife and slowly building up a good, strong relationship.

His dreams of that are crushed before he even meets you.

Because of all of this, Aegon doesn’t even get to see you before the wedding, nevermind speak to you. He asks to see you, multiple times, but Allicent won’t budge. She says him seeing you won’t make a difference, he’s marrying you either way.

He’s so dejected on his wedding day. When you look into his eyes for the first time, you just see such a deep sadness that it makes your chest ache. You try to be kind to him that night, try to compliment him and listen to him. It does very little and he remains cold the whole evening.

When it’s time to consummate the marriage, Aegon shows you to your new quarters with him and slowly begins to undress like he’s a robot. You stop him immediately. You tell him that it’s just the two of you here now, no one else. He doesn’t have to pretend or follow his mother’s orders, she’s not here.

He’s confused then.

“You don’t want to have sex?” Asks, confused, “Didn’t my mother tell you to get pregnant immediately?”

You chuckle and say that she did, but you don’t care what she said, she’s not in this marriage.

Allicent made one crucial era when she chose you, she assumed your courage and knowledge and independence would mean you agreed with her. But no, no it didn’t. It meant you thought for yourself, and it meant you realised just how sad and hurt the soon to be king is.

You stick your head out the door and tell the guards find you a stack of cards. The guards are, of course, very confused but you are now officially the future queen so they can’t exactly say no.

Once you have the cards, you put them down on the bed and sit on the other side. Aegon smiles when he sees that. A real smile, not the fake one he kept during the wedding.

You realise pretty quickly that the absolute best way to help Aegon at first is actually to be more of his friend than his wife? You listen to him and offer him occasional advice but you also play card games and trade family stories and discuss your dreams. Aegon has never had a friend before. At least, he’s never had a friend not somehow influenced by his status as future heir.

When he’s alone with you, he doesn’t feel the future disappointment everyone else seems to see. He just feels like himself.

It takes him a very long time to admit that he’s not fit for all the requirements of being ruler. He’s not ready for it and he doesn’t even want to be ready for it.

You listen to him, of course, and then you remind him that even though the two of you have mainly just played cards, you are still his wife. You swore an oath to love and protect him and you have no intention of breaking it.

That gets a smile out of him, and ends in him kissing you, giggling against your mouth every now and then because he’s finally accepted that he’s not alone in this expectation anymore.

Pretty soon the two of you work out what your dynamic is, and Aegon is genuinely so thankful to have you in his life. Because while yes, you most certainly help him and offer him advice and even tell him when he’s outright wrong, you never make him feel stupid. That’s the difference. He can ask you things and voice his frustrations because he knows you won’t belittle him for it. He’s happy to follow your advice because you don’t make him feel bad for needing advice.

You always treat him with love and care, always open your arms when he needs.

Once he’s crowned, he removes Allicent from the small council and adds you.

#sub!aegon #aegon targaryen x you #house of the dragon #aegon targaryen smut #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon the second #king aegon #aegon ii targaryen #hotd aegon #aegon x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd

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ayatakami · 1 month

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kerosene. ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Synopsis: You and Touya were close childhood friends. However, one day you find out that your mother arranged a Quirk marriage for you.

Pairing: Touya Todoroki x reader, random guy x reader Warnings: Suggestive content, typical MHA violence, abuse, endeavor being Endeavor.

Part one! I have a lot written for this so I'm just going to split them up into readable parts! Be on the lookout for the others!! Also lmk if you want to be on the taglist! <3 Taglist: @jenos-eye-smiles

Y/N followed Touya through the familiar route through his house. The front door to his bedroom. You didn't really understand what was so important that he just *needed* to talk to you today. After a quick word and dinner with his family, you found yourself in his room.

"Come, sit." *He patted the spot on the mattress beside him as he sat on the mattress. You followed, sitting beside him. He was uncharacteristically quiet, seeming a bit red in the face.

"You know...there's been something I've been meaning to talk to you for awhile now." This caught your attention as you straightened up on the bed, facing him. "Yeah? What about?"

He averted his eyes from yours, a faint blush on his cheeks. "It's just...I...wanted to tell you..." He sat, letting out a sigh as he ran his hand through his hair nervously. "You know that I've always-like I've been-". He increasingly became frustrated with himself, not seeming to get the words he wanted to out. You tilt her head at him curiously, your eyebrows furrowing together. It wasn't often you got to see Touya so...highly strung to say the least.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down, the faint pink on his cheeks soon became more apparent and redder. He looked back up at you, with a serious look in his eyes. "The thing, for awhile now I've realized that I" He stopped himself, still trying to find the right words. "That I, I mean I'm just trying to say that-" He was struggling so bad you started to get worried that he was actually having a hard time.

"Touya? Are you having a stroke?" You said seeming a bit more panicked. He groaned and facepalmed. "No, no I'm not having a stroke god damn it. Just. Just give me a second" He took another deep breath, shakingly exhaling. His face was completely red now. He looked you in the eyes once more. "I'm just trying to say that I- I like you!" You sighed a breath of relief yourself. "Oh thank god, I thought you were. And I like you too!" You smiled softly at him, not seeming to get the hint. He looked at you with a dumbstruck expression. "No, no Y/N. I mean I LIKE like you" Then you suddenly realized what he was saying. It was almost like a dream come true. Your childhood best friend, the one who you had a crush on for ages confessed to you about having feelings for you. You found the timing to be bittersweet of the universe, considering that you were supposed to meet your suitor today.

A frown graced your features, which didn't go unnoticed by Touya. "What's wrong?" You sighed deeply. "I like you too Touya...but" You began. "But....?" He felt a heavy weight in his stomach as dread began to fill him. "But...I'm supposed to meet a suitor today.." He went silent, his eyes widening at her words. His mind spun as he tried to process the words. He felt like a freight train hit him. Suitor? Engagement? Arranged marriage?

His gaze focused on the floor. He opened his mouth a few times, trying to find the words to say but he couldn't get any out. After a while, Touya finally spoke. "This...is...unbelievable. The quirk marriage you told me your mom was thinking about?" You nod, your feelings on the matter were quite negative to be honest, as you were secretly in love with Touya.

His mind reeled with a mix of anger and disbelief. "Do you....even know the guy?" He was almost afraid of what you would say. "I've never met him." However, he was definitely not expecting that. He let out a bitter laugh, his head shaking in frustration. "I'm supposed to meet him today." You added. That caught his attention, his cobalt eyes snapping to you. "You're supposed to meet him today?" The same day that he was confessing his feelings to you, you were also supposed to meet up with your suitor. The irony was cruel.

"When...?" He gritted his teeth. Every part of him was hoping that you hadn't met the suitor yet. "After I heard what you wanted to tell me." He sighed his feelings a twisted mix of relief and dread. He was happy that you hadn't met the suitor yet, but on the other hand, he knew sooner or later you would have to. He sat back on the bed, his head resting on his hands.

"This whole situation sucks..." She sat back down beside him, falling down on her back as she stared up at the ceiling. He glanced over at you, before mimicking your actions. You kept your gaze on the ceiling as you were deep in thought. "Maybe...we can prolong it by finding me a better suitor." You offered. Touya's eyes widened a flicker of hope in his gaze. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?" He propped himself up on his elbows, his heart racing as he looked at you.

"That depends...Are you nice enough to save me from a certain doom?" You joked, trying to make the tension in the room lighter. He let out a huff as he got competitive. "Of course I'll save you from a crappy marriage." He sat upright, a new determined look in his eyes. "How sweet of you Touya" You teased and he rolled his eyes, trying to hide a blush that was resurfacing on his face. "Yeah, yeah. Shut up" He tried to play it cool but there was a small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

You smiled warmly back at him and he found himself drawn to your smile, captivated by the way it lit up your face. He moved closer to you, putting his hand on your cheek. He decided to voice the anxiety that was on both of your minds. "What if....things don't go our way. And you have to marry that you?" You looked down, your hand resting against his. "I...don't know Touya..." He sighed frustrated, his shoulders slumping. "We'll figure something out...just don't do anything stupid."

Their moment was interrupted by your phone going off. You could already guess it was your mother texting you that the suitor had arrived. "Ah...I guess I have to go home now." Touya's heart sank as you mentioned leaving. He reluctantly let go of your head, his expression of disappointment. "Right..."

"I can be a little late..." You started, as he looked up at you confused. You wrap your arms around his neck, before pressing a loving kiss to his lips. He was caught off guard but quickly melted into it, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him. He returned the kiss fiercely, pouring all of his love and protectiveness into it. As the kiss ended, he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. They were interrupted once again, this time by your phone ringing.

Touya let out a frustrated sigh, his lips hovering just above yours. The sound of the phone ringing broke the two of you out of the spell you were in as you separated. "I'll walk you home." He stood up, pulling you up with him. "Come on. Let's get you home." You hummed in response, grabbing your bag that was dropped near his bedroom door with your free hand as he intertwined his fingers with your other hand.

The two of you suddenly found yourself outside of your house. There was an unfamiliar car in the driveway, to which you tallied up to being the arranged suitor. Touya's grip on your hand tightened upon seeing the car. Despite trying to remain cool and composed, he couldn't shake the flicker of jealousy and anger that flared inside him. He glanced at you, trying to gauge your reaction.

You looked at the car with a dejected expression, as you squeezed Touya's hand. Something didn't sit right with you. He could practically feel the sadness radiating off of you. Seeing you like this tugged at his heartstrings, and he silently cursed your mother for putting you through this. He didn't want to let you go, but he reluctantly loosened his grip, knowing that he had to. He took a deep breath and spoke in a hushed tone.

"You're going to be okay. Just...be careful. I'll be thinking of you the whole time." However, you still tightly onto his hand, refusing to let go. His heart skipped a beat as you refused to let go of his hand, your grip tight and desperate. He stared down at your connected hands, a surge of emotions coursing through him. He wanted to pull you into his chest and keep you as far away from any suitors as possible, but he didn't dare make a move. Instead, he just squeezed your hand back, his voice low. "You have to go in..."

"Touya.." You softly whispered, as your voice waivered. You didn't want to let go of him. Not after finding out that he's in love with you too. Not when you know you're about to be sent off with some random guy and you probably won't ever see Touya again. His heart ached as he heard the waver in your voice. The mixture of pleading and sorrow in just one syllable of his name. He can see the pain and the turmoil in your eyes that mirrored his own. He gently pulled you closer, the distance between you lessening. However, the two of you quickly separated once you heard the front door to your house open.

Your mother, a well-known socialite, stood at the door with her arms crossed. Touya's jaw tensed as he saw your mother step out of the door. Seeing her cold expression, he could tell she was in no mood for any sort of nonsense. He forced himself to maintain his composure, knowing that he had to keep his cool for your sake. Your mother glared at you, for being late. And for being with Touya of all people. She always went on and on about how he was a bad influence.

She narrowed her eyes at you, before speaking. "I would lecture you, but we have kept the suitor waiting too long. Come. Now." The two of you tensed up at your mother's curt tone. You opened your mouth to speak, to plead for Touya to at least stay, but you quickly closed your mouth knowing she would deny it. You hesitantly released Touya's hand and walked up to the ground door. You kept your gaze on the floor as your eyebrows knotted together in frustration.

#mha x reader #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha #bnha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x y/n #dabi x reader #mha dabi #toya todoroki #toya todoroki x reader #touya #touya todoroki x reader #touya x reader #dabi x y/n #ayatakami

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yoonieper · 2 months

Text

For the Birds— Part 2 | JJK

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

♡ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

♡ Genre: angst, smut, future fluff, a hint of enemies to lovers~

♡ Rated: L for Loathe

♡ 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: Y/n and Jk tension, mentions of substance abuse (alcohol), mentions of Jungkook getting reealllyyyy drunk, <— throws up 😬, Jimin is best boy and the bestest friend but my man is ready to throw hands…

♡ Word Count: 11.6k

♡ 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: Honsool by Agust D— 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: This chapter is the calm before the storm, but we ain’t slowing down at all for part 3 >:) ~ Y’all can thank Smoke Sprite for this hehehe (it just came out when I wrote this)

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

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Seven months later…

Knowing what you know now, you felt bad that there was ever a phase in your life when you hated Jeon Jungkook. Hate was a strong word, you know that now, and you knew it back then too; but it was always the first word that would pop into your head whenever you’d think about the man.

Ever since your first day at Golden Tech, he made your life working at the company an actual living hell. You loved your job, and you were dedicated to it a hundred percent. You had worked way too hard to get where you were to slack around. You were living your dream— you were still young, working a stable, well-paying job at a high-end tech company, you had great coworkers for the most part… There was nothing to complain about besides the person who supervised your department.

That’s what made it so frustrating.

And to make matters worse, it was probably for the dumbest of reasons. Sure, no one wants coffee spilled on them, you would have gotten a little mad if you were in that situation; but there was no need to make someone’s life miserable because of a simple mistake— for years.

It’s not like you purposefully ran into him. You both had just turned the corner at the same time and bonked into each other. It happens. Some of your coworkers said you should have gone to his office later and begged for his forgiveness, but you thought that was ridiculous because it had just been an accident. A simple, unintentional mischance that could have happened to anyone.

It’s also not like you didn’t try to apologize— you both ran into each other the very next day, and as soon as you saw him, you hurried to catch up to him to tell him how sorry you were; you even offered to pay to get his suit cleaned or replaced. Jeon Jungkook hardly paid you any attention as he said it was fine and walked away with his posse of executives following him. It was strange, but you hoped that it just meant that your first meeting was water under the bridge and things would be fine. If you knew what you were in store for, you probably would have quit right on the spot, but not before you gave him one good, firm slap on your way out.

No, your ambition clouded your vision each time Director Son would give you assignments straight from the boss himself, and it was always mountains above your coworkers. You wanted to believe he saw potential in you, that maybe this was just an initiation into the office and all the newbies were given more work straight from the Head Director himself to showcase their abilities. This was just a test, you kept telling yourself for far too long, and in the end he’s going to see just how capable you are, earning his respect like everyone else did at some point. There weren’t that many people who worked on this floor in comparison to the rest of the building. All the teams were on the smaller side, so you figured this was just a tight-knit department you needed to steadily break your way into.

That’s how you kept yourself cheerful despite how it seemed like every night your workload would have you staying in the office until the wee hours of the morning trying to get everything done.

Everything changed when you weren’t the newest employee in your department anymore. Jungkook was oh so welcoming to your hoobaes and would give them slightly less work before steadily building up to the overwhelming amount everyone was eventually given. It wasn’t great, but it was lightyears ahead of what you experienced during your first few months at the company.

You kept telling yourself that there had to be a reason. You never really spoke to him, there was hardly any opportunity to piss him off; surely there was more of a reason than the incident on your first day.

The next person who joined the department after you did, you slowly began to notice the difference from your initial few months, and at first you had tried to come up with this whole theory in your head that maybe he was flirting with the newest member of the team. She was pretty and a lot of the guys around the office talked about her. You figured your boss might be like them, just another man trying to get into her pants, and for some reason easing her workload was his way of flirting.

That theory quickly died when Taehyung told you he was married despite you both apparently being the same age. Then Hoseok started working at the company and was given the same special treatment as her. Jungkook was seemingly nice and welcoming to everyone else but you.

That’s where your… annoyance, turned into hatred, because at the end of the day, you knew this was all simply because you had ACCIDENTALLY SPILLED COFFEE ALL OVER HIS STUPID, EXPENSIVE ASS SUIT (you checked when you got home how much it would cost you to replace it. If he would have taken you up on your offer, it would have had you living on ramen alone for months) AND HE JUST WANTED TO MAKE YOU MISERABLE BECAUSE OF IT.

And maybe, just MAYBE, if that was the only suit he owned, you would have understood his pettiness a little better. You have this one nice dress you splurged on when you found out you’d gotten an interview for Golden Tech, and if someone had messed it up, it would have taken a lot more than an “I’m sorry” for you to fully get over it. But every day your coworkers would talk about how expensive his suits were, all belonging to brand names guys around the office knew about and would rave over. They would stand around sighing about how handsome he looked and how they felt like they needed to pay him just for gazing upon his presence.

It was a little dramatic, and even though Jungkook was never around to hear it, you always thought it was just another way to kiss his ass a little harder, vaguely hoping for the chance he would hear and reward them for their willingness to bend over backwards for him.

But that’s besides the point. One thing was clear from their words: Jungkook had money, and a lot of it, there was absolutely no valid reason for him to be that upset at you.

So you despised him.

You hated Jungkook longer than anyone at the office did. At first, they just seemed confused whenever you would rant your troubles to them— saying things like, “he normally wasn’t like this.” But as months turned to years, Jungkook’s pettiness began spreading to all the employees who worked under him. You couldn’t say he was the best boss in the world when you first started working at the company, but as the days passed, he seemed to get that much more rigid, cold, and reclusive.

It probably hadn’t even been a full year after you started working at Golden Tech, when all the employees joined you in complaining about how annoying he was to work for.

You used to see him all the time walking around the office doing this or that, but later on, you only saw him arrive but never leave. There were many instances in which almost everyone on the floor was given so much work, that you’d all have to stay past your normal hours; way too many times than anything reasonable. All he ever did was work, work, and work, making sure everyone was going above and beyond their job description. It was excessive, so much so that some people in your department ended up leaving because their job was interfering with their personal lives too much.

To make matters worse, everyone was always on edge. There were rumors that some of the people who were fired over the years were let go because they weren’t able to keep up with his outrageous demands. Some of your coworkers said that they left his office in tears because he basically belittled them to the ground, calling them worthless, and many other unspeakable things. It was awful. You never knew if this was actually true or not, no one really did, but it kept everyone on edge to the point that the mysterious Jeon Jungkook was feared amongst most. But it didn’t really matter to you.

You used to think you had a good understanding of him. All your coworkers who were brought into the department before you would always say he was this bright-eyed, sweet, eager to please kid who everyone had high hopes for. Jungkook had never shown any of this during the time since you’d been working here, so you honestly doubted their assurances.

According to you, ‘Jungkook’ and ‘sweet’ couldn’t even exist in the same sentence.

Jeon Jungkook was just a spoiled, rich kid who had no real interest in Golden Tech. He seemed to have no idea how to be a boss, was a sadistic asshole who got off on making people miserable, and was just there, waiting until the CEO position was handed off to him just because of who his daddy was— which you were sure would result in the crash and burn of the whole company.

A few months ago, he literally just didn’t show up to work for a week without any sort of notice. This left your department scrambling because important deadlines were coming up. When Friday rolled around the next week and he still wasn’t back, people kept asking where he was because certain things couldn’t get done without him at the office. He was basically MIA, no one was able to contact him.

Jimin had emailed everyone later that day because the complaints grew too loud. Jungkook apparently had been diagnosed with pneumonia earlier that day and wouldn’t be in for a while. An excuse, for sure, but that didn’t explain where he’d been for the last week. Maybe he was off vacationing in one of the many homes his family owned around the world, while your team was left scrambling during his absence.

But it seemed as though you were the only one who harbored any real hatred for him.

Many girls around the office would still fawn over his handsome face, making you roll your eyes every time, because all they needed was one glance their way and they were squealing like schoolgirls. Was that really all it took for everyone to forget how awful he was? You didn’t get it, not even one bit.

Even your friend was somehow pulled into the allure. When you’d pass by him in meetings, despite Solmi oftentimes being the listening ear to your rants about how impertinent you thought Jeon Jungkook was, she would still sometimes gaze at him sympathetically; it was something everyone around the office occasionally did.

“Something’s just off.”

“He wasn’t like this before, he was such a sweet kid.”

“Maybe it’s just stress?”

They would always have an explanation ready. You never understood why, but you weren’t working there yet when he was still “nice,” and they also weren’t on the receiving end of his pettiness directly.

Someone might laugh at the fact that you were still feeling the effects of your little incident nearly two years after it happened. But no matter how hard you worked, how many times you tried to apologize, nothing you did was ever enough to make him forgive you. So you opted to hate him, and you used that hate to fuel your ambition even further.

In some strange way, Jungkook’s pettiness ended up helping you in the long run. All that hard work you put in made the other executives notice you. Due to your previous experience at another big tech provider, you were quickly promoted to be the manager of one of the finance teams when the position became available.

That just helped open even more doors for you. It was only a few weeks after celebrating your second year at the company (October 6th, 2023, a little over 24 months after you were hired— not that you were bragging or anything), when Director Son informed you about the promotion. The associate director position became available due to her retiring; apparently, even while being relatively new in comparison to the other managers and on the younger side, they still believed you would be the best one to take over the position.

Of course you took it. You were only twenty-six and now the Associate Director of the financial team for the Seoul division at a trillion won tech company that was led by the CEO’s son. Again, not like you were bragging, but your resume was insane.

As nice as the high was, this… this is when everything changed.

See, some might call you strange that you hated someone so deeply when you barely even knew them. You honestly had no clue about him, you hardly ever saw the man besides during the very occasional meetings; but most of the time, he only met up with Director Son and the old associate director to get updates. You could probably use your fingers to count how many times you both have spoken to each other. Any time you’d normally communicate would only be over email, and it didn’t help how much he was in his office. The only things you really knew about Jungkook were that you both were the same age, that he was the CEO’s son, and supposedly, that he was married.

That's what most people knew about him, and of course there were probably tabloids out there if you ever wanted to learn more, but you never found the need to know anything else other than the basics.

That’s why when Jungkook called you into his office after your promotion, you were in for a rude awakening on the fact that you never really know what goes on behind closed doors.

The meeting itself wasn’t that eventful. Jungkook just wanted to elaborate more on your new role as an associate director and inform you about your new duties on the projects your team was currently working on. However, you ended up feeling differently than expected.

You’d spent the whole morning preparing for your first meeting with him. You had coached yourself the day before on how to approach it— you weren’t planning to be rude, but maybe a bit passive-aggressive; just enough to set a boundary to be taken seriously and establish yourself as a professional, not just some pushover.

You’d picked out your best ‘bad bitch’ outfit the night before— not for him— but to give yourself the extra confidence you needed to stand up to the person who’s been the bane of your existence for the past two years. You wore a tight, black dress with gold buttons detailing all the way down the front. It was probably the nicest thing in your closet besides the dress you bought for your interview. You paired it off with matching gold accessories and black stilettos with a cute gold heel. You couldn’t tell someone how long you spent working on your hair and makeup this morning trying to get that last level of perfection.

It was all worth it though. When you arrived at the office that day, you held your head high as you made your way to your desk. A smile was plastered on your face as your heels clicked through the halls. Your coworkers were staring and whispering while you walked past them, the attention making your heart swell, because at the end of the day, you knew they were only saying good things.

It gave you a nice confidence boost, but as the time ticked away, it was obvious to your friends you weren’t as composed as you wanted them to believe. As the time of the meeting approached, Taehyung and Solmi tried their best to calm you down as you rehearsed what you thought would happen later.

“Grrr, I’m Jeon Jungkook, and I hereby bestow you this mountain load of paperwork.” Solmi said dramatically, as she shook a piece of paper in front of your face before setting it down gracefully on your desk.

You cleared your throat. “I’ll take care of these, Director Jeon. And as the new associate director, I hope we can establish a more compassionate relationship.” When you finished, you eagerly looked up at your two friends.

“Yeah, she’s going to get eaten alive.” Taehyung sighed, concern filled his eyes the longer he stared at you. Solmi shared the same worried look.

“Calm down guys, I think I got this.” You smiled as you turned to your computer and saw the time. There was only an hour left.

“Y/n, we’ll wait for you as close as we can. Scream if he tries to eat you.” Solmi said as she rested her hand on your shoulder.

You looked over at Taehyung, who seemed to grow more worried by the second.

“I’ll be fine. If anything, he should be more scared that I’ll eat him first.” You laughed a little too hard, but seeing the look on Solmi’s face made you realize that might not have been the best way to phrase it.

No matter the amount of smiles or jokes you shared with your friends, nothing could stop the anxiety from creeping in, it just made you even more terrified of what might happen later. You were worried if you’d even walk out of it still having a job (let’s just say you had a lot you wanted to say to him, but one wrong move would be enough for you to derail from your well-rehearsed script and finally spill that can of worms full of deep seeded anger).

When the time finally arrived, Secretary Yu told you Director Jeon was in a meeting and that you could have a seat in his office for the time being. You bowed at her words, but on your way in you couldn’t help but roll your eyes because of course he was late. You were so busy cursing him out in your head, it didn’t even register that you were in his office for the first time until the door closed behind you.

You were shocked to find you weren’t greeted with a demon’s lair like what you had expected. His office was relatively modern, with lots of black furniture— it was sleek and expensive like everything he owned. There were a couple of plants sitting around that added a nice splice of greenery. His office also had a big window with a nice view to the right that overlooked the city. However, what you were most surprised to find were all the family photos sprinkled around the place.

There were some that sat on his desk but your eyes were immediately drawn to the three big pictures on the wall beside you as you came in.

The one that sat right in the middle you were sure was a family photo of the Jeon family. You recognized the CEO sitting on a chair that almost looked like a throne. There was also a small, slightly older, beautiful woman who was dazzlingly dressed sitting on a stool next to him, holding his hand, and two boys stood behind them. One you instantly recognized as Jungkook, only a little younger— maybe college-aged, and standing right behind him was a man who looked like he could have been his twin. He stood maybe a few centimeters taller and shared the same face, except he had a few more of his mom’s features, his sharp eyes for example. You had to assume it was the brother you heard your coworkers talk about from time to time. On the other hand, Jungkook was nearly the spitting image of the CEO, only decades younger.

What you paid the most attention to was their smiles. Everyone in the picture looked so happy, all big smiles that seemed to resemble the CEO’s. It felt almost strange seeing how happy Jungkook looked in the picture. You honestly thought he was incapable of smiling.

It was like a whole different guy was in the picture.

When you looked at the photo that sat on the right, closest to where you stood, you were greeted by a very cinematic shot of Jungkook and who you could only assume was his wife on their wedding day. He had lifted her by her waist and they were lovingly staring into each other’s eyes, again with big smiles plastered on their faces. Jungkook didn’t look too much older than he did in the first picture, and his wife also couldn’t have been much younger than him. It made you wonder how long they had been together. As far as you knew, he was married even before you started working for Golden Tech. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-four, but just based on the picture, he definitely looked younger than that.

They must have really loved each other… You couldn’t imagine being married now, let alone years ago.

But everyone had been right, she really was pretty. How was he married? You couldn’t help but wonder how his wife was able to put up with his pretentious ass. You could barely deal with him and you hardly knew the man.

You felt for her in that moment.

Furthest from you was a picture you could barely see, but it looked like another picture from their wedding day. Jungkook and his wife in her gorgeous dress were sitting down on a fancy ottoman and a bunch of other people stood around them. Some you could recognize from the Jeon family portrait, so you just assumed all the others must be his wife’s family.

Again, seeing how happy he was in the picture was a little uncanny. There was no way that was the same man who made your life at work so miserable.

Looking at the photos only became more unsettling when the door was bursting open and you were suddenly faced with the actual, present-day Jeon Jungkook. Your eyes immediately snapped onto his, your mind went blank as you tried to process the fact that he was standing there right in front of you. He was stuck in place, he seemed just as surprised to see you in the way his startled expression turned into shock and his wide eyes peered over you. You barely registered the fact that Jimin was standing behind him, too busy trying to calm yourself from a near heart attack.

It was suddenly so obvious why Jungkook didn’t seem like the same person in the pictures you had just seen. He looked different. It wasn’t only the fact that he looked a little older, but his eyes…

He looked so tired, like he hadn’t slept well in months. The dark circles around his eyes deprived him of that same cheery persona he put on for the camera. And maybe this was just you reading into it too much, but you couldn’t help but think he also just seemed… dismal? It was strange, but if you weren’t trying to be on your best behavior, you would have advised him to take a nap before starting your meeting.

If that wasn’t enough, he was also visibly thinner. Like you could still see a bit of definition as he moved underneath his expensive suit jacket, but his slimmer frame didn’t seem to help and only made him look even more tired.

Your coworkers might have been right; maybe it really was the stress. How hadn’t you ever noticed this before? Had he always looked like this but you just never realized?

“Uh, sorry we’re late. We were stuck in a meeting that went on longer than expected.” Jimin suddenly said, finally breaking the silence and making you snap out of your daze.

It was only then that you realized you had practically been staring down Jungkook. To be fair, you had never seen him this up close before, at least not close enough to actually look at him.

You quickly bowed.

“I’m sorry! Secretary Yu told me to wait. I—” You panicked, realizing how strange this might look that you were just standing here right in front of the door.

Your eyes immediately locked onto Jungkook’s waiting for the annoyance to hit his features, any sign to point to the fact that you gave him another reason to hate you, but instead he just seemed dazed. Your eyes tried to follow his gaze wondering what he was staring at, and you were left a little stunned to see him looking over you.

Did he forget you were coming today? What was going on? You glanced down, worried something may have gotten on your dress earlier during lunch and he was about to criticize you for your unprofessionalism, but you were just left confused when you didn’t notice anything, and the silence continued for far too long.

“Ummm…” Jimin looked over at Jungkook when he still hadn’t said anything yet.

You shrugged, just as perplexed as he was.

When Jungkook still didn’t say anything, Jimin, like the angel he was, eventually took it upon himself to reassure you it was fine and that you had just startled them.

You bowed and apologized once again, your cheeks burned under the weight of their gaze, but Jimin just smiled and told you yet again it was fine. His comforting words and smile eased your beating heart a little more as he ushered you over to Jungkook’s desk. Not wanting to make things any more awkward than they already were, you quickly made your way over to one of the cushiony chairs that sat across from the desk. The whole time you felt their eyes nearly burn a hole in your skull, your skin warmed with each step you took, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you messed this up already.

You figured Jimin must have finally managed to get Jungkook to snap out of whatever held his attention so deeply, he eventually came back into view and sat in his own fancy office chair in front of you, and Jimin chose to stand right beside him.

Jungkook awkwardly coughed once everyone got settled trying to fill the silence in the room, maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you, but you swear you saw his cheeks start dusting pink as he looked at you.

This could not be the same demon you’ve worked with for two years. Jungkook could hardly meet your eyes, seemingly trying to look everywhere else but you. He looked visibly flustered and… shy? Who was this man, and what did he do with the Jungkook you thought you knew?

“I’m so sorry, I—… um, sorry we were late. It’s nice to see you Y/n.” He commented softly with a smile. No, there was no way this was the same guy.

After Jimin took a moment to congratulate you on your promotion (he told you to visit his office later for a surprise), the meeting carried on rather uneventfully in regard to your conversation. Jungkook didn’t eat you, nor did you ever need to whip out any of your passive-aggressive responses that you’d practiced. To be honest, you were only halfway paying attention to everything that was being discussed.

Your brain was far more interested in just observing him, picking apart all the little details you never had the chance to notice in the past:

He had a mole that sat just underneath his lower lip, and anytime he’d be thinking about what to say next for longer than normal, he’d bite into the flesh and then you could see the little dot right there on full display. He also had a scar on his cheek— you barely noticed it, but when the light hit his face at just the right angle, you could see the indention. Or how come you never realized that he had a slight lisp when he talked? It was slight, only making an appearance if he started rambling for a little too long; you wondered how you’d never noticed it before.

It was quite obvious early on into the meeting that Jungkook was not this scary, evil monster who hid away in his spooky cave. Jungkook would speak, there were moments when Jimin would jump in to help, they easily bounced off of each other, and in between the business talk, they would sometimes joke around with one another. You hated to admit it, but you found them a little cute as you watched them interact.

However, you still noticed that when Jungkook laughed, his smile never looked like the one in any of the pictures that sat behind you. His eyes wouldn’t crinkle, his top lip wouldn’t almost disappear, and that dimple that was on his left cheek never came into view— yes, he had dimples— multiple sets apparently that you had also never noticed.

If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he was faking it, but the one other thing you knew about Jungkook was that he and Jimin had been friends for a long time. Jimin had mentioned to you briefly during the few occasions you’ve talked that he’s known Jungkook since the younger was in elementary school; and it was clear during the meeting that they were close.

The more you looked at him, the more you grew concerned. He definitely seemed… off. It was the same feeling that you’d gotten all those years ago about your friend in high school. His eyes, you just couldn’t get over the look in his eyes. They held the same emptiness that your friend Mi-Sun’s did all those years ago. His hair had grown to almost completely shield his gaze, but you still noticed.

In the past, his hair would normally be shorter and slicked back with a fresh undercut always on display. It was a few months ago when he seemingly started to grow it out. When he walked in, it was obvious he had been running his hands through it in the way the dark strands were pushed back. Yet as the meeting continued, more and more strands would fall into his face, and he would go back to hiding his sad gaze behind his hair. It almost reminded you of the same look he had that day you spilled coffee all over his suit— even then he seemed tired and sad, but now it was so much more blatant.

It was almost immediately that your harbored hatred for Jeon Jungkook turned into genuine concern. You couldn’t believe this was the same guy who’d have everyone on the floor staying overtime almost every single day.

That didn’t necessarily excuse how petty he acted over the years, you didn’t forget, but it did make you feel bad about how you let your emotions get the best of you.

The fact that Jungkook was the same age as you and managed everyone that worked on your floor— being associate director of your division’s financial team already seemed daunting— but you couldn’t even fathom the stress that came with his position.

“Y/n? Did you get all that?” Jimin asked, breaking you out of your daze.

“Yes-yes! I’m sorry.” You stammered, trying your best to recollect yourself.

“Just wanted to make sure you got everything. We covered a lot.” He laughed, but you were too focused on Jungkook shying away from your gaze— his face was definitely a little redder than before. You tried your best to ignore the way your heart ached at the sight.

You had to get out of here.

“Thank you so much. I’ll be sure to email you if I have any questions.” You bowed your head slightly at them.

If things couldn’t get any weirder, when you looked back up at him, you noticed Jungkook was staring at you— again with those same sad eyes. It was on the tip of your tongue to invite him out for dinner, or to tell him that maybe it would be best to take the day off or something— anything to possibly help get back the cheeriness he had in the pictures behind you. But you knew you would be overstepping a boundary, and since you were so new to your position, you felt it was best to not take a chance; so, after a few more awkward goodbyes, you left his office.

“I have to get this done, he has to see that I’m—“ The door shut behind you before you could hear the rest.

Instantly you looked around for your friends, and like they promised, you found them awkwardly standing not too far away from Secretary Yu’s desk trying not to make it obvious they were waiting for you. As soon as they saw you, you knew they wanted to ask how it went, but instead you grabbed Tae by the hand and quickly walked down the hall, ignoring Solmi’s confused remarks as you sped past her.

“Taehyung.” You said alarmingly as you both walked.

“What happened? Did he start yelling at you or something?” Taehyung questioned very seriously, looking back the way you both had just come from. Apparently, you didn’t respond fast enough because he ended up stopping you both in your tracks. You looked over at him and could see the way his expression had shifted, his face was etched with concern now, and the underlying anger was not hard to pick up on.

“Y/n, what happened?” He asked far more sternly, grabbing you by the shoulder so you’d look at him. You couldn’t help but glanced down, noticing the way his other hand tightened into a fist.

“What? No— Just… What do you know about Director Jeon?” You quickly followed up with.

You could see the gears turning in his head.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been here longer than me. What do you know about him?” You asked again, your gaze turned to worry as you looked back toward where Jungkook’s office was.

Taehyung was noticeably confused. “Why, what happened?”

You sighed. “Nothing, I mean, we just talked but… I don’t know, he just seemed so… sad. It was weird.”

“Sad?”

“You should have seen him Tae… it was like… I don’t know, he looked so tired.” You were honestly a bit worried. One minute you hated his entire existence, the next you found yourself seriously concerned for his well-being.

It would be easier to hate him if he didn’t look like a kicked puppy.

The tension quickly faded from Taehyung’s features, he let his hand rest back down at his side and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“I was wondering if you knew anything.” You questioned again when he hadn’t said anything, but Taehyung eventually shook his head.

“I don’t have much to say, he’s always been a pretty quiet guy. I know nothing outside of what he does at the company, and that he’s married to that supermodel. Jimin would probably know, they hang out all the time.”

You nodded while his words processed in your head. Taehyung was probably right, Jimin was the best person to talk to. You wanted to think there was a chance at the explanation being simple, like maybe he was having a rough day or something, but that didn’t stop you from being worried.

You had a feeling it wasn’t that straightforward.

“Yah, you had me scared for a second.” Taehyung breathed out a shaky laugh.

“Why? You didn’t think I could handle myself in there?” You chuckled lightly, recalling how serious he got.

“No, you’re perfectly capable. It was me I was worried about. I thought I was going to have to put my job and freedom on the line.” The way he said it carried that same comical tone, but there was something very serious as well in its implications. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what he meant by that.

You looked at him wide-eyed for a second, a bit at a loss knowing he’d be willing to go that far for you. Even in the worst-case scenario, you wouldn’t consider losing your job, and certainly not going to jail, over something like that.

Taehyung returned your gaze and smiled at you, warm and reassuring as always, before you both finally started to hear the hurried clicking of Solmi’s heels making it around the corner.

“Yah! Why did you guys just leave me?!”

•────•──────────•────•

Jimin's role at the office made his life more complicated than it needed to be. Besides being Jungkook’s friend, his job also had him working a lot more closely with the younger in comparison to the other executives. He was the associate director to Jungkook’s position, and pretty much handled a lot of the grunt work. He would always step up to his friend’s role whenever Jungkook wasn’t in the building, and he was already in line to take over the next time Jungkook was promoted. Jimin was in great standing in contrast to others around his age, and he would always be eternally grateful to Jungkook and his family for giving him this opportunity. However, balancing the crazy workload Jungkook always asked of him— everyone in the department really, plus just trying his best to be there for his friend, was a task he sometimes questioned if he could manage.

Because of the way he bounced between being by Jungkook’s side and working with managers in the office, he was oftentimes caught in the middle of the drama and heard all the gossip and rumors that would go around. People in the department would complain, and there was some part of him that sympathized with their woes because his friend would really go off the deep end at times with his demands, but there was the other side who was still Jungkook’s friend. Jimin had to deal with Jungkook deteriorating right before his eyes, while simultaneously being subjected to hearing his colleagues badmouthing his friend, who to him, was clearly suffering. Jimin couldn’t even say anything. He was watching his best friend fall apart, and having people say the worst things about him, all without them knowing what he was going through, made it difficult to stand idly by and listen.

It wasn’t even like he could tell them because even he didn’t truly know what was going on.

Jimin had cherished the day Jungkook began opening up to him after he started to notice something was wrong. Just as Jungkook seemed to get more comfortable in sharing the issues he was dealing with in his marriage, at the beginning of the year was when those walls came back up thicker, higher, and practically impenetrable.

Jimin had hoped that it meant things were getting better between him and Yuri, but it was painfully obvious Jungkook was just getting worse and worse as the days went on. You weren’t the only one noticing how much he changed. Jimin was by his side the entire time as he saw firsthand how life continued to drain out of him as the days went by.

Jimin had seriously tried his best to be there for him, but no matter what, Jungkook continued pushing him away. He would brush off any of his concerns and drown himself— and everyone else around him— with work.

It was hard to watch.

Jimin could never forget what happened a few weeks ago. He came to work early on Jungkook’s birthday to drop off a gift with the hope to surprise him later when he’d come in, but instead was nearly scared shitless once he opened the door and turned on the lights to find Jungkook passed out at his desk. There was a bottle of vodka and enough empty cans of beer covering the surface to almost shield him from view and encase him in completely.

Jimin had known Jungkook was going to stay overtime the day before, he’d even seen the beer he brought in, but he brushed it off thinking he was simply restocking the mini fridge in his office. It wasn’t uncommon for the two of them to share a drink together after hours, a good beer was always the perfect remedy to wash away their stress. However, it was obvious from the overturned box that he’d drunk the entire pack all by himself, plus the vodka he had no idea Jungkook even had in here.

That was not it. As Jimin looked around his office, he found another box had been opened, and he wondered if it had fallen off his desk because of the way the cans were sprawled across the floor (definitely less than the twelve that came in the pack). As Jimin steadily got closer, he noticed one of the cans was tipped over beside him, the sticky liquid pooling on his desk, like he’d passed out with the drink still in his hand.

It was a concerning sight to say the least, and nearly gave him a heart attack as he hurriedly rushed over to make sure his friend was ok (alive). His mind raced with the worst thoughts possible as he tried to shake him awake.

Jimin had planned the whole day out to give his friend the best 26th birthday in the history of birthdays. What was supposed to be the start of a celebration turned into a nightmare when Jungkook didn’t immediately wake up. It was honestly a miracle he did. It took some time; it was like the universe itself had slowed down as he waited for something, anything. Tears had welled up in his eyes, Jimin had been so close to calling 119, when in a fit of desperation he slapped Jungkook’s back a little too hard. That was apparently enough to finally get him to stir awake.

“Owwwwww…” Jungkook moaned, his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to reach back and rub the spot where it ached.

Jimin had a lot to say, most of which he figured went in one ear and out the other since Jungkook was clearly still drunk. He hated nagging, especially when his friend was out of it like that, but he really had scared him. Jimin pulled him into a hug as he went on and on about how stupid he was.

“Why you soooooo loud?” Jungkook whined, pulling out of Jimin’s arms and laying back down on his desk.

“Because— Jungkook, have you not been listening? Do you know how much you drank?!” Jimin nearly yelled pointing to all the cans and the vodka bottle that practically covered the desk.

“Shhhhh! I ne— have wake up for work later… I’m trying to sleep…” Jimin found it hard to understand him because of the way his words slurred together, like somehow he could understand that.

“Didn’t efen dink much.” Jungkook mumbled, as if it was any other Friday, and Jimin was being overdramatic.

As much as he could have kept the battle going, Jimin made the executive decision that there was no way in hell Jungkook would be able to work today, let alone ride along for his birthday surprise. He was better off trying to sleep this off.

Somehow Jimin was able to get him downstairs, but by the time Jimin was sitting him down in the passenger seat of his car, his arms ached, and his whole body screamed in fatigue. He was stuck carrying Jungkook’s entire weight all the way from his office to the elevators, where he needed to wait for the elevator to go up twenty stories, before going back down those same twenty stories, and then truck through the entire parking garage because his dumbass thought it was best to park in his usual spot, all the way at the far end.

Jimin wanted to be annoyed, he wanted this to just be a one-time thing that they both could laugh about in the future, but there was definitely something wrong. Something was wrong all the time, but there were too many signs for this situation to be passed off as just a “rough night.”

This wasn’t his first time carrying Jungkook. Jimin liked to occasionally pick him up to emphasize “just because you’re taller, doesn’t mean I can’t still swing you around,” mainly to show off his efforts in the gym— but Jimin could tell over the months, years even, that his friend had grown lighter. With the way he needed to carry him, his arm wrapped around his waist, he could really tell just how much thinner he’d gotten.

And there still was the question of what made him drink so much…

Jimin’s head was swirling with worry as he got in his car, wondering what he should do from here. He’d considered taking Jungkook to the hospital, he had no idea how much he really drank, but the fact he was able to make it downstairs he figured meant he was ok enough to sleep this off, hopefully.

He sighed and turned over to Jungkook who was already passed out beside him. Jimin reached over to open his suit jacket and fished out the phone in the pocket he’d placed it in. Somehow the facial recognition still worked with Jungkook’s passed-out face, and Jimin was able to pull up his contact list.

Yuri 💞

Jimin rolled his eyes seeing the hearts next to her name knowing how fake that emoji was.

“It’s like we’re a real couple now…” Jungkook had nervously chuckled that day he changed Yuri’s contact in his phone— merely hours before his engagement party.

How Jungkook hadn’t ended up changing it was beyond him.

Yuri 🖕🏻was more appropriate in his opinion.

Jimin took a deep breath before he hit the call button. Now, Jimin loved using the word hate when it came to Yuri. While he wasn’t aware of all the details of their relationship, Jimin just knew deep down she was the reason for Jungkook’s rapid decline— maybe it’d been her fault he drank so much.

It took a couple of rings, but Jimin was thoroughly surprised she actually picked up.

“What—“

“Yuri, it's Jimin.” He was quick to interrupt her.

There was silence over the line for a while, like she was trying to remember who that was.

“Jungkook’s friend… coworker—“

“I know that— what— why do you have his phone?” For a split second, he believed she sounded a little concerned.

“I thought you would know— how did you not notice he didn’t come home last night?” Jimin was seething the more he thought about the possibility that this was somehow connected to Yuri, but he tried his best to keep himself calm for Jungkook’s sake.

“He told me he was working late.” She put it so plainly.

“And you just let him? You do realize today’s his birthday, right?” Jimin just rolled his eyes as the silence continued on the other line. At the moment, the pieces seemed to click in his head. Was it the fact Yuri clearly forgot his birthday the reason Jungkook practically drowned himself in alcohol?

Maybe… maybe it wasn’t, but maybe it was, and that possibility was enough for him. Jimin had to take a couple of deep breaths to stop himself from screaming at her, but once again, he calmed himself down. Today was not the day for this.

“Anyway, Jungkook got really— really drunk last night, and I’m worried about leaving him alone. If you’re not already there, could you meet me at your apartment and watch over him? I would do it myself but I have work in an hour so—“

“Can’t you just put him on the bed or something? I don’t think he needs a babysitter—“

“Yuri, I don’t think you understand, he’s really—“ But before he could finish, Jimin suddenly turned to see Jungkook hurriedly pushing open the door. He couldn’t even question him before it became obvious that the nausea, which had made the whole journey downstairs that much harder, had finally taken its toll.

Jimin set the phone down and reached over to rub his back lightly. He tried his best to ignore the unpleasant sounds and the dry heaving that went on for a while; his heart ached seeing his friend’s pitiful condition. Things only got worse when it finally seemed to be the end of it, the sounds of soft whimpers started to fill the growing silence.

“Hyung… I’m so sorry.” Jimin hardly caught it, Jungkook was so quiet and his voice was a little hoarse.

“Jungkook—“

Jungkook sat up and hesitantly faced him. His eyes were red and his cheeks were stained with tears that flowed harder the longer he looked at him.

“Hyung, I’m so sorry.” Jungkook just sobbed.

“It’s fine, please don’t—“

“This is so fucking embarrassing, I’m so sorry, this is so pathetic, I—I—“

“Jungkook, you're not pathetic,” Jimin interjected, trying his best to keep strong.

“Fucking threw up in the parking lot— can’t get much worse.” Jungkook choked out.

“It could be, don’t say that because this could get so much worse.” Jimin had a few ideas, mainly in the fact that he could have been stuck riding in an ambulance worried for his friend’s life. “By the way, are you ok? I was going to take you home, but we can stop by the hospital to make sure you’re ok if you need it.”

Jungkook lazily shook his head. “Just take me back to my office, I have to work—“

It was then that Jimin started the car. “Don’t even think about it, I’m taking you home.” Jimin buckled the both of them in and started making his way out of the garage.

“Can— hyung, can you go slower?” Jungkook mumbled, leaning back in his seat.

“Do you still feel sick?” Jimin grimaced as he briefly worried about his car’s freshly cleaned interior.

“Yeah,” just the mention of the word seemed to make him nauseous all over again. “My head hurts too—“ They finally made it out of the garage, the morning sun quickly filled the car. Like a vampire in disguise, Jungkook groaned and tried to duck away from the rays floating in.

“I’ll be gentle— luckily it’s early enough so there isn’t too much traffic, we should make it to your place soon.”

There was silence for a little while. In the moment, Jimin remembered the fact he’d never hung up the phone with Yuri, but one quick glance down, and he saw she’d left. All he could do was hope she’d be there.

“Hyung, I feel like so much shit.” Jungkook slurred. He’d closed his eyes, hoping it might help ease the nausea or how much his head pounded with every bump or slight turn in the road, but it wasn’t helping at all.

“Mmm I bet, get ready for the worst hangover of your life.” Jimin tried to joke, but all he got was a choked sob in return.

“It’s what I fucking deserve.” Jungkook blubbered as he looked out the window, tears quickly filled his eyes before they started falling uncontrollably. “Can’t make her happy, just want to make her happy! Hyung she’s so miserable, and it’s all my fault!” The breakdown had come out of nowhere, but it had Jungkook in its grasp and had no plans of letting him go.

Jimin had no idea what to do. They’ve had so many talks about it at this point, but Jungkook never went into enough detail for him to ever be able to really help him. Even while drunk, Jungkook seemed to keep the details about what was going through his head locked away, never to see the light of day.

“Jungkook…” Jimin reached over and rested a hand on his thigh.

“Are you ok?” The question lingered in the air in between Jungkook’s sobs. The more Jimin’s question seemed to dawn on him, the more distraught he became.

“And I mean this seriously, like clearly you’re not fine, but are you… fine?” Jimin had hoped he’d answer. A simple ‘no’ would have been a step in the right direction, but he said nothing, letting the tears stream down his face suffice for an actual answer.

“Because if something is wrong, you know you can talk to me, right? Anything, it could be anything that’s on your mind.” Jimin looked over at his friend as they approached a red light, taking a moment to realize just how pitiful he looked. His suit jacket had been thrown in the backseat, his tie was barely hanging on, his face was red and covered with tears, and Jimin had to stop every two seconds to help try and ease the nausea.

“I can’t lie, I’m really worried about you. If something is bothering you, please know you can tell me anything.” Jimin was trying not to get emotional, but he’d never seen Jungkook like this in all the years he’d known him. Ever since she came into his life, everything had gone to shit. He knew all of this was her fault and Jungkook’s decline was too painful to watch.

Jimin was worried, so fucking worried actually, that he feared every time he’d leave his friend’s side. While all of this could just be ruled as some random drunken breakdown, Jimin knew it was a small window into what was going on inside his friend’s tormented mind.

“Please say you’d tell me Jungkook…” Jimin gently shook his leg, desperately wanting the reassurance that if things were as bad as he feared, that he’d say something.

When Jungkook’s sobs stopped, Jimin hoped he’d give him an answer, but instead, he watched as Jungkook leaned up, and grabbed onto the dashboard while attempting deep, steady breaths.

“Hyung…” His voice was quiet yet pained.

“Yes?” All Jimin wanted to know was that he’d say something.

“Pull—“ A couple more deep breaths “Please pull over…”

It took a second for the words to register. “Wha— why—“

“N-Now!” Jungkook tried to emphasize as he quickly had to put his hand over his mouth.

Luckily for the both of them, there was an opening on the street up ahead. Before Jimin could question it any further, Jungkook was already stumbling out of the car and toward the trash can that was on the street corner.

Jimin never got that reassurance he needed, not that day, or any other day afterward. He wondered if Jungkook had heard him at all.

When Jungkook got back, he was crying all over again about how pathetic he was, the cycle starting anew. But it only took about two minutes before Jungkook passed out once again, and he was asleep until Jimin was shaking him awake when they’d finally made it to his apartment.

The journey upstairs was just as difficult as going downstairs at Golden Tech. Jungkook had sobered up a little, but Jimin, once again, was stuck carrying him to the elevator. His exhaustion, the nausea, his head, everything really, made it hard for Jungkook to stand. Slowly but surely, they finally made it up to his door.

Jimin had hoped when they arrived that Yuri would be there. He knew, despite his own feelings, how happy it would have made Jungkook at that moment, and it was the least she could do after everything. He wanted to think maybe, just maybe, she’d show up, especially after Jimin had to remind her that it was her husband’s birthday. He hated the fact that he had let a glimmer of hope spark. Deep down he wished that his conversation with her earlier was all just an act to not spoil Jungkook of a surprise waiting for him back at their apartment. Even if that wasn’t the case, he still hoped that she would at least be there. But after Jimin punched in the code and opened the door, the apartment was just as empty as it normally was.

He couldn’t even say that he wasn’t surprised.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Jungkook had somehow found the strength to wiggle out of Jimin’s grasp. Free from his hold, Jimin watched as Jungkook started clumsily wrangling out of his suit jacket Jimin had put back on him earlier. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight and went over to grab Jungkook’s phone out of the jacket pocket.

Yuri had texted since they came up.

‘Sorry, won’t be back ‘till late. Busy.’ It was short, blunt, and to the point.

Yuri wasn’t coming.

Jimin sighed. He didn’t know why he was expecting anything different; she couldn’t even be by his side when he had pneumonia. Maybe it was for the best, he didn’t trust Yuri alone with his friend anyway.

“Hyuuuunnggggg…” Jungkook whined. Jimin finally looked up and noticed he’d stripped all the way down to his boxers.

“Is Yuri coming?” He asked as he flopped onto the couch.

“You know, the bed would be better…” Jimin chuckled lightly before walking over to him. He grabbed the throw that was draped over the couch and fluffed it over him.

“Too far…” He grumbled into the leather.

Mmm, of course.

“Hyung— Yuri…?”

“She said she’s busy.” Jimin tried to maintain a soft smile as he saw the disappointment settle in Jungkook’s eyes.

“Of course she is…” Jimin hated the way he saw Jungkook’s lip quiver.

“It’s ok, I’ll stay by your side.” Work was out of the picture, Jimin knew better than to leave him alone when he was like this. “You know, I had this whole plan today to celebrate your birthday.” Jimin suddenly remembered he’d left Jungkook’s present back in his office, he forgot to grab it on his way out. “We can bring the celebration here though. I could start it off by making you breakfast—“

Jimin turned around to see Jungkook already fast asleep.

Not much happened that day, Jungkook didn’t wake up until the sun was setting. In that time Jimin had made a quick trip back to the office, both to tell everyone Jungkook was sick and wouldn’t be at work today, and to grab that present he had left.

Jimin went the extra mile with it, hoping the right gift would help put that pep back in his friend’s step. He was honestly very worried about the present as he prepared it, he couldn’t help but wonder if Jungkook would like it as much as he hoped. What he didn’t expect was Jungkook’s teary reaction through his bleary eyes (despite the fact that he’d slept for the last 12 hours), as he peeled back the wrapping paper.

“You used to play all the time back when we were in high school and college, maybe getting back into it would be good for you.” Jimin smiled.

Sitting on Jungkook’s lap was the box of a new, sleek, black, custom-made electric guitar— the exact one Jungkook had told Jimin so many years ago that he wanted to buy when he started earning a good amount of money.

“This… hyung what I would give to play this, but… Yuri hates it when I’m loud, I don’t think she’ll let me play it.” Despite his words, Jungkook continued to stare at the picture over the box, letting his hand lightly run over it.

Jimin couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the mention of that woman, tired of her always coming in the way of everything. “Well fuck her! Don’t let her stop you, she’s not even here right now. Please~ I wanted to see you play before I leave.” Jimin should have been a little more cautious with his words considering who he was talking to, but at the end of the day, he meant every word.

Fuck her!

Jungkook’s face dropped, looking less than pleased.

“Hyung, thank you so much for staying here with me today— and for the present, but maybe it’s best if you leave.” Jungkook suddenly sounded very serious as he spoke.

“Huh? What, why?” Jimin was confused at the sudden change in mood.

“I know how you feel about Yuri, but I don’t appreciate you speaking about my wife like that—“

“But Jungkook, you can’t possibly—“

“Leave hyung! Go— please just go!” Jungkook demanded, looking more pissed than ever.

In the silence that followed, this was when Jimin began getting angry. The longer he stared into Jungkook’s eyes, the more he couldn’t believe this was happening. How could Jungkook be choosing someone who hardly paid him any attention over the person he’s been able to count on and has known since he was in elementary school?

“I can’t believe you’re fucking kicking me out and sticking up for the bitch who couldn’t even be here with you on your birthday.” Jimin angrily mumbled as he got up to put on his shoes. It was a low blow, Jimin could have phrased it a little differently since he knew he was hitting a sensitive topic. It wasn’t fair to Jungkook, but that was the only thing he regretted.

The silence that settled in the room was painful.

“I swear if you’re not out the door in five fucking seconds, I will end you!” Jungkook said slowly through gritted teeth, giving Jimin a glare that he was sure he would never forget in his life. He’d never seen Jungkook so mad, never thought it was possible to make him that mad, and it was over Yuri?

Five seconds was too long before he heard Jungkook’s hurried footsteps behind him. It was probably only because of the haze of the hangover still weighing Jungkook down, that Jimin was able to grab his shoes, quickly slam the door behind him, and walk away unscathed.

Things just weren’t the same after that.

How could they be?

It’s like Jungkook was pushing him away, and as much as Jimin tried his fucking best to be there for him, he was only human and feelings got in the way sometimes. He regretted leaving that day, with how things played out, anything could’ve happened considering the way Jungkook had been acting lately.

Jimin seriously thought pushing Jungkook to seek professional help would be enough to bring his best friend back— he’d been ecstatic when Jungkook told him he was finally going to therapy, but it seemed that after the first session, he never went back… at least if he did, Jimin didn’t know about it.

Things were bad, probably worse if he knew the whole story. But that— that is exactly the reason why it pissed him off so much every time his coworkers would complain about Jungkook. How could they not see? It was plain as day that something wasn’t right.

That’s why when you came to his office later for your surprise (he gave you a celebratory bottle of expensive champagne) and asked him about Jungkook, it was like a breath of fresh air.

“Director Park, I hope this isn’t weird to ask, but—”

“Did you have a question?” He interrupted, fully expecting this to be about your new position.

“No— well, yes, but everything is clear from the meeting. It’s just—” You played with the bottle in your hands, trying to find the right words.

“Director Jeon— is he… is he okay?” You seemed genuinely concerned, leaving Jimin too stunned to speak for a second.

See, Jimin didn’t hate you, but he knew— everyone who worked on this floor knew— that you didn’t like Jungkook, at all. Your reasons were a little understandable, considering the way his friend had treated you since you started working here.

Jungkook had no reason to target you because of a mistake you made years ago. Even Jimin had no idea why he was being so petty about it, considering he was normally an easygoing guy. He knew Jungkook didn’t hate you, but he could never pinpoint why he treats you like that.

“Jimin?” You questioned when he continued to stare at you.

“Yeah, I’m fine… um, you’re asking about Jungkook?”

You nodded. “I don’t know during the meeting… sorry, I might be overstepping, but something just seemed off.”

Jimin continued to stare at you, a little unsure of what to say. He wanted so badly to tell you— honestly, he was just happy you noticed— but…

Even he didn’t know what was going on anymore.

•────•──────────•────•

Jimin never gave you a straight answer. He dodged it entirely actually, not at all calming your nerves about your strange meeting.

You went home that day with Jungkook on your mind, but not like how he usually was— with you cursing his entire bloodline. No, instead you found yourself wondering what he was doing.

Did he eat today?

Was he sleeping alright?

Anything to write off today as just a bad day, but as the days turned into weeks in your new position, your concern never lightened up. The more time you spent working closer to him, the more you began seeing all the signs you did back then in high school with Mi-Sun.

It was like it was happening all over again. It took an attempt for you to fully realize what was happening the last time, but you saw the signs back then just like you did now. Something was wrong, very wrong actually, but every time you met one-on-one, you never found it in yourself to ask him directly how he was doing.

Do you still hate Jeon Jungkook? No, and you hate to say you ever did. Would you whine every time he gave you 15 billion tasks to do in one day? Yes, you did every time. But it was clear he must be dealing with a lot, so you just started keeping your complaints to yourself.

Now nearly a month into getting your new position, you had enough things on your plate to deal with other than whining 24/7 about your workload.

Today you had to lead a meeting in Director Son’s absence. The drastic drop in temperature had been enough to due him in and he’s been out sick all week. It was at the worst time too, everything was ridiculously hectic because of the holiday season coming up.

Without Director Son here, you were basically the acting director. You’ve been scrambling with all the shit that was being piled into your lap, but you tried to keep a brave face.

This presentation nearly made you collapse. It was a big meeting, and Director Son only gave you a few days to prepare after he let you know he was probably going to be out for a while. But you smashed it, because that’s what you always do. You couldn’t help but smile when you earned a round of applause after you concluded the last slide, and breathed a sigh of relief as soon as everyone slowly started getting up and leaving the meeting room.

It was finally over…

You went to go pack up your stuff when you suddenly felt someone tap your shoulder. Lo and behold it was him, Head Director Jeon.

“Y/n.” Jungkook seemed nervous as he nodded over at you.

You bowed. “Hope you enjoyed my presentation Director Jeon…” You quickly panicked, worried this conversation was going to be about that.

“Yes, you did great— you always do…” He smiled at you. You were a sucker for compliments, but in the moment, it completely went over your head.

“No, actually this is about tomorrow. Usually, I’d do this with Director Son, but since he’s not here, I was hoping you’d be able to fill in for him.” He seemed even more nervous.

“That’s my job.” You put it matter-of-factly.

“Right, yeah, you’re right.” He chuckled nervously. “Um, tomorrow, as you know, things are pretty crazy these days… I have all these documents to go over for the budget presentation we have coming up for next quarter. Would you be available to stay late with me and go through all the details?”

Oh?

“Of course.” You said not putting much thought into it. You stay late most days anyway.

For some reason, he seemed to tense up even more.

“Good… um… make sure to get a good night's rest; tomorrow might be a long day.” He pointed out.

“Hmm?”

He already knew what you were going to ask. “This could be an all-night thing… sorry to put you in this position— Director Son and I—“

“It’s fine sir. I’ll be there.” You said through gritted teeth, trying your best to force a smile. You didn’t want to be here all night; you were already exhausted as it is and now there was no chance you could agree to any of Solmi’s Halloween plans.

The holiday was tomorrow, and she had wanted to whisk you and Taehyung away to Itaewon for a night full of bar hopping to all the places that were hosting parties in the area. She had pleaded for you to consider it even though you already told her how busy you were. You had honestly been thinking about it, it could have been a night out to de-stress from all that was on your plate, but there goes that opportunity. At least if you didn’t go, you could have been home catching up on sleep, relaxing, anything really but be here. And with Jeon Jungkook?

You regretted saying yes so fast.

“Ok— great… um, again, that was a great presentation. See you tomorrow.” It was an awkward goodbye, but that’s how most of your conversations went, so you didn’t dwell on it.

As the door closed behind him, you took a second to breathe, and enjoy the silence of the meeting room. In that peace, you realized a detail your brain completely skipped over.

You were working overtime with Jungkook. You were going to be alone… together.

Suddenly you felt yourself getting a little nervous.

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