#at least keyboards still exist

[magpiemore]

Going from pressing physical buttons to tapping icons on a screen was the biggest mistake humankind has ever made

[bunnyboy-juice]

;~; (tags vent)

[seaofreverie]

I'm back from my trip and ready to return to the drawing things for Sparkstember grind, I mean, well, I need to rest first for even a little bit and also get used to having more than 1 hour of free time a day tops. Yeag it's been kind of intense but still a great adventure and a good time. And most importantly, I have this photo from it

[echthr0s]

in all my talk of seeing real practical improvement in my understanding of video games, there IS one exception, and that is Guild Wars 2. it's been like 8 years now and it seems apparent that I will never fucking understand that game on anything more than a superficial/casual level. I can limp along well enough to get by in most zones -- most. -- but it seems to come at the expense of my sanity. there's just way too much going on at all times and the systems and mechanics are in-depth in a way that just makes me feel deeply exhausted when I think about trying to interact with them.

sometimes things that are objectively good are also subjectively bad. GW2 is one of my favourite games on multiple levels, I'm constantly impressed by it, I highly recommend it, and I always want to play it but why the fuck does actually playing it feel like I'm in my very own personalised Saw trap

[foone]

why are printers so hated? it's simple:

computers are good at computering. they are not good at the real world.

the biggest problems in computers, the ones that have had to change the most over the time they've existed, are the parts that deal with the real world. The keyboard, the mouse, the screen. every computer needs these, but they involve interacting with the real world. that's a problem. that's why they get replaced so much.

now, printers: printers have some of the most complex real-world interaction. they need to deposit ink on paper in 2 dimensions, and that results in at least three ways it can go on right from the start. (this is why 3D printers are just 2D printers that can go wrong in another whole dimension)

scanners fall into many of the same problems printers have, but fewer people have scanners, and they're not as cost-optimized. But they are nearly as annoying.

This is also why you can make a printer better by cutting down on the number of moving elements: laser printers are better than inkjets, because they only need to move in one dimension, and their ink is a powder, not a liquid. and the best-behaved printers of all are thermal printers: no ink and the head doesn't move. That's why every receipt printer is a thermal printer, because they need that shit to work all the time so they can sell shit. And thermal is the most reliable way to do that.

But yeah, cost-optimization is also a big part of why printers are such finicky unreliable bastards: you don't want to pay much for them. Who is excited for all the printing they're gonna be doing? basically nobody. But people get forced to have a printer because they gotta print something, for school or work or the government or whatever. So they want the cheapest thing that'll work. They're not shopping on features and functionality and design, they want something that costs barely anything, and can fucking PRINT. anything else is an optional bonus.

And here's the thing: there's a fundamental limit of how much you can optimize an inkjet printer, and we got near to it in like the late 90s. Every printer since then has just been a tad smaller, a tad faster, and added some gimmicks like printing from WIFI or bluetooth instead of needing to plug in a cable.

And that's the worst place to be in, for a computer component. The "I don't care how fancy it is, just give me one that works" zone. This is why you can buy a keyboard for 20$ and a mouse for 10$ and they both work plenty fine for 90% of users. They're objectively shit compared to the ones in the 60-150$ range, but do they work? yep. So that's what people get.

Printers fell into that zone long, long ago, when people stopped getting excited about "desktop publishing". So with printers shoved into the "make them as cheap as possible" zone, they have gotten exponentially shittier. Can you cut costs by 5$ a printer by making them jam more often? good. make them only last a couple years to save a buck or two per unit? absolutely. Can you make the printer cost 10$ less and make that back on the proprietary ink cartridges? oh, they've been doing that since Billy Clinton was in office.

It's the same place floppy disks were in in about 2000. CD-burners were not yet cheap enough, USB flash drives didn't exist yet (but were coming), modems weren't fast enough yet to copy stuff over the internet, superfloppies hadn't taken over like some hoped, and memory cards were too expensive and not everyone had a drive for them. So we still needed floppy disks, but at the same time this was a technology that hadn't changed in nearly 20 years. So people were tired of paying out the nose for them... the only solution? cut corners. I have floppy disks from 1984 that read perfectly, but a shrinkwrapped box of disks from 1999 will have over half the disks failed. They cut corners on the material quality, the QA process, the cleaning cloth inside the disk, everything they could. And the disks were shit as a result.

So, printers are in that particular note of the death-spiral where they've reached the point of "no one likes or cares about this technology, but it's still required so it's gone to shit". That's why they are so annoying, so unreliable, so fucking crap.

So, here's the good news:

You can still buy a better printer, and it will work far better. Laser printers still exist, and LED printers work the same way but even cheaper. They're still more expensive than inkjets (especially if you need color), but if you have to print stuff, they're a godsend. Way more reliable.

This is not a stable equilibrium. Printers cannot limp along in this terrible state forever. You know why I brought up floppy disk there? (besides the fact I'm a giant floppy disk nerd) because floppy disks GOT REPLACED. Have you used one this decade? CD-Rs and USB drives and internet sharing came along and ate the lunch of floppy disks, so much so that it's been over a decade since any more have been made. The same will happen to (inkjet) printers, eventually. This kind of clearly-broken situation cannot hold. It'll push people to go paperless, for companies to build cheaper alternatives to take over from the inkjets, or someone will come up with a new, more reliable printer based on some new technology that's now cheap enough to use in printers. Yeah, it sucks right now, but it can't last.

So, in conclusion: Printers suck, but this is both an innate problem caused by them having to deal with so much fucking Real World, and a local minimum of reliability that we're currently stuck in. Eventually we'll get out of this valley on the graph and printers will bother people a lot less.

Random fun facts about printing of the past and their local minimums:

in the hot metal type era, not only would the whole printing process expose you to lead, the most common method of printing text was the linotype, which could go wrong in a very fun way: if the next for a line wasn't properly justified (filling out the whole row), it could "squirt", and lead would escape through gaps in the type matrix. This would result in molten lead squirting out of the machine, possibly onto the operator. Anecdotally, linotype operators would sometimes recognize each other on the street because of the telltale spots on their forearms where they had white splotches where no hair grew, because they got bad lead burns. This type of printing remained in use until the 80s.

Another fun type of now-retired printers are drum printers, a type of line printer. These work something like a typewriter or dot-matrix printer, except the elements extend across the entire width of the paper. So instead of printing a character at time by smacking it into the paper, the whole line got smacked nearly at once. The problem is that if the paper jammed and the printer continued to try to print, that line of the paper would be repeatedly struck at high speed, creating a lot of heat. This worry created the now-infamous Linux error: "lp0 on fire". This was displayed when the error signals from a parallel printer didn't make sense... and it was a real worry. A high speed printer could definitely set the paper on fire, though this was rare.

So... one thing to be grateful about current shitty inkjet printers: they are very unlikely to burn anything, especially you.

(because before they could do that they'd have to work, at least a little, first, and that's very unlikely)

[auroralwriting]

the gun

spencer reid x genius!bau!reader

oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, they both reached for the gun, the gun, the gun…

"you just needed to prove to Spencer, once and for all, that you had all the skills to be the best agent, the best genius."

word count: 2.3k

warnings: cm violence, blood, enemies to lovers, kinda rushed im sorryyyy, fem reader slightly mentioned

a continuation of this story can be found here

Spencer and you always competed. He had an eidetic memory, you had a photographic.

The difference between you two was anything you ever saw, read, you held in long-term memory. Spencer’s, though, resided in short term. However, Spencer was also an autodidact, meaning he could teach himself anything. You also had a vast emotional intelligence. You had such strong empathy, you could detect any micro-detail anyone displayed, making you the perfect lie-detector one that even Hotch couldn’t evade.

Spencer was Jason Gideon’s special boy. Gideon helped Spencer make his way in the BAU. You were David Rossi’s special girl, him noticing your skills from a young age when he met you during a case. He guided you to make all the best choices, leading you to the BAU as well. It took a few years, timing and all, but you got there.

When Dave transferred to Quantico’s BAU, he requested your transfer as well. He thought you would mesh well with the team. More specifically, he assumed you and Spencer would become a genius duo; totally unstoppable.

Oh, how wrong he was. It was from the moment you’d corrected Spencer on some statistic he spewed, you both became enemies forced to co-exist on the same team. There was never a civil moment, always some fight. It was sad, too. You remembered the first time you saw him, you were struck by how cute he was. Too bad he decided to hate you before you got a chance.

Vividly, you remembered the most intense fight you both had.

“So someone with a medical degree,” Hotch muttered. “That’s got to be impossible.”

“It’s more likely that have a nursing degree.” Spencer replied. “We’d be looking at around one hundred eighty thousand people a year. If our unsub is a new graduate, that’s the numbers we’d be looking through.”

You shook your head, “It’s actually one hundred fifty seven thousand. Also, narrow it down to nursing degrees in New York, and you get around eight thousand. Eleven percent were men, so around six hundred. Lower it even more to those who don’t have any family members, most likely from group homes, you can get maybe seventy?”

oh, yes

Garcia clacked away at her keyboard, “My baby’s got it! Seventy two people. If we’re looking at NYU specifically, thirteen.”

Pride filled your system. It was fulfilling when you were able to get things right. Spencer, on the other hand, wasn’t too happy about that.

“You know, nobody asked your opinion.” He scoffed.

“It isn’t opinion, Reid. It’s purely fact, ones you should probably get right.” Your reply had Spencer clenching his fists.

How dare you insult his intelligence? His IQ was much larger than yours, you weren’t one to speak on that. “Maybe you should focus on the case instead of trying to be a people pleaser,” Spencer sneered your way.

His reply made you roll your eyes, “At least I can tell what people want. You’re oblivious, Reid.”

oh, yes

Slowly, the two of you began to go back and forth, your voices raising. Before the situation blew up, Hotch stepped in, trying to mediate. However, Spencer mumbled something under his breath, something you couldn’t just let go. It hurt, stung like a bee, and you weren’t going to let him walk away feeling victorious.

“At least my mentor didn’t up and leave me.” you snapped. “He’s still with me, he didn’t just vanish with a stupid little note as a dingy goodbye.”

Spencer had paused, face dropping. You read him like a book, you’d gone too far. He showed minuscule signs of distress, grief, sadness. The room was silent, no one quite knew what to say.

oh, yes

“Reid, I-”

“Save it.”

Spencer had walked away, leaving you to feel shameful of your words. Rossi just squeezed your shoulder. The man knew you didn’t mean it.

they both

Since then, it was like the two of you were on each other’s cases, constantly bickering and arguing. Now, you were almost subconsciously battling each other for the genius role of the team. Was there any need to? No, not at all, but your fights had become not a battle, but a war.

You stood outside the bank with your team. “They have hostages,” You identified, attempting to peer inside. “There’s no way we can go in. It’s a suicide-murder mission.”

oh, yes

“There’s gotta be a way,” JJ shook her head. “Maybe there’s another way in.”

“It doesn’t look like it,” Derek sighed.

After a few hours, Will made the decision to go inside. You had to help hold back JJ as he walked in. Hearing the bullets made you sick. You physically had to double over, holding back the tears. It suddenly hit you how dire the situation was. You went back to the van with the team. No one really knew what to say.

"Did you see where he was shot?" JJ asked. "Is he alive or dead, Garcia?"

Penelope's breath was shaky, "I don't know."

"He was wearing a vest." Emily reasoned. "He might be okay."

JJ gave a smile, but it was one of disbelief. "Might be," She muttered, shaking her head in reply.

It was then that the team decided to go in. You shoved your gun in your holster, "I'll take first point," You offered. "Check and see if Will's okay. I'll try and manipulate them into letting me go to him." Hotch nodded. With your knowledge of psychology and your emotional intelligence, Hotch knew you could do it.

they both

"L/n, it's too dangerous." You heard Spencer say over the phone. "Just wait for me to tell you where to go in."

You rolled your eyes, "Reid, I'm not stupid. I've handled multiple hostage situations."

Spencer didn't reply. You liked that. This was the first time you'd be able to prove yourself without Spencer's help. This was honestly just a way for you to prove you were the better of the two. Your actions were motivated by the desire to be the best; a classic narcissistic move. You weren't a narcissist, though. You just needed to prove to Spencer, once and for all, that you had all the skills to be the best agent, the best genius.

Oddly enough, hostages flooded out of the bank as you made your way back outside. Maybe Will was alive and managed to get them all out. Once none more came out, you and two other cops began to make your way inside stealthily.

Right as you got in the middle of the bank, you heard Rossi's panicked voice over your comms, "Abort, abort!"

oh, yes

There was no time to reply. It all happened so suddenly. You heard the explosion before you felt it. It was hard to breathe. You couldn't see, hear. It slowly registered that there was a bomb, and it went off.

they both reached for

You had no clue where you had been thrown to. Everything felt cold, really cold. A loud ringing filled your ears as you slowly sat up. You touched your head, pulling back to feel stickiness on your fingers. Your vision was blurry, but you knew it was blood. You had to get out of the building. You needed help, medics, your team. Was anyone else in your team inside yet?

they both reached for the gun

A grunt left your lips as you stood up. You felt your legs give out under you, and you went down again. The desire to live was stronger than your physical weakness, and you stood up again. It was so dusty and hazy that you couldn't see. You leaned on the nearest wall for support, slowly using it to try and find your way out of the building. All that you heard in your head was get out, survive, get out, survive.

After what felt like ages, you felt a breeze against your skin. You followed it, hoping it would lead out, and it did. The light was harsh on your eyes as you tried to scan the area. It was then you saw Spencer and Hotch-- what was Spencer doing here? He was still at the BAU last you'd checked. Maybe the blast knocked you out cold.

Trudging your way over, you weakly called out. "Aaron, Spencer,"

the gun

Spencer knew he heard his name. He looked up from the blueprints of the building to see you, blood covering different parts of your body, your skin covered in debris and dust. You had limp, and your eyes were blown out. "Oh my god," he muttered, running over to you.

the gun

The genius took your in his arms as you fell into him, "How'd you get here?" you asked. "What's for dinner?"

Spencer took notice of your confusion as he allowed you to lean on him. He took your face in his hands, "Y/n, look at me. Focus on me,"

the gun

You couldn't directly look at him. Your eyes darted all over the place. "Where's Rossi? Did he go in?"

"No, Rossi's okay." Spencer leaned over his shoulder, "We need a medic!" He yelled, quickly turning his attention back to you. "It's okay, you're okay."

oh, yes

"I can't feel anything," you breathed out, "That can't be normal. Is that normal? Spencer, am I dying?"

oh, yes

Spencer shook his head, "You're okay, it's okay."

"I can't die," You softly whimpered. "I'm sorry, Spencer. 'M so mean to you, I don't mean to be."

Deep down, Spencer knew you meant what you were saying. The fear of dying without getting your true feelings out always lead to admissions of the truth. "I know, I know," Spencer smoothed your hair. "I don't hate you, I don't. You're going to be okay." Spencer slowly became anxious as he noticed the amount of blood seeping from your head. "Look at me, please, keep talking to me."

"'M sorry," You muttered, feeling your eyes grow heavy. Spencer's face began to fade as you collapsed in his arms.

Spencer felt his breathing grow heavy as he held you tightly. "Medic! She's-- oh, god, Help!"

they both reached for the gun.

A steady beeping was the first thing you heard as you woke up. The light was a blinding white, and you let out a groan at it. Your body hurt like hell, and your head was pounding.

"Shh, shh. It's okay, here, let me just--"

The white lights went out and all that was left was the stream of daylight coming through the windows, along with a lamp that was a warmer light. It was much more comfortable that way. You quickly guessed you were in a hospital. The beeping, white lights, smell of rubbing alcohol that you just identified.

"How do you feel?"

Spencer. You turned your head to look at him. His face held deep concern. He was holding your hand. "I--" You paused, considering his question. "I feel like shit."

He let out a soft chuckle, "Yeah. You kind of got exploded." That's right, the bomb.

"Oh, Will, the team, are they okay?" You softly asked.

Spencer nodded, "Everyone's okay, we got the unsubs. It's all okay now."

You remembered Spencer's words. You should have waited to go in. If you had waited, maybe you wouldn't be in this situation right now. "I should've listened to you." You stated weakly. "You were right. I was being stupid."

"Hey, no," Spencer quickly interrupted. "You were doing your job."

"I wasn't," you shook your head. "I wanted to prove myself. I-I wanted.. to show that I didn't just do victimology and simple hostage relief situations. I wanted to prove myself like you have." You stopped, sucking in a pained breath. You felt your eyes become glassy. "I wanted to prove to everyone I was just as good as you."

Spencer felt his heart break at your words. You both knew overall, he was smarter. It never occurred to him that your constant bickering was to prove yourself, and not to prove him wrong. "You're better." Spencer decided to say. "I mean, I can't relate to our victims, hell, our unsubs the way you can."

"Spencer,"

"I'm serious." He continued. "You're so important to this team. You-you push us to be better." Spencer cleared his throat, "You push me to be better."

You stared at Spencer blankly for a moment, "I never told you that I like this haircut."

Spencer gave you a slightly surprised look. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," You hummed. "It makes you look, I don't know, less like Einstein and more like, uh, a really smart James Dean."

"James Dean," Spencer repeated, "I've never gotten that one before. Are those meds talking right now?"

You shook your head slowly, "Probably the clearest I've thought in a while." You replied, causing Spencer to smile. "Why did you stay with me?"

Spencer paused for a moment, "I wanted to make sure you were okay. I know we bicker a lot. Well, more than a lot. Probably several times a day, but I still care about you. I-I was.. really scared for you. I don't think I could forgive myself if I let you walk in there and you'd died."

"It wouldn't have been your fault," You tried. Spencer just shook his head.

"It would have been. I should've rationalized it with you. When I saw you, I just thought, 'What have I been doing this whole time? Have I really been wasting my breath arguing with you when we could've made the best team'? I remember when Rossi first introduced you, I was like, 'No way someone this pretty is doing this', when you should've been some model or something." Spencer rambled. He did that, paired with hand fidgeting, when he was nervous. He rambled as he played with your fingers.

You took a breath in, hoping for the best. "Hey, maybe we could, uh, go to one of those team based trivia nights at O'Keefe's?"

"Are-are you asking me out?" Spencer asked.

"Only if you're saying yes." You responded. "I, uh, maybe thought we could start over."

Spencer gave a chuckle, "Yeah, trivia night sounds good. I'd like a retry at this. Maybe we're, uh, meant to be more than just a team."

You smiled at him, knowing that a simple friendship wouldn't be highest point of your new relationship with the genius.

[gallusrostromegalus]

If you please; what is your Tolberone theory of knowledge?

My theory, which I thought up a few weeks ago while sick with covid, is that all knowledge is a form of art, and that there are very broadly three basic types of knowledge arts: physical arts, philosophical arts, and scientific arts, and that pretty much all academic, artistic and practical disciplines exist somewhere in that triangle spectrum.

Physical arts are knowledges of how to actually, physically do things. The purest front of physical arts are things like dance and navigation.

Scientific arts are knowledges of things that can be tested and proven. Computer programming and Quilting are both scientific arts: they work, or they don't.

Philosophical Arts are knowledges of things which while not objectively provable, are still very real. History and Being A Good Listener are philosophical arts.

Nearly every discipline of knowledge is some combination of all three. Cooking is largely applied chemistry, a scientific art, but it's also a philosophical art because flavor is extremely cultural and contextual, and a physical art because you have to know how to hold the damn knife and heat when it's done.

The first part of toblerone theory is that, like how each piece has three sides, any given project needs at least one person who has a good grasp of each of the underlying arts involved or it's going to go sideways at best. For example:

Physical and Scientific arts, no philosophy: Jurassic Park. They need someone to point out that, while very possible, it's not necessarily a good idea.

Philosophy and Science, no physical: that dril tweet about the forum debate locked by a mod after 12,000 pages of heated debate. They need someone to drag them away from the keyboard and actually do something.

Philosophy and Physical, no science: that cult in midsommar that put a guy in a bearsuit. Without the ability to engage measurably with the world, they give into fear and behave like reactive animals. Also the "rare chicken steak" phenomenon.

You can have differing ratios of each type- Jurassic Park really only needed two philosophers: one animal behaviorist and an OSHA inspector, and 98% of the issues would have been avoided- but you do need at least ONE of each underlying art to check each other's work.

The second part of toblerone theory is that, like how the toblerone is made of many triangle pieces, there are poles to the triangle spectrum. Practical vs Esoteric arts. Short term and long term arts. High stakes vs for funsies arts.

While you have have different ratios and levels of expertise in each of the arts, you do all need them to be on the same piece of the bar, or they won't take each other seriously. A UN Diplomat and a climate scientist aren't going to take the advice of physical artist my uncle Bobby the plumber re: global warming, but they will take the advice of physical artist my Aunt Cheryl the civil engineer, a world expert in getting shit done.

The same applies for the other end of the spectrum. Aunt Cheryl the civil engineer isn't going to get much milage with the local high school student council and principal Waley when the problem at hand is "what are we going to do for this year's prom theme?"

I gotta go to therapy now, pictures later.

[feeder86]

Tommy's Two Hundred

From the moment Tommy had joined the gay dating app, he’d spotted that the closest person to him geographically was a catfish. It was obvious from the little thumbnail picture that no one with a body that good could live so close by and him not know about it. The picture, showing the massive pecs and toned six pack were guaranteed to have been stolen from some straight bodybuilder somewhere in the world; but definitely not anyone who lived within at least two hundred miles of this backwards town in the middle of nowhere. The guy was probably some lonely, middle aged man seeking some attention that he did not deserve; attention that Tommy had no intention of bestowing upon him.

With his good looks and average height, Tommy soon found himself on a couple of dates with guys from the app. Some a little older; a couple still in college. He always got himself so excited before each one, having enjoyed endless kinky exchanges beforehand, back and forth. He liked it when the guys led the conversation with their horny talk, getting most aroused when they spoke about dominating him and tying him up. He gave these virtual suitors a deep, authorative voice in his head as he read out their messages, imagining the ways they’d seek their pleasure from him. In these fantasies, he built an entire persona for his dates; the way they spoke, the way they acted; the things they would do to him after getting back. He was his own worst enemy. No one could live up to such expectations. Despite being bold and brave behind the keyboard of their cell phones, the guys were never as Tommy pictured them in real life. They were polite and friendly; a little kinky perhaps, but only behind closed doors. It didn’t take more than a few seconds for Tommy’s bubble to burst, leaving him stuck on a dull date with another boring Mr Average. 

As Valentine’s Day rolled around once more, Tommy felt the sting of still being single at the age of twenty-four. Friends, who thought they were being helpful, lamented about how difficult it was to understand why a guy so good looking and successful was still on the shelf. Tommy, however, knew that he just wasn’t being plain enough with people about what he was really after. He’d wasted more than a couple of years of his time on guys who were never going to please him in the ways he most wanted. If he was going to find the man of his dreams, he would need to start his dating profile from scratch.

Stripping his shirt and binding his hands with rope, Tommy posed for his new profile picture. He updated his username to include his submissive nature. Then, it was finally time to work on the profile itself. He stripped it bare of the mundane details about his favourite hobbies and movies, his education and aspirations. In their place, he went to town about his kinky interests and desires. He wanted to submit himself to someone entirely, openly and without reservations. Like a form of cosmic ordering, he outlined in great detail the sort of kinky, dominant guy he was on the lookout for, and ended by posting a further picture of his toned, naked body, wrists and ankles bound with handcuffs.

With breathless excitement, Tommy saved his changes and waited with fizzing excitement for his first messages. 

Nothing. Sure, his profile had had lots of views, but no one had felt compelled enough by it to reach out. 

Days went by. Tommy began to feel that he had made a mistake; that he had exposed himself and his kinks too openly on the app. Perhaps, rather than being turned on by his pictures and words, they were laughing at him instead; his extreme submissive fantasies, too weird and niche for anyone to actually want to meet him. Maybe the man of his horny dreams didn’t actually exist.

By the end of the second week, Tommy had made up his mind to delete the account. He gave his profile one final read, cringing as he tried to imagine it from another person’s perspective, then he stormed onto the app settings and found the exact link he needed to erase it entirely.

Just as he did so, Tommy saw a message pop up on the screen: 

‘Nice profile.’ 

Assuming sarcasm, Tommy skeptically tapped his way into his inbox and rolled his eyes when he saw that the message had actually come from the catfish profile of the guy who supposedly lived right here in town. 

‘Thanks,’ he typed back, determined that he would never be rude enough to ignore anyone who messaged him.

‘If you’re really as submissive as you claim, I’d be very interested in meeting you,’ came the next response.

Again, Tommy rolled his eyes at the fake profile picture. However, given that in five minutes time he would be deleting the app for good anyway, why not just click on the profile and take a look?

What Tommy saw next altered his perspective entirely. He didn’t care if the profile picture was a fake; a guy who could write like that, so erotically, about his desires to dominate, could look however they wanted to in real life. Tommy needed to meet them.

What followed over the next couple of hours was a kinky exchange where Tommy literally poured his heart and soul out to the mystery man on the other end. No one had ever shown such an interest in his kinks, nor drawn them out of him with such precision. So, when the offer of a meet at the coffee house in town came up, he didn’t think twice.

Sitting with his back to the door, Tommy waited patiently, but with a realistic mindset that a guy with a fake profile picture was unlikely to ever actually show up. Then, suddenly, he felt a large, warm hand land on his shoulder and a deep, masculine voice rumble into his ear. “Tommy?”

Tommy didn’t turn his head. He wanted to preserve that catfished image of the man he had been messaging for just a few moments longer. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw that very same man appear in the flesh. Tall, strapping, muscular and handsome; it was as if a beautiful, mid-twenties Greek god had just arrived in his hometown; from out of absolutely nowhere. 

“I’m Hunter,” the guy smiled, reaching out his large hand to shake.

Tommy couldn’t help admitting to the fact that he hadn’t believed Hunter’s profile pictures to be real, and Hunter nodded, saying that he had been told the same thing many times. He seemed pleased by Tommy’s appearance too, stroking his knee gently under the table as they settled into their first real conversation.

A few moments later, Hunter was up and ordering coffees for them both. Tommy turned to catch the guy from behind as he stood at the counter: so tall, with such perfect glutes and that broad back adorned with muscular shoulders. Was this really Tommy’s lunchtime date?

Hunter soon returned carrying a tray with coffees and, surprisingly, a large slice of triple chocolate cake, which he placed in front of Tommy. 

Politely, Tommy thanked him for it, even though he had not asked for something to eat and actually felt a little awkward picking at it when Hunter did not have anything himself.

“I wanted to discuss our sexual interests,” Hunter stated next, steering the conversation when Tommy seemed to be taking it down a more mundane path. “The domination and submission.”

Tommy felt his cheeks getting hot. There were another two couples close by; probably within earshot. But Hunter didn’t seem to care in the slightest. 

“What do you want to know?” Tommy replied excitedly.

“Actually, I think it's time that you listened to me instead,” Hunter replied sternly, putting Tommy in his place perfectly. “It’s lucky that I saw your profile as I don’t use that app much for meeting guys.”

“Where do you usually meet guys?” Tommy asked, sensing that Hunter had paused for him to ask just such a question.

“A few places,” Hunter shrugged, flicking through his cell phone. “These are some of my previous subs,” he offered, holding up his phone and swiping through pictures of himself next to other guys in various forms of submission to him: on their knees, bound and gagged, you name it. “Do you notice anything in particular about the guys I sleep with?” Hunter asked next. His tone was serious and it was obvious that he wanted Tommy to respond in much the same way.

The answer came to Tommy immediately, but he squirmed as he tried to think of a way to reply to Hunter, without seeming rude. “Well, you’re so…” he mumbled, gesturing towards Hunter’s powerful body and chest. “And yet, these guys here… there’re a bit…”

“They’re fatties,” Hunter stated for him; obviously not one to dress his language up. “I need you to just come out with it in the future when I ask you questions,” he stated frankly. “That’s the way I work. No bullshit.”

Tommy nodded, feeling turned on by how direct Hunter could be. Having discussed in such detail what his dream dominant would be, it was almost as if Hunter was slotting perfectly into place. 

“Why fatties?” Tommy asked, hoping that mirroring Hunter’s language would please him.

“Because fatties turn me on,” Hunter replied plainly. “I work hard to build my body up. So when I fuck a sub, I need him to be soft and doughy for me.” He reached over to the plate of half eaten cake in front of Tommy and gave it a gentle nudge. 

Tommy’s eyes bulged. Hunter wasn’t kidding when he said he didn’t like to bullshit. His meaning couldn’t have been clearer. “So, you bought me the cake because…” he mumbled. He considered leaving it there and posing it as a question to Hunter, but he got the sense that the dominant hunk in front of him wanted him to just say what he believed to be true. “You bought me the cake to… soften me up.”

Hunter smiled for the first time in a few minutes and he leaned in, putting his giant hand back on Tommy’s knee. “That’s right,” he nodded, seeming to be genuinely delighted that Tommy had been frank with him. “Submission for me, is more than just slipping on a pair of handcuffs during sex. Submission is a lifestyle. It should be your entire body. You should wear it twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

Feeling his heart beating faster and his palms sweating simply from hearing Hunter’s deep voice speaking at such a volume about things, without a care in the world, Tommy nodded. “I agree,” he answered. “Submission should be a lifestyle.”

“I’m glad you said that,” Hunter nodded again, his eyes now fixed on the still half eaten cake.

“Oh,” Tommy shook himself, picking up his fork again and popping the next bit of cake into his mouth. Instinctively, he apologised and Hunter did not correct him for it.

“I’m not going to lie,” Hunter stated, nodding subtly with approval. “I think this could work between us.”

“You do?” Tommy shot back with so much delight that he immediately wanted to punch himself in the face for it. “That’s cool,” he nodded, trying to seem more relaxed.

“We’ll meet at my place next time,” Hunter told him, draining his coffee as if this interview was already over. “I’ll message you on the app.”

“Okay,” Tommy replied, surprised by how fast the date was over with. 

Hunter leaned in. “And make sure you finish that cake,” he whispered into his ear. “Every last crumb.”

Having Hunter so close sent exciting electrical pulses through Tommy’s brain: the smell of his delicious aftershave, those perfect lips so near to his face. “I will,” he replied sincerely, turning to look Hunter in the face in the hope that they may end with a kiss.

Hunter held Tommy’s gaze, studying him. But Tommy knew better than to be the one to initiate a kiss. “I know you will,” the hunk replied after a few seconds. “You’ll be a good boy,” he chuckled, then turned and walked away without a second glance.

Tommy raced home feeling more elated after a date than ever before. Finally, he had found someone who seemed to relate to him on a level that no one had before. And, unbelievably, the guy was hotter than anyone else he had ever dared to dream of.

Of course, there was the one part of the date that he was less sure about. He hadn’t come across someone so into domination that they had insisted their date consume cake for them. But just because it was a little different, didn’t mean that he had to view it negatively. After all, he’d got quite a kick out of complying, hadn’t he?

“Come on in,” smiled Hunter a few days later, opening the door to his apartment. 

Just as he had stated in his messages, Hunter had not long got in from the gym and still looked a little sweaty, dressed in tight, and particularly short, shorts, together with a well-fitted compression top that showed off every detail of his exquisite body. He was even taller than Tommy realised, making him feel so insignificant standing next to him. He tried not to faint, right there on the spot.

“Rule number one,” Hunter began. “When you come here, you take your clothes off as soon as you get inside.”

Tommy stared up at Hunter, wondering if he was serious. But as the pause continued, Tommy realised that Hunter was waiting for him to comply. He fumbled for a second, then began unbuttoning his shirt, feeling more than a little embarrassed to be doing this straight away. He’d taken so long to pick out his outfit for their second date. What a waste of time that was!

“Come on, quickly!” Hunter prodded him impatiently.

Tommy kicked off his shoes, removing his pants and underwear in one go, knowing that his dick was going to be pathetically hard already. He stood there after awkwardly removing his socks, not knowing whether to cover his hardness, or act like this was normal.

Hunter nodded with approval. He reached down into the pile of discarded clothes and pulled out Tommy’s underwear, holding them up as if for inspection, and gripping the small waist between his fingers. “Cute,” he chuckled to himself, seeming to find them highly amusing.

But Hunter did not throw them back onto the floor. He carried them as he turned into the apartment, clearly expecting the naked Tommy to do the same.

Following the jock inside and admiring those fine, muscular glutes just ahead of him, Tommy had never felt so turned on in his life. It had been immediate, from the moment he stepped inside. He felt, at that moment, that he would have eaten an entire mountain of chocolate cake if Hunter had told him to.

Hunter led him to the kitchen area, where Tommy was surprised to see that the big man was busy preparing a meal for them both, despite not having even showered yet. A good meal was clearly more important to him.

“Smells delicious,” Tommy chirped politely, still unsure whether to cover his boner with his hand as he trotted in.

Hunter raised his eyebrows in recognition of his comment, but did not reply. Instead, he pulled out a chair at his table and pointed for Tommy to sit whilst he went back to stirring and serving it out. 

There was something so sexy about a man in the kitchen. There were so many things on the go and yet Hunter did not seem in the least bit flustered. Everything was under complete control. But as Tommy watched, he noticed that it was all being served onto separate, single plates; not distributed between the two of them as he had expected.

At last, Hunter pulled out a chair and positioned it directly in front of Tommy. Then he sat, spreading his strong legs and looking at his guest seriously. “I enjoyed our date, Tommy. I really did. I think you’re a nice guy and I believe that you would make a great sub for me.”

Tommy smiled back, pleased; feeling the need to tuck his hardness between his thighs whilst Hunter was being so friendly.

“But if I’m going to spend some real time with you, I need to know what you can do. I also need you to see the type of man I really am. You may not like any of what I have planned tonight. You may want to leave. And that’s fine. But at least we'll both know where we stand, and neither of us will get our hopes up, thinking that this is more than what it is.”

Tommy looked from the gorgeous man to the piles of steaming food still on the counter. He knew that Hunter would want him to think for himself and be direct. “You want me to eat this for you, don’t you?” he asked, realising that the chocolate cake slice of their first date had just been the start of whatever kinky play Hunter was into.

Hunter simply nodded. “I want to see how far you’re willing to go for me.” 

The stud sat back, lifted his arms and removed the tight compression shirt he was wearing, revealing his remarkable torso to Tommy for the first time. 

Chuckling slightly at the obviously smitten expression on Tommy’s face, the large guy leaned in and gave him a sweet kiss on the lips. “Are you ready to do this for me?” he whispered into his guest’s ear, before picking Tommy’s small hands up and placing them on his strapping chest.

The hot, sweet breath on Tommy’s neck, combined with the musky scent of the jock’s body, so firm and strong, made him want to climax there and then. “Yes,” he replied obediently.

Hunter sat back again with a smirk, making Tommy’s hands fall back down. He knew exactly the effect he was having upon the boy. He reached down to the guy’s stomach and, with the back of one finger, he stroked across the light six pack that showed there. “Goodbye, little buddy,” he teased wickedly. Then he stood up, seeming to loom larger than ever without his shirt on, and brought the plates and bowls to the table. 

Armed with only a fork and a spoon, Tommy was expected to feast on all of it.

Luck was on Tommy’s side; he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. Plus, Hunter was watching him, rubbing his back sweetly and advising him on what to eat next; taking him back and forth from one dish to another. But something seemed to happen about thirty minutes in. Hunter changed slightly. He’d had a laid back attitude the entire time that Tommy had been there, as if he wouldn’t have been bothered if Tommy cancelled the date and took himself home instead. Maybe he was used to that. But now he was actively supporting; up and about, fetching the furthest plates so that Tommy did not need to reach. The man’s breathing had altered as well, with deeper, more rapid intakes of breath as he watched Tommy eat. Then, with a small glance down, Tommy saw that the thickest hardness had swollen down one side of Hunter’s gym shorts. How incredible! Had Tommy really excited the dominant man that much?

“You’re doing well,” Hunter praised him; his voice deeper and more gravely than Tommy had heard it before. “I’m impressed.”

Tommy’s stretched out stomach began to really hurt about forty minutes in, yet he continued to push himself as far as he could. Some plates were clean now, which Hunter got up and replaced with some dessert items. Tommy had always enjoyed switching back and forth between sweet and savory items, so the additions to the table were more of a help than a hindrance.

Eventually, the time came when Tommy knew he would have to stop. His pace had slowed and he started selecting those easier, lighter items to make the remaining plates look at least a little emptier. “That’s it. I’m done!” he whimpered, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his painfully distended stomach.

Despite expecting cries or protests from Hunter ordering him to finish the pathically small amount of pasta he had left, or gulp down the last few melting scoops of ice cream, Hunter simply sat there, surveying the destruction on the table. “Where did you learn to eat like that?” he asked, seemingly flabbergasted.

Tommy quietly dredged up a burp to relieve some of the pressure and shook his head. “Don’t know,” he shrugged. “I’ve always had a pretty good appetite.”

Hunter still seemed unable to comprehend what he had witnessed. “I’ve seen some seriously fucking fat boys eat less than half of what you just put away.”

Tommy burped again and found some pleasant relief; more than he was expecting. He knew how expensive the ice cream that Hunter had served him was, and decided to finish it off after all, not wanting to see it go to waste. He could see Hunter staring at him in amazement. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he shrugged, a little embarrassed. “I’ve always had a very fast metabolism.”

“I can soon destroy that,” Hunter growled, giving away just how horny he was. “Natural greed like this… It's incredible. And very rare!” 

“Thanks,” Tommy smiled,unsure what else to say. 

“Why don’t you stay here tonight?” Hunter asked next, wrapping a big arm over Tommy’s shoulders, like a snake about to suffocate its prey. “I know you don’t have work in the morning. I can make you breakfast.”

A mixture of relief and arousal swept over Tommy. He’d made such an effort to eat, he’d all but forgotten the fact that he’d need to catch the bus home later.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Hunter teased, as if Tommy needed persuading. He reached for a tiny bottle of lubricant in his shorts and tipped a small amount of it onto his fingertips, before gently massaging the head of Tommy’s hardness.

Tommy gasped and grabbed for the sides of his seat, as if the floor was about to cave in. Hunter was so good at this. All that eating made the oxygen catch in his chest and it took him a few seconds to get his breathing into a rhythmn as Hunter took the reins of pleasuring him. He nodded his head, not wanting to use his voice in that moment for fear of how pathetically weak and needy it might sound.

“Come on Greedy Boy,” Hunter teased him. “Let’s go take a shower together…”

“I can’t come next weekend,” Tommy grinned, addressing his coworkers six weeks later. “I’m away with my boyfriend.” 

As predicted, the whistles of delight sounded in the air as they all made a fuss at the news that their colleague was dating at last. Tommy wasted no time in sharing a picture of the two of them together, sitting in his parents’ lounge. 

“He’s hot!” blasted one of them straight away.

“He looks like he should be on a catwalk!” squeaked another.

Tommy smirked to himself. He loved the reactions he got to pictures of Hunter. Sure, people might have thought he was punching quite significantly above his weight, but he was still the one who got to be fucked by such a hunk, and not them. However, behind that handsome smile and perfect ‘boy next door’ act Hunter laid on astonishingly thick for all of Tommy’s family and friends, lay the kinkiest, most dominant lover he could have ever wished for. The things they got upto in the bedroom satisfied him completely. After years of dating boring guys, Hunter seemed to swoop in and make Tommy fall hopelessly in love with him in only a matter of days. Tommy was utterly devoted to him. And the best part was, Hunter knew it.

“You haven’t really told me much about these friends of yours we’re going to meet this weekend,” Tommy pondered, sitting in the passenger seat and noting how far out into the country they had gone on his online map.

“Well, why bother? You got along with all my other friends,” Hunter chuckled, obviously keeping something from Tommy about this trip.

Tommy sighed. “Yeah, but they were all co-workers and old school buddies. They don’t know… all the sides of your personality,” he replied diplomatically.

“Well, let’s just say, this weekend will be good for us,” Hunter smiled, leaning back and driving smoothly. “These guys are sexy as fuck, and we all like to play together. I’ve been excited to show you off to them since we first started going out. ”

“Show me off?” Tommy asked. “How so?”

“Just you wait and see,” Hunter laughed, adjusting the developing boner he was getting in his crotch. Something about this was exciting him very much. Then he reached his hand across to stroke Tommy’s thigh and brushed off some of the many wrappers from the drive-thru they had stopped at a good few miles back.

The location, when they finally arrived about two hours later, was nothing short of breathtaking. The house was set in the most charming of spots, overlooking the hills; with eight bedrooms, a pool, and the largest hot tub Tommy had ever seen. They entered, Hunter leading the way, only to see several shirtless men all standing around in the kitchen. They cheered when they saw Hunter and came over to greet him with a hug.

Tommy stood back awkwardly. He’d been so stupid in how he had imagined these men in his head. They were not at all as he had envisioned them; all of them round bellied and at varying levels of obesity; not the types of guys that someone in Hunter’s extreme, peak physical condition would have been expected to associate with. But, then again, Hunter had always said that he preferred fat guys.

“And this is my new boyfriend, Tommy,” Hunter finally stated, pulling Tommy forward to greet them all.

There was a look of surprise on all the guys’ faces. One of them furrowed their eyebrows, as if about to ask whether Hunter was being serious. Then, the first one stepped forward and shook his hand warmly; followed by the rest of them, one by one.

“That was a little weird,” Tommy whispered as the pair of them went up to the bedroom that had been assigned to them: thre master suite no less. “Did they not know that you’re dating?”

“No, they knew,” Hunter smirked, undressing himself and slipping on his tiny swim shorts to head out to the pool. “I date fat guys, remember. I’ve fucked and dominated every one of them in my time,” he continued, checking his perfect hair in the mirror. “So when I told them I was dating the fucking greediest, sexiest guy I’d ever met, they’d probably assumed you were a lot larger.”

“Wait. So do they know that you…” Tommy asked.

“These guys know everything. That’s why I was so excited for this weekend. We can just relax and be ourselves, without having to worry. I can cook mountains of food for you, just like normal, then bring you up here, tie you up and fuck you all night long,” he grinned, striding over to Tommy and kissing him. “Now, get changed,” he ordered, throwing some swim shorts at him.

“Looking good!” growled one of the men as Hunter led the way down the stairs. “I’ve never seen you looking so chiselled.”

Hunter stood and soaked in all of their comments, comically flexing and posing for them all. Then he smirked and tapped one of the guys on his gut. “I could say the same to you, buddy,” he nodded. “This overhang has really gotten a lot bigger since the last time I saw you.”

Tommy inhaled slightly with shock at Hunter’s rudeness. He looked for signs of offense, until he saw that the man instead looked mightily pleased with himself. “Paul has been feeding me a big tub of ice cream before bed every night,” he pointed over at another large bellied guy in the corner, who was obviously his partner. 

“Well, it’s really working,” Hunter smiled at him, giving him a deep, horny kiss. “I’m doing the same with this little guy,” he continued, pulling Tommy closer to him. “He was still living with his parents when I met him, but I’ve got him with me most of the time these days. That’s making things easier. Ice cream before bed is one of the things I started him on straight away,” he stated proudly.

The eyes of the men studied Tommy’s body in his swim shorts.

“I’m having to break down his incredibly fast metabolism. It’s not ideal. But if I turn him around, you can see,” Hunter explained, spinning a light and clueless Tommy around and bending him down so that his small butt faced the men instead. “There’s a little more softness forming around his lower back and…” he continued, dropping Tommy’s swim shorts slightly so that his butt cheeks showed, “...his glutes and thighs are filling up a lot more than when I first met him.”

Hunter tapped Tommy’s butt, creating a short ripple.

“Do you see it?” he asked them all.

With his head down, facing away from them, Tommy didn’t know if the guys had nodded in agreement. 

“Do you think he’s going to be quite bottom heavy then?” another of the men asked, clearly feeling that Tommy’s butt was wothy of discussion.

“Possibly,” Hunter agreed. “It’s a bit too early to tell. There aren’t many fatties in his family for me to get a good idea of how he might develop. That was one of the first things I checked. But he’s quit the gym to spend more time with me, so that should speed things up a little.”

Tommy felt his swim shorts getting pulled back up and a sweet kiss being placed on his forehead by his boyfriend. Then he was spun back to face the others, just as they all started chuckling with amusement to themselves, noticing the hardness that had developed in Tommy’s crotch during their conversation about him.

Hunter soon noticed as well and joined in the laughing, patting Tommy on his butt proudly. “He’s a kinky little fucker too!” he smirked, repositioning himself behind Tommy, rolling his big strong arms around the smaller guy’s shoulders and gently rubbing his crotch into his lover’s rear.

“I take it he’s a sub?” Paul asked from the corner.

“Of course,” Hunter shot back, gently nibbling Tommy’s ear. “One of the most obedient I’ve ever had,” he whispered. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you Tommy?” he teased, reaching one arm down to stroke the hardness in Tommy’s shorts, even with all the other guys there.

Tommy’s head flopped back against Hunter’s shoulder. In this situation, he felt so crazily out of control, yet it was arousing him in ways he could not explain.

“Anyway, come on, Piggy,” Hunter finally ordered, pulling his large hand out from Tommy’s crotch. “Let’s go try out the pool.” He tapped his lover on his butt, admiring the slight flutter that spread into the guy’s thighs. “But remember, not too much exercise for you. I don’t want you to spoil all the fast food calories I bought you earlier.”

Dinner was served a couple of hours later: a vast spread of multiple dishes, prepared by the varying couples in attendance. They sat in the shade, all of them in their swim shorts, and some of the men spilling out of the tight patio chairs that the rental property had for its guests.

“You finished already, Danny?” Hunter asked the significantly overweight man across the table. “Tommy will be nowhere near finished. He’s got at least another twenty minutes in him,” he boasted.

“It is extraordinary,” one of the others nodded in agreement, seeing how easily Tommy was packing it all in. “Is this how he usually is?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Hunter nodded, reaching over and spooning on another large serving of cheesy pasta, as if he was psychically linked to his boyfriend and knew exactly what he wanted. “He can go like this for every meal: breakfast, lunch, dinner… He’s also a great little snacker as well. I need to eat frequently throughout the day to keep this physique up,” he explained, tensing his large biceps. “So it’s easy to get this one eating with me, and it still never spoils his appetite when dinner time rolls around.”

“How are his family feeling about him dating a feeder?” Danny asked, eyes still on Tommy as he continued to consume.

“It’s still early days,” Hunter replied. “He’s not really started to fatten up properly yet and take shape. Plus, they absolutely love me. I have his mom eating out of the palm of my hand! I’m sure the idea that I’m fattening their son won’t cross their minds for some time yet.”

“What’s his recovery time like?” Danny’s slightly slimmer husband asked next.

“Pretty good,” Hunter nodded again. “After he’s done here, I’ll take him upstairs, jack him off and then let him sleep for a couple of hours. Then he’ll be back up and ready for something else before bed,” he laughed, rubbing his boy’s back sweetly.

Tommy listened to it all as he continued to eat. Below the table, his hardness was weeping into his swim trunks. It wasn’t at all how he anticipated the life of a submissive, but it was still absolutely perfect, hearing Hunter boast about his control over him to all his friends.

“Are you struggling there, Fat Boy?” Hunter grinned as he watched the enormous Jack trying to repack his suitcase in the middle of the lounge that Sunday.

Tommy could tell that Jack was Hunter’s favourite of all the fat guys; most likely because was the softest of them all; partly due to his shorter height, making him rounder and more spherical than the others. Tommy had been with his boyfriend long enough to know when Hunter was getting horny and he sensed the spark of arousal within him each time Jack waddled on by, dressed only in his swim trunks all weekend.

Jack wiped his brow and nodded. “I’m not as sprightly as I used to be.”

Hunter chuckled and nodded in agreement. “Harry has done an awesome job on you. All that fresh fat in that big gut…” He growled in approval, admiring it all. His hardness was getting too much for him and he pulled Tommy gently down into his crotch to pleasure him whilst they spoke.

“I think you’ve got a good one there too,” Jack nodded over at Tommy, sucking away, as ordered.

Hunter sighed with pride and slapped Tommy on his butt, as he crouched across the sofa. “He will be. He just needs time to get into my ways.”

“He looks pretty obedient to me,” Jack chuckled.

“Oh, definitely! Like I said, he’s one of the best subs I’ve ever had. Decent blow job skills too,” he sighed, really starting to feel Tommy’s work now. “I just need to take down this metabolism of his.” He gazed down at the back of Tommy’s head bobbing up and down in his crotch. “I need every part of him to submit to me.”

Jack nodded knowingly, trotting over and rubbing Tommy’s butt as well. “Don’t worry, Hunter. I know you. You’ll have him under control very soon now...”

Over the next few weeks, Tommy felt a creeping tightness in his workpants. He stared in the mirror, hardly believing that the swollen glutes and thicker thighs were actually his. In his constantly bloated state, he hadn’t noticed the disappearance of his light six pack, as a thickening layer of fat began to spread itself around his waist. In fact, it was only as he jumped down from his office chair after finding something on the top shelf of a cupboard, that he noticed the first flutter of that fat, especially in his chest. But after that day, everything seemed to spiral.

“Hunter, I need you to come to my work,” Tommy whispered down the phone.

“Why?” Hunter asked, clearly in the middle of a training session with one of his clients at his gym.

“I bent down to pick up my pen and…”

“You ripped your pants,” Hunter finished for him. “About time. Did anyone see?”

“No,” Tommy replied with relief.

“That’s a shame,” Hunter sighed in disappointment. “And now you want me to drop everything and head over to deliver some larger pants for you?”

“Yes, please!” Tommy begged, knowing that his dominant boyfriend might actually get quite a kick out of leaving him in his ripped pants all day long.

A long, excruciating two hours later, Hunter arrived at the office. Many of the female employees rushed from their desks to greet him, and Hunter flirted sweetly with them, knowing exactly what sort of effect he had on them. It was strangely arousing to see him in action, pretending to take an interest in Melissa’s honeymoon or Fran’s new grandchildren; this charming character that he portrayed with ease.

“Well, I must go, ladies,” he smiled, walking towards Tommy’s office as some of them continued to bleat on. He closed the door behind him and comically put his body against it as if to stop anyone following him in. Then he locked it, just in case. “How do you put up with such boring people?” he sighed, looking straight at Tommy.

“They absolutely adore you,” Tommy reminded him.

“I know. But they’re still fucking boring,” Hunter smirked, checking the blinds were closed properly before striding over to his chubby lover who rose from his chair to greet him with an embrace.

Immediately, Hunter seized the opportunity in those moments of weakness; his strong hands sliding down to the tear in Tommy’s pants, mercilessly ripping them open further.

Tommy’s hands slipped back surveying the damage. Now, even his underwear had been compromised as he felt cool air against his increasingly fleshy glutes. “Please tell me you brought my new pants,” he blasted in panic.

“I did,” Hunter nodded, rifling through his backpack and showing them briefly. “But it’s going to cost you,” he sniggered, now pulling out his hardness from his shorts and nodding for Tommy to lie himself on the table.

“But I’m in work!” Tommy shot back.

“All the more reason for you to stop complaining and get a move on then,” the man laughed back, stroking his thick hardness to warm it up for Tommy’s softening butt.

Tommy lay himself down, realising that one of his most kinky work fantasies was about to come true, despite feeling no less worried that there would be a knock on his door at any moment. He spread his legs, making the tear even more pronounced, then heard the thud of a supermarket cheesecake being dropped by his head and then slid underneath his nose: Hunter’s latest fascination, watching him gorge on something extremely fattening whilst fucking him.

Both of them set to work, Hunter pounding him so forcefully that the cheesecake smeared itself over Tommy’s nose and under his chin as he tried to eat it at the same time. It was clear that he needed to eat fast, save getting it on his white shirt and ending up in exactly the same sartorial predicament again. His tongue came into play, scooping it all up and then pushing whatever didn’t need chewing straight down. Hunter didn’t take long to finish, but the sweat on his brow gave away just how much he had really gone for it. He threw Tommy a pack of cleaning wipes for his face and unfolded the new pants, presenting them like a prize to his lover.

A minute later, Hunter insisted on being walked out of the office; both of them stopped on the way multiple times.

“Yes, we’d love to come over for dinner sometime, Christine,” Hunter smiled politely, both he and Tommy knowing full well that it would never happen. Hunter wouldn’t waste his free time socialising with any of these people, unless there was something in it for him.

“Whart a nice boy he is!” Christine marvelled, standing at the main entrance of the office block, watching Hunter drive off. “So polite and gentle!”

Swishing his tongue around his mouth and still tasting nothing but cheesecake, Tommy nodded in agreement. “He’s the best.”

It felt very festive, turning up at the picturesque rental cottage covered in snow. Unlike last time, Tommy knew exactly what he would be walking into as Hunter’s friends arranged their next meet up. Being from up north, renting these houses was the best way for them to meet up with Hunter, who they all found just as fascinating and intoxicating as Tommy did. 

“Someone has been eating well!” the men chuckled, seeing Tommy for the first time in almost six months.

Tommy nodded, taking his big jacket off. In the last couple of months, his cheeks had blown up in a way that was not too dissimilar to a hamster stuffing itself with seeds. Fat had spread under his chin and into his neck, always visible now that Hunter insisted that he stayed clean shaven. Hunter kissed him proudly, always delighted whenever anyone mentioned his boyfriend’s gains.

“I’m guessing you defeated that fast metabolism of his?” Danny laughed, seeing more and more of Tommy’s shape as he removed the layers of winter clothing.

“Did you ever doubt me?” Hunter smirked back, grabbing both of their bags to take them upstairs; never wanting Tommy to burn any calories unnecessarily.

“What do you weigh now?” Paul jumped in after Tommy and Hunter came back downstairs after settling into their room.

Tommy looked to Hunter, knowing that he would want to be the one to tell them all.

“We’re up 70lbs since you last saw him,” Hunter beamed, draping his big arm over Tommy’s shoulders. “I bet you can hardly recognise him with these chubby cheeks, huh boys?”

“I suppose the sweatpants come in handy these days?” Eddie asked, nodding at Tommy’s casual attire as he stood beside his muscular boyfriend.

“Um, I guess so,” Hunter pondered. “To be honest, I don’t let him wear clothes when he’s at home. Do I?” he asked Tommy in an attempt to include him, even a little, in this discussion about him.

Tommy shook his head.

“As you can probably see, his tits are starting to come in real nicely,” Hunter continued, lifting Tommy’s shirt for the boys to see. “Lovehandles are fully in shape now, and the back fat,” he rambled on, spinning Tommy around for their viewing pleasure. “I’ve had to rescue him twice in work now after he’s split his pants,” he laughed, rolling the sweatpants down so that the guys could see the transformation that had taken place in Tommy’s glutes. “And, best of all…” he went on, rapidly spinning Tommy like a ragdoll again to face them once more, “Check this out…”

The boys marvelled in unison as Hunter grabbed a thick wedge of fat that had amassed at the top of Tommy’s groin. 

“It’s hard to believe how much fat there is here, considering he’s only 220lbs at the moment,” Hunter grinned. “It’s incredible!”

“Well, we can help add to that this weekend,” Danny smiled. “It’s your first holiday season as a fatty,” he nodded at Tommy. “That’s got to be quite exciting?”

“It’s also our first one together,” Tommy replied, falling back into Hunter’s large chest.

“What are you guys doing for the big day?” Eddie asked next.

“Well, we told Tommy’s parents that we were going to my family. And then we said the exact opposite to my parents. So, basically…” Hunter smirked, pulling his lover into a cute sideways cuddle, “...this little piggy is going to be spending the day sitting on my cock whilst I feed him absolutely everything I’ve been preparing for him for the last month.”

The guys all looked at each other, clearly astounded and secretly aroused by the idea.

“Have you had much backlash from Tommy’s family now he’s getting so overweight?” Danny questioned them later, sitting at the table, waiting for Tommy to finish his meal.

“Not so much,” Hunter replied. “Now his face has started to balloon, people are certainly a lot more aware of it. But his parents aren’t as switched on as mine. My dad pulled me to the side a couple of weeks ago and told me to start going easy on Tommy.” He straightened up, about to do an impression of his father and put on a dull, stuck-up voice. “Your mother and I know exactly what you’re doing,” he began at a fast pace, poking his finger out like a school teacher. “You’ve always been forceful about getting your own way; always the bully we used to get complaints about when you were in high school. But Tommy is a nice boy; the nicest you’ve ever brought home, and you’ve got to start getting your kicks some other way. One that doesn’t involve him getting so out of shape!”

The men all laughed in unison.

“I just tell them I’m going to set up a diet plan for Tommy in the New Year,” he chuckled; setting the rest of them off. 

“Well, I can imagine exactly what sort of ‘diet plan’ you’ll have for him,” Danny smirked, knowing his friend all too well.

Hunter nodded and laughed along with them. “Yeah, this fat boy is so fucking screwed!”

Their conversation rolled on. All the while, Tommy continued to eat.

“Good boy!” Hunter sang moments later as Tommy finally put his knife and fork down; his plate cleared. “Was that tasty? That lamb dish is one of Eddie’s most fattening recipes. I should know. I taught him how to make it.”

Tommy nodded his head; utterly stuffed.

“Do you want me to take you upstairs for your pleasure time?” he asked the blubbery boy. “It’s part of his routine,” he explained to the guys. “Or would you rather have it here, so that the other fat boys can see you?”

Tommy looked around at the faces staring at him. All of the men were shirtless and some of them, like him, had come to the table wearing nothing at all. His initial thought was to go back upstairs. However, that seemed like such an effort in his stuffed state. He looked over at a cosy chair by the fireplace and nodded; “Over there.”

Initially, the other kinky guys had pretended to busy themselves whilst Hunter took Tommy over to the chair and began to rub his hardness up and down. However, their curiosity and arousal was soon gettng the better of them, one-by-one, coming to sit on the other chairs or stand nearby watching Hunter controlling his sub.

“Are you a good piggy for me?” Hunter whispered into his ear, making Tommy moan and nod. “You’ve put on so much fat for me this year. Did you see how shocked the guys were earlier? They’re all looking at you now.”

Tommy opened his eyes and looked around. What would he have said a year ago, had he imagined a scenario that was anything like this?

A curious and horny Eddie licked his thumb and began rubbing it over Tommy’s pointed nipple.

Hunter looked across with approval. “Piggy loves that now his tits have come in. He can’t get over how sensitive they are.

Danny licked his thumb and began playing with the other nipple, before Paul came along and grabbed a wedge of Tommy’s stomach fat, as if hardly believing how quickly it had developed.

“You see, you’re the star of the show, Piggy!” Hunter whispered into his lover’s ear.

Tommy’s breathing became a lot heavier as he felt his climax building.

“It’s alright, Piggy,” Hunter continued. “Don’t hold back. You can show them what I taught you to do when you climax.”

Tommy looked into Hunter’s eyes. Was it really okay to let himself go like this? But the orgasm was coming so fast and the urge to do it was becoming too much for him to resist. He gasped, letting go of his inhibition, then snorted, loud and clear, just like a pig, mimicking the tones that Hunter had taught him exactly. Jets flowed across the coffee table in the middle of the room and Tommy shut his eyes, calm at last..

As the New Year came and went, Tommy realised that his weight had spiked at an alarmingly fast rate over the holidays. Hunter had declared, looking at the vast new size of Tommy’s glutes, that it had been the best gift he had ever received. The gains did eventually slow down, but never stagnated. And so, by their first anniversary of getting together, Tommy stood next to his gorgeous boyfriend with over one hundred and ten pounds of added fat on him.

Hunter was more pleased with his own body than ever before as well. He’d spent the last few months bulking his shoulders and glutes, so that even he was outgrowing his clothes. Seeing Tommy swell so fast had given him the motivation he needed to make a real push with his weight training, and he spent much of that summer without a shirt on, both inside and outside of the apartment. He’d inherited a decent amount of money from a great uncle he had never even met, spending most of it on a new convertible and a designer watch that helped to inflate his ego even further. Their kitchen had been the epicentre of it all, with Hunter cooking himself up vast amounts of high protein meals, whilst simultaneously pouring in the butter, oils and grease into everything he made for Tommy.

Hunter’s bulking had also created the perfect excuse for Tommy’s ever swelling stomach. Hunter made no secret of how much he had to consume in order to keep up the strapping muscle on his body. “Most evenings, I’m cooking up food and portioning it out for myself for the next day,” he explained to Tommy’s aunt during their next visit. “But I think the smell of it makes Tommy hungry, and when I go to bed, I hear him rummaging around in the kitchen for hours.”

“Oh, Tommy!” his aunt tutted with disappointment. “No wonder you’ve gained so much weight then. You need to exercise some self control.”

Hunter nodded in agreement, rubbing Tommy’s back supportively; as if this was all one great big intervention, aimed at helping him. The lies just rolled off the hunk’s tongue with such ease and he’d soon be laughing in the car at how easily they all swallowed them. “Come on, Fatty,” he whispered whilst still smiling and waving at Tommy’s extended family as they reversed off the driveway. “Look at their faces,” he laughed. “They really think you’re going to turn things around this time.”

“My aunt spoke to me a minute ago, before we left,” Tommy explained from the passenger seat. “She told me that you’re the fitness expert and that I just need to do whatever you say.”

Hunter laughed victoriously. “Good old Auntie Paula!” he roared, waving one final time to her in particular. “In that case, your fitness expert is taking you home to sit my dick while I feed you your disgustingly oversized dinner. I heard that chair squeaking when you sat on it earlier. Next time we go to see them, I’m going to make sure your fat ass destroys it!”

The summer was coming to an end, but not before the pair of them drove up in Hunter’s new car to yet another rental place for a weekend with the boys.

“I’ve got a surprise for everyone later,” Hunter joked, shirtless and with a strong arm draped over his flabby, newly 300lb boyfriend.”

“Another one?” the boys joked, having just spoken at length about their shock at seeing the swell of Tommy’s chest and underarm fat in particular.

Hunter kept them all waiting keenly. They ate their dinner, recharged and then settled down to some beers in the large lounge. “Want to see something super cute?” he finally asked them, grinning with excitement.

“Is this our surprise?” Jack immediately replied, ready to be entertained.

Hunter nodded. “Look at these!” he cooed, suddenly holding up a tiny pair of underwear he’d been hiding behind a cushion.

The boys laughed. “Awh!” they all sang back. In their world, no one wore underwear that small; even Hunter with his giant glutes and muscular thighs needed a large, or even an extra-large in many cases.

“These belonged to Tommy when he came over to my apartment for the first time,” Hunter laughed wickedly, spinning them around and holding them by the very ends of his fingertips as if to further emphasise how petite they were. “I’ve not even washed them since.”

At this, all the guys began laughing in much the same way. They passed them around, each of them marvelling at their tiny size.

“Your butt used to be so small!” Paul bellowed, draping the underwear over his large gut to show how minute they were in comparison.

Tommy stared at them, suddenly remembering how Hunter had walked off with his underwear on that first date at their now shared apartment. His perspective really had been skewed, hardly believing now that he ever wore clothes that small.

“That was only seventeen months ago, boys!” Hunter shouted, raising his arms up in the air for the admiration he was owed. “That’s how it’s done, my friends! That’s how a real feeder takes control and fattens his piggy!”

The boys all cheered in complete agreement. The transformation, the sheer speed of it all; it was breathtaking.

“He’d never get them on these days,” Eddie laughed. “Not with the amount of fat he carries on his thighs, and that huge butt of his.”

Hunter pretended to ponder the idea; theatrically raising his thumb to his chin and rubbing. “Hmm, do you really think so?” he asked, barely holding back his laughter. “I think we may need to test that hypothesis, don’t you, boys?” he called out, rousing the crowd of fat men into a chorus of cheers. 

Within seconds, Hunter had stood up and moved clear so that the other men could move in and do his bidding. Tommy was being lifed and forced out of his current underwear, feeling delighted pats of approval from some of the guys as his big, fat, doughy glutes came on show. The coffee table had been removed from the room, the music turned way down, and he was pushed into the middle of a now cleared space, with all the large, occupied chairs and sofas imprisoning it. 

Suddenly, the mood changed. Unlike the others, Hunter was standing, blocking the only path out of the room; his giant arms folded intimidatingly across his immensely powerful, shirtless chest; an inpenetrable wall; a ringleader, ready to entertain.

Even before he started, Tommy could hear little hoots of laughter all around him. He looked up at Hunter’s stern expression and his hardness throbbed uncontrollably.

“As you all remember,” Hunter began, “a short while ago, I started dating a very handsome, a very athletic, and in fact, a very pretty-looking guy…” 

His tone was so playful and full of mockery; making the other guys laugh; every single one of them. Then he reached out and took the tiny underwear from the person who had them. Although only a few feet away from him, Tommy looked up at his lover as if the giant man was standing high upon a towering pedestal. The way those cold eyes stared down at him aroused him more than anything else.

“The pride and joy of his parents…” Hunter sang, holding Tommy’s old underwear for them all to see again, “...college graduate, all round nice guy. He told me that he wanted to meet me. Practically begged me!”

Again, the other guys all laughed at that. Tommy’s first foolish mistake.

“He told me that I was the sexiest guy he had ever seen in his life,” Hunter smirked, emphasising the language and slipping a finger up into the crotch of the old unerwear, showing where Tommy’s little erection would have once pushed against them. That got him one of the biggest laughs. “And he promised me one thing…” Hunter went on. “...That he would do absolutely anything that I wanted him to.”

The guys all turned from looking at Hunter, to gazing with awe at Tommy’s fattened body: the rolls and blubber, stretch marks and sag. His complete submission was right there, before their very eyes. Hunter’s will, made flesh.

“What you’re about to see, boys, is my now disgustingly gluttonous, obese boyfriend, trying to put on a pair of underwear that he last wore the second time he met me,” Hunter declared, throwing the tiny material down at Tommy’s feet, filling his large chest with air and folding those enormous arms once more. 

Again, the fat men all laughed to themselves, some reaching in again to poke Tommy’s fleshy stomach, or tap his naked, under-exercised butt.

“Taking them off was one of his first acts of submission to me. And now,” Hunter continued, “this greedy, fat hog is about to try and put them back on for us.” He stared hard at Tommy, making him hornier still.

Tommy nodded slowly, hardly believing that this was all happening so fast. Two minutes ago, he had been snuggled into Hunter on the couch, oblivious that any of this was coming.

“Are you ready, boys?” Hunter roared at them all; rousing another cheer of excitement. He was made for this. Showmanship was in his blood. “Count the fat fucker into it for me…” he shouted at an alarming volume.

Tommy glanced at the ridiculously small underwear; his heart beating at quite the pace. He could feel the huge ring of fat under his chin as he looked down and tried to envision how best to do it.

“Three…two… ONE!” the boys all sang with the boisterous Hunter; lifting their bottles of beer up high; eyes wide and excited to see how this would all go down.

With a slight grunt from all that he had eaten earlier, Tommy bent down to pick up the underwear. There were cheers of amusement as his butt crack opened to those standing behind him. Then, turning the underwear in his hands, he lifted one leg to begin to put them on. He stumbled, feeling the fat in his butt and love handles quiver with the force he had to throw his foot down, just to keep his balance.

“Take your time, Piggy. Get it right,” Hunter reminded him in his stern tone. This show was important. These were his friends, and he had brought Tommy here to entertain them.

Tommy nodded. He started again, slipping one foot into the tiny hole and raised the material to his ankles. Now came the trickier part. He grunted, raising his other leg and miraculously slipped that inside as well. The big moment had arrived. 

Grabbing onto the tiny waistband, Tommy sucked in his stomach and heaved them up. They began soaring up his legs and then slowed dramatically. just above his knees. They were so narrow, he felt like he needed to spread his legs more to get them up; but there was no room. He pulled at them again, hearing howls of laughter all around him. The effort was almost unbelievable, and yet the underwear raised barely more than a couple of inches. Never mind his giant butt, it was his blubbery thighs that were the problem. 

On he struggled, feeling the waistband at last touching the lower part of his doughy rear. He lifted the front part easier, just managing to squish a little of his excited erection inside and then he looked up at Hunter. Had he done enough?

Hunter simply raised an eyebrow and smirked, the guys’ laughter suddenly becoming too infectious for even him to ignore. His smile spread and he laughed too, throwing his arms out and then pumping his muscular chest. Some of the men reached their congratulatory hands out to the feeder for him to shake as he walked around the space where Tommy stood. His victory lap.

“Thank you. You’re right,” he replied to their comments. “Twenty five years old, and look at it now!”

Finally, he came to stand in front of Tommy again, suddenly becoming falsely affectionate and stroking his submissive’s large, chubby cheek. “I’m so glad I met you,” he told Tommy, speaking as much to the other men who were listening in.

“I’m glad I met you too,” Tommy replied, full of love and arousal for his dominant lover.

The men all laughed at Tommy’s words and Hunter looked around at them with devilment dancing in his eyes. His perfect white teeth glistened as the widest smile grew on his face. He knew exactly what they were all thinking. Obesity was beginning to take a vice-like grip on Tommy’s body, and yet the twenty-five year old was still hopelessly under the spell of his wicked boyfriend.

“Good. I’m very glad,” Hunter nodded, lovingly tucking Tommy’s overgrown, sweaty hair behind his ears. He could never resist stroking the extensive chin fat with the back of his finger at the same time; the broad, fat face, freshly shaven as Hunter always insisted upon. “You realise that you’re going to be fatter than everybody here soon, don’t you?” he continued, explaining it to the fat boy like it was an exciting adventure they were embarking upon.

Tommy nodded.

“And that’s okay is it, Piggy?” Hunter asked, playing up to the crowds.

“Yes,” Tommy nodded again. Compliance was so easy.; submission so arousing. And this situation he was in now, so exhilarating and undenyably thrilling. Everything he never knew he needed.

Delving further into the three hundred pound zone was every bit as strange and transformative as the guys had warned Tommy as he left that weekend. Everything jiggled. Everything made him sweat. He had to accept how severely overweight he was now. It was the first thing people noticed when they met him and it was the one factor that influenced how people treated him most. He noted their tones of disapproval and impatience; their blunt answers to his questions and their indignation whenever they saw the gorgeous Hunter kissing him. He stared at pictures of the two of them at his sister’s wedding: his large, bulbous, doughy belly spreading out of his jacket and barely contained within his enormous shirt. He looked at the beautiful Hunter standing behind him, grinning proudly; no one there realising that he was laughing at them all, showing off what he had done to one of their own.

“I think it’s time you considered a new job. One where you can work from home,” Hunter declared, getting up after having fucked one of his new favourite places on his lover’s evolving body: the fat roll encompassing Tommy’s deep belly button.

Tommy nodded. “That would certainly save me a lot of time,” he agreed.

“It would also save you a lot of calories,” Hunter sighed impatiently. “I get so frustrated thinking of you burning off all my delicious breakfasts, trotting that giant ass of your back and forth to the photocopier.”

“But the girls in my office would miss seeing you though,” Tommy joked.

Hunter rolled his eyes. “Another good reason to quit,” he grumbled, chugging down one of his protein shakes and drying off his sweaty body with the towel they left under the bed.

“They actually asked me to apply for a job at another one of our branches the other day,” Tommy considered, remembering how little he had considered it at the time. “Two days in the office, three at home.”

“Where?” Hunter asked with surprising interest.

“North. We’d have to move. At least we’d be closer to Paul, Eddie, and the other guys. But then, it means uprooting your life as well.”

Hunter furrowed his eyebrows in disagreement. “Look at me!” he cried. “I could get a job at any fitness place I wanted. A move away is exactly the sort of thing that we need.”

“It is?” Tommy asked, having never heard Hunter even consider the idea of moving before.

Hunter came over to Tommy, who was still sticky and sprawled out on the bed. The guy’s immense, muscular body made the bed sink slightly as Hunter sat next to him, making the fat in Tommy’s tummy jiggle and lean towards the powerful lover, as if attracted by him. “Listen. You’re now a very fat man. By this time next week, I’ll have you at over 350lbs,” Hunter explained. “But people around here don't see that. All they see is that skinny little dweeb they used to know. That handsome guy with a six pack and no ass, who couldn’t admit that being dominated would make him so fucking horny.”

Tommy chuckled. Hunter’s descriptions were blunt, but always very accurate.

“It’s time we went somewhere new. Where people don’t know about how slim you used to be. Where they will see you the way that I do: just another fat, disgustingly overfed piggy.”

Tommy exhaled deeply, feeling himself getting aroused hearing Hunter using so many of the trigger words that he usually deployed when he was getting pleasured. He nodded. Perhaps Hunter was right. Maybe it was time for a change.

“You make sure that you look after him, won’t you?” Tommy’s mother sobbed, speaking to Hunter as the pair of them stopped to pick up the last of their things and load them into the truck.

“Don’t worry, Angela. He’s in good hands with me,” Hunter smiled back. Now that Tommy had grown wide enough, the big muscular man could rub his boyfriend’s disgustingly overgrown glutes the entire time he spoke to the guy’s mother, without anyone even noticing. “Your boy will be well taken care of.”

They all hugged, with Tommy’s parents telling him how proud they were about his big promotion, as well as how much they would miss him.

“Do you think they know? Even on some level?” Hunter asked as the pair of them got back into the truck. “They have to, surely? No one is that fucking stupid, watching their son get into a relationship and suddenly gaining over two hundred pounds in just over two years!” he sniggered, surprised that no one had mentioned Tommy’s weight today; even with the daringly tight t-shirt he had made him wear.

“Perhaps, on some level,” Tommy considered. At barely average height, his 370lbs was sitting more and more on his stomach these days.  Only a few moments ago, Hunter had needed to push against his wide, overgrown butt, in full view of his parents, in order to get him back into the high removal truck they had hired for the journey. “But, if I’m honest, I don’t think they really know what’s going on.”

“So fucking stupid! It’s unbelieveable!” Hunter sighed, turning the volume way up on the stereo and pulling off his shirt as the air conditioning blasted into life. As much as he enjoyed playing the innocent boyfriend, Hunter also longed for recognition, in whatever form it came.

“Goodbye,” Tommy waved to his parents as they started pulling away. He knew they couldn’t hear him. The music was far too loud.

“Goodbye,” Hunter joined in bitterly as he started to steer. “I’ll look after your son. I’m turning him into a big fat pig, y’know!” he shouted loud and clear, although he would never be heard. “I’ll have the fat fucker at 400lbs by the time you see him this Christmas! Goodbye, idiots!”

Hunter laughed with delight at himself as they rolled down the street. He slipped on his sunglasses and opened his window, just a crack, to let in a bit of fresh air.

“Still think this is the right thing?” Hunter asked moments later, reaching for Tommy’s chubby little fingers and holding them sweetly. His question was so ambiguous, with so many different possible meanings, and an infinite amount of responses. Not that any of that mattered to Tommy. For him, there was only one possible answer to any of those questions.

“Yes,” he smiled with certainty. “Two hundred percent, yes!”

[loveinhawkins]

ao3

It’s the last day of school before Christmas, and the first thing Eddie hears when he enters Family Video is Steve Harrington saying, “Fuck this,” which seems kinda unreasonable; he’s not even done anything yet.

But then Steve continues, his voice turning distant as he heads to the back of the store—“I don’t care what the goddamn handbook says, the radiator’s goin’ on full blast,”—and Eddie realises he hasn’t actually been noticed at all.

Not by Steve, at least. 

Robin Buckley is standing by the computer. She’s checking her watch; Eddie can see the thought cross her mind, that he should’ve been out of class over an hour ago, like she was.

All of a sudden, he feels uncomfortably aware of what he must look like: drenched from the rain, dripping water onto the carpet. 

“Hey, Munson. O’Donnell got you working overtime, huh?”

Eddie fakes a laugh. He doesn’t know Robin that much—but still just well enough to know she doesn’t mean anything by it.

So he nods and rolls his eyes, concocts a story about an unjust detention; he even embellishes it with a pinch of truth as he brings the video tapes out from the shelter of his jacket. Says that his last-ditch attempt at improving his grade before the holidays was offering to return the videos O’Donnell rented for her classes.

He doesn’t mention the fact that he stayed behind voluntarily. That he spent all that time staring down at a perpetually unfinished essay, gripping his pen with an all too familiar desperation. That kind of honesty somehow feels more embarrassing than lying; it always has.

Robin takes the videos from him. “Okay, tell me if that works,” she says, with a hint of sarcasm; she’s joking, Eddie reminds himself, but not in a mean way. “Because I’d be returning, like, so many library books if…”

She trails off with a frown, eyes on the computer screen. Glances to the stack of video tapes before punching in something.

Eddie doesn’t mind the wait; it’s only now that he’s really appreciating just how cold he is. He shakes some water off his jacket sleeve, fingers numb, and realises too late that he’s creating a puddle on the floor. 

“Uh, sorry for, um. Dripping,” he says awkwardly, but Robin doesn’t seem to hear him; she just keeps frantically tapping on the keyboard.

Outside, the wind picks up even more, throwing rain against the windows. 

There’s the creak of a door swinging open somewhere in the back, followed by a voice calling, “What’s up?”

Eddie startles—he almost forgot that it wasn’t just him and Robin in here. He watches Steve sidle up to the register.

“It’s this stupid—“ Robin gestures to the computer with frustration. “It keeps going all, you know, aaaah.” She draws out the sound, wiggling her fingers.

Surprisingly, Steve catches Eddie’s eye with a wry look. “Technical term,” he says, deadpan.

If Eddie didn’t know that he was the only other person in the room, he’d think that surely he’d been mistaken for someone else.

Not that he thinks Steve would ignore him outright; it’s just that they’ve not got much history—no fleeting camaraderie forged from sitting next to one another in class. Sure, they crossed paths as much as anyone did in Hawkins, Steve a recurring figure in Eddie’s peripheral; he knew of his existence, obviously, it’s Steve Harrington, but nothing more than…

A collage of all the times Steve’s picture has appeared in the school newspaper flickers through Eddie’s mind. Okay, but that was because of The Tigers, and the swimming team, and—anyone would’ve noticed that—

His justification is brought to a halt at a particularly fierce howl of wind; Robin flinches so badly that she knocks the video tapes onto the floor. 

“Just the wind,” Steve says quietly.

As he speaks, he gently nudges Robin out of the way with his hip. Picks up the fallen tapes.

And to anyone else, it might seem kind—and nothing more. 

But there’s something almost imperceptible in the way Steve does it, Eddie can’t get away from that fact: a meaning behind the words that he can’t grasp.

Then he hears Wayne’s voice in his head—son, you know fine well when something’s none of your damn business—and tells his curiosity to quit it.

“Sorry, it’s still not working,” Robin says, giving the computer one last thump. “I can, um, write you a receipt? To prove you returned them? So O’Donnell doesn’t get all…”

Eddie nods. “Sure.”

Robin gets a pen out of her shirt pocket and writes a receipt, triple-checking the movie titles as she does so.

Eddie thanks her as she hands over the paper. Catches himself hesitating. 

There it is: the familiar prickle of discomfort, not knowing what else to say. Jesus Christ, isn’t that a failure on its own? Another year at school, and you’d think he’d be somewhat closer to other students, just from the sheer amount of time they’ve spent together in the same four walls. And yet, he’s starting to feel more distant than ever.

Granted, there’s Hellfire, but on bad days even that chafes, not that he’d ever admit it. Like he’s playing a part far bigger than who he actually is.

Eddie expects to just walk out without another word being said. In fact, he’s bracing himself for the cold again, almost at the door, when Steve inexplicably speaks up.

“Are you actually leaving?”

Eddie turns around. Steve’s leaning by the desk with his arms folded, looking at him expectantly.

Eddie’s half-convinced there’s a joke he’s not getting.

“Uh, yeah?” he says. He tries to ensure that ‘what the fuck else am I supposed to do?’ goes unheard, but from the way Steve’s eyebrows rise, he doesn’t think he succeeds. 

Steve gives a pointed, dubious look outside. “Dude, you wanna drown out there?”

Eddie rocks back on his heels. There’d be a time where he would really snap back at that (the first time he flunked out, maybe), but now he’s more caught off-guard. 

So he just glances outside and says, “Ideally, no.”

Steve gives a slight huff of laughter at that, shaking his head.

“Look, I’m just saying, man, I’m not gonna be driving till it clears up. Thought I was gonna need a canoe just to get into the parking lot.” He turns to Robin as if looking for agreement, stacking the tapes Eddie returned as he adds, “I said that when I drove you in, right?”

“I dunno, I’ve had crazier journeys,” Robin says.

Steve rolls his eyes like she’s made a corny joke—but he’s grinning like he just can’t help himself.

Eddie watches with a flicker of amusement rather than irritation, which catches him unawares. If he was honest, he’d felt drained not even a few seconds ago. But seeing Steve and Robin’s back-and-forth sparks an unexpected urge to respond in kind.

“Since when were you the spokesperson for road safety, Harrington?”

Robin snorts.

Steve shrugs. “At least wait until it’s not so brutal out there.”

And what brings Eddie up short is that, despite the dry tone, Steve sounds sincere. It leaves him struggling for an acceptable reply.

Before he can work one out, Steve steps to the side and pushes a swivel chair with his foot, right into Eddie’s path.

Eddie sits down in silent bewilderment.

He braces instinctively for an unbearable awkwardness, but it’s not so bad: Steve and Robin just continue working. It gives him time to try and dry his jacket off, at least, and when that ends up a lost cause, he turns to noticing the background noise in the store.

There’s a TV overhead playing It’s a Wonderful Life; George Bailey and Mary Hatch are about to Charleston right into the swimming pool.

Steve wanders into his eye line, scanning the aisles with a clipboard. Eddie doesn’t actually know how long he’s been there. He’d kinda got caught up in watching the movie. Steve seems to notice that; it’s gone too quick for Eddie to be sure, but his lips might’ve quirked, as if in approval.

“Hey, d’you want me to take your jacket? I’ve got mine and Robin’s on the radiator in the back.”

Eddie does his best not to stare. It’s a habit he’s still not shaken off: waiting for the other shoe to drop when anyone apart from Wayne is so… so…

“Didn’t realise this place was a hotel, Harrington.”

Despite his misgivings, he shrugs off the still damp jacket; Steve’s already stuck his hand out for it.

“Not everyone gets this treatment, Munson. You just haven’t annoyed me yet.”

“Then what am I doing wrong?” Eddie returns flatly. 

This time Steve’s smile is obvious.

“Don’t move my scarf off the radiator!” Robin calls as she wheels a trolley of tapes.

“What do you take me for?” Steve says.

He disappears into the back again, returning empty-handed when the phone rings. He mutters at it before he picks it up, “Yeah, of course you still work,” and it’s not endearing, Eddie tells himself. It’s not.

And no, he isn’t listening in to the phone call. That’d be… that’d be stupid. It’s just that the movie isn’t all that loud, so he can’t help but…

“Hello, Family Video? Oh, hi, Mrs Wilcox, how are… Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.” Steve listens to whatever’s being said on the other end. His eyes find the TV, and then he’s silently mouthing along to George and Mary singing, ‘Buffalo Gals.’ “Oh, are you kidding? No, no, stay inside. It’s not a problem, I can just—yeah, of course. I’ll push it back to after the holidays. Yeah. Yeah, you too. Thanks for calling. Enjoy the movie!”

He hangs up, absentmindedly humming. Eddie quickly looks away.

He notices then that he’s sitting right on the edge of his seat like an idiot. He makes an attempt to sit back—be normal, just be fucking normal—but there’s a rigidity he can’t quite shift, that’s been stuck there probably since middle school, when the cafeteria was full of whispers, did you see the new kid? There, the one with the buzz cut.

“Steve, you off the phone?”

“Yeah. Hey, Rob, if I forget, could you make a note to extend Donna Wilcox’s rental? I’ll do it when we’re back, if the computer’s—”

“Sure, sure. Um, so—”

“Oh, God, what?”

Robin grins, a mixture of sheepish and teasing. Eddie stays put. Has she forgotten he’s here? Should he move? Leave? Yeah, he should leave, they’re not gonna notice… He’ll grab his jacket, slip away; the weather’s not that bad—

“I’ve got something for you to—”

Steve waves his hands in disagreement. “Nope, we said we weren’t doing presents!”

“It’s not really a—my grandma wouldn’t listen, Steve, it’s, like, more of a punishment, honestly, just—just wait there.”

There’s a clatter as Robin rushes off, scattering some more tapes off the trolley. The employee door slams shut behind her.

Steve tsks to himself, but picks up the tapes again. As he bends down, he glances over his shoulder with a brief ‘what can you do?’ sort of expression—which forces Eddie to consider the fact that he hasn’t been forgotten.

He doesn’t know how to feel about it.

He settles for an attempt at nonchalance: sticks a foot out to spin the chair ever so slightly, just side to side, and says, “So, uh, is this job just throwing tapes on the floor?”

“Yeah, we take turns,” Steve says without missing a beat.

He scoops up a tape, twirls it deftly before slotting it into place on the shelf. Eddie should probably find it annoying.

He doesn’t.

In the silence, he tries to lose himself in the movie again, at least a little bit, but he can’t manage it—feels too aware of himself, the creak of the seat as he moves even the tiniest amount, the restless fidgeting that he doesn’t even want to be doing, but knowing that never helps him stop—

“Ta-da!”

Eddie turns in time to see a blur of red; Robin’s just thrown something at Steve, who catches it easily—of course he does, Eddie thinks, but he can’t pretend that the thought comes from a place of resentment, not even inside his own head.

It’s a sweater. Steve unfolds it with a cackling laugh; there’s not a trace of the artificial veneer of high school in the sound.

Unlike you, whispers a nasty inner voice.

Steve’s still laughing. “Robin, this is the best—”

“Shut up, no, it’s so bad.” Robin hoists herself up to sit on the desk. “Grandma did the actual work, all the bits that are messed up are from me—”

“You knitted this?”

Steve beams. Eddie notices that there’s an endearingly crooked tilt to one of his incisors.

And then Steve’s glancing around like he’s checking no-one else has come into the store. He ducks out of view of the windows, but is still very much in Eddie’s view as he throws off his work vest, yanks his shirt up over his head, and…

Eddie suddenly feels like he’s been flung back into the claustrophobic space of the school locker rooms, the dread of changing for phys ed. The voice in his head gets louder: don’t look, don’t look; they’ll know. 

But Steve doesn’t seem to care. He just leaves his shirt in a heap on the floor, wincing overexaggeratedly at the cold, and practically dives into the sweater with a boyish glee.

He laughs again; the sleeves are far too long. “I love it.”

“You do?” Robin says, and while she’s playing up her dubiousness, Eddie can hear how she’s pleased underneath it all.

“Uh, yeah!”

The back of Steve’s hair is ruffled from how eagerly he put the sweater on—but instead of fixing it, he focuses on artfully rolling up his sleeves.

Eddie should look away. Should, at the very least, attempt to appear like he’s zoned out, in a world of his own.

And yet…

Despite everything, he watches Steve Harrington with all the silent, rapt attention he usually reserves for movies.

Moth to a fucking flame, Eddie thinks, resigned.

“Suits me, huh?” Steve says to Robin; he does a stupid little move, one hand on his hip, like he’s on the front cover of a magazine.

“And you’re modest, too.”

“You just don’t know style when you see it.”

Steve’s at the desk now, nudging one of Robin’s feet playfully, before turning round to lean against the corner again. “Hey, Munson, what do you think?”

Eddie finds himself fighting the instinct to reply with something undeservedly cutting. He’d just be trying to cover, anyway, using barbs to conceal what the question makes him feel: something akin to the franticness when confronted in class with a test he hasn’t studied for.

And he looks. Really looks—his heart slowing, the initial panic from the flash of bare skin fading away.

Steve’s right; the sweater does suit him, in all its homemade charm. The shade of red is flattering, brings out his eyes: maroon, if Eddie had to put a name to it, although he suspects that the colour’s actually got nothing to do with it, more the way Steve holds himself—a quiet, certain confidence that’s always been out of Eddie’s reach.

He inwardly gives himself a shake as Steve and Robin keep waiting on his response.

This isn’t school, idiot; they’re not trying to catch you out.

“I’m hardly an expert on high fashion, Harrington,” Eddie says—thinks he just manages to pull off the lazy, unbothered drawl.

“Well, you have a look,” Steve says faux delicately, like he’s being incredibly generous.

Eddie cracks a genuine smile; it sort of weakens the whole aloof thing he’d settled on, but he surprisingly doesn’t care all that much.

“Damned with faint praise.”

Steve scoffs as if to say touché. His gaze catches on something outside, and Eddie wonders if it’s an actual customer, if it’s time for whatever all of this is to stop.

But all Steve does is poke Robin’s foot and add, pointedly singsong, “Rain’s stopped.”

“So?” Robin asks.

“I think it’s in between storms,” Steve says sagely. “Like, we’ve got a little window before more rain hits.”

“Great, Steve, I’ll love waving that opportunity bye.”

Steve tuts. “Rob, I’m saying we should ditch. Come on, it’s been dead all day. We can be home early and warm, it’s, like, single-handedly the best plan I’ve ever had.”

Better than when you won the championship game? Eddie thinks—wisely keeps that strictly to himself, because he’ll admit following Hawkins High’s basketball results on pain of death.

Robin looks torn. “I don’t know, Steve, what if—”

“Who’s gonna tell?” Steve says, gesturing around at the empty store. He nods at Eddie, says sarcastically, “Oh yeah, Eddie Munson, known snitch.”

“You flatter me,” Eddie says. He surprises himself at how easily it slips out, like for once, there was no need to overthink it.

“See? Rob-in,” Steve wheedles, “come on, I’ll cash out. You and your grandma could knit for hours.”

“Shut up,” Robin says fondly. “Fine! Quick, quick, I’ll flip the sign.”

The whole thing resembles a military operation, with how speedily Steve and Robin manage to close the store. Eddie stands up and moves the swivel chair out of the way, but feels almost exposed without it.

Steve’s just finished at the register when he catches Eddie’s eye. He snaps his fingers, “Oh, shit, yeah,” and yells over his shoulder to Robin in the back room, “Hey, pick up Munson’s jacket, too!” Then he’s stuffing a couple of tapes into a backpack. “Want one?”

Eddie blinks, confused. “What?”

Steve wiggles one of the movies in demonstration before zipping up his bag. “I always take some home. As long as you have it back by, uh,” he waves a hand vaguely, “some time in the New Year, whatever.” He clicks his tongue. “Damn it, forgot to turn this off…”

It’s a Wonderful Life falls silent.

Through the whir of it rewinding, Eddie speaks almost without meaning to. “Can I have that one?”

Steve looks up at him in faint surprise. “Sure. Hang on, I’ll just find…”

He ejects the tape and passes it to Eddie. It’s still warm from being played.

And then the case is being handed over, too—there’s scraps of paper folded in the corners, rolls of receipt in Steve and Robin’s handwriting: games of tic-tac-toe and movie recommendations.

As Eddie puts the tape inside, a thought occurs to him. “Wait, uh. Were you gonna take this one home, too?”

Steve’s folding up his discarded shirt and vest. He smiles, and if Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d think there was something shy in it.

“Oh, nope. I—” He laughs under his breath. “I have it already.”

The back door bursts open to reveal Robin all wrapped up in a scarf. She throws Eddie his jacket, jangles some keys and imitates Steve’s half-singing when she announces, “I’ll lock up.”

The wind’s thankfully died down so the contrast from inside to the parking lot isn’t terrible—though that’s probably helped by the fact that Eddie’s jacket is warmed right through from the radiator.

As he gets to the van, he expects that Robin and Steve will already be out of the parking lot. But when he slides into the driver’s seat, he sees Robin’s the only one actually inside Steve’s car; Steve’s half-in, half out, one hand on the roof. 

“Safe journey, Munson!”

And maybe it’s just how Steve’s voice is anyway, but it sounds like it’s more than just a platitude. Like it means something.

Eddie honks his horn in reply. He lets Steve drive out first—his car’s parked closer to the road—and absentmindedly drums his fingers on the VHS case in the passenger seat.

This was a fluke, he tells himself. Like a movie being played in last period, the curtains drawn—how it always feels kind of like a dream.

Still, he drives home warm. Thinks in a gentler voice, one that sounds like Wayne—a reminder that not everything is a trap waiting to spring shut on him.

[writingmeraki]

the etiquettes of a true bodyguard — j.ww drabble.

❝ in which wonwoo proves the theory of humans tending to crave what they can't have and he realises that he definitely wants you.

( or you wonder if this was all your karma catching up to you when you become the bodyguard for the renowned notorious rockstar. )

pairing : rockstar!wonwoo x bodyguard!reader, one-sided enemies to ?? genre : angsty, fluffy. warnings : mentions of attacks, injuries, knives, stalkers, treating of wounds, blood. wonwoo is sort of rude. notproofread.

a/n at the end ( it got too long ) pls read and also lmk what u think of this : )

word count : 3.3k

Don’t believe in rumours regarding your clients. (The truth is far more better albeit there’ll always be exceptions. )

You'd mastered the art of nonchalance. 

If such a thing did even exist but in other words you were very in control of your emotions, usually being able to maintain a calm facade even if there was chaos around you. 

You suppose it was due to your occupation, after all being an agent did require a lot of keeping your emotions in check.

Even when you weren't doing your job and doing something else, it wasn't as if there was some sort of on and off button where you could switch up your personality and let loose. It just wasn't habituated to you. 

Being a bodyguard however was different. A favour is what it was. You owed a favour to someone and that someone made you repay the favour by being a bodyguard for someone else they knew. 

You couldn't argue about it because at the end of it still meant you were repaying back what you owed. 

It was like a glorified version of a babysitter. Following someone around, making sure they don't mess up or get messed up. That's the whole jist of it. 

Or at least it was what you thought initially. 

But you forgot it wasn't children or teens. Rather grown ass adults. Almost your age type adults. 

Said adults being rockstars part of a rock band that was composed of four of them.

Apparently, in this industry it was common for these celebrities to have personal bodyguards because of the threats they'd face such as fans who get a little crazy, jealous people who tend to push the limits to the max with death threats, paparazzi who have no idea what a personal space is and the list goes on and on. 

You never had been a bodyguard before so when you discovered all the reasons a “mere” singer would need one, you were shocked to say the least. 

Yet, a favour is a favour and you would keep to your word and do your best, so that's what you did. Being the best bodyguard was the goal. 

It was your first time doing such a task? Mission? You couldn’t quite understand where this role would fall into because unlike the past where these roles were just disguises, this was actually the real deal. 

And just as you did in the past, you did a background check on your target, no wait clients.

SVT. A short form of seventeen. The year they had formed the band. SVT is composed of four members. They were a rock band that rose to fame over the years, gaining a loyal fanbase due to their unique music style and concepts.

Choi Seunghcheol, the lead guitarist. Also the leader of the band. He was younger than you but he was the oldest amongst the four. He was someone the public adored, his personality was contrary to what usual rockstars were stereotyped as, quite the gentleman.

Kim Mingyu, the drummer of the band. He was coined with a golden retriever like personality, outshining in a room full of people just by his mere presence. Tall, buff and once again quite contrary to the stereotypes. He was the charmer of the group you suppose.

You were wondering if they were actually a rock band at that point, but then came the other two. 

Hansol Vernon Chwe, keyboard player, clung onto the typical stereotypes like it was his coat. Rebellious and confidence was his whole get-go. He was true to his role, on and off-stage.

All of them were in fact, completely different on stage based on your research.

And how could you forget Jeon Wonwoo? 

Saving the best for last you suppose. Jeon Wonwoo, the vocalist. It was as if there was more than enough information to know exactly what he was like. Reckless, rebellious, passionate, charmer. There were numerous rumours surrounding him, in fact they all did, but it seemed he was the public’s favourite. From being a frequent party-goer, to the typical supposed playboy, it seemed that he was always a topic. 

They all did have their fair share of rumours, you had to dig into all the dirt, even the worse one because after all you wanted to be ready for what would come. 

You should have known with the glint in his eyes and the smirk on his face the first time you saw him when you were introduced to SVT, that he was not going to make your goal easier.

Gradually, you got introduced to the rest of them and learnt they were alright, as a matter of truth,you got along with Seungcheol a lot in the way you were both pretty much the oldest, where you were older by two years to him, so it was almost as if he looked up to you for a lot of advice. 

Mingyu was well…Mingyu. He had that energy in him that seemed to outshine any room he walked in and he was actually quite a sweetheart too. Always listened and took into consideration.

Vernon was basically almost like a kid to you. He'd say the most out of place shit that would always catch you off guard and had you contemplating why exactly you were there. It was actually quite a contrast to what you had searched about him. A good contrast, you concluded.

However, you were fine with all of them. The problem begins with Jeon Wonwoo.

Him with his messy hair, messy eye makeup that somehow suited him, lips that curved up into a perfect smirk. He was trouble if it existed in human form. As cliche as it sounded. It was their whole aesthetic though, the messy looks and makeup but he somehow looked like he was born to be a star like that. 

He was reckless though. You think that’s one of his flaws. Or he purposely tried to make your life harder. It seemed, the rumours were not just that, they were the actual reality of him.

And due to the whole rebellious thing he had going on, he hated you. 

Wonwoo in other words, did not like the idea of a personal bodyguard following him around everywhere. He knew due to their subsequent rise to fame, the negative parts would also come. He was fine with having security when they were attending events, going to the airports. As a group it was fine. But he dreaded it the day he was informed by his manager, Seungkwan, each of them would be assigned a personal bodyguard to be with them all times of the day.

Perhaps, it was because he never understood the need for one. He was not attacked physically but then again, it was always better to be safe than sorry. 

The first day he saw you, despite all of them being a bit taken aback by how young you actually were and not only that you weren’t too bad on the eyes either, he was annoyed. 

He could feel it in his bones, you were someone who stuck to rules. Always being by the book. Wonwoo hated that. And he would do just about everything to make sure, you’d quit. He did not need a personal bodyguard before. He wouldn’t need one now. 

How wrong he was about to be proven.

“Mr. Jeon, you should be more care-”

“Don’t call me that.” 

Pausing in your steps, you furrowed your eyebrows in question. You were making sure your own annoyance wouldn’t be shown. Wonwoo did not pay attention to you suddenly not trailing him, going forward towards the midnight grocery store. 

It was ridiculous to think he needed someone to protect him when he was just going for a quick five minute run to the store that was near their hotel to get a drink. 

He was just about to go quietly and be back without anyone noticing but of fucking course, you were able to somehow know. 

“This is ridiculous, it’s just five minutes.” He spoke with anger, his eyes glaring at you, pretty lips in a scowl. You wondered if he knew that despite trying to look intimidating, he somehow looked more pretty. 

“Just? A lot can happen in five minutes.” You said calmly, eyes making contact with him. You could tell he wasn’t used to people not cowering away under his glare.

He inhaled sharply, eyes closing for a brief moment, “Whatever.” 

He pushed past you, making sure to knock into your shoulder. If it weren’t for the brief discontent you felt towards him, maybe you could have appreciated how put together he looked despite it almost being very late. Grey and black were his colours. 

And that was how you’d ended up mid argument, trying to tell him to be careful of the darkness caused by the absence of some street lights. They were turned off probably due to malfunction. It gave the entire street a very eerie vibe because since only a few were functioning, it would be hard to make out who was walking in front of you. 

You were accustomed to the dark, knowing what to keep in mind and always being observant. However, Wonwoo wasn’t. His judgement at the moment was clouded by irritance at your presence. 

It was only for a brief second but you were able to make out a quick flash of movement just in front of Wonwoo. It was fast, likely so no one can know. Wonwoo had turned to putting his attention on his phone, scrolling and mumbling curses at you under his breath. 

The store was still a few metres ahead, standing out by being one of the few only lit buildings. It was due to the glow of the lights of the store, you were able to catch the movement. 

Before you knew it, you instinctively rushed forward and harshly grabbed Wonwoo’s arm, him almost dropping his phone and yelping, you threw him behind you. 

The intruder appeared from the right side, where there was an unlit tiny alley, the perfect place to wait for unsuspecting late nighters. You grabbed the knife that was raised midway, ready to slash into the person ahead. 

It was so fast, Wonwoo felt he would have missed it if he blinked because next thing he knew, he was suddenly shoved far to the left. All he saw was you holding the hand of a fully black clothed person, who was in turn holding a knife. The knife that would have likely pierced him if…if it weren’t for you. 

You did not care if the knife was pressing into the palm of your hand, piercing your skin, all you cared about was making sure nothing were to happen to Wonwoo. And so when you heard what you thought was a gasp of pain, you roughly pushed away the intruder, who was also in shock because he did not expect you. And tonight, he did not want a fight he wasn’t even sure he’d win and so he escaped when he got the chance. 

You quickly rushed to Wonwoo, who’d by your shove, had stumbled and fallen. He didn’t even realise it, trying to make sense of what just happened in the past few minutes. 

“Mr.Jeon!Mr Jeon- Wonwoo!” You were shaking him harshly by his shoulders as he blinked back to reality upon hearing his name. His name for the first time from you. In probably the worst case he could imagine. 

“Are you alright?” Out of pure concern, you held his face, scanning for injuries as you pushed back his hair. You then took his hands and did the same to make sure he wasn’t hurt too bad. Just a little scrap from falling.

Wonwoo, for the good of everything, could not explain why his heart felt like it’d combust the moment you touched his face and brushed his hair. He knew why you were doing it but it didn’t stop his heart from fluttering.

Why? 

He was confused. He hated you. Was it possible he couldn’t quite understand if it was truly hate?

“Wonwoo?” He realised he still hadn’t replied, but when he heard his name for the second time, he also had another realisation. He thinks he likes the way you say it. 

“Yeah- yeah I’m alright I-” He muttered, looking away as he stood up, “Let’s just- let’s just go back.”

He decided he didn’t want to go to the damned store, nor get the drinks. He just wanted to rest. His head felt dizzy at the idea of almost being hurt severely. It was though it only took a few moments for him to realise maybe he had been wrong all along, heck not maybe, he was definitely wrong.

“Okay, let’s go.” 

You didn’t even question him as he trailed right beside you, almost to the point you were in sync, when a while ago, he seemed repulsed at being near you. 

You followed him up to his room, but not before making sure there was no one trailing you and informing the other security around the hotel, regarding the intruder and telling someone to also inform the police.

He didn’t get irritated like he usually would, in fact he was too quiet. 

“Are you actually fine Mr.Jeon?” He frowned, he didn’t like the way you called him, remaining ever so in character.

“No- no don’t call me that, Wonwoo is fine.”

 You blinked once, twice to make sure you were hearing correctly. You slowly nodded, “Oh-kay, but,are you alright?”

“Yes, I uh- I'm fine.”

“My apologies, you weren't able to get your meal.” 

You were sorry? He could have died and you…you saved him but you were the one who felt bad?

He hated the fact that only now was he actually realising what could have possibly happened if you weren’t there. 

He felt stupid. 

Glancing towards you,his gaze drifted towards your hand, the injured one half-heartedly wrapped with a makeshift bandage from your handkerchief likely.

“Let me bandage that for you properly, I feel it is the least I could do.” 

You were about to argue, as you would, about how you’d do it yourself and to not fret over you because it was something you were pretty used to. Besides it wasn’t as big of a deal anyway, just a minor scrap. 

But before you could, he reached out for your hand, holding it in his and looked back up at you. And this time, the way he did, it made you feel…uneasy. His hand felt warm. Very warm. Compared to your bleeding out hand.

Uneasy in a way where your heart fluttered. You couldn’t seem to form a thought as you stared right into his eyes. They were a rich brown colour that reminded you of pools of honey under the sun. It was unusual for you to ever think like that for someone let alone your actual client. 

He spoke in a soft tone, you were sure you wouldn’t hear if you weren’t so close, “Please?”

 It was definitely not normal for the way your throat seemed to dry up upon hearing him say that word. 

“Oh-okay, alright.” And without much thought, you agreed and convinced yourself it was definitely not because of the puppy eyes he’d given you or the way his hand seemed to hold yours as if nothing else in the world existed for him. 

You think those were what you’d call famous last words, because at the moment, you were regretting even agreeing. It wasn’t because of Wonwoo in particular, in fact he did prove to be someone who knew how to bandage efficiently.

But it was also because of him, your mind was simply a haywire. 

You sat down on his bed, immediately hit by his signature smell as soon as you stepped in the room. It was everywhere but not in an overwhelming way, in a way that indicated it was a room that was lived in by him. 

He came up with the first aid kit from the bathroom and sat beside you turning his body towards you as you faced forward with your feet down, feeling unprofessional to even sit fully on his bed. 

Not that the whole ordeal would even fit into your etiquette rule book but perhaps you were beginning to realise, there were certain things you were wrong about. Or right. 

You specifically remember a particular article where the headline described Wonwoo as a “shallow brat with an attitude as well.” and to a certain point, it seemed that they may have been right. But that was not the case now.

Or was it ever the case?

This time, the truth was indeed far better than the rumour. 

It was as if the silence was enough to occupy the space between you two, him carefully cleaning your wound and disinfecting it. He glanced at your face during that part and was unsure whether to be worried or amazed by the fact that you didn’t even flinch when he wiped the hydrogen peroxide over your open cut. 

Your tongue was weighed down by the thoughts running in your mind, it was as if the person in front of you was actually another person. 

He was close to you, and the juxtaposition of moments ago to the current moment almost made you chuckle. It was hilarious how situations could change so quickly.

“There. Done.”

Raising your hand, you examined it with a scrutinising gaze making sure it was properly done. It made him feel slightly nervous yet he did not know if that was the only cause of that or upon the realisation of how your knees were touching the whole time — still were.

You got up, much to his disappointment, nodding along. 

“Good job actually, you’ve done great.” You swore you could see a faint blush painting his cheeks and his ears a shade redder than normal. You clenched your hand beside you, hoping it would calm your weirdly speeding up heart.

And this was when it really hit you, about where you were….who you were.

Clearing your throat, you spoke up, “Well I should get going now. It’s far too late and you should get some rest as well.”

Immediately he slightly frowned at that, blinking in a bit of amazement at how quick you’d changed moods. Then again, the night seemed to be all about too many quick changes. 

You moved towards his door, not wanting to glance at him, not wanting to think or do anything that was definitely not just against your etiquettes but also your overall job. 

He was safe. He was sound too. Everything about him was good and what he needed was rest and you did too because it was one hell of a nigh—

“Wait!” 

You paused in your footsteps, already out of the door as you turned back around to face him.

“Goodnight…Y/n.” 

He stood against the door, as he stared at you with those same honey eyes of his, that you think would never fail to amaze you, even in the most unlikely of situations. 

And for the first time, or his first, he saw you smile. One corner slowly lifted while the other followed as you shook your head. And this time, it was his mind that seemed to blank out because holy shit. 

“Goodnight…Wonwoo.” You said with a grin as you waved him once and then turned back around. Nonchalantly. As if you hadn’t just…just smiled at him the way you did. 

And did you just address him with his first name without him whining about it?!?

His hand reached up to his chest, pressing tightly to his left part and realizing just how fast it beat against it.

Yeah he was sure about one thing.

This was in no way the so-called hatred he desperately wished he felt towards you existed.

But then again, did it ever?

a/n : urm hi. so um this was a very random idea that sprung to me like ages ago literal ages actually and i decided to pick it up and finallly finish this piece? it feels incomplete because i am actually maybe ( if this does well ) making this into sort of a drabble series with this same pairing but yk different scenarios and their dynamics changing as well? sorry if this feels rushed! i wrote like till a certain point way long ago and after that it's recent, i haven't written in a while so please excuse the weird flow as well. i just wanted to have some fun and also post something to show im alive hahaha pls let me know what you think and whether you'd want to read more of this pairing because tbh i kinda love them lollll :DDD

perm. taglist ( open ! ) : @mansaaay ; @gyuguys ; @toplinehyunjin ; @cherrylovescheol ; @stagefrjghts

( if you want to be added just send an ask/reply to this !)

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

writingmeraki Ⓒ 2024

feedback is always appreciated 💌 !

links : main navi ! | svt masterlist ! | info !

[coff33andb00ks]

Lando, 43

43: raising the other’s hand to their lips to kiss it softly

requests closed until I catch up <3

"Are you a romantic person?"

He smiles, biting into the chip and casting his eyes downward briefly. "When I - When I need to be," he says with a little smile.

Oh the way fans ate that up. Your feed on Instagram and TikTok and even fucking Twitter were inundated with that clip for weeks, and you still see edits of it, and anytime you post him or include him in your stories the comments come rolling in, asking if he's been romantic lately.

Joke was on them, because he was always romantic. It's wonderful, truly, even if it did frighten you at first. Surely a man that actually did the romantic things was a total red flag? No one really sent flowers for no reason. Or called even when they only had ten seconds to talk. Or wanted to stay on FaceTime while you got ready for the day or ready for bed. No one ever said we don't have to talk I just want to feel like I'm with you and meant it unless they were toxic.

And you knew that no man in the history of ever - except in movies and books - had ever learned the lyrics to a love song from like 50 years ago so he could sing them in a karaoke bar. Or have his friend video it so he could send it to you. And then proceed to sing bits and pieces of it every day.

At least, no man before him. He did.

Lando Norris, the most romantic man to exist.

He's singing it now, and you wonder if he even knows he's doing it because it's soft, under his breath. You smile as you listen to him in the kitchen, dishes softly rattling while he unlaods the dishwasher.

"And you come to me on a summer's breeze, keep me warm in in your love..." He begins humming and you turn your attention back to your work, his humming fading as you focus. It's not until he touches your shoulder that you notice he's in the room.

"Hey," you murmur, smiling up at him.

"Your tea's getting cold, love." He reaches across the keyboard and saves your work. "Screen break."

You obediently turn away from the computer and reach for your tea. "Thank you. Sorry I've been in here almost all day every day this week."

Lando shakes his head. "You don't have to apologize for working. I know how much you love it."

"I feel bad, like I'm neglecting you." You set your cup of tea down and stand, winding your arms around his waist. "How about I fix dinner tonight?"

"Gonna feed me and take me on a walk?" He's teasing so you don't take offense, tipping your head back for his kiss. "I'll help, yeah? Or we could go out."

"But I love cooking for you."

"You just wanna get me fat so no one else will steal me away," he snorts, hands sliding down your arms and pulling them from around him.

You open your mouth to argue that but he's taking your hands in his, humming the song again. Sighing at the gentleness of his touch, you feel warmth and adoration squeeze around your heart as he lifts your hand. And fall in love all over again when he bends to press a kiss to your knuckles.

Knees: weak. Heart: skipping a beat. Eyes: glowing. Butterflies: fluttering in your stomach.

"Let's start dinner yeah?" he asks.

[stxrvel]

coincidence! (2)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader. content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! curse words, we're still on the safe zone, angst if you squint, just silly writing! a/n. hi guys! finally second chapter is out! im blown away with your response!! thank u so much from the bottom of my heart! i loooooved reading your comments <33 pls remember updates are weekly or biweekly! and if you want to be tagged pls say so in the comments! see you next week ;)

series masterlist | bts masterlist | previous | next

“This is unbelievable! We're going to be rich!!!” 

“What makes you think my sister is going to give you any of that money?” 

“I created that Instagram account that was tagged in Kim Taehyung's damn story, I deserve a raise!” 

“What makes you drones think my daughter is going to give you any of that money?”

“None of you are going to get anything out of that act of feigned innocence. Honey, are you all right?”

It seemed like a light had gone on in the room, four pairs of eyes landing on your still pale, surprised face. The night had been heavy after Yuna's call and you'd had so little sleep that you didn't know how you were functioning at the moment. Maybe that was the thing: you weren't functioning at all.

When you woke up, you thought it had all been a bad dream and that definitely the first exposure you'd had to the guys in years hadn't been because Taehyung came across your books at a convention you decided not to go to and uploaded them to his Instagram account with over eighty million followers. It was impossible, wasn't it? Too crazy. 

Maybe not as crazy as waking up to your parents banging on your bedroom door saying that over a hundred thousand orders had been placed overnight and they didn't have enough book production for that much demand. 

Be that as it may, Yuna and your mother took care of the communications on the account. You went from having twenty followers (including your family and friends —your father had created an account exclusively for that and only followed you—), to almost sixty thousand in at least twelve hours. The posts you had worked so hard to create and put together were finally getting the attention they deserved, but it had all happened so fast and suddenly that it was too strong to process calmly. 

Weighing which was stronger, whether Taehyung's acknowledgment of your existence after so many years of zero contact or that your book sales shot up so immeasurably that they couldn't even keep up with demand, even if a month went by, didn't make things any easier. 

“She's obviously still in shock,” Yuna replied to your mother at your lack of response from the living room, right across the dining room where you had been sitting since you had come down from your room. Your breakfast was still untouched on the table, but that seemed to be the least important thing in the room with all the more important news. 

“Have the printers answered yet?” your brother's voice through the speaker of your father's phone rang as you blinked, reality settling too slowly on your shoulders. You didn't even want to think about what it meant that Taehyung had done that. Maybe it was simply an altruistic act, wasn't it? Maybe he felt guilt and wanted to ameliorate it somehow. What better way than to do an act of charity?

“I'm on it,” your father was sitting across from you in the dining room, his laptop on the glass of the table as he moved his hands over the keyboard and stared through his glasses at the full tip of his nose. From the way his eyes narrowed, your mother snorted. 

“Why don't you get those glasses adjusted if you know you don't see well up close, let alone on electronic devices?” the woman reached over, dragging your father's glasses until they were almost glued to his eyebrows. Your father barely gave her a goofy grin as your mother started shaking her hands. “You better move. I'll do it. You write too slow; you're getting on our son's nerves.” 

“Nah, I'm fine. I don't know if y/n is tho.” 

Silence returned and you growled internally. Well, that was enough conjecture and assumptions without any information to substantiate them, it was time to get down to business. 

 “Do you think we should take over this business now?” Yuna completely ignored your stretch and you sent her a confused look. 

Your brother exclaimed from the phone in agreement. “I call dibs on the treasury!” 

“There's no way you can keep the accounts right! You're studying law.” 

“Seojun is good at numbers, Yuna.” 

 “Ha, with all due respect Mrs. I/n, he must only be good at counting sheep.”

 “Hey,” you tried to get attention, getting up from the chair. 

 “y/n, don't talk, you're still in shock. Can you believe he once called me from the supermarket to ask if he got his change right? He didn't even move from the checkout counter. There were people booing him.” 

 “Ow, my poor baby.” 

 “I told you not to say that to anyone!” 

 “I can't keep quiet if they're speaking lies about you!” 

 “This wasn't lies! This is about my pride!” 

 “Nonsense. I'll handle the treasury. I double majored in finance and international relations for a reason.” 

 “You can't run anything without starting bossing everyone around!” 

 “It's not my fault you're a good-for-nothing!” 

 God. It was going to be a long day. 

- 

Sorting out the whole printing issue and the number of orders was difficult, but with a couple of stories, interactions with new followers and express delivery of the few copies you'd already had at home for months, the waters calmed down a bit. Now, in the stifling silence of your room, you wanted to run. 

 “Are you going to stare at the ceiling all night?” 

 “Maybe.” 

Yuna watched you from the bed while all you could do was stare as notifications continued to pop up on your Instagram account and your mail because the requests simply wouldn't stop, even though you had made a thousand clarifications to all the new followers. You were trying to focus on the bright side of things, regardless of whatever reasons there may have been for everything to have happened that way, but with your friend's incessant gaze lying on your bed it made it a little difficult. You knew she wanted to pierce your skull from curiosity, but you wouldn't know how you would answer her questions. 

 “Is there anything you'd like to share with the class?” 

 The tension had become a little more latent during the last few minutes, when Yuna saw a specific notification on the account. Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin had followed you. To describe your look of shock might be an understatement, and all you did for the next half hour was run across the room and throughout the house vociferating that you were living a nightmare. 

 Yuna has known all along that you had never been a fan of the siamese or their clan of friends, but she never knew why exactly. You had to tell her that you weren't interested in fashion, that you didn't like the kind of music Jungkook made, that hip-hop was never your thing, that you weren't interested in dilfs and you weren't interested in dance either. You had to tell her that all the things you once did with them didn't matter to you because it was painful, even if it was hard to accept.

 You couldn't remember the times you would go shopping at the small mall in town to buy the trending clothes to put together different outfits with Taehyung and Jimin, then go try them all on at your house and invite the others and even your parents to do an impromptu runway show. You couldn't remember how the genre of music that Jungkook and you listened to all the time on his iPod and your MP3 player was the same one that his entire music career focuses on. You couldn't remember the nights when Yoongi would share his writings with you and you would help him compose a song or two on the piano when he felt brave enough. Or the times when you would accompany Hoseok to his workouts and then watch him create dance routines to his favorite songs while Jungkook sang in the background. You also didn't want to remember the times when Namjoon and Seokjin would sponsor their trips and give everyone gifts without expecting anything in return. 

You couldn't remember those things. It was too much to bear for such a weak heart. 

“What do you want to know?” you sighed, your body sliding on the chair as the notifications grew. 

“How did all this happen?” 

“Why do you think I have an answer for that?” 

Yuna clicked her tongue, sitting on the bed with the cell phone still in her hands, still staring at the notification that snapped her out of her sanity. 

“It's just… this is all unbelievable, magnificent and unreal. But how come you're not so excited about what happened?” Yuna slid across the sheets, to be right in front of you, but you refused to look away from the computer. Every time you thought you had overcome and grown around everything that happened so many years ago, something would pop up to remind you that you still had a long way to go. Maybe the nostalgia was strong, but so was the anger. “Regardless of how things turned out, because I know you're not as big a fan as me, this opens a million doors for you and I don't know why you're not celebrating it like we are.” 

 “It's…complicated.” 

 “I don't think so. Tell me.” 

Yuna was unstoppable when she wanted to get answers out, but besides the obvious, of course there was something else that bothered you and kept you from enjoying this boom so much. 

 “It's just that all of this doesn't feel like it was a product of my effort,” you began, letting your gaze wander over the desk. The copies of your books you kept for yourself, the first ones you'd ever printed several years ago, lay there, as tattered as your failed accomplishment. “It doesn't feel like an achievement that my work had exploded thanks to a celebrity whose fans would buy even the toilet paper he uses. A lot of those people won't even read the book. They will just buy it and take a picture of it to say that they have the same book that the great Kim Taehyung read. Many of those books will never have a life, they will just be dust collectors and be reminders that all this did not happen because of my effort.” 

“What the fuck are you blabbering about? Of course it's the fruit of your effort! Of course you deserve it!” Yuna got up from the bed and moved the chair around the back to leave you in front of her disgruntled and almost offended face. You could see the words drawn in her face. “You worked so many years to pull this off and after so many bumps you finally can! You deserve to have what you wanted so badly. This recognition will last just the same because many other people will read them and love them and they may not be many, but you will form a solid foundation as time goes on with people who will be truly unconditional and supportive and that will grow over time. Don't look at this so negatively, maybe you skipped a couple of steps, but you had every right to. It was what you deserved after all the effort and dedication you put into this project for so many years.” 

 Yuna didn't hesitate for a second. Her very serious expression sent a shiver down your spine and you could tell from her furrowed brow that she really was angry at your perception. Perhaps she was right, but without knowing the full background of this specific situation, you were only left to shake your head in assent and send her a grateful smile. 

“I guess you're right,” you lifted a shoulder, turning your gaze back to your mail notifications.

“Of course I am!” the smile returned to her face and it didn't take long for her to look back down at her phone with sparkling eyes. “Now that we got the emotional charge out of the way, would you mind telling me how you know Taehyung?” 

Your breathing stopped for a second and you cursed yourself because it sounded too loud as you almost choked on your own saliva. 

“Oh?” 

Play fucking dumb. 

“What, did you think I wasn't going to notice? He wrote it crystal clear.” 

Yuna wasn't even looking at you, too focused on running her finger over the row of notifications. Her nonchalant demeanor only caused you to panic more. It was as if she had caught you red-handed. 

One of the best writers I've ever met in my life, damn you Kim Taehyung. 

“Ah… I didn't… I didn't really know him so let's just say…”

“He couldn't have said that for nothing, don't you think? No celebrity would do that unless it was a person they hold in deep regard.” 

Yuna had just caught you totally off guard. Maybe you should've focused a lot more on what Taehyung had written before you blocked his user from your personal account and threw the phone in the bottom of your drawer the night before and tried hard not to think about the rest for the rest of the night and all that day. 

“It's just that… uhm… we studied at the same school. But for a short time actually. I don't even remember it well actually, ha, ha.” 

Your laugh came out too constrained under your friend's narrow-eyed stare. You knew you'd have a hard time convincing her because you were a lousy liar. 

“You know, it always struck me as odd that you weren't a fan. Taehyung and Jimin are like the two extremes of your ideal type.” 

“Whaaaat?”

“And Jungkook's music is literally the kind of music you listen to, you just don't listen to his. All the other artists in the same genre you do listen to.”

“That has nothing to do with…” 

“And even your parents don't claim to know Kim Seokjin when your mother was literally a nurse. She probably worked with him.” 

“What does that have to do…?”  

“And your brother is a hip-hop fan. How come he doesn't listen to Agust D? He's the best rapper of the last few decades and he's been trending for a long time.” 

“…” 

At what fucking moment? 

“And all of them, plus Hobi and Namjoon, they all went to the same school. They're all friends. And you say you went to school with Taehyung?” 

“Ahm… well, yes, but it's not like I would have met the others.” 

Yuna looked at you, really looked you straight in the eyes as if that way she could tell what it was you were hiding or as if that solved all her guesses. It was impossible for her not to figure it out if she had already tied up all the damn loose ends. 

Since the boys had left one by one, clearly your family was the first to realize how much their departures had affected you. In the beginning there was communication and all, but when Jungkook was the last to leave you lost any kind of link with them completely. You never knew exactly what happened because no matter how hard you tried to contact them you couldn't, not even your parents could talk to the boys' parents. Perhaps they had simply grown up, matured, completely forgetting about their ordinary life in that town. 

They seemed to have disappeared from the planet. 

Until your family moved to the capital. Jungkook was just starting out as an idol, but he had an amazing debut. He had captivated the entire audience and was too successful almost from the second one. It was a torment to watch them grow professionally little by little because, although you were happy for their achievements and all, you couldn't forget that they had basically abandoned you. And your parents and Seojun had noticed. They had noticed how much seeing them all over the place was bumming you out, so unreachable when at one point they were all in your living room eating your mother's delicious kimchi and listening to your father's anecdotes. Everyone was affected by their departures, but clearly no one as much as you. 

That's why, of course, your parents and brother had made a silent vow to keep all media about the boys away from you, because they didn't even talk about it by accident in the house, at least not when you were present. 

“It must be a huge coincidence…” Yuna continued and only at that moment did you realize how much you got into your head. Your vision slightly blurred. “I shouldn't accuse you of anything for things like that, should I? What nonsense.” 

You were probably as white as a sheet of paper. 

“Yeah, it would be too weird… ha, ha.” 

God, you had to stop letting out those giggles when you were nervous. 

“Anyway, should we order fried chicken for dinner?” 

“I think I heard mom say she was going to make japchae.” 

“Ohhhhhh, Mrs. l/n's japchae is delicious!” 

You let out a laugh watching your friend spring up from the bed and head for the door. She stopped halfway out and pointed her index finger at you. 

“Don't tell my mom I said that.” 

You made a gesture to zipper your mouth shut and Yuna finally left. 

The previous conversation had been so tense that you already felt tired and ready to sleep at seven o'clock at night. Really the whole day had been so heavy for everyone that you didn't know how the lights in the house were still on. For now, you couldn't do anything else, even if orders continued to come in, now everything depended on the printer and how fast the books would come out, so you would have to wait. 

Maybe you should rest. You had asked your boss for the day off, but tomorrow you would have to continue working hard. Regardless of the incredible growth you'd had, you couldn't let your work go to waste. 

Tomorrow would be a new day. A quieter one, preferably. 

-

a/n: i'll try to have ready part 3 for next week! see you on june 13 at 11:59 pm - GMT5 time!

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7 @kokoandkookie @midiplier @thunderg @lizzymizzy-blogg @ladymorrie @butnotmontana @lovelgirl22 @jjeonjjk7 @aurorathi @ot7stansthings @kunacat @borahaetelevision @mylovingstars @ghostlyworld @talyaaas-blog @slowlyshycomputer @jjk174 @maynina @saintomie @damn-u-min-yoongi @juju-227592

[stayconnecteed]

🪐˓⠀˚⠀i guess i'm in love⠀@⠀kim seungmin.

this is just a cute birthday fic based on the love of my life @skzms and her seungmin's drabble 'seungmin in love', which i totally recommend before you read this. i hope you like it, may, and that i made justice to your words!! i listened to i guess i'm in love by clinton kane while writing this. the beginning of the plot is based on a personal experience! i wish it had ended that way tho askjdhkasjd

SEE MORE.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀4k words. ⠀⠀general mlist.⠀⠀join taglist.

You had never mustered the courage to talk to a boy until university made you come out of your shell. The morning you had stepped into the lecture hall for the first time, ready to listen to the dean of your faculty give the introductory talk, you had sat alone in one of the front rows, hanging on every word, your heart racing. You didn't know anyone, and you preferred to focus on the speech, waiting for some extrovert to adopt you, rather than take the first step.

You had always been shy, and you felt a sense of panic at the thought that you might end up alone for the whole degree, but you were incapable of approaching a stranger and starting a conversation. Your fear was a prison and the guardian of an anxiety that swirled in your chest, the number one reason why you had hidden in the same table in the library during all your free hours, and also the consequence of too many bad experiences in the past. 

But then you had met Seungmin.

You hadn't spoken, at least not at first. You hadn't even realised he existed. He was just another classmate in the core subjects shared by all those who studied the same course as you. He smiled softly at the jokes of the teachers he liked, became more serious in the most difficult lectures, and tried not to show his anger when the typical annoying repeat student made their trademark rancid comment. You hadn’t even known his name.

Eventually, you found yourself waiting for those little reactions. Like you, he also showed up ten minutes before the first class started, he also sat alone, and he also came to school with his headphones on, drowning out all the noise in the corridors with the playlist he had made for himself at the beginning of the course. He would arrive with his dark blue backpack slung over one of his broad shoulders, and a book in his hand ーthe same one he would read for a while before the professor arrived. You found yourself smiling as you watched him, writing down the titles of his readings, looking forward to the classes you shared with him.

And then you saw him appear for the first time in the library. You were at one of the more secluded tables, your back to the wall, your laptop a shield protecting you from the other people in the room. And he had slipped quietly in, his ears covered by the black headphones, leaving his backpack on the table in front of yours. For a moment you had stood still, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, the word on your document half-typed, your breath caught in your throat. And then you looked away, and went on with your work. It was stupid to react like that for someone you didn't know.

But the next day your little dance was repeated, sitting opposite each other, in complete silence, a calm and concentrated reflection. As if there was a mirror between the two tables. And the next day, and the next... Until it became a habit. You would leave class a little late because you knew it would take him longer to collect his belongings, and you'd follow each other's shadows with your gazes through the corridors until you reached the library. He would hold the door, and you would smile at him. And when you left him the book you'd used to find out information about a homework topic, he'd return the soft curve in his lips, showing his braces without an ounce of insecurity.

Despite all your little interactions, you hadn't really made any move. The day you realised that there was another girl waiting for him at the end of your class, a more outgoing and prettier one, the kind who always gave the right answers to the teacher. She was asking him if he could explain to her the latest topic discussed in class over a latte in the building's cafeteria. You felt like you intruded, so you left. But that had been the same day you went to the library alone, and you had to open the door for yourself. You missed his smile. And you realised that he was worth every tremor in your hands, only if it meant taking the first step with him.

The next day, you mustered the courage to talk to a boy. To that boy. You approached him before class, sitting one line forward of him, taking a deep breath of air and exhaled it as you tried to keep your nerves under control, your eyes closed. With your pulse racing you had turned, resting your fingertips on his desk, and caught his attention by waving softly. He had looked up from the intertwined sentences of his book, closing it as soon as he saw it was you addressing him, and you enjoyed a few more seconds of your bubble, his brownish gaze all over you, before bursting it.

Your words were quick and breathy, stammering over coffees and shared hours, your gaze anywhere in the class but on his face. Yet he responded calmly, a mask of stillness in contrast to the chaos of emotions spiralling inside him, and you only interrupted the conversation when the teacher began the lesson, Seungmin's gaze returning to your figure every few seconds. That was the first free hour you disrupted your way to the library and accompanied, shoulder to shoulder, your quiet classmate to the cafeteria.

You heard him order an iced americano with syrup, greeting the lady behind the counter with rehearsed confidence, and waiting, tracing his gaze across the profile of your face, for you to say what you wanted. Then he guided you to one of the tables at the back, and let you sit on the bench with its back against the wall. Almost as if, somehow, he knew that it was what you preferred. For a moment  you wanted to get your hopes up, to think that he thought of you as much as you thought of him, but it didn't actually make any sense. So you sighed, and set your bag down beside you, intertwining your fingers in a nervous gesture.

You had been the one to propose the plan, and suddenly you realised that you had been so sure he would say no that you hadn't planned any further.

You wandered your gaze in silence, steadily, slowly, trying not to meet his at any point, your shyness forcing stitches of thread on your lips, unable to utter a word, until the waitress appeared with her tray and your drinks, and Seungmin's raspy ‘thank you’ broke through your bubble. You uttered your own, no sound coming out of your throat, and flashed the start of a smile when he managed to continue a conversation that hadn't existed until then, asking how you had adjusted to the lectures, to college.

And then you let loose like a torrent. The stuttering edges of your lips tightened, answering in short words how your university experience was going, daring even to lock your eyes with his when you returned the question, wanting to hear him speak. And as he told a story similar to yours, albeit with many more friends than you had, you reached your trembling hands towards your cup, taking it and sipping a small amount of coffee.

You tried not to let it show, but the bitterness was enveloping your taste buds in a flavour you were not used to. Your eyebrows furrowed as you winced, swallowing the thick liquid in one gulp, avoiding triggering your gag reflex, and you looked back at Seungmin, who was watching you with a hard stare. He tilted his head, almost like a dog would, and picked up the cup you had just set down on its plate, wetting his lips to taste it. He opened his eyes slightly, muttering a soft, “This is not what you ordered,” and got up to go reclaim it.

You felt the heat rise up your neck and settle on your cheeks, unable to believe what had just happened, and watched from your warm seat as the boy spoke to the woman he had greeted earlier, how she was surprised and certainly apologetic due to the confusion, and the whole process of making from scratch what you had ordered in the first place. It was Seungmin's gentle smile when she returned, treating the porcelain with extreme care so as not to spill the contents, that made you suppress the apology you had thought of saying. Perhaps he had decided that it was his responsibility, that the barista had mistaken the order, but he had done it because he had wanted to. You could read it on his face.

“Thank you so much,” you said, brushing his skin with your fingers as you took the new mug, closing your eyes to smell the sweet, thick hot chocolate you loved so much. “You didn't have to.”

Winter was beginning, and with it the need to drown yourself in cosy blankets, at-home plans and movie classics that had become your favourites over time. So you told Seungmin when you opened your eyes and realised that he was watching you, trying not to retreat into the shyness that had been with you for so long. You were ready to get out of your comfort bubble once and for all, and having a conversation with someone who in your thoughts was no longer a stranger seemed like the natural option.

After that, it was relatively easy. The words flowed between you, asking each other about your lives and replying with more questions, exchanging anecdotes, dropping little jokes that elicited laughter, lost in each other's gaze. As easy as breathing, the minutes passing by on the clock without even being aware of it, learning to read a new language, through what you told each other. Opinions and experiences, comments and compliments, engaged in a dance that only you knew, until the alarm on your phone started ringing, and you realised you were late.

You apologised with hurried syllables, quickly packing up, waving goodbye, heading hastily towards the counter to pay for your drink. You were surprised when the woman indicated that Seungmin had already taken care of it, and you looked back for a few seconds to give him a beaming smile. He mirrored it, leaning against the table you had been sitting at, and waved his fingers in response. It was when you got into the bus, on the way to the restaurant where you had agreed to meet your sister, that you realised you hadn't asked him for his phone number.

Apparently, you weren't the only one to think so.

The morning after your disaster of a first conversation, you arrived early. You sat in the third row, the fourth seat, just like you always did. And you doodled in your notebook, deep in thought, until you heard someone clearing their throat next to you. You looked up, smiling when Seungmin made an exaggerated gesture of wanting to sit next to you, and managed not to burst out laughing at his antics when the teacher came through the door to start the class.

And it was when you were barely able to keep your eyes open, the teacher's voice lulling you into a light sleep, that you noticed the tip of Seungmin's finger brushing your arm. You turned, ignoring the shiver that ran down your spine, and instead of questioning what he wanted, you found a sheet of paper folded over the pen that had slipped from your hand. You opened it discreetly, glancing at Seungmin out of the corner of your eye, curious, and didn't bother to suppress the smile that curved your lips as you read a tight “What's your phone number?”.

You wrote it down quickly, going over each digit twice to make sure there could be no confusion, and slid it across the table for Seungmin to tuck it away. You nodded goodbye to him as the bell rang, and you had to part ways, him going to the opposite side of the corridor, to another class. You grabbed your bag, and sighed, not so keen to attend your remaining lecture. At least until at least twenty minutes into it your phone screen lit up, receiving a new notification.

Unknown number: Hey, is it true that Mr Choi’s classes are soo boring?

Unknown number: Or my contact in his classes has shamelessly lied to me?

The contact in Professor Choi's class was you, because you had complained the day before about him, and the unknown number had to be Seungmin. You put the phone under the table, hoping the teacher wouldn't notice and begin to dislike you, and typed in the answer:

You: Mmm, you shouldn’t trust your contact.

You: They wouldn’t be boring if you were here.

Seungmin 🫶🏼: Naah, I bet my classes wouldn’t be boring if my contact could attend them.

You: You can't use my sentence with me.

You: That's like cheating.

Seungmin 🫶🏼: Would it be cheating if I bribe you with a cup of hot chocolate?

You: Whatever you say, lover boy.

You tried to imagine Seungmin's reaction, your subconscious tricking you with images of him blushing in the middle of class, and left the phone in your bag. That interaction had made your day.

From then on, you could only continue to develop your friendship, intertwing yourselves like a tangled vine, unable to separate from each other. The Christmas holidays had distanced you a bit, each enjoying a few weeks of relaxation with your family, but the study period leading up to the exam season brought you back together at that table in the library, exchanging complicit glances and helping each other take breaks when the stress got too much. He was the perfect study partner, and it was reflected in your grades, none of which dropped below a C.

At the end of finals, in those days before the second semester started, Seungmin had invited you to one of the pubs his friends had shown him. He had told you that they hadn't gone because he didn't want them to say anything stupid in front of you, but you hadn't missed them. With a glass in his hand, he had followed you to the dance floor every time you had asked, neck flushed and shy eyes when he saw the alcohol had disinhibited you enough to move your hips freely. It had been a memorable night. And when it struck three in the morning, he was the one who escorted you to your flat, just to make sure you got there safely, and you were the one who begged him to stay with you.

The second semester began with many hours of late arrivals to class 一something you hated, but which was certainly more bearable in his company.

You would gather as soon as you arrived to the faculty on one of the benches by the entrance, he sitting comfortably with his ankle on his thigh, you with your knees against your chest, jumping from conversation to conversation until the bell started ringing, startling you, and you would run up the stairs together, to get to class before the teacher. You learned to cope with it because somehow the stress of being late was compensated by the way Seungmin would touch you so he wouldn't lose you in the corridors. Always behind you, like a guard dog, guiding you to your class with his hand resting on the small of your back, making sure you got in before he wandered off into the crowd in search of his own, in case you didn't share it.

And in the free hours you got to know his friends, or at least some of them. The first time was in a class that was cancelled at the last minute, on your way to the library, when you saw Seungmin's silhouette in the cafeteria, his broad shoulders framing the back of the chair. You greeted the short boy and the one with the narrow eyes with a shy smile, before asking them if they would let you sit next to Seungmin.

You had seen the knowingly smirks, and also their suspicious gazes, but they had made you feel like a long time friend of theirs, so you shaked the creepy feeling out of your body. You stayed silent most of the conversation, listening to their jokes and anecdotes, smiling upon the fact that they treated Seungmin like a brother 一teasing him to death. And from then on you always found a free seat by his side in your gatherings.

Your confidence with them, with Changbin and Jeongin, solidified at about the same time as you accepted that Seungmin just saw you as one of the group, and you tried to stop getting your hopes up. Throughout the semester, you began to participate in conversations with his friends, gaining confidence, and even participating more in class, socialising with classmates and getting to know some girls with whom you thought a friendship could develop. You noticed Seungmin was becoming a bit distant, but with your Friday movie nights and your weekly coffee (hot chocolate for you, he made sure they didn't mess it up again), you assumed he had simply decided that he had other priorities.

At least until the beginning of sophomore year, the night of Minho's birthday celebration. That october night, you had arrived late to the restaurant where the group had decided to hang out in, and the place where you normally sat, to Seungmin's right, was occupied by a freckle-faced blond you had seen around the dorm on some occasion. You greeted Seungmin with a quick kiss on the cheek, a high five with Jeongin, and went straight to the birthday boy, to congratulate him with a hug.

You had spent the whole week crocheting cute fruit-shaped hats for his cats, just because a joke you two had, and Minho's genuine reaction had been to take you in his arms and turn you around, both of you giggling. You remembered that he had told you he couldn't wait to get home to try them on his babies, and you had commented that it was a crime for him to be all lonely on the table on such a special day. With the excuse, you had sat next to each other, leaning like two old oaks so that you could hear each other over the music, your knees touching and his arm over your chair.

At one point, after all the group had gathered, when you had followed Minho's unfocused gaze at Seungmin, his eyes gave off such a hard acrimony that you thought you had done something awfully wrong.

You tried to talk to him about it the next day, when you woke up in your bed, but he wasn't by your side. Seungmin, who normally would be curled up against one of your pillows, had actually slept on the sofa instead, and when you asked him why over breakfast, you got no answer. You could see him building up anger and complex emotions inside, unable to utter a word, trying to decide what to do, before desist and wish you a good morning, leaving you on the kitchen. The absence of that trust you thought you shared broke your heart.

And yet, that very same night he showed up at the university party night that Jeongin had proposed 一Thursdays were his favourite days to go out. He appeared at the pub without even looking at you, as if it pained him to see you, deliberately sitting at the other end of the table. The second time since the two of you had met that you weren't next to each other.

At that moment you ordered the first drink. And they just kept on coming.

You tried not to care. For a few hours, you managed to make it happen. But when that boy approached you, with the soft look Seungmin always gave you, with the same wide smile he reserved for you, you decided that willing to lie to yourself, at least you should get something out of it. So when he pressed his hips to yours, you let him, and when he put his arms around your waist, you allowed it. You rested your head on his shoulder, knowing that his body didn't feel next to yours the way Seungmin's did, and as you felt him slide his hand down the back of your neck, you smiled, kissing him back just as eagerly.

But the spell melted on your fingers as you parted, and you found all the details in his face that made him so different from Seungmin. So you apologised to him, again and again as you escaped his embrace, wandering around the dance floor until you collided with Changbin. He gave you a bright smile, asking you how you were doing with Wonwoo, but the pout that formed on your lips made him react, taking you by your shoulders and interrogating you about the guy, Wonwoo, if he had crossed a line with you. All you managed to do was deny, before asking him to take you home.

It was a terrible night. For you, and for him, who nursed you back to sleep.

And it was also terrible to wake up, when you realised you were alone in your flat. Alone, tangled in your sheets, and the alarm clock ringing, reminding you that you had a schedule to follow, and you had to go to class.

Seungmin was not on your self proclaimed bench when you arrived, though you sat down to wait for him anyway. And when the bell rang you walked up the stairs, slowly, like a soul wandering the corridors of the faculty, ignoring the professor's disapproving face when you interrupted his speech by opening the door. You paid no attention to his words, sittimg down and doodling on your notebook, enduring as best you could the hour that lasted, leaving as soon as you could.

But then you saw him. With his blue backpack slung over his shoulder, and the brown sweatshirt you had stolen from him some chilly afternoons. And you made eye contact with him, but continued on your way. You couldn't face him. All you could think about was the way he had ignored you, as you heard his footsteps, and how you had kissed another boy just because it looked like him. You went down the stairs, the necessity to get out of there bubbling in your chest, wlaking through the doors of the building. You knew he was behind you, but you wanted to be able to ignore him too.

Until you heard him.

“I love you,” he whispered, and you stopped in your tracks, paralysed. He then repeated it, this time louder. “I love you, I’m so sorry but I love you.”

Your breath got caught in your throat as you turned around slowly, utterly convinced that it was your imagination. But his kicked out expression was a reflection of how you felt, brows furrowed upwards, the waterline of his pretty eyes covered by a bubble of unreleased tears, tortured by his absence. And his cheeks were coloured red, flushed with the shame that let you know it was true. Still, he was looking at you with a devotion you were able to clearly see now, like you hung the stars in the sky. All you had once imagined was true, and he was there, waiting for your response.

So you approached him, a shy smile curving your lips, and rested your hands on his shoulders, nodding.

“I love you too,” you murmured, lips moving against his, his breathe hitching. And kissed him. Eyes closed, feeling a sigh slipping in between your mouths, caressing his cheeks with your thumbs while he took you by your waist. And you kept smiling, your chest exploding in relief, savouring him like it would be the last time you would see him.

“I love you too, you jerk,” your repeated, resting your forehead on his.

© stayconnecteed 2024 ★ do not copy, translate, repost or share this work as yours on other platforms ! consider leaving a comment or reblogging.

[yoonieper]

For the Birds— Part 1 | JJK

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

♡ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (feat. Yuri) 

♡ Genre: angst, smut, future fluff

♡ Rated: A for Analyze 

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

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

♡ Word Count: 19.8k

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

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

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

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

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

previous chapter « main masterlist ✩ series masterlist » next chapter

A year and a half later…

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

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

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

Being analyzed.

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

Therapy was strange like that.

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

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

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

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

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

This was really happening.

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

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

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

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

“You’re nervous?” Dr. Min smiled. 

Jungkook nodded, knowing it was impossible to hide it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Things had to get better. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had to do something.

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

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

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

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

Dr. Min noted on his pad again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interesting. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

People around him wished them a “happy anniversary” and pictures of him and Yuri were sprawled around the restaurant they had rented out for the occasion. It was all a lie, every picture where they stared lovingly into each other’s eyes, every wish for so many years to come felt bittersweet. He honestly wondered how anyone could have believed them, they seemed so fake in his opinion. 

Jungkook had spent the whole day feeling awful and mourning the relationship he could have had. The gathering could have been a real celebration of their three years together, if he just was a little better— not just better, if he wasn’t him, how happy her life might be right now.  

It was the main reason Jungkook worked up the courage to meet a therapist. Something had to change. He hoped seeing a professional might be the answer.

Dr. Min nodded slowly as he continued to write his notes. Jungkook wondered what he could possibly be writing. He hoped it was the answers to fix him so he could finally make Yuri happy, but he feared he would only hear the same judgmental remarks he’s grown used to these days. 

“You mentioned you had a plan after your graduation… what did that look like for you?” Dr. Min asked suddenly as he looked back up at him. 

Jungkook was a little stunned at the question at first, but then he tried to rack his brain to remember the plan he’d made what seemed like forever ago at this point. “I had planned to take a break from school before knowing I would get married. It would have been just a year, maybe two at the most in order to establish myself at Golden Tech a little more. I was going to get my master’s sometime after that, and when I got that out the way, I could finally focus on my job and get as much experience as possible before I needed to step up as CEO. However, I got married and I haven’t gotten the chance to go back like I wanted.”

“And why’s that?”

“I’m already busy with work, trying to manage a job, school, and settling into my new relationship was something I knew would be impossible. I wanted Yuri and I to be in a good place before going back but… it’s taking longer than I expected.” Jungkook tried not to think about it too much, he’s already got two degrees which, to some, might be enough. Having a master's would simply be a nice addition at this point, but it was something he always planned and wanted to have— something he still hoped to get one day. 

As much as their relationship has been like a rollercoaster, he still had a glimmer of hope that they could fix things and he could go back to school. 

“Plus, well, I have more than just myself to take care of now. Maybe it was for the best that I work full time, I gain more experience at work than in any classroom.” Jungkook was trying to be optimistic, but just thinking that by now he would have graduated and completed his educational journey, made the sadness come back all too easily. 

But he had a wife, a family he needed to take care of. 

Most people always assumed Jungkook was just this spoiled rich kid who lived off of his parents’ money, and was simply waiting for his dad to retire to finally take over the company. Jungkook never wanted that to be the case and made sure he worked just as hard, sometimes even harder, to prove he was capable.

Truth be told, he stopped living off his parents’ money the minute he graduated high school. It was a choice inspired by his brother's bold decision to just pick up and leave the country. He felt there was a lot to learn about the world, something he knew he would never experience if he had remained sheltered and continued to solely rely on his parents. That experience was especially important if he was going to run a company someday.

He lived like most of his peers who moved away from home. He lived in this cute, tiny apartment, went to work nearly every day, and struggled hard at night to catch up on his schoolwork. He was relatively normal besides the fact he drove a Mercedes to get to class— a graduation present from his father that he just couldn’t let sit somewhere. Besides that, he was  on his own. 

It wasn’t something his parents encouraged. They constantly wanted to give him money any chance they could. Jungkook just wanted to test being on his own and build the life experience most of his peers had. 

Throughout college he lived off of any money he made from his part time jobs, gigs, and desk job at Golden Tech. 

The only reason he was able to move straight into the fancy place they lived in now, was the fact that the apartment was a wedding gift from both his and Yuri’s parents. The whole reason they can live so well now is because of how hard he’s worked over the years! Would any of this be possible if he hadn’t worked full-time?

He had bills to pay and a wife to make happy, there was no way he could have managed to do that and school at the same time. 

Yes, Yuri was his priority. 

Dr. Min observed the way Jungkook seemingly faded out of the conversation, his eyes were wide as he stared out of the window. 

Hmm. 

He made sure to circle this topic on his notes for when Yuri came. 

“Jungkook, you mentioned earlier about intimacy between you and Yuri— I meant to ask, how's your sex life?” The very blunt question had Jungkook’s eyes nearly bulging out of his head and quickly returning back to the doctor. His cheeks grew more pink the more he processed Dr. Min’s words.

“You don’t need to give details, I’m just trying to get a feel as to where the issues might be lying in the relationship. The fact you’re in an arranged marriage, makes this question even more important. Have you both made it to that stage in your relationship? If so, how soon? Are you satisfied?” Dr. Min reiterated. 

“Ummm…” Jungkook felt his face grow hot. How was he going to explain it was one of the biggest issues in their relationship?

“Our honeymoon… we, you know.” Jungkook hoped Dr. Min would get the picture, and was relieved when he nodded. 

“It was a bit too soon— me and Yuri hardly knew each other. We only went on three dates before we got engaged and then we were married. Our parents knew each other so I’d seen her a couple of times in the past, but our honeymoon was really one of our first chances at getting to know each other. It was nice… really, really nice.” Dr. Min noticed Jungkook’s soft smile at the mention of the trip. 

“I feel maybe it was better to get to know each other a little more before we took that step, but you know…” No, he probably didn’t. Jungkook was such a sad human being for giving in so easily the minute she sat on his lap in the hot tub they found themselves in that day. He knew that now. 

“I understand— two young people alone on a trip together— there’s nothing wrong with that.” Dr. Min tried to reassure him, noticing the way Jungkook got quiet. 

“But things have been weird ever since we got back. I thought we just needed to adjust a little bit to our new life, but I feel I was doing a better job back then than I’m doing now.” Jungkook tried to laugh, but he couldn’t. Why couldn’t he remember what he did back then to make her want to be that close? 

Why was he so horrible at being a husband? 

“Jungkook, you never answered if you were satisfied.” Dr. Min tried to dig down, sensing this topic was sensitive. 

“I try to be…” Jungkook said aimlessly, playing with the corner of the blanket that had somehow made its way onto his lap. 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“I try to give her what she wants but…” He could never forget her comments: 

“Why would I ever want you when you don’t stop thinking with your dick for just 5 seconds?!” Jungkook had only tried to pull her close to cuddle. She saw right through his guise.

“Look at the fucking mess you made! You’re disgusting!” Yuri screamed as she pointed to spots on the bed where his cum had seeped through his pants. He’d gotten a little too excited while eating her out and made a mess. Yuri had always hated messes. 

“Maybe I’d let you fuck me if you lasted more than two seconds.” Even that was generous, that day he barely made it inside before he was spilling into the condom. He could argue and say they never have sex and he was sensitive, but he couldn’t imagine how frustrating that would be. 

“Why are you crying again? You’re fucking pathetic…” Yuri rolled her eyes after she told him he’d never be good enough for her. There had been a little light in the room, just Yuri’s lamp on her nightstand, when he took off his shirt. Apparently, the view had been that unsightly, she got so upset when he tried to get back on top of her. They never fuck with the lights on anymore, she says it’s easier this way. 

Jimin says he cares way too much about what Yuri says, but he wanted to look good for her. 

Just this morning Jungkook had spent his time in the shower, staring into the glass at his reflection. He hadn’t gotten the chance to go to the gym all week, work taking up all his time, but his week away from the gym had already started to show consequences. That muscle definition he cherished so much was already starting to soften, Yuri doesn’t like it when he’s like that. 

He lives for her praise— those moments when she smiles, when she laughs, when she pleads for him to make her cum. Those moments are few and far between. 

While the criticism hurt, she had every right to be upset. It was clear he lacked in so many aspects at being a good husband, let alone a good partner in general. 

Yuri would always tell him how happy In Kyung Sam made her when they dated— her last ex from college, the person she mainly compared him to. Jungkook had stalked him on Instagram and it was clear he was far from what Yuri wanted. 

He just needed to do better.

“I don’t think I’m good enough.” Jungkook didn’t realize he started crying until he saw the drops start to hit the pillow on his lap. He tried to work hard, tried to be a good husband, but he hated to admit how tired he was these days. The dark circles around his eyes showed his effort, and Jimin told him how much thinner he’d gotten— most noticeably, in his face.

Jungkook skipped way too many meals these days. He tried his best to follow those protein diets recommended by bodybuilders, but work always got in the way and he would forget to eat more often than not. It wasn’t on purpose, but lately, he was starting to look just as sad and tired on the outside as he felt on the inside. 

Hopefully therapy would help.

Dr. Min watched the breakdown ensue, it’s happened with other clients before; eventually, they get to a touchy subject and they become emotional. However, something about watching the tears so easily spill from his eyes, was a little unsettling. Jungkook wasn’t loud, he didn’t make a scene, but his eyes grew redder by the second, his face more pained, and his cheeks more soaked with tears. His gaze however remained on the pillow and blanket that he had become fixated on.

“Jungkook, please don’t say that. I don’t know what Yuri’s done to make you feel this way, but never say you’re not good enough.” Dr. Min took off his glasses and set them on the table, before handing him the box of tissues that sat on the little table in between them. 

“I want her to love me, to want me so bad that it hurts her as much as it hurts me—“ It was then that his voice started to quiver. “I feel like I try so hard but nothing works, I’m so tired…” He was beyond tired at this point. Sometimes he felt like giving up entirely. 

Jungkook had even started feeling less confident at work. He couldn't even satisfy one woman. How would he ever be able to make the employees at Golden Tech happy, let alone the consumers, business partners, the media— how could he ever live up to his father’s legacy? 

It scared him the amount of times he considered telling his father to hand the position to someone that might be more suitable. What would his father think of him? It almost felt inevitable at this point at how much of a disappointment he was these days.   

His thoughts were spiraling; recently, they always do. 

“It’s ok to be tired, but you’ve already made a great step in coming here.” Dr. Min tried to be the shoulder Jungkook could lean on, but he was too focused on all the red flags waving around in his head. 

Jungkook didn’t give too much detail about Yuri, but Dr. Min had been a therapist long enough to know that this might go beyond just simple marital issues. He wanted to press for more details, but suddenly Jungkook’s phone started buzzing in his jacket pocket. It was almost startling to see how fast the young man wiped away his tears, before he reached into his pocket and answered his phone. 

“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice was a little hoarse, but his tone shifted to sound a lot more professional than the soft one he used with him. Yoongi quickly figured this must be a work call. 

“Wha— I’m a little busy—“ Jungkook tried to interject, but silence passed as he listened to the person on the other end.

“Oh? Oh… I see— I’ll come straight in then.” That sadness in his voice returned all too quickly, but Dr. Min could tell he was trying to mask it. 

The call ended soon after, and Jungkook looked at the clock to see that they still had 10 minutes left of their session. 

“I’m sorry, I’m going to need to cut our session short. I thought I was done for the day but…” Jungkook tried to smile, but he couldn’t. For some reason, he wanted to stay and talk more. This must be a good sign. 

“I understand.” Yoongi said as he stood up with Jungkook.

“I look forward to seeing you again and meeting your wife tomorrow.” Usually during these sessions, Dr. Min tried his best to remain unbiased regarding couples’ problems, especially during these initial one-on-one intake interviews, but he was already starting to get a worrisome picture in his head of this woman. Their meeting tomorrow will be the real teller. 

Jungkook smiled lightly before heading for the door. Dr. Min wanted to stop him, for some reason, he feared letting him go in his state, but all he could do was hope to see him again. 

•────•──────────•────•

The next day, Jungkook found himself stuck in a meeting with some of the executives from the production team. It wasn’t that important, it was just an update about what they had been up to lately at the factories. Jungkook had tried his best to pay attention, but he was really tired today. 

After he went home from the work emergency, he was finally able to let the emotions he’d been trying to keep at bay flow without the prying eyes of society. He didn’t know exactly why he was crying. Something about opening that door was so hard to do, and it just resurfaced all those thoughts that kept spinning around in his head over the years. He didn’t know what to do with himself; it was all too much and he had no one to talk to. 

Yuri came home eventually, she walked in and was greeted with the sight of him sitting at their dining table, dinner only half eaten, and his face stained with tears. He wished she had come over and hugged him— that’s all he wanted, he was sure it would have made everything better, but Jungkook watched the disappointment etch more into her features the longer she stared at him. Yuri just rolled her eyes with a scoff and went to heat up her cold dinner. 

Jungkook didn’t blame her for being upset, he really does cry too much these days.

As much as he told himself that, something about this just finally made him explode; the fragile dam that had kept his emotions somewhat under control crumbled to pieces all in an instant. He couldn’t stop his sobs as he quickly ran to the bathroom for a little more privacy. It didn’t take long for Yuri to come over banging on the door, complaining about the noise. 

He probably was too loud, Yuri hates it so much when he’s loud. But he was far too emotional earlier and her pleas for him to be quiet just made things worse. 

He ended up sleeping on the bathroom floor last night after he eventually passed out. He woke up with sore, red, puffy eyes, and his arm hurt like crazy from sleeping on it. It was his fault, Yuri made sure he knew how dumb that was before she left. 

Jungkook had tried coffee earlier, he even had Secretary Yu cancel his plans for the next two hours as he tried to take a nap in his office. That didn’t really work; he was too worried about someone walking in and thinking he was lazy. 

The only thing that kept his eyes from fluttering closed was you standing outside the meeting room. You were by the printer, likely working on those reports he asked you to do.

He should’ve been focused on the presentation, but his gaze was too busy raking up your legs that were so nicely accented by your red-bottom stilettos and short pencil skirt. The sight was a feasting ground for his imagination to run wild, and he was far more interested in picturing coming up behind you and fucking you right there against the printer. He would finally push up that short skirt that would drive him crazy as he shamelessly took you right then and there. 

As much as he enjoyed the thought, Jungkook felt disgusting; he had a wife, and it went against everything he believed in to think about someone other than the woman he’s married to in a situation like that. He could try to make up an excuse and say it was all the sexual frustration he’d been experiencing these days, but how could that justify it? It couldn’t, he was awful.

But Jungkook wanted to feel something, and Yuri wasn’t giving him anything anymore. They hardly had sex these days and she found too much pleasure in teasing him, getting him to a point where he’s pleading, before something always gets in the way of anything actually happening. His mind for some reason had found refuge in imagining you in sexual situations to cope. It was one of the reasons he ultimately ended up making an appointment with Dr. Min, recently you had drifted into his mind while he was eating out his wife. How dare he? 

He could continue to give excuses, nothing justifies what he’s been doing, but before he got married, he would have described someone like you as his “ideal type.” If things were different, if he wasn’t married, he would have probably had the biggest crush on you. 

Neither of you had talked much since you started working at Golden Tech, but he’d taken more time than he wanted to admit watching you from afar. 

Oddly enough, you were the epitome of everything his young mind had pictured dating. It wasn't like he walked around with a list in his head, but he found you checking boxes he didn’t even know he had. It was the weirdest feeling, but the longer you were at the office, the more he felt that if things were different, he would’ve liked taking a shot.

From the moment you spilled coffee on him, he knew you were gorgeous, so much so, that for some reason you always occupied his mind. It was in a way that had his eyes following you each time you crossed paths in the hallways, in a way that made him think about you even after you walked by, and in a way that made him a mess anytime you’d meet his gaze. 

He was always thrown into a whirlwind of conflicting emotions whenever he’d see you. Lust, admiration, anger? He didn’t know anymore, but most of the time it was all three at once. 

Workwise it was mainly admiration. You were smart, that much was clear from your first meeting, but since then you’ve continued impressing him. You were never afraid to speak your mind in the middle of heated debates between executives, and it was always your insight he found the most compelling. The amount of times alone since the TV incident they have utilized your input for important situations… It wasn’t a big shock when he found out how quickly you got promoted, you honestly did more than your superiors. You were hardworking, no matter what he threw at you, you would always manage to get it done better than expected. He would always hear the best from Director Son about your team being one of the best performing out of the finance department. 

The list could go on really, but hearing about you, or even seeing you in the hall, always made him feel all strange inside. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew he hated it.

He wasn’t the only one who seemed intrigued by your charm; you made everyone around you smile with such ease. Anytime he would happen to see you in the office, your coworkers would be laughing and smiling about something you’d said. He’d tried to join in on the fun and talk to you occasionally— after meetings, in the hall when you were alone, in the office when he would pass by and see you still working late, but it never seemed to go well.

“Director Jeon! Did you need something from me?!” You had panicked that one time he startled you while you were standing by the water cooler. The minute you met his eyes, his mind went blank. Somehow his attempt at small talk had turned into checking to see if you were on track to meet the deadline for something he’d asked you to do.

Even Jimin had only the best things to say about you. 

“I really don’t understand why you have a problem with her.” Jimin side-eyed him one night when they were working late. Jimin had brought you up and mentioned a fun brief conversation you had, and somehow the topic had shifted to his hyung questioning why he was always so weird when it came to you. The only thing Jungkook could respond with was giving you more work. 

He didn’t have a problem with you.  He really didn’t, but as much as he found himself enamored by your work, he also found it hard to stop the anger from rising anytime you’d even cross his mind. And unfortunately, that was often.   

Jungkook really didn’t know you that well, but he’d seen you enough that you’d affect him in ways that he could never tell another soul about. 

One time he walked by the meeting room when you were leading a meeting along with Director Son. You never noticed him standing there, but just seeing you in your element made him quickly need to run back to his office after he felt his pants start to tighten.

It was often your dark red lips that he pictured when his hand would hurriedly fist his cock. Jungkook hardly masturbated anymore, Yuri hated the mess, and he always felt sex-crazed if he ever attempted these days. However, the last time he did it was your lipstick he pictured, it was the view he had earlier that day when you bent over beside him and he could see down your shirt, it was those stupid short skirts you would wear all the time, it was you who he pictured fucking instead of his wife as he desperately rocked into the pillow that he’d been clinging onto. 

Jungkook never did that again. Yuri had gotten so mad when he told her he had essentially ruined his pillow in a moment of weakness. Part of him wished he had told her it was another woman that he got off to, he would have loved to see how jealous she might have gotten. At least then he would have known if she truly cared for him at all. 

You would get him so flustered without even trying. Maybe if you knew, you would hate him as much as Yuri did. Maybe it was best this way. The thought of another person screaming how pathetic he was, was enough to send him over the edge. It was probably only thanks to the business deal that he found himself getting married. No one would have said yes otherwise. 

Jungkook’s attention remained on you, but you never noticed his gaze. His mind was going crazy at the thought of feeling you; the sounds of the buttons on the printer being smashed into filling the hallway as he desperately pushed into you from behind. You felt so good around his needy cock while he tried his best not to spill into you too soon. 

It would be too good, and—

His fantasy was interrupted when Taehyung, a member of your financial team, suddenly walked up beside you. Jungkook watched as he seemingly came over to help you in your struggle with the printer. He just rolled his eyes and tried to go back to paying attention to the presentation like he was supposed to. 

He had to remember to get that printer fixed. 

It’s not like Jungkook had a problem with Taehyung, but he’s heard the rumors about you two and how everyone who worked on this floor thought you were together. There was no reason to be upset; he could feel his wedding ring on his finger, but he couldn’t stop disliking seeing the two of you anywhere near each other. 

What if it was true? 

He wondered what made you choose Taehyung. What did he do to win you over? What did Jungkook lack that made him so unwanted? Jungkook's gaze drifted down at the ring on his finger. In another world where he wasn’t married, he couldn’t help but think you wouldn’t have liked him anyway. No one would.

“Director Jeon?” The executive called out, finally noticing that Jungkook wasn’t paying attention to the lavishly planned out presentation. 

“I-I’m sorry, what were you saying?” Jungkook hurriedly tried to shake himself out of his daze. 

The meeting went on for far too long in his opinion. The production team always liked to be detailed in their presentations ever since going on two years ago when they messed up the launch of the new line of TVs. Normally he would have appreciated it, but he had trouble keeping his eyes open the entire time.

The minute it was over, Jungkook rushed back to his office, hoping to finally get a few minutes of sleep. He had an hour before his next meeting so he could squeeze a thirty minute nap in before he needed to do some last minute work. 

Just as he sat on his chair, ready to lay his head down, suddenly his phone started to buzz in his jacket pocket. Jungkook groaned, the exhaustion easily made him annoyed; he just wanted to sleep. He was ready to slam that dnd button for a little peace and quiet, when he realized it had been a text from Dr. Min.

Dr. Min [4:23]: Yuri didn’t show up for her interview today. 

Dr. Min [4:23]: I waited an extra thirty minutes and even tried calling. 

Dr. Min [4:25]: We can still do our first official session tomorrow, just make sure she’s there :)

Jungkook stared at his phone in disbelief. 

After he finally managed to come out of the bathroom this morning, the first thing he did was remind Yuri about her interview with Dr. Min. They argued a bit, Yuri always going back to the fact Jungkook slept on the floor again, but he still kept reminding her throughout their discussion, and even until she left, about her appointment with the doctor.

Jungkook couldn’t help but wonder if she actually forgot, or if she purposefully didn’t show up. Yuri, just like his parents when he brought up the idea of going to couple’s therapy, detested it, but Jungkook was insistent until she finally relented and agreed. 

She knew this meant everything to him. 

Jungkook didn’t know how to react. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to just break something. Instead, he texted Dr. Min a quick ‘ok’ before laying his head down to finally sleep. 

He was just so tired.

•────•──────────•────•

The next day it took way too much effort trying to bring Yuri over to Dr. Min’s office. She went on and on that she had plans with friends, and Jungkook almost had to physically drag her into the car to go with him. 

The whole fiasco made him incredibly flustered. She complained the entire time about how much this was going to be a waste. The whole way Jungkook was either on the verge of opening the car door and jumping out, or shriveling into a ball to just cry because why didn’t she want this as bad as he did? 

Did she not want to fix their marriage? Had she already given up?

It was thoughts like these that clouded his mind on the way to Dr. Min’s office. Yuri was in his ear the whole time sighing about how she could be “sipping sparkling wine with her friends at Han Cook’s right now instead of going to this fucking scam,” her words exactly. It was irritating, Jungkook even noticed Dae-Jung roll his eyes a couple of times because she just wouldn’t stop.

At some point, even he didn’t want to be there.

They were already 5 minutes late by the time they were walking through the door. Dr. Min was standing in the waiting room talking with his secretary when he and Yuri arrived hand in hand, but not out of affection, Jungkook was just scared she might try to run away. 

“Ahhhh, there’s my couple.” Dr. Min smiled at the sight.

“I’m so sorry we’re late…” Jungkook sighed, trying to repress any ill feelings he had toward his wife. Now was not the time; they were there now, that’s all that mattered. 

Dr. Min quickly guided the both of them into his office, repeating the same process as when Jungkook went in for the first time. Before he knew it, they had the blanket draped over their laps, and Dr. Min was sitting in his cozy chair in front of them with his yellow notepad in hand.

“Alright, for our first session I think it might be best that our main goal should be to try to open the doors before we really begin to explore what’s inside. We should try to lay out any immediate issues you think you might be having in your relationship. It could be anything— the little things, like someone not always forgetting to push their chair in, to bigger things, like that fight you both had that has stayed with you. But first, since I never got to meet with you Yuri, I just want to talk to you briefly.” Dr. Min smiled at Yuri and he noticed the way she rolled her eyes. 

“I understand therapy might be a little intimidating at first, but just think of me as a friend you’re ranting about your relationship troubles to. I’m someone outside of your relationship, I’m not here to tell you who’s right or wrong, but simply to advise and guide you in ways that might lead you both to being a happier and healthier couple.” Yoongi hoped that would do something, but Yuri continued to sit there with her arms crossed, looking completely uninterested. 

Hmmm. 

“Yuri, I want to first know if you have any concerns about our sessions.” 

She sighed with almost palpable annoyance. “No.” Yuri mumbled, looking out the window. 

Alright.

This wasn’t his first session with someone like this. Over the years, he’s learned that the best way to handle it, was to try your best to get your foot in the door. It’s all a matter of getting them talking.

“Alright Yuri, how about you tell me how you first found out about the arrangement? What were your feelings when you heard the news?” Dr. Min laid out a relatively simple question, hoping this would be enough to get her even just a little engaged.

“I mean…” Yuri looked over at Jungkook before turning back to the doctor. “We found out together, our parents sat us down and told us we were getting married. I felt indifferent to it, no one really wants to get married when they’re twenty-two but it was for a business deal, what could I do about it?” 

“It’s your life, you weren’t upset?”

Yuri shook her head. 

“I felt like I was doing my part for the family. My brother’s inheriting the company, and my sister works there as well. It was just me that went on a different path, so the least I could do was help secure a deal that would really benefit the company.” 

Interesting. 

“Alright then, let’s change the question a little. What were your feelings when you heard that you were to marry Jungkook?” The question was direct and it was asked with the hope of understanding her feelings toward her husband. 

Considering the concerning way Jungkook described their relationship, it was a good way to segue the conversation into uncovering her true feelings. Dr. Min noticed the way Jungkook’s eyes widened before he turned to face Yuri, anticipating her answer. 

Yoongi wished he had the opportunity to meet with her on his own. Normally, this would never be a question he would be asking with the spouse present, at least without knowing the answer first, but it was important information that would help him better plan their future sessions.

It was clear the question also took Yuri off guard. 

“It was Jungkook, we had seen each other a few times before and our parents made us go on a couple of dates. I would be more surprised if it wouldn’t have been Jungkook.” 

“You didn’t answer my question. How did you feel that it was specifically Jungkook?” 

Yuri’s face changed. He could sense she was slightly irritated again.

“What do you want me to say, I couldn’t wait to get married to him? Is that what would make you happy?” Her words were for Dr. Min, but she eventually turned to face Jungkook. 

“I’m not expecting anything. I just wanted your honest thoughts about what you felt like at that moment; the fact you were getting married forcefully, and that it was Jungkook at the end of that aisle. How would you have felt if it was someone else?” 

“No different. I was only doing it for the company, it just happened to be Jungkook that I married. I mean, it probably would have been his older brother if he hadn't left.” Yuri was looking at it very logically, but she didn’t seem to care when she finished ranting about Jungkook turning away to wipe away his tears. 

“How about now, do you feel the same way? You wouldn’t have cared whether it was Jungkook or his brother you married?” Dr. Min pressed.

“Well… I know Jungkook more. I’ve only met his brother a couple of times, and from those few instances, I think Jungkook and I work a little better.” This should have been the moment that gave Jungkook some hope, but all he was hearing was ‘convenience.’

It just so happened that his brother left for California and he offered to take his position. There was no “I’m so happy it worked out that way,” for all he knew, Yuri could have said the same thing if Junghyeon was here instead of him. Then again, his hyung probably wouldn’t even be here in therapy. His brother was always great with people and had ten times more experience in relationships than he did. Maybe Yuri would have been happier if she had married him instead. 

What was wrong with him?

“What makes you say that Yuri?” Dr. Min could sense Jungkook was spiraling, he just hoped this question would bring some sort of reassurance. 

“Me and Jungkook just… we just…” For the first time, she stumbled.

“What Yuri?” Jungkook suddenly interjected. “We what?”

“I think we work.” It was the same robotic answer from earlier. Jungkook sat there stunned wondering why she wasn’t telling him?

Something in him snapped.

“Yuri, why aren’t you telling him? He’s a professional; he’s here to tell me what I’m doing wrong. Tell him how being married to me makes you miserable. I'm trying to fix things, at least make you more comfortable. Tell him, please tell him!” Jungkook cried, he was desperate to finally understand what he had done to make her hate him so much. 

Why couldn’t she understand? He just wanted to make her happy.

Yuri just leaned back on the couch and rolled her eyes, again. 

“I can’t believe you’re crying about this.” She mumbled. 

Jungkook hurriedly wiped his eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I can’t do anything right.” He tried to laugh it off. 

If the red flags weren’t waving before they were about to fly off at this point. It was so strange. Yoongi felt like this appointment was close to derailing, so he tried his best to steer them back on topic. 

“Yuri, are there any issues you have with Jungkook you want to address in our sessions? It could be anything, I’m sure you heard Jungkook is very willing to listen and hear any qualms you may have with him or your relationship.” Yoongi found himself worried about what she was going to say.

Yuri thought for a bit before settling on a simple answer. “He’s too clingy.” 

“In what ways?” Dr. Min hoped to coax more out of her. 

“I don’t know… he’s more into being close, I’m just not like that.” It was still vague and didn’t quite make sense. 

“I get that not everyone is the affectionate type, I’m the same way actually, but there are still ways to show you care besides physical touch. People have different love languages— considering you both were arranged at such a young age, you might still be trying to explore what works best for you. I might be able to recommend to you both some exercises you might be able to try in order to explore those sides of yourselves.” Jungkook was holding onto every word the doctor was saying. Maybe this might be it.

Dr. Min made a note to return to those exercises at the end of the session.

“Yuri, I would like to talk about something that Jungkook discussed with me in our interview. I don’t want to speak for him, so Jungkook, feel free to jump in at any moment, but one of the things he mentioned was his desire for you to touch him more. I think in regards to affection—“ 

“Is he talking about our sex life?!” Yuri exclaimed suddenly, turning to face him.

Yoongi’s eyes widened at her outburst.  “It was mentioned, but that’s not—“ 

“I can’t believe you…” Yuri scoffed, turning away from him.

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook didn’t even try to fight her.

“I think it’s healthy to discuss it. You’re meant to be a couple and I hope you both know that communication is one of the building blocks into facilitating a good relationship. Things like sex, which is a boundary you both have crossed, in order to make sure everyone is satisfied, should be actively discussed with each other.” Dr. Min pointed out. This appointment was going left, he had simply wanted this to be a point about compromise, but the topic shifted so quickly.

“I get it might be a little awkward with me being here, but if it’s something you feel like you need to work on in your relationship, this is the place to discuss it.” Yoongi watched Yuri scoff at his words.

“That hadn’t been my point though—  I only brought up intimacy to demonstrate how relationships take compromise to work. Jungkook had mentioned how physical touch seems to be something he really values in a relationship—  this could include holding hands, cuddling, kissing, small things like that. Yuri you don’t share those same values, which is completely fine. Relationships require both parties taking and giving in order to make work. In this case, Yuri, you could try and be a little more affectionate with Jungkook because you know that means a lot to him. And Jungkook, it is important that you give Yuri her space when she needs it. This balance is important in working toward a healthy relationship.” He finally seemed to hold their attention as he went on. 

“Communication is key. Knowing how to effectively tell your partner whenever you feel the balance might be off, is important to maintaining the relationship. This helps your partner feel seen, heard, and allows you both not to be in the dark about how each other is feeling. Jungkook, why don’t you tell Yuri some of the things we talked about in your session?” Dr. Min ushered, hoping Jungkook’s own words would be good when articulating these points, but he could sense Jungkook’s hesitancy on how he shakily looked between him and Yuri.

Jungkook sat up slightly. “All I want is for you to want me Yuri… maybe we shouldn’t have had sex so soon before getting to know each other but…” Jungkook felt horrible for even mentioning this, “I feel like I do so much— I try my best to make you happy, but I don’t feel like you’re putting in any effort, or even want to put in any effort into our relationship. I know we were arranged and things aren’t going to just magically work out, but I thought we both agreed on our honeymoon that we were going to try our best to make the most out of the situation.” Jungkook's voice started to shake as the tears had already begun to fall. 

“I know I’m making a mess of things, but I just want you to tell me what I do wrong. I want you to know I’m committed to you, to our relationship, and the reason I brought us here is all for our future, I want an ‘us.’ I just want to know you’re trying… I’ll take anything… don’t leave so early in the morning and stay in bed to cuddle, kiss me when you leave, hug me, kiss me when you come back, take me out on dates, invite me out with your friends, and—“ He was a mess, saying anything and everything that was coming into mind.

“Yuri, I want you all the time, you have no fucking idea. I promise I want this, I want you, but I’m frustrated. I wish I wasn’t, but I am because my wife is gorgeous and gives me every reason to want her every single day, but— fuck, but you always lead me on and… I know it’s hard to want me, I know it’s so hard…” Really, why would she ever want him?

“I know whenever we do have sex I’m not the best at it, I could be better, I want to be better, but—but…. but…” Somehow the tears poured out even harder when he realized he had nothing. Why would Yuri ever want him, why would anyone ever want him? 

Absolutely nothing about him was worth putting in the effort that he wished for so badly.

“Jung—“ Dr. Min was about to interject but Yuri was quicker.

“I can not fucking believe this, is this seriously how you talk about me when I’m not here?!” She was yelling, this shocked Dr. Min, but Jungkook almost seemed to completely shut down, staring at Yuri blankly with these wide, round, sad eyes. 

“You’re actually pathetic, I can’t believe I married such a fucking loser… And you want to know why I never want you? It’s because you act like this! You’re always fucking complaining about something, you cry about everything, you’re not normal for one fucking minute. You’re talking about our private business in front of this stranger and painting me like I’m just this bad fucking person!” 

Yuri suddenly stood up, the blanket dropping to the floor.

“Why don’t you tell him there’s absolutely nothing in that head of yours and the only thing that seems to do any sort of thinking is your dick, and you whine every time I say no.” All Dr. Min could look at was Jungkook as Yuri practically screamed in his face. Jungkook just looked like a deer trapped in headlights at how scared he seemed, and Dr. Min noticed the way his hands were shaking and grabbing onto the pillow on his lap a little too tightly.

Oh no. 

“Yuri please—“ Dr. Min tried to interject once again but was immediately shut down. 

“Jungkook, you want to hear why I don’t want you?! You never let me do what I want, it’s always us, never me. You make me feel claustrophobic, you cry at the littles things, you fuck like a robot, and you finish in two seconds. Why would I ever want to be at home? Why would I ever want to be with you?!” 

“Yuri!” Yoongi once again tried to stop her, a little more firmly this time, sensing disaster was near. 

“The fact that you wasted my time bringing me here because your dumb ass can’t figure out why I don’t want to deal with you—  I honestly have no words, because why did I have to marry such a pathetic fucking excuse of a man?!” Yuri lashed, and with that, she rolled her eyes one last time before she grabbed her purse and stormed out of his office. 

Dr. Min was stunned. In all his years of practice, nothing like that had ever happened during any of his sessions, but his own shock was dwarfed by how concerned he was for Jungkook. The minute Yuri slammed the door behind her, his trembling seemed to only get worse, and his choked cries were replaced with gasps for air.

What Yoongi had feared became all too real when he saw Jungkook desperately reaching to tug at his tie, and he suddenly looked like he just came back from running a marathon. 

Dr. Min immediately flipped from professional mode into caretaker, jumping up from his chair to sit beside Jungkook on the couch. 

“Don’t worry, I’m here.” Yoongi tried to reassure him, pulling him into a tight embrace and gently rubbing his back. 

“Everything she said— she-she’s fucking right.” He was hardly able to get out the words.

“No, she’s not Jungkook, don’t listen to her.”

“My wife— she’s my wife— how can I not listen?!” He choked into his shoulder. 

Yoongi sensed this was only going to get worse. 

“Jungkook, listen to me ok? I’m going to need you to take deep breaths for me, alright? In and out, in and out, in and out—“ Yoongi pulled back to demonstrate steady breathing, making sure Jungkook looked at him. 

Eventually, he attempted to join the doctor. Jungkook was definitely shaky, but it was better than nothing. 

“I’ll be right back, I’m going to get you some water real quick, but in the meantime please repeat over and over out loud— it’s okay to not be okay. Okay?” Dr. Min advised, but he could immediately tell Jungkook was not listening.

“She’s right— why-why did I—“ 

“Jungkook, say it with me.” Dr. Min made sure Jungkook was actually looking into his eyes before continuing.

“It’s okay to not be okay— say it with me. It’s okay to not be okay.” Yoongi kept repeating, waiting for Jungkook to join him, still trembling in his grasp. 

“It’s okay to not be okay.”

“It’s okay—“

“It’s okay to not be okay.” 

“It’s okay to not be okay.” Jungkook was eventually able to force it out.

“Keep repeating and continue taking deep breaths; I’m going to get you water.” Yoongi said and Jungkook shakily nodded, reassuring that he had heard him. 

Yoongi was finally able to get up and he quickly made his way out of his office to where his secretary sat. Luckily for him, right behind her desk was a mini fridge where they kept refreshments. 

“Dr. Min, what’s going on? I heard screaming, someone stormed out of here—“ She asked, her concern already on her features. 

“I’ll explain later, can you hand me a bottle of water?— My client is having a panic attack.” Yoongi rushed out. His secretary looked shocked but quickly rolled her chair over to the fridge behind her. 

“Oh my gosh, is everything ok?” She asked as she took the bottle out and handed it to him.

“We’re trying to get there. Thank you so much.” Yoongi said before hurrying back into his office. 

He found Jungkook still just as distraught as when he left, but he was still repeating the phrase and trying his best to take deep breaths in between. 

“Good job.” Yoongi smiled, trying to reassure him. 

“Here, this will help.” He handed him the water bottle, but Jungkook’s hands were shaking so much, he couldn’t open it. Yoongi was quick to step in and screw off the cap for him, gently guiding the bottle to Jungkook’s mouth so he could drink, fearing he might spill it if he tried doing it on his own. 

Yoongi put his arm around Jungkook as they both faced the window. By now, the sun had almost set completely. The city lights were bright, you could see a few stars decorating the sky, but a sliver of orange accented the horizon, the last bit of sunlight of the day fading.

Jungkook kept taking deep breaths and trying his best to repeat the phrase that Yoongi told him to, but occasionally those thoughts that probably garnered the attack would return with full force and suddenly he was shaking again and he struggled to catch his breath. 

Jungkook wondered if the doctor thought he was as pathetic as he felt, but he never said a word as he cried his eyes out and tried to pull himself together. All his brain could focus on was the look on Yuri’s face as she told him how she felt. How dare he say all that? He should have known better. Why didn’t he know that? What was wrong with him? 

After many more tears, Jungkook was finally able to calm down. His suit jacket was draped over the armrest of the couch, and the tips of his hair that sat right at his cheeks were soaked— which he needed a haircut. He kept forgetting to do that, it was getting too long now. 

“Jungkook, how long has this been happening?” Dr. Min eventually asked.

Jungkook was sitting with his head in his hands, his face burning at an alarming degree. He felt so embarrassed for causing such a scene. He was too much in his own thoughts to realize the doctor had asked him a question. Dr. Min gently pulled his shoulder back to make sure he was listening. 

“Jungkook, did you hear me? How long has this been happening?” Yoongi asked again. 

Jungkook sighed, his face was still wet from the tears that hadn’t stopped falling. 

“Not too long… I’ve only felt like this a couple of times before, it’s never been this bad though— which I’m very sorry for. I’m so sorry about making such a scene—“ 

“Don’t be, it isn’t your fault, and this is really serious.” Yoongi sighed, wishing Jungkook would stop blaming himself for everything. “Does anyone close to you know you’ve been having panic attacks?” He asked next. 

Jungkook slowly shook his head. 

The only other person who might know would be Yuri, but he’s always been able to run and hide in the bathroom before it got too bad. It was still new that this was happening at all. For some reason, these days when Yuri gets like that, he gets easily overwhelmed that suddenly the room he was in felt like it was closing in on him. 

In the past, he would have told Jimin, but he didn’t want his hyung to see him like this. He didn’t want him to know how pathetic he had been lately. 

“You should probably tell somebody. Did having me here help at all?” Dr. Min asked. 

“It really did, thank you so much.” It was truly more sympathy than he deserved. None of his attacks had been as bad as todays, but the doctor being by his side, and so attentive, made this one the shortest episode he’s had.

The silence settled in the room for a moment.

“Maybe I’m expecting too much out of this arrangement, and I’m making her miserable by trying to have us act like an actual couple.” Jungkook suddenly said, letting those thoughts take over again. “We agreed to try on our honeymoon, but— I think I did something that made her think otherwise. I’m so bad at this, Yuri wasn’t like this before we got married. She was so sweet— I just…” 

“Jungkook, you shouldn’t keep blaming yourself for this. A marriage, any relationship really, takes both partners putting in the effort to make it work. I imagine being in an arranged marriage would make things harder, but both partners still need to try. Even though I don’t know the exact details, to me, it seems like you should know you’re at least putting in the work. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if you’re going above and beyond.” Yoongi smiled. 

“There is nothing wrong with expecting something in return. Sure, I haven’t talked to Yuri enough to know if what you’re doing is exactly what she wants; but the fact that it doesn’t seem like she’s gone through that trial and error phase with you, is an issue. You’re trying to be a couple, you’re bound to have bad days, but there should be more good ones than not. I don’t know everything about your relationship, but I can’t lie and say I’m not worried about you.” Dr. Min was being honest. 

“I can’t leave though— we aren’t dating, we’re married, and not only that, so many people are relying on me to make this work! Golden Tech benefited so much from our marriage, Redno did too, and all the employees— I can’t give up. We signed a contract.” Jungkook looked panicked at the thought of what failing would mean. 

“I get that, but it seems like this marriage is starting to affect your—“

“I just need to make her happy, I have to make her happy somehow. Why is it so fucking hard?! Why can’t I just do that?!” Jungkook stared down at the ground, his hands hurriedly running through his hair and tightly gripping onto his dark locks. 

“Jungkook—“

“I feel like I’m letting everyone down these days— fuck, why can’t I get it together? How am I ever going to run a company like this?!” The agony he was experiencing pained his voice, and the anguish that painted his features was more than unsettling. They were sentiments that Jungkook tried to keep hidden, but everything was just spilling out at this point. 

“Jungkook, that’s not—“

But instead of letting the doctor finish, he just groaned loudly, his frustration with the situation becoming overwhelming. Jungkook tried his best to hastily wipe away his tears and shake away the despair. “I should probably leave.” He suddenly interrupted, standing up way too quickly and nearly falling because his head hurt so much. 

“Wait—“ Yoongi tried to stop him.

“It’s getting late anyway.” Jungkook stretched, noticing now the nightlife was already in full swing. 

Yoongi wanted to tell him to stay. He felt Jungkook was close to uncovering some concerning details, but he couldn’t keep him there. But he was just really, really worried about him. 

Instead, he just sighed and got up to finally turn on a light. He had kept them off, knowing Jungkook complained a couple of times that his head was hurting. Besides, the lights outside were more than enough to keep things from being pitch black. 

“Jungkook, do you have anyone you could stay with tonight?” Dr. Min asked.

“Hmm?” 

“I don’t think it’s right for you to be alone, and maybe a night apart from Yuri would do you some good.” This was the opposite of the advice he’d normally give, but he feared any time with Yuri would push Jungkook over an edge he sensed was nearing. 

Jungkook slowly nodded. 

“I’m so sorry. I overstayed and went way past our session. I hope I wasn’t in the way of any other appointments, I can pay for the extra time.” Jungkook offered but Yoongi shook his head.

“You were my last appointment for the day, and there is no need. You left early for your intake interview anyway, so let’s just say we made up the time today.” Yoongi smiled. Jungkook was about to protest otherwise, but Yoongi quickly shushed him. 

“Before you go though, I wanted to give you this.” Yoongi walked over to his desk and grabbed a smaller notepad out of a drawer, before hurriedly scribbling something on it. 

It only took a second before Dr. Min was walking back, after ripping a page off to give to Jungkook. 

“What’s this?” 

“I’m a couple’s therapist, but I have a friend who might be better to talk to about yourself and what you might be dealing with. If necessary he also knows someone who can prescribe some medication to help make your days a little more manageable.” At his words, Jungkook looked at the note a little more closely.

K͟i͟m͟ ͟N͟a͟m͟j͟o͟o͟n͟

T͟h͟e͟r͟a͟p͟i͟s͟t͟ ͟(͟S͟p͟e͟c͟i͟a͟l͟i͟z͟e͟d͟ ͟i͟n͟ ͟M͟e͟n͟t͟a͟l͟ ͟H͟e͟a͟l͟t͟h͟)͟

A͟l͟o͟n͟g͟ ͟w͟i͟t͟h͟ ͟a͟ ͟p͟h͟o͟n͟e͟ ͟n͟u͟m͟b͟e͟r͟ ͟a͟n͟d͟ ͟t͟h͟e͟ ͟a͟d͟d͟r͟e͟s͟s͟ ͟o͟f͟ ͟t͟h͟e͟ ͟c͟l͟i͟n͟i͟c͟.͟

“I think it would be a good idea to talk to him. I’m a little worried about you, I can’t lie.” Yoongi chuckled lightly, but he really was concerned. It would be wrong to say the red flags in his relationship were obvious when he only got such a brief look into it, but he also feared Jungkook’s mental health was in a dangerous place.

Jungkook nodded once again, staring down at the note and stuffing it into his pocket. He turned toward the door, trying not to show how even that simple movement made his head feel like it could split open. 

“I hope to see you again,” Yoongi said, hoping he’d come back at some point, yet there was a part of him that didn’t. Maybe Jungkook would take some time to think about what his relationship was doing to him, maybe he might realize he was better off without Yuri, or maybe all hope wasn’t lost and this session would be enough to spark some change in their relationship. 

“Me too…” There was something so sad about Jungkook’s tone. Yoongi wanted to question him,

but Jungkook grabbed his coat and was out the door before he could even get

another word out.

•────•──────────•────•

The minute he closed the door behind him, Jungkook was nearly blinded by the bright fluorescent lights of the waiting room. They only seemed to make his headache worse. 

Jungkook walked as he tried to put his suit jacket and coat on. It was still cold despite being a few weeks into spring.

“Everything okay?” His attention snapped to the secretary who was still sitting at her desk. 

When he turned to her, he noticed her shocked expression. It was only then that he considered how much of a mess he likely was. His eyes were probably red and swollen, his face puffy, and he knew his hair was a mess from pulling at it.

Jungkook bowed slightly. “I’m fine, I’m sorry for keeping you here late.” He truly felt bad.

“Don’t worry about it, go get some rest. Have a good night!” Her cheery voice couldn’t stop the small smile appearing on his face. For a second he believed it actually might be. 

Jungkook said his goodbyes before stumbling down the hall, trying his best to put on his jackets. His driver was already waiting for him downstairs. Dae-Jung had texted and said Yuri had left with her friends a while ago. He wasn’t surprised; he’d only been holding her back by bringing her with him. 

“Where should I take you, sir?” Dae-Jung asked as they both settled in the car. 

On his way down, Jungkook considered taking the doctor’s advice and staying with Jimin. He would no doubt let him stay if he asked, but he felt no greater need than to be alone right now. 

“You can drop me off at the apartment, I’ll only need a few minutes to pick up a few things. I made reservations at a hotel, so you’ll take me there next.” Jungkook sighed, staring outside at the rain that suddenly started pouring the minute he made it downstairs. 

Dae-Jung nodded before pulling off and beginning the journey back to the apartment. 

Just a little ways down the street they passed by a street bar where they had a sign outside that read in bold letters: “Today’s Special: Dakgangjeong” (Sweet Crispy Korean Fried Chicken). It was only then that Jungkook realized he hadn’t eaten all day. 

Maybe that’s why his head was hurting so much. He had been so busy earlier trying to get all his work done so he could meet Yuri at the apartment for their appointment, that he forgot to eat lunch once again. 

The second he remembered, it was like a wave suddenly hit him, making him realize how hungry he was. Jungkook was tempted to tell Dae-Jung to pull over— dakgangjeong with soju sounded amazing right now, but ultimately decided against it as they rolled by. 

It was raining, cold, and it was starting to get late. Besides, as much as he wanted to be alone, drinking by himself would bring him down to a whole new level of sadness that he wasn’t in the mood at all to explore. He already felt shitty enough, and being in an environment like that right now would only make him feel worse. 

Instead, he promised to bring ramen with him and make it at the hotel later. 

The ride back was long. Traffic was awful like it usually was, but Jungkook was so tired and his headache continued to worsen. Every little bump or sharp turn would have him rubbing his temples in hopes that it would somehow help; it didn’t. 

His pain only made him recount the awful day he had and, as much as he tried to stop it, the tears started falling again. The minute his eyes started welling up only made the pain in his head worse, and the thought of Dae-Jung noticing him crying made him quickly try to fan them away.

Jungkook had already received a concerning look the minute he came downstairs and Dae-Jung was standing there ready with the umbrella. He had given Jungkook the same strange look as the secretary did upstairs. He looked like shit and he knew it. What made it worse though was the fact that he sees Dae-Jung often, and he hated the thought of people close to him knowing how pathetic he was these days. 

The ride back home took almost an hour because of the traffic. By the time he was going up the elevator, all he wanted to do was sleep. 

Jungkook sluggishly made his way down the hall, staring at the note Dr. Min had given him before he left. He was considering if he should really call the number sometime tomorrow when he had time, but then he came to the door and mindlessly punched in the code. Jungkook was so out of it, he had closed the door behind him without thinking too much, too busy contemplating if he should bring that wine his dad gave him after his business trip to France. 

He was just ready to get this packing over with, but he was shocked when he turned around to see Yuri staring at him. She was sitting on one of the kitchen barstools, wearing a tank top and a pair of those boy shorts that normally would drive him crazy. 

It wasn’t like he was mad at her, if anything, she had every right to be mad at him. He just expected she would be out with her friends still (he wished she was). He had simply planned to text her that he was staying at a hotel— he didn’t expect her to care, she was hardly at the apartment anyway. He was thinking maybe she would have celebrated, maybe even thrown a little party like that one time he left for the US for a week.

No, he didn’t expect at all to see her here. If things couldn’t get any stranger, she suddenly got up from the stool and slowly walked over until she was standing only a few inches away. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he was leaving for a few days (at least), and that he was there to pack and he’d quickly be out of her hair. But he just stood there, his eyes bouncing between her eyes that were looking directly into his, and the view down her tank top. 

“Uhh—“ He started, a little dazed. 

“What took you so long?” Yuri asked, the tone in her voice was low and made goosebumps quickly appear on his skin. 

He didn’t even really register her question. He wondered if he should tell her what happened after she left, or at least about all the traffic they ran into on their way over, but what would that do?

“I thought you were out with your friends.” He simply settled. 

“I was but—“ Yuri took a step closer, making Jungkook step back, and his back hit the door behind him. “I decided to come home early.” Her voice was sultry as she got closer, her chest eventually pressing into his. He couldn’t even look her in the eye anymore.

“W-why…?” He stumbled. 

“Because…” Yuri’s fingers slowly trailed up his arm. “You said I don’t touch you, so I was thinking…” her hand rested against his neck to pull herself up so she was right by his ear. “Why don’t I let you fuck me today?” She said it so softly that he nearly moaned.

As much as the very thought of having sex with Yuri excited him, what she said during the session today was still playing repeatedly in his head. The thought of disappointing her again was almost too much to bear. He knew he would, it’s been four months since they last had sex. 

It happened when Yuri had come back drunk from a New Years party; he had been sleeping in bed when he woke up to her tugging at his pants. It was 3am, he had to wake up for work in a few hours, but the minute she whispered “I want your cock,” he was suddenly very awake. This had happened a few weeks after the whole pillow drama, and he was desperate to get you off his mind and focus on his wife. He could have said he was tired, still trying to shake the sleepiness away, but the minute he got inside an actual person— not his hand, not his pillow— things did not end well. It probably only lasted a few minutes, at best, before he finished. 

He could never forget the look of disappointment on her face, though he pleaded to give him a few minutes so they could try again. He had never felt so small. Yuri said something similar to what she had said in therapy today, before grabbing her clothes and storming to the shower. 

The memory brought a frown to his face, which Yuri immediately noticed making her pull away. 

“Are we doing this or not?” She questioned, sensing his hesitancy. 

This really wasn’t something he should be doing. Dae-Jung was waiting for him downstairs ready to take him to a hotel. His head hurt. He was tired. He had no reason to be mad at her, but he didn’t want to see her. She made the anxiety he’d been fighting all day come back all too quickly. 

This was wrong, but he didn’t care. 

When was he going to get a chance like this again? In another four months? No, he had to do this. 

Before he allowed himself to think about it anymore, Jungkook hurriedly stuffed the note from Dr. Min back into his pocket, he grabbed her wrists to pull her close, and he gingerly met her lips.

He was soft as his hands came up to gently cup her cheek. The action made his heart flutter, he wished they kissed like this more often. This was nice. Jungkook would have been happy if they stopped here, really, it was all he needed at that moment, but he felt Yuri pull at his jacket. 

“C'mon, aren’t you going to fuck me now?” Yuri tried to make it sound sexy, but Jungkook could tell she was a little annoyed he wasn’t doing anything yet. 

Right. That’s all this was. 

He let his hands slide down and settle on her waist— he took a moment to admire her before moving back. 

When will he get another chance?

“Turn around…” He could tell Yuri was a little shocked at the command, but she smirked nonetheless before turning like he asked. 

“Want your hands on the table, arch your back for me.” Jungkook’s voice was low. He tried his best to be in the moment as he watched Yuri strut her way over to their dining table. Even in the darkness of their apartment the view was amazing. Normally he would be drooling right now, but he still found it hard to actually want this. 

He’ll make this quick— in, out, and then he’ll quickly pack. Simple. 

Jungkook let his coat fall to the floor before walking over to Yuri, and he swiftly had his hands on her waist. He hurriedly tried to lose himself in the moment, chasing his hips into hers and kissing her neck. The action got an immediate reaction out of Yuri, and he took this chance to let his hand slide down into her tiny shorts, his fingers ran through her slit, and he wasn’t surprised to find her soaked already. 

Yuri liked preparing herself in advance. Jungkook had told her many times that he wouldn’t mind helping, but she would always say she didn’t want him to get too turned on beforehand, fearing he’d finish before they actually got to fuck. Jungkook always tried to believe she knew best, but it was at times like these that he missed the most being buried between her legs, tasting her, and hearing her soft sighs of pleasure. 

It also made him sad to think that’s how little she thought of him. 

Jungkook tried not to think about it as his fingers settled on her clit, quickly stroking the bud, hoping her soft moans would be enough to bring him back from his spiraling thoughts. 

Usually by now he’d be hard, desperately trying to get his pants down so he could finally feel her after so long. He wanted that now, but he couldn’t stop his mind from being elsewhere. 

“J-Jungkook, are you—“ It was at that moment when she seemed to notice the divergence from the routine.

“You’re not hard yet?” She sounded so surprised, despite him only being in the apartment for probably not even five minutes.

“Ummm…” It was an insane expectation, but he still found himself panicking. 

“Let’s go to bed, maybe less clothes might help…” He sounded so unsure, but he hoped that’s all it would take. 

Yuri gave him a questionable look before she hurriedly grabbed his arm and led them to their bedroom.

The minute they were inside, Yuri tried to keep up her playful, flirty demeanor as she let go of him in the doorway and began a slight strip tease as she walked towards the bed. Her tank top hit the floor before she snaked her shorts down her legs. 

If this was last week he probably would have exploded at the sight, but all he could think about was how disappointed he was about to make her, and how much his head still hurts. 

No.

Don’t you see what’s right in front of you? You won’t get another chance like this for months. 

Jungkook flipped off the lights.

“Ummm…” Yuri was confused. “Jungkook, why the fuck did you turn off the lights?”

“Don’t—“

“Don’t you want to look at me?” She sounded as if she was about to get angry.

“You said you find it easier this way. You don’t remember?” How could she forget they normally keep the lights off for these things? It was her who told him that this was the only way she’d ever fuck him. 

“Jungkook, don’t be ridiculous, turn the lights back on and get over here.” She sighed. 

Seems like she didn’t remember.

Jungkook hesitantly did as she asked, he turned the lights back on and let his suit jacket fall to the floor. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the thoughts in his head that only seemed to grow louder as he finally climbed on top of her. 

He tried his best to focus on Yuri, on the fact that she was here and wanted to do this with him. Right, she wants this, and he does as well. It’s been months, regardless of her harsh words in therapy, maybe there was a chance that she had actually listened.

This thought fueled him into pulling her close and kissing her passionately, he was soft just like earlier, but with a more hurried, desperate need. He wanted her and he was trying to convince his own body he wanted this as well.

“Jungkook, hurry, take off your pants,” Yuri whined, tugging at his belt.

Right, clothes need to come off. 

Jungkook looked down and realized he was still fully clothed. 

Right… right…

He quickly hopped off the bed, his belt hit the floor first. With burning cheeks, he undid the button and pulled the zipper down before finally his pants joined the rest of the clothes scattered everywhere.

He was about to get back on the bed, but Yuri stopped him with her hand.

“Your shirt too…”  She looked down at the button-up he was still wearing. 

Jungkook suddenly felt the anxiety he’d been trying his best to manage spike at the mention of taking his shirt off. He still hadn’t made time to go back to the gym this week, and of course, of all times Yuri wanted to have the lights on, it had to be the moment he didn’t look as good as he usually did.

Would she notice?

Yuri picked up on his hesitancy. “Hello? What’s wrong with you today?”

“I-I’m sorry.” He stammered.

He was going to disappoint her. 

With his heart nearly beating out of his chest, he slowly undid the buttons on his shirt, letting the fabric drop to the floor. 

Her eyes scanned over him and his feeble attempt at covering himself up. In that moment, all the thoughts he’d been trying to suppress came back with a vengeance. He remembered her words in therapy, the disappointment he brought, how he could never make her happy.

“Are you coming?” She asked, the irritation evident in her tone.

Jungkook slowly made his way onto the bed, trying to push those thoughts away. But as he kissed her, as he tried to ignore how shitty he felt, it just wasn’t working, and it was then that he knew she could tell something was wrong.

“You’re still not hard…?” She was angry now.

He wasn’t, but he wanted to be, he wanted her. He just needed something to take away the thoughts swirling around in his head.

“Maybe your hand might help…” He felt awful for even suggesting it. He shouldn’t be greedy considering what she was offering, but for a second he thought about what Dr. Min had said earlier: Both people need to try, and Jungkook was clearly struggling.

It was obvious his words shocked her, and Jungkook used this opportunity to lightly grab her hand. Despite how much he was shaking, he slowly guided it down his body in hopes that she’d reach into his boxers and fix the situation. He knew it would have worked. In that moment, he would have easily forgotten all his troubling thoughts, all his worries, how hungry he was, his awful day, his headache, and how much he just wanted to sleep. He would have forgotten everything the minute she would have wrapped her hand around his cock. He would have been able to fuck her like he wanted.

But no, the second it became obvious what he was doing, Yuri yanked her hand back. 

“What the actual fuck?” She was rightfully pissed.

He gave up at that point, he knew it wasn’t happening. Jungkook buried his head in her shoulder, hoping to hide the shame that was burning him away inside. Not only was he unable to give himself what he wanted, but he also let his wife down.

“Yuri I’m so sorry, I don’t think I can do this.” Jungkook sobbed. Yes, he was crying again.

“What?” 

“So much shit happened today​​— I’m so tired, I haven’t eaten all day, I can’t stop thinking, and, I just—” Was this really an acceptable excuse? He even had a hard time convincing himself. Still, he held onto her tightly. He wanted her here.

“Maybe we could try again later, please don’t leave me.” He finally pulled back to look into her eyes. 

“We could stay in bed and cuddle, or I could make us dinner— we could even watch this movie I heard was really good.” Jungkook noticed her displeased expression become more irate the longer he rambled.

“Or maybe there’s something you want to watch— we could do anything you want… just… just don’t leave me alone.” All he wanted was his wife in his arms for one night. It felt so good to see her, to have her here with him, and as much as he wanted to be on his own when he walked in, he didn’t trust himself to be alone.

He wanted Yuri, he wanted to feel she wanted him as well.

Jungkook stared down at her, pleading with his eyes she’d say yes to something, anything, and it would have made up for how shitty today’s been.  

He wanted to eat dinner together, to show off his mediocre cooking skills, something they could have laughed about over the wine his father gave him. Then they would have moved to the couch; Jungkook would have turned on that one movie he knew she would enjoy (he’s stopped himself from watching it, in hopes she would join him one day). 

In his fantasy, they would cuddle, but he would have been fine even if they were five feet apart. Jungkook would have just been happy she was with him. Eventually, his emotions and the sexual frustration from the past few months would have him leaning over and he would have taken her right there on the couch; the movie would continue playing in the background, but neither of them would have been paying attention, as they were too busy enjoying the sounds of each other’s pleasure more than anything playing on TV. 

Exhaustion would have come almost immediately after he spilled inside her, but Yuri would smile and pull him close, letting him fall asleep right there on top of her. It would have been too cozy, the feeling of her warm body embracing him as she ran her hands down his back, making him fall asleep instantly. 

Once the movie would have ended, Yuri would've lightly woken him up so they could wash up before bed. She would have guided him to the shower and teased him about the fact that his eyes kept fluttering closed, but the water was warm, and he was just so happy and at peace. He would have cried the minute her hands lightly massaged his scalp, but she wouldn’t have noticed. He would have happily gone to bed with his wife in his arms, and— 

This moment would have made up for all the hardships in their marriage, it would have been enough to give him hope once again, it would have erased his growing desire for his coworker, it would have made him believe that Yuri wanted him even only a little. Even if that wasn’t exactly what happened, he would have been just as happy. He would have taken anything…

Yuri rolled her eyes underneath him. “Jungkook, get off of me.” 

As much as he didn’t want to let her go, he listened. 

“Yuri, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He pleaded for her forgiveness as he watched her go over to grab her clothes off the floor. 

“I can’t believe I left my friends for this.” She angrily grumbled to herself. 

“Yuri ple—” 

“Jungkook stop it, ok?!” Yuri yelled and it instantly had him shutting up. “I can’t believe I keep giving chances to someone so pathetic.” The words had Jungkook frozen on the bed.

“How am I so unlucky? We’re only twenty-five, but my god, the guy I had to marry, his dick doesn't even work! I went out of my way to come home early for you, and this is what I’m welcomed with; pathetic excuses to make up for your incompetence. And then you have the audacity to try and make me touch you because you can’t get your shit together!” Yuri gave him that disgusted look he’d feared the minute he saw she was home.

Her words cut deep, like a sword to a piece of paper. It seemed so simple and easy to her, but Jungkook was left in pieces, shattered, destroyed. At this point, he was so broken, he believed he deserved every word she said. 

“And you’re crying again!” She acted shocked, but it was only an act because he really does cry a lot these days. There was nothing shocking about that. 

Yuri looked at him for a second. He probably looked like a mess. He knew his face was red, it certainly felt hot, and it was just covered with tears and snot. 

Despite this, despite everything, he didn’t want Yuri to leave. He feared the dark thoughts were beginning to be the only thing he could think about. He needed her here at least. “Yuri— please, don’t— don’t go. I don’t want to be alone, I’m scared, I—” 

Yuri sighed. “I’m going to shower, and I’m leaving with my friends right after.” Before she walked off, she made the dramatic point of taking off her wedding ring and stuffing it into the drawer of her vanity. It was then that she stormed into the bathroom and slammed and locked the door behind her. 

The silence. The fucking silence of the apartment after the door closed was too much to bear. Silence was always the perfect breeding ground for the vilest thoughts to flood into his head and engulf him entirely. 

It felt like they were trying to fit just one more person in an already overcrowded elevator, but he was already tightly pressed against the corner, and the elevator was buzzing from keeping the doors open for so long. But the people in front just kept pushing him further in, trying to squeeze and shove more people inside. Just one more person, one more person and he’s sure he wouldn’t be able to breathe. Just one more thought and he feared it would be the end of him. His thoughts screamed, shrieked, wailed in his head, but even in the chaos, Jungkook could hear every fucking word.

This was all his fault.

For a moment, Jungkook wished he had listened to Dr. Min and gone to Jimin’s apartment instead. Things would have been better and at least his hyung would have stayed by his side. Now he was alone. So fucking alone. 

Jungkook tried his best not to cry too loudly; he knew Yuri hated it when he was loud, so he pulled the covers over his body and put his pillow over his face to suppress his screams. He cried because he felt Yuri was right, he cried because he felt his marriage really was in shambles, he cried because he was going to end up worse than his parents, he cried because he knew he was the one causing it. But what was the loudest in the darkest chamber of his thoughts, was that he believed he wasn’t worth the love he craved for. 

Jungkook couldn’t stop thinking about how miserable Yuri seemed. Even if he thought he was trying hard, for someone to say those things, for his wife to look at him like that, it was for a reason. He knew it. 

Everything. Everything had to be his fault.

•────•──────────•────•

Jungkook ended up not eating that day.

Yuri left right after, just like she’d said, and she was hardly at the apartment for a few days after that. Jungkook was left largely alone, he didn’t go to work the next day, nor the next, or the one day after that. He found it too hard to get out of bed. 

He was gone for a week, ignoring most of the concerned calls he would continuously get from someone at the company.

It was that weekend when Yuri came home for a brief moment only to grab something she needed. She had almost missed it completely, but before she turned to head downstairs, where her friends were waiting for her in the car, Yuri looked out the window to see Jungkook sitting on their balcony.

Normally, it wouldn’t be a cause of concern, but it had been pouring outside all day. Jungkook eventually explained that he had been sitting out since the rain had started (which was around noon), but when Yuri came home it was nearly 8:30pm…

He got really sick after that, pneumonia. 

Yuri yelled at him for being dumb, but it just made things worse. Jungkook at least hoped the diagnosis would be enough to get Yuri to stay, but of course, why would she stay with him when he was battling pneumonia?

He believed he deserved the suffering. It was karma for skipping work for a week, for wasting his day instead of being productive, for being glued to the wine fridge and drinking everything he’d been saving for a special occasion. 

Jungkook was never the same after all of this. 

previous chapter « main masterlist ✩ series masterlist » next chapter

[wraithdance]

The Five Year Plan | Gaz x Reader

Note: F!Reader, Readers nickname is 'Siggy', there will be no y/n use

Content warning: terrible grasp of british-isms, mention of sick parent (cancer), rich mom trope hehe, no Kyle in this one, but!! we are finally at the precipice of the shenanigans and he will be in every chapter here on! extra long as I am begging for forgiveness :')

Chapter Four (2/2): There's a Conspiracy Afoot

An hour before noon finds you outside of Aimee Montclair’s office shifting your weight from side to side.

Your knees crack a little still from the strain you put on them earlier in the morning. Truthfully, you’d love nothing more than to scuttle away to safety, but Estelle has already threatened to take back her gift to you for your upcoming birthday should your cowardice win out.

If she hadn’t dropped unsubtle hints of there being a slight chance she’d purchased something off your ‘sell your kidney for’ wish-list, you wouldn’t bother. 

(The wench knew you hated sensible gifts with a vehemence. No one liked socks or toasters upon becoming a year closer to death, no matter what they say.)

Still, you really hated coming to see Aimee. More than you hated squirrels or little inconveniences like getting crumbs in intimate crevices or staining your brand new white shirt.

(You are unfortunately prone to both.)

The chiffon blouse you wore to work today is no match for the lobby’s frigid temperatures of the top floor space. You’d been standing around for the better part of fifteen minutes just staring at the abstract photos and pristine gray decor, finding yourself slowly slipping into melancholy.

Who would purposely design such a large space to be so depressing?

You’d been thinking to yourself that you were right to change your furniture out, angry doorman be damned. Nothing good came out of monochrome.

Aimee's assistant clicks away at his keyboard, occasionally cutting his eyes at you from behind circular frames that are too small for his angular face. The wire spectacles cut into the bridge of his nose, deepening the lines already present from his scowl.

“You may have a seat, she’ll let me know when she’s ready for you.” The reedy voiced man says drolly.

When you startle at his sudden speech he waves his free hand towards the uninviting bench by Aimee’s office doors. His tone makes you feel like a pest, and there’s nothing more that you hate than feeling like a huge inconvenience for just existing.

When he huffs for the umpteenth time your eye twitches. 

In another setting you’d say something vitriolic about his nasty tone, but you do somewhat fear the wrath of your employer. So, you instead shuffle quietly to the pointed out bench with clenched fists at your side. 

Several more silent minutes go by when you can’t stand the quiet a second longer, lest you run screaming from the building. Plastering on a smile you shift on the hard chaise, that even the cushion of your ass is no match for, to bend forward and catch the eye of the assistant.

“Has she said anything yet?” you ask hopefully.

He rolls his eyes and gives you a noncommittal answer that mostly sounds like a negative. Unperturbed, you try at least to make conversation.

“Has anyone ever told you, you look like a British Stanley Tucci?”

Aimee’s assistant stops fiddling with his phone to openly glare at you. “What?”

You try to smile wider hoping to disarm him but he glares deep enough for wrinkles to appear on his shiny bald head. Oh dear, he was much too young for that to be happening, maybe you should recommend your dermatologist's number…

“I asked if anyone told you that you look like a British Stanley Tu-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. “Aimee is ready for you now.”

You blink rapidly in confusion. “You just said she wasn’t available yet. Like literally less than 30 seconds ago, you didn’t even check anything, I saw you!”

Aimee’s assistant shrugs and tells you that you can go in before ignoring you for his desktop monitor. You can’t help the sneer that overtakes your face or the audible suck of your teeth. 

You had just been lying to be polite! 

There was no way Stanley Tucci could ever be compared to such a rude, sniveling little man in an awful tweed vest! With an angry pep to your step you utter out a snide thank you and swing open Aimee’s door with a little more force than necessary. 

Aimee looks up from her calendar with pursed lips that freezes you in your steps.

You stare at each other for several moments before Aimee’s thin brow quirks. She sets aside her pen and glasses to lean back in her seat, motioning you closer. 

“Close the door and have a seat, please.” 

Hesitantly, you do as she asks and inch to the proffered seat, perching as demurely on the edge as you can manage. One never knew when they needed to make a run for it and all. You smile as brightly as you can waiting for her to speak.

Aimee watches you with shrewd eyes and sighs. “I heard from my son regarding your choice to end the engagement.”

Your smile drops immediately and your face contorts into a scowl against your will. Leave it to Hugo Montclair to be such a bloody coward to cheat then lie to his mommy!

“What do you mean by my choice?!” you squawk indignantly.

You’re unable to stop yourself from opening your mouth to say awful things about her pride and joy, but Aimee lifts a hand up to stop you. Your jaw closes with an audible click but you’re sure steam is visibly coming out of your ears. 

Forget the doorman or Kyle, your ex fiance would be receiving the punch in the face he deserved, witnesses be damned! (Blue knew the procedures should you end up on the wrong side of the law after all.)

Despite the dark energy you’re channeling, Aimee continues on. 

“I’m aware of my son’s… dalliance with the Sinclair girl and I plan to have a discussion with his father to address it.”

“Oh?” Primly you sniff and roll your shoulder’s back as you attempt to hide your smirk.

The Montclair patriarch was a point of contention for Hugo, as his father was immeasurably scarier than his wife and far less doting of Hugo’s… laissez faire lifestyle. You wish you could be a fly on the wall when he learns of his son’s indiscretions, it would probably lead to the elder Frenchman's notorious temper. 

You’d been subjected to more than one ruined dinner party eating hor d'oeuvres and watching chaos reign down as the graying man shouted down the rooftops and threw furniture out of dissatisfaction.

You’re snickering under your breath evilly, it’s what the posh little cretin deserved! When Aimee frowns you plaster back on a smile.

“Thank you, Aimee. I was truly heartbroken about Hugo’s decision. It means a lot to me that you’ll speak to him about the harm he caused, truly.” placing a hand over your heart you give her your best doe eyed look. 

(it’s one you’d practiced in the mirror a few times to get the cafeteria lady who had a crush on you to give you an extra portion whenever you stopped by to see mum.)

Aimee leans farther back into her chair and taps her finger against the armrest, studying the hand you clasp over your bosom in thought.

 “Good, I want you to continue the engagement.”

A record scratches in your mind because surely you’ve misheard. You cock your head in her direction, clasping your hand behind your ear and squint. “Hm, I’m sorry ma’am, what was that?”

Aimee sighs and stands, circling around the ornate desk. You scramble as much as your weight back against the armchair when she stops to lean on her desk in front of you. She clasps her hands in front of her, the tennis bracelet worth more than your flat glints in the natural light.

“I encouraged you to pursue my son for a reason.” She gives you a knowing look that shuts you up before you could mention you had not pursued her son in the least. 

Hugo had just been aggressively thrusted onto you at every company party or assignment until you gave in. You hadn’t even been proposed to! Hugo had just shown up to work with an engagement ring the size of your forehead after a year. 

You’d been quietly reeling from shock (and some horror) as his mother watched on while he slid the shiny rock over your knuckles. You’d barely gotten your wits about you before she was asking for updates on your latest case.  

“I need someone who can keep my son in line and not run this firm into the ground when I step down. Despite your shortcomings and background, I still believe you are the best person for the job.” She waits for your uncontrollable range of expressions to settle before gesturing for you to speak your mind. 

“Sorry ma’am, uh a few teensy little questions; Are you saying you plan on me taking over when you leave? Actually, what exactly do you mean despite my shortcomings and background? And honestly it’s probably more important, but did Hugo not tell you that Maddie is pregnant?” 

You’re aware you sound a bit belligerent near the end and you know it’s a bit unbecoming but, seriously? 

Aimee’s expressions darkens in a way that makes your throat constrict. The older woman’s scowl could rival your mother’s. If she looked down her nose a bit more and started insulting your wardrobe in a thick accent you might curl up into a ball and cry.

“I’m very aware of the girl’s unfortunate condition, I plan to see to it that it’s dealt with. As for your other questions, you've worked for me for the last what? Four years, yes?”

You nod cautiously, still rolling around her comment ‘of dealing with Maddie’s condition.’ You’re concerned and in the midst of questioning her further when she lifts a hand once more with a sharp look.

“Siggy, I am aware you lied on your CV when you interviewed with us. About your attendance at Cambridge.”

A glacial chill dances down your spine like a cold knife, serrated and quick. You're straightening in the chair quickly and putting on your best poker face. “Respectfully ma’am, I don’t know what you’re talking about, I didn’t lie about attending Cambridge.”

Aimee chuckles, giving you a pitying look that says ‘silly girl.’ Frankly, it makes you a bit murderous.

“I never said that you didn’t attend, I know you did. I spoke to several of your professors before I hired you.” she waves her hand in the air “A Mr. Anyadike had nothing but excellent things to say about you.”

Your jaw clenches tight enough you can feel your molars squeak.

“Yes, he was my ethics and public law professor.” you grind your teeth, “ I’m sorry, he wasn’t on my references, is it usual to personally speak to all of your employees' educators or was that something you just did for me?”

She spears you with an unimpressed look, but you don’t back down, holding your own against her crystalline gaze. Eventually, Aimee sighs deeply, looking off to the floor to ceiling windows catty-corner from where you’re seated.

“I was impressed by your academic resume. Despite growing up in one of the worst council houses in Peckham, you still managed to make quite the name for yourself. I pulled some favors with a colleague and I sat in on a few of your mock trials. I knew you’d be a damn good lawyer with the right tools.” she pauses to look at you, you suppose expecting to see you preening at the compliment.

Maybe if several things about her statement hadn’t made you sick to your stomach, you would have the mind to perk up like a bloody peacock. 

You were not ashamed of where you'd grown up, but you’d taken painstaking measures to avoid the added prejudices of being from the ‘wrong’ neighborhood while in Uni. Your parents' split had devastated the already limited finances and for a while your mothers family had refused to provide any support. 

It’s why the decision to relocate you and your mother to housing she could maintain on her humble nursing budget was made, while your father went back to America to find guaranteed work.

You’d gone as far as to adopt the accent and speech habits of your upper echelon uni peers, so far from the lilt that gave away your first generation and South London origins. It helped with some of the ostracization in your undergrad and continued to determine the treatment you experienced in and out of court.

But how the hell could Aimee know about any of that?

As if hearing your spiraling thoughts Aimee continues, pacing slowly. “When you interviewed with us you said you’d completed your studies at Cambridge, but that wasn’t exactly true was it?” The question is rhetorical and she doesn’t wait for your reply.

“You took a leave of absence when your mother was diagnosed with cancer. Didn’t complete the degree until months after you started with us.” 

She gives you a look, daring you to lie. 

Your breathing is stuttered as you try to think straight, chest heaving in mounting panic and palms sweating. She was right. You had frantically taken the final courses needed for your degree well into your employment. 

At the time, you’d thought it was a blessing how flexible the hours were for the position. You were ecstatic that you would be able to finish the stupid Master of Law programme online. You’d taken the train back and forth from London for your final mock trials, using the time to study and work on litigation notes.

Aimee’s smug expression tells you she knew that already.

“If you were aware that I didn’t finish the course, why did you hire me?” you ask finally, with a shaky breath. Aimee scoffs. 

“Because you desperately needed the income to support the procedures not covered in your mother’s NHS treatment and I needed a protege willing to do whatever it took to win.” She says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Like, you were ridiculous to feel blindsided by the fact the career you cried and wrote increasingly desperate manifestations for, happened because you were a means to an end willing to play dirty. 

Aimee, the viper she’d shown herself to be, does not seem to care for your emotional spiral though, not in the least bit. 

“You’re a slacker, Siggy and needlessly dramatic. But you’re a brilliant lawyer and if you spend the time you use to shirk your duties on important things, you can go far. So yes, to answer your first question, I am thinking of your future here and I’d like it if I could continue to do so. ” Aimee says, pushing the knife in deeper.

For once in your life you're silent. 

You realize you’re stuck in place, ripping into the sides of the chair with the sharp tips of your stiletto manicure as the reality of the situation slams into you like heavy pillars. You’d thought you were covering your arse, but that was obviously not the case. You’re scared to know just how much Aimee knew about you and just how she gained the information. 

Somehow through it all you can’t help but think this was all fucking Hugo’s fault.

While you sit stunned there’s a knock on Aimee’s door. She voices out a blase call to enter. Her assistant pops his head in letting her know her next appointment was waiting. Aimee nods and turns to you considering your stone form. She pats the fleshy upper portion of your arm and makes her way back behind her desk. 

“You may leave.” she looks up, “Think about what I said, Hugo and the girl should not be an issue for much longer and I can guarantee continuing the engagement will be worth your while.”

You don’t reply, instead rising on wobbling legs. Numbly you shuffle to the door, barely cognizant of your surroundings, much less focused on the irritating look on Aimee’s assistant's face. Aimee calls your name and you turn.

“Keep what we talked about under wraps, will you? I expect to hear an answer from you soon.”

Her lithe form standing like a sentry behind her desk in her white pantsuit is the last thing you see before the door is closed in your face.

Le Misa’s is far less crowded than you expected it to be on a sunny afternoon.

If you weren’t still reeling from your conversation with Aimee you think you’d be a little more concerned. You’re absently stirring the straw in your water cup waiting for Estelle to arrive after her meeting. 

Your eye had twitched earlier reading the odd text Vi sent you, vaguely stating she couldn’t make yet another hen session. You were a bit worried about her so you make a mental note to check in later.

Under your lashes you observe the woman across the table from you. Blue had arrived promptly at the time you’d discussed and had been peeved per usual at your tardiness (which really could exactly three minutes late count towards tardiness?)

She’d grumbled about having time to grade papers that you teased her for. Blue had still been incensed and taken up scrolling on her phone, ignoring you petulantly. 

With a sigh you try your best to capture her attention. “Blue dear, am I dramatic?”

She doesn’t look up. “Yes.”

Your mouth twists into a firm line unamused by the quick response from the younger south asian woman. 

“Rude! Why are you saying yes so quickly?”

Blue’s eyes meet yours across your usual table at Le Misa’s. She takes one long look at you and snorts before continuing to tap her straw against her water glass like a drum. You kick her under the table which earns you a dark scowl. You return it with one of your own, using your best friends forever telepathy to threaten her if she refused to answer you.

Blue rolls her eyes.

“I said yes because you are dramatic, my beautifully dramatic friend.”

The gasp of offense you let out is on the theatrical side. Blue still seems perfectly content to ignore you though, continuing to tap away as if she were performing one handed. 

You kiss your teeth. What a rude little thing! 

Lying in wait you snatch her impromptu drum stick with lightning quick reflexes. When she moves to take it back you twist to the side to keep it out of reach, close to your bosom. Blue looks considerate like she may very well attempt to wrestle you for it before she seems to change her mind.

She mumbles something about needing to burn her hands if she accidentally copped a feel that makes you frown. 

“What kind of friend are you, you were supposed to say no! Take it back.”

The criminally well dressed woman flaps her hands your way perusing whatever thing has her attention on her phone. “Well I didn’t and I don’t think you’re allowed to force my hand like that to change my mind.”

You stick your tongue at her childishly and she returns the gesture with equal amounts of flare.

“Take it back, there’s no way I’m dramatic!”

Blue sighs and uncrosses her legs to shift her form towards you. With softened eyes she reaches across the table to grasp your hands in hers. Then pinches the backs of them hard enough to make you yelp aloud, the sound garners the attention of the tables around you. 

“Siggy, my love I’ve known you since I was five. You are so needlessly dramatic and always have been. Do you not remember that time you asked me to give you your last rites because you thought you were dying of cholera?”

Still rubbing the flesh of your aching hands you hiss at her. “Yes you ninny! Because you didn’t tell me Micah Elliot's disgusting dog drank out of my fizzy drink when I wasn’t looking!”

Blue looks like she wants to argue but shrugs her shoulders as if to say ‘touche’.  

“Fine, I’ll give you that, but you are still dramatic! I mean you’re hellbent on having a child because your mother wants one from you. If that’s not dramatic, I don't know what is.” 

“Blue,” you start carefully, “I’m going to stab you with this fork, I said that out of a moment of frustration why would you bring that up!”

Blue gives you a look down her nose that you loathe because she’s not even wearing glasses so the effect isn’t the same, it’s just judgmental!

“Oh, don’t look at me like that you traitor, you’re being very cruel in my time of need.”

“Says the dramatic.” Blue mumbles under her breath.

You are about to boo the sister of your heart, (or commit a petty act of retaliation) when Estelle shows up harried and knocking into things with her gargantuan tote.

You wait for the chronically ultra late girl (and whatever body she carts around in her bag) to settle and give Blue a cheery greeting before asking her the same question.

“Stells,” you start with a saccharine smile, “am I dramatic?”

“Am I French?” She says dryly in return. Blue outright bursts into chuckles that she tries to cover with her hand.

You frown in confusion, “What? Yes you’re French what does-“

Estelle pretends to be preoccupied with the menu avoiding your eyes. It clicks only seconds after.

“Estelle! Don’t be rude, you know I’m terrible at discerning sarcasm!” 

Much like Blue, Estelle gives you a shrug in return and instead preoccupies herself with picking imperceptible lint off her blouse.

You clear your throat loudly, forcing the attention of your traitorous friends back on you with irritation.

“If I were to die you both would be very sorry for being cruel to me, you know.” 

Your heartless friends groan in unison that starts you all bickering. Having enough of the teasing from the clucking hens you call your friends, you rap the table quickly to interrupt. You get accusations of being a rude harlot but at least they take the hint and quiet down some.

“Enough, let’s get this show on the road. I need to tell you what happened with Hugo. I swear the universe has it out for me!”

Blue huffs and quirks her mouth in disgust in the familiar way that's always made you a bit envious, you’ve yet to master the gesture, only managing to look like you were having a stroke.

“You mean the chihuahua?” Blue scoffs, “I’m dying to hear more about this farce of a wedding you insist on putting on. Have you even tried to get out of this like you said you would?”

You give her your best deadpan expression, whilst Estelle looks off like she’s thinking of floating away into the clouds to avoid the impeding argument.

“You haven’t been listening to the messages I sent in the group-chat have you?”

Blue doesn’t look even a little contrite. “Of course not, Siggy. You send multiple texts a day when I'm with students. I figured you’d tell me the next time you came over. What?”

Blue looks at the face you make and Estelle’s sinking into her chair.

“Hugo and I are not together any longer,” you drawl out flatly “and I think his mother just threatened my career to be honest.”

That gets a jolt of shock out of both ladies and normally you would feel like a queen holding court as you presented the shocking escapades of your life over tea.

But instead as you detail what was the last four days of your life and the questionable meeting from this morning you feel a bit ill.

Blue had threatened to slap Maddie for you which you thought was very kind considering she was such a goodie two shoes, but she'd gone quiet when you told her of Maddie's pregnancy.

Then quieter when you'd recapped the visit with your mother and Aimee's revelation. Estelle is the first to break her silence when you’ve finally finished recapping the entire bloody scenario.

“Babe, are you serious? Did she really say she’d fire you if you didn’t get back on with Hugo?”

Your snort is unladylike and whip quick, “She of course didn’t outright say it but she might as well have slapped down a marriage certificate for me to sign in her office. She told me not to say a single word but you know…”

“You’re terrible with secrets.” Estelle nods in understanding.

You scowl at her because yes, but that wasn’t what you were going to say.  Blue understands what you mean to say and sits back in her chair with crossed arms and eyes closed nearly in slits.

“It’s against your nature to be bullied or quiet about unfairness. What do you plan to do?” 

The air goes out of you as you sigh and glance around. You really needed a sweet before you even thought about considering your very limited options. Showing how well she knows you, Blue hums and stands from the table. 

“I’m going to pop into the inside to see if we can get some service.” 

Estelle blinks and looks around the space, before checking her watch with a furrowed brow. “You know what, it’s odd, they're usually on top of things whenever we pop by. We’ve been sitting here for at least twenty minutes.”

That gets your own lips pursed. It was actually very, very odd.

You take another look at the outdoor dining area and notice that there really was an unusually small amount of patrons for a day like today. The flowers within the trellis separating the outdoor seating from the street look limp and the complimentary pot of tea had been lukewarm when you received it earlier.

You hadn’t realized when you sat down but the cute swan shaped napkin that normally sat in the middle of your saucer was not present. It was easily the one feature of Le Misa’s that had given you constant entertainment over the many years, yet?

The napkin was just… flat. Not even stark white per the norm.

Estelle and Blue seem to take note of the same as you and wear similar expressions of concern. Blue excuses herself to go inside, skirting past empty tables and chairs.

Estelle hums and reaches for her menu. “Siggy, have you figured out what you want to do for your birthday?”

The groan you let out requires you to throw your head back to the sky and stamp your feet under the table in order to fully articulate the actual frustration you have. Estelle of course pays you no mind besides laughing at your distress.

“No, I haven’t thought any more about it. Hugo, curses to his name may he be plagued by locusts and what now, promised me tickets to a lounge show or a trip but we see how that’s gone.”

Estelle reaches over and squeezes your hand in support. “Don’t worry if you can’t think of anything we can always move up our annual hen night.”

That’s honestly what you were afraid of. You didn’t want to spend the day where you officially failed the checklist for your life by daring to grow older than the age deadline set since, to get uncomfortably sloshed. You knew yourself well enough to know a public crying fit would be inevitable. So giving Estelle a tight smile you are planning to frantically come up with some plans in the next three weeks before your birthday, that are hopefully not nearly as sad.

You’re about to thank her for her offer when Estelle’s surprised curse fills the air.

“What Stells, what is it? Did you forget to blink again? I think I have eye drops in my purse, one second.” Estelle shoots you a venomous look and swats at your hand when you reach for your bag. 

“No, that only happened one time!” she spits out a command for you to ‘laisse tomber’ when you go to remind her that it was at least three times. (Usually when she was ogling some future romantic prey she’s planning to sink her teeth into.)

Estelle shoves her menu into your face, “Look at the menu you absolute broomstick. They’ve crossed out the crepes!”

Your eyes cross a bit trying to see what she shows you, eventually you shove the laminated sheet away from you and pick up your own menu and squint.

You’re trailing your eyes across the brunch options to see that Estelle is right, the crepes and several other options are now crossed off. You’re flipping the menu to the back for the desserts to confirm the worst. 

“Estelle darling, I think I’m going to scream they-”

“They’ve discontinued the lavender cakes.” Blue appears to stand behind her chair with the disposition of a doctor with terrible news. Or the Grim Reaper.

“What?!” Your gasp of horror sucks out all of the breath available in your lung capacity. When you choke on your breath Estelle has to pat your back. 

“Careful Siggy, you know you’re not good at breathing and talking.” Blue snarks pettily, earning a glare from you and a muffled laugh from Estelle.

“Lucky you, I’m too preoccupied to dignify that with a response, you terror. Take a look at your menu, not only have half the cakes gone missing, so have at least a majority of the specials! It’s just like I said, someone in the universe wants me dead!”

Blue frowns too caught up in her own confusion to tell you not to be facetious. “We’ve been coming here since we were in secondary, the menu hasn’t changed once. Plus, I asked and we now have to go in for service because they’re short staffed apparently.”

Estelle tuts uninterestedly, “To be honest I didn’t really like the cakes very much and I guess it’s fine about the crepes, I’m always here for the bread-” Estelle cuts herself off when she squints at the menu once more.

 It’s not long before she’s cursing and flapping the menu in the air as if it were the throat of the culprit responsible.

You cross your arms across your chest and narrow your eyes in thought. 

“Exactly my French friend, there is a conspiracy afoot and we need to get to the bottom of it.”

*laisse tomber - drop it/leave it alone

A/N: I have no excuse for the tardiness, the brain just was not braining sorry lmao. nonetheless next chapter we are finally in the thick of it. I'm so excited to hear the yelling and see the pitchforks! remember to feed your local pterodactyl by sharing your thoughts and reblogging on the reblog website!

<< Prev | Masterlist | Next >>

[sorreysorren]

what it is to be hollow

soccer was a testament to kaiser's existence.

a file was given to you, withholding information about kaiser that probably only 5 people in the world knew.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you argued to the man at your door, one last time, that forcing someone won't prove effective. neither would sessions for just about a month. it was a desperate measure on dark’s behalf.

your words were disregarded.

and kaiser couldn't play until he went to therapy for the entirety of a month.

–––

kaiser didn't like you.

he didn't understand how talking to a stranger was going to solve all of his “problems”– as the people around him liked to call it.

of course, he wasn't going to voice his dislike for you. he knows how to act in front in front of people– he knows how to keep an image.

acting must've run in the bloodline.

he just had to pretend he was well.

you would only see what he wanted you to see– he thought he had you wrapped around his finger.

this way, he still had some form of control.

but you only smiled.

you smiled like you knew exactly what was going through his head. like you knew what was going to happen. like you knew everything about him.

– – –

it was cold in your office.

your shelves were filled with books, board games, and art supplies.

there was a mirror beside your desk, and right next to it hung a painting: a fish about to be eaten by a shark.

you asked him about himself, basic things; things you already knew. you wanted him to speak though. but he stayed silent. right now, his goal was just to make it through the hour. to just wait it out. even if it wasn’t his choice to be here.

“i can’t help you if you don’t talk”

he didn’t have to choose to open up to you because his demeanor did so involuntarily.

the little glances; when his eyes would widen for a split second; when his knuckles would tighten from how tightly he held them in a fist– you saw it all.

this was very different from the kaiser you’d seen on tv. the one who carried himself like he ruled everything around him.

and yet, in front of your eyes was hollow-like shell of a man.

right now, maybe, kaiser wasn’t a "real" person. there was no sense of self within him. he was a mess of thoughts, memories, and sensations. whatever bit of “self” that existed within him was molded by everything he went through.

maybe in different circumstances, he would’ve resorted to his cocky attitude you’d see on tv and interviews.

knowing his background, you knew he wouldn’t be opening up soon. but if you both had to be here, some use must be made out of the time, right? that was your thought process, at least. you understood not everyone wanted help, even if it was evident that they needed it.

right now, what he has is an open wound. right now, all he’s been doing is pressing a bandaid over it– a piece of cloth, even and continuing a reckless path. he’s stepped over the steps he should be taking; disinfecting, stitching, and healing.

the unfelt emotions in him eat away at his wounds.

– – –

the hour passed by, mostly in silence. the sound of your keyboard interrupted the silence every now and then. through the corner of your eye, you kept an eye on him, watching for anything.

he left as soon as the clock read 5:00 pm.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the following week, he was late by 20 minutes.

“you’re late.” you didn’t really care if he was late or not, but you wanted to get something out of it. “do these sessions get in the way of something?”

he glanced at you, “you know they don’t.”

and he’s right.

to him, this is a punishment– not being allowed to play until he’s done with this. he has nothing else to do, if not play.

i’ll make it work, he tells himself.

“i’m not here to change you, michael. there’s a difference between change and adaptation. i’m not here to judge you either. i can help you alleviate whatever you’re feeling. i can listen to you. i can give advice. but i also don’t make any decisions in your life. whether you like it or not, we are here for you.”

“my…” he trailed off, not finishing his sentence.

there was an indistinguishable expression on his face and you could almost see the way the gears twisted and turned inside his head.

he didn’t say anything about you going on a first-name basis, but he didn’t speak again, only staring at the floor, waiting for the hour to be over.

you looked at his file again.

he had a history with violence, which had you brainstorming techniques that could help with that. when agitated, there are two pathways you think he would choose.

the first is immediate violence.

the second is pushing the thoughts away. doing so aggressively will only cause them to slip through the cracks, and then resurge ten times worse.

“have you heard about compartmentalizing?” you were certain he hadn’t, but this is how you chose to proceed

you explained that when in a calmer state, he should attempt to visualize putting the thoughts in little boxes inside his head.

sure, the method wasn't perfect, and it couldn't be used forever, but it was a step forward

he thought it was stupid.

he thought it was as stupid as the fish painting on your wall, but then again maybe that wasn’t the best comparison since it did catch his eye after all.

another method: EFT

before he left, you handed him a brochure that highlighted how it works.

during EFT, individuals tap certain points on their body – similar to the points used during acupuncture, to send signals to the part of the brain that controls stress.

on the margins, you recommended the side of the palm and the collarbone– this was closest to his neck and his tattoo (roughly 2 inches below it).

when he skimmed over it on his way out, he assumed it was some sort of placebo bullshit.

he didn’t see how this was going to help him, but then again, he wasn’t seeing a lot of things.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“ –the wound will never really be gone, but it won’t ache in the way it currently does.”

you were explaining how cooperation on his behalf will benefit him.

it was the third week, and there wasn’t much time left. you had been aware that a mere month wouldn’t be enough for effective progress, but you hadn’t expected time to pass so quickly.

here you were, unaware of whether anything you’ve said for the past few weeks has stuck to his head or not. you did know, though, that you’ve somehow gotten to proximity with the line which figuratively served as a barrier between you guys,

the next thing you asked would either bring progress or fuck up everything.

“a lot of people in your situation would decide to kill themselves” you started, “why haven't you?”

his head shot up, before going to its previous position. he thought he must’ve misheard you because what kind of person just asks that? sure, it did make him think, and– it made him think.

it made him think, which made him realize he had no answer. maybe he wouldn’t have said it out loud, but he would’ve had an answer in his head. why hasn’t he?

was it soccer? it had to be.

He lifted his gaze to look at you, and you were already looking at him. You smiled knowingly.

yeah, your office was cold, but you reeked of warmth– and he thinks if he knew what it was like to be human, he would relish in it.

the thought made him sick.

– – –

if he doesn’t believe it, it doesn’t exist.

that was why it was crucial to find a reason; if he wanted to be “human” that is. and he does. you could tell.

the next week, the last week, he was in your office, for probably the last time.

he never said it out loud, but he had a new goal.

the facade he once had– the mask he once wore, was fractured. it was what he sculpted throughout his time in bastard munchen. it was broken, as now his image has been stained.

but now, he will not only rebuild the mask, or build to cover the exterior, but rather build a skull, and a sternum; he will build what makes him physically human.

he will learn to function with his head, his heart, and his bones.

he finally engaged in conversation. you talked about hypotheticals and “what ifs” and turning them into reality.

if you didn’t care about that, then you wouldn’t be human

what you believe to be impossible– make it possible.

“you're alright, kaiser.” it's an observation. he wasn't sure what you meant by it. you think you weren't sure either.

you also see he truly is resilient.

he’s made it this far, after all.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

a/n: I tried not to make him too ooc... I envisioned him with the mindset he had when he was younger and was arrested,, where he looked like he'd completely given up on everything (so none of that cocky facade bs) I TRIED TO DO HIM JUSTICE.

taglist: @huaposh @bloodypaintersgf @gigiiiiislife @wishiknewwhatiwasdoingwithmylife