#from anxiety to that would be neat | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonstruckme · 9 months ago

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hi maeee!! would you ever write reader x doctor! remus where they dated but then had a nasty break up? maybe reader shows up at the hospital and remus has to treat her and is all concerned and shocked? if not it’s okayyy i hope you’re well!! 🫶🫶

Thank you for your request sweetheart, hope you're well too!

cw: stitches, mention of blood

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 780 words

Remus opens your door with an apology on his lips.

“Sorry about the wait, I had—” He freezes.

You grin at him. It’s half grimace. “Hi.”

“What…” Remus stares at you while his hand finds the wall as if on autopilot, picking up your chart. “You…you…” He skims it, but it feels like only half of his brain is working. “You hit your head?”

You shrug, sheepish. You look unnervingly casual with dried blood caked on half of your face. “Sort of.”

“What do you mean, sort of?” His voice pitches before he can stop it, and he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to master himself.

“I mean, it wasn’t on purpose,” you hedge. “I fainted first.”

He pushes out a breath. Walks towards you. “Alright, let’s see.”

The cut is above your eyebrow, and Remus places his hands carefully on your forehead and your jaw, lifting the gauze up to see it. Gentle, professional touches.

“Are you experiencing any dizziness?”

“They’ve already said I have a concussion, if that’s why you’re asking.”

“Oh.” That was probably on the chart. He picks it up again, reading more thoroughly. “And you’ve already had anesthetic, too?”

“That’s what they tell me.”

Remus doesn’t mistake your buoyant tone for nonchalance. You’ve always shrouded your anxiety in smiles and good humor. To someone who knows you, it only gives you away.

“Alright,” he says, making a conscious effort to banish his own worry from his voice. He pulls up a stool beside your bed and starts gathering his tools. “I’m just going to get set up, and then we can start. You shouldn’t feel anything at all.” He glances at you, seeing you bring your bottom lip between your teeth. “Do you know why you fainted?”

You sigh, and it comes loose. “Yeah. Dehydration.”

Remus looks at you sideways. “How did that happen?”

“Okay, you can put away your judgy tone,” you say, lips quirking up slightly. “I was helping a friend move into her new apartment. It’s hot out. It’s hard to tell dehydration from exhaustion when you’re carrying that much heavy stuff, you know?”

He makes a noncommittal humming sound, but you roll your eyes like you can hear his critical thoughts anyway. “Why didn’t you take a break?” he asks.

“I didn’t want to complain.”

Remus huffs out a breath, amused despite himself. “You always were terrible at that.”

“Hey.” You sound on the brink of laughter. “Terrible at what?”

“At asking for the things you need. You’re always so worried about inconveniencing anyone you forget about yourself.”

He lifts the gauze from your wound, wiping the area clean before readying the suture needle. You tilt your head up at his touch, a cautious, sweet sort of smile playing on your lips. When your gaze finds his, it’s like the world softens.

“Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he tells you. The endearment aches in his throat, tender and familiar and far too intimate for whatever you are now, but if you notice you don’t show it. You close your eyes obediently.

Remus likes to think he gives his best effort to all his patients, but he knows as he works slowly on your stitches that he’s being extra careful with you. His eyes stay on his work with laser focus, one hand splayed across your hairline to steady him.

“Alright?” he asks you softly.

You loose a breath, somewhat shaky. “Yeah,” you say. “You’re right, I can’t really feel anything. It’s weird.”

“It might leave a bit of a scar,” he apologizes. “I’m trying to be as neat as I can, though.”

Your eyes open, seeking his, but you close them again when he tsks at you.

“That’s fine,” you say in a quiet voice. “I don’t mind if it does.”

Remus’ breath sticks in his lungs a bit, an old memory suddenly coming to him crystal clear. You in bed, lit by moonlight coming in through the open window, tracing his scars with your fingers and your mouth. Exceedingly gentle, not because you thought you’d break him but because you wanted to be, whispering sweet words that etched themselves into his heart and never left.

“It wouldn’t look bad on you,” he agrees.

“Right by my eyebrow, yeah?” Even with your eyes closed, your face is still expressive, your other eyebrow lifting with the corners of your mouth. “I think it’d look pretty badass.”

Remus has the terrible, fervent urge to kiss the skin beside that forming scar. He doesn’t know what he’s allowed, but he might just be desperate enough not to care. Maybe he’ll indulge after the stitches are done.

“Yeah,” he says, lovelorn. “It probably would.”

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littlepeach-world · 3 months ago

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Hear me out on this oneshot... 🎾🎾

In-ho and his wife has a child together *about 3 years old now* that ran off while at the island during the games and the guards along with In-ho are running all over the place looking for him and then find him inside of a game room that's already been played and empty, but still dangerous!! Toddlers always sneak away, i know mine does😂

Echoes of Fear

Pairing: Frontman/Hwang In-Ho x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Warnings: Husband!Inho, Protective!Inho, Dad!Inho, Pregnant!Wifereader, Pregnancy-Related Stress, Child going missing, Parental Anxiety, Emotional Distress, Threats of Violence, Guilt and Self-Blame, Reference to Bereavement.

Word count: 1.3k

You just returned to your desk after putting Jaehyun down for his nap, feeling exhausted but determined to finish the work that had been piling up. Being seven months pregnant was taking its toll, making you more fatigued than ever. Inho, your caring and protective husband, constantly fretted about your well-being. He didn't even want you to work or do anything at all besides staying in bed all day. His concerns for your safety, Jaehyun's, and that of the baby were genuine and heartfelt, often leading to gentle arguments about your need to stay busy. He would lovingly remind you, "Your health, Jaehyun's health, and our baby's health come first, always."

Yet, bed rotting isn't your thing; you liked to stay busy. After a few hours of tackling your work, you decide it's time to check on Jaehyun, who should be fast asleep from his nap. The thought of seeing his peaceful face is a welcome break from the stress of the day.

However, when you enter his room, it is empty. Confusion hits you immediately, a wave of unease washing over you. "Jaehyun?" you call out, your voice echoing through the house. The silence is deafening, and a sense of foreboding begins to creep in.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm as you start searching the neighboring rooms. Each empty room you enter heightens your anxiety, but you try to maintain a semblance of composure.

Your serenity is shattered when you run into June, the nanny, who is pacing nervously in the hallway. Her usually neat appearance is disheveled, and her face is etched with worry.

"June, have you seen Jaehyun?" you ask, attempting to keep your voice steady.

She looks up, her expression filled with guilt and fear. "Jaehyun ran off, and I can't find him," she admits, voice trembling.

Your heart stops, a surge of panic flooding your system. "What! What do you mean you can’t find him? Where did he go?" you demand, your voice rising.

June stammers, trying to explain, but her words blur into an incoherent buzz. Your mind goes blank, your focus narrowing to a sharp point: finding Jaehyun and informing your husband, Inho. Instinctively, you reach for your phone, your hands shaking uncontrollably.

"Stay here and keep looking. I'll call Inho," you manage to instruct June, though your voice cracks with desperation.

You frantically dial Inho's number, the phone feeling slippery in your sweaty grip. Each ring amplifies your anxiety until he finally answers.

"Inho," you say, your voice on the edge of hysteria, "Jaehyun's missing! He's gone!" The words tumble out in a frantic rush.

Inho's calm façade shatters upon hearing the distressing news. The lines in his face deepen with worry, and his usual steady demeanor falters. Yet, somehow, he manages to regain enough composure to soothe your hysteria and urges you to recount every detail as he makes his way toward home. His mind races consumed by the sheer terror of losing Jaehyun.

By the time Inho arrives, he is a man on the edge, but the sight of your tear-streaked face nearly breaks him. He pulls you into a fierce embrace, his voice a soft murmur of comforting words. "We'll find him. I promise," he whispers into your hair, holding you as tightly as he dares.

Despite his own crippling fear, Inho maintains a composed exterior. He knows that he must be the pillar of strength for both you and the situation at hand. Gathering himself quickly, he turns to June, his eyes narrowing with a sharp intensity.

"How could you be so careless?" he snaps, his voice as cold and cutting as a blade. "I swear, if something happens to our son, it won’t just be you I'll deal with—it will be everyone you ever loved, anyone you’ve ever laid eyes on."

Your tears falling freely, you grab his arm gently, interrupting his tirade. "Inho, please," you plead softly. "Threatening her won’t bring Jaehyun back."

Inho takes a deep breath, locking eyes with you, understanding the profound truth in your words. His shoulders slump slightly as he nods, his rage giving way to helplessness for a moment. "I have guards searching the island, Y/N. We will find him. I promise," he vows, tightening his protective grip on you. He places one hand tenderly on your pregnant belly, the gesture meant to ground both of you.

"Breathe, please. For our baby," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm to your overwrought nerves.

You nod, clinging to him like a lifeline amid the tumultuous sea of your emotions. "You’ll bring him home," you say, your voice tinged with both hope and desperation, more as an affirmation than a question.

"I will," Inho reassures, his voice imbued with determination and a fierce resolve. Leaving you in the care of another trusted aide, he steps back, giving one last reassuring squeeze to your hand before joining the search.

As Inho rushes out to find Jaehyun, his mind is consumed with guilt. He berates himself for being a bad father, too busy with work to spend time with his child. The pain of losing his first wife is still fresh, and the mere thought of losing another loved one is unbearable.

"Why didn't I spend more time with him?" he mutters under his breath, running his hands through his hair in frustration. Memories of Jaehyun's laughter and your gentle smile flood his thoughts, intensifying his sense of urgency.

Frantically searching the building, calling out Jaehyun’s name, Inho's panic escalates with each empty room. His heart races, and his breaths come in short, desperate gasps. Just as he's thinking the worst, his walkie-talkie crackles to life—it's a call from a guard.

“Frontman,” says the guard, his voice slightly nervous, “I believe I know where your son is. He was seen heading towards the old game room. Stage 7.”

Without wasting a second, Inho sprints to the game room, dread and hope battling within him. He presses the button on his walkie-talkie and speaks in a cold, deadly voice, “If anyone hurts my child, there will be dire consequences.”

Approaching the room, Inho pushes open the door without hesitation. The familiar setup catches his eye immediately—it's the same room used for playing "Dalgona." His eyes scan the room desperately, and finally, he sees him— your son, Jaehyun, sitting in a corner, happily nibbling on a piece of Dalgona.

“Jaehyun!” Inho calls out, his voice a mixture of relief and authority.

Jaehyun looks up, startled and scared, his eyes widening in confusion. It dawns on Inho that he's still wearing the Front Man mask, which his son has never seen before.

Hastily, Inho removes the mask, revealing his face. “Jaehyun-ah, it’s appa,” he says, his voice softening.

Jaehyun's fear melts into recognition and then into a wide, delighted smile. “Appa!” he exclaims, jumping up and running into Inho’s open arms.

Relief washes over Inho as he holds Jaehyun tight, the weight of his fears dissolving in the warmth of the embrace. Tears of gratitude and overwhelming love sting his eyes as he showers his son with kisses.

“Never run off like that again,” Inho says, his voice gentle but firm. “Eomma and I were so worried.”

Jaehyun looks up, his small hand reaching out to wipe away Inho's tears. “Appa, no cry,” he says, his voice filled with innocence.

Surprised by his own tears, Inho chuckles softly, “Appa's okay. I love you so much."

“wuv you too,” Jaehyun responds, tightening his little arms around Inho's neck.

Inho's heart swells with love and relief. He puts his mask back on, knowing he must return to his role but grateful for this precious moment. He picks up Jaehyun, carrying him out of the game room.

As they head home, Inho thinks of you waiting for them, and he feels a profound sense of gratitude. Holding Jaehyun close, he carries the warmth of their reunion with him, vowing to cherish every moment with his family from now on.

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sl33py-g4m3r · 11 months ago

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Apparently this device called ‘Nintendo Switch’ is simply for amusement of the people…

Nothing like a demon summoning program to be found…..

Many of these ‘games’ however, placed on cards inserted into the device; one can play these ‘games’.

I have found one such titled ‘shin megami tensei: nocturne’ to be most interesting, as the protagonist can fuse demons much like our samurai ~~ however accomplish this in a different way than them… it appears he himself hath turned into a fiend

I do continually hope that this does not turn any who play these ‘games’ into demons…

A relic merely for amusement and amusement alone so it would seem….

Would I get into trouble with the monastery should this relic go missing? It has piqued my interest and curiosity further…. Might I take it away for further research….

There is also one where you pilot a sprite through hoards of orbs being lobbed all across the screen…. Intriguing music but the gameplay however does provoke quite the anxious feeling ~~~ as if facing off against a hoard of demons alone~~

~~ sleeping patterns henceforth get backwards due to ‘research’ ~~

~~ hopes in earnest that no one thinks they’ve caught ill with them sleeping all day and not being around. But surely the sleepiness when they have to be awake during daylight hours is noticeable and might make people think that perhaps ~~

#thoughts #thinking #i think too much #larp #larping #The Eastern Kingdom of Mikado #Mikado #accidental smt iv oc?#someone at the monastery discovers video games and decides to do further research #taking it for further research and messes up their sleeping schedule #hopes to (censored) that they do not get into trouble for the relic gone missing #relic #relics #research #would smt games even be games in universe? that’d be neat #they discover smt nocturne #and bullet hell games #specifically mushihimesama #I hope that this comes off as someone from mikado kind of posting on my account and it’s not actually me #that was my intention with this initially #I suppose I could be helping them tag the posts #idk #silly fun #Nintendo #nintendo switch #shin megami tensei #nocturne #mushihimesama #mushihimesama futari #guess they have anxiety as well?

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4mrplumi · 1 month ago

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00. spiderwocky ── kid-buggy

‎‎ㅤㅤplatonic | spiderverse x spiderman!reader x batfamily | ms. list

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤdisclaimers on masterlist!

index. prologue , chapter one , chapter two , chapter three ... to be continued. based on this

your head slams against the mech’s ceiling, and your vision blurs for a second. a troubled robotic voice keeps reading out statistics, leftwing engine down, visors breaking off, remaining web fluid at 17%, and enemy still engaged.

you have to wince, pushing your head against the whiplash, slamming a half-ripped off metal leg at the large metallic eyeball staring keenly in your direction. mysterio’s been trouble before but… you’ve gotten soft.

a thin wisp of gas permeates the suit’s vents, and sp//dr’s robotic droning takes an almost human, frantic quality. “air quality has been compromised,” it hisses, “(name), pulling out of battle is optimal.” you’ve got to ignore it, you think with strain, a thin string of web leaping out at the building behind mysterio, there are people in more danger than you.

pulling harshly on the string, you can hear the noisy clank of metal as the mech-suit’s arm bolts creak under the pressure, and propel yourself at the sphere. and you do it again, to the left, again, from the right, while sp//dr’s voice reads out the remaining fluid clerically.

"16%", slam it into the concrete building next to you, it makes a dent, "15%", swing it into a billboard, people are screaming, "14%", jump up into the sky on your- the suit’s- good leg, "13%" shoot out two strings to the ground besides mysterio-

"12%", slam him into the concrete, shattering the road under him. you’re running out of air. the sphere breaks a little, curling inwards like a cracked egg. you have to disarm mysterio- before he floods the streets with the brain toxin that-

that’s currently bypassed your filtration systems.

the suit takes a staggering step towards a boy inside the vessel, his head encompassed by a globe of white, a single eye etched and staring. you barely hear his “you’re taller in person”, more focused on another voice whispering to you.

‘make me nothing’, it says, it’s your father's voice. no, it’s sp//dr’s voice. a hand reaches up on its own, crushing a drone, ‘i’m a teenage weapon’. it’s your voice, your head, sp//dr. you can barely breathe, another hand sending a drone flying into the thin walls around you. "safe inside the colours", his face looks at you in pity, admiration.

it’s a familiar look.

you stiffen, your mind clearing to sp//dr’s warnings. ‘i don’t need your love, boy.’ the suit’s arm slams against his skull, and he falls to the ground, with a strangled; “my voice!”.

the brain toxin begins to leave your systems, flushed out by a steady, furious buzz in your ears, your vision clearing as you approach the man. his face is exposed, a bloody, spectacled and oat-haired figure. he croaks to you; “i hate my voice,” as though you’d care of it, “you don’t know me- i’m just a fan…”

his voice becomes shaky, and he’s struggling to blabber out his words. you’re tempted to web his mouth shut. “but i could have been anything to you…”

“did you ever get the mix-disc i made you?” he slurs, his cracked glasses breaking.

you don’t wake up with a jolt. there’s no chain of anxiety that hits you, no spider-sense going off. you’re well tucked under heavy covers when you open your eyes, rigid in your sleep. not in the suit, you haven’t been in it for a while. it’s sill broken, and you’re not… not at work. not right now.

it doesn’t feel natural waking up in the manor. you’ve been opening your eyes to the posters your roommate put up on your walls, insisting on brighter decor. grown used to waking to sounds of chatter, maybe the radio, or the school bell telling you were devastatingly late to class and would be reprimanded for it.

you’re not used to waking up to neat wallpaper in a dark, old room. in the house you’ve barely lived in, barely wanted to live in. wayne manor is a sad place, and you're suddenly glad they send you away for most of the year.

summer vacations are the most miserable time of the year, everyone being sent home or off on vacation with their parents until they come back for next term. all the time you're stuck going to a manor you don’t want to be in, in a city you’re close to hating, with people who’ve made it too obvious they don’t want you here. they never say it to your face. but you know well enough.

but- but this time it’s different. this break, you won’t go to trouble tim with a puzzle you’d hope would interest him, one he’d take from you with a nod, and never think about again. you won’t go watch jason sneak into the pantry from a distance, trying to muster up the courage to talk to him and inevitably fail each time, as he swiftly left again. you won’t even offer to ask alfred if you could help him tend to the garden, only for him to smile pitiably gently at you and ask you if you’d 'rather not spend your time having more fun elsewhere'.

this time, you have work. something to do. someone to be.

you take to sauntering awake to a little desk in the corner of the room at five? four? in the morning, and sliding the drawer open to pull out a thick and scrappy diary. you’ve been writing in this since they first sent you off, since you were nine.

"SP//DR BOT" graces the page you flip to, in bright paint-marker-blue. the picture of a poorly sketched, vaguely-humanoid mecha-suit follows, on which you scrawl with a drying pen. for the last seven months you've had someone to be. so you'd best get to it; kid-buggy.

₊˚⊹ a/n : first fic i've planned up to completion,, let's hope all goes well!! let me know if you want to be in the taglist <3

prologue tags @sirenetheblogger @kenyummy @selvyyr

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nanamimizz-archived · 3 months ago

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𝐓𝚬𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝚶𝐍.

this is a commissioned work. reader’s appearance is described. thank you @isseimattsun for commissioning me !

tags: 18+ minors dni. friends to lovers / virginity loss / confessions / fuck or die trope / omegaverse / alpha jing yuan / omega reader / afab reader / gendered language / mating press / size difference / manhandling / creampie - let me know if i missed something !

synopsis: you and the general were friends. it’s all you ever thought you would be but when they revelation of your truer nature the general finds himself at the back door to the greatest temptation of all.

Life upon the Xianzhou Loufu is riddled with many other things depending on who it is you ask the answers vary.

History, tragedy, mystery, betrayal - each tied to each brush stroke that records the events of the Xianzhou’s long life. One of the many hands that holds that brush is the Divination Commission, at the Seat of Foresight. The brush of history currently paints a worrying picture, following the events of the Stellaron Crisis where each and everyone in the Commission running around - even the esteemed Master Diviner Fu Xuan has been ran into the ground with the weight of paperwork and preparation. You shudder to recall the first few days after the crisis, the entire office reeked of juneberry, sickly sweet with omega agitation and anxiety.

If one grimaces at the idea of Master Fu Xuan run ragged it pales in comparison to the reality you live in. You are a simple person with a simple role - just a runner of correspondence for Master Fu Xuan to a list of important individuals. Your role has made you jump from ship to ship, many times you have stood in the presence of the speedster General Fei Xiao and you remember how you scrubbed at your clothes to get rid of the smell of alpha musk. Your nose wrinkles as you recall more and more times the scents of your peers and superiors made you curl in disgust; how many times you’ve scrubbed your hands raw when keeping your uniform clean. It had always bothered you, even back when you were a child how the scents of others imprinted onto everything.

No one had a scrap of discretion because you could take a whiff and find what another was thinking - you utterly detested it. When you came of age and you had access to suppressants you were quick to ask for the strongest ones. Something that blocks out your scent completely. Something that gives you the privacy you so want in this world where everyone wears their heart on their scent glands. You didn’t care for anything else - not with how since you presented boys would make fun of you until your scent soured and girls would dig at you with questions for being the only omega in the class until your scent bristled. You hated that, the constant invasion of others just because of what your secondary sex was.

Yes, you utterly loathed it enough so that you take a hundred something milligrams of omega suppressants on the dot twice a month and don’t read any of the warnings on the neat little orange bottle you depend on.

Unexpected heat cycles. High Fevers. High risk of cardiac arrest.

As you make your way to the gates leading to the seat of General Jing Yuan, you bring a hand up to loosen your collar - suddenly finding it to be hotter than usual. The tablet in your hand creaks under your grip as you feel some heat in your chest at the thought of the general. It’s always been like this you think, your chest warming when you go to your desk and see you will be delivering paperwork directly to Jing Yuan even for two centuries. You make your way to the final doors and are met with the same giant, holographic chess board. In the soft white light of the room, his own hair glimmers like silver and there - in a split second you can see the tiredness on his face before he hears of your entering and like the lightning he wields it’s gone in a flash.

The same, infallible look of control settled on his handsome face as he turned to look at you. Golden gaze softening in some sort of warmth when he greets you, more affectionate then people would assume - in a life like the general’s it makes sense why people would wonder. You are no stranger to the achievements of the High Cloud Quintet, the fabled heroes are known far and wide in the Luofu but what is not known is the hole it left in Jing Yuan’s heart, none but you. It was a while ago, maybe after the first hundred years of being his messenger between himself and Master Fu Xuan that you caught a scent that did not usually appear in the notes of osmanthus. It was chance, maybe fate that you bore witness to the acid scent of grief but you have made it a bit of your goal to treat the General with more warmth that is expected of you as a mere correspondent.

It began with small things - questions of his day, of the chess game in the room. You even managed to get to play a game with him even at the cost of being reprimanded for taking so long to return or the overwhelming quick and humiliating loss you had at the hands of the erudite general. It had begun a bit of a tradition for the two of you, often sneaking in a quick game when you can and even when you couldn’t. He says your name, voice deep and soft: you bring your eyes to him and smile as you always do, not exactly grinning but one that reaches a little further than the polite ones you share over the water cooler in the office.

“It’s been too long my dear friend. I’ve been looking forward to our next match.” Hos smile turns feline as you snort and shake your head, amusement painting your face.

“General please, you saw me naught but two days ago. And you can forget the match - I’ve grown tired of the constant humiliation of you besting me.”

Jing Yuan laughs, deep from his chest - a deep baritone that warms your stomach, eyes crinkling affectionately. A droplet of sweat drips down your neck as you swallow, you can feel one of your black curls cling to your neck from the heat that grows more sweltering every minute.

“Now, now. You’ve improved in the short time we’ve played together.” The eye visible to you is wide and sparkling with something you can’t decipher.

“You’re lasting longer each time. It makes the game much more enjoyable.” He purrs the words, eyes lidded and if you weren’t so focused on the boiling heat that grows more and for fiercely in your blood you would pick up on the twitching of his nose and lips as if he wants to taste the air itself. Golden eyes with the keen glint of a lion in the grass picks up on the flush to your cheeks and the shimmer of sweat on the curves of your collarbones.

“Is that so?” You ask, not really paying attention to the man before you - hands going to grasp your hair and tie it high too cool off. A scent feels Jing Yuan’s nose and if he had a tail it would swish behind him in keen interest. Citrus and honey with ginger - sweet and wonderfully spiced fills the room.

Something you have never smelled of. Your scent has always been mild disinfectant. Never offensive to the palate but it was present, odd. Clean and stark like a doctor’s office. It was clear that you were on some sort of suppressant due to your lack of natural scent.

“Yes, quite, so please - join me for a game. You have the time, no?” He asks and you blink a few times before giving your answer. A brief, absent nod of your head and when Jing Yuan goes to place one large, warm hand rough from wielding the glaive on the silver of skin your uniform exposes on your shoulder ; you break out into shivers despite the heat swimming in your head. Maybe sitting on the floor will cool you off? And maybe the game will take your mind off how hot the room is. The hand on your shoulder remains with his thumb carefully rubbing at the skin - a gesture meant to convey the level of casual friendship between the two of you but instead it makes you feel like you were shocked.

Your nerves fizz and frazzle, and the heat that’s been plaguing you suddenly turns into mind-numbing coldness. The ends of your vision swims, and you hear a pitched ringing along with a muffled voice. Your hands feel empty, like there is no flesh or bone or blood filling them. The sensation spreads down to your legs and your shoulder and your neck. Like a puppet without strings, when you go to take the first step to play the game with Jing Yuan - your general, your friend had offered, you collapsed.

The world had turned black.

…

When you awake, the sky is orange - it’s around sunset and your vision though clearly is still foggy at the edges. You are not in your home, you muddled your way to that conclusion from how spacious the room you are in is, with regal decorations that you most certainly do not own. Your thoughts are slow and breathing is an intensive labor, you need to think to take in each gulp of air in your dry throat. Turning your head is a slow manner and you are greeted with an arrangement of potted plants in front of a training courtyard.

Your vision is blurred at its edges and your hearing is clogged - like your ears needing to be popped after hopping off a sky-craft joy ride. There are voices, from the room next door, muffled and unclear but you can pick up the stress in their tones. Just as you try to focus, scrunching your brows and shaking your head as if to clear the brain fog you feel it.

A burning sharp pain followed by a gaping ache just below your stomach. You whine so very high and so very loud as the ache is all you can think about now that you have been pulled from the embrace of fitful sleep. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts - a needy voice in your head rings. Your back arches as another drop of sweat drips down the curve of your spine. The parts of your brain that haven’t been melted out of your ears buzz in confusion. What type of sickness have you gotten that’s making you act like this? Another wave of pain fills you as you squirm, turning to press your head into the cool pillow. You groan into the pillowcase and try to focus on anything other than the pain you feel resounding your weary body. Seeking any sort of distraction to unknowingly take a whiff of the pillowcase your face is pressed into and pick up on one certain scent.

The only one you’ve ever enjoyed since you presented.

Osmanthus.

You whine into the pillow and haplessly press your thighs together as you think about the matching golden eyes of the man who smells just like those golden leaves. Silver white hair and a mole that catches your attention like the stars in the false sky of the Xianzhou ship night cycle. A pristinely, handsome alpha with broad shoulders and a sculpted body that smells earthy and sweet. The words in your mind fizzle out and your eyes flutter close with thought of him. Jing Yuan, a voice in your head whines, its unfamiliar tone a bell in your mind. It repeats again and again and it isn’t until you feel a large hand, one calloused and so incredibly warm that it makes your skin break into goosebumps wraps around the wrist of the hand that’s been gripping the fabric under you so desperately.

Your name is spoken into the now darker room, uttered from plush lips that belong to the man you were just thinking about.

Pinned under golden irises you freeze, gazing up at him with your lips parted as your chest heaves. The state you are in, it enhances everything you felt when you first saw him today. Your general, your friend, your Jing Yuan is here - right before you. Pleased chirps escape your mouth as something inside you purrs and the ache between your legs softens now that you aren’t alone being teased with the faint scent of an alpha. In your elation you don’t notice the flush to his ears and face, how Jing Yuan’s eyes go between your face and your chest. His thumb rubs at the skin of your wrist and his tongue flashes briefly to wet his lips before he speaks.

Your name leaves his lips again before he asks you - “Do you know where you are?”

As you shake your head side to side a strand of hair sticks to your lips. With the opposite hand Jing Yuan carefully removes it from your lips and something in his chest tightens at the feeling of your hair around his calloused finger.

“You are in my home. You had collapsed when you had visited me. I contacted Divine Master Fu Xuan and had a doctor check you over as you rested.” The deep scent of osmanthus sours to you and you whine in displeasure. To soothe you, Jing Yuan lifts his hand rest against your cheek and something in his stomach churns the way you curve your face into the hold of his palm. He’s never seen you like this - rose flushed and wanting and so utterly dependent. In the time he has known you, all you have ever striven for, to be seen as aloof and unattached. Never swayed by anything and to follow your tasks but he’s seen small cracks of your true self in the years he’s known you - the way your eyes brighten when you deliver him correspondence or how you soften your tone to speak to him for who he is not the role he inherited from his successor. The scent of sweetened citrus is coying at his nose as he takes in the flush that burns down to your exposed chest - you were stripped out of your uniform when looked over as they were soaked with sweat.

Locks of your hair are clinging to your dewy skin and Jing Yuan does his best to avert his gaze. You mumble something, breathe hot and thin - “What’s wrong with me?” Jing Yuan tenses in your hold and his head drops down as he cannot look at you when he delivers the painful truth to you.

“It’s a heat - rather, your first heat. Due to your constant use of suppressants you have developed an unexpected tolerance to them. As of right now, they will no longer have an effect on you.”

Your silence is deafening and Jing Yuan dares not to look at your face as he continues.

“You must pass through this heat. If not your fever will rise dangerously and your life will be at risk.” All he gets from you is a quiet and stifled sob, one that makes the alpha in him yelp at the sound of a distressed omega in his presence. Jing Yuan is quick to draw you close and keep you covered with the blanket, pressing your face into his neck so you may experience the comfort of an alpha’s scent to ease you through your distress. It works as you take each tearful mouthful of his rich scent and taste the osmanthus on your tongue.

“I’ve never shared a heat with anyone, I’ve never shared anything like this with anyone - there is no one I can ask for that. How can I see this through?” You mumble with a watery voice, croaking with defeat as you nudge your nose against the general’s scent gland, unknowing to how the man shifts beneath you. You can feel some of the oil of his scent gland rub off on your nose as you begin to settle ; eyes going half lidded and your body temperature grows higher and higher. A warm hand settles on your tan back, fingers playing with the ends of your hair to soothe as your own scent grows sweeter in his embrace. Your words echo in Jing Yuan’s head as a semblance of shame takes root in his mind. His hand that had sat at your waist to support your current position twitches as his sharp mind comes to the most obvious conclusion - even if it was the one that brought him the most shame.

“Share it with me.” His rich voice murmurs into your ear, voice soft with a sort of tenderness he only reserves for you. He offers to play games and share meals with you in the same voice. And it makes your needy body swoon with relief - that an alpha wants you, and wants to take care of you. The side of you, that was always kept under lock and key, is deeply coveted by the man you call a friend you never had once thought was possible. It doesn’t surprise any Aeon when you utter your consent, to let him see you, touch you and have you in the ways you always skirted around when told about them in your youth. What is surprising is when you mumble out these next three words.

“I love you.”

A hand cups your face, just like before and the ache between your legs is back stronger than ever. A gold eye gleams like lightning as it bores through you down to your bone mourn.

“When this is done in the upcoming days - will you still love me, as you do now in this moment?” The answer is easy and resoundingly simple. A truth you shed like the peel of an orange.

“I always have, my Jing Yuan.”

The room becomes hot after your confession. Hotter than a fever rising to pitch, hotter than electricity, hotter than your heat. It’s sweltering even in the soft kisses Jing Yuan presses onto your lips. Even in the methodical way he touches your back and your waist, feeling you up until you move an arm back to get rid of the blanket that’s been protecting your dignity. The touch of his calluses on your tan back makes you moan in between kisses and the alpha before you is overrun but orange-sweet omega want.

It’s what makes him push you down, gripping your shoulders and applying the barest hint of his strength to your form until your glistening back is flush with the bedding before you. Your knees go over his thighs, pinned beneath him and spread like a butterfly - all for him to see. It’s what you want ; you realize as the heat in your body running like a fever hits it’s peak. The clarity through the rush makes you realize your friend, your general, your Jing Yuan is here. His hands, warm and large have sneaked under the wires of your bra and you are half thankful and half not that you don’t have your glasses on so you can live peacefully without the image of him - flushed with a predatory look in his melted gold eye haunting you every time your own eyes closed. Jing Yuan lets his hands cup at the softness of your chest, thumbing and pinching and molding your pliable plushness to fit in his hands.

“How lovely - much better than any imagination.” He murmurs to you, all alpha pride and desire. It’s enough to make you whine and squirm, your stomach sweating and flushing at what he implied. That he thought of you before, that he has wanted you for so long. Your hands come to the back, he stops to watch you. Unhooking the back of the soaked through clothing that protects your modesty is ripped off of you by your own hands. As your own lithe fingers go down to tug at your underwear, shuddering when you catch sight of how the thin fabric has become translucent in your wanting you whine out to him -

“Stop playing and fuck me. Please.” You whine paired with a wobbling lip as you spread your legs out for him, settling your heels on the bedding so he can see the webs of slick that drip out and down your inner thighs. Like threads of melted sugar the alpha within in the general salivates at the thought of suck sweetness being claimed and then being only for him. It’s why he agrees, nodding with a chuckle to deep you almost thought you made it up in your head and you gasp when two hands push and push at your legs until your knees are at your chest.

“One thousand apologies, I never would have imagined you’d be so needy.” When you are better you will curse him, you think far in the back of the mind where you are still sane enough to flush red at the position you are in. While you are whinny and petulant and utterly needy his voice remains as polished as cultivated jade and cool as steel. More words leave his lips, praise glazed in hot sugar like hawthorn berries as you feel the fat head of something press against the seam of your cunt. Trying to get a look, you go to angle your head down only for a strong hand to wrap around your chin to keep you from moving. No pressure, just his hand there - and your eyes see the pink on his skin, some sweat on his cheek and a dilated pupil, full like the moon.

“Don’t look, don’t look away from me. Not ever.” His voice is ragged with desperation, illustrious jade cracking as his cock is pressed flush against the opening of your cunt. You nod, pressing your forehead to his - white hair soft against your skin as the way his cock goes in and stretches you out is not. It’s pleasurable, the way it’s heavy and hot and thick inside of you but - your body knows what it needs, and what it needs is Jing Yuan to fuck the heat away, to make it all better. His cock keeps going, sliding in and in as you gasp with your jaw dropped over it, drooling. You feel a thumb of the hands that’s keeping your head upright rub at your cheek then at your lip and then his thumb is placed right at your tongue. A smile takes his face but it is not cool or kind - a ravenous hunger awaits in his canines as he looks down at you.

“I will always be here to see you like this, understand? Only me. Never go out to others for this ever.” He murmurs to you as his moves his hips back dragging his length through you only to push it forward again. As you nod at his words you realize what that is -he’s fucking you.

And it’s all you ever want.

It’s going to be hard, to go back to not having this every second of every day. It feels so good, like your body is melting from the inside out with every clap of his hips against your ass. Too much, you had warbled to him in a pathetic and wet voice. Your eyes are glazed over and your head is tilting to show off your neck - subconsciously. But you know you don’t care about rationally, even when you know better. Taught from an early age that an omega should never show the part of their neck where the softest bit of your skin is located. Not unless they were showing it to an alpha that want to be with forever, and when the head of Jing Yuan’s cock fills you and kisses a soft nerve on your inner wall that makes your body seize from pleasure - yes you think, you want forever with Jing Yuan. You want to smell of osmanthus and you want to play Star Chess for as long as he wants and you want to feel like this with him forever.

“Bond with me - please, please.” You utter through sheer desperation , letting your ankles cross at the small of his waist to keep him as close as possible. He comes down, a smile with the sweetened smugness of his lips as his chest pressed down on yours. His weight is comforting and his hips don’t stop fucking you even like this. You gasp and he teases you - “Are you sure? You want to be mine and only mine?”

You answer with a nod, with a whine and even with your hips canting up to fuck yourself back on his cock mindlessly.

“Such a good girl.” He tells you, voice soft with affection at how you can’t even utter what it is you want.

All of it is too much for him - even a general as finely crafted as him crumbles under the weight of his want. His hands go to your ass and they each take as much as they can to lift your lower half off the bedding and to keep you in the air so he can fuck you just like that. Like a toy for him to use while his nose presses against your scent gland, tonguing at the nerve just to make you shiver and cry. With a laugh his mouth at it next and it makes your eyes roll back as you feel something prod at your lower half. A flare of girth and length that teases at the lips of your cunt at right when you feel the pin prick of strong teeth dig into your skin you feel it slip in.

His knot.

Your cunt welcomes it just like it did with the rest of his cock, stretching you out so well it aches as you finally teeter off the edge. You cream around the bulb of it and you squirm when you feel your and his cum drip out the seams of your cunt. It’s wet and messy but as your hips still rock back and forth on it you only for his weight to pin you down on the bed. A kiss is pressed to your cheek, then to your eyes and your forehead. The hand that kept your head upright is now massaging at your sore thigh. You mumble something - a cross of thank yous and his name and Jing Yuan shushing you kindly.

“There, there, rest for now my sweet - we have all the time you need.” He murmurs voice endowed with adoration and patience. You nod and your body losses its tenseness at his command and it’s buzzing how good obeying him feels. Craning your head you kiss him one last time, filled with him and his bite mark on your neck.

“I love you, I’ve always loved you.” You murmur, clear from an sickness of the heart and with resounding clarity. It makes him laugh, how puppy like you are now with how he has you. He kisses you back.

“As I you, my love.”

#lamb.writes #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan smut #hsr x reader #hsr smut #cw omegaverse

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venomvalley · 3 months ago

Note

Erm what about sevi giving her gf nipple piercings??-$-&/&/88/0/0-8:-$/$/&/9/8/8

And also going insane because she can’t rlly do much until they heal 👅👅

anon are you in my walls cause this is the exact same situation my girlfriend and i are experiencing....

warning for blood mention and needles. 18+ please!!

One of the biggest pros to your girlfriend working at a tattoo shop is getting free piercings in a relatively clean, comfortable environment. Even better that your girlfriend is the piercer providing you free, professional service.

Like today, after months of debating on a very popular, arguably painful piercing. Her presence is a comfort that soothes the anxiety fluttering in your chest, the room clean and neat—so unlike her personal space at home.

"You do realize that these take six months to heal," Sevika says, looking up from the new pack of gloves she just opened to raise her brows at you.

She looks good in her element, sat at her station in a rolling chair and a cut-off tank top that bares muscled arms and the trim curve of her waist. You can't even focus on the size of the needle without straying to the sight of her long fingers clad in sterile gloves.

One of the biggest cons to your girlfriend piercing you? She takes her job very seriously. No funny business, no joking around, no PDA. When you sit in her chair, you're a client just like everyone else.

"You've told me fifteen times over the past week," you say, curling a playful foot around the back of her leg. "I'm ready to get this over with."

You know what she means, though: six months without me touching your tits. Frankly, the time frame is daunting, a bit dreadful to think about. Six long months without her mouth on you.

Damn. You could cry at the thought of it.

With a huff, she clasps her hands together to adjust her gloves over her fingers. "Shirt off."

You wore a simple button-down for the occasion, easy to get on and off in the event of an unexpected guest (as if any other artist would dare interrupt when you're in the room). You slowly work each button free from its toggle with a wiggle of your brows and a sensual arch to your back.

She stares at you like you've grown a second head, but still glances down at the slow reveal of skin. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to seduce you." Your eyes narrow. "Is it working?"

She shrugs, lips twitching into a teasing grin as her chair rolls across the floor. "Not really." So close you can reach out and touch her, elbows balanced on her knees as she tracks the path of your fingers.

Your shirt falls open, hanging from your shoulders before you tease the fabric down your arms. She's good at pretending, but not good enough. Her swallow is audible in the silent room, and the chair creaks when she leans back, hips shifting.

"What, don't wanna give 'em one last kiss?" you ask, pressing your tits together with your arms. An invitation.

One she promptly ignores when she rips open the package of an alcohol wipe. "No. I don't."

The air leaves your lungs in a harsh scoff. "You're so rude."

"I'm piercing you for free."

"With that attitude? I'd rather go to—"

Behind the cold alcohol pad, her fingers pinch at your nipple, jolting you in the chair. "Don't finish that sentence."

You consider heeding her warning, then decide that the possible consequences are worth it. "… Margot."

After a long, tense moment of mutual staring, she grumbles, "Be grateful I already have my gloves on."

There's nothing explicitly sensual about the sharpie that she dots on either side of each nipple, or the way she holds your tits to ensure an even marking (doesn't even get a little squeeze in, the asshole). More clinical work-up than secret rendezvous. But that changes when she runs her tongue over her bottom lip, gaze sharp and focused. Anticipation licks heat up the back of your neck as you wait for her to finally cave, to give you some form of pleasure that your brain is hard-wired to expect.

"Deep breath," she says, voice soft and calming. On instinct, you tense up, lungs filling with air. "Just relax. You're alright."

You close your eyes and exhale, the needle a sharp sting through your skin only moments later. Another wave of pain blooms when she feeds the piercing through, your heartbeat a frantic thrum in your ears—the sweet release of adrenaline that keeps you coming back to her chair, addictive and euphoric.

Her lips press to yours in a slow, tender kiss, same as always. Equal parts reward and reassurance. "You did good. Now, the other."

The second nipple hurts worse, just as she said it would, but you try to keep still, to be good for her. You suck a sharp breath through your teeth as she puts the second piercing in place, more rough with screwing the ball on in exchange for speed. Better to just rip the bandaid off, you suppose.

She dabs at the pebbling blood with a square of gauze, then strips off her gloves and traces the bottom curve of your tits with her thumbs. Lifts them once again to check the evenness of each piercing.

"How do they look?" you ask, a bit lightheaded from the warmth of her touch (and probably from the fact that your nipples just had a needle stabbed through them).

Her mouth twists into a frown, fingers dimpling the flesh. "I regret not taking you up on your offer."

"That's too bad. Shop's closed for six months."

A sharp glare aimed your way. "Don't remind me."

As expected, the next six months are a trial of patience for both of you. A teasing push-and-pull where you remind her of your predicament every time you have sex, and she tortures you with the heat of her mouth on every inch of skin but where you crave her most. Still, she copes with the situation worse than you do. Can't lay on your chest like she used to, or suck on your tits when she's bored, or cradle them in her hand as she falls asleep.

But once the healing period is over (she keeps the exact date in her calendar), you have just enough time to step through the front door and remove your shoes before she pounces on you. Yanks up your shirt and bra and runs a thumb over the metal.

"You couldn't let me sit down first?" you ask, backing up against the wall beside the door.

She pinches a nipple between thumb and the knuckle of her forefinger, twists hard enough to leave you arching into her hand. "No."

You expect more of a response from her, but her mouth quickly becomes occupied by the same nipple previously grasped between her fingers. She soothes the ache with her tongue before closing her lips around your flesh. Suckles soft and sweet.

Fucking finally.

Pleasure lances down your spine at the wet heat of her mouth, her hand pressed to the curve of your back. She pulls away long enough to sit you on the entry table before her mouth latches onto each of your tits, back and forth and back and forth.

Your breathing stutters when her arm curls around your back, tugging you as close as possible against her. On instinct, your legs part, hips chasing stimulation.

And then she pulls away with a wide, teasing grin. Stands to her full height and steps back, lips slicked with spit.

Your mouth falls open in shock when she says, "Maybe next time, you should go to Margot."

#sevika x reader #sevika x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #x reader #my fics #fic: six months #ns/ft

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hueseok · 4 months ago

Text

it was always you (from the vault)

originally titled: take my breath away.

a.k.a. the original draft for my “it was always you” fic wherein naval aviator!jungkook is your cocky soon-to-be-ex-husband who won’t sign your divorce papers because he’s still in love with you lol.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 4.5k

content: fluff, semi-angst, exes to ??? | ft. naval aviator!jungkook + husband!jungkook

warning: what you’re about to read (if you do choose to read this) is an unfinished work which perhaps will forever be unfinished.

the only reason i’m posting it because i feel like it’d be a waste to let it rot in my drafts considering that i really liked how it went until the moment i stopped writing hehehehe. i’ve also thought about continuing this story but since i already have an existing naval aviator!jungkook in my masterlist, i felt like it’d be redundant to post this!

anyhow, since a lot of you showed so much love to “it was always you”, i thought it’d be nice to share this 🥹

You really hoped that flying for almost three hours and experiencing horrid turbulence during half of the trip was going to be worth it. But again, that was only the first part of the whole charade; the real challenge would begin perhaps much later, when you finally come face to face with the person that you were scheduled to meet.

As you walked inside the bar, the nerves that previously weren’t there started to crawl from your chest to your legs, making it harder to reach the counter where a vacant bar stool stood. You didn’t even know why you were suddenly nervous—although you could only guess that the sudden burst of anxiety was rooted from talking again to the most stubborn man ever to walk on earth—and you were already preparing yourself for the long conversation you were going to have with him and possibly the extended leave you’ll have to inform your boss for this trip because of his infamous stubbornness.

“____?” a familiar voice abruptly called out for you after you finished ordering a mug of beer from the barmaid, “no fucking way. It can’t be.”

You turned to your left and saw Jung Hoseok.

Spoiler: he wasn’t the person you were going to meet today, which made seeing him such a delight. You grinned immediately upon making eye contact, hopping out of your chair and exclaiming his name with the same enthusiasm he let out when he did realize it was you who he was looking at.

“Holy shit. What are you doing here?” He automatically engulfed you in a tight embrace when you initiated. You noticed that he was wearing an off duty attire, a plain black polo shirt and blue jeans, his hair kept neat and short. “Actually, scratch that—there’s only one person you should be here for.”

You bothered to smile. “Yeah. I’m guessing he didn’t tell anyone I’m visiting, huh?”

“Nope. He 100% kept it a secret because he knows that we’re going to steal you away if he spills.”

“We?” you mused. You didn’t even know that he was training with Hoseok, and now you’re discovering that Hoseok’s apparently not the only friend he has here. “How many of you that I know are training with him?”

Hoseok takes a short pause to think about it. “Hm… well, there’s me, then Yoongi and… Namjoon. That’s just about it.”

“Wow. It’s essentially the whole group again, huh?”

“Yup. I mean, we are the best of the best.” He smirked.

You playfully rolled your eyes.

“And we’ve missed you,” he added swiftly. “I’m a bit mad that your husband didn’t inform us that you’d be here—but again, I’m not surprised.”

“Sorry. I think I have myself to blame for that. I did tell him that I don’t intend to stay here for too long.”

“Why not?”

“I’m just here to make sure he signs the divorce papers.”

Hoseok nodded, thoughtful and a bit disappointed. “Is he giving you a hard time with them?”

“You can say that.” A dramatic sigh escaped you. “He insisted that if I really wanted to get his signature, I should just go here where he’s training.”

“Classic Jungkook.” He laughed, and you agreed with a snort.

He was right, this was all a Classic Jungkook move.

Sometimes, you didn’t understand why you agreed to marry Jungkook so urgently when he asked for your hand, even after knowing that he did everything he could to ensure that he got what he wanted in the end.

Though that was just that thing, wasn’t it? He knew exactly what to do in order to get what he wanted—and at that time of his proposal, you knew it was you that he sought for.

Despite the fact that Jungkook had only been seeing you for less than a year, he was convinced that you were the love of his life. It was the reason why when he needed to be deployed for a mission, it seemed proposing was the most natural thing to do, going on about how he wanted to be reassured that when he came back for you, you were going to be there waiting for him, not only as a girlfriend, but as his wife.

And you said yes, without missing a beat, because you genuinely loved Jungkook and for you, the both of you were a match made in heaven.

By the two year mark of being a wedded couple though, just being in love with each other wasn’t enough. There were a lot of arguments, irreconcilable differences, a lot of moments wherein you wanted to abandon everything and just disappear—until you finally declared that enough was enough and you were going to file for divorce.

Of course, Jungkook didn’t want to sign them, but he did grant you a little bit of your freedom back. He did so by leaving your shared apartment on a random Thursday, only sending a text that said he was being called by the Navy for a mission he couldn’t disclose per usual, and that if you really wanted to divorce him, you’d just have to wait for him to go back.

He never returned though. Because after that mission, came a next one, and another one, until you heard that he was invited to a naval fighter weapons school in the northern part of the country, close to the seas and where he’ll be training for a few weeks among the best naval aviators in the nation.

That’s when he decided to invite you over and say that if you wanted his signature, you’d have to be the one who’ll go to him. You initially contemplated for a long time before just going forth with his ridiculous demand. Nonetheless, you figured you were once again left with no choice because here you were now, doing exactly what he wanted to get what you exactly wanted as well.

God, who knew that contrary to how easy it was to enter this marriage, it was an absolute pain to get out of it?

“Do you know where he might be?” you asked Hoseok while taking a sip of your beer. “Or if he’s going here at least?”

“I have no clue,” Hoseok said. “Though I do know that he should have free time. We don’t have training for the rest of the day.”

“I’ll be seriously pissed if he stands me up.”

“He won’t.”

“It’s Jungkook.”

“Yeah, but you’re ____,” he said it like it was reason enough, “and Jungkook can’t resist seeing you. Especially if it’s been what? How many months have passed since you two saw each other?”

You held up six fingers, continuing to gulp down your drink in frustration. “Still, he loves to annoy the shit out of me.”

“It’s his love language.”

“Oh, I’ve been made very aware.”

Hoseok barked out a laugh. He was a huge fan of your dynamic with Jungkook; he was practically there throughout the whole journey of your relationship. As Jungkook’s weapon systems officer, the both of them were thick as thieves, which also made him the best man of the wedding—so deep inside, he wanted to believe that whatever it was that you and Jungkook were dealing with, it would be resolved soon enough.

“Well, it looks like you don’t have to wait for too long.” Hoseok toasted his glass to the direction of the entrance where the Jeon Jungkook entered, removing his aviator sunglasses and hooking it on the collar of his white shirt, worn inside a dark blue long-sleeved polo he was sporting as well.

You followed his line of vision and scowled at the sight of Jungkook. Not because you hated your husband, but because even when in the middle of finalizing a divorce, you couldn’t deny that he was too handsome for his own good.

“I think this is my cue to leave,” Hoseok added, getting off his seat. “It was nice seeing you again, ___. Let’s catch up later, yeah? I’ll conspire with Joon and Yoongi to steal you away.” He smiled mischievously and gave you a sweet chaste kiss on the cheek before walking over to Jungkook, greeting him, pointing to where you were, and then walking to another table where you guessed a bunch of other naval aviators were hanging out.

A sigh escaped you, just in time when Jungkook met your gaze.

He grinned—actually grinned—and you had to prevent your eyes from twitching to not look like some crazy person who didn’t have any self-control. So, instead of plastering the same scowl a few seconds ago for him to see, you flashed a sarcastic smile, waving your hand.

“There’s my beautiful wife,” Jungkook claimed when he was close enough, marching towards you, appearing like he was going to go for a kiss but before he could, you outstretched an arm and stopped him by literally wrapping your fingers around his neck as if you were planning to choke him to death with the gesture (which you were tempted to do).

He rolled his eyes, holding your wrist and bringing it down.

“Can’t I give you a kiss?” he retorted.

“No.”

“And Hoseok can?”

“Hoseok’s my friend.”

“I’m your husband.”

“Ex-husband.”

“Wrong. I haven’t signed any divorce papers, honey, so in the eyes of the law, I’m still very much your husband.” He quickly stole a kiss on the corner of your mouth and you allowed yourself to grimace in annoyance, glaring at him as he took Hoseok’s previous seat.

You watched him order a drink for himself and nachos for sharing. You didn’t say anything while he did all that; you just stared at him, analyzing him, trying to decipher what was going on in that head of his. You honestly had no clue what his thought process was in depriving you of the signature you wanted and then randomly agreeing to meet you again, accompanied with the condition that you’re the one who has to go to him and not the other way around.

As he reasoned, he was still in the middle of training, and he couldn’t just leave even if he wanted to and that’s why you had to make the effort to make this work (he made it clear that he didn’t want to make the effort anyway if it meant it could lead to his and yours divorce).

“How are you?” he asked once he was done ordering and you scoffed.

“Let’s not do that, Jungkook.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me that I’m not allowed to know how you’re doing too.”

“I meant the small talk. Let’s just cut to the chase.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Jungkook.”

“Alright.” He placed an arm against the counter, spinning his stool to face you. “You already know where I stand, though. I still haven’t changed my mind in wanting to work it out first.”

“What? But you told me that if I went here—”

“I would talk to you, not sign the papers,” he finished. “You didn’t really think I’d sign them just like that, right?”

Your stomach dropped.

There goes assuming that the three-hour flight to go here would be worth it.

“I did, actually.” You grumbled. “When are you giving this a rest?”

He seemed annoyed by the rhetoric question. “When are you going to stop thinking that divorce is the answer to our problem?”

“We already did couple’s therapy and that proved to be a waste of time.”

“That’s because you were stubborn and wouldn’t cooperate.”

“Oh, I’m the one who’s stubborn between the both of us? I’m the one who wouldn’t cooperate?”

“Yes.”

“No, I’m not!” You raised your hands up. “You were the one who always said some lame excuse to not attend it with me.”

“Babe, how many times do I have to tell you, my schedule isn’t—”

“Yeah, whatever.” You didn’t let him finish, knowing that he was going to say something about how being in the Navy didn’t grant him the free time you were expecting him to have.

“I’m just saying… you can’t keep on doing this, you know?” you said.

“Can’t keep doing what?”

“Prolonging this. We already broke up, Jungkook. There’s not point in staying married.”

“That’s the thing, though.” He smirked. “I can keep prolonging it.”

Your nostrils flared. “Why?”

“Because I can.”

You think flashes of red were beginning to blur your vision.

Jungkook noticed the rage building up, yet he didn’t back down. “Why are you even so eager to legally separate? Do you plan on getting married again soon?” he asked.

It was supposed to be a joke, because Jungkook didn’t actually think you were seeing anyone at the moment—but at the mention of it, he saw the manner in which your expression slightly shifted, and he narrowed his eyes at you, understanding. “Don’t bullshit me. You aren’t seeing anyone, right?”

You blinked, acting all innocent. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is. You’re still married to me.”

“We’ve broken up for almost a year now, Jungkook.” You groaned, remaining him once again. “If you just signed the goddamn papers, all of this would be out of your hands.”

He scoffed. “You are seeing someone?”

“That is not the point of our conversation.”

“Well, it’s a significant aspect of it.”

“Fine.” You huffed. “I am seeing someone. Happy?”

Jungkook was in fact not happy. He was angry, but then he thought of how he shouldn’t be, because you and him have broken up for almost a year now like you said. Even though he wasn’t in support of that notion, he remembered at least granting you enough freedom to feel like you could date around without thinking about how you were technically cheating on him if ever you did.

However, he didn’t really think you would find someone. Sure, you were beautiful, you had an amazing personality, there was no question when it came to you attracting men, yet you could be picky most of the time. It was even a miracle how he managed to bag you; though he guessed that he didn’t really have to try that hard in the first place before because the two of you just had so much in common for you to ignore.

“What’s his name?” he asked after a long silence.

You crossed your arms. “Do you have to know?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” You adjusted yourself in your seat. “It’s Ben.”

Jungkook thought the name sounded stupid. “How long have you been dating him?”

You hesitated, already predicting how he was going to react that you almost exaggerated the answer, but decided against it last minute. “Five weeks.”

He suddenly burst out laughing, the sound echoing inside the bar; it was the exact type of response you were positive he was going to do, proof that you knew him too well and that you shouldn’t have changed your pretense in the first place.

“It’s not funny,” you hissed, noticing that a lot of people were glancing at where you were both situated. “What the hell is funny about what I said?”

“You want to divorce me for a guy you’ve been dating for five weeks?” He carried on snickering; he barely got the whole sentence out because he was too busy catching his breath.

“Of course not! I would just prefer it if I don’t have any baggage left before attempting to commit to another relationship.”

The barmaid came back with Jungkook’s beer and nachos. He thanked her and slid the basket of cheesy nachos to your direction, an offer that you could get a piece if you wanted. However you were neither hungry nor interested in getting anything from him that would elicit a thank you from you, too prideful at this point due to how annoying he was being.

“What does he do for a living?” he asked next.

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to make fun of it.”

“Is it worth making fun of?”

“No.”

“Then just tell me.” He threw a chip inside his mouth.

You pressed your lips together. “He’s a bank clerk.”

Jungkook didn’t laugh this time, but the corners of his mouth were twitching as he grinned, and you found yourself refraining from wanting to strangle him again, questioning why you thought it was a good idea to come here since it was obvious that talking to him properly was an impossible task.

“You’re dating a bank clerk?” he posed the question like it was the most preposterous thing he had heard from you today. “What the hell do the both of you have in common?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll have you know that Ben is a very nice guy.”

“That’s what ladies say when a man is horrible in bed.”

“That’s not true.”

“Is he good then?”

“That’s none of your business, Jungkook,” you uttered once more, teeth gritting. “Besides, it’s only been five weeks.”

He smirked. “That’s a no then. It seems that you haven’t slept with him,” he said. “Makes sense. I mean, if you have already slept with another guy, you might be already begging me to get back together. Given that I’m the best sex you’ve ever had.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “How the fuck are you always so arrogant?”

“It comes with the praise I usually get during my escapades, babe.” Jungkook winked at you, hand reaching out for another nacho.

“Oh, so I’m assuming you do have sex with other people now. You know, if you’ve just divorced me, you can go live your happy single life again to go to that without any worries.”

“I don’t sleep with other people—”

“But you just said—”

“I meant before I met you.” He pointed out, giving you a look. “Why are you even thinking about that? Are you jealous?”

“God, you’re fucking impossible.” You practically growled.

He flashed you another smirk, amused.

“Anyhow,” you began, bringing out the divorce papers from your bag that you should have given him the second you saw him, but as what you think was part of his plan, he did manage to stall you in doing so, “here’s the papers.” You shoved it to his chest, rendering Jungkook no choice but to grab it.

He glanced down at them. “You’re never going to stop until I sign these, huh?”

You nodded. “Never.”

“Fine.” Jungkook flickered his gaze on you. “I’ll sign them.”

You glared at him. “Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Are you?”

You were still suspicious, but at the same time, you had high hopes.

“Yes. But I need to meet Ben the bank clerk first.”

Your spirits dropped. “Oh, no, no, no,” you made a huge cross sign with your arms, “you are not giving me another condition just to go against your word in the end.”

“I won’t this time.”

“Yeah, right.” You scoffed loudly.

It was his turn to narrow his eyes at you. “I’m serious. You want my signature or not?”

You bit the insides of your cheeks, gazing at him.

You were no fool, you knew why he wanted to meet him; you knew that it was because he wanted to see it for himself if the guy you replaced him for was actually more good looking than him or at least appeared as if he could survive a fistfight if Jungkook prompted to start one. It was all testosterone and ego, and you contemplated cutting his balls just to get this over with once and for all.

Surely, by then, he would be more agreeable.

“Fine,” you told him. “If you meet him, you’ll sign the papers? Promise?”

He took a sip of his beer, shrugging. “Sure.”

***

Jungkook watched the scene unfold in front of him with an amused expression.

Although he did admit it once that he did get a bit jealous whenever you gave the other guys more attention than him, he loved his best pals too much to care.

It was why he allowed instances like this to happen wherein you made it apparent that you valued their company much more than you did Jungkook. It was evident in the manner in which you laughed loudly as Hoseok, Yoongi, and Namjoon hugged you, each one of them taking turns in lifting your body off the ground a few seconds in glee.

You were seen as a beloved sister to them as they saw Jungkook as a cherished brother in the Navy.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Jungkook reckoned after five seconds.

Namjoon glanced at him, the last one to embrace you. “Jealous?” he teased, reading his mind.

“I am, actually.” Jungkook affirmed. “You three got a better greeting than I did.”

You rolled your eyes at the pettiness of his comment. “That’s because there’s nothing good about seeing you again, Jungkook.”

Jungkook glanced at you. “You wound me, babe.” He placed a dramatic hand on his chest. “Truly, you do.”

The guys stifled a laugh.

Today’s agenda was supposed to be a catch up session with the three guys. News spread quickly yesterday that you were in town thanks to Hoseok, and given that the three of them were good friends of yours, you didn’t decline the offer when Jungkook informed you that they wanted to meet you while you were here.

So, as the next day came in and the evening rolled, they met up with you at the same resto-bar Hoseok found you in. It did seem like the only venue that was both near enough from the academy and the hotel you were staying at that offered adequate food. You observed that the occupants of the place were composed primarily of people wearing naval aviator uniforms or motorcyclists stopping by before going forth with their ride.

“So,” Yoongi began just as Jungkook headed to the counter, volunteering to relay all of your orders to the barmaid, “we heard from a little birdie that you’re seeing someone else.”

You gave him a look. “Still a big gossip, I see.”

“Oh, it’s not counted as gossip if it’s what Jungkook’s been complaining about the whole time at the showers,” Namjoon humored.

Hoseok agreed with a nod. “It’s what he’s been nonstop yapping about earlier when we were flying,” he said. “Seriously, ____. Release the boy from misery and just get back together.”

They watched you grimace. “You all know my relationship with Jungkook has been long complicated for it to be as easy as that.”

“Did he cheat on you?” Namjoon asked.

“No, of course not.” You scoffed. “He’s an annoying shit for the most part but he’s not a cheater.”

He physically relaxed at the confirmation. “Good, because I don’t think I can beat him in a fistfight.”

Yoongi chuckled. “What’s the matter then? You still haven’t spared us any details on why you’re so keen to divorce him.”

“There’s no particular reason,” you sighed with a throw of your hand. “It’s just a compilation of the small things. He’s away most of the time, I’m away most of the time when he’s available—we fight a lot, argue a lot, it just doesn’t seem to be worth fighting for anymore.”

“So, you don’t love him anymore?”

“I…” you trailed, abruptly feeling like you were being interrogated, “I mean, love doesn’t go away easily. And it hasn’t been that long since we called it quits.”

The three men shared a look among themselves.

You straighten your posture. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What does?” Hoseok queried.

“That look you guys just gave each other. I don’t like it.”

“That’s just their faces, babe,” Jungkook reappeared, taking the liberty to take the seat on your right. “What are you fellas talking about?” he asked his buddies.

They didn’t dare utter a word. You were under the impression that they had an understanding between them that talking about your relationship right in Jungkook’s face was something one should not ought to do.

You, on the other hand, took it as your cue to speak, starting another topic to hopefully erase the previous one. “Ben said he can come. He’s boarding tonight,” you told Jungkook as he’s sipping from his glass of service water.

“That’s good.” He didn’t look as interested as he was yesterday.

“Who’s Ben?” It was Hoseok again.

“The bank clerk,” Jungkook answered.

“The new guy you’re seeing?” Yoongi asked you.

“Yep,” you said before turning to Jungkook. “And can you please refer to him by his name? He’s not just a bank clerk.”

“Is he a boring bank clerk?” Jungkook asked, that teasing smirk flashing on his mouth.

“Will he be here tomorrow?” Namjoon chimed in.

You nodded. “Hopefully.”

“Great,” Jungkook placed his glass down on the table. “It’ll be enough time to get to know him.”

He said ‘enough time’ like his time was limited because it really was. He informed you before you parted ways yesterday that he was graduating from the academy this Friday, and that after that, he was almost 100% sure he was going to be deployed again with some of his classmates for a mission that you wouldn’t be allowed to know the details of.

Your stomach somersaulted when he told you that.

Somehow, despite convincing yourself that you no longer cared for Jungkook, the thought of his life being put at risk again once he was back on the field made you want to vomit in anxiety. It reminded you that his very dangerous occupation was one of the root causes of your separation, for there were months wherein you couldn’t take the fear of waiting in uncertainty on whether he was going to come home to you or not, regardless of how he promised he would every single time.

It was funny, you thought. One of your similarities with your husband was that the both of you were adrenaline junkies. You and him bonded over extreme rides in amusement parks, activities that got your heart pumping and gave you the sensation of being on top of the world—and yet it was the reason why you didn’t want to be with him anymore as well, too scared to continue loving him if he always sought for adventure and danger through being a naval aviator.

“You knew what you were signing up for, ____,” he told you during one of your many arguments. “You entered this relationship knowing the nature of my job. You can’t expect to adjust for you when it comes to—”

“I’m not expecting you to adjust for me, Kook,” you replied in exasperation, practically begging him to listen to you with an open mind at that point. “God, I just want you to consider me. I just want to feel that for once, you actually remember that someone’s always waiting for you to come home.”

Whenever conversations like that popped back inside your memory, you forced yourself to push it away. It wasn’t an experience you wanted to relive. You’ve spent far too many nights just crying because of how it felt like to be in a constant state of worry for the person you found yourself loving the most.

“We can all meet him, right?” asked Hoseok, looking at the other guys for back up.

You surveyed them, raising your eyebrows before saying your answer.

“Like the hell you would.”

#jungkook #bts

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knoepfl · 5 months ago

Note

Can you do Legoshi from Beastars with an extremely pessimistic, cynical, introverted, and antisocial fem! black cat reader of very few words who he meets when she's scouted as the new head writer since the President of the Drama was extremely impressed by her near-perfect grades?

Shadows and Stars

Characters:

1. Legoshi: A shy, introspective gray wolf in the drama club, empathetic but socially awkward.

2. Black Cat (Head Writer): A reserved, sharp-tongued new member with a guarded yet intense demeanor.

3. Louis: The confident, demanding red deer president of the drama club.

---

Trigger Warnings:

1. Social Anxiety: Depictions of awkward and tense interactions. 2. Loneliness: Themes of isolation and guarded behavior. 3. Stress: Characters under creative and interpersonal pressure. 4. Emotional Tension: Subtle, intense dynamics between characters.

Masterlist

Words: 1535

--- The morning light trickled through the half-open windows of the drama clubroom. Legoshi shifted uncomfortably as he adjusted a prop tree, his mind preoccupied with a myriad of thoughts. The sudden announcement from Louis the previous week had taken everyone by surprise—a new head writer had been chosen.

She had arrived earlier that day, slipping into the room with all the presence of a shadow. Legoshi watched her from the corner of his eye as she sat, barely speaking, her sharp gaze fixed on the scattered scripts before her. A black cat with an air of indifference, she radiated a quiet intensity that made even the most confident club members uneasy.

“Her grades are unmatched,” Louis had explained with his usual brisk tone. “She’s exactly what we need to elevate this production.”

Legoshi’s tail flicked nervously as he approached her.

“Uh... hi. I’m Legoshi,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

The cat glanced up briefly, her green eyes narrowing slightly before she returned to her work. “Okay.”

It wasn’t rude, but it wasn’t warm either. It was… curt, like she had decided he wasn’t worth more than a single syllable. He shifted awkwardly.

“So… um, you’re the new writer?” he tried again, his ears twitching as the silence stretched uncomfortably.

“Yes.”

Another sharp, clipped answer. Legoshi’s tail drooped. He wasn’t good at conversations on the best of days, but this was like trying to talk to a brick wall. Still, there was something about her that intrigued him—something about the way she seemed to carry a world of thoughts behind those short answers.

“Is there… anything you need help with?” he asked, trying to be helpful.

The cat finally put down her pen and looked at him fully. Her expression was unreadable, but her voice was calm and measured. “No. I’m used to doing things myself.”

Legoshi nodded, unsure if that was a dismissal. “Okay… I’ll just, uh, be over here then.”

She didn’t reply, her attention already back on the papers in front of her. He slunk back to his corner, silently berating himself for his awkwardness. But as the hours passed, he couldn’t help but watch her work.

Her movements were precise, her focus unyielding. She scribbled notes in the margins of the script, her handwriting neat and deliberate. Occasionally, she would pause to glance around the room, her sharp eyes missing nothing.

It was Louis who finally broke the ice—if only unintentionally.

“Legoshi, stop lurking and make yourself useful!” the deer snapped, gesturing toward the new head writer. “She needs the last script drafts from the archives. Take her.”

Legoshi’s ears flattened, but he obeyed. He shuffled over to her, mumbling, “Uh, we need to get the drafts. I can show you where they are.”

She stood without a word, gathering her things before following him.

The walk to the archives was silent. Legoshi felt like he should say something, but every time he glanced at her, she seemed lost in thought, her expression unreadable.

When they reached the dusty shelves of the archives, she finally broke the silence.

“This must be exhausting for you,” she said, her voice low but unexpectedly soft.

Legoshi blinked. “What do you mean?”

“All this social interaction,” she replied, glancing at him sideways. “It seems... draining.”

He hesitated. “It can be,” he admitted, “but I like helping people.”

She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as though she understood. They worked in silence for a while, sorting through the papers.

“You’re... different,” she said suddenly, her voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear it.

“Different how?”

She didn’t answer right away, her eyes focused on the script in her hands. Finally, she murmured, “Most people talk too much.”

Legoshi chuckled softly, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “I guess I’m not most people then.”

For the first time, her lips twitched, almost forming a smile. It was brief, but it was there.

Maybe, Legoshi thought, as they continued to work together, she wasn’t as unreachable as she seemed.

---

The warm glow of the afternoon sun cast soft streaks across the dusty floorboards of the drama club’s archive room. Legoshi’s ears twitched nervously as he glanced at the black cat beside him. She was leaning against one of the towering shelves, her sleek frame almost melding into the shadows, her sharp green eyes scanning the scripts she had pulled from the stacks.

The air felt heavy. Legoshi shuffled his feet, his large claws scraping lightly against the floor. He wanted to speak, to break the suffocating silence, but her rigid posture and piercing gaze kept him rooted in place.

“Legoshi,” she said suddenly, her voice low and deliberate.

He flinched, startled. “Y-Yes?”

“You’re breathing too loud.” She didn’t look up, her tail swishing once before curling tightly around her.

“Oh. S-Sorry.” He ducked his head, his ears flattening as he tried to stifle the deep, instinctive breaths his body demanded.

For a moment, she said nothing, her expression blank as her eyes flicked between the pages of the script. Then, with a sigh, she set the stack down and turned to him fully, her hands resting loosely in her pockets.

“You’re... not what I expected,” she murmured, her tone unreadable.

Legoshi blinked, his tail curling awkwardly behind him. “What do you mean?”

“Most people are loud. Obnoxious.” She tilted her head slightly, her gaze narrowing as she studied him. “You’re... quiet. And you don’t stare.”

Legoshi rubbed the back of his neck, his claws grazing the fur there. “I-I mean, it’s rude to stare. And I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable…” His voice trailed off, his body hunching slightly under her scrutiny.

Her lips twitched—a movement so subtle it might have been missed entirely. “Not bad,” she muttered, almost to herself.

“Uh… thanks?” Legoshi offered hesitantly, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

She turned back to the scripts, her movements fluid and deliberate. The air between them settled into a tense quiet, though it felt less sharp than before.

---

Later, back in the drama clubroom, Louis was barking orders at the cast, his voice sharp and commanding as he directed a rehearsal. Legoshi lingered near the edge of the room, holding a box of props. His eyes darted to the black cat, who had returned to her corner with the same detached grace, her pen scratching lightly against the pages of her notebook.

Legoshi couldn’t help but watch her, his large, gray ears twitching slightly. There was something captivating about her—how still she was, like a predator lying in wait. She wrote with an intensity that made the rest of the bustling room feel irrelevant.

A loud clatter jolted him from his thoughts.

“Legoshi!” Louis barked, his sharp amber eyes boring into him. “Stop staring and do something useful.”

“S-Sorry!” Legoshi stammered, his claws fumbling with the box as he scrambled to set it down. His tail curled tightly around his leg as he ducked his head, trying to make himself smaller.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the black cat glance up, her green eyes briefly flicking to Louis before returning to her work.

---

Later that day, as the club emptied out, Legoshi found himself walking beside her again. She didn’t speak, her footsteps soft and deliberate against the pavement.

“I, uh, hope today wasn’t too stressful,” Legoshi offered, his voice barely above a murmur.

She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “Why do you care?”

Legoshi hesitated, his shoulders hunching as he struggled to find the right words. “I… I just want to make sure you’re okay. That’s all.”

Her ears flicked back, and she looked away. “I’m used to stress. It’s not a big deal.”

He nodded slowly, his claws tapping lightly against his thighs as they walked. “I guess… but you don’t have to handle everything alone. Sometimes it’s okay to let people help.”

She stopped suddenly, turning to face him. Her gaze was sharp, her tail flicking behind her. “Why? Why does it matter to you?”

Legoshi froze, his ears flattening as he struggled under her intense stare. “B-Because…” He swallowed, his large hands fidgeting nervously. “I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t fit in. And… I think it’s nice to have someone who understands.”

Her eyes widened slightly, the smallest crack in her composed demeanor. But just as quickly, she looked away, her shoulders tensing.

“I don’t need anyone to understand,” she said flatly, though her voice was quieter than before.

Legoshi tilted his head, his tail swishing gently behind him. “Maybe not,” he said softly, “but it’s okay if you do.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The fading light of the evening painted the campus in warm hues, and the air between them felt heavy with unspoken words.

Finally, she sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “You’re strange, Legoshi.”

He blinked. “I-I am?”

“Yes,” she said simply, her lips twitching again in that almost-smile. “But it’s not the worst thing.”

Legoshi couldn’t stop the small wag of his tail as he followed her back to the dorms, the faintest hint of hope blooming in his chest.

Maybe, he thought, some connections didn’t need words—they just needed time.

---

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